Emergence (51 page)

“I’m sorry, Your Lordship,” the creature said, stepping forward into the light.

Dornasian studied it. Tall, maybe eight feet at the shoulder, and bipedal; that was where any human resemblance ended. Jonah appeared to be stripped raw. Bands of muscle normally sheathed in flesh and skin were bare for the world to see. He, for Dornasian assumed the creature was male even without visible genitalia, had all the appearance of a flayed giant. Eyes of pure black gazed out of a face formed from nightmares. Dornasian had no idea what type of mutation Jonah was. No-one had ever survived a meeting with his kind to tell of it, so Jonah’s type had never been written of in any cultural myths. He was one of a thousand unique chimerics Dornasian had managed to bind to his will.

“Tell me what happened, Jonah, my warrior. Tell me,” said Dornasian.

“My liege, we had sought a sacrifice to the skin, as I must on occasion. Jordan was holding the ceremony for me, when some two-bit security guard stumbled upon him. He interfered, and had to pay the price.” Jonah shuffled from foot to foot, a disconcerting move for one so intimidating to look upon. “Jordan tried to take him and they fought. It was then that The White and his men arrived. By that point, the guard had somehow taken down my man. We were about to take him ourselves.” Jonah paused, looking away, avoiding Dornasian’s gaze.

Dornasian gestured for him to continue.

“My liege, we sent the girls to the security guard’s home, but the Order arrived…”

“White’s merry band of reprobates saved him?” asked Dornasian. “How long did the girls have to take out this
mere
security guard?”

Jonah looked down. “Five minutes, my liege.”

Dornasian raised his eyebrows. No-one could survive five minutes with the girls. They were a death sentence waiting to happen. This guard must be something special, hence the interest shown by the Order.

“Tell me, Jonah,” Dornasian said, leaning forward and whispering low enough for none but Jonah to hear. “Did this guard then go with the Order?”

“Yes, my liege. The house has since been torched and all trace of the girls removed.”

Dornasian stared. The guard had been co-opted by the Order. Perhaps to replace the men taken down by his wyvern.

Time will tell if this will make any difference. Plans must be made, but never laid in concrete. Fluid is the key. It’s time to move this forward and take out White and his pathetic Order. Time to stop playing games.

SIX

Half an hour after leaving the warehouse, I was strapped into an uncomfortable flight seat in a helicopter headed out to sea. The trip was as choppy and noisy as I remembered from my days in the service.

The MH-60R Seahawk was still fairly new. They’d been brought into active naval service in the early 2000s, and had proven their worth many times over. The one the team was currently traveling in was likely doing around 100 mph, nowhere near top speed but still fast enough.

I looked around the cabin, first appraising Torres and Jameson. The others were all strapped in and strapped up with weapons, as well. I’d been introduced to them after loading into the Seahawk. The woman opposite my seat, Marissa Gullan, looked tough enough to chew lead and spit bullets. The Asian, Ken Kato, was a smart-ass, which made him likable enough.

The cowboy, Wild Bill, was strange. He didn’t say a damn word. Not one. He just stared and grinned and chewed on a toothpick. I didn’t know if he was dumb or just an asshole. My money was on Option B. He carried a HK rifle, but no TAC .45 for him. On each hip he wore, in a low-slung, thigh-tied, honest-to-god Wild West holster, a Remington revolver. They looked like .44s, likely a pair of New Army, or even Remington-Beals. I hadn’t seen one of those in a long time, let alone a matched pair, pearl grips and all. I only knew what they were because I’m a gun nut.

Remington-Beals are beautiful weapons. Accurate and powerful, a gunslinger could shoot the eye from a rabbit at fifty yards. They’d been sighted in at seventy-five by some eagle eyes.

“Are those the real deal,” I asked, “or replicas?”

He looked at me, chewed on that damn toothpick. After a few seconds he winked, then turned away.

“Don’t mind him,” said Marissa. “He don’t talk much.”

“I sorta get that,” I said, settling further back in my seat. “His momma take him off the teat too early or something?” That got no reaction from either of them. Well, I’d given it my best shot.

“He’s got the real deal at home,” Marissa said, “but the mission pistols are modern replicas, with the drop-in cylinders for proper bullets, not those black powder monstrosities.” She winked at me. “He fought the boss for permission to bring the antiques, but no go. Too iffy as to when they'll blow up in his hands.”

