The Atlantis World (The Origin Mystery, Book 3) (16 page)

Kate marveled at Milo. He had a well of energy she had never witnessed before. He had wrapped cloth around his hands where he gripped the machete. The blisters were the only thing slowing him down as he cut plant after plant and vines that Kate thought would never end.

Behind them, she heard rumbling in the jungle, the scattering of creatures from the trees and ground.

Paul, Mary, and Milo turned to look at her.

“Hide.”

Dorian could feel the life flowing out of him. The snake had wrapped itself around him from his neck to his knees, squeezing tighter every second.

He had enough for one move. He squirmed, rolled to his side, and bent forward, pushing, crunching, and then throwing himself back against the wall of the cave.

The snake held on, but the cord of muscle spasmed, relaxing for a fraction of a second—all Dorian needed. He drew the knife from his belt and stabbed down.

The snake’s mouth closed on his arm, the jaws crushing it. But the bite would be its undoing. Dorian took the knife in his other hand and stabbed again, plunging the sharp blade through the snake’s head and into his own forearm. He ignored the pain as he drew the knife out, the serrated back side ripping the vile creature’s head to pieces as it went. He stabbed once more with less force, and the snake went slack around him.

He reached for his pack, fumbling quickly in the dark, still holding the knife, ready for another attack.

He grasped the small cylinder and struck it. The flare illuminated the cramped space, smoke rolling off of it.

Dorian only caught a brief glimpse of the man before the smoke blotted him out, but the eyes stopped him cold. They were blank. The snake twisted, flailed, and released the man. It brushed Dorian as it retreated deeper into the cave, away from the fire and smoke.

Dorian lunged across the dead snake and felt for the man’s neck. A faint pulse. He needed air.

Dorian crawled to the stack of stones they had piled at the mouth of the cave and pushed through. An inferno raged outside. The field in the middle of the freak show arena burned brightly, a sharp contrast to the dark smoke rolling off.

Dorian dragged the man out of the cave and laid him out. He would live, for how much longer, Dorian didn’t know.

He picked him up and made for an indention in the rock—a place Dorian thought he could defend. He set the soldier aside, retrieved the two packs, and gathered another pile of stones.

Dorian tucked himself in the crevice and pulled the man on top of him, draping his body like a shield. If the man died, he would at least provide some camouflage. And if the gargoyles did attack, he would provide padding from their claws. Dorian stacked the rocks around them, hoping to blot out some of their heat.

He gripped his gun but didn’t bother waving the laser sight back and forth. The snake had taken the last bit of energy out of him. He felt drained, almost as badly as he felt every time he spoke with Ares. The Atlantean had him—had the entire human race—like the snake had taken Dorian in the cave: silently, unseen, in the dark, seizing him, squeezing, hoping to take the last bit of life out of him and then devour the carcass.

He watched the fire consume the last of the field. As the flames subsided and the embers glowed, Dorian felt a new fire rising inside him.

Relief washed over Kate when she saw David gliding through the forest, following in the path they had cut.

“David,” she called, leaving her hiding place and running into his arms.

He grunted and turned his head slightly.

He was hurt. Her hands began searching him, finding where the blood was seeping from.

“I’m fine. Just some splinters.”

David surveyed the rest of the group.

“We need to hurry,” he said as he and Sonja took the lead and the others fell in.

Two hours later, the group was staring at the exit to Arc 1701-D.

There was only one problem: it was almost twenty feet from the floor.

David walked to where the last of the dark dirt met the hard composite the arc was made of. The soil was fine here. It was so bizarre.

The group focused on the two challenges at hand: getting the explosives up to the arc door then, assuming the blast broke through, getting everyone out. They exchanged ideas rapidly about how to reach the door; specifically, how to cut down a tree they could use to climb up: we use the machete; it would take too long. Use a bit of explosives; too risky—we might need all of them to get through. We come up short, we’re stuck here. Shoot the tree; we need the bullets for Dorian and the exadons, and the noise could bring trouble.

Finally, they had settled on the lowest-tech, no-bullet, no-grenade, no-noise way to get the explosives up to the arc doors.

David stood at the base. On his shoulders, Sonja stood, balancing as best she could, her arms extended upward, one of Milo’s feet in each hand. She shook slightly as Milo reached, attaching the explosive to the thick door and hitting the button to activate it.

Sonja let Milo fall into her cupped arms, the impact eliciting a sharp grunt from David. Then she handed him down and jumped to the floor. They all took refuge and waited, nervous about the looming result of the blast.

When the dust cleared, they saw the dim emergency lights of the corridor beyond, and a cheer went up and hugs went around. David hugged Kate, then Milo when he rushed into them. Mary found herself in Paul’s arms, and David nodded sharply to Sonja, who allowed a slight smile to curl at her lips.

They reformed their human pyramid, this time hoisting the team out: Milo first, then Mary, Kate, Paul, and Sonja, who instructed the others to hold her while she gripped the straps of three backpacks and reached them down to David. He made a running go, leapt, caught the straps and pushed his feet into the wall, walking up close enough to the top to reach Sonja’s hand. She pulled him close, and the others pulled them in.

The blast woke Dorian. Fear consumed him—he hadn’t intended to fall asleep. The soldier’s head rolled into him. “Sir?” the man whispered, his voice scratchy.

“Stay here.”

Dorian raced to the edge of the rock cliff and followed the noise with the scope of his rifle.

A door. An exit—David’s team had blown it open. Dorian watched that team, which actually numbered six people—none of whom Dorian had ever seen except Kate, crawl up and out.

He exhaled and surveyed the arc. It was quiet, and in the far corner, where the rainforest met the entrance, a sun peeked out. On the opposite rock face, two of the muddy birds spread out, sunning themselves.

Dorian wondered if they would stay there while the sun was out. If so, he would have a clear path to follow Kate and David.

Kate and the team raced down the corridor, away from the arc opening and the danger beyond.

In the portal room, Kate worked the green cloud of light, and then moved to the arched door. “We’re ready.”

“Can you close it? Prevent Dorian from following?” David asked.

“No. The ship’s in emergency protocol. This is the last evacuation route. It can’t be disabled.”

David nodded. One by one, Milo, the two soldiers, and the three scientists walked through the white, shimmering archway of light and onto the Atlantis beacon.

P
ART
II:
T
HE
A
TLANTIS
B
EACON

C
HAPTER
22

When Mary Caldwell cleared the portal, her heart almost stopped. The floor was pearl white, the walls matte gray, but it was the wide picture window spreading out dead ahead that captivated her like nothing ever had before. Earth hung there, a blue, white, and green marble against a black canvas.

This was a view only a select few humans had ever witnessed: astronauts. They were the heroes who dared to risk it all to see this, to expand human knowledge while laying their lives on the line. As a child, Mary had dreamed of this moment, of traveling into space and the great unknown, but it had always been too much risk for her. She had settled for a career in astronomy, hoping to contribute what she could while her feet were firmly planted on the ground. But this was the view and the mission she had always aspired to.

Here and now, she knew, no matter what happened next, she would die happy.