Outside, the wood cladding was ancient and rotten. During the night, when the wind came up, it howled and whistled through the cracks, and they all found it difficult to sleep. And then his doubts began to resurface. The enforced inactivity was giving him pause for thought, and the lack of any sign of the enemy began to weigh on him. It was wrong, all wrong.

  There should have been something, even a token attack. Dammit, they’re Russians. Long memories, and they don’t give up that easily. Not until the other side had got them beat, and they’re a long way from that happy state of affairs.

  The presence of the heavily armed militiamen was at least reassuring. They flitted in and out of the woods, occasionally making an appearance for chow and to sleep in the bunkroom. Other than that, they kept themselves in a tight group, not communicating with anyone other than their own people. They were surly, sullen, and mean, which suited him just fine.

  His concern continued to grow, and he couldn't shake it off. At times, it was as if the howling wind was trying to convey an urgent message. He’d check outside, and each time found nothing. He began to wonder how he would distinguish between friend and foe when they did come. If he saw a dark shadow moving toward the cabin with the dark silhouette of a rifle strapped over his shoulder, it could have been anyone. But still they hadn’t come.

  That morning, Yuri was doing the same as he always did. After breakfast, he'd switch on the laptop, connect to the internet via the satellite, and begin seeking out possibilities for his latest hacking exploit. Peter Schiller sat on the other side of the table, playing with a gadget he'd picked up before they left Moscow. A Navcom, a combined computerized GPS and satellite navigation device. Military grade, complete with Wi-Fi, any number of ways to connect to the internet, and a few other functions he’d never bothered to explain. He told them how wherever they were in the world, it would plot their position, even underground, and Cris had no reason to doubt him. Although he did point out the compact device, little bigger than a hardback book, was painted in the colors of the Russian military, a dark, drab green.

  “How come you got hold of it, Peter?”

  He looked at Cris in surprise. “I got it cheap from an Air Force guy. He said they wouldn't miss it. The military has always been good to me. I’ve bought any amount of surplus kit at knock down prices. Sometimes a couple of bottles of vodka are enough to buy a working radar receiver.”

  “Which won’t worry them.”

  “No way. Most of those illiterates don’t even know how to switch on their own equipment. They’re good people, like I said.”

  Cris neglected to remind him of the time the military had done their utmost to shoot them out of the sky when they were escaping from Siberia.

  He swallowed his coffee and looked back at Yuri, who’d sucked in a breath, as if he was in shock. His eyes had narrowed as his fingers slowed on the keys of his laptop. Cris walked around to look at the screen. The Russian had hacked into the main security center for Chicago O'Hare airport.

  Yuri’s voice was a hoarse whisper. "It's her." His fingers stopped dead on the keys, as if they'd been cryogenically frozen.

  "Her?" Cris looked again, and now he understood the Russian’s shock, "Jesus Christ, it can't be. She’s dead."

  The fingers came to life again, and he hammered over the keyboard, running a facial recognition program, he’d called up from somewhere deep inside the O’Hare computer system. "No, it's not her. The surname is Karpov, but the first name is Kareena. She must be a sister, maybe a twin sister."

  Cris nodded. "Yeah, but how come? I mean, why now?” He stopped, “My God, those guys with her, who are they?"

  The fingers danced over the keys again. "According to the computer, their names are also Karpov. Kolya and Kazimir.”

  "Brothers? Impossible, they’re hideous. Disgusting, like someone dug them up from an ancient, primordial gravesite, the burial place of giants.”

  “What's hideous?"

  Maria walked around the table and looked at the screen. She recoiled at the image of the two men. “Okay, I agree, they’re hideous. But what does it mean for us? You all look worried."

  "Yuri, back up a bit. Show her."

  He returned to the segment with Katya Karpov's double, and she paled as he explained that she had a different first name, so it was likely her twin. "So, they’ve come," she breathed, her voice a husky murmur.

  "I’ll warn the militia,” Cris said, "The CCTV was from a couple of days ago, so they could be anywhere by now. We have to go on full alert. They could hit at any time.”

