Текст книги "The Judas Strain"

Автор книги: James Rollins

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Текущая страница: 23 (всего у книги 30 страниц)

Monk shoved Lisa into the arcade. “Get down!”

His group scattered into other doorways or behind support pillars. One of the cannibals took a round to the head, flying back. But Monk’s party outnumbered the pirates. They laid down a continual swath of return fire, chewing down the passageway. Three pirates fell. The tallest shoved a slender man back into the stairwell and fled away.

Monk led a handful of the cannibals forward. One ripped a fresh weapon from one of the dead pirates’ hands and tossed aside his smoking rifle. Another pinched one of the corpses’ cheeks. Not in affection. Just testing for tenderness.

“That was Devesh hightailing it out of here,” Lisa said, joining Monk and pointing down the stairwell as they passed it. “The Guild leader here.”

Monk glanced toward the tender dock. “They must have been planning on crossing over to Pirate Town, to gather reinforcements.”

The thought spurred him faster down the hall toward the ship’s bow. Monk wondered if reinforcements weren’t already headed there, radioed in.

The hallway curved ahead, following the shape of the ship’s front end. As they rounded the bend, Monk spotted the open doorway to Ryder’s private launch.

They’d made it.

Before he could continue, shrieking cries erupted from the hall behind him.

Monk turned.

From the middeck stairwell, a dozen figures tumbled out into the hallway, scrambling, fighting, agitated, half naked in ripped and soiled hospital gowns. Limbs were blistered and weeping. Bloody lips peeled back in savage snarls. Even from fifty yards away, Monk recognized the sheen of madness shining from eyes caked with pus.

“Patients,” Lisa whispered, grabbing Monk’s arm and drawing him back. “In a catatonic psychosis. They’ll attack anyone. Devesh must have set them loose.”

“Bastard.” Monk waved the last of his party around the bend, out of sight. He hurried toward the open door to Ryder’s launch. More cries arose from ahead, past the door, where the hallway curved around to the port side.

Feet pounded in that direction, running toward them.

Monk lifted his weapon – but a familiar figure raced into view, one hand along the outer wall, keeping him upright. Jessie spotted his group, face brightening with relief. He was followed by a clutch of seven cannibals. The last two supported a third, a man bleeding heavily from a rip to the neck. From his green surgical scrubs, he was one of the WHO doctors.

The two groups met at the open door to the launch bay.

“You made it,” the young nurse gasped out.

Ryder, drawn by the commotion, appeared at the doorway with his own escort of cannibals. He smelled of gasoline, wiping oil from his hands on a rag. “What’s happening?”

Monk nodded. “Is your boat gassed up?”

A nod. “She’s ready to fly.”

To the side, Jessie allowed Lisa to hug him briefly while nodding to the other two WHO doctors. “Dr. Barnhardt. Dr. Miller.” He waved a hand to the man in the green scrub smock. “I need help with him.”

The cannibals lowered the wounded man to the floor. Blood, dark and heavy, pumped from his neck wound.

Lisa knelt to one side, the other two doctors on the man’s other side. Jessie already had his shirt off and passed it to Lisa. She bunched it and pressed it against the wound.

The man convulsed once, coughing blood. Then he lay still, unmoving, eyes open. Only his chest collapsed a bit deeper, sagging with death.

Still holding the bundled shirt to the wound, Lisa checked for a pulse on the other side of the man’s neck. She shook her head. There was nothing they could do for the man.

As she had worked, Jessie had related his story, wiping his brow and smearing blood there. “We rescued him. He was being attacked by one of the patients. We had to shoot her. But others are rising up from below. They’re already rampaging through the lower decks and moving up. Hundreds of them.”

Punctuating his words, savage cries echoed amid more shooting.

“Time to abandon ship,” Ryder said.

Monk turned to Ryder. “How many can your boat hold?”

“Six seats…but we can squeeze in one or two others.” Ryder eyed the number of people gathered here.

Jessie shook his head and backed a step. “I’m not going.”

