Hekura Read online

  "I don't." Both agreed.

  "But they could have signed a non-disclosure agreement," Henri offered.

  "Those only keep people from going public with information, and sometimes not even that. You find me 50 researchers who have managed to keep a common secret from friends and coworkers after signing a non-disclosure agreement, and I’ll show you 50 liars."

  "Well, then where did they go?" Jeremy asked.

  Olivia's jaw hung open as a revelation struck her. "You don't think that those creatures—" She flashed back to the family photographs she'd found. No.

  "The natives did say they were the white man’s hekura." Jeremy mumbled.

  "What if the researchers never left?" Austin said, staring at the cartridges on the table. "Bloody hell. The hekura are human."

  A man’s terrified shriek echoed along the corridor leading to the complex's entrance, distracting them from their discovery.

  "Christian," Olivia said, running toward the sound.

  TWENTY-SIX

  Raking his fingers through his curls of blonde hair, matted by the humidity, Christian fought another bout of furious tears as he grabbed his bag and headed for the door.

  She didn’t want him. He was too young, she’d said. That was a lie. It wasn’t his age; she had eyes for Austin because he was fearless and tough.

  He could be that.

  He’d kill one of these mystery creatures, something even Austin couldn’t do, and upon his triumphant return, look Olivia straight in the eye with contempt. She’d regret spurning his advances.

  Cradling Jeremy's Cobray, Christian unlocked and pushed open the door to the outside. She’d regret…

  Warm, fresh night air washed over him as he stepped into the moonlit landscape. His heart leapt to his throat as two enormous soldiers, dressed in black and armed to the teeth, turned to face him. He hadn’t expected to find anything, or anyone, out here.

  The familiar cry of the hekura penetrated his fragile courage as one of the men suddenly sprang backward, dragged by his vest into the brush. Christian screamed, frozen in place as he watched the man disappear. The remaining soldier ran after his comrade firing his weapon, but his friend was gone. The beasts were gathering, their shrieking laughs forming a chilling chorus that shattered the still air.

  Cursing and rushing back toward Christian, the soldier grabbed him and shoved him inside, slipping in close behind like a gopher into a tunnel.

  "Son of a bitch, Alex. They got you, too." Clayton dropped a meaty fist against the steel door, and then slammed his open palm against it repeatedly. "Three tours in Iraq, and they got you now. Senske is gonna pay for this, setting us up to be slaughtered."

  Christian shuddered uncontrollably, wrapping his arms about his slender frame as he leaned against the wall of the passageway. Turning to face him, the soldier flipped his night vision goggle up and pulled the LED weapon light from his rifle, turning it on and illuminating the dark interior. "You alone here, kid? I'll be honest, you were about the last thing I expected to come through that door."

  "Likewise," Christian said softly, staring at the herculean mercenary.

  The echo of fast-approaching footsteps reached them just seconds before Austin, Olivia, Jeremy, and Henri came into view in a staggered line. Clayton felt a pinch in his chest when he saw the female researcher. Senske had been lying about their targets.

  "What the bloody hell was that scream about?"

  Christian, rendered catatonic, just gestured toward Clayton. Noticing his weapon in the young man’s hands, Jeremy tugged it away, flipped the selector switch to SAFE, and cast him a disapproving glare.

  "My name’s Clayton. I’m what’s left of the rescue team that came to find you," the mercenary lied, raising his hands passively.

  "Well that's just great," Jeremy exclaimed. "So our message got out after all, and this is what it got us."

  "I'm afraid so. My whole team—the very best in the business—just got shredded by a band of some kind of alien-looking monkey things."

  "That’s why we needed you to come get us," Austin said. "The natives call them hekura, and they’re bleeding nasty critters to be sure."

  "Well whatever the hell you wanna call ‘em, I just watched those fucking things turn my men inside out and gnaw on what was left. I’ve seen some twisted, revolting shit in my days, but that…" The big man shook his head.

  "Professional soldiers don’t freak out, and I am freaking the fuck out right now. It's like a goddamn horror movie out there."

