The Sentinel (29 page)

The Queen.

Like the others, she’s got two black spots for eyes, each the size of a pencil eraser. Her mouth opens wide, revealing nail-like teeth. Clear mucus oozes from her jaws as they snap open and closed, ready to chew their way into my body. I’m not sure, but I think the mucus that covers everything, including the Queen’s body, will keep me from bleeding out or dying from the injuries she’ll deliver by burrowing through my insides.

“Kona.” The deep voice startles me.

Was that Torstein?

Muninn cranes her head around toward her father’s undead body. She seems as surprised as I am to hear him speak.

“Kona,” he says again, and then turns and looks at Muninn, or is he seeing Áshildr now? “Datter.”

His head lowers, white eyes on the axe in his hands. He shakes his head as though gripped by shame.

A shudder runs up Muninn’s back, ruffling the feather cloak with a hiss. “Far?” Muninn says, but the voice isn’t Jenny’s. It’s that of a sixteen year old girl, afraid and confused.

“Forlate, Datter,” Torstein says. His voice is scratchy and dry, but carries an ancient heartache that nearly brings a sob from my mouth.

A second shudder runs up Muninn’s back and her seething anger returns. She hisses at Torstein, no doubt trying to regain control of his mind. But something in the man’s posture has changed. He looks tired, but resolved. Muninn gasps when the axe rises up above her. As the mighty weapon drops down like the blade of a guillotine, Muninn shrieks. I hear the girl, and Jenny, and a thousand little inhuman squeals.

The blade passes through Muninn’s body and clangs when it strikes stone. Feathers part as the cloak splits down the middle. One half of Muninn’s body falls atop the skeleton. Then the other. Small white parasites flee into the stones, but I don’t think they’ll survive long without a host.

Then I see her.

The Queen.

Her segmented worm-like body is about a foot and a half long, like a white kielbasa with rubber bands squeezing it every inch or so. It wriggles into the stones.

“Oh no you don’t,” I say. I tuck the handgun into my waist and reach into the stones with my good hand. I feel her squishy slick body and squeeze. The Queen twists and writhes like a worm about to be hooked. I grip the thing just below its head and tighten my grip.

This creature is clearly a form of sentient life. Whether from Earth or someplace beyond, I don’t know. It would be the greatest scientific discovery of all time. Its ability to keep people alive might cure a thousand different ailments and save millions of lives.

Or it might kill every last person on the planet.

With a quick squeeze, I burst the fucking thing’s head and throw it to the ground.

With Muninn and the Queen both dead, I remember Torstein. The big Viking stands motionless, staring down at what remains of his daughter’s body, and the skeleton beneath. The mighty axe rests at his feet. His fighting days are over.

I skirt around him and kneel beside Willem. He’s alive, but his shoulder is still dislocated. I gently adjust the arm, pulling it out straight to line up the joint, and then I shove with all my strength.

Willem hollers in pain as he comes to. It sounds like the pain is sharp, but with the joint back in place, it seems to fade fast. He spins around, looking for danger. His last memory was of dangling in Torstein’s grip. He sees the Viking standing next to us and pushes away.

“It’s okay,” I say. “It’s over.” I move to the side and let him see Muninn’s body.

Willem looks from the two halves of the body to the axe. “Did he?”

“Some part of him remembers,” I say. “Family is important to you Olavson’s.”

Understanding flashes on his face. “Áshildr the witch. Her last name was recorded as daughter of Torstein.” He looks at the skeleton.

“Also an Olavson,” I say. “The body is wrapped in red fabric. The raven crest is at the center. I think he recognized the body. So did Áshildr.” Torstein’s words come back to me. “Kona.”

“What?” Willem looks surprised by the word.

“Kona,” I repeat. “He said it when he saw the body. He called Áshildr datter. And before he…you know. He said, ‘Forlate, Datter.’ Do you know what it means.”

“Wife,” he says. “She was his wife.”

“You said the skeleton was a man,” I say.

“I’m a history professor, not a CSI,” he says, rubbing his shoulder.

“Torstein’s sentinel told of six men in his party. We met them all. Why didn’t he mention his wife?”