Lisa took his elbow. “Jessie.”

“Someone has to defend the people, the children, still on board. From the pirates, from the madness. The tribesmen are their only hope. And they know me. They’ll listen to me.”

Dr. Barnhardt stepped to the young nurse’s side. “I’ll help him. We’ll attempt to set up some secure barricade. Gather as many as we can. To wait you all out.”

Dr. Miller stared with reluctance toward the open hatchway, then down to the dead doctor. He nodded. “These…these are our people. Our friends and colleagues. We can’t leave them.”

Lisa hugged each one in turn. “Henri…” she mumbled in a half plead to the last one.

The older man squeezed her and pushed her toward the open doorway. “Go get Susan. More than our lives, the cure must be taken beyond the Guild’s reach.”

Lisa nodded and allowed Monk to turn her.

They followed Ryder into the launch bay.

Monk’s steps faltered as he cleared the doorway and spotted Ryder’s boat.

“Holy Mother of Christ!”

5:43 A.M.

Devesh descended toward the darkened stage of the ship’s musical theater. The glittering crimson curtain hung closed. He followed the broad back of the Somalian guard down the theater stairs. After being ambushed and driven away from the tender docks, Devesh and the guard had fled up.

Down was not an option.

Not any longer.

The screams and cries had chased them up the stairwell. Down in the ship’s bowels, Devesh had opened all five storage holds, unleashing the horrors contained within. They’d been feeding on one another, the strongest preying on the weakest.

Over two hundred.

Kept for experimentation.

Devesh had sought to use the unleashed madness to combat the cleverness of the ship’s attackers, to thwart them long enough for him to orchestrate a return to the ship with grenades and machine guns. He would then slaughter the whole lot of them.

He would retake his ship.

But for the moment, he was caught in his own trap.

It was his Somalian bodyguard who had come up with this plan to escape. To reach the tender docks, rather than descending any of the main stairs, the Somalian had led Devesh to the upper balcony entrance of the ship’s three-story-tall theater. They used the theater’s stairs to descend the three levels back down to the deck that housed the tender dock.

The theater’s lower doors lay directly across the hallway from the dock. A short dash, and they’d be motoring away from this hellish battle.

Devesh used his cane to thump down the last few stairs.

The Somalian guard held up a hand and headed to the door. “Stay back. Let me make sure it’s clear.” He clutched a large pistol in his other fist.

He cracked open the door, checked the hall, covering it with his pistol. He waited a breath, then opened it farther. Turning, he announced with relief, “Hall’s clear.”

Devesh took a step toward him – but movement over the man’s shoulder stopped him. One of the feathered tribesmen stepped out of hiding, sheltered within the hatchway that led down to the tender dock.

The cannibal held a drawn bow in his hands.

The large Somalian must have read something in Devesh’s expression. Even before fully turning around, the man began firing blindly.

The cannibal took three shots to the chest, falling back with a sharp cry.

But the tribesman had already let loose his bowstring.

The arrow pierced the guard’s throat, sprouting like some bloody tongue out the back of his neck. The large man stumbled, fell to his backside. Still, he kept his pistol pointed toward the door.

But the cannibal did not rise again, and the hall remained quiet.

Devesh knew he had to take the chance. He rushed to the guard.

“Help me,” the man croaked out, eyes winced with pain, slipping back to one arm to support himself. The other arm trembled to hold the pistol up.

Devesh kicked the man’s supporting arm out from under him. The Somalian fell back, startled. The arrow tip cracked against the polished wood floor. Devesh knelt on the man’s shoulder and tossed his cane aside. He needed a better weapon. He wrestled the pistol from the man’s grip.

But the large man refused to relent, fingers clenched with fury and pain.

“Let go!” Devesh shifted his knee to dig against the embedded arrow.

A loud wooden crashstopped their struggle.

The doors on the opposite side of the theater had banged open behind them. Devesh yanked the pistol free and turned. A figure flew into view, swift on tiny feet, swirling in silk, stained with swaths of blood.

