Noticing that the blood wasn’t his, he quickly wiped it off on his uniform, unknowingly smearing the crimson on the SDF logo on his chest. Now, if the emblem had a few extra trunks and eyes, it would resemble the one the team fought during the outbreak.

  Feeling for his night vision equipment, he flipped them down and tried them, looking away from the sparkling ceiling. The lenses flickered and quickly went out, but then, just as fast, relit. They weren’t going to do him much good in their current state, so he flipped them back up and sighed. Without sitting up, he scanned the room from his lying position, looking for any hostiles. He felt his rifle still slung across his chest but he wasn’t entirely sure if it was operational.

  Closing his eyes, he listened while trying to clear his head. It was eerily quiet, completely silent, actually. The only sounds he could hear were that of the river and the massive bonfire below, crackling at the heart of the upside down pyramid. It illuminated the village enough that he decided to ditch his malfunctioning gear and go at it the old-fashioned way. The only thing he would take with him was his comms unit, whatever weapons he had left, and his water. Traveling light would be best from there on out. Speed would be critical.

  His years in Delta had taught him to not rely too heavily on his equipment. He would be able to make it on his own for the time being.

  As long as I don’t run into any more of those things, he thought, looking at a dead Nsanga. Or them. His eyes found two dead Ru’kan hunters locked in battle with a deceased Ka brute.

  He knew diving back into the fight was the right thing to do—the mission—but he also knew the risks accompanying the decision. He was alone and unmatched. What if he could get back up to the jungle above? He could call in some much-needed help.

  This conflict needed to end.

  22

  As Logan was led to the river’s edge, he noticed something odd about the river itself. His suspicion was confirmed when the medic waded into the water. Strangely, the same river he almost drowned in only rose to her waist. He followed and felt the hard-compacted river bed beneath his boots. It was a natural depth too, not manmade.

  It also answered the question of how he was saved. It wouldn’t have taken much for the two women to just stroll out into the shallow depth and drag him ashore.

  Halfway across, he quickly dove underneath the frigid water and scrubbed his face and his neck, waking himself up some in the process. While his body was entirely healed of the Nsanga venom’s effects, his mind was weary and his legs felt like lead weights. He needed sleep but knew it was out of the question.

  An espresso would be nice, he thought as he slicked back his grimy hair. I’d even take a beer at this point.

  The medic and the nurse were already on the other shore, waiting for him to accompany them when he finished his nippy bath. They both smiled as he headed their way. He was still unsure of what to expect next as he smiled at them. Were they just cleaning him up because they didn’t enjoy a spoiled meal, or did they genuinely want to help him?

  Hopefully the latter, he thought, keeping his hand near his holstered gun. He really didn’t want to have to shoot either of the women. He had enough blood on his hands—and until dunking himself in the river—on his face and neck too. As he thought back to the spray of blood that coated him earlier in the day, he shivered.

  The settlement before him was more of a rugged campsite in Logan’s opinion, consisting of a central fire pit not too far to his right. There were also six huts on one side of the communal area butted up against the cave wall. He looked past the central commons area—their apparent destination—and found six more huts on the opposite side arranged in the same fashion.

  Movement caught his eye as he passed by the first of the homes. Another Ru’kan woman nervously peeked out from the shadows within and watched as he moved. Then another did the same from the next hut…and another after that.

  His original assumption about there being more nearby was, indeed, true. Every hut was occupied except the two closest to the fire pit—one on each side of it. It may have been a privilege or a ranking of some kind within their people. Without the expected language barrier between them, Logan could’ve asked as much, but there were others answers he needed first besides the dwelling habits of the Ru’kan.

  While understanding what made their society tick may have been important yesterday, as of right then, Logan could honestly care less. Finding his team was his current priority. Yes, the Verbraucher were real, but they weren’t what the Nazi’s had originally thought. They were so much more than just a race of horrible cannibalistic monsters. They had separate classes like the animal kingdom did.

