FIFTY-EIGHT

WHEN KING OPENED his eyes again, he was no longer staring up at the giant mountain crystals through the atrium-style ceiling of the fish pool room. The firm surface of the top stair no longer supported him.

Instead, he lay on a bed. A handmade mattress covered the surface. Its leaf-stuffed cushion crunched beneath him as he shifted his weight. Not exactly a Sealy Posturepedic, but certainly more comfortable than the stone floor. Looking to the side he found a small window—the room’s only source of light, through which the now-dull crystal light glowed. The sun must be setting, he thought, and then what? Pitch dark?

A chill swept over King’s body, not from thoughts of the dark or what might linger in it, but from his body. He looked down and found himself nearly naked, covered only by a large dry leaf, like the classic Adam.

He looked around for a clue of what was going on. As his eyes adjusted to the low light, the room around him began to take shape. There were crude shelves formed from freshly cut wood. A table. Several stools. A woodpile. An unused fire pit. A rope had been strung up across the room and on it, clothes hung. He couldn’t tell, but assumed they were his clothes, hung to dry after his dip in the ancient fishpond. Beyond the clothes, hidden in the shadows, he saw something else . . . someone else.

“It’s a bedroom.” Sara’s voice came from the dark corner.

“In the temple?” King asked. He wanted to be as far away from that hub of evil as he could get.

“In the city. Third gallery. Crowded little neighborhood . . . as weird as that sounds. Should take them forever to find us. How are you feeling?”

King smiled despite the fact that his body ached. “Exposed.”

“Sorry, there weren’t any blankets.”

“Why are you in the corner?” King asked.

“Didn’t want to freak you out.”

“Because I’m naked?”

“No . . .” Sara leaned forward, entering the stream of light coming in from the window. He could only see the top half of her torso. The rest of her sat in darkness. Her hands covered her small breasts, but her shoulders, collarbone, and smooth skin were stunning on their own. “Because I am.”

“Don’t worry. I’m used to sharing a locker room with a buxom blonde, remember? I’m good at controlling my libido.”

She smiled. “Well, I’m not.” She shifted, feeling awkward. “I mean, I’m not used to sharing a locker room. Not with a blonde. I didn’t mean controlling—”

King laughed and then winced as his chest ached. “Don’t worry. I knew what you meant.”

Sara sighed with relief, because she wasn’t sure what she’d meant.

King sat up, and made sure the leaf stayed put. Despite his locker room claims, he was starting to feel a bit underdressed. Queen might be a babe, but he’d never had feelings for her, not like he was beginning to feel for Sara. “How did you get away from Weston? That must have been—”

“Never mind that,” Sara said. “It’s what I took from him.”

King could see the excitement in her eyes. “You have the cure?”

“I am the cure.”

He stared at her for a moment. “I don’t understand.”

“It’s a virus, transferred through blood like an STD, but it cures Brugada. There are other symptoms associated with the virus, but I haven’t presented any yet. He got it from the old mothers when they . . . you know . . . and it was passed down to all their children.”

Sara looked confused by King’s angry expression. She then realized what she had implied. “Oh, he didn’t do anything. Don’t worry.” She took hold of her lower lip and bent it out, revealing her split lip. “I took it from him. Bit him.”

She’d done it. Sara the twitchy scientist had weathered the worst this jungle and history had to throw at her and did whatever it took to get the job done. Now they just needed to escape in one piece.

He realized that he could still drop dead from Brugada and Sara might not be able to bring him back a second time. “I don’t suppose you’d mind donating some blood over here. I’d really rather not need to get shocked again.”

“Already taken care of,” Sara said, motioning for him to check his lower lip.

King felt the inside of his mouth with his tongue. There was a fresh wound, already starting to heal thanks to the enzymes in his saliva.

“You were really out. I bit your lip, reopened mine, and planted a big bloody wet one on you.”

“Could’ve waited for me to wake up. Would’ve been more fun.”

“If you woke up at all,” she said.

“Right. Thanks.” King stood, holding the large leaf in place. He reached out and felt his boxers. Dry enough, he thought. He pulled them down, dropped the leaf, and began dressing.

Then it hit him, like a forgotten headache that returns with sudden movement. Sara’s watch. The red glow. As he dressed more quickly, he asked, “When did the meter change?”

Sara looked at her wrist. “When I was with Weston.”

“How long was I unconscious?”

“A few hours.”

King’s expression turned sour. A few hours at the onset of a pandemic could save thousands of lives. Maybe more.