  Maria was still shaking her head in consternation and confusion. "Shouldn't we consider moving from here?"

  He shook his head. "They may not know where we are, so I suggest we stay until we know more. They may not find us.”

  "If you think that's best."

  “There is no best. I’m sorry, Maria, but all we have left is to think about is any way to survive. No guarantees.”

  That night in bed she held onto him tightly, saying nothing, and not sleeping at all. Cris awoke with the dawn, after having dozed for no more than an hour. He'd been checking the windows hourly, although so far, he hadn’t heard any indication of a problem. He threw some clothes on and went outside. As soon as he stepped out, it hit him. Something wasn’t right, and after a moment he’d it worked out. The militia on the nightshift hadn't checked in. He went back in to call Al Quinby.

  "Your men, where are they?"

  He shrugged as he pulled on his shirt. "They should be patrolling outside, like they're paid to do." Then he checked his watch, and blinked in surprise, "Yeah, I see what you mean. They’re overdue. I’ll go and check. They won’t be far away, not with breakfast on the way."

  "I'll come with you."

  They slipped out of the door, Quinby clutching his AR-15, and Cris with his Colt 1911 handgun. Yuri followed them, but several paces behind. He was looking around wildly, and with good reason. Something was wrong, badly wrong. They could smell it, almost taste it. They didn't have far to go before they found the first of the militia. Or what was left of them. Body parts, arms and legs, nailed to the trunks of trees. Eight trees, and eight sets of arms and legs.

  "That's the Karpov brothers," Yuri whispered, "According to their records, they’re mass murderers. They kill their victims and nail the limbs to trees, like trophies."

  Cris looked at Quinby. "You’ll need to get the rest of your men out of bed and send them out there to find the bastards who did this, Al. We’ve got trouble. Big trouble.”

  The man's weasel face looked even more hunted and nervous than usual, and Cris added after a moment’s hesitation, "We’ll double your pay."

  He thought about it, and in the end greed overcame his natural caution. While Cris continued surveying the woods, he returned to the cabin to kick his men out of bed. They stepped outside and slowly entered the woods. The first of them came back after a few minutes and spoke to Quinby.

  “Everything’s quiet. They’ve gone. But we’ll stay out here and keep looking.”

  It was too quiet. Cris went back inside the cabin and picked up his rifle, an M4A1, the weapon that had carried him through countless special operations with DEA; and on several occasions since, during his quest to keep Maria Tereshkova alive.

  She was looking at him. "What are you thinking? What can we do?”

  He stared back at her. “I don’t know. I've got a bad feeling about this. We’re in the shit.”

  She did a double take. "You can't be serious. There are twelve militiamen out there, armed with automatic weapons. There are three of the Karpovs. Now Quinby’s men know they’re there, they won't be able to take them by surprise. Surely they'll be able to handle them."

  He shook his head. "You saw those monsters. Each of them is like going up against a platoon of Special Forces, and then some. Remember, they’re mass murderers. I wouldn't put money on Quinby's men."

  She began to see his reasoning. "Okay, but what do we do now? Surely we should wait and see if Al Quinby and his men manage to handle them."

  "No."

  “So what next?” Yuri was watching them, his face filled with alarm.

  Rhodes gave him a quick glance. "Get ready to go. We run."

  The Russian didn’t hesitate. He packed away his laptop and raced outside to collapse the portable satellite dish. They left the cabin and ran toward the Ford Explorer SUV.

  “Which direction do you plan to go?" Maria said, panting for breath, "The floatplane base? We could fly out of here if you can get hold of a plane."

  "That's what they’ll expect us to do. No, we head in the opposite direction. South. Stay in the forest.”

  Peter gave him a puzzled glance. "A floatplane would be the quickest way out, and we could fly over the border into Canada."

  "And they'll still find us and be waiting for us. These bastards are almost psychic. Like I said, we go south."

  Schiller nodded. "Okay, I'll work out the best route. I can look for the back trails, where we can lose them.” He recoiled, “Damn, I left my Navcom inside the cabin. I'll go back for it."

  Yuri turned back as he sped away. “Where’s he gone?”

