The Betrayed Series: Ultimate Omnibus Collection With EXCLUSIVE Post-Shiva Short Story (131 page)

Riding the damn thing like a bucking bronco, Brandt wrapped the leather twice around the snout, then secured it with the buckle.

“Davidson!” he shouted to the man on the door. “On my signal!”

The sniper nodded, still leaning his body weight against the metal to keep the croc pinned.

Brandt braced his hands against the croc’s shoulder, avoiding the flailing head and surging river water.

“Now!”

Once the door was released, Brandt shoved hard against the nobby skin, pushing the beast back into the river. Davidson wasted no time shutting the door. The last thing Brandt saw of the beast was the croc spinning and thrashing, trying to slip its restraint.

“Vin!”

Brandt turned to find Rebecca pointing at not just a pair of red glowing eyes, but three, no, four sets made it five.

Guess they didn’t even need blood in the water to attract the crocs’ relatives.

Looks like they had gotten rid of one crocodile, only to invite in a whole group of them.

Fuck
didn’t even begin to cover it.

* * *

Even though Brandt tried to turn her away from the charging crocodile, Rebecca wouldn’t let him. It was a sight to behold. Even in the murky water, she could make out the forty-eight teeth capable of delivering up to five thousand pounds per square inch. She could even see the pink of its tongue and upper palate. Many a tribesman and even a pharaoh or two had witnessed this as their last sight.

Brandt nearly crushed her with his embrace as the croc’s tail surged side to side, powering the reptile right at the cracked glass.

Then a blur from the right knocked the crocodile from its trajectory. A brownish, blobbish streak had saved them.

“Hippo!” Lopez yelled, swinging his camera around.

“The dolphins of the Congo?” Talli asked, staring out the windshield. “Did it just save us?”

“No, no, no,” Rebecca said, shoving Brandt toward the door.

Levont was right with her, sloshing through the now thigh-high water. “Hippos are extremely territorial. They will—”

The helicopter shuddered as it was hit on the side. On the second attack, the chopper didn’t just shake, it physically rolled over. Rebecca put her hands out to brace her, slamming into the roof of the chopper. Her fingers fished around for Vakasa, but could barely keep her head from smashing up against the metal.

And the hippopotamus didn’t stop. Using his wide head as a battering ram, he rolled the chopper down the steep riverbank until the entire vehicle was underwater. Rotors and all. Metal squealed and glass groaned until the windshield couldn’t take any more stress.

Shattering inward, the Congo came to claim them.

Rebecca was thrown backward by the rush of water, stripped from Brandt’s hold. Then the door’s frame bent, leaving just enough room for Rebecca to get sucked out into the river.

“Rebecca!” Brandt cried, but the water had him plastered against the back hull.

She fought the current to get back inside the chopper, but the hippo hit it again, tumbling it farther down the bank.

Something knocked against her leg.

Log, crocodile, or another hippo were only a few of the possibilities.

The best thing she could do for Brandt was to save herself, giving Brandt the leeway to save himself.

She kicked hard in the direction she prayed was the surface.

* * *

Davidson got churned under the rolling helicopter. A twisted rotor knocked him upside the head. Dazed, he drifted to the right just as the chopper flipped again. Its headlights creating a kaleidoscope of light and dark.

He wasn’t sure where he was. Heading toward the shore or deeper into the river? Was his head pointing to the surface, or was he just striking for the riverbed? His lungs begged him to gasp. From the pain and for the oxygen. But there was nothing but murky water all around him.

Stay calm
, he tried to remind himself.
Let your natural buoyancy guide you
. He’d had plenty of water-survival training. However, none of the course covered a hippo attack. The water was cut by so many currents even it didn’t seem to know which way was up.

Darkness crept into the edge of his vision. The lack of air and blow to the head conspiring to black him out.

Then there was orange. Bright, playful orange.

A small hand reached out to him.

Davidson took it.

The girl struck upward and to the left. Davidson didn’t hesitate to follow her course. He was running out of oxygen, though. Like, aneurism out. Then they broke the surface. Davidson gulped the precious moist air as his limbs tried to right his course.

“
Kusimama
,” the girl urged.

Levont had been right. Davidson’s African dialects could use some work.

