A large amount of webbing-like material, ten feet end to end, eight feet top to bottom, sat on a small pile of rocks. A pulsing black box, exactly the same as the other one, rested beneath it. Like before, it looked like the box had somehow captured a large animal and encased it in silk strands.
Thrub. Thrub. Thrub.
Thum. Thum. Thum.
Sweat beaded up on his palms. The previous box and pod, isolated and alone, meant one thing. This second set meant something else.
Once is a mere occurrence, he thought. But twice is a disturbance.
He hiked to the pod. Shifting the beam, he aimed it at the box’s label. Castoroides ohioensis, he read quietly.
Canis dirus? Castoroides ohioensis? What were these strange creatures? Caplan was a wilderness survival expert, not a zoologist. But he’d worked in the Vallerio long enough to memorize the scientific names of many animals. So, the fact that he didn’t recognize either was cause for concern.
Light breaths and faint footfalls sounded out. Moments later, Pearson appeared. He scanned the pod with furrowed brow before lifting his gaze. “Zach.” He nodded farther to the west. “Over there.”
Caplan followed the man’s gaze with his beam. A soft gasp escaped his lips.
Once is an occurrence and twice is a disturbance, he thought. But this… this is an abhorrence.
Giant silk-like pods, dozens of them, dotted the forest. Some of the boxes and pods throbbed gently, beating in time to a rhythm he didn’t understand. But most of the pods had been clawed open and he saw no sign of their former occupants.
A puttering noise, barely audible, arose abruptly from the north. Caplan’s neck prickled. Dousing the flashlight, he turned toward the clearing. Light flames continued to tickle the edges of the wreckage, adding a faint glow to the burnt grass.
Pearson frowned, glanced at Caplan. “What is it?”
Caplan closed his eyes. Lifted his chin and let his senses run free.
“Did you hear me? I said what—?”
Caplan opened his eyes. “It’s Roadster.”
“Roadster?”
“Hatcher’s ground transport vehicle. The terrorists must’ve sent it to investigate the crash.” His lips moved silently. “In other words, they know we’re here.”
Chapter 27
The overhanging clouds opened up in unison, releasing their liquid cargo in a fierce torrent. The rain, pent up for far too long, fell hard and fast, eager to complete its journey to the earth. Within seconds, the storm had transformed the clearing’s burnt stalks and wet mud into a small swamp.
Bright headlights flashed. But the darkness, thick as sludge, and the never-ending sheets of rain combined to limit their reach.
Caplan cut through the forest like a finely honed machete. Sticking to the shadows, he saw a tall cedar tree. The end of a broken rotor blade stuck out of its trunk, wobbling gently in the breeze. He crept behind the tree and chanced a look to the north.
The fence, he thought. Finally!
The fence, with its forest-like paintjob, was barely visible amidst the downpour. But he would’ve recognized it anywhere.
He tensed up, all-too aware of how Tony had died just inside the fence line. Coupled with the dead bodies outside the Blaze, he knew danger couldn’t be far off.
The engine grew louder and louder. Then a giant shadow slid into view. There it was, his Roadster! The beat-up old SUV came to a stop just outside the fence, up to its rusty axels in swampy soil. His heart thumped as he studied its scrapes, dings, and dents. What a beat-up piece of junk. But damn, how he’d missed it.
The driver cut the engine, but left the beams on at full-blast. Silently, Caplan stowed the flashlight in his pocket. Then he removed the axe and its twin from his backpack and shook off their coverings. The axes had been forged with fine materials and great care. In the right hands, they weren’t just tools. They were fearsome weapons, capable of long-distance attacks as well as close-quarters combat. Each axe possessed a foot-long handle, topped off by a curved metal head. Their blades were sleek with v-shaped notches. At the back of each head, the metal tapered off to form a vicious spike.
Rain struck the axes and rolled down their blades, notches, and handles, cleansing the tools of dirt and blood. Caplan felt no fear, no anxiety as he brandished the axes. He felt nothing but cold, bottled-up rage.
“A fence?” Pearson frowned. “I didn’t realize we were so close to Hatcher.”
“We’re not,” Caplan replied.
Pearson started to respond. But a single look at Caplan’s axes distracted him. “What do you think you’re doing?” he whispered.
What’s it look like I’m doing? Caplan thought. Baking a cake? Hell, he was ecstatic at this turn of events. After defeating the terrorists, Roadster would be his for the taking. He could use it to cut precious minutes off their travel time. Even better, he’d strike a blow against the terrorists and get some revenge on behalf of Morgan.
Finally, he could start to earn her forgiveness.
“Put those away,” Pearson said. “We can’t let them see us.”
“Hide if you want.” Caplan maneuvered the blades in sweeping circles, warming up his tired arms. “But I’m staying.”
“Haven’t you screwed up enough already?”
Pearson’s words sent shockwaves through Caplan’s fragile ego. In an instant, everything he thought he knew about himself, every decision he’d made these last five months, came under question.
“You plunge headfirst into every situation,” Pearson continued. “And you keep getting burned for it. So, use your head for once and come with me.” Hunching down, Pearson retreated back toward the pods.
Caplan watched him go. But the sound of car doors shutting drew his attention back to the clearing.
His doubts washed away along with the furious rain. Sure, he’d had a little bad luck. But this time would be different.
This time, nothing would go wrong.
Chapter 28
A trio of men, clad in hooded raincoats and carrying rifles, gathered around Roadster. They fumbled with their guns but were unable to activate the mounted LED spotlights. Giving up, they walked to the fence.
Caplan held his breath as one of the men reached for the wires. But the man grabbed it with ease and Caplan realized electricity was no longer flowing through the fence. The Blare must’ve knocked it out, he thought. Maybe it knocked out Hatcher’s fences, too.
Carefully, the men climbed through the horizontal wires. Then they fanned out and strode into the clearing.
Caplan squinted through the slashing rain. The easternmost man walked with a mild limp. The second man, positioned in the middle, was gaunt and continuously flicking his tongue across his lips. The last man, a trembler with a hunched back, occupied the western end of the clearing. He stood closest to Caplan, making him the obvious — but not necessarily the best — target for attack.
The easternmost man, the limper, trudged slowly through the swamp. He made plenty of noise and commotion, causing Caplan to suspect he wasn’t trained in the art of warfare.