“Honestly?” he says. “Because she was a woman. Just the way things were back then.” He looks up at the Viking. “Seems pretty clear that his feelings for her were powerful, though. And Forlate Datter. Forlate means ‘forgive.’ Datter is—”

“Daughter,” I say, understanding. “He was asking her for forgiveness. Not for what he was about to do, but for what he didn’t do six hundred years ago.”

“Willem,” Jakob groans as he sits up. He seems totally disinterested in how things have resolved when he says, “How much time?”

Willem’s eyes go wide. “I don’t know.”

I think they’re talking about the boat and say, “I think they’ll wait.”

Willem stands, but winces when he does. He pulls Jakob up onto his one good foot. The attempt to put Jakob over his shoulder is pitiful. His wounds are too severe.

“My wrist is broken,” I say, holding up my left hand. “But I can take him on my right side if you can get him on the left.”

Willem and Jakob both agree to the arrangement and then we’re moving. We’re almost jogging when I say, “We need to slow down. I can’t—”

“Here!” Willem shouts, then directs us to a large boulder. We set Jakob down behind the stone. Willem looks back to Torstein. We’re at least a hundred yards away, but the man still looks huge. He stands like a statue, his horns rising high into the air, his braided hair and beard caught up by the wind. He’s a legend, in the flesh—zombie, vampire, Viking.

And then, he’s nothing.

A fire ball rips him to pieces and rises up into the air.

Willem grabs me and yanks me behind the stone as the boom and shockwave hits us. The impact is powerful, but nothing compared to what we experienced in the gorge.

“What just happened?” I ask, searching my mind for some memory of an explosive being planted. Then I remember it. Willem. “You had C4 in your hand,” I say. “When you punched him?”

Willem nods slow and sure and when he does, I see a little bit of Torstein, Son of Olav in him. As much as I should fear the name, I realize that despite nearly killing all of us, Torstein is a hero. He cleansed Greenland of the plague and probably saved the rest of the world from exposure. His only mistake was loving his family. And in the end it was that same love that gave him the strength to set things right, once and for all. I see that same strength in Willem and think the Olavson family line is worth preserving. With that in mind, I kiss Willem on the lips.

Jakob clears his throat. “Listen,” he says. “Our ride approaches.”

The high pitched buzz and rhythmic
whump
of a boat engine tearing over ocean waves reaches my ears and brings a smile to my face.
It’s time to get the hell off this island
.

43

I get that feeling again, like I’m a kid fleeing the basement. But it doesn’t make sense. We’re home free, making good time along the coast and our ride is no doubt waiting for us at the south beach. I no longer hear the sound of the engine, so they’ve definitely stopped.

So what has my subconscious all riled up?

The raven is dead, as is the Queen.

Torstein is dust in the wind, literally.

All of his original six man party is accounted for: the blacksmith, the apprentice, the dog-master, bingo arms, the short fry and Torstein himself. All five dogs are dead, too.

We pass the familiar spot where we found Jenny’s body.

Jenny’s now missing body
.

But it wasn’t here when we came back for the C4, I realize. How I missed that then is beyond me. But it could have easily been the polar bear, or the raven, or Torstein who took the body. Eagon’s body disappeared, too. Maybe Draugar have a waste not, want not personality?

The beach is just ahead. I can hear the waves breaking. When we reach the five foot drop to the beach, Willem goes down first. His shoulder feels better now and he’s able to help Jakob down. I sit on my ass and push myself over the edge, landing on my feet.

I should be running over the sand, looking for our ride, getting aid for Jakob. But I take my post under his shoulder and the three of us start for the water. We’re just fifteen feet from where the outcrop of island stone ends and we’ll get a clear view of the beach, and our salvation.

But before we get there, my thoughts turn toward that feeling again. It’s probably paranoia, but I can’t stop it.

Peach
, I think. I don’t remember seeing Peach’s body. “What happened to Peach?” I ask.

“We threw her over the wall,” Jakob says with a wince as his bad foot hits the sand. We’re having trouble keeping him lifted up on the loose ground. “She was outside the ruins before you two returned. Why?”

“Nothing…” It’s a lie, and he knows it, and doesn’t like it. But not even Jakob’s disapproving eyes can distract me.

Eyes
, I think, remembering Jackson’s eyes. How the parasites moved inside his head and stared out at me.
I’ll never sleep without Ambien
, I think. But Jackson died right before McAfee—

“Oh shit,” I say. “McAfee!”

