“What the hell’s causing it?”
“I have no idea.”
“Then how do we stop it?”
Chin only shook his head. Ryan pictured the process continuing to spread like a cancer over the mountains, digging ever deeper at the same time. He remembered the geologist’s words, describing what lay beneath his feet.
This entire region sits atop a volcanic hotbed.
As a reminder, the ground gave another violent shake, much worse than before. The geyser spouted again, reaching as high as the treetops, casting out a wall of superheated air.
Chin shielded his face with an arm while pointing the other man back toward the Guard post. “This is far too unstable! You need to evacuate this chasm. Retreat at least a mile.”
Ryan had no intention of arguing. He yelled to Bellamy, who still stood a few yards away with a hammer and chisel. “Forget that! Get the men ready to move out! Gather all our gear!”
Before the big man could take a step, another boulder broke off the cliff face behind the private and crashed into the pit. Damp powder splashed outward. Several black splotches struck Bellamy on the lower right leg.
“Get back from there!” Ryan ordered.
Needing no urging, Bellamy trotted toward them. By the time he reached them, his face was a mask of pain. He hobbled on his right leg.
“What’s wrong?” Ryan asked.
“Leg’s on fire, sir.”
Ryan glanced down. The flame-retardant trousers should have protected his skin against any burn from the splatter of hot powder.
“Get him on the ground!” Chin barked out. “Now!”
Ryan jumped, responding to the command in the geologist’s voice. He reached for Bellamy’s shoulder, but the private suddenly screamed, toppling as his right leg crumpled under him. The limb cracked midshin, breaking sideways.
Ryan managed to catch him and lower him to the ground.
“Fuuuuck,” the private yelled, writhing in agony.
Ryan didn’t admonish the cursing. He felt like doing the same himself. What the hell was happening?
Chin knelt by Bellamy’s legs. He had a blade in hand, a military KA-BAR knife. He slit the private’s trouser leg from knee to ankle, revealing an ugly compound fracture midshin. A splintered chunk of tibial bone poked out of his calf, stark white against the man’s dark skin. Blood seeped, but not as much as Chin had anticipated.
“He’s contaminated,” Chin said.
Ryan struggled to understand what that meant — then as he watched, the sharp end of shattered bone began to turn to dust before his eyes. The skin along the edges of the wound retreated, dissolving away from the wound. Ryan pictured the splash of powder hitting Bellamy and remembered the word the geologist had used a moment ago.
Denaturing.
The powder must have eaten through Bellamy’s suit and set to work on his leg.
“Wh-what do we do?” Ryan stammered.
“Get an ax!” Chin ordered.
It wasn’t the force of command that got Ryan moving this time, but the fear in the geologist’s voice. Chin had already cut away the stained piece of fabric, careful not to touch it, and tossed it into the pit. If Ryan had any doubt as to Chin’s plan, it was dispelled when the geologist yanked off his belt and began preparing a tourniquet.
Bellamy also understood, letting out a low moan. “Noooo…”
“It’s the only way,” Chin explained to the private. “We can’t let it spread up your leg.”
He was right. As Ryan ran toward his camp, he remembered the question he’d posed earlier, picturing the expanding crater. How do we stop it?
He had his answer.
At great cost.
All they could do for now was damage control.
In less than a minute, he returned with an ax, collected from the camp’s firefighting gear, along with two of his men. By the time they arrived, Chin already had his belt cinched around Bellamy’s thigh. The private lay on his back, pinned at the shoulders by the geologist. Behind his mask, Bellamy’s face shone with terror and pain.
Gasps rose from the other two soldiers.
Ryan understood. Bellamy’s leg looked like a shark had taken a bite out of the calf. Only meat and skin still held the appendage together. The rest had been eaten away by whatever had contaminated him.
Chin met Ryan’s gaze as the other two soldiers took his place. The geologist glanced from the ax to Bellamy. “Do you want me to do this?”
Ryan shook his head. He’s my man. My responsibility. He hefted up his ax. He had only one question for the geologist. “Above or below the knee?”
He found the answer in the grim expression on Chin’s face. They dared take no chances.
Heaving with all his strength, he swung the ax down.
Chapter 11
Painter Crowe forced his fingers to loosen their death grip on the armrests of his seat. The race from Salt Lake City to the university town of Provo had challenged even his steely resolve. He had tried to distract himself by placing a call to his girlfriend, Lisa, to let her know he’d landed safely, but as they raced down the highway, dodging around slower traffic, often swerving wildly into the opposite lanes, he had wondered if perhaps that call had been premature.
Kowalski finally killed the engine on the Chevy Tahoe and checked his watch. “Twenty-eight minutes. That means you owe me a cigar.”
“I should’ve listened to Gray.” Painter shoved the door open and almost fell out. “He told me to keep you away from anything with wheels.”
Kowalski shrugged and climbed out, too. “What does Gray know? Guy spends most of his time pedaling around D.C. on that bike of his. If God had wanted men to ride bikes, He wouldn’t have put our balls where they are.”
Painter stared over at Kowalski. Dumbfounded and at a loss for words, he simply shook his head and headed across the parking lot with Kowalski in tow. The larger man wore an ankle-length black duster, which allowed him to hide the Mossberg pump-action shotgun strapped to his leg. To blunt its lethality in the urban environment, the weapon was equipped with Taser XREP shells — wireless, self-contained slugs that delivered a paralyzing jolt of electricity into their targets.
It was a wise precaution, considering the man who was wielding that weapon.
At this late hour, the campus of Brigham Young University was quiet. A few students walked briskly down the sidewalks, bundled against the chilly wind blowing off the snow-crowned mountains surrounding the city. A couple glanced curiously their way, then moved on.
Ahead, streetlamps shone warmly along wooded walkways, and a tall bell tower loomed in the distance. University buildings, mostly dark, spread outward in all directions, while a few still glowed brightly with late-night classes.
Painter checked the campus map he’d pulled up on his cell phone. Professor Kanosh had asked them to rendezvous at a lab in the earth sciences building. Gaining his bearings, Painter led the way.
The Eyring Science Center was situated along a tree-lined path off of West Campus Drive. It was hard to miss the large domed observatory resting atop it. A wide staircase led up three levels to its massive glass facade.
Once they were through the doors, Kowalski frowned as he eyed the cathedral-like lobby, whose main feature was a giant Foucault’s pendulum suspended from the ceiling, weighted down with a giant brass sphere. To the side a small café—closed at this hour — was shadowed by a giant life-sized allosaurus nestled amid tall ferns.
“So where now?” Kowalski asked.