“Surina!”

But she was not alone.

A roil of shapes pursued her, fueled by adrenaline and hunger. They poured in after her. Some slipped on the polished wood, down to knuckles, then up again, bestial in their hunt. But the tangled stumbling slowed them long enough for Surina to gain half the theater.

Devesh scrambled to his feet, both relieved and horrified at her arrival.

He didn’t want to be alone.

Surina flew to his side, one arm sweeping down. Her fingers collected his abandoned cane, and in a breath, wood slipped off of steel. She brandished the sword.

Devesh headed toward the open door. “This way!”

Cradling the pistol in both hands, he leaped over the Somalian, who groaned, only half conscious, blood spreading over the dark wood. At least the man’s body might distract the cannibals.

As Devesh landed, he felt two sharp bites at the backs of his knees.

He took a startled step, but suddenly his legs lacked any ability to hold him upright. He fell to a knee in the doorway, then harder to an elbow, knocking the pistol away. The pain rang up his arm to his skull. From the corner of an eye, he watched Surina rise from a low stance behind him, her sword held out to one side, blood spattered from its tip.

Devesh kicked to stand. But he had no ability to control his legs. He watched blood pouring through the knees of his pants. As Surina slipped past him, he realized what had happened. The bitch had sliced through the tendons at the back of his knees, hamstringing him.

She sailed across the hall and vanished into the darkness of the dock.

“Surina!”

Devesh tried to crawl, dragging his legs.

Toward his pistol.

But other hands fell upon him, drawn by the blood, digging into his flesh. He heard the guard’s agonized scream from the depths of the dark theater. Devesh was dragged back to join him, his palms scrabbling through the smears of his own blood, fingers dug for some purchase, some last mercy.

He found none.

5:45 A.M.

As screams and gunshots echoed down to them, Lisa joined Monk at the bottom of the launch bay’s stairs. She shivered in the damp breeze.

Ryder’s private bay was small, arched in steel, reeking of gasoline and oil. In the center rested what looked like the aluminum tracks of a roller coaster, consisting of a pair of cushioned rails, tilted at an angle and aimed toward an open hatch in the ship’s side. Beyond the hatch, the dark lagoon beckoned, brushed with sweeps of rain.

But it was what rested atop the tracks that continued to hold her partner’s full attention. “That is no goddamn boat,” Monk blurted out.

Ryder led them forward, hurrying. “It’s a flyingboat, mate. Half seaplane, half jet boat.”

Monk gaped at the sight.

Lisa was no less awed.

Seated on the launch tracks, the craft looked like a diving hawk with its wings tucked back. The enclosed cabin ended in an aerodynamic point at the bow. Its stern supported two raised propeller engines. And over the top, two wings lay folded over the cabin, tips touching just in front of the upright tail section and propellers.

“She’s built by Hamilton Jet out of New Zealand,” Ryder said as he ran a hand along her hull and led them to the open side hatch. “I call her the Sea Dart. In the water, her twin V-12 petrol engines pump water from the front and shoot it out the stern’s dual nozzles. Once you get her up to speed, all you have to do is explode the hydraulics to snap wide the folded wings, and she sails into the sky…where her rear props keep her aloft.” Ryder patted its side. “She’s quick on her legs, too. Sky or water. Clocked her airspeed up to three hundred miles per hour.”

Ryder held out a hand toward Lisa. He helped her up the steps beside the launch track. She ducked into the cabin. It was not that much different from a Cessna: a pair of seats for a pilot and copilot in front and four more seats in the back.

Ryder climbed in behind her and scooted forward to settle into the pilot’s seat. Monk clambered in last, closing the hatch.

“Strap in!” Ryder called out.

Monk took the seat nearest the side hatch, ready to haul Susan inside when they reached the beach. Lisa climbed forward and took the seat next to Ryder.

“Hold on,” he said to her.

Ryder triggered an electronic release, and the Sea Dartrolled smoothly down the inclined tracks and dumped into the lagoon with a slight jar.