“What?” Willem says, stopping just a few steps from the main beach.

“McAfee is still running loose. We never killed him.” I look at Jakob. “Did you?”

He shakes his head slowly, offering a solemn, “No.”

“Stop!” The voice is different, and new, and very human. But it sounds angry, and maybe afraid.

I slide out from under Jakob’s arm and leave father and son behind as I charge out onto the beach.

I should be surprised by what I see. I should be terrified, and fall back before running away. But I don’t.

Instead, I charge toward the bloated form of McAfee as he lopes to the red Greenland Coast Guard Zodiac and three terrified looking crewman. One of them has a 9mm pistol aimed at McAfee’s chest.

“Stop, or I’ll shoot!” The words are spoken with a thick accent, but would have as little effect in any language. When McAfee is just a few feet from the raft, and reaching out for the crewman, three shots ring out. When McAfee isn’t fazed by the bullets, the man empties his clip. But it does no good. You can’t kill the undead by shooting them in the heart.

“You have to aim for the head!” I shout, drawing the .45 Glock. The man, and McAfee both turn toward me.

“It’s okay,” McAfee says, sounding like he’s got a mouth full of steak. “We’re friends.”

Ignoring everything my father taught me about how to shoot, I charge forward, take aim and just ten feet from McAfee, I pull the trigger.

A divot with a hole in the center appears on McAfee’s already ruined forehead. An explosion of brain, blood and white parasites blossoms from the back of his head. He falls back, hitting the sand with a wet thud. The last of the Draugar is dead, and none of them deserved it more than McAfee, who was more of a monster in life than he was undead.

The crewman points his 9mm at me. Eyes wide and face pale, he says, “Who are you?”

“Jane Harper,” I say. “You’re expecting us.”

Willem and Jakob hobble up behind me.

The crewman points his gun at them. “Who are they!”

“You know you’re out of ammo, right?” I say.

The man looks at the gun and then lowers it.

Jakob extends his hand. “Captain Jakob Olavson of the
Bliksem
.”

Relief floods the man’s face. He points to McAfee. “What the hell was that?”

“Long story,” I say. “Help us on board.”

As the three man crew help Jakob on board. The crewman says, “I thought there were four?”

I feel sad for a moment, thinking about Chase and the way he died. But I still feel proud of him. He overcame a lot and became a better man. I’ll remember him differently than I would a few days ago. “He died,” I say. “Well.”

And the strangest thing about this moment isn’t that I said, “He died well,” like I’m some sort of Klingon. It’s that the five Greenlander sailors listening to me nod like that’s good enough for them.

Then we’re all on the boat, launched and zipping over the waves. The air feels much colder as we cruise over the ocean, but my tension and fear are already slipping away. We survived. We made it.

Fifteen minutes later, we climb off the Zodiac and onto the deck of a bright white Coast Guard cutter. It looks a lot like the Coast Guard ships in the U.S. except that it has a green stripe instead of a red one. We’re given dry blankets and cups of hot cocoa.

The Captain greets us with a wave and offers his hand to Jakob. Before either man can introduce himself there’s a dull thud beneath our feet. The Captain only looks mildly concerned. “Iceberg?” he asks a crewman as he looks over the side rail.

There is no doubt that this vessel is an ice breaker, and I’m maybe a little desensitized to fearing for my life, so the issue barely registers. That is, until the crewman flinches away from the rail and shouts, “Captain!”

As we all rush toward the rail, the crewman points to the ocean below and shouts, “They’re killing each other!”

You’d think that nothing would surprise me now, but this… This is horrible. The sea is red with blood. Sleek black bodies slide up and out of the water, moving fast. I count at least twenty dorsal fins. The orcas. But they’re not alone. Scores of large walruses are in the water with them, and they’re not running away. As the orcas swim in to attack, the walruses fight back, thrusting their tusks into the whales’ skin. An orca breeches, its body writhing. The thirty foot mammal strikes the side of the cutter, shaking the vessel.

The Captain storms away, shouting orders in Greenlandic.

The battle continues as we get underway. And that’s when I notice it. The whales aren’t attacking the walruses, the walruses are attacking the whales.