Shadow Dragon (38 page)

CHAPTER 92

Every muscle and joint in Kyle’s body ached as they continued to slog their way along the trail. Even though he worked out regularly and thought he was in pretty good shape, nothing could have prepared him for this. The backs of his knees burned, and his right hip had developed a catch that would pop occasionally, sending currents of pain shooting down his leg. His lower back and shoulders were cramping up beneath the weight of the pack. His forearm burned from carrying the shotgun. Everything hurt.

In front of him, Carrie seemed to be doing all right, but Kyle knew she had to be struggling as much as he was. Even so, he felt certain she would never admit it. She continued to trudge forward without complaint.

The sheriff stopped. He stood motionless, staring at the trail ahead of them. He cocked his head as if listening for something and then signaled for them to get down.

They clambered off the trail and ducked behind an old, splintered stump. Kyle crouched next to Carrie. He scanned the forest, but the fading light made it impossible to make out anything against the backdrop of swaying brush and trees. When he looked back at the trail, the sheriff was gone.

Kyle assumed the sheriff had either hidden alongside the trail or had gone farther up to investigate, but he wasn’t taking any chances. He pulled off the glove on his right hand with his teeth and then released the safety on the shotgun. The shotgun’s metal stock was so cold it practically burned. Trying to remain as quiet as possible, Kyle slowly pulled back his hood and strained to listen for any telltale sounds. He could hear Carrie’s rapid breathing beside him and the haunting moan of the wind overhead, but nothing more.

Neither of them dared to move or even whisper as they huddled next to the tree. One by one, the seconds crept by, each one feeling like a minute, every minute an hour. Kyle could feel himself sweating within the snowsuit, and had it not been for the cold, his forehead would have beaded with perspiration.

Next to him, Carrie shifted slightly, the weight of her body leaning against his. It felt good. Kyle remained still, taking pleasure in her closeness while he could. As he watched, a few stray strands of her hair danced in the rising wind.

He waited for as long as he felt prudent before he finally checked his watch. Eight and a half minutes had gone by and still no sign. The sheriff must have encountered someone.
Or something
, he thought, his worries rapidly ascending toward fear. Surely, he wouldn’t have been gone this long otherwise. He looked at Carrie, who stared at him with wide-eyed concern.

“
I know
,” he mouthed back at her silently. They had to do something. But what? The sheriff had expressly forbidden them to come after him, and Kyle respected his instincts enough not to second-guess him.

Kyle flexed his right hand, which had grown stiff from the cold, trying to keep it ready in case he had to use the gun.
What the hell is going on?

A brittle
snap
came from behind them. Kyle whirled around, his finger on the trigger, but there was nothing there. He scanned the area, straining to see amid the muted shadows, looking for signs of movement, but there was nothing.
Just ice … falling from a frozen branch
, he told himself, but he continued to watch just the same.

And then he felt Carrie grasp his arm in alarm.

He looked back at her and then in the direction she pointed. There, a large, dark figure was moving rapidly up the trail in their direction.

Kyle hefted the gun, leaving his finger outside the trigger guard. His fingers were stiff from the cold. He didn’t want to accidentally shoot the sheriff if it was him.

The figure continued up the trail, moving closer. It was quickly growing dark, which made it virtually impossible to make out any details of the silhouette. It grew larger as it approached until Kyle felt certain it was too big to be the sheriff.

He raised the shotgun and slipped his finger through the guard.

The figure stopped and raised its arm. “Come … quickly.”

Kyle sighed in relief, carefully easing off the trigger. It was the sheriff.

Kyle and Carrie emerged from the hiding spot and began sloughing their way back to the trail. It was tough going at first, and Kyle found himself struggling to keep up.

“What is it? What did you find?” Carrie asked, but the sheriff had already turned and was marching back up the trail.

Ahead, they crested a small rise. At the bottom of the hill were two black-clad figures, one leaning in the shelter of a rocky outcropping, the other kneeling next to him.

Kyle froze. He looked around anxiously, wary of a trap. But the sheriff marched on, apparently unconcerned. Carrie hesitated as well and looked at Kyle. Unsure what else to do, Kyle nodded for her to follow. They would have to trust the sheriff. Even so, Kyle kept a close watch on the surrounding forest as they made their way toward the two.

As they neared, Kyle was able to discern more about the two figures. They were both clad entirely in black, but they weren’t just snowsuits. They looked like some sort of specially armored military or special-forces gear. One figure still wore what looked like a futuristic black helmet, while the other, the man kneeling next to him, had removed his. This second man had dark, curly hair mashed flat against his head and damp with sweat. Faint wisps of steam rose from his head. Even with the suit on, it was apparent that he was thin, almost frail. His glasses were canted at an odd angle, bent from wearing the helmet. He had a weary, strained look on his face.

“Oh, thank God,” the man gushed as they approached.

“What’s going on?” Carrie asked. The man in black stood as if she had been addressing him. Kyle pointed the shotgun his direction.

“No, no,” he said hastily, holding his hands up. “You don’t understand. This man is hurt. He needs medical attention.”

Without pausing, the sheriff moved over to the man and knelt beside him. The man’s head lolled back and forth, and he seemed to be speaking, but it was unintelligible beneath the helmet. The sheriff slipped the visor up. Beneath was the face of a young Hispanic man. His eyes were glassy and unfocused, and they were rolling around as he muttered something in Spanish.

“What happened?” the sheriff asked.

“We, uh … were sent here on a rescue mission,” the man stammered. “Some hikers got lost in the woods and … and then he fell and hit his head.” The man was a terrible liar.

