The Ark: A Novel (48 page)

None of the ancient weapons seemed better than the pistol, so she left them alone. The 3-D mapping system, as Locke had told her, was limited by the viewpoint of the RCV, so it hadn't been able to see around the urns and other objects in the room. With her free hand, she felt her way to the end of the room, and peeked around, hoping there would be some light to guide herself by.

The blackness was total, then a beacon lit. At least, it seemed like a beacon to her, but it was just Grant's helmet light. It was sliding on the floor out of a room 15 feet in front of her.

That's when she saw the figure of Svetlana Petrova close enough to touch. Petrova fired at the helmet and backed up at the same time, right into Dilara's gun hand. Dilara was so unprepared, the pistol was knocked from her grip. Her hands free, Dilara did the only thing she could think of. She tackled Petrova and wrestled her to the ground.

The impact sent Petrova's machine gun flying. Petrova elbowed Dilara, and Dilara responded with a punch of her own. But she could tell she wouldn't win a hand-to-hand fight with this woman, not without the element of surprise that she'd had on the Genesis Dawn. She needed Grant's help.

She twisted around and saw Grant rushing toward her in the helmet light. Then he abruptly changed his direction and bull rushed Dan Cutter, who was standing at the edge of the walkway, training a gun on her and Petrova. The two men disappeared over the side and crashed into the walkway below.

She looked back down at Petrova, whose face was a mask of fury in the dim light, and Dilara knew this was a fight to the death. Nobody was coming to save her. If she was going to live, she would have to finish the fight on her own.

Locke knew it was too much to hope for that the explosion had killed Garrett. The blast had either destroyed the flashlights or knocked them away because it was completely dark.

He pushed himself up, suppressing a cough so that he wouldn't give away his position. If Garrett wasn't dead, he was still armed, and Locke wasn't. His helmet had fallen off, and he felt around for it. His hand brushed against it. He put it on, relieved that the 3-D modeling system still worked. He could see the Ark, but the infrared sensor had been damaged. He wouldn't be able to see Garrett unless he turned on the helmet's light. And if he did that, Garrett would have the perfect target to shoot at.

He heard the click of a pistol magazine being ejected, then another inserted and the slide racking. Then the ratcheting of a machine gun bolt. Garrett was heavily armed.

"You idiot, Tyler!" Garrett yelled. "Do you realize what you've done? The entrance is gone! A thousand tons of rock is blocking it."

Garrett was hysterical. Good. That meant he didn't know about the exit door at the first cave.

Locke stood, and the gunshot wound in his leg announced its presence with a jab of pain. He put his hand on it, but he couldn't feel how bad it was. He tested the leg. He could walk, but with each step, it felt like an icepick stabbed his thigh.

"Are you satisfied, Tyler? You've doomed humanity! I wanted to preserve the human race. Don't you understand that? We're destroying ourselves. My plan was the only way. We had to start over. And now you've ruined that!"

Now Garrett was baiting him. He wanted Locke to respond so that he could empty his magazine in Locke's direction. Locke wasn't biting.

He heard Garrett call into his own radio. "Cutter! Svetlana! Come in!" Garrett repeated the names several times. Apparently, they weren't answering.

Locke tiptoed forward as gracefully as his leg would let him and almost fell when his foot hit something that wasn't on the 3-D image scan. He bent over and felt his pack. Locke ran his hands through it. The RC vehicle, the controller, and the laptop were all inside, but no weapons.

Gunshots rang out farther along the Ark, but he couldn't make out anything else. His hearing was still muffled because of his close proximity to the explosion. Locke looked in the direction of the shots and thought he could make out a faint light. There was no way to tell if the light was from a friendly or hostile. Locke felt a pang of fear for Dilara and Grant, knowing they were being hunted by trained killers. He desperately needed to come up with a plan.

Locke couldn't fight it out with Garrett, not with a bum leg and no gun. His only chance was to find Grant and Dilara. He had to assume they were still alive because he couldn't bear to consider the alternative. Together they could escape the cave and seal Garrett, Cutter, and Petrova inside. But how?

Locke thought about his only asset, the RC vehicle, and sketched out a plan in his mind. Risky, but it might work. He picked up the pack and slung it over his shoulder.

