“We made it here,” Joliet said. “We can make it back.”
“Being allowed inside the lion’s den is one thing,” Bray said. “Turning your back on the lions and walking out is something else. And I don’t appreciate—”
“Bray,” Hawkins interrupted.
“Ranger, I swear to God, if you don’t let me say this, I’m—”
“Bray!” Hawkins’s voice was a hiss. He yanked the rifle’s lever down, chambering a round. “Shut the fuck up.”
Bray’s mouth clamped shut.
Hawkins slowly stood, staring down the hallway at the entry room where they’d barricaded the outside door. Bray followed his lead, standing with the ax.
“What is it?” he asked.
Hawkins raised the rifle toward the doorway. “Thought I heard something.”
Joliet slid back into Drake’s room for a moment. She reappeared a moment later with two butcher knives clutched in her hands. She didn’t look confident, but the razor-sharp blades would keep a human being at bay.
Trouble was, if something was coming through their barricade, it probably wasn’t human.
Hawkins nearly squeezed off a shot when the first of the pallets fell. One by one, the pallets shifted and fell as something outside applied a steady force. The breech was so slow that he nearly lost his patience and charged forward, but he managed to hold his ground.
The last of the crates toppled over and the door ground open. Light filled the far end of the hallway and a cross breeze swept past them, carrying the earthy scent of the jungle, and something else. Something sweet and familiar. But from where?
A figure stepped into the hall just as a bead of sweat dropped into Hawkins’s eye. He was blinded the moment he pulled the trigger, but it didn’t seem to matter because the intruder began screaming.
In English.
31.
“Don’t shoot!” screamed a high-pitched voice.
For a moment, Hawkins thought it might actually be DeWinter, but her voice sounded more husky than this.
“It’s me!” The voice dripped desperation.
Hawkins rubbed the sweat from his eyes. He held his fire, but kept the weapon aimed. It could be any number of people he didn’t want to shoot, but it could also be a crafty local. With the sweat gone, Hawkins saw the figure stumbling in the shadows at the end of the hallway. The last light of day filtering in through the hall’s open windows did little to illuminate things.
We’re going to need a fire, part of Hawkins’s mind thought, while the rest tracked the intruder.
“Me, who?” Bray asked.
“Phil! It’s Phil!”
Hawkins lowered the rifle as Bennett spilled into the light. His freckled face and brown hair were coated with mud. Bleeding scrapes covered his bare arms and legs. His eyes, wide with panic, darted around the hallway, hypervigilant.
Joliet ran forward and caught the young man as he fell to his knees. He leaned forward and placed his head on the cool concrete. His back rose and fell with each labored breath.
“Look,” Joliet said, pointing to his back. The fabric of his green T-shirt held three tears where claws had struck.
“Is this from the draco-snakes?” Hawkins asked.
“What?” Bennett said, still catching his breath.
Hawkins tapped on the torn shirt. “The tears in your shirt. Were you attacked?”
“No. I mean, yes. But not by the dracos.”
A loud, angry squawk came from the door.
Bennett yelped and pushed himself up. “They’re here!”
“What are they?” Hawkins demanded, taking aim with the rifle.
The squawk repeated, this time sounding very familiar.
“Can’t be,” Bray said.
A loud flapping filled the hallway. Bennett cringed and shrunk away from the sound. He hid behind Hawkins.
When the large seagull emerged from the gloom, it landed and cocked its head from side to side, regarding them with a sort of puzzled expression.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Joliet said. “This is what attacked you? A seagull?”
Bennett said nothing. He just watched the bird with wild eyes.
“The seagulls here are aggressive,” Hawkins said. “I found one picking at you on the deck of the Magellan before you woke up. For a moment, I thought it was actually going to fight me for you.”
“But how could a seagull—even a big one—do that?” Joliet asked.
“It’s a chimera,” Bray said. “Look at the feet. They’re webbed, but they also have talons. Like an eagle.”
“Kind of a minor feature to add to a seagull,” Hawkins said, looking for more, but he found nothing.
“Just shoot it,” Bray said.
“Not going to waste a bullet on a bird,” Hawkins said.
The seagull took two steps forward, its head bobbing.