Water washed over the windshield as the boat’s bow bobbed deep.

Lisa immediately heard the rumble of engines behind her, throaty and growling with horsepower. She felt it in the seat of her pants, too.

The Dartbegan to glide forward across the water with a gentle burbling from the stern. Rain rattled in fits and splashes over the top of the cabin.

“Here we go,” Ryder mumbled, and throttled the speed.

The boat lived up to its name and shot like an arrow across the storm-swept water, throwing Lisa back into her seat.

Behind her an appreciative whistle flowed from Monk.

Ryder angled the boat, skimming over the water as if on ice. He sailed the boat around the cruise ship’s bow, a gnat before a whale.

Lisa stared up at the mighty ship. Away from the gunshots and screams, the Mistress of the Seaslooked peaceful, gently aglow in the storm’s gloom.

But she knew the ship was anything but peaceful.

As she settled back, she could not escape a slight twinge of guilt. For Jessie, for Henri, and Dr. Miller. And for all the others. She still felt like she was running from a fight, abandoning the others for the sake of her own skin.

But she had no choice.

Ryder swung the boat and aimed for the island, where they were to rendezvous with Susan. The boat sped toward the expanse of dark jungle, trimmed by a narrow beach.

She silently repeated Henri’s last words to her.

The cure must be taken beyond the Guild’s reach.

Lisa watched the jungle swell ahead of her, the beach stretch wide.

They could not fail.

5:50 A.M.

Rakao watched the strange craft sweep around the cruise ship and speed straight toward his location. Through his infrared binoculars, the boat was a hot crimson smear across the colder water.

He signaled his team to be ready. They were waiting for his first shot before launching the full assault.

Rakao lowered his binoculars and brought to his eye the telescopic sight on his rifle. He fixed again upon his target, the escaped woman. She had stepped out of the jungle, easily discernible now, and waited on the beach.

Rakao heard the rumbling of the approaching boat.

She lifted an arm. Her limb seemed to catch the moonlight as it was raised. But there was no moon.

Rakao felt a chill at the sight. Still, he did not let it distract him. He had a mission here. Answers would come later.

Out on the beach, one of the tribesmen shoved the lone dugout canoe off the beach and into the shallows. He beckoned the woman to come. She crossed to the water, climbed aboard, and sat awkwardly in the back.

Standing behind the stern, the tribesman bent down, ready to shove the woman out toward the coming boat. They did not have long to wait.

The craft swept up, turning smoothly to expose its starboard flank, idling about seven meters out.

The side hatch was already open.

Rakao spied a man inside, braced in the opening.

Perfect.

Rakao shifted his rifle, aimed, and fired.

5:51 A.M.

Monk jumped at the crack of a rifle.

From his perch in the hatchway he watched the tribesman behind Susan collapse into the water. His falling body bumped the canoe, sending it drifting toward him.

A flurry of gunshots followed, tiny flashes of fire in the dark jungle.

Another tribesman stumbled out, bleeding from chest and shoulder. He held an arm out toward Susan in the water, hoping the witch queen could save him. But another crack of a rifle, and his head flew back and the lower half of his face exploded.

He fell to the sand.

This was all a trap…with Susan as bait.

A spat of rounds peppered the flank of the Sea Dart,driving Monk back inside. Ryder swore harshly. Monk scrambled to the assault rifle on the backseat, fumbling around with it.

But a barked shout stopped the strafing of the boat.

In the silence Monk warily crept back.

A man with a familiar tattooed face stood knee-deep in the water. Rakao held a spear in one hand and a Sig Sauer pistol in the other. With his arm extended, he aimed the pistol’s muzzle at the back of Susan’s head as she floated in the canoe, crouched low in the stern.

Susan’s eyes, aglow in the darkness, stared back in terror toward Monk.

Rakao yelled across the water in English. “Cut your engines! Throw out any weapons! Then one at a time, you’re going to jump and swim to me.”

