Herculean (Cerberus Group Book 1) (13 page)

He hastened after his guide, doing his best to avoid contact with the plant, but as they went along, the encroachment became more pronounced, with vines scaling every tree and covering every inch of open ground. The trail was completely overgrown, and the only hint of its existence was a faint depression where someone—presumably the WHO team—had crushed the plant down during their earlier passage. But even that was vanishing as the stems rebounded from being trampled. The acidic smell in the air grew stronger, and every glancing contact with the leaves released more of the stinging vapor. It was not quite strong enough to be painful; it was more like the effect of cutting onions, but each step forward took them further from fresh air. Pierce was about to admit defeat and suggest they turn back when Cooper gave a cry of triumph.

“This the place, bossman!”

For a moment, Pierce thought his guide might be hallucinating. There was no sign of a village, no buildings, not even a clearing. Just an endless tangle of the weird vines, covering everything. Then something moved in the corner of his eye. Through a blur of tears, he saw an astronaut emerging from behind a tree.

“You shouldn’t be here.” The astronaut’s sharp tone was audible despite being muffled by the suit.

Pierce blinked, trying to bring the approaching figure into focus. Not an astronaut after all, he realized, but someone wearing a bio-safety suit.

A cursory glance showed that the over-garment was in bad shape, patched together with silver duct tape. Although designed for Bio-Safety Level Four conditions, this suit offered about as much protection as a raincoat. Instead of an internal air supply, the suit’s wearer was breathing through a HEPA filter that had been taped in place alongside the plastic face shield. Pierce knew that such suits were meant to be used once and then destroyed, but he also knew that the efforts to combat disease in West Africa were woefully underfunded. Personnel on the ground had to make do with whatever they had, which evidently included the reuse of disposable environment suits.

“Sorry,” he croaked. “I’m looking for Dr. Carter.”

The suited figure drew closer. Through the fog of breath vapor on the transparent faceplate, Pierce could see that the person within was dark-skinned and female. “I’m Dr. Carter,” she replied. “Who are you? What are you doing out here?”

“Looking for you. I need your help.”

He meant to say more, but the pervasive fumes were making it tough to speak.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Carter repeated. “It’s dangerous.”

Pierce managed to shake his head, but before he could plead his case, he heard Cooper ask, “Dangerous? Is this why you are out here? This strange plant?”

The woman frowned, but her gaze came back to Pierce. “Who are you? Why are you here?”

“My name is George Pierce, and I’m here to…well, to offer you a job.”

“I have a job. You should leave.”

She began to turn away, so Pierce blurted, “I’m friends with Jack Sigler.”

That stopped Carter in her tracks. She faced him and replied in a low, almost threatening voice. “I don’t want anything to do with Jack Sigler or any of his friends. Leave. Now.”

16

Archaia Nemea, Greece

“Is it just me?” Fiona said, staring through the windshield of Gallo’s aging but reliable Volkswagen Fox. She was looking at the free-standing Doric columns illuminated in the headlights. “Or do all these ruins look alike?”

Gallo glanced over at her. “Bite your tongue, girl.”

Fiona yawned. “Maybe it’s different in daylight.”

“This was your idea,” Gallo pointed out. “Perhaps a little enthusiasm is in order?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t know it would take so long to get here.”

There were no direct flights between Gibraltar and Athens. The closest thing to a direct route took them first north to London Heathrow, where they caught the connecting flight headed south again to Greece. Gibraltar remained a remote destination in spite of modern conveniences. It was already dark when she and Fiona disembarked at Athens International Airport, but after retrieving her car from the long term parking lot, they set out for their next destination.

Fiona’s plan, in a nutshell, was to retrace the journeys of Herakles, connecting the dots, so to speak. Many of the legendary Labors were associated with real locations. From ancient times, geographers had used the legend to inform their map of the world, and vice-versa, but since the stories could not always be taken literally, the accuracy of those known locations was also suspect. They knew, for example, that there had been a ferocious feline beast whose skin was impervious to all known weapons, but whether the events described in the story actually took place in the Peloponnesian village of Nemea was not something that had been definitively proven.

If they could find evidence that Alexander Diotrephes—the real Hercules—had been in those places, it would help narrow down the list of possibilities for places that were harder to pin down, such as the entrance to the Amazon city’s Underworld. It promised to be a long, tedious search, but it was definitely better than staying cooped up in the citadel, waiting for Pierce to return.

Finding proof was only part of Fiona’s plan. She was also looking for graffiti, specifically, examples of the Mother Tongue that might have been overlooked or dismissed by modern archaeologists. If they could find even one inscription, like the one carved on the wall of the Labyrinth, it would help prove that Alexander had indeed been in some of those places. Additionally, such a discovery would advance Fiona’s ongoing quest to decipher that ancient and powerful language.

