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  Survival, for now, was a more important priority for the girl than wrapping her mind around the quick rundown Kane had given her. Her rifle was gone, and she wanted a new gun, as well as a refill of the ammunition she’d expended from her pistol. Kane also needed more gear. While conventional firearms seemed to do little in terms of permanently downing the vampiric horrors, they at least slowed them down, with proper shot placement.

  As well, Kane calculated, the vampires might not be the only minions to whom Neekra had access. Grenades, Lyta reported, also seemed to work quite well against the unsheathed snot-balls, if only to slow them down or to spray splintered wood and cause them burning pain.

  “Baptiste caused a couple of these things to scream in agony?” Kane asked.

  Lyta nodded. “Maybe she’d caused it damage with a significant piece of wood.”

  Kane scratched his bristly chin. “Vampire myths state a wooden stake can kill, or at least incapacitate, one of these creatures. They must be staked and decapitated....”

  Lyta narrowed her eyes. “You’re getting an idea?”

  “Anchor it, maybe with a biological-based pin. Then divide it from its other section, its second nucleus,” Kane mused. “We saw that the blobs had what appeared to be two organs within them.”

  “One which would be in the heart, one in the brain?” Lyta asked.

  Kane nodded, slowly at first, then picking up speed. “One could be seen as the heart and the brain of the actual organism. The thing is, these are likely single-celled organisms, comparatively.”

  “Like amoebas?” Lyta questioned. “We’re twenty-third-century Africans, and during the twentieth century, we learned about germs and bacteria in water which could make people sick. So, the creatures have two nucleus nodules...but if they’re single-celled, why do they behave so intelligently, almost humanlike?”

  “Just because they don’t use conventional cellular structure does not mean that they aren’t complicated organisms,” Kane said. “Baptiste told me, while explaining what Kakusa was, that an entity could be stored as a living, extended protein molecule. In fact, cellular structure is loaded with protein molecules in which is stored fantastic amounts of information.”

  “DNA,” Lyta responded. “The stuff of genes.”

  “Multiple gene structures could be arranged to create a brain as complex as a human’s,” Kane said. “Just like Kakusa.”

  “That was the thing trapped in the octo-slugs you fought in Florida, right?” Lyta asked.

  Kane nodded. “We’ve also encountered microscopic technologies. Nanomachines which can move and even perform programmed tasks on a scale below cellular. Those machines literally rebuilt a friend of mine, making him from a withered old freezie into a man of forty years.”

  “Is that normal human technology, or is it from the Annunaki?” Lyta asked.

  “Humans have duplicated it from, I suppose, Annunaki influence,” Kane answered.

  As they searched the camp, both kept an eye on the tree line. It was high noon, and there seemed to be no indication that the vampires were up and about, stalking within the forest.

  Even so, they remained quiet and cautious, their conversation barely above a whisper, and neither letting the other out of sight. Neekra and her vampires must have been certain of their invulnerability, because food, water, weapons and ammunition were still prevalent throughout the shattered Mashonan camp. Lyta and Kane were able to eat and drink, replenishing lost calories and fluids from the night before. A good splash of water in the face also helped Kane feel better. Instead of his shadow suit, he was wearing a uniform shirt packed as a spare in one of the dead militiamen’s tents. It was snug about his shoulders but hung voluminously about his slender waist. He tied that off with a web belt that he’d stocked with gear he’d need for the upcoming conflict.

  Kane knew that he couldn’t replace the Sin Eater lost when he tumbled through the breaking ground, but perhaps he could locate it later. He picked up a Sterling submachine gun. The weapon was an older design, but it was as simple as a brick; it fired a lot of 9 mm bullets quickly and it didn’t take up a lot of room when it was on a sling. The grip angle even matched that of the Sin Eater, so he didn’t have to worry about adjusting his aim.