Locke needed to buy himself some time and distance. There weren't any stones on the ground around him, so he took out the laptop, careful not to make a sound. He held it like a Frisbee and tossed it as far as he could toward the direction of the crevice.

The laptop smashed into wall. Garrett unloaded a burst of machine gun fire at it.

Locke took that cue to limp in the opposite direction toward the exit door. The explosive clatter of the gun masked his movement. He used the clusters of urns lined against the cave wall for cover.

Garrett aimed his flashlight in the direction of the laptop impact and ran toward the wall. The light beam darted around searching for Locke's body, then settled on the remains of the shattered computer.

"I'm going to find you, Tyler!" The light began a search pattern down the cave, pausing to check in each room as it went.

Locke moved faster, trying to stay ahead of the sweeping beam. He had to get to the exit before he was discovered.

But to make his plan work, Locke needed Dilara and Grant with him. He wasn't going to leave without them. He couldn't yell out, so he had to hope Grant still had his own infrared scanner working.

Locke raised his arm over his head as he walked and started signaling to Grant in the darkness.

* * *

Grant couldn't let go of Cutter, not if he wanted to win this battle.

Cutter was the best shot Grant had ever seen and could throw a knife with precision. But Grant was his equal in hand-to-hand combat, and even though Cutter was a big man, Grant had the size advantage.

During their tumble onto the second level walkway, Grant had landed on Cutter. They had rolled over, and for a moment Grant lost his grip. Cutter turned his flashlight on and tossed it aside, out of Grant's range, but close enough so that they could see each other in the dim light.

During the motion, Grant was able to get his arm around Cutter's chest, but he couldn't maneuver himself for a headlock. The position reminded him of his wrestling days, but he wasn't play-acting this time, and he wasn't going to follow any rules. He was going to play dirty, and so was Cutter.

Grant punched Cutter in the left kidney, and Cutter responded by stomping on his foot. Pain shot up his leg, and he fell backwards. Cutter flipped over Grant and sprang to his feet. In the distance, Grant heard gunfire, and he hoped it was Tyler taking Garrett out.

Cutter reached for his pistol. Grant lunged at Cutter and got to him before Cutter could raise the pistol to fire. The gun flew into the air, and the impact took them to the ground. Grant was behind him again, still without a good hold, and when they rolled to a stop, he spoke into Cutter's ear.

"I'd knee you in the groin, Cutter, but I know it wouldn't do any good. One advantage of missing your Johnson."

Grant knew the mention of the war wound, one which he blamed on Grant, would make Cutter lose control, and it did. He roared with rage and twisted free.

Cutter whipped a knife from behind his back. Grant reached for his own, but found the sheath empty.

"This is your knife, asshole!" Cutter yelled with triumph. "I always was the better soldier."

He slashed at Grant, who leaped back toward the walkway edge. With every sweep of the knife, Cutter punctuated it with a growled word.

"You...are...dead."

If Grant jumped to the first level and ran, Cutter would simply find his gun and hunt Grant down. He had to finish this now.

"Come on!" he shouted. He purposely left himself unguarded on the left side.

The knife sliced forward, plunging into Grant's shoulder. The pain was exquisite, but it was what he wanted Cutter to do.

Using a variation of his signature pro wrestling move, the Detonator, Grant twirled around and wrapped his arm around Cutter's neck. Making sure he had a firm grip on Cutter, Grant tossed himself off the side of the walkway.

They fell as one, but with the years of experience coming back in an instant, Grant rotated his body. When they landed, Grant's right shoulder smashed into the ground. The force of the impact amplified the strength in his arm and crushed Cutter's windpipe and spine.

Grant pulled his arm out from under Cutter, then removed the knife embedded in his left shoulder. He felt some blood spill out, but it didn't come in a torrent. No arteries had been hit.

He heard Cutter's wheezing in the darkness and knew the man had only seconds to live.

"Feel the burn, asshole," Grant said.

A hiss escaped Cutter's throat, and then he was silent.

Grant stood, cradling his left arm, picked up the flashlight, and staggered to the nearest ramp to see if he could get to Dilara in time.

* * *

Petrova threw Dilara off her, and Dilara sprang to her feet, not sure what to do next. The defensive techniques she would have learned had been enough to hold off a mugger, but this woman seemed like a trained fighter.