  A lion was in the same Panthera genus as a tiger and leopard but belonged to a different species. The Ru’kan seemed to be the same in a way. You had the more civilized ones like Fayng and her son, as well as the ultra-bloodthirsty class of hunters. Those seemed to be the same “species” of Ru’kan.

  But where does the Ka fall in line? He asked himself. Logan wanted to know more. If he was to truly understand the more dangerous sects of the Ru’kan, then he really did need to take the time to find out—to know thy enemy.

  Ten other women joined the medic, the nurse, and Logan around the fire pit. The spit was of the same design as the one the Ka used except it was of normal size. There were bones within the ash but thankfully they didn’t look human.

  “Sit,” the medic said again in Swahili.

  Logan did and waited.

  One of the younger ladies moved off to one side, lifted the lid of a crudely designed barrel, and reached in. Curious, he watched as she came to his side and handed him an odd-looking fruit of some kind. It had the shape of a cucumber but the fur of a peach. He glanced at the medic and she motioned for him to eat.

  Unsheathing his knife, Logan peeled the skin away and dug in. It had the consistency of a banana but tasted like a fruit cocktail. He wasn’t exactly sure what it was, but it was delicious nonetheless. As he continued eating, Logan asked a few simple questions to the group.

  “Ru’kan?” he asked.

  Shockingly, all twelve women shook their heads, no.

  “No?” he asked, stopping. “Human?”

  “Yes,” the medic replied. “African.”

  That was an unexpected twist to the Ru’kan puzzle.

  “Wives?” he asked, biting into the fruit again.

  The medic looked at her feet in sorrow. “Property…”

  Logan didn’t know how to react. Here in the middle of nowhere in the Congo was a tribe who kept slaves. Instead of pushing the subject further, Logan asked, “What’s your name?”

  She didn’t respond. Either she didn’t understand, or she didn’t want to tell him.

  “Logan,” he said, patting his chest. “My name is Logan Reed.”

  He then gestured to the medic and asked her again. “Name?”

  She shook her head. “No.”

  No names?

  They were the perfect slaves if there were ever such a thing. No names meant no identities—no strength in oneself. It also meant that these women were taken when they were young—maybe just after birth. The ages of the women were also what disturbed him. The oldest looking women were the two that helped him. The youngest had to be in her early teens, maybe around fourteen or so. Maybe younger. Logan had assumed they aged ultra-slow like the average Ru’kan, like Fayng. But these were human women, not Ru’kan. They looked as old as they truly were.

  “Bollocks,” he said, rubbing his face. “They’re just kids.”

  These twelve didn’t belong there—none of them did.

  “Just another day on the job,” he said, standing. The soldier in him was taking over, putting together a plan. Twelve innocent people needed to be rescued and he was going to do it come hell or high water.

  But why were they here in the first place? A simple yet unnerving answer popped into his head. When he and the others were captured, Kiani had translated that the Ka were few in numbers. Logan had a sneaking suspicion that these girls were here as a way to repopulate the Ka ranks. Only…it didn’t seem to be working.

  He once more looked at the youngest of the group, rubbing his face again, shaking off the inhuman things that were probably done to them.

  A noise drew his attention downriver, as did a growl. The women instantly scattered, fleeing back into their homes, whimpering in fear the entire time. A Ka brute appeared from out of the shadows…and he was pissed. He stepped into view, looking like he’d been through a war. Blood covered his body—head to toe—and from the color of it, some was his own.

  One of the warriors we’d just fought.

  “Remember me?” he asked in Swahili, hoping he would understand the language like the medic did.

  Regardless of whether he understood Logan or not, he definitely recognized him, launching himself straight at Logan, claws outstretched. Logan’s rage took over, and for him, rage equaled strength when fighting an enemy as sadistic as this. He generally disliked losing his cool while in battle but this was different. Anger was a useful fuel sometimes.