  Kane also decided to take a folding stocked AKM rifle. The creatures showed some hindrance when they were hit with a lot of big bullets, and the compact rifle was designed to put out big bullets at high speed, both in rate of fire and velocity of those bullets. It was also easier to carry than the big FAL that Lyta had replaced. However, since Kane was loading up with a pouch of grenades and his sidearm was going to be the Sterling, he didn’t feel under-equipped in terms of firepower.

  “Do we try to take them now?” Lyta asked.

  Kane shook his head. “No. We don’t know if they’ll be up and about. We’ll wait until night.”

  “And then sneak down,” Lyta said. “Most of them will be out looking for us. But can we hide from them?”

  “We definitely can. We hid almost in plain sight of the blobs as they climbed up the well from the city. There was nothing between us and the creatures as they scurried from wall to wall,” Kane answered. “We settle in, find a good hiding spot and bide our time.”

  “Maybe get some rest, too,” Lyta said. “I never got a chance to sleep last night.”

  Kane nodded. “We’ll sleep in shifts.”

  Kane scanned the area. He’d counted the dead the night before, and he noticed that there were now about fifteen corpses missing. That was a hell of a force to be facing down, but the vampires weren’t invulnerable. He had Nehushtan, as well as the rest of the equipment he’d scrounged. His allies needed his help, so waiting until dark to make a rescue was all he could hope for.

  Fifteen guards who didn’t require sleep and shrugged off bullets would be unbeatable as defenders. Kane needed them spread out thinly, on the hunt for him and Lyta to even those nearly impossible odds. And once he got to Brigid and Grant, his chances would increase exponentially. Those two were likely studying the vampiric horrors, and had probably gained a lot of data from their initial conflict with the entities. Kane was dead certain that they would have their own ideas of how to deal with this opponent.

  Whether their queen, Neekra, would share the same weaknesses and vulnerabilities as her minions was another question. Kane had his own thoughts, more like desperate prayers, but he’d cross that bridge when he came to it.

  Who knew what kind of other beings were down in that city? Kane had only gotten glimpses down the corkscrew shaft, sighting elements of buildings, as well as a camp. He still had Durga to account for, and perhaps the millennialists or cobra men who he hadn’t committed to the siege at the Victoria Falls power complex. Being outnumbered was nothing new for the Cerberus explorer, but he had no delusions that he could take on an army of undead, let alone perhaps a platoon of gunmen, either soft-or scale-skinned.

  And that brought Kane’s worries to the two young men who had accompanied the Cerberus expedition. Nathan Longa was the former bearer of the ancient artifact that Kane held close to his side. That youth from Harare had crossed miles of deadly African wilderness to bring himself into contact with Kane. All of this had been at the subconscious urgings of Nehushtan, a device that was intelligent enough to steer Nathan to the one facility for miles where he could communicate with Cerberus.

  Then there was Thurpa, a young Nagah who had served as Durga’s liaison with the Millennium Consortium mercenaries who’d joined the fallen prince in his quest for African artifacts. Thurpa had been nearly killed in what initially had been a means of bringing the Cerberus warriors closer to Durga, but the cobra outcast had found himself identifying and collaborating with the group of humans who cared for his wounds and protected him. Thurpa, in turn, had risked his life to protect the Zambians who ran part of the Victoria Falls power complex. As a stra
nger on a strange continent, Thurpa, with his Indian background and post-human appearance, knew that his best chances were alongside Kane, Grant and Brigid, despite the gratitude of the Zambian soldiers he’d rescued.

  Thurpa missed the Nagah city-state of Garuda, and even though he realized that his prior allegiance to Durga would be damning to him on his return, he still hoped to be among his people again. He’d accept whatever punishment he’d receive, just to put aside his crushing loneliness.

  Kane felt for the outcast Nagah. Kane was an exile, as well. All the people of Cerberus were outsiders, strangers in countries and times that were not their own. Kane himself had begun as an enforcer for a megalithic city ruled under the iron fist of a post-human hybrid baron—the nascent incarnation of what would soon become the Annunaki overlords. Everyone in the base known as Cerberus had been cast out of their homes, in the feral wilderness, on a long-frozen lunar colony or preserved in suspended animation from the twentieth century.

