And then there were three.
A balding man wearing shorts and a striped robe followed Maru as they exited the old Ford Van that served as an ambulance. The two crossed the white-gravel parking lot outside the small clinic. A solitary lamppost carved a circle of bright light out of the otherwise dark lot. A dozen exotic bugs swirled in the glow.
"We don't know who he is. We found him by the spa."
"That's impossible," Dr. Jaeger protested as he nearly stumbled on the rocks while keeping a finger pressed against his loose spectacles. "He's either a guest or an employee."
"None of us recognized him," Maru said as they neared the front doors.
"My goodness," Dr. Jaeger said as he stopped walking to catch his breath. He cast his eyes toward the perfectly manicured coconut palms that served as a dividing line between the lit parking lot and the darkness beyond. "It's getting hotter. It shouldn't be this hot." He wiped the sweat off his brow with a handkerchief. His glasses slipped crooked on his face for a moment until he had a hand free to straighten them again.
"Maybe the mountain is venting steam," Maru suggested, referring to the isle's volcano, which was considered unthreatening despite periodic fumarolic activity. "Doctor, please …"
Jaeger relented and followed the paramedic into the empty lobby, where the only noise came from the plasma TV broadcasting the weather forecast for Honolulu.
"I told them to put the cadaver in storage. I figured that would be the best move."
Maru led the doctor down the short hallway.
Jaeger said, "We can't conduct an autopsy here, you know. We'll need to identify his nationality first and then get the body off this island as fast as possible. This is not the type of publicity we need."
"I understand that, doctor."
Maru pushed open the storage room door and, with Jaeger in tow, moved between the well-lit aisles of drugs and supplies. He stopped halfway down one aisle as Ipo appeared and blocked their way. The bright fluorescents lit every nuance of the man's face: the bloody hole where a mouth and nose should be, the thick pool of crimson on his shirt, and the hazy white glaze over his eyes.
The two men in the aisle froze. Maru felt his stomach lurch and he nearly vomited; his legs wobbled.
Dr. Jaeger summoned his voice of authority and shouted, "What is going on here?" as if thinking this might be a prank.
The man with no face stepped toward them, making no sound save for the shuffle of his feet. Jaeger and Maru retreated but found that direction blocked, too, this time by the nurse with the nice cleavage and the tight frock … and the bulbous white growth sprouting from a bloody bite mark on her neck. Behind her stood the animated cadaver of the oriental man. Both had open eyes coated in a white film.
"Get back!" Dr. Jaeger ordered. "Enough of this!"
Maru screamed as his former comrade dove at him, clawing and tearing and revealing that there were still a few teeth inside the bloody hole on his face. The two fell to the floor, knocking boxes and bottles and bags off the shelves in the process.
Dr. Jaeger pushed the nurse with both arms and screamed at her, "Please get out of my way!"
Her fingers scraped his flesh. Her mouth snapped at his shoulders. Her legs entangled with his and Dr. Jaeger fell over.
And then there were five.
United States Senator Kendal followed Agent Costa from the bungalow. Dawn had come to the island and both the senator and his Secret Service escort knew that the cover story of engine problems could account for only one day. Any further delay in his trip to Australia would not only upset his scheduled visit with the Aussie prime minister but invite suspicion — and attention — from the media. The celebrities, athletes, and politicians who visited the private resort all knew that attention was the one thing the island did not welcome. The wealthy enjoyed their private playground.
The fifty-something senator slung his sport jacket over his shoulder. Pools of sweat had already formed around his armpits, and beads of perspiration covered his cheeks.
"My God, the temperature is through the roof."
"Yes sir," Costa — a man with broad shoulders and a stone-faced expression — agreed, although he did not remove his windbreaker.
"I mean, I know it's the South Pacific but this is ridiculous."
The two-room bungalow with its small front porch sat in a clearing surrounded by a wall of banyan trees and exotic flowers. A dusty dirt road led away. A second agent — a short man in khaki shorts — stood alongside an idling Jeep with the door open.
"Parker went ahead with your luggage, sir," Costa said. He considered and then added in a softer voice, "He also took the young lady back to her residence."
"Good, well, we had better get moving."
The second agent motioned for the senator to get aboard the vehicle. A sharp report stopped all three. The sound of an approaching engine — a gunning, roaring engine — forced them into action again.
Costa grabbed the senator by the arm and led him toward the bungalow.
"Inside!" he ordered.
Another Jeep careened into the clearing. The driver fought with the wheel, changing trajectory too sharply and sending the vehicle into a roll. It landed on its wheels but not until after making a complete revolution. Green fluid poured from between the front tires and smoke rose from the crumpled hood.
Costa ripped open the bungalow's door and shoved Kendal through with one arm while retrieving an MP5 submachine gun from beneath his blue windbreaker.
The other agent — Barnes — approached the broken Jeep with his own machine gun pointed at the driver, who opened the door to the sound of groaning metal as he stumbled from the wreck. Costa kept his eyes there, too … except something in the shadows of the jungle tried to grab his attention.
The third member of the Secret Service detail emerged from the smashed Jeep, a pistol in one hand and a gash of blood flowing from his shoulder.
"Parker!" Costa yelled, but did not leave his position on the bungalow's porch. "Report!"
Parker — a short but stocky man wearing a loose-fitting tropical shirt — fell from the toppled vehicle like a sack of laundry tumbling from a chute. His eyes blinked fast and his chest heaved up and down with shallow, panicked breaths.
Barnes — his machine gun ready — approached his comrade and reached to help him up, but Parker refused the assistance.
"They're com … coming … coming this way," Parker mumbled with just enough energy for all to hear. "They're every — everywhere."
Costa glanced around nervously. His battle computer of a mind ran through scenarios, expecting to see a masked hit squad brandishing assault rifles or a crazed bomber in a truck full of TNT. He knew — and had trained for — the idea that a United States senator made a great target for assassination and an even better target for kidnapping.
"Holy fuck," Barnes said as he bent over Parker. "These look like bites."
"What the hell is going on out there?" Kendal yelled from inside. "I demand you get me to safety. Now!"
"We have a situation here, sir," Costa grumbled as his eyes scanned the perimeter.
The sound that came to his ears served the first notice that the "situation" exceeded his training. He heard a shuffling noise, one continuous sound rolling through the forest around the bungalow.
Costa did not wait. He acted. He opened his satellite cell phone and punched the red button that dialed a preprogrammed number to theater command.
Nothing happened.
Costa examined his phone.
NO SIGNAL.
"That's impossible," he muttered, knowing they had confirmed signal strength prior to arrival.