Although Gibraltar was associated with Hercules’s Tenth Labor—retrieving a herd of cattle from the three-bodied giant, Geryon—it seemed prudent to begin at the beginning, in Greece, where the first six Labors had allegedly been undertaken.

The town of Archaia Nemea looked about as deserted as the ruins of the Temple of Zeus that were its main attraction. The local archaeological museum that housed artifacts recovered from the ongoing excavation was closed for the night, as was every other establishment in the tiny village.

“Dead after dark,” Fiona observed. “Reminds me of the town where I grew up. Except for the ruins, of course. Should we come back in the morning?”

“Probably,” Gallo admitted. “But we’re here, so we might as well have a look.”

Armed with only a pair of flashlights retrieved from the trunk of Gallo’s car, the two headed into the site, where by day, archaeologists were excavating the temple and re-erecting the limestone columns, restoring a small portion of the sanctuary’s former glory.

As she swept the columns with her light, Gallo explained the site’s history. “This temple was built in the fourth century BC, but it was built over an earlier shrine that dates back at least to the sixth century BC. After he killed the Lion, Herakles came here and offered a sacrifice to Zeus before returning to King Eurystheus with proof of his victory.”

“That’s the legend,” Fiona replied. “What do you suppose he was really doing?”

Gallo had no answer to that, nor was there anything noteworthy in the excavation. After twenty minutes of looking around, inspecting the columns for inscriptions and finding none, Gallo was ready to call it a night. “We’ll come back tomorrow and visit the museum. If we don’t find anything, we’ll head to Myloi and start looking into the Hydra legend.”

“Sounds good to me.” Fiona tried, unsuccessfully, to stifle another yawn. “I feel like I’ve been up forever. Oh, wait. I have.”

Gallo checked the GPS map on her phone, plotting the most direct route to the nearby city of Argos, where she had made hotel reservations earlier in the day. Although it was only a few miles away, in typical Greek fashion, getting there would require them to follow a circuitous route through the Peloponnesian hills, in this case, backtracking almost halfway to Corinth before turning southwest toward their destination, but navigating to the highway would be the trickiest part. She drove with one eye on the phone and one on the road.

Beside her, Fiona made a humming noise. Gallo glanced over and saw that she was looking back through the rear window. “What?”

“That car. It wasn’t there a second ago.”

Gallo felt a twinge of worry, but shouted it down. Fiona was just being paranoid. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”

Nevertheless, she pressed down on the accelerator a little harder. A moment later, she reached the intersection with the highway, but on a whim she decided to ignore the guidance from her phone and turned in the opposite direction.

A few seconds later, a pair of headlights appeared in the rearview mirror. “Is that the same car?”

“Yep.” Fiona’s voice grew more anxious.

Gallo took the next right turn, dipping back into the maze of old Nemea, trusting her GPS to lead her back to the highway again. If the trailing car stayed behind them, there would be no doubt.

“He’s following us,” Fiona confirmed.

A cold numbness flooded into Gallo’s extremities, fear and adrenaline, but there was another emotion in the mix. Guilt.

Pierce had warned her, made provisions for her safety and Fiona’s, but she had ignored him. She had chalked his caution up to jealousy and over-protectiveness. And now both of them were in danger.

She made another turn without slowing. The Fox’s tires squealed. Gallo fought the steering wheel to maintain control.

She could just make out the silhouette of Doric columns against the moonlit sky. The Temple of Zeus. They had come full circle. At least now she knew where to go without consulting the GPS.

Their pursuer made the turn a moment later, his headlight beams filling her mirrors.

“Okay,” she said, trying to put forth a tone of calm determination. “They’re just tailing us. Maybe they’re hoping we’ll lead them to something.”

“Except now they know we know,” Fiona said.

“Damn.”
I’ve made a mess of things
, Gallo thought.
One bad decision after another. So how do I keep from making this worse?

The answer was practically staring her in the face. Her phone.

She handed the device to Fiona. “Call the police.”

The European emergency services number was 1-1-2. Did Fiona know that?

“Uh, you’re getting a call.”

Wonderful. What else could go wrong?
“From whom?”

“Unknown number. Should I answer it?”

Gallo felt the chill return.
Kenner. Who else could it be?

She steered onto the highway, left this time, but suddenly she had no idea where to go. Part of her wanted to take her chances on the road, drive like hell and try to elude the pursuer. If she had been alone, she might have tried it, but she was not alone. She had to think of Fiona’s safety. She had to come up with a better solution.

Without letting off the gas pedal, she nodded. “Answer it.”

17

Liberia

Cooper regarded Pierce with a grave expression. “We ought to go, bossman. Dark soon.”

Pierce ignored him and headed after Carter, who was already striding away. “Five minutes, Dr. Carter.”