Monk turned. “Lisa, I need you here. Ryder, do not cut those engines. When I yell go,you blast the hell out of here.”

Lisa struggled with her straps but finally freed herself.

Monk shifted his rifle to grip it by its stock and held it out the open hatchway. A single round pinged off the side of the Sea Dart. Rakao barked at the stray sniper, angry. No damaging the merchandise. Rakao must recognize a prize well worth preserving.

Monk climbed into view, exposing himself fully in the hatch. He held his rifle out to one side, his other hand open and high.

Lisa whispered to him. “What are you doing?”

“Just be ready,” he murmured.

“For what?”

It would take too long to explain.

Rakao noted his appearance and stepped farther into the water, his muzzle only a foot from the back of Susan’s head. The bow of the canoe pointed toward the Sea Dart,slightly tilted up from Susan’s weight in the stern.

Monk called, “We’re coming out!”

To demonstrate his sincerity he tossed his rifle to the left in a dramatic underhanded throw. It cartwheeled through the air. As he had hoped, Rakao’s eyes flicked to follow it, the reflex of a hunter toward movement.

Monk leaped a fraction of a second after it. He jumped high, like he was planning on doing a cannonball into the lagoon. Instead, he landed on the tilted bow of the canoe. His weight and momentum slammed the bow deep. The stern of the canoe catapulted up like a seesaw.

Susan flew over Monk’s head – thrown straight at the Sea Dart.

A shot rang out from Rakao, but the stern edge of the boat had clipped the Maori’s hand, sending the pistol flying.

Monk heard a splash behind him as Susan landed.

Then the canoe crashed back to the water, throwing Monk into a sprawl on the dugout’s bottom. He lifted himself up on an elbow. He caught sight of Susan’s legs as Lisa dragged the woman through the side hatch.

Good girl.

Monk bellowed at the top of his lungs. “Ryder! Go!”

But the Sea Dartjust idled.

Monk prepared to yell again, when the canoe jarred.

Rakao had hauled into the canoe, rising to his feet. The canoe spun, but he expertly kept his balance. He drove his spear at Monk with both arms.

Monk reacted instinctively. He tried to block the deadly plunge by grabbing its shaft. Prosthetic fingers locked onto it.

A mistake.

A fierce jolt of electricity ripped through his body. He remembered Rakao’s earlier rescue of Lisa, striking out with his electric spear.

Monk’s body clenched with agony. Muscles spasmed with a bone-breaking intensity. Still, he heard the fresh barrage of gunfire pelting at the Sea Dart.

Why was Ryder still here?

Monk fought the electrocution. He should have been killed at the outset as the volts fried through him. He only lived because of the dampening insulation of his prosthetic hand. But now he smelled plastic burning.

Ryder…get the hell out of here…

5:54 A.M.

“Wait!” Lisa screamed over the rattle of bullets against the flank of the Sea Dart.

Lisa lay beside Susan on the floor. She had a view of Rakao, leaning his weight on the spear, trying to drive its electrified steel tip into Monk’s chest. Monk fought. Black smoke rose from his prosthetic hand.

The canoe spun, close…or at least close enough.

“Now!” she yelled.

A loud explosive popsounded over her head, detonating the hydraulics above. The Sea Dartsnapped out its wings, chopping out like a pair of ax blades. One wing cracked into Rakao’s shoulder, sending him flying from the canoe and dumping him in a sprawl into the lake.

The barrage of rifle fire momentarily stopped as the maneuver stunned the shooters.

Lisa yelled into the ringing silence, “Monk! Above your head!”

GROGGY, MONK HEARD Lisa’s command.

It took him a moment to realize what she meant. Something was above his head. One of the wings of the Sea Dart. Trembling in a continuous quake, he gathered his legs under him – and leaped.

He didn’t trust the strength in his real hand. Smoking plastic fingers latched on to one of the wing struts. He clamped tight, twitching a signal to lock down.

Go…

“GO!” LISA HOLLERED, still on the floor, bracing herself against the seats.