I laughed, and Bill looked at us.

“Ain’t gonna blow up, ‘Riss,” he said. “Ain’t goan to do shit ‘cept kill some PwPs.”

“Well,” I said, “Seems you can talk after all.”

“Yah, I can talk, boy.” He looked at me, his smile disappearing. “Just got to d’cide if you’s worth talkin’ at or not.”

“Well, fuck you very much for your vote of confidence,” I said.

“No worries,” Bill said. He pulled his hat down over his eyes and leaned back.

“Bill,” said Marissa. “You ain’t got time to take a nap. We have to go over the mission before we reach the target.”

“I’m listenin’, ‘Riss,” he said. “Just don’t see the point of lookin’ if all’s I got to do is hear what ya got to say.”

“Fine,” said Marissa. “Let’s go over it.”

Everyone seemed to pay attention, except Bill, of course. I thought I’d better follow suit and act interested.

“You’ve all met Leon. He’s unaware of anything to do with the chimerics except for the Department of Chimeric Defense.” She looked at me and smiled. “We call the DCD’s P.O.N.E. division the Goon Squad. They prance around with their little black suits and their assault rifles and maybe a little super hearing or some shit, with no fucking idea we’ve been doing the same shit a lot longer.”

“Stupid fuckers couldn’t find their own asses with a torch on a stick,” said Ken.

“Agreed,” said Marissa. “Lucky for them we’ve got their asses covered.”

“Hoo-ah,” said Jameson, fist-pumping. The others laughed.

“Can I get on with this or what?” asked Marissa. Everyone quieted down. “Now, you all saw the images from Martinez. We have no idea what is going on there, but it’s our job to find out. We set down on the southern tip of the island, about three miles from the scene. We make our way over there, quiet as six mice, and we check out the hot-zone. We find any chimerics, we ask them what’s gone down. If they help, we take them into custody. If they don’t, we take them down. Hard.”

“I don’t get it,” I said. “I thought most chimerics were on record and all that. What the hell is really going on?”

“Who knows,” said Marissa. “That sort of shit is above our pay grade anyway. We just bag `em and tag `em.”

“Uh huh,” I said. “Been there, done that before.”

“We know,” said Marissa. “We managed to find out a lot about you in a very short time. Ex- Australian Special Forces. Honorable discharge after twelve years as a shooter.” She looked at me, they
all
looked at me. Even Bill lifted his hat a little. “Now, you’re plugging away as a rent-a-cop at some shitty mall. What happened?”

“Got sick and tired of it all,” I said, not denying any of it. “Wanted some stability, some rationality. Guess that’s gone.”

“A’yup,” said Bill, covering his eyes once more. “Sure has, boy.”

“Enough of the history,” I said. “What’s the go with the island? And while we’re at it, what’s the go with this Martinez?”

“David Martinez is one of us. He’s who you’re replacing for this mission,” said Kato.

I turned to look at him. “Replacing?”

“Yeah. He was my bud; now, he’s missing. He was down looking at a lead. We found the chimeric from the raid on that warehouse. The one we watched on the video. That was a week ago. We tracked him to the island. Davey went down to see what he could find out. We lost contact two days later, and here we are.”

“It’s a privately-owned resort off the coast of Costa Rica. Top of the line,” said Marissa. “Until now, all that’s happened there have been some executive retreats. You know, where some big-return salesmen get together and tell each other how great they are for a week. Wankers. Now this. We have no Intel except for the images from Martinez’s camera-phone. We don’t know who the dead are. We don’t know what happened to them. Not a damn thing.”

“So, what’s the plan?” I asked.

“We’s goin’ there,” drawled Bill, “and shootin’ the shit outta things that need to have the shit shot out of `em.”

Some of the others muttered “amen.” No-one seemed to disagree.

“You all know the plan,” said Marissa. “Get some rest, if you can. Do a ‘Bill’ and try to sleep. God knows what’ll happen once we hit the place.”

Bill grunted something and settled back even further. The rest of us tried to do the same.

Three hours later, we arrived.

Soon after that, I wished we hadn’t.

SEVEN

“I thought only humans could be chimerics,” I said, swatting another bug that was trying to eat me alive. “Damn mosquitoes are enormous.”

“Man up, Stoner,” said Ken.

Easy for him to say. The bugs seemed to be avoiding him and swarming me. I’ve always been a bug magnet,
goddamn it
.