Petrova clicked her flashlight and focused it right in Dilara's face, blinding her. Dilara moved backwards into the weapons room and grabbed one of the swords piled on the floor. She thrust it at the flashlight, knocking it aside still lit.

With a nimble move, Petrova somersaulted to grab a sword for herself. She stood and waved it back and forth gracefully, assuming a practiced stance.

"So swords are your choice," she said. "Fine. It's one of my favorites."

Dilara had never used a sword before, so this fight would be over quick if she didn't think of something else. Petrova raced at her, swinging the sword down. Reflexively, Dilara raised hers above her head to block the blow. Petrova's sword glanced off to the side, but Dilara's grip wasn't in the right place, and her sword went flying, knocking over the urn with the purple symbol, scattering arrows on the floor.

"I should have stayed and poisoned you at LAX when I had the chance," Petrova said.

Poison! That's why Dilara recognized the symbol on the urn. It wasn't a praying figure. It was a flower, the blossom of the monkshood plant. The arrows must have been dipped in a poison extracted from the monkshood flower, and the urn was marked to make the lethal arrows distinctive.

Dilara grabbed a handful of the arrows and began flinging them at Petrova, who was able to knock them aside. While Petrova was recovering from the fusillade, Dilara took the last arrow and charged. She stabbed the point into Petrova's leg before Petrova was able to react. Petrova slashed with her sword, slicing a gash into Dilara's arm and sending her reeling against the wall.

With a smile, Petrova pulled out the arrow. "Is that all you can do? You, my dear, are obviously an amateur."

Dilara pulled a spear from the wall and held it in front of her. She made a few thrusts but Petrova neatly sidestepped them.

"Pathetic," Petrova said and swung her sword at the spear.

Dilara was able to hold on to the spear, but the sword was quickly cutting it to pieces. When the spear was down to three feet long, Petrova swung her leg in a roundhouse kick, connecting with Dilara's torso. She dropped to the floor, gasping for breath, and her helmet rolled away.

Petrova swaggered over and put a knee on Dilara's chest. She raised the sword, pointing at Dilara's neck for a killing blow, but she froze. Her hand moved jerkily to her throat, and the sword started quivering. Petrova's hand went limp, and the sword fell. Dilara wrenched her head to the side. The sword landed so close to her neck, she felt it nick her skin. It clanged to the floor.

With a violent spasm, Petrova tipped over. She lay on the floor, twitching. Her mouth moved, but no words came out.

Dilara rose and put her hand to her neck. She pulled it away to find some blood on her palm, but not much.

Footsteps pounded behind her, and Dilara plucked the sword off the floor. She turned to see Grant coming towards her. In the dimness, she could see liquid shining on his left arm. Blood.

"My God!" she said. "Are you all right?"

"I was about to ask you the same thing." He looked at Petrova wracked with tremors on the floor. "What happened to her?"

"Poisoned-tipped arrow. Remember the monkshood plant outside? Amazingly potent. Even after 6000 years, it's still one of the deadliest poisons known to man. No antidote."

She looked dispassionately at Petrova, whose eyes shined with the fear of death. "Now you know what Sam Watson went through."

As if in response, Petrova's body arched up. She crashed back to the floor and went limp.

"Cutter?" Dilara asked.

"He arrived in Hell a few minutes before this one." Grant grabbed Dilara's helmet and put it on. "Come on. This isn't over. Garrett is still out there."

"And Tyler, too," she said, but she realized her tone wasn't as sure as she wanted it to be.

"Let's hope," Grant said.

Grant found Dilara's pistol and retrieved his own helmet, which had been blasted by Petrova. The light still worked, but the 3-D mapping computer and infrared sensor were shot to pieces, so he turned off the helmet light and put it on Dilara's head. No reason to walk around like a bright target. Grant turned off the handheld flashlight, guiding himself and Dilara to the edge of the third floor walkway. He switched on the infrared sensor of Dilara's helmet, which he now wore. Their position gave him an expansive view of the Ark.

Immediately, he saw two figures on the cavern floor. One had a flashlight and was moving it back and forth, searching for the other man, who was 60 feet ahead of the flashlight, almost directly below Grant. He had his arm raised above him and walked with a limp.