Under her belly she felt the twin engines rev. The Sea Dartleaped away, swinging its stern toward the beach as the snipers again opened fire, finally shaken free of their momentary stun.

Lisa watched a stray round strike Monk’s flailing right leg.

Blood burst from his calf. She read the twist of agony in his face. His lower leg hung crookedly as Monk shifted. The bullet must have shattered through his tibia, breaking it.

Thank God, he still held on…

Ryder aimed away from the beach, flying across the water, out of range.

Lisa wanted to weep.

They would make it.

5:55 A.M.

Rakao choked and sputtered his face out of the water. His toes, then heels, found rock and sand underfoot. He stood chest-deep in the lagoon. The roar of a motor drew him around.

The enemy’s boat shot across the lagoon, dangling a figure from one wingtip. Furious, he waded toward the beach. His left arm was on fire, burning in the seawater. He fingered the upper arm on that side, felt the sharp point of bone protruding through his skin, broken by the blow that had sent him flying.

He clutched his spear in the other hand.

Luckily he had not lost the weapon, having clung to it.

He might need it.

Already Rakao noted the flashes of fire under the water, aiming for him, drawn by the blood. He turned his back on the beach and retreated step-by-step. He kept his weapon poised, ready to use it. The shock might sting him, but it should drive the squids away.

Reaching waist-deep water, Rakao allowed himself a breath of relief.

Once out, he would hunt the others down.

No matter where in the world they landed, he would find them.

This, he swore.

Lightning cracked overhead, momentarily lighting the black waters, bright enough to illuminate the depths. A tangle of arms spread wide around his legs. The longest arms winked with a yellow glow. The bulk of the monster rested quietly in the sand only a step away. Then the flash ended, turning the lake into a dark mirror, reflecting the terror in his face.

Rakao stabbed down with his spear, thumbing the charge to full.

Blue fire crackled across the water. He gasped at the pain, like a steel trap snapping closed over his midsection. But it lasted only a fraction of a second – then the spear popped in his hand. With a final zap of electricity and an acrid spurt of smoke, the weapon shorted out, overloaded by his battle with the American.

Rakao stumbled back, splashing, his broken arm screaming.

Had the charge been enough?

The answer came in a slash of fire across one thigh. Chitinous hooks tore into the meat of his leg. He fought as the creature tugged him toward the deeper waters. Its bulk surfaced, rolling an eye.

Rakao stabbed at it. The weapon might not have a charge – but it did have a sharp point. He felt the blade sink deep. The grip on his leg spasmed, then went slack.

With grim satisfaction, he retreated again.

But the waters suddenly erupted all around him with streaks of fire: blues and emeralds, but mostly a blaze of crimson. More of the pack had been lying in wait. Rakao read the fury in the flickers. They swirled like a luminous whirlpool around him.

Something bumped his leg. Teeth clamped to his ankle.

Rakao knew it was the end.

Too many.

His men would never reach him in time.

Rakao stared across the waters at the fleeing boat. He dropped his spear and clutched to a holster at his shoulder. He kept it with him at all times. It held no gun. Only insurance. He twisted the T-handle that protruded from the leather holster and pulled the plunger out.

A tentacle wrapped around his waist, ripping with teeth.

If he couldn’t escape, no one would.

Rakao shoved the plunger as a tangle of tentacles lashed out of the water like flailing whips. From all directions, they fell upon him, ripping cloth and flesh, taking his legs out from under him. He felt his right ear torn away as he was dragged beneath the water.

Still, he heard the explosions, thunder from above, pounding through the water, reaching him as the monsters dragged him deep.

Boom, boom, boom…

5:57 A.M.

Lisa watched the fiery explosions lighting up the island’s highlands. At first, she thought it was lightning strikes – but they exploded sequentially, rimming around the top of the island.

“What the hell?” Ryder called from the pilot’s seat.

Sections of the island’s canopy began to fall in fiery ruin.

She yelled. “Someone’s blowing up the net! It’s all coming down!”

Ryder cursed.