  If there was something that Kane could identify with, it was being an alien in a world you thought that you knew. And now Thurpa risked his life. If Durga were at the bottom of that pit, Kane feared for the young Nagah’s safety. Durga was not a kind prince, and the depths to which his lust for vengeance dived were dark and brutal indeed.

  The sooner Kane could get to them, the better he would feel.

  * * *

  BRIGID BAPTISTE WOULD have felt much better if she had had more room to maneuver. Durga guided his faux cobra men to separate his four prisoners.

  None of them were allowed to talk to each other, only to speak to their captors. What was it about the maniacs that she and her allies battled that made them so willing to gloat?

  Durga and Neekra had the wherewithal to keep the Cerberus members from communicating with each other, to the point of taking off their Commtact plates to prevent private, subvocal transmission between them.

  Now Brigid stood in a five-by-eight cell. There was little room to walk, and she could sleep on a bare floor. The room was unadorned except for a small candle in a barred and meshed hole in the wall. She bent and observed it and saw that it was against a door. Even if she could slip her slender fingers through the bars, without being stopped by the wire mesh, the steel hatch was thick and reinforced. The slit for the candle wasn’t much thicker than the thin column of wax itself. Thus, the prisoners could see, and the candles could be replaced with an absolute minimum of vulnerability for the guards.

  It struck Brigid as odd in this dungeon, but then, from what she could make out of the architecture, it most assuredly was from an actual civilized society. She examined the candle and noted that it would last approximately eight hours. She wondered if it would be replaced by a new shift of guards, or if she would be plunged into Stygian darkness for the remainder of the day.

  With no features to provide a distraction, Brigid could easily keep her intellect occupied, but the closeness of the walls, coupled with oppressing darkness, could be a form of torture. She touched the mesh, running her fingertip along it. She could feel the sharp edges of the wire scrape and slice at her skin from the slightest pressure. Any effort to dig into the mesh would end up scouring skin from her fingers. Getting leverage against the bars beneath was even tougher.

  Brigid passed on that particular opening and looked toward the back of the cell. Ancient musk wafted up through a small hole. She grimaced at the tiny toilet and knew that she didn’t want to stay around to see how well it drained.

  Her thoughts about how civilized this underground city had been in its heyday were scrubbed as she realized that these prison cells were the bare minimum. Brigid saw a small slot for food, but it was not large enough even for a bowl, just a shallow plate. She didn’t think that chunks of meat or bread would be shoved through. Or, worse, they would be shoved through the hole. She could see scratch marks on the floor where hungry prisoners could easily have worn in the floor, trying to scoop up broth or crumbs or even just slop in an effort to maintain the calories needed to live. Brigid caressed the marks and realized that they made an indentation on the floor. It was an inch deep, meaning that prisoners had to lap up whatever came through the slot.

  It was also in the darkest section of the cell; the soft glow of the candle created a night-black shadow over the food. Whether they received clean or dirty water, gruel or some other hideous semisolid stew would only be known the moment their tongues touched the slop-spattered floor bowl. Prisoners became animals. The thought made her stomach start to turn.

  Brigid touched the walls. They were dry, solid stone. A hard scrub of the surface didn’t dislodge granules. Human nails wouldn’t make a difference on the featureless slab. There were seams where the stones were pushed tightly together, but they were too thin to get more than a fingernail stuck in them. She even wondered if something like a pocket knife could do anything to the wall. Then again, maybe the stones were actually soft enough to damage, but the prisoners didn’t have enough food or water to make an effort.

  Ignoring the prospects of malnutrition and dehydration, Brigid reached her bound hands under her waistband and down into her black suit leggings, pulling a small, flat sliver of metal that had been stuck to her skin. The small shank was nonferrous, so it wouldn’t show up on magnets, and flexible and low profile enough that even the most lustful of gropes along her leg wouldn’t betray its presence. When pressed on the flat, the metal gave easily. When used as a knife, edge on, however, the object was a sharp, capable cutting edge, or it could be used as a screwdriver.