  “To collect his Navcom. He left it in the cabin.”

  “But…I brought it with me. I’ll go after him.”

  “No, we have to keep going. When he finds out it’s gone, he’ll meet us at the car.”

  They reached the Ford Explorer. Rhodes dragged the driver's door open and leapt into the passenger seat. The keys were in the ignition, and he switched on to start the engine. The starter motor whirred for several seconds, and there was nothing. The engine didn’t even try to fire. He tried again, and behind them they could hear the rattle of automatic and semiautomatic fire. Screams echoed around the forest, and he knew the truth. The militiamen were in trouble, the worst kind of trouble. They’d run into the Karpovs.

  He pulled the bonnet release and ran around to check inside the engine compartment. Someone had crept in during the night and smashed the fuel lines. The pungent stink of gasoline was overpowering, and without getting the vehicle into a shop, it wasn’t going anywhere. Maria and Yuri were already seated inside, but he shouted at them to get out.

  "Someone sabotaged the gas lines during the night. It’s not going anywhere. We’ll have to go on foot."

  "What about Peter?" Maria was aghast, "He went back for his Navcom."

  At that moment, they heard a terrifying scream from across the clearing. It came from inside the cabin.

  "Peter’s in trouble," she said, "We have to go back."

  "There's nothing we can do for him. They got him."

  "You’re sure?"

  "As sure as the coffin lid closing. Let's go."

  They raced away to the edge of the forest and slipped into the trees. They looked back. The cabin was ablaze, lighting up the skies. It also left a solitary figure bathed in light.

  Kareena Karpov was staring directly at them like the Angel of Death. They each felt as if she could see them inside the darkened wood, even though they knew it was impossible, unless she was in possession of some supernatural power. Cris wasn't prepared to rule it out, but somehow, he doubted it. She was the very incarnation of evil, a twisted, warped, rotten mind inside a beautiful façade.

  The Russian girl looked away after several seconds and stepped back into the shadows. She was gone.

  "It was her," Maria said, her voice a moan of despair, “Cris, I can’t help but think of her sister, Katya. They’re all like…ghouls.”

  "Yes, ghouls is right. This latest one, she reeks of death."

  "What about Peter? Are you sure there's nothing we can do?"

  "When this is all over, we’ll come back to bury him.” He stared at her, “We’re alive. Let's go."

  Yuri fed GPS maps into the Navcom, and they pushed through the forest. Ten minutes later, they emerged onto a trail about four feet wide. The foliage was flattened after the passage of animals and probably hunters, so they could make better time. He urged them into a jog, and they drew further from the cabin. Further from the Karpovs. Occasionally tripping on protruding branches or vines, but putting more distance between them and the devastation they’d left behind.

  "Do you think we've managed to lose them?"

  He put a finger on her lips. "Listen."

  They went silent, and deep in the forest they heard the noise of something crashing through the foliage. Something or someone was coming fast, and they could recall no more than a single creature capable of using brute force to batter through the foliage in such a way, like a bulldozer.

  "It's one of the Karpovs. You two keep going." He paused, to make sure they understood, "There’s no other way. Keep going, and he’ll go after you. I’ll be waiting, and I’ll ambush him when he comes close."

  "He'll kill you." Maria was aghast.

  "Not if I kill him first. Move it. We have seconds at most."

  She paused for a moment longer and then followed Yuri. They sprinted along the trail, and Cris melted into the shadows of a stand of young saplings. Seconds later, the bushes twenty yards north shook like a Mack truck was moving through them. The shorter of the Karpov brothers pushed through onto the trail. He looked around, sniffing the air like a wild animal. His nose and eyes pointed in the direction Maria and Yuri had taken, and he started running after them. A long stride, a shambling run that ate up the ground, and he came abreast of Cris' hiding place.

