Caplan glanced at Morgan. Her gaze, unreadable, was locked on Corbotch. As he turned back to Corbotch, he saw the inferno. It was close enough that he could see the individual flames, the many strands of smoke.
Another roar rang out. Caplan blinked, stunned by its volume and power. It was louder than anything he’d heard in a long time.
Corbotch glanced over his shoulder. A smile creased his lips. “Do you know what that is?” he asked.
“A saber,” Morgan replied tightly. “In case you’ve forgotten, I was there when they came out of their incubators.”
“It’s far too loud to be a mere saber, don’t you think?”
Caplan cleared his throat. “Some of the 1-Gens might be going through growth spurts.”
Corbotch’s smile broadened.
“But you already knew that, didn’t you?” Morgan’s eyes narrowed. “Your guards controlled the unopened incubators. And they controlled the sabers and woolly mammoths via microchips. What’s going on here, James?”
“You’ll find out soon enough.” Corbotch looked at Caplan and Morgan in turn. “Julius went looking for Derek. They’ll be back any minute now. And when they do, I want the two of you to come with us. What do you say?”
Decision time had arrived. And Caplan didn’t have the slightest clue what to do. If the Holocene extinction was imminent — and based on Morgan’s reaction, that seemed to be the case — then Corbotch was probably the only person in the world who could save them. But could they even trust Corbotch? Once they put their safety into his hands, what would stop the old man from executing them?
“Zach!”
Caplan, acting on instinct, had started to turn before he even heard the shout. At the edge of the clearing, he saw Pearson. He saw the hand cannon.
Saw it leveled at him.
Chapter 58
Caplan lifted his gun, but a loud blast, followed by a rush of air against his left cheek, froze him in place.
“Drop your weapons,” Pearson shouted. “Now.”
Caplan’s nostrils flared in anger. Had he really come all this way just to die? Why had he allowed Corbotch to captivate him? Why hadn’t he just grabbed the helicopter as planned?
His brain skipped through various courses of action. Unfortunately, Corbotch was too far away to be used as a human shield. And he didn’t like his odds in a straight-up gunfight. Lowering his weapon, playing the cooperation game… that was the most prudent option.
But something nagged at him. Why bother disarming us? Caplan wondered. Why doesn’t he just kill us?
Caplan glanced at Morgan. She was in the process of putting her weapon on the ground. He gave her a little head-shake. She got the message and stood up again, rifle still cradled in her arms.
“One last chance,” Pearson shouted. “Drop them or die.”
Keeping the pistol at his side, Caplan shot a quick glance at the big shots. They made no sudden move for the pile of guns Morgan had taken from them. Instead, they smiled pathetically at Pearson, like he was some kind of avenging angel of death.
Caplan had mixed feelings about Corbotch. But his feelings toward Pearson lacked even a trace of ambiguity. Here was the man who’d injected him with HA-78, who’d heartlessly let him kill dozens of innocent people. “What’s the point?” Caplan called out, half-hoping all the commotion would bring a flood of 1-Gens into the clearing. “You’re going to kill us anyway.”
Pearson marched across the field. His gun didn’t waver as he aimed it at Caplan’s forehead. “Where’s Derek?”
Ahh! So, that explained it. They needed Perkins to fly the helicopter. And Pearson was gambling that Caplan and Morgan knew where to find him. Which, of course, they did.
Not that Caplan was about to admit that.
“Who?” Caplan asked innocently.
“Don’t bullshit me,” Pearson said. “Where is he?”
The crackling flames turned ear-shattering. Caplan glanced at the fire and saw giant trunks snap like twigs and topple over, adding more fuel to the inferno. The fire was less than 100 yards away. But Pearson didn’t seem to care and at that moment, neither did Caplan.
For at the edge of the clearing, he saw bristling grass. Tall blades folded over, only to spring up again as yet more blades were pushed to the ground. Someone — or something — was sneaking through the field, heading straight for Pearson.
Got to distract him, Caplan thought. But how?
Nothing clever came to mind. And so Caplan just forced laughter. And not softly. These were giant belly laughs, worthy of the finest mall Santa Claus. And after a few seconds, they became real. Caplan laughed so hard tears started to stream down his cheeks. He laughed away his grief, his pain, his sorrow. He laughed because he was still alive and laughed because he might not live much longer.
Pearson cocked a confused eyebrow at Corbotch.
Corbotch shrugged.
“Hey Julius.” Caplan’s insides hurt from all the laughter. “You know what’s essential for a practical joke to work?”
Pearson frowned. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“A rube that doesn’t see it coming.”
Pearson’s eyes narrowed, then bulged. Abruptly, the grass folded behind him. Something struck his legs. He grunted and flopped onto his face.
Caplan darted forward.
The big shots started to move forward as well, but a single burst from Morgan’s rifle kept them in check.
Perkins’ head appeared above the grass. His hand, now clutching Pearson’s hand cannon, lifted high into the air. Seconds later, he swung it at the ground. Metal struck flesh.
Caplan halted next to Perkins and peered down in amazement. The mighty Pearson lay unmoving on a pile of bent grass and mud. Blood trickled out of the back of his skull and took the gravity ride to the ground, leaving long red streaks on the man’s neck.
Perkins raised the gun again. But Caplan grabbed his arm, arresting his movement. “Cockpit,” he said. “Now.”
Perkins nodded and jumped to his feet. His body trembled from nervous energy as he stuck the hand cannon into his waistband. Then he ran to the helicopter and entered the cockpit. Within moments, the rotors started to whirl at a low speed.
“Bailey, Tricia, Brian!” Caplan shouted as a wave of boiling heat passed over him. “It’s time to go!”
Toland burst out of the tree line and ran for the chopper. Mills, who was helping Elliott, followed at a distance.
As Toland huffed and puffed past him, Caplan gave the man an annoyed look. “Whatever happened to chivalry?”
“Feminism killed it,” Toland retorted with a wheeze. “Thank the goddess for that.”
Ignoring the burgeoning heat, Caplan ran to Elliott’s other side and slipped under her shoulder. As he and Mills dragged her toward the helicopter, he felt a small change inside his brain. So many people — too many — had already died. Did he want to add more to the body count?
Corbotch and Pearson had obvious blood on their hands. He assumed the same about the big shots. And they would pay for their crimes. But that didn’t mean they deserved to die. It didn’t mean they were beyond redemption.
Just then, a woman — Deborah Keifer — shouted something unintelligible. Abruptly, the big shots whirled around.
Morgan shifted her rifle. But the big shots didn’t race for the pile of guns. Curiously enough, they didn’t rush the helicopter either. Instead, they hurried across the field, waddling like penguins in their Sunday best, and shooting terrified looks at the oncoming inferno.