Benjie wasn’t sure it was any safer there, but he obeyed.
Gray lowered the windows to either side. The openings were too small for a hippo to breach through, but they offered the man more room to fire. Gray clutched his long-barreled handgun in both fists, glancing right and left. He darted one way, then the other, firing at those gray humps if they approached too close. The blasts were deafening in the enclosed cabin.
Hippos sank away from the assault, looking little fazed.
In front, Kowalski kept the ATV moving, one hand on the wheel, the other pointing and firing his unusual weapon. The whining zings escalated into a buzzsaw as he shifted into automatic fire. Silver flashed across the headlights. Sharp disks imbedded into arched backs or sliced through ears.
Still, all their efforts only seemed to roil the bloat.
Benjie gasped as another bull exploded out of the water to the right. It ripped into one of the massive tires. The ATV lurched as the hippo tried to drag that corner underwater. Benjie and Faraji tumbled forward. Then rubber tore as the bull broke free, nearly taking the tire with it.
The ATV bobbed back up.
The shredded tire spun and frothed the water. The only benefit was that the ripped tire gained more traction in the water on that side. It started turning the ATV all on its own.
Kowalski fought the wheel to compensate—but he was too slow.
Another hippo butted hard on the other side, sending the ATV into a dizzying spin. It was only stopped when another slammed the opposite side. Gray fired wildly, trying to discourage further assaults. Only the blasts seemed to attract the hippos.
Thrown about, Benjie felt like a pinball in an arcade. His head rang, his body was bashed. Still, he crawled toward Gray.
“Stop it!” he hollered.
Gray kept his gun pointed. “What? Why?”
Benjie pointed to the left rear wheel. “Get them to shred that tire, too.” He read the confusion on Gray’s face. “To help balance the torn one on the opposite side. Together, they might drive us faster in a straight line.”
Gray considered the idea for a beat, then crabbed toward the tailgate. “Get clear!” he ordered.
Benjie and Faraji crowded away.
Gray shouldered the tailgate open, enough for him to lean out. Hanging from a handgrip, he pointed his pistol past the rear of the giant tire. He fired potshots at a large hippo, a massive bull, far bulkier than the others, maybe the leader of this bloat. It sank away, as if shrugging off the attack.
Gray frowned in frustration.
Then water flumed, framing the four-foot-wide jaws of the bull. It slammed into the ATV’s side, catching the tire and a chunk of sidewall. Gray got tossed out the open tailgate. The bull crashed back into the swamp, dragging the ATV down with it. Water flooded into the cabin.
Benjie fought the flow to reach the tailgate.
Gray sputtered up.
“Over here!” Benjie hollered, reaching out an arm.
Gray lunged with a hard kick. He slapped out a hand and snagged Benjie’s forearm. Benjie grabbed the man’s wrist and yanked backward, falling, using his bodyweight as leverage.
It wasn’t enough against the tide.
Past Gray’s kicking legs, another hippo rose, sweeping toward him, impossibly swift. Water surged ahead of it. Benjie held tight, not letting go.
Then arms hugged him from behind.
It was Faraji. He helped Benjie pull.
It was just enough to yank Gray back into the cabin. The hippo behind him struck the rear, slamming the tailgate closed. The other bull finally tore free of the tire, letting the ATV go. The vehicle bobbed back up, sloshing everyone around.
Benjie pushed up enough to see the assaulted tire spinning, loose rubber slapping at the water. With two shredded tires offering better traction now, the ATV treaded faster across the swamp.
Gray nodded to Benjie. “Smart.”
He took the compliment as Gray sidled forward. The man had somehow kept hold of his pistol, though it was surely waterlogged.
Ahead, Kowalski glowered at the rainswept swamps.
Other humps lay out there, but whether it was the flailing tires or their greater speed—now heading away—the hippos hung back. The bloat closed slowly behind them, discouraging their return, then vanished into the dark.
Soaked to the skin, Benjie sat in a few inches of water.
He couldn’t be more relieved.
The ATV continued its frothing passage across the swamp. They continued unmolested. Finally, tires caught hold of mud. The ATV crawled out of the water, pushing through a fringe of reeds. It limped along with two intact tires and two torn ones.
Still, Gray ordered Kowalski to carry them a good distance away from the swamp before calling for a stop. He faced the group.
“We’ll need to swap out the tires. There are two spares, deflated and stored under the cargo deck and a powered air compressor to fill them. But keep in mind, we have no more spares after this. That’s it.”
“Then I’d better watch out for loose nails,” Kowalski said sourly.
Gray ignored him. “We should also top off the gas tanks while we can. We’ve still got a long way to go.”
Benjie pictured the blue line drawn across the topo map. He stared into the dark jungle as rain flowed out of clouds rumbling with thunder.
But where will it lead us?
21
April 24, 11:37 P.M. CAT
Katwa Mining District, Democratic Republic of the Congo
Tucker straightened over the soldier’s limp body. He shifted the Kevlar vest to settle the armor’s weight over his shoulders, then swapped his miner’s helmet for a combat one. It had been a long time since he’d worn such gear, flashing back to sandstorm-swept streets and crumbling stone walls.
He shook his head to clear the memory.
Not the time.
Frank looked at him, as if sensing his momentary lapse. His friend was similarly attired and dragged a second body deeper into the concrete bunker. “You good?”
Tucker gave him a thumb’s up. Despite his distaste for his new outfit, he appreciated both its added protection and its aid in blending them among the other combatants at the mine. Still, he felt only half-dressed. Without Kane at his side or sharing the dog’s sight, Tucker felt exposed, vulnerable.
In the corner of his goggles, he caught occasional snatches of garbled transmissions, flickers of camera feed. Still, the local jamming thwarted any true connection to his partner.
“Let’s keep going,” Tucker said, firming his grip on the ParaFAL rifle he had pilfered from the dead soldier. It was fitted with a fifty-round box magazine, along with a steel bayonet at its tip.
Frank released the other body and shouldered a matching weapon.
They crossed to the bunker’s door. Outside, the war with the sky continued. Screams and shouts echoed into the bunker. Gunfire chattered all around. Flamethrowers roared.
Twenty minutes ago, the horde of bats had swept down upon the city, attacking anything in sight. Tucker and Frank had ducked into the shelter of one of the worker’s shanties. Luckily the worst of the aerial attack was aimed at the cinder block administration center, where the gunfire and flames drew the bats.
From the shelter, Tucker had watched a guard tower fall to the bats. A body tumbled from its machine gun nest; the figure writhed in midair, covered in black leathery wings. Taking advantage, they had raced out of hiding with a sheet of corrugated metal shielding their heads. It still had old boards nailed to it.
Once at the wall, they propped the metal shield against it and used the boards as a makeshift ladder. They both bore deep cuts from rolling over the razor wire at the top of the wall and dropping into the fortified compound. With all eyes on the sky or battling on the ground, Frank and Tucker were able to duck into the nearest shelter, a concrete bunker at the base of the barricade. Two gunshots had dropped the soldiers who had been hiding inside.
Prepared to continue on, Frank gripped the door handle. “Ready?”