The Chimera Sequence (5 page)

A low groan interrupted Cole’s thoughts. He looked up and caught Musamba’s questioning glance.

“Innocence, everything okay over there?” He couldn’t see the park ranger anymore and realized that the sound of his steady movements through the undergrowth had stopped a few moments earlier.

“Oh, no.” Innocence’s voice was thick with tortured agony. “Come and you will see.”

Both veterinarians jumped up and pushed through the thick vegetation, following the voice as it changed from human moans to low gorilla grunting. After about thirty yards, Cole saw the park ranger’s thin frame hunched down over another black form. Bonny lay on the ground beside him, chin resting across one paw. Her job was done.

The stench here was overpowering, and a quick scan of the area revealed at least eight other dead gorillas huddled in makeshift death nests.

“Shit,” Musamba muttered.

Cole felt like an awkward outsider who, while walking with a new friend, has just come upon the scene of a car accident in which this friend’s entire family has been killed. Although he had loved working with the mountain gorillas over the last few months, he knew that he didn’t yet share in the unique bond the other two men had with these majestic creatures. They
knew
these animals like family. They had dedicated their entire lives to protecting them.

He and Musamba cleared the remaining distance and crouched down beside the park ranger.
What’s with the grunting
? Then he saw it, the slightest stirring of hair on the body just in front of them.

Another movement revealed a tiny black hand reaching out from under the dead female gorilla’s prone form. Five perfect fingers slowly extended and then folded back into a clenched fist, holding tightly to their mother’s coarse black hair.

The lone survivor,” Cole murmured.

“And it’s only an infant,” Musamba added. “Not who we might expect as the last one standing here.”

Innocence reached toward the baby gorilla’s tiny arm, but the Congolese veterinarian caught his wrist just in time.

“At least get some gloves on, my friend. You’ve already had one close call today.”

The park ranger withdrew his hand, nodding slowly.

“You are right.” His voice quavered with conviction. “But I am not leaving this one behind.”

Cole watched the two men closely. The park rangers and gorilla trackers spent hours every day following and observing their subjects. They naturally grew close to these adopted families and developed a sense of relationship and responsibility that far exceeded even the strongest connections he had observed between pet owners and their dogs and cats. Did this personal attachment go beyond the boundaries of what would normally be considered appropriate for true scientific endeavors? Maybe. But it was hard to imagine how the emotional involvement could be avoided, given the time invested by these men and the uncanny humanity of their subjects.

“Probably we will take it, yes. But be careful with yourself.” Dr. Musamba’s voice had a hint of emotion in it as well. “You do not want to be the next victim of whatever has killed all these old friends.”

Cole moved around to the other side of the dead female and lifted her stiffened torso up just enough for the two men to gently pull the infant out from underneath her. Innocence held the five-pound gorilla cupped in his huge hands, while Musamba worked to free its tiny fingers from the dead mother’s hair. The baby’s body was limp and unmoving in their hands, and it had not uttered even the smallest sound of protest. Yet somehow its little hands maintained an incredible grip, only releasing their hold when the veterinarian pried each black finger open individually and replaced them onto Innocence’s waiting hand.

Cole was struck by the eerie resemblance of these two sets of hands, the fragile wildness of the newborn mountain gorilla gripping for protection on the man who had spent his life providing just that.

“He’s not in very good shape, that’s for certain,” Musamba said.

“Looks like his mom must have died overnight.” Cole gently lowered the body back down to the ground. “The rigor mortis has already kicked in, but she’s not beginning to putrefy yet. Just a little bloated in the abdomen, I think.”

Innocence cradled the infant up against his chest with one hand and pulled the edges of his rain jacket over the frail body with the other. It was a cool sixty degrees high on the slopes of Mount Mikeno, and Cole knew the baby’s temperature had probably already dropped dangerously low without its mother’s body heat and constant nourishment to sustain it.

“Doesn’t look like he’s completely missed the bullet on this disease, though.” Cole looked closely at the baby gorilla’s wrinkled face. “Do you see this little rash around his lips?”