  "Do you have a radio?" Henri asked impatiently.

  Clayton shook his head. "Only short range for team communication. Alex had the high frequency radio for communicating with the helicopter."

  "But the helicopter is waiting for us?"

  Clayton wiped the sweat from his head. "Not exactly. It went down."

  "Out there?"

  "Yeah. The fast ropes sorta got, well, tied up in the trees. Civilian pilots fucked up."

  "You seem unconvinced," Henri said, looking at the mercenary doubtfully.

  "Well by tied up, I mean actually tied. Neatly. I'm no mathematician, so you go ahead and figure out the odds—what are the chances of a rope accidentally tying itself around a tree?"

  "You don't suppose…" Olivia said, trailing off.

  "If those things are the researchers, I don't see why not," Jeremy said. "So suddenly, these things aren't just rabid carnivores, they're rabid carnivores with the IQ of doctoral candidates. This day just continues to get better and better."

  "Wait, researchers? You mean those things out there are—were—people?" Clayton asked.

  Silence.

  Austin touched an arm to Olivia’s shoulder, but she slipped out from under it and began walking back toward the cafeteria.

  Henri cleared his throat, patted Christian’s back, and guided him down the hallway. "We’ll get you something to drink, and you’ll feel better."

  Waiting until the rest were out of earshot, Austin turned to Clayton and mumbled, "You didn’t come here to rescue us, did you mate? Judging by the looks of you, what with the body armor and such, I'm guessing you came here to kill us, didn’t you?"

  Weighing the odds of being able to lie his way out of the accusation, the big man smiled, his teeth white and straight. "It was that obvious, huh?"

  "Look at you, bro. I can practically smell death on you," Jeremy said, leaning a shoulder against the mold-covered wall.

  Clayton shuffled his feet and crossed his hulking arms. "Yeah. We were supposed to come here, clean things up, and get out quickly. My client failed to mention that it was a goddamn death trap out there."

  "Who's your client?" Jeremy asked.

  "Senske. For certain," Austin said before Clayton had a chance to respond.

  The big man nodded his head. "I guess you weren’t supposed to find this place, man. She seemed to think some company secret had been exposed. Anyway, it’s nothing personal. I had a job to do."

  "So what are we going to do with you?" Austin asked as Jeremy raised his Cobray to his hip, the short barrel pointed at the soldier’s chest.

  "Easy, boys. I’m not out for you anymore. There’s not enough money in the world to bring my men back or to keep me from exacting my payback on that bitch, Senske, for sending me here."

  "We need to know that we can count on you," Jeremy said, caressing the submachine gun's trigger. "And it would take one mighty act of God to get me to trust a mercenary sent to end me."

  Silence. The blend of adrenaline and testosterone emanating from the men was palpable.

  Clayton, careful to avoid moving his rifle in case Jeremy mistook it for aggression, said, "You see those animals out there? Fuck, we’ll be lucky to get out of here in one piece. Killing you fools is the furthest thing from my mind, now." Though adamant, there was no sign of fear in the mercenary's eyes. He'd had guns pointed at him before.

  Austin sized the man up, sighed resignedly, and said, "Welcome aboard our expedition to hell, Mr. Clayton. Don�
�t suppose you have a lighter I could borrow?"

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  The dull smacking of knuckles striking flesh caused Alvarez's protuberant lips to pull up at the corners in a half-grin. Resting in the shade of a lean-to constructed of a black tarpaulin pulled taught across a pair of mahogany trees, Alvarez spectated as two of his toughest men, bare-chested and bloodied, exchanged violent strikes, the rest of his cabal shouting encouragement to their preferred brawler. The winner would become his new second-in-command, a coveted position that would come with more pay, second pick of the women, and more control over their day-to-day operations. The loser…well, the loser wouldn't have to carry the shameful burden of his loss for long.

