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 pooldeep 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 ballsized 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 goosesized 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.
Emily didn't seem nearly as impressed, as she asked, "Which means the Disciples probably know that we know the hack is within the Pentagon's servers?"
The tech just nodded, pulling his fingers back from his keyboard as if the keys had suddenly become distasteful.
"So even if we were able to get another satellite in position, we would be letting the Disciples know exactly where Brandt and the rest were?" Prenner asked.
"Exactly where they were, yes," Stark answered.
"Okay, then," Bunny said. "Plan B."
"Huh?" the tech said as only a teenager could. "Maybe you don't get it. We are effectively neutered. Anything I do, the Disciples know."
Bunny grabbed her purse. "Exactly. Which is why we need to get out of here."
She turned on her heel-less shoe and walked out of the supposedly most secure place in the world. For all their shiny toys and high-tech gear, they could be breached just as easily as Troy had been by a wooden horse. No wonder Brandt went off the book so frequently.
"Wait," Prenner called out, trotting to catch up with her, "where do you think we are going?"
"To go on a little shopping spree."
Prenner stepped in front of her, blocking her exit. "Not without a little more explanation."
Bunny studied the lieutenant's features. He was handsome if you liked that chiseled-jaw "I was a star quarterback" kind of look. Which Bunny didn't. His arrogant bluster had mellowed, though, into a more subtle "I hate losing power" kind of vibe.
"How many years have you spent under the radar?" she asked him. "One? Two years?"
Prenner's lips formed a hard line.
"I spent two and a half with Coti and another six months in Russia. I know a thing or two about laying low but getting the job done."
Emily caught up with them. "That she does."
Stark, who had his arms full of equipment, ran up, panting.
Bunny shook her head. "You gotta let it go, dude."
"But-"
"Anything that has even seen this building has got to go."
Both Emily and Prenner nodded.