Explosions continued. Fires lit the skies, speeding around the island’s heights. Unless they fled faster, reached the lagoon’s exit, they’d be smothered under the net when it all came down.

“I need to get airborne!” Ryder called back.

That would be a problem.

5:57 A.M.

Concussive blasts lit up the rim of the island.

Monk understood.

The net…

The Sea Dartsuddenly sped faster, trying to outrun the explosions. The boat lifted out of the water a few inches as it surpassed takeoff speeds.

But Monk’s swinging weight unbalanced the boat, tilting it. His toes skimmed the waters. Ryder corrected, slowing the speed. They struck the water, bounced, then settled again.

Pain shot up Monk’s broken leg. Still he hung clamped to the strut.

Even if he had wanted to, he could not detach. His tussle with Rakao’s spear had fried the electronics of his prosthetic hand. It had shut down after clamping to the wing strut. He was hooked like a slab of beef in a butcher’s shop.

He twisted around, watching the explosions continue around the island. The entire back half of the net drifted down, raining fire amid the storm’s downpour.

And more of the sky fell with each explosion.

Monk stared back toward the exit to the lagoon, the narrow crack in the volcanic caldera. The Sea Darthad to reach it before the explosions completed their circuit around the volcanic rim and dropped the net over the lake. Monk calculated their odds. Not good. And they’d never make it – not while dragging a side of beef from one wingtip.

“CAN YOU RETRACT the wings?” Lisa called to Ryder.

Maybe they could pull Monk in close, get him inside, then extend the wings out again. All without slowing.

Ryder dashed this thin hope. “Once extended, the wings are locked out! A built-in safety feature!”

Lisa understood. It would not be good to have the wings retract while in midair.

Lisa watched Monk struggling. He was digging at his prosthetic wrist with his good hand. What was he doing?

Then it dawned on her.

Monk must have realized the threat he posed.

“No!” she called to him. “Monk! No!”

She didn’t know if he heard her past the explosions and wind.

Still, he did twist his head and faced her. He pointed toward the lagoon’s distant beach. He yelled something, but one of the thunderous blasts battered away his words.

He returned to his efforts.

Monk…please, no…

DAMN IT ALL…why can’t I let go…?

His fingers dug at the plastic wrist. The toggle that manually released his hand from its wrist attachment had melted. His fingernails tore into the bubbled synthetics.

Finally the toggle snapped open.

Thank God…

He reached a finger inside.

“Monk!” Lisa called to him.

Relenting, he pointed again to the beach. He would make for shore. They had to go on without him.

Lisa knelt in the opening, wind whipping her hair. He read the defeat there, too. There was no alternative.

Monk reached through the open toggle and pressed the release button.

Wrist detached from hand.

He fell, tumbling to the water, skipping along, like a skimmed stone. Then he sank into the depths. He kicked his good leg to reach the surface; his other leg felt like someone had jabbed a burning poker through his calf.

Treading water, he watched the Sea Dartspeed across the lagoon, heading for the crack in the caldera that led out to the open sea.

Ryder didn’t hesitate. He understood the sacrifice.

As the last explosions ripped along the rim of the island, Monk stared up. The netting swamped down toward him. He glanced back. Across the lagoon, the canopy fell like a fiery shroud over the Mistress of the Seas,starting at the stern and working toward the bow.

In seconds the cruise ship was swamped under it, caught like a dolphin in a tuna net. And the collapse continued, sweeping toward Monk. He had no hope of reaching any beach. The closest lay five hundred yards away.

In the other direction, he watched the Sea Dartescape into the air, pulling up, lifting off the lake, and racing toward the opening in the caldera wall.

They would make it.

This thought helped settle his heart as the net fell atop him, heavy with cabling and sodden rope. It dragged him down, down, down…

Monk struggled for a way through it, to reach the surface again. But his broken leg confounded him. And the net had folded a bit on itself. He could find no way through.

He stared up at the lights of the cruise ship.

With only one regret…a broken promise…