  Keeping a few items as backup was a tactic that Brigid had always found highly useful. Her skin was protected from the knife’s edges by layers of athletic tape. Brigid turned the sharp little device around and made short work of the leather bindings, remnants of belts and gear from the dead militiamen that the gelatinous sub-vampires had used to tie her up. She wished that the others had been kept restrained by just the straps, but Durga had correctly assumed that Grant could stretch and burst that leather easily. He must have underestimated her. The others’ chains were suspenders to back up the belt that kept a six-foot-four, highly trained combatant from busting loose and turning his cloned Nagah into luggage.

  * * *

  SCRAPING THE KNIFE along the stone wall, she confirmed that attempting to carve through the stone would be an arduous process and would likely result in her skinning her fingers to the bone. Brigid looked at the wire screen protecting the metal bars. Digging the bars out would be equally tough. The stone was thick and hard. She frowned. It was also unlikely that she could carve through the mesh protecting the grid of thick metal. However, the tiny square would give her a slight advantage if she were up against a faux Nagah, Durga, the undead creatures or their queen. The square was only two inches long and a half of an inch wide with sharp corners, but Brigid was keenly aware that a vast majority of surgery was done with scalpels far shorter than the blade she carried. She’d also read that an unusual number of police officers were severely injured and killed by disproportionately short knives or simple razor blades. Jugular veins and carotid arteries were well within the striking range of her little tool, which was why she’d specified that particular length. Small enough to go completely unnoticed, but still big enough to kill if she needed it.

  With or without an improvised handle, the metal rectangle was a good tool and a better weapon than an angry word. She had the ghost of a chance right now. Brigid settled in with her back to a wall, halfway between the door and the toilet hole. She used every moment to scan the featureless terrain, seeking out the slightest weakness in the prison.

  For if she failed to find a way out, and if Kane was somehow captured, Durga and Neekra would come to their senses and execute their prisoners. In fact, Brigid wasn’t certain that the bloody goddess wouldn’t transfer from the warlord Gamal’s mutated, carved body into that of a true woman.

  Brigid cleared her mind of what c
ould happen. It was time to think of what she was going to do.

  Chapter 13

  Grant and the other men were put in chains, while Brigid was allowed to remain in the leather straps that kept her wrists held tightly together. The chains were an obvious concession to the kind of physical power that Grant had demonstrated before Durga. Even though the Nagah prince had been elevated to superhuman durability and power by a corruption of Enki’s technology back in the cobra people’s city, Grant still had managed to survive a couple of blows in hand-to-hand combat with the elevated being.

  That Grant’s survival had been a combination of his own extraordinary stamina and physical conditioning and the impact dissipation of the shadow suits was amazing. The big ex-Magistrate didn’t remember feeling all that incredible, especially with battered ribs and torn muscles in the wake of the punishment he’d received. He’d long since recovered from the abuse he’d suffered at Durga’s superhuman hands, but his Nagah captor wasn’t going to make any mistakes when it came to Grant. However, Grant was certain that it was a mistake on their part to keep Brigid in something that could be cut. If anyone planned ahead, it was the flame-tressed genius. Hell, she’d made a backup personality just in case someone took control of her mind, the one thing that had kept them from being utterly overwhelmed by the son of Enlil, the monstrous stone godling Ullikummis.

  Grant had shown himself to be a remarkable physical presence, though, and the chain links were more than the powerful man could envision himself bursting. Even concentrating on one link, the chains were too well made to even damage the seams on one of the links. The manacles themselves were in good condition—of new manufacture—and there didn’t seem to be a spot of rust on them.

  He frowned, but then he realized that someone out there was either recycling metal or mining new resources. Then again, Africa was a major continent ripe with untapped mines and fuels. Pre-skydark, very few countries were worth blowing apart with nuclear weapons, but it had a thriving economy when it came to diamonds and other metals.