  The brawlers grappled and pitched toward where the drug lord sat scooping rice and bits of chorizo onto arepa flatbread before stuffing it into his cheek. One of the fighters, a lean, one-eyed thug with a blanket of tattoos covering his neck, right pectoral, and arm to the wrist, struggled to overcome his opponent. A larger man with none of his opponent's muscular build but double his mass, the second fighter relied on his heft to restrain his opponent. It was working. Displeased by this, as he'd already decided the ideal outcome of the fight, Alvarez grunted as the men continued rolling around at his feet—each struggling to gain the upper hand—and reached for a steak knife leaning against his plate. Flippantly tossing it a few feet from the fighters, he muttered, "Hacer esto más interesante." Make this more interesting.

  The heavier fighter hadn't seen him throw the knife and could only struggle to keep his opponent from scrambling away and digging at the dirt for the blade.

  The larger fighter turned to Alvarez to protest what he perceived to be a violation of the fight's rules. The drug lord's expression remained deadpan as the tattooed fighter leapt atop the man's back and, without hesitation or mercy, plunged the sharpened steel where the larger fighter's neck met his collarbone. As the man collapsed, choking on his own blood, the victor sawed at his defeated enemy's neck until the head came free. Grinning deviously at Alvarez as he held forth the trophy by its hair, the man tossed the head into the drug lord's lap.

  A challenge, or at least, a disrespectful show of arrogance.

  Allowing such a thing to go unpunished, especially after the man had displayed his superior fighting skills and mercilessness, would guarantee Alvarez's death at his hands, or at least the forced surrender of his control of the organization.

  Rolling the severed member off his pants, now sullied with fresh blood, Alvarez frowned and slid his revolver from its holster calmly. The lead slug sent from his gun blew the victorious fighter to the ground, the man's blood mixing with his fallen adversary's as he twisted in his final death throes.

  Holstering his gun, Alvarez casually took another bite of arepa. Looking to the silent crowd, he spat, "No hay engaño."

  No cheating.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  "We leave at sunrise," Austin said between puffs on his last cigarette. He pulled deep and savored each breath, fingers caressing the brown tipping paper like a child would a security blanket. "First thing. And we’ll need to make some serious headway—it's a two-day trip at the rate we moved before. We do that again and the hekura will butcher us as nightfall sets in. We just might be able to make the airstrip if we take no breaks."

  "You really think we can make it?" Henri asked. His doubt was obvious, and for good reason. It had taken them two days to arrive, and now, exhausted and hungry, they'd be expected to cut that time in half.

  "I'm with the old man," Jeremy said. "I don't see it happening."

  "You might not make it," Austin teased. "But for the rest of us…"

  "Case of beer says those washed-out gremlins get you first, hermano."

  "You're on," Austin said, automatically shifting the cigarette to the gap between his pointer and middle fingers as he tapped the table. "Joking aside, we have no choice but to leave. We stay here and we starve to death. No one’s coming for us. Senske would be all too happy to let us die out here."

  "What do you mean?" Olivia asked. "She sent Mr. Clayton…I'm sorry what was your first name?"

  Clayton cleared his throat and said under his breath, "Thaddeus." Raising a finger, he set his jaw, and with a menacing stared, added, "First motherfucker who calls me Thaddeus earns a swift beat down, all right?"

  Casting an uncomfortable glance at the mercenary, Austin mumbled, "Yeah, well, it's beginning to look as though Senske knew about the hekura, and had no intention of any of us getting out in one piece, including Mr. Clayton or his men."

  Telling the others of Clayton's original mission would only breed distrust and fear—two things they had plenty of already. What mattered was that they were all in the same boat now, and they’d need to rely on one another in order to get out alive.

  Olivia looked at him quizzically but stayed quiet.

  "I’d suggest getting some shut-eye before we go. We’ll need our strength."

  Henri and Olivia nodded and set out to find a comfortable place to sleep in the compound, discussing the possible ways in which the researchers could have undergone such a dramatic genetic mutation. Christian had already fallen into an exhausted slumber in the room's corner, his head resting on Austin's bag.

  "Gentlemen, what do we have for ordnance?" the pilot asked.