“
Kusimama
,” Vakasa repeated, jerking on his arm.

Her actions were bringing him nearly vertical. And then he felt it. The riverbed. Feeling incredibly stupid, Davidson planted his feet and stood up. He was only knee high in the water.

Yep, he’d nearly drowned in kiddie pool–deep water. Still, they were way too deep to feel safe from the crocs or the hippo.

Grabbing the girl’s hand, he splashed his way to the bank. Talli, Lopez, and Levont repeated the process up and down the bank. Once on dry land, Davidson spun around, trying to find the others.

Rebecca’s head popped up, water spraying from her mouth. She was alive.

However, she was not alone. And that figure next to her in the water
wasn’t
Brandt.

* * *

Above the ringing in her ears, Rebecca couldn’t make out what Davidson was screaming. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she spotted the large “log” floating not ten feet from her. Funny, though, logs usually didn’t blink.

She stopped struggling in the water. She let the river buoy her. The log didn’t seem fooled, however. Not as it drifted
against
the current. Rebecca’s eyes slid toward the shore. There was no way she could outrun the croc. No way. And how they were situated in the river, the men had no shot. Besides, if Levont was right about crocodilian anatomy, it wouldn’t matter, anyway.

Maybe if she didn’t move, the log wouldn’t move.

Yeah. Right.

She noted a glint of silver caught in one of the log’s teeth. The remains of Brandt’s belt buckle. If the croc had gotten out of that, he certainly wasn’t going to let an easy meal escape his grasp twice.

There was only a ripple in the water to warn her he was coming. Rebecca threw herself back, knowing it was useless, but her body insisted.

Teeth surged from beneath the surface, shining brightly in the moonlight.

Then Brandt was there, leaping from the side. He landed atop the croc’s jaws, wrestling them closed.

“I’ve got him!” Brandt yelled. But Rebecca wasn’t so sure about that as the crocodile rolled, taking Brandt with him. Once they popped back up, Brandt shouted, “Go!”

God, she didn’t want to, but given the other ripples in the water, if she didn’t get herself to shore, Brandt would have two of them to worry about. And if anything, Brandt seemed to be winning.

Until the crocodile surged up on its back feet, which were once used to walk upright eons ago. Brandt dangled from the croc’s jaw, holding on for dear life. It wouldn’t be enough, though, as the reptile, so adapt at surviving, tipped backward, crashing them into much deeper water.

“Come on!” Davidson yelled from the shore.

Never taking her eyes off the spot where Brandt had disappeared, she made her way up the bank. The churning water quieted to smooth as glass. As if Brandt had never existed.

* * *

This was a fucking losing battle. The croc had the upper hand. Brandt was no reptile expert, but he did know the fucker could hold its breath for like two hours. And the death roll? Even on the outside of it, Brandt was getting knocked the fuck around. He simply couldn’t gut it out. The croc would win.

And that was simply unacceptable.

Even with Levont’s warning ringing in his ears, Brandt pulled a knife from its sheath on his calf. Now, where the hell did the point man say to hit?

The ear. Straight in the croc’s ear to hit the golf ball–sized brain.

Except, um, where the fuck was the crocodile’s ear?

Still gripping the beast’s jaw shut with one arm, Brandt arced the blade up and stabbed where an ear ought to be. Luke-warm blood squirted out of the wound. But the fucker kept rolling. Brandt brought the knife up again, and this time sunk it into the hilt. The croc’s body spasmed, convulsing.

Not taking any fucking chances, Brandt ground the blade, twisting it on its axis. Take that, golf ball.

The croc’s head arced back. Its eyes rolling like a china doll’s. Not until its body went slack, totally slack, did Brandt tentatively let go. No opened jaws. No attack. The fucker was dead.

But blood spread all around him. There would be more. Like, quickly.

Pushing off the croc’s body, Brandt struck for the sky, knife still in hand. He surged out of the water, shaking his head, trying to get his bearings. The shore wasn’t that far off. It was doable. He could make it there before the rest of the croc brigade showed up.

Then why exactly were the men waving their arms, screaming?

“Hippo!”

Of course there was a fucking hippo behind him.