We pushed our way past vines and between mangrove trees, the muddy, dirty water up to our waists, making it hard to move silently. Everything was a million shades of green and brown. Mostly green.

The six of us moved as quiet as we could through the mud and the trees and the hanging vines, watching for snakes and crocs and other shit-stain animals that could and would kill us if given a chance. I wished for a few dinky little canoes, something to take us out of the water.

Wish in one hand, shit in the other, and see which one fills up first, I guess.

The place smelled horrendous. That bracing mixture of saltwater and rotting vegetation one only finds in tidal swamps around the equator.

Dumb and Dumber were up front with Torres leading and Jameson right behind him, then Ken, me, and Marissa. Bill was behind, holding his pistols above his head to keep them out of the slop. Sunlight filtered through the trees. The canopy wasn’t that dense. Not like the rainforests further inland. I could see them ahead, higher, greener.

We were in a shallow run of water when I heard a
splash
behind us. I swung around, but there was nothing. A large, smooth mark on the mud about forty feet away was a worry, though. I’d seen those before, in tropical wetlands, and knew a croc slide when I saw one. The water near it was still swirling. Something large had just gone under. I whirled around, opening my mouth to issue a warning, when I felt whatever it was pass by under the water, nudging my leg out from under me.

As I stumbled on the slick bottom, a dark shape, easily the size of a giant tree-trunk, exploded from the surface and slammed into Ken. He yelled, but it was cut off when he was dragged under the surface. Around the same time, I managed to find my footing and raise my rifle. I could see a broad, scaled back, at least two-foot wide, but the shape seemed wrong for a croc. It disappeared as I opened fire. Everyone scattered and started shooting.

“Stop. Stop!” yelled Marissa, eyes bulging and rifle falling silent. “Where is it? Back up! Keep your eyes open.”

The water bubbled, then bulged upward and cascaded from a dark lump. A reptilian head emerged, certainly not a crocodile. It was shaped like a human, apart from the mouth that stretched from ear to ear, filled with teeth. The skin was scaled and olive-green, with black blotches across the lower jaw. Dark eyes sat further to the sides than any normal man, with a ridge of darker scales sitting over bone between and under each eye, almost like glasses. Shreds of black cloth hung from its jaws. Ken. Poor bastard.

Water exploded behind the monster and Ken was suddenly there with what looked like a sword in each hand. No. Each hand
was
a sword, from the wrist up. The thing reared away in surprise as he slashed at it, one blade flaring blood into the air as a reptilian finger tumbled away. A scaled fist slammed into Ken’s chest, sending him flying back to slam into a tangle of roots. He slumped down, maybe unconscious, his hands normal again.

The thing continued to rise, five feet, seven feet, until it finally stood all the way up, at least eight-foot tall. Humanoid, but reptilian. It wore a loose-fitting tee-shirt and dark jeans, which made it look even more bizarre. I stared, dumbfounded.

“Well, howdy,” it said, smiling wider than I thought possible. “Fancy meeting ya’ll here.”

I opened fire, emptying my magazine, stitching rounds from its hips to its chest, blood spurting where I hit. I heard more assault rifle fire, and two massive explosions that could only be Wild Bill using those hand cannons.

The reptile dove backward, avoiding a lot of the bullets, but before it hit the water and disappeared I saw its shoulder explode as one of Bill’s shots hit. The water settled again, and we all moved as one toward the nearest muddy land, about thirty feet away. We scrambled through the visible mangrove roots and dragged ourselves out of the water. Nothing. No sign of the reptilian chimeric.

“Hey, guys, a hand would be nice.”

It sounded like Ken was still fine. We started toward the voice, and as we got closer we could see him tangled in the mangrove roots. I watched as one hand stretched out into a four-foot-long blade. He slashed at the mess of vine-like things that held him and managed to stand up.

“Play nice, kiddies,” the reptile’s voice echoed from a distance away, taunting. “I’ll be watching.”

We ignored it, moving slowly but not as quietly now; we knew we weren’t sneaking up on anyone. Whoever was waiting at the end of the march was now aware we were coming.

We reached drier ground, the swamp disappearing. The way was just as hard, with all the bracken and shrubs that grew where the dirt was more solid. Vines hung down from the canopy. Insects buzzed all around. Ahead, a clearing formed. From it, a narrow path led into the drooping rainforest that spread out toward the center of the island.