  "I’ve got my M1A with four full mags left, and my Beretta 92 with just what’s left in it," Clayton said, eyeing Austin's cigarette. "You wouldn't happen to have any more of those, would you?"

  Austin shook his head sadly.

  "You came to kill us without bringing extra ammo?" Jeremy asked.

  "Senske didn’t think you’d be equipped to put up much of a fight, and we sure as hell weren't anticipating fighting an army of superhuman, blood-thirsty ape-people," Clayton replied. He licked his lips as Austin exhaled another breath of smoke. "You mind if I take a hit?"

  The Brit shook his head as somberly as before.

  "She wasn’t wrong about us being ill-equipped for a fight," Austin said, slapping his revolver on the table. "I’ve got twenty rounds left for the old girl."

  The mercenary laughed. "You guys might be the craziest motherfuckers I’ve ever met. You go into the jungle with an antique revolver for protection and somehow manage to survive."

  "I’d rather be lucky than good," Austin replied, watching sadly as the nub of his smoke burned out.

  "Well some of us have a little better sense than my friend here." Jeremy said, dropping the heavy Cobray atop the table. "I’ve got two magazines left, including the one in it now."

  "That’s a little better, I guess," Clayton said, handling the weapon. "I’ve never been a fan, personally. She spits a whole lotta rounds, but it’s hard to control and inaccurate as fuck."

  "Says you. Maybe you should just let me handle it then, big man." Jeremy chided.

  "Be my guest."

  "All right, so needless to say, we’re not going to bat with much," Austin said, scooting his revolver back and forth on the table.

  "Well, one of my men was killed just outside this compound. His weapon might still be close by," Clayton said somberly, remembering the loss of his men.

  "What’d he have?"

  "An RPD light machine gun."

  Austin shook his head. "Nothing light about it. Something that heavy is just going to slow us down. Our best bet is to avoid a fight with these things altogether. We’ll keep what weapons we have—I don’t want us going out totally unarmed—but we should pare down any unnecessary weight before we leave."

  Nodding their heads in unison, the men stared blankly at the floor.

  Austin muttered, "All right. Let’s get a few hour's rest and be ready to leave in the morning."

  A sudden rattle—like that of a pop tab jangling inside an empty can—echoed from an air-return vent overhead. A thunderous bark and a squealing laugh followed.

  "They're inside," Clayton said, his eyes following the sound along the ceiling.

  Austin motioned toward the guns o
n the table, grabbing the Webley and sliding the loose ammo into his pocket.

  "Looks as though we're leaving early," he whispered.

  The growls and chattering of the hekura continued distantly. Kicking Christian's feet to wake him up, Jeremy knelt and covered the young man's mouth before he could cry out.

  "Time to go, kid."

  Rushing down the dark hallway, Austin called out for the two researchers in a hushed voice. Olivia sleepily peeked out of one of the doors.

  "What? What is it?"

  "The hekura. They've found a way inside. We need to leave."

  Wiping the sleep from her eyes, Olivia nodded resolutely. "I need to get the plant samples ready for travel."

  "Make it quick. We don’t have much time." Doing a double take, he looked at her and said, "Never mind—I'm coming with you." Austin followed her along the corridor as the others hustled past, moving deeper into the compound.

  "Hermano, where are you going?" Jeremy asked as he shoved Christian ahead of him.

  "We're getting the plants. Take Henri and the sprog and find us a way out of here."

  Stepping into the facility's laboratory, Olivia patted Austin's shoulder, requesting his backpack.

  "How many nicknames do you have for one another?" she asked.

  "I don't know what half of them mean, but lots." As Austin tore the straps from his shoulders, emptying the bag's contents on the floor, he said plainly, "So, you kissed me."

  Olivia looked away, embarrassed. "That was a mistake." She'd hoped they wouldn't have to talk about it, particularly when she'd only just awakened.

  "I'm sorry you feel that way. I rather liked it."

  "I don't know why I did it. With all that's happened, I guess I was just shaken up, and I made a rash choice." The researcher grabbed the pilot's spare shirt from his pile of things and ripped it lengthwise from neck to waist.