All three radios crackled with static at the same time, and Proper’s deliberate voice came through. “You must come back here
now
. The rebels are moving in our direction.”

“Good copy,” Cole replied. Why was Proper doing the talking now, though? He was normally the strong silent type. “Everyone okay?”

“Marna is preparing the helicopter—be ready to jump in and fly.”

“Gotcha.” It was like Proper had read his mind. “We’re headed your way with all the speed we’ve got.”

It was true—the three men were already jogging back to where they had left their bags near Rugendo’s massive body.

“Say goodbye to your papa, little one,” Innocence whispered. He had slung the M16 across his back before freeing the infant minutes earlier, but now Cole lifted it over his head.

“There’s no way you can run very well with this banging against you,” he said, already turning away down the path. The heavy steel felt like it belonged there in his hands, an extension of his own body that had been absent for far too long. Strange thing was, he’d never thought to miss it until that very moment. He was loving every day of this break from the military, and he definitely hadn’t planned on getting back into the saddle so quickly.

“Yes, but are you comfortable with that thing?” Musamba looked skeptical.

“I think I’ll manage. Now let’s move!”

Had it really been two years since he turned in his own weapons and hopped on that C-17 out of Bagram? Two years, and yet the memories—and the nightmares—were as fresh as the day he left. Cole wondered again if he should have been more open about his career path with these guys. Might have come in handy for a time like this. But no, he was usually quite content to be the young American researcher simply tagging along for the ride.

They crashed through the understory now, spurred on by spitting bursts of automatic weapon fire coming from the direction of the helicopter. The quiet purposefulness of their outbound journey was long gone, replaced by an uneasy realization that this little foray might not turn out well at all. There was no predicting the behavior of these desperate men who were temporarily making the park their home.

Bonny led the way now, apparently needing no guidance from Innocence to track their own scent trail back to the helicopter. Cole followed right behind her, moving at a quick jog while grasping the rifle in one hand and holding onto his bouncing backpack with the other. It was coming back to him fast, this feeling of being totally present in the moment, every bit of mental agility and physical strength focused on the task at hand. Each low-hanging branch and fallen log was an obstacle to be subconsciously analyzed and instinctively overcome before moving on to the next one.

He glanced over his shoulder to make sure the others were still right behind him. Musamba wasn’t quite as graceful on his feet, but he still ran surprisingly well for a man of his age.

“Go, go faster, Doctor,” shouted Innocence, right at Musamba’s heels. He was still holding the infant gorilla up against his chest, protecting him with his body from the twisting vines that seemed to reach out against their progress every few feet.

Cole heard a sharp yell behind him and turned to see the Congolese veterinarian fly through the air and then hit the soft forest floor with a thud. Innocence managed to leap to the side of the path just in time, narrowly avoiding a nasty fall that could have been fatal for his tiny charge. The tranquilizer gun and supply bag had gone airborne as well, but Musamba was already on his feet and gathering them up before Cole arrived to help.

“You okay?” he asked, doing a quick sweep for any obvious injuries.

“Yes, let’s go.”

He took off again in the direction of the helicopter. The forest was quiet except for the sound of their own pounding feet and the sporadic gunfire.
Guess the birds are smarter than us
. They gave their warning calls and made an escape, rather than continuing straight into the danger zone. Unfortunately for a bunch of earthbound humans, the mechanical bird waiting ahead was the only way out. Two quick bursts of fire were accompanied by the ripping sound of speeding metal passing through dense foliage, then heavy thuds as the stray rounds slammed into a waiting tree trunk.

They were getting close.

An image flashed through Cole’s head. Dark skin and trembling pink muscle, bright arterial blood coating his face in a pulsing spray of death. It was two years since that freak wandering bullet found its home in the soft flesh of his veterinary technician Ben’s thick neck. Replace the cool wetness of this mountain rainforest with the withering summer heat of the Korengal Valley, and that urgent evac was really not so different from this one. Speed and chaos and a hidden enemy—the memory raged on, in all its gruesome glory.

