Ancient Echoes

CHAPTER 41



AS MICHAEL AND QUADE watched the compound and scouted the area that night, they found more peculiar tracks of chimeras. Strange animal noises, some guttural, some howls, and some high-pitched shrieks made it difficult to relax, let alone sleep. Michael kept watch while Quade slept for four hours, and then they reversed roles. He wondered, however, if he dared sleep.

He shut his eyes and hoped for rest, hoped to stop his mind from racing. A sweet perfume slowly filled his senses. The scent of peonies, Jianjun had said, the scent rising up from Lady Hsieh’s tomb.

He opened his eyes. She knelt beside him.

“You will find a copse of pines to the east. Go to them, Michael,” she whispered. He sat up and reached for her, but she was gone.

Quade sat about twenty feet away, his back to the supposed sleeper.

Quietly, Michael stood, picked up his Remington 700, and walked east. In the starlight the trees looked like a massive nothingness, a void, but he kept going. Once he reached them, he continued forward another five-hundred feet, blackness all around him. He was ready to turn back, convinced he had been dreaming, when he saw a flicker of light.

He crept close. Around a campfire, five men slept.

He jerked backwards and bumped into something.

“Quiet!” Quade whispered. “I followed, curious about where you were going. How did you know they were out here?”

Michael made no response, but stared at the men in sleeping bags. The firelight showed them to be young, clean-cut, big and burly. Beside them were M107 sniper rifles. Military grade.

“Any idea who they are?” Michael asked fiercely. Shades of Mongolia, when government troops moved in on his dig site, killing and stealing, came to mind.

“No,” Quade said indignantly. “They aren't government.”

“Then they’re contractors. Mercenaries.”

Quade opened his mouth to ask why he thought that when Michael shoved him to the ground.

The shot was wide, but close. Michael fired back while Quade flattened himself.

The sleepers were immediately up and armed, their movements fast and efficient. Professional.

Quade and Michael ran back through the trees, shooting at their pursuers, but knew there were too many of them, too well-armed and well-trained for the two of them to last long.

The pines provided some shelter, but they quickly reached the edge of the copse. The ground was barren after that. They could do nothing but keep going, the night darkness their only friend.

They timed a run-and-shoot, ducking behind thick tree trunks, knowing if they went much farther they would have no shelter. They stopped, determined to hold their ground.

A bullet struck Michael in the upper arm. It bled heavily, indicating the brachial artery must have been hit. He clamped down hard on it. With only Quade able to shoot, the snipers moved in.

“This way!” a voice called. Two men armed with only bows and arrows were near. They crouched and gestured at them to run to the hillside.

Michael looked over the area. If they climbed up that hill, they would be exposed.

“Hurry!” the second man said, as he backed away.

They had no choice.

Quade fired shot after shot as he and Michael ran. At the same time, the two strangers kept their arrows flying fast and deep into the trees. Michael and Quade reached them.

Instead of a suicidal uphill climb, one of the strangers pushed them into what looked like a small crack in the mountainside. Michael bent down in the low, narrow space and soon reached a dug-out stairway that descended to a tunnel.

Torches lined the walls, providing light. A slab of rock worked by means of an intricate pulley system, and the last man into the tunnel pulled a rope, causing the slab to slide over the opening, hiding the steps from the outside world.

“The name is Will Durham,” the youngest of the two said. “This is Gus Webber. We shall lead you to safety.”