Belbusti unclipped an ice ax he’d had hanging at his hip and brandished it for Dr. Dwyer to see. The silver metal shaft glinted in the harsh light, and the darker steel head had wicked teeth… terrible teeth. Dwyer nodded, taking some comfort in that awful instrument, and together they both turned toward the strips of heavy plastic that blocked the passage here. The doctor frowned. Where was Zeybekci?
“He was right behind me,” Dr. Dwyer said. “He’s the one who killed Helen and the others. He just murdered—”
“Maybe he went toward the cave mouth,” Belbusti said. “We should warn the others on level one.”
Climbing ax raised, brow knitted in fearless determination, Belbusti shoved the plastic slats aside and started forward. He’d taken half a step when Zeybekci came through as if he’d simply manifested out of the shadows on the other side. Zeybekci had one hand on Belbusti’s throat when the American swung the climbing ax, grunting but still grim with purpose, still fearless. The kind of brave that Dr. Dwyer had never witnessed in his life.
Zeybekci ripped the climbing ax from his hand as if he were snatching a switch from a bullying child. The one burning light flickered and went dark for just a moment, but in that moment Dr. Dwyer saw that Zeybekci’s eyes burned with a sickly orange glint, the rotting light from inside the guts of a jack-o’-lantern.
“Please, God,” Dr. Dwyer whimpered. “Please.”
Zeybekci hacked the point of the climbing ax at Belbusti’s face, puncturing his left eye and squelching six inches deep into the American’s brain. Belbusti collapsed, the point of the climbing ax making a slick sucking noise as it slid from the dead man’s eye.
Dr. Dwyer was already moving. Running. He saw the faces up ahead, all turned toward him, their eyes wide with terror. People were reaching for weapons. Others were screaming. One had already begun to run deeper into the ark, away from the horror and the cluster of people whose company she’d assumed would keep her safe.
The doctor could have told her there was nowhere inside the ark that would be safe now. But then he felt a solid blow at the back of his skull, heard the bone give way.
He died, then, amid a chorus of screams.
SIXTEEN
Olivieri stood inside the stall he’d been using as his own sleeping quarters. His bedroll had been bundled into a corner and three plastic chairs and a table now stood in the middle of the stall. Chunks of broken bitumen from the coffin casing lay in a pile on the floor. A dozen smaller pieces sat on the table, glassy smooth but with sharp edges. Some of them were those discovered with the cadavers Professor Marshall’s team had studied, but the rest they would have to prepare for themselves.
Chloe sat in one of the chairs, using a cordless drill to make holes in the new bitumen shards while Errick threaded thick, rough twine through the holes. Olivieri had chosen the new pieces of bitumen for size, preferring bits that had lines engraved in them from that ancient, inscrutable language that Father Cornelius thought he could translate. Olivieri had tried not to think too much about the priest’s ability to make sense of those engravings. He didn’t have time for envy.
“This one,” he said, selecting another piece from the floor. His back and knees ached from crouching to examine the bitumen.
Over the whine of the drill, Chloe hadn’t heard him.
Olivieri tapped her shoulder and she took her finger off the drill’s trigger.
In the resulting quiet, they heard screaming. Olivieri snapped up his head, muttered “no.” Errick stood so fast that his chair crashed over backward. His hands opened and closed and he swore, realizing he was weaponless.
“Chloe,” he said, reaching for the drill.
She frowned and turned her back on him. Olivieri understood. No way would she give up her only weapon so that he could have one. Chloe faced the stall opening, finger on the trigger of the drill. Olivieri took a step backward, though he knew that it meant his back would be against the wall. More screams came from the passage. He heard a thump that could only be a body hitting the floor, and then people were rushing past the stall opening, fleeing, and Olivieri knew they had to go.
“Run!” he snapped. “Both of you, go!”
Errick glanced at the pile of bitumen, snatched up the biggest, sharpest chunk from the pile, and stepped into the passage. A scream swept in on the wind and Olivieri saw one of the staff crash into Errick, who tried to sidestep, to free himself from entanglement. Olivieri watched Errick look up, ready for a fight, and then a climbing ax flashed through dim light as it whickered down and stabbed into Errick’s flesh. He jerked aside at the last moment and the point pierced his shoulder instead of his chest. He went down, and his attacker rode him down, raising the ax for another swing.
Olivieri shouted, as if he might stop murder with only his voice.
Chloe hurled herself out of the stall and used the drill like a club, batting at the skull of Errick’s attacker. The man swayed backward and Olivieri saw it was Zeybekci. Or the demon, inside Zeybekci.
Crying out, Chloe jammed the drill into his cheek and pulled the trigger, the bit whining as it dug into flesh and bone. Zeybekci only smiled wider as he reached up and grabbed Chloe by the hair. The drill bit plunged deeper into his face, blood spraying Chloe as he curled his fingers into claws, dug in his nails, and ripped out her throat. Inhumanly strong, the demon in Zeybekci stood as Chloe crumpled to the floor, blood gouting from her throat. The drill thumped to the floor next to Chloe’s twitching, dying flesh, and Zeybekci turned to stare at Errick.
Olivieri could not move. He refused to breathe, for if he did, the demon might hear him. Might see him. Might come for him.
As if it heard his thoughts, the demon turned and looked into the stall. Zeybekci’s mouth grinned.
Then someone else was there, moving fast. A fist crashed into that mouth, and Olivieri heard the demon snarl in surprise and fury. It didn’t like that anyone might dare to fight back.
Walker heard people shouting his name. Kim and Hakan were right behind him, running along the level-two passage, but there would be no hesitation now. Mr. Avci would wonder, later, if he had done all he could to save Zeybekci. The Turkish government would launch a formal inquiry. As the UN observer, Kim Seong would have to do her best to explain what happened next. But for any of that to happen, there needed to be a next.
He threw the punch on instinct, but Walker’s instincts had been honed through years of practice and deadly experience. When he hit Zeybekci, he did it from the waist, snapping his fist forward with the strength of his whole body. That blow would have dropped an ordinary man. Lights out. Zeybekci staggered back, twisted around and hissed at him, the hiss rising into a bestial snarl.
Walker had pissed off the demon. He wanted to be proud of that, but then its grin returned and he saw the corners of Zeybekci’s mouth rip, blood running from the edges, the smile too wide for a human face.
He’d have given anything for a gun just then. He had one, but not in his hands. Not now. Hakan probably still had Zeybekci’s, but he couldn’t bank on probably.
The demon lunged at him. Walker sidestepped, dropped his elbow on top of Zeybekci’s skull. Its hooked fingers clawed at his leg, tore his pants, and dug furrows into the flesh of his thigh as it went down. Walker pivoted, gave himself room, and snapped a hard kick at its head, pistoned his leg, and did it twice more.
With a scream, the demon wearing Zeybekci’s flesh surged up at him, grabbed hold and lifted him off the ground. The stink of blood and death filled the passage. Red life steamed off the timber floors. The demon held Walker off the ground and rose up, its face only inches from his. Its breath made him retch, and its touch made his skin crawl. Fear moved like infection through his blood. He fought it, but its stink, the filthy grime that seemed to coat his own flesh just because it stared at him…