“I can’t guarantee your safety out here for five minutes, Mr. Pierce.”

“It’s Dr. Pierce, actually.”

That stopped her. “You’re a doctor?”

“Archaeologist. Not an MD,” he added. “But if you’ll give me five minutes, I’ll explain.”

He could see that she was intrigued but not enough to get her to lower her defenses. “Well, Dr. Pierce, I’ve no idea what the consequences of long term exposure to this plant might be, so I strongly suggest that you head back now, take a long shower…with some bicarbonate of soda if you can find it. I’ll be back in the office later this week. You can call for an appointment.”

Pierce was sorely tempted to follow that advice, but he had come too far to turn back. He decided to try a different tack. “Are you staying here tonight? Do you have a camp?”

“There’s no room at the inn, if that’s what you’re asking. Your man is right. It will be dark soon. If you hurry, you might be able to make it back to the road.”

“But you are staying here? In the middle of all this…” He waved a hand around. “Whatever this is.”

Carter stared back, hands on hips. “Let me show you something that might help you understand the urgency of this situation.” She gestured for him to follow, but went only about twenty yards before stopping at a veritable wall of the greenery. She carefully pulled some of the vines aside to reveal a dark opening, like a cave entrance. Pierce balked until she unclipped a flashlight from her belt and shone it inside. That was when he realized that it was not a cave, but a house.

The structure was just a one-room, cinder block shack, but the plants had intruded here as well, with vines snaking through the doorway and window openings, and even through cracks in the mortar. The ceiling was crowned with an eruption of green where the vines had crawled through the gap between the wall and the corrugated sheet-metal roof. For the most part, the floor was clear of growth, but there were a few clusters where the plants had grown like crazy. Carter directed her light to the nearest of these and Pierce could see bits of color—synthetic fabrics, something that might have been the sole of a shoe.

A shoe?

“Was that…a person?”

“The entire village was consumed by this plant,” Carter said.

“That’s…” He was going to say impossible, but he knew better.

Carter took something from a belt pouch and passed it over to him. It was a slim booklet bound in red leatherette, which Pierce recognized as a European Union passport. Many of the pages within had partially dissolved, but the laminated photograph of the document’s owner was still intact, along with a name.

“Nils Van Der Hausen.”

“There was a health worker with that name here during the worst part of the outbreak, but as far as I know, he returned home. It’s not unusual for foreigners to visit these isolated areas. Missionaries and relief workers.” She paused a beat. “We found that on the trail coming in, along with some other items. Synthetic materials only. Just like this. The plant consumes anything organic. But what we can’t figure out is why the victims just let it happen. My hypothesis is that the plant releases a narcotic or some toxic substance that subdues or kills its victims. Then it converts their remains into organic nutrients.”

“A carnivorous plant,” Pierce said. “Like the Venus Flytrap.”

“That’s right. Only instead of catching flies in its leaves, this plant wraps its prey in vines and secretes a digestive enzyme.” She sighed. “It’s not native. No one here has seen anything like it before.”

“How large is the affected area?”

Carter shook her head. “We’re still mapping it, but the epicenter appears to be here, in this village. It wasn’t here a week ago. Whatever it is, it happened fast.”

Something clicked. “This is why you’re out here. The plant. It’s not an Ebola outbreak at all.”

Carter frowned. Evidently Pierce had missed the point of the demonstration. “We were expecting a new outbreak. This is what we found. It’s dangerous. Now, do you really want to stay for another five minutes?”

No
, Pierce thought. But he wasn’t ready to give up. “I can help you figure this out. I have resources. Money. I can get you anything you need to fight this.”

Carter sighed. “Dr. Pierce, I don’t know why you think you need my help so badly, but your offer of assistance would have been a lot more meaningful a year ago.”

Cooper tugged at Pierce’s elbow. “We should go.”

“I know about what happened in Ethiopia,” Pierce blurted. “That’s why I want your help. And I might be able to help you with…your problem.”

Even as he said it, Pierce felt a flush of shame. Not only was it a low blow, but he had no way to keep that promise.

Carter regarded him coldly for a moment, anger, curiosity and a strange sort of hope fighting for primacy behind her eyes. “I’ll walk you to the edge of the infestation,” she said in a taut voice. “That’s how long you have to convince me.”

Pierce breathed a sigh of relief and stepped away from the overgrown shack. As before, the vines tried to hold him fast, clinging to his shoes like Velcro. Carter took the lead, setting a quick pace, which Pierce was eager to match. Now that he had her attention, Pierce was faced with the question of how to win her over. He decided to lead with the truth.

