FIFTY-TWO

ROOK’S LEG SHOOK, causing leaves to rustle and branches to sway.

“What are you doing?” Queen asked, her voice quiet but tinged with annoyance.

“Muscles in my leg are twitching,” Rook replied. “I’m not built to spend an entire day clinging to tree branches like a frickin’ monkey.”

The day had worn on slowly. Conversation had been sparse because being discovered by the nation of monsters below, each strong enough to tear them to pieces—even the little ones—would be a very bad thing. As the sun moved through the sky, shifting its light behind the clouds that had continued to thicken with water, they had watched as the Neanderthals below went about their business as though nothing were out of the ordinary.

Wooden planks continued to be made. Pots cooked various stews. Animal limbs and torsos roasted over open fires. The hybrids picked at the food as they worked, never stopping for a full-fledged meal. They were industrious and dedicated workers producing stone carvings, ladders, tools, clay pots, and ropes. Not one of them sat idly by. Everyone worked. As each item the hybrids created was finished it was quickly hauled into the cave, and then work would begin anew. Something big was going on in that cave. Rook felt sure of it, and with every passing hour, the sheer amount of materials transported into the cave confirmed his suspicions.

Rook scratched at his arm where his mud covering had dried up and peeled back. A puff of dust fell from his body and mingled with the large leaves around him that shielded him from hybrid view. “I swear, the sun better go down soon; this crap is getting itchy.”

Queen nodded. She wasn’t one to complain, but she had itches to scratch all over her body and it took a phenomenal amount of willpower to keep from scraping off her dry earth camouflage. Worst of all was her forehead. When she’d first applied the mud to her forehead the cool dirt had eased the pain of the scorching VPLA brand. But now, with the water sapped and the dry earth constricting and scraping her skin, it burned with fresh pain. She scrunched her forehead in frustration. The resulting flash of pain from her mutilated skin squishing together in folds distracted her from the chafing skin all over her body, but it also loosened a dry sheet of mud so that it fell off in one large clump.

Feeling the mud fall from her forehead, Queen reached out and caught it before it could drop through the branches and create a billowing cloud of dust that might tip the hybrids off to their location. She looked at Rook and sighed with relief, a smile coming to her face after thwarting the close call.

But Rook did not return the smile. Shock, fury, and pity flashed across his face in waves, like the shifting colors of a cyanea octopus. “Queen . . . what the hell?”

She’d forgotten he hadn’t seen it yet. “A gift from the VPLA.”

They stared into each other’s eyes for nearly a minute, neither changing expressions or shifting bodies. The communication bordered on spiritual, with both knowing and understanding what the other was thinking and feeling. Compassion. Anger. Sadness. Finally, Rook broke the silence. “Well, we’re all going to have them. So we match.”

Queen smiled. “You couldn’t stand the pain, little man.”

“Who did it?”

“Major General Trung.”

“He dead?”

“Not yet.”

“Will be?”

“Absolutely.”

Rook agreed with a tilt of his head.

They returned their attention to the hybrid settlement. Everything looked the same. Rook sighed. “Ten more minutes of this and I swear I’m going to—”

Something tickled Rook’s ear. He flicked at it and a drop of mud, wet and moist, struck a nearby branch. His eyes widened upon seeing it. They both looked up.

High above, the sky looked fuzzy, like TV static.

“What is that?” Rook asked. He’d never seen anything like it. The clouds had become speckled like a 1950s halftone comic book illustration. “That can’t be rain. You can’t see rain that high up . . .”

Then it hit. Raindrops the size of large grapes descended in an unceasing torrent. God had redirected Niagara Falls directly overhead. The hiss of the rain striking the jungle canopy was louder than a Super Bowl stadium filled to capacity. The feel of it, while refreshingly cool, was like being flicked from head to toe. And the mud covering that concealed their pale bodies melted away in seconds. Their gleaming white skin became a beacon to anyone who thought to look up.

Through the wet din a cry rose up. While there was no language to it, the tone and volume denoted urgency and warning. Had they been discovered? They peeked out through the leaves, more wary now that their white faces and blond hair could be easily spotted against the dark green foliage. The cry came again, louder and closer. A mass of hybrids dropped what they were doing, some picking up spears, and rushed into the jungle. Another large group ran inside the mountain, disappearing into the darkness. The clearing was empty.

Moments later, gunfire and explosions ripped through the forest some distance away. Both knew this might be their only chance. They slid down through the branches quickly, leaped to the jungle floor, and ran out into the open, their only cover being the blanket of large, glistening raindrops that blended nicely with their fair skin.

As they passed through the huts, workstations, and fires, they abandoned their crude wooden spears and upgraded to stone-tipped spears that leaned against hut walls. Queen noticed a KA-BAR knife stabbed into a fireside log. She wrenched it free as she ran past, and inspected it.

King’s.

He had been here.

As they neared the large cave entrance, Queen saw a backlit monster of a hybrid approaching. The fight would be two on one, but Queen doubted they would stand a chance. Taking one out in a surprise attack was one thing. This was closer to jumping in front of a Mack truck. But they couldn’t back down. Then she saw the string of cages containing pacing tigers and bears. Queen paused before the cages and, using King’s knife, hacked away the handmade ropes that held the doors shut. The bears watched curiously. The tigers reacted instantaneously, throwing themselves at the gate.

Queen bolted and caught up with Rook, who had not stopped. In fact, he had sped up, ready to fight. Before she could shout a warning about the tigers approaching from behind, the large male hybrid stepped out in front of them. He had no weapon, but his six-foot-tall, broad-shouldered build, thick fingernails, and inch-long canines were all he needed on most days . . . except for today.

Rather than face the tigers or their new adversary, Queen dove and tackled Rook. They fell to the mud just as the two tigers launched into the air.

The three massive predators met with a flurry of crushing jaws and swiping claws. Blood flew. Savage voices roared. One of the tigers exploded from the fray, tossed through the air by the hybrid. But it twisted, landed on its feet, and attacked anew.

The hybrid fought amazingly in the face of a danger that would have most human beings weeping in a pile of their own feces, but the two giant cats proved too much. As one swiped at him wildly with extended claws, the other landed a killer bite on his thick throat. As the life was squeezed out of the hybrid, he pounded on the tiger, but it responded by increasing the pressure and holding on tight.

Before the tigers turned their attention away from their still-dying prey, Rook and Queen ran for the cave, entering without further incident and disappearing into the darkness.