  He blinked once and smoothly unsheathed his knife, feeling its familiar grooved handle fit perfectly into his hand. He’d kill this thing without firing a shot. He needed to kill it this way, like a warrior. As his attacker continued forward, Logan planned his first three moves, doing as he was taught.

  First, he dodged the train-like locomotive and sidestepped him, ducking beneath the hunter’s wild slash. It missed badly, giving Logan’s second move the ability to come to fruition. He spun, holding the bayonet in a backhand grip, and plunged it into where he’d assumed its right kidney would be. If he hit his target, the wound would eventually kill the brute in time, but Logan wasn’t going to let it live that long.

  With anger at the forefront of his emotions, Logan yanked the blade free and continued with step three, leaping onto the injured tribesmen’s back. Then, like a hammer blow, Logan plunged the blade into his chest, getting a gasping cry out of it. He’d pierced one of its lungs for sure.

  Out of preconceived moves, Logan pulled the knife free and slashed its neck, shoving the dying man to the ground. As blood continued to pour from the gaping wound in his neck, Logan moved on to his next objective.

  “Hello?” he asked, wiping the bloodied blade on his pant leg. He closed his eyes and breathed in and out, letting his rage leave him. It took a moment but Logan was already starting to feel like himself again.

  A tear-filled whimper caught his attention, turning him towards the hut closest to the fire. He cautiously made his way towards it and peeked in, finding the medic huddled in the corner, crying, cowering in fright. She was holding her hands above her head as if she was trying to protect herself from physical abuse. She’d seen the repercussions that came with failed defiance before. She’d witnessed the violence firsthand.

  Damnit, he thought. These ladies have been through a lot.

  Logan stepped in and knelt, holding out his hand. “Come.”

  She shook her head, but Logan didn’t back off.

  “Come,” he said again, kneeling. “You’re safe.”

  Nervously, the shaking woman took his hand and they stood together. He slowly led her back to the front of the fire pit. The sight of the dead Ka made her gasp but instead of running from the gruesome scene, Logan watched as she calmly walked over to the body. She knelt and whispered something to it in their native language—the one Logan didn’t understand. He was amazed at the medic’s composure, marveling at her inner strength. She stood and began kicking the slain tribesman, shouting at him inbetween blows. The nurse—a close friend evidently—reached out the same gentle hand Logan had felt earlier and stopped her fury-laden lashing. They wept together while the other ten women surrounded them. Then, they prayed, closing their eyes, whispering in unison.

  “We need to leave,” Logan said as they finished, gesturing to them all. “All of us.” He was floored at the women’s civility. It was nothing he could’ve expected with the information at their disposal.

  Gotta look into that when we get back. The Nazi’s should’ve known more about these people seeing as they went searching for them in the first place. Did they purposely omit their entire findings for fear of the ramifications of their atrocities? Probably, he decided. It’s not like they weren’t known for it. The millions killed during World War Two at their hands was proof enough how sick they were.

  The medic nodded and relayed the message to the others. The only other person to speak in Swahili was the nurse. They all hurried back to their individual homes and collected what they thought necessary, packing their possessions into a variety of sacks and woven bags.

  Then, one-by-one, each of the twelve women headed for the rear wall of the settlement, just behind the fire pit. Each procured a long wooden staff—a walking stick, maybe—from a second large clay pot. As they rejoined Logan he saw that they weren’t just your average walking stick, but a rudimentary fighting staff. Stones had been tied to each end of the bow, acting as an added bonus to whoever was on the other end of its ire.

  It made Logan smile. These twelve would be able to handle themselves.

  “Master,” the medic said, looking at the dead Ka. She then put a hand to her own chest and repeated the word. Logan understood. This one was her master…her captor…her abuser.

  She stepped away and bowed to him, tears running down her face again. Logan placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and squeezed. As she wiped away her tears, the other women gathered around them, waiting for instructions.

  “Do you know the way?” he asked her, getting a quick nod.