“Give me a break,” Carrie snapped. “You’re not part of any rescue team. You were sent here to retrieve your monster, weren’t you?”

The man stopped, his eyes widening in surprise. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“How dumb do you think we are?” Carrie said. “There aren’t any hikers out here. And look at you—you’re wearing what looks like high-tech military gear. Do you really think we’re that stupid? We know what happened with the GenTech plane. Why else do you think we’re here? This is Sheriff Greyhawk and Agent Andrews of the FBI. So why don’t you tell us what really happened?”

The man just stood there and stared at them with a dumbfounded expression on his face before he looked to the sheriff as if requesting confirmation. Without speaking, the sheriff unzipped his snowsuit enough to reveal his uniform and badge beneath.

“I … I can’t,” the man stammered. “If I tell you, they’ll kill me.”

“Who will?” Carrie asked. Kyle noticed she seemed to have taken the lead in the interrogation, but the sheriff didn’t seem to mind. She seemed to be making progress.

“I don’t know
who
exactly,” he said with a glance toward the man on the ground. “I just know they will kill me.”

“He doesn’t appear to be much of a threat to anyone right now,” Kyle noted.

“Not him. The people he works for.”

“And who is that?” Carrie asked.

“I told you. I don’t know. I just know they’ll kill me if I tell you anything.”

Kyle noticed that the sheriff, who had been watching the man, had subtly turned his attention to the forest around them. His eyes narrowed as he scanned the shadowy confines beneath the trees. The thought they might even now be in the crosshairs of a sharpshooter’s scope made Kyle feel suddenly exposed.

“Are we being watched now?” Kyle whispered, lifting the shotgun slightly in readiness. “Can they hear what you’re saying?”

“No, no,” the man replied. “Except for him, the ones I was sent with are all dead, or at least I think they are.”

“Dead?” Kyle asked. “What happened?”

The man looked down at the ground. “Mistakes were made … mostly by me, I’m afraid, and now we’re the only two left.”

“Then what do you have to worry about?” Carrie asked.

“You don’t know what you’re dealing with,” the man sighed. “I don’t even know who they are. But I can tell you that powerful people are involved, with tentacles that reach far and wide. They will know I told you. They
will
kill me—and you—to keep their secret quiet.”

“I work for a newspaper,” Carrie said. “Once we go public with this story, there will be too many people who know about it. They won’t be able to cover it up by simply killing those who know about it.”

“It’s not that simple,” the man said. “Even I don’t know who is involved. If I tell you, can you promise to protect me? Put me in the witness protection program or something?”

Carrie looked to Kyle.

“I can’t promise you anything,” Kyle said, “But I’ll talk to my superior. I’ll do everything I can.” Technically, Kyle hadn’t lied to the man, but he knew he didn’t have the authority to promise anything. In fact, as far as he knew, he might be arrested himself as soon as they returned to town. But he had come too far to be concerned about that right now.

The man seemed unconvinced. He remained silent for a moment, considering his choices. As he did so, he looked at the young man on the ground and then at something he held in his hand. It looked like a necklace made of dark beads. Then Kyle noticed the small silver cross dangling from it.

The man seemed to make his decision then. Looking up, he said, “This man has a serious concussion, probably a subdural hematoma. We have to get him to a hospital soon, or he’s going to die. If you help me get him back, I promise I’ll tell you everything.”

Kyle looked to the sheriff. “What do you think?”

“If this was a setup, they would have already captured or killed us.”

“Right,” Kyle said, somewhat unnerved by that thought. “So now what?”

The sheriff pulled out the walkie-talkie.

“Uh, I’m afraid that won’t work,” the man said.

Everyone looked at him. “Part of the equipment we left back at Pentagon Cabin included a radio frequency jammer. That’s why I couldn’t call for help. I tried to turn it off, but I didn’t have the passcode.”

The sheriff keyed the radio. As expected, there was nothing but static. He turned up the volume, adjusted the squelch, and tried again, but he still received no answer.

The sheriff put the radio away. “Do you know the range of the jamming equipment?”

“About five miles, I think—”

The sheriff looked up at the near-black skies overhead. The concern was clearly etched on his face. “The storm will have reached the ranger station by now. It will be upon us soon. They will not be able to air-lift him out.”

The sheriff seemed to make a decision. As he began to shrug out of his gear, he said, “Take off your packs. We must lighten our load. We are going to have to carry him out.”

They all did as requested, and the sheriff began quickly sorting through the supplies, dumping everything that was not absolutely necessary and redistributing most of the remaining items between Carrie and the stranger.

“You’re not leaving any of the weapons or ammo behind, are you?” the man asked, his voice wavering as shivers racked his body. Kyle found it odd that the suit he was wearing wasn’t keeping him warm enough.

The sheriff looked at him suspiciously. “Why?”

“Because … they might still be out there.”

“Who might?” Kyle asked, concerned that the man might be in shock. “I thought you said everyone was dead?”

“They are—at least I think they are—but I can’t be sure about the dragons.”

“Dragons?” Kyle asked.

“The creatures, the chimera—that’s what they’re called: Mandarin Dragons. I don’t know exactly how the name came about. The project was underway for years before I was brought on board. I think maybe it had something to do with Vietnam—”

“No, no, that’s not what I meant,” Kyle said even as the man continued to ramble on. “You said
dragons,
as in plural. You mean there’s more than one?”

“Yes, that’s how they managed to overrun the recovery team. We didn’t know it at the time, but—”

“And they’re still out there?” Kyle interrupted.

“Like I said, I can’t be sure how many there were or if any of them survived, but it’s possible. In fact, quite probable considering that none of the team returned. We really ought to hurry before it gets any darker.”