The sound of an engine sputtering to life jarred him out of the flashback and was followed by the intense thwacking of rotors, moving faster and faster with each powerful slice through the air.

“There it is,” he shouted over his shoulder. Bright sunlight from the clearing ahead beamed into the trees to meet them. The blast of air from the rotor wash caught his hair as he dropped to one knee beside the panting bloodhound and shouldered his rifle. Seconds later, the other two men were behind him.

“Are we clear to move to you?” Cole asked over the radio.

He could see Marna sitting in the cockpit looking out toward them. She held her Beretta M9 in one hand and motioned them forward with the other. He knew she had cross-trained as an armed park ranger back in South Africa, but this was the first time he had actually seen her pull a weapon out.

She carried it well.

“Yeah, we’ve got you covered best we can.” The slightly higher pitch of Marna’s voice was the only indication that she was sitting exposed right in the middle of a firefight. Brave girl. “Proper’s returning fire on the other side of the bird.”

Cole looked back over his shoulder.

“You gentlemen first, with Bonny too. Fastest you’ve ever run in your life.”

They jumped into the clearing and took off sprinting across the remaining thirty yards. A burst of automatic fire erupted from the trees on the other side of the clearing, but it was too late. Within seconds, both men were scrambling safely behind the dog into the open hatch of the helicopter.

Cole raised his eyes to the vivid blue sky for a moment.
First, do no harm
. That phrase from his veterinary oath had taken on a new meaning the first time he found another human being in his sights and squeezed the trigger. But sometimes, he now knew well, the innocent needed an avenger. He moved the selector switch on the rifle from safe all the way over to burst and fired off an extended spray of 45-millimeter rounds.

“Cover me!” he shouted.

Marna watched as Cole rose up from the kneeling position and took off running toward her in one fluid motion. She was firing blindly out the other side of the cockpit—probably not the wisest decision—but couldn’t take her eyes off him. He played American football in college, she knew that, but she’d never really seen him in action before. There was something else about the way he moved, though—more than just the athleticism—that she couldn’t put a finger on.

The sound of the weapons now reached a fevered pitch, coming from the surrounding forest in an unceasing wave.
There’s no way he’s going to make it
.

And then Cole went flying through the air, hitting the ground facedown with a crash.

“No!” she screamed, rising up from her seat in panic.

But he was moving again, rolling to the side and then back on his elbows in a prone position, rifle at his shoulder, firing across the clearing. Another smooth jump to his feet, and he covered the remaining ten yards with a burst of speed, launching himself in a soaring leap through the open hatch.

At that moment, Marna pulled back on the collective lever. The helicopter leapt off the ground, shooting up above the forest—as if it had been waiting for just that moment all morning long—and rapidly ascending into the open sky above.

They were safe.

Anna flashed her ID badge along with an especially winning smile as she ran up to the employee access gate.

“Rough morning?” the Secret Service agent asked, grinning quizzically as he gave her handbag a quick look and waved her in.

“No—well, yes—but it wasn’t my fault! I swear I was waiting on the Red Line at Union Station for twenty minutes.” Anna tucked a strand of wavy hair behind an ear and took off at a quick walk up the curved drive. “I should have just biked!”

“Well hey, take care of yourself today,” the agent called after her.

“Thanks,” she answered, before spinning around to face him again. “I almost forgot! Can you give this to Tyson for me?” She dug into her briefcase, pulled out a small waxed paper bag stamped Metro Mutts in large block letters, and tossed it into the surprised agent’s hands.

“Not while he’s working, but he’ll thank you later.” He laughed. “Now get out of here before you get me in trouble!”

Anna turned and continued up to the entrance, a faint smile on her lips. This agent was younger than most of them, and cuter, too. They all looked so tough and official with their black uniforms and big guns, but his face revealed a touch of humanity she hadn’t found in the severe looks of the other agents. Best of all, though, was that he worked side by side with an even more handsome Belgian Malinois. Tyson wasn’t supposed to interact with people on the job, at least not in a friendly way, but his handler had let Anna sneak a couple of head scratches the previous week, and she was in love.