  This time, Logan drew his sidearm and started off, walking side by side with the medic on one side and the nurse on the other, heading the way the brute had entered. Trailing behind him was the rest of his newest charge. He was now a liberator of slaves and this cave system was his underground railroad.

  Logan focused on the path ahead. Nothing was going to stop this freight train from reaching its destination. Salvation. Logan ground his teeth. He’d kill anything that got in his way.

  23

  Fitz followed closely behind Fayng and Baird as they silently crept forward. Their bare feet made a lot less sound then the rest of the team’s thick-soled boots. Every time he took a step, Fitz could hear the soft impact of the steps, or at the very least, the grinding of sand and other crushed stone as it shifted beneath him.

  Stealth was necessary since the single tunnel opened up into a dizzying network of identical passages. The only reason they weren’t horribly lost was because of the Ru’kan members helping them escape. Their senses were off-the-charts.

  Wish I had my own set of Spidey senses, he thought, trying desperately to peer through the veil of darkness before him.

  CJ had offered him her helmet and night vision device, stating he’d be better off with it on account of his expertise and abilities. If one of them had to be slightly blind, why not it be the lesser trained of the two.

  Fitz refused. “I’m fine. My eyes have adjusted just fine.”

  It was a lie. Yes, Fitz could definitely see better than before, but the real reason he didn’t take the night vision device was that he knew it would help CJ once they inevitably had to run. Logan would’ve done the same thing too. He’d want to give his sister every advantage possible while surrounded by death.

  Plus, it’s not like the bloody thing would’ve fit.

  Fayng stopped at the next intersection of tunnels and sniffed the air, Baird doing likewise. Then, Fitz watched as she knelt and felt the worn stone surface. They were continuing to follow the most-worn corridors, thinking it would eventual return to the cave system’s main chamber…and hopefully Logan.

  She stood and turned to the group. “We are close.”

  “How do you know?” Fitz asked.

  “Feel the air.”

  Stepping around the two Ru’kan, he concentrated on the dank air around him, instantly feeling a soft breeze that wasn’t there before. They must have been nearing an exit point.

  “She’s right,” he said, stepping forward again, looking left and then right. He tried to feel the air coming from the side tunnels but felt nothing. The air was definitely coming from straight ahead.

  But something else was coming from the side tunnels…

  “What’s that sound?” CJ asked, stepping up next to Fitz.

  “Not sure. Sounds like…” Fitz remembered the sandpapery sound.

  “It’s them,” Fayng confirmed, her eyes flashing green. “More of the younglings.”

  “Damnit,” Zeus whispered. He and Ares were facing their rears, guarding against an attack from behind. “I guess that means we need to get moving then.”

  “Yes,” Fayng replied, “you do.” She stepped left and faced the passage as Baird did the same to the right-hand tunnel. “Go, we will follow behind.”

  Fitz nodded. “Zeus… You and Ares up front. I can’t see shit down here compared to you guys. Suppressed fire only. We don’t need to blow out our eardrums.”

  “What of me?” Kiani asked, holding up her unsuppressed handgun.

  “Improvise,” Fitz replied with a smile.

  Kiani holstered her gun and smoothly unsheathed her wickedly sharp machete, spinning it in her hand like a baton.

  “Move out,” he ordered.

  The Delta men moved up without comment and started forward, their aim never wavering as they fast-walked into the increasing column of air. Smells started to develop too. It smelled like natural rot and not cooked meat, thank God. None of them needed to see anymore shredded and filleted corpses. The images of the aboveground altar and of the oversized underground barbecue pit still flashed through everyone’s minds. The only ones Fitz wasn’t sure about was Fayng and Baird.

  Does that even phase them? he thought, glancing back. He couldn’t see anything, though. They’d moved off far enough that the only thing he could see was Kiani and CJ.

  Twin roars echoed from behind them, halting the group. They turned and listened as the two Ru’kan bellowed and shouted. Quickly following their screams were those of the dying Nsanga young. Thankfully, the tunnels were small enough that there was no way for the female to fit.