Brandt let his adrenaline do the work. Running to meet him, the men fired at the three-ton hippopotamus, but the thing had a hard-on for Brandt. Slipping in the mud, Brandt scrambled up the bank. He grabbed a vine and hauled himself up the slope, swearing that he could hear the jiggle of the hippo’s fat.

The loud sound of splashing told Brandt he was running out of time. Grasping another branch, he lurched upward, every muscle fiber complaining of the abuse. He chanced a glance back. The fucker was fast. How the fuck could something so fat move so fucking fast?

And now that it was on land, it was smoking.

“Stop!” Levont yelled. “Stop running.”

That was the stupidest damned advice Brandt had ever been given.

Then Rebecca chimed in. “They are only territorial in the water!”

Did he trust Encyclopedia and Brittanica over there or his own gut?

Given the fact that his legs were giving out, he came to a stop. The hippo’s charge stalled, but its jaw was still wide open. Brandt could smell its retched breath. He could make out the grooves in those ivory teeth that could crush his spine.

The thing took a few more steps forward, then closed its mouth, its wide nose sniffing the wind. Then, as if it had nothing better to do, started grazing on the grass.

What the hell?

“Just slowly back away,” Rebecca advised. “As long as you aren’t making fast movements, it doesn’t care about you on land.”

Easy to say when you were forty feet away.

He was a little limited on options, though, so he did as instructed.

The first step felt like a leap of faith. The second felt more like a prayer. The third was actually almost normal.

But it wasn’t far enough. Not when another crocodile flew out of the water, aiming right for Brandt.

A spear came out of nowhere, skewering the crocodile in the vulnerable underbelly. Just as quickly, the dark-skinned medicine man shoved the crocodile back into the river. Its body, grabbed by its breathren, pulled underwater.

The hippo gave a glance over its shoulder, blinked twice, then went back to grazing. Just another day in Africa.

Brandt stepped back carefully, making for the tree line as quickly as he could without angering the hippo. He wanted to make it into the jungle, but his adrenaline high gave out like a balloon let free. Stumbling a few steps, his butt hit the ground.

Rebecca rushed to his side as the men fanned out, keeping a close eye on the grazing hippo.

“Are you okay?”

“Honestly,” Brandt asked as he lay back onto the cool ground, “hell if I know.”

* * *

Rebecca ripped open Brandt’s bloody shirt. So far, the red stains had been from other creatures’ blood. Not Brandt’s. He had a lump on the side of his head the size of a goose egg. A literal Canadian goose–sized egg. He had bruises up and down his side, but she could see the color coming back into his lips as he breathed in and out.

The hippo, apparently not liking this much company for its foraging, slipped back into the water. Once submerged, the Congo looked as peaceful as a church. Forget the fourteen ways you could die in an instant. And they had weapons. And training. Rebecca tucked Vakasa tight under her arm. This jungle was no place for a little girl.

“Thor,” Vakasa said, patting her forehead, then bowing deeply.

Brandt smiled weakly. “Hey, kid.” He glanced around. “Where’s the medicine man?”

“He disappeared back into the forest,” Rebecca answered, glad that Brandt seemed well oriented.

He smiled again. “He has a habit of doing that.”

She smoothed his sopping-wet hair down and kissed his forehead. “Yes, he does.”

“Everyone else okay?” Brandt asked, although his eyelids had slid back down.

“Yeah, babe,” Rebecca answered. “We’re knocked around, but good.”

Brandt smiled faintly.

“I mean, I don’t mean to be the downer here,” Talli said as the consummate downer, “but some of the Disciples must have survived on the other side. They aren’t going to wait around forever.”

Levont grunted his approval. “Do we have an evac plan?”

No one answered as the crickets sang their little hearts out.

“But hey, on the bright side,” Lopez said, raising his camera, “I got it all on film!”

CHAPTER 11

══════════════════

Pentagon

7:22 p.m. (EST)

“The hack is on the inside,” the tech announced. Finally. “I mean, I hate to admit it, but Bunny is right.”

Bunny knew she was right. It was the only thing that made sense. “Thanks…Tech.”

“Stark,” the kid corrected. “And not Tony.”

She snorted. “Of course not. I can only assume you take after the
Farscape
character. Season one. Episode nineteen.”

The kid’s eyes dilated. Oh, he definitely batted for her team, and after that sci-fi geekery? Batted for
her
.