  He opened fire with the Colt 1911, and three bullets sped toward the monster. At least one hit him, but he swerved away with uncanny speed for such a huge man, and turned to face his tormentor. His huge arms came up like mechanical grabs, and he was closing the distance fast. Cris sidestepped away from him, using his Colt like a club to smash him on the side of the head. He just blinked, and Cris bunched his left hand into a fist. He slammed a hard left hook into the Russian’s nose. It must have been broken many times in the past, but although he felt bone breaking, the shape didn't change; still a twisted, amorphous, bunched mass of broken and repaired tissue. If he’d hurt the monster, he couldn’t see any evidence of it. The man kept coming, like an automaton. The Karpov brother managed to land a punch on Cris' shoulder, and it was like being hit by a runaway tank. Pain knifed through him, and he knew he couldn’t take many more such blows.

  The fight was unequal, and he shouldn’t have stood a chance. Except he had to stand a chance, people were depending on him. She was depending on him.

  This is for Maria.

  He managed to suck in a hasty breath, almost passing out as the monster slammed another huge paw into his injured shoulder. Lightning flashes of agony knifed through him, but he dredged up a last, huge effort of conscious will. His leg came up, and he used his boot to drive a hard, driving blow into the crotch of the man opposite him.

  This time the Russian grunted. He’d felt it, and for the first time, Cris had managed to hurt him. The huge hands dropped to protect the soft tissue of his vulnerable area. Cris stepped in to deliver the killer blows, a massive three-punch combination that took every last ounce of energy in his body. He may as well have punched an oak tree, for all the difference it made, and then the monster reeled. He pulled his Colt back out, and with a second to spare before another huge, machinelike blow landed on him. He fired another bullet into the monstrous creature, straight into the guts. The man grunted, this time in real pain. Rhodes had a chance, and he felt the adrenaline surge through his body.

  I’m the alpha, you piece of shit, so eat this.

  The creature groaned in pain, and he hissed out the challenge. "Yeah, you don't like it when the medicine gets dished out your way, motherfucker."

  The man said something in Russian, and then he was coming at him again. Incredibly, the man was overcoming it all, the pain of the blows, the bullets, and the punches.

  It’s like he’s not even human. No, he isn’t human. He’s an aberration.

  Cris dodged again, but the beast came on, relentless. He had no choice but to retreat into the woods, and then his back was against a huge trunk. Either side, thick new saplings grew, forming as much an obstacle as a tough wooden fence. The monster grinned, seeing an end to it, and took another step forward. And stopped, flinching as a rifle butt came out of nowhere, and slammed into his head. He started to turn, but the rifle butt hit him again, and again.

  Cris didn't hesitate. He didn't know who'd saved him, but he went forward on the attack, seizing the chance, and delivered a blow to the man's crotch. He put every ounce of his strength into it, and more, summoning up the last vestiges of reserves in his aching muscles. The response was an eerie scream that echoed around the forest. The rifle butt slammed onto the huge, misshapen head for a last time, and the monster keeled over. When he hit the ground, it shook like a minor tremor, and Cris looked up at his savior.

  Stan Miles, Al Quinby's trapper friend was looking at him. His face was a mixture of terror and determination, filled with a strange desperation. Like a man defending himself against a huge, black bear. Kill or be killed.

  "Jesus Christ, who are these people?"

  "Russians, psychos. Thanks, Stan, but now we need to move. There are two more of them."

  “Shit, lead the way. Damn, I don't want to stay around to tangle with any more of them."

  "What happened back there?"

  Stan gave him a look with eyes that were scared beyond normal reason. "They came at us out of the dark like a hurricane. One second they weren’t there, and the next moment the bastards hit us like a freight train. I made out two men, huge, so I guess this guy was one of them. They killed five of us, and the rest were falling back. The other one was behind us, a woman. I managed to slip away into the trees. I watched what happened next, and it was terrible.”

  He was shaking in terror, and Cris murmured for him to go on. “Tell me.”

  “She went around the men wounded and cut their throats. With a couple of the guys it was worse. They were still alive, and she cut off their balls and stuffed them into their mouths. Then she cut their throats, so the poor bastards died choking and screaming in mortal agony. The two men had big knives, machetes. While she was finishing off the wounded, they were hacking off limbs of the dead and dying. I've never seen anything like it, like a fucking army of the living dead. You know they're not human."