Read Online The Judas Strain by James Rollins - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: James Rollins
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After that, I could always throw the pistol at them. That always works.”
Behind them the boat finally freed itself with a roar of its engine. Worse yet, the boat was now on the island side of the reef, sidling toward the beach, sluicing through the bodies of the dead.
Before long there would be another two bodies to add to the soup.
A volley of shots peppered the Buddha and shattered through the lean-to. More vines were shredded. A ricochet sped past Monk’s nose—but he didn’t move. He watched one of the drapes of blasted vine fall away, revealing the mouth of a cave behind it.
Monk crawled forward, keeping the statue between him and the approaching pirates. He nudged open the vines. Sunlight revealed a step, then another…
“A tunnel! So much for your rope-ladder theory, Graff!”
Monk turned and saw the doctor slumped to one side, a hand pressed to his shoulder. Blood welled between his fingers.
Crap…
Monk hurried back to him. “C’mon. We’ve no time to dress it. Can you walk?”
Graff spoke between clenched teeth. “As long as they don’t shoot me in the leg.”
With some help, the two crawled through the vine drape and into the tunnel. The temperature dropped a full ten degrees. Monk kept a grip on Graff ’s elbow. The man trembled and shook, but he followed Monk’s lead and hurried up the steps into the dark.
Behind them he heard the scrape of hull on sand and the victorious shouts of the pirates, confident their prey was trapped. Monk continued up, around and around, feeling in the dark.
It would not take long for the pirates to find the tunnel. But would they pursue or simply take off? The answer came soon enough.
Lights flared below…along with more furtive barked orders.
Monk hurried.
He heard the anger in the voices.
He had indeed pissed them off.
Slowly the darkness overhead turned to gray. Walls became discernible. Their pace increased. Graff was mumbling under his breath, but Monk could not understand the man’s words. A prayer, a curse…he would take either if it would work.
At last the upper end of the stairs appeared. The pair burst out of the tunnel and into the fringe of rain forest that frosted the cliff. Monk pushed onward, grateful for the dense cover of the jungle. As he entered the forest, he saw the toxic kill zone was not limited to the beach below. Dead birds littered the forest floor. Near his toes lay the furred body of a flying fox, crumpled like a crashed jet fighter.
But not all the forest’s denizens were dead.
Monk stared ahead. The forest floor churned and eddied in a red tide of its own. But this was no bacterial bloom. Millions of crabs covered the forest floor, every square inch. Some were latched onto trunks and vines.
Here were the missing Christmas Island red crabs.
Monk remembered his earlier study. Throughout the year, the crabs remained docile until aroused or stirred up. During their annual migration, the crabs were known to slash tires of passing cars with their razor-sharp claws.
Monk took a step back.
Stirred up described the crabs at the moment. They climbed all over one another, agitated, snapping. In a feeding frenzy.
Monk now understood why the creatures were missing from the beach below. Why go down when there was plenty to eat up here?
The crabs not only feasted on the dead birds and bats—but also on their own brothers and sisters, in a cannibalistic free-for-all. At the men’s appearance, massive claws lifted in warning, snapping like broken sticks.
Welcome to the party!
Behind them, from the tunnel opening, excited voices echoed forth.
The pirates had spotted the tunnel’s end.
Graff took a step forward, clutching his shoulder. A large crab, hidden under a fern leaf, swiped at his toe and cleaved clear through the plastic.
The doctor retreated back, mumbling under his breath again. It was the same mantra as on the stairs, only now Monk understood it…and couldn’t agree more.
“We really should have rubbed that
Behind them the boat finally freed itself with a roar of its engine. Worse yet, the boat was now on the island side of the reef, sidling toward the beach, sluicing through the bodies of the dead.
Before long there would be another two bodies to add to the soup.
A volley of shots peppered the Buddha and shattered through the lean-to. More vines were shredded. A ricochet sped past Monk’s nose—but he didn’t move. He watched one of the drapes of blasted vine fall away, revealing the mouth of a cave behind it.
Monk crawled forward, keeping the statue between him and the approaching pirates. He nudged open the vines. Sunlight revealed a step, then another…
“A tunnel! So much for your rope-ladder theory, Graff!”
Monk turned and saw the doctor slumped to one side, a hand pressed to his shoulder. Blood welled between his fingers.
Crap…
Monk hurried back to him. “C’mon. We’ve no time to dress it. Can you walk?”
Graff spoke between clenched teeth. “As long as they don’t shoot me in the leg.”
With some help, the two crawled through the vine drape and into the tunnel. The temperature dropped a full ten degrees. Monk kept a grip on Graff ’s elbow. The man trembled and shook, but he followed Monk’s lead and hurried up the steps into the dark.
Behind them he heard the scrape of hull on sand and the victorious shouts of the pirates, confident their prey was trapped. Monk continued up, around and around, feeling in the dark.
It would not take long for the pirates to find the tunnel. But would they pursue or simply take off? The answer came soon enough.
Lights flared below…along with more furtive barked orders.
Monk hurried.
He heard the anger in the voices.
He had indeed pissed them off.
Slowly the darkness overhead turned to gray. Walls became discernible. Their pace increased. Graff was mumbling under his breath, but Monk could not understand the man’s words. A prayer, a curse…he would take either if it would work.
At last the upper end of the stairs appeared. The pair burst out of the tunnel and into the fringe of rain forest that frosted the cliff. Monk pushed onward, grateful for the dense cover of the jungle. As he entered the forest, he saw the toxic kill zone was not limited to the beach below. Dead birds littered the forest floor. Near his toes lay the furred body of a flying fox, crumpled like a crashed jet fighter.
But not all the forest’s denizens were dead.
Monk stared ahead. The forest floor churned and eddied in a red tide of its own. But this was no bacterial bloom. Millions of crabs covered the forest floor, every square inch. Some were latched onto trunks and vines.
Here were the missing Christmas Island red crabs.
Monk remembered his earlier study. Throughout the year, the crabs remained docile until aroused or stirred up. During their annual migration, the crabs were known to slash tires of passing cars with their razor-sharp claws.
Monk took a step back.
Stirred up described the crabs at the moment. They climbed all over one another, agitated, snapping. In a feeding frenzy.
Monk now understood why the creatures were missing from the beach below. Why go down when there was plenty to eat up here?
The crabs not only feasted on the dead birds and bats—but also on their own brothers and sisters, in a cannibalistic free-for-all. At the men’s appearance, massive claws lifted in warning, snapping like broken sticks.
Welcome to the party!
Behind them, from the tunnel opening, excited voices echoed forth.
The pirates had spotted the tunnel’s end.
Graff took a step forward, clutching his shoulder. A large crab, hidden under a fern leaf, swiped at his toe and cleaved clear through the plastic.
The doctor retreated back, mumbling under his breath again. It was the same mantra as on the stairs, only now Monk understood it…and couldn’t agree more.
“We really should have rubbed that
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