As they trekked along the now almost indistinguishable path, Pierce laid it all out. The history of the Herculean Society and its mission, the role of Alexander Diotrephes, the connection to Jack Sigler and his team. He spoke in a low voice, trying to exclude Cooper from the discussion. When his narrative broached the subject of a mad geneticist who had experimented on both Pierce and one of Sigler’s teammates, Carter cut him off.

“I know about that maniac. Get to the point.”

Pierce was grateful to be spared the trip down that particular detour on Memory Lane, though he was a bit surprised by her statement. He vaguely recalled that Carter had once been employed by a subsidiary of Richard Ridley’s Manifold Genetics, but the venom in her statement hinted at a much more personal connection, of which Pierce was unaware.

“Ridley is gone, but there are other people who want the same thing he wanted. To exploit the unique genetic properties of ancient chimera species for selfish and potentially dangerous ends. The short version is that I need someone who can make sense of the science on this. I need a consultant, and you are uniquely qualified. You’ve already got a background in…” He gave a helpless shrug. “Weird science.

“I’m not asking you to give up your work here,” he added. “In fact, the Society can supplement you. Funding. Equipment. Personnel. You name it.”

“In return for what?”

“You come with me. Help me figure out exactly what it is that I’m dealing with.”

Carter stopped and looked back at the dark vine-shrouded forest behind them. “I’ve got a crisis of my own here, Dr. Pierce.”

“Surely your team can spare you for a few days. I can have reinforcements here by tomorrow.”

Pierce thought he had finally worn down her defenses, but after a few seconds she shook her head. “It’s not that simple,” she said, regret audible in her voice. “I need to get back to camp before dark.”

Pierce made no further arguments. She was right, for practical reasons, if no other. Although there was still a hint of daylight in the sky, the air was cooling with the onset of evening, and Pierce knew that he and Cooper would be hard-pressed to get out of the infested zone before dusk. His GPS would show the way, but it wouldn’t protect them against nocturnal predators. But he felt compelled to end the meeting on a positive note.

“I’ll make sure that you get some help out here,” he said. “No strings. And I’ll find out what I can about this Van Der Hausen. Maybe he’s involved in this somehow.”

“Thank you,” Carter said. “Good luck, Dr. Pierce.” She started to turn away, but then abruptly pitched over sideways, sprawling on the ground.

Pierce reached out to help, but discovered that he was rooted in place. Literally. A fresh growth of vine shoots had lashed around his feet, wrapping several inches up his ankles. Though none of the shoots were thicker than a thread, they combined to form a fibrous net that was too strong to rip through. Pierce stared in disbelief as more tendrils uncoiled from the ground cover, shooting out like Silly String. As if guided by some intelligence, the vines sought living flesh.

His
living flesh.

He could feel the tickle of leaves and stems under his pants leg, entwining with the weave of his socks.

What the—?

Cooper called out, held fast by the sudden explosion of growth. In a matter of seconds, the vines had crawled up to the man’s knees. He started tearing at the tendrils, and succeeded in ripping up handfuls of vegetation, but a moment later, his cries of alarm became an unrestrained howl of agony. Pierce felt a fresh sting in his eyes and nostrils as more fumes were released into the air, but that was nothing compared to what was happening to Cooper. Despite the darkness, Pierce could see smoke rising from the other man’s fingers, as the acid in the vines began to burn through his flesh.

Reacting more from instinct than rationale, Pierce hacked at the ground around his feet. The machete easily sliced through the stems, sinking into the damp loamy soil underneath, but every chop threw out droplets of acid, and a moment later, Pierce was engulfed in a choking miasma. He felt warm spots blooming on the exposed skin of his hands, arms and face, and even on areas that were covered by his clothes.

But his attack was not in vain. He broke free of the vines and charged over to where Carter was struggling to rise from beneath what looked like a blanket of vine tendrils. Careful to avoid striking her, he stabbed the machete into the ground and began sawing through the stems, cutting an outline around her.

The prickling on his skin grew quickly from a warm glow to an uncomfortable heat, and then to an intensity that made him want to drop the machete and tear his skin off with his bare hands. He gritted his teeth against the pain and kept cutting. With a heave, Carter got her feet under her and pulled free of the vines. Screaming, she fell into his arms. In the dim light, he could see something moving beneath the fabric of her bio-safety suit; the vines had found a way inside.

He tried to reach Cooper, but a new wave of shoots erupted from the ground, snagging his feet. He sliced at the vines but when he tried to draw back for another blow, he discovered that his arm had also been caught, and where the vines touched him, his skin felt like it was on fire. He tried to pull free, but more tendrils snaked out, enveloping him and Carter. The pain soared to a climax, and then Pierce’s overloaded nervous system simply shut down, and he felt only numbness.

In some distant corner of his mind, Pierce wondered how much agony and fear it would take to trigger Carter’s kill-switch response, and if he would still be alive when that threshold was finally crossed.