But Sara already knew that. “I tried waking you up a few times, but . . .”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “But we need to get you out of here as quick as possible.”

“What about the rest of the team?” Sara asked.

King hated to say it, but there was no choice. They might already be too late. “They can fend for themselves.”

“That might be true,” a voice came from the entrance to the room, “but I think you could use some help.”

Sara stood quickly, holding Weston’s handgun. She pointed the gun toward the door. A shadow entered the room, parted the clothes, and stepped into the light.

Queen stood before them, wearing only her fatigues and boots, but covered, absolutely covered, in weapons. Multiple belts held knives and handguns of all kinds. To her back were strapped four AK-47s, an RPG, and a satchel full of ammo clips. She held a backpack in one hand and a radio in the other.

“How did you find us?” Sara asked, afraid that if Queen had found them so easily, perhaps others could as well.

“I saw you from above as I came down. Followed some wet footprints to start. Then searched house to house. Now help me out of this. It weighs a ton.”

They helped her remove the cache of weapons and lined them up on the bed. Queen handed King one of the belts from her waist. “This one’s for you.”

King noticed the knife handle and drew it. “My knife?”

Queen nodded.

“Thanks,” King said.

“Consider it a wedding gift,” Queen said with a smirk. “Besides, she’s part of the family now.” Queen’s smile disappeared. “And there’s an opening on the team.”

“Bishop,” King said.

Queen nodded. “Rook is captured. Knight is injured, but hiding somewhere. Pawn Two is dead.”

King closed his eyes. He knew about Bishop. But Rook and Knight being missing in action and Somi dead were news to him. Bad news. No single mission in his entire career had cost him so much. He fought back his growing despair and turned the energy from sadness to anger. Sadness clouded the mind, made soldiers slow. Anger sharpened like flint to a knife. “What happened to Rook?”

“I was with him. We came in together.” Queen shook her head. “He was taken by the original Neanderthal women. Shorter, but much more nasty. They’re the ones we encountered at Anh Dung. Rook was alive when they took him . . . but I’m not sure for how long.”

“Why did they take him?” Sara asked.

Queen picked Sara’s now-dry sports bra off the line. “Mind if I borrow this?”

“No . . . go ahead.”

Queen slipped into the bra, shoving her larger breasts into it, flattening them out. “A little tight.” Queen bounced up and down. Her chest didn’t budge. “But it will do.” She looked at King, her eyes suddenly cold. “They took Rook to replace Weston.”

King and Sara knew exactly what that meant. Weston, being the father of the Neanderthal women’s children, had given them a family again. Now they wanted to start a new family . . . with Rook.

“Oh, God,” Sara said.

“If we don’t find him now, we’ll come back for him,” King said. “But first we need to get Sara back to the States.”

Queen looked up. “Why?”

“I have the cure,” Sara said. “It’s in my blood. Have any open wounds?”

Queen put a finger on her forehead and pushed. The dry swollen skin cracked and bled. Sara squeezed her lip, cracking the skin once more. She walked to Queen and kissed her forehead gently, but lingered, allowing their blood to mingle, not just on the surface, but in the wound as well, allowing the cure to enter her bloodstream. When she pulled away, Sara’s lips were bright red as though coated in lipstick. She wiped the blood on King’s black pants. “There,” she said. “Now you have the cure, too.”

Queen nodded and picked up the radio she’d brought and clicked it on. A loud hiss filled the room, but it was garbled with static. “Let’s take off the kid gloves, get the hell out of this mountain, and call for a ride.”

A loud barrage of gunfire blasted down toward them—distant but amplified by the walled-in chamber. They rushed to the small window and peeked out. Far above, small figures, soldiers dressed in dark brown and black camouflaged uniforms, at least ten, moved along the staircase, blasting away at a few hybrids in pursuit. The hybrids, totally exposed, were cut down under the accurate barrage. The soldiers were good.

Elite.

A brilliant flash of lightning entered through the ring of mountain holes and was amplified by the giant crystals. Rain poured through the holes next, hissing as it struck the city, watered the subterranean plants, and formed small streams on Meru’s sloped stone streets. The wet stone smelled fresh and sweet.

King ground his teeth as another flash of light revealed the soldiers up above. They moved down the long stone staircase in a perfect retrograde maneuver. The man covering the rear ceased fire and ran to the front, while the new rear man took his position and opened fire. Then, he too ran to the front while the next man covered the rear. Always covered, always moving, always killing.

“Death Volunteers.”