The Hunt for Shambhala

21

Decker scrambled further up the island and immediately spun around three-sixty to scan his new surroundings for any sign of an escape route. His eyes lingered for a moment on the writhing body of Laghari as he desperately tried to brush dozens of the lethal creatures from his face and chest. He had been unable to flee when the scorpion nest had fallen from above. Now, the countless enraged creatures were firing their stingers at his flesh and bursting their lethal toxins inside his body.

With Laghari’s hoarse screams of terror filling the macabre enclosure, Decker instinctively brushed himself down, even though he knew none of the creatures were on him — yet.

They all watched the young Indian slapping at the scorpions, but then his movements became slower and gradually he settle down until he was no more than a silent heap covered in crawling, scuttling insects.

“That is not the way to go,” Decker muttered.

“Sounds like they’re actually enjoying it,” Diana said, the disgust palpable in her voice.

Decker pointed to Rakesh Madan who was still peering down through his window high above their heads. “Well, he certainly is.”

“There is no way out, my friends,” Madan called down. A look of smug satisfaction spread on his lean face. “Eventually you will fall down and pass out with exhaustion, and then they will get you.”

“There must be some kind of way out of here,” Riley said. “They didn’t get all this junk in here without a door.”

“There,” Diana said, pointing to the far side of the room. “Is that a door?”

“Yes, but it only opens from the other side.”

“Dammit!”

The scorpions clattered closer, and the snakes slithered around them. “Will he really make us stay in here until we pass out?” Charlie said.

“Seems like the kind of guy who would,” said Decker.

“Listen,” Riley said. “That’s not the way I plan on going out, so I’ve got an idea.”

“Hit me.”

“We can stack these rocks up high enough to climb onto what’s left of the viewing gantry, right?”

“Not with old Kaleka watching over us with a gun, we can’t,” Decker said.

“Leave him to me,” the Australian said, gently crouching down and extending his hand toward the writing floor.

“What the hell are you doing, Riley?” Diana said, horrified.

“We have scorpions back on the station. They’re not as dangerous in Oz, but you get to learn how to handle the little bastards.”

He flattened his hand on the floor, knuckles down and gently pushed one of the scorpions back with his other hand. Nudging it back by its front pincers he was able to get it to reverse into his hand. “They can’t sting backwards, you see…” he said, standing up and giving his friends a broad smile.

“What now.”

“Now this.”

He hurled the scorpion at Kaleka and it struck him on the throat. The Indian screamed and stumbled backward. Instinct drove him to drop the gun into the enclosure as Riley knew it would, and the Australian caught the weapon as Kaleka hurriedly brushed the scorpion off.

Riley didn’t wait a second to fire at the panicked Indian standing above him and he loosed three shots until they all heard the ominous sound of dry-firing. “Damn thing’s out of bullets.”

Madan instantly responded by killing the lights and then they all heard the door opening and shutting.

“He’s chickened out!” Charlie said.

“Good job, Riley,” said Diana.

“Move those rocks!” Decker said. “They’ll be back in here with more guns than the US infantry!”

Riley was already heaving one of the rocks up and stacking it on another. Charlie and Decker joined in as Diana kept an eye out. Riley was the tallest and a minute later he was able to reach up and grab part of the gantry. He heaved himself up out of the pit and looked up. “Madan’s gone!”

Charlie sighed. “Bastard must have decided to cut his losses and get out of here while he still has Lena.”

Riley lowered his hand into the pit and helped the others out one by one, and when they were all safely out of the enclosure they all knew what they had to do next.

They made their way along a corridor and quickly found themselves in the engine room. Decker didn’t like big engine rooms. They were dangerous places. He could control an aircraft, but in a place like this — all full of gauges and tubes and machinery — anything could happen. He’d heard all about boiler explosions, high-pressure fuel lines bursting open and burning sailors, compressor airlines and crankcases exploding, and… give me an old plane any day.

“God this place is noisy!” Diana said.

“I’ll say,” Decker said. “I can’t get out of here fast enough.”

“But which way?” Charlie said.

“Up,” Riley said. “On a boat, always up.”

“You never saw The Poseidon Adventure!” Charlie said. “They had to go down to go up.”

“Never saw that one,” said Riley. “Read a book about Poseidon once though.”

They stepped cautiously up the steel staircase and reached another door. Decker thought he saw daylight through the tiny porthole and that meant they were making progress. At the rear, he watched Riley, Charlie and finally Diana step through and then he made for the door.

It swung shut behind Diana and as he reached his hand out to push it open he felt a pair of greasy hands grab him around his neck. It shocked him, and he called out for help but between the vice-like hands around his neck and the noise of the engine room right behind him his cry for help was no more than a pathetic squeak.

He stared through the porthole with desperate, bulging eyes as he watched his friends jog along the corridor and slip out of sight. Soon, one would turn and notice he was missing — but how soon? Whoever was strangling him wasn’t going to take very long about it, he realized with horror.

The assailant dragged him back into the noisy engine room, and pulled him down onto the riveted steel floor panels so he was out of sight of the porthole. With one hand on his throat he pulled a long, filthy cloth from his pocket and wrapped it around Decker’s neck to use as a ligature.

The American stared up and saw his attacker for the first time. He was an older man, presumably one of the senior officers in the engine room, and now his scarred, sweating face was hovering close over him. He leaned in even closer, the effort of choking Decker reducing his speech to a hoarse whisper, “Time to die!”

Decker thought it just about felt like it, too. The ligature around his throat was getting tighter by the second and he felt the blood pounding in his temples as the blood supply was trapped in his head. He began to grow dizzy and felt the thug’s breath on the side of his face as he spoke once more. “Enjoy hell!”

The American had never been this close to death before. He called out for help but by the time his scream had gotten past the ligature around his neck it was nothing more than a weak croak. His vision grew blurry and he saw stars swirling all over the engine room. He knew it was seconds now and he would lose consciousness and then the man would choke the last of the life out of him with no struggle at all.

He had read about extra reserves of adrenalin surging through people in their final moments and now it happened to him. From some deep, primal urge to live he felt a burst of energy powering through him and managed to pivot forward until he lifted the Indian off his feet.

Decker was a bigger man, but the weight of the Indian hanging off his back and using the ligature around his neck to stay there was almost enough to send him tumbling forward. He kept his balance and stayed on his feet, finding his last ounce of energy to tip forward once again and heave the man over the top of his shoulders.

He crashed down on the floor at Decker’s boots, and the American stumbled back and grabbed desperately at the ligature, untying it and tearing it away from his throat. His gasps for air were deep and his lungs burned, but he was still alive, and he had just seconds to end the threat from the other man.

Still breathless, he padded forward and stomped on the man’s face as hard as he could. The Indian’s nose collapsed under the impact of the blow and Decker heard it shatter and squash all over his face.

The man howled and screamed and when Decker removed his boot he saw the nose was smashed all over his face and blood was streaming down over his mouth and chin. He spoke in rapid Hindi, but through the blood bubbles and phlegm his words would have been unintelligible in any language.

Decker said nothing, but lashed out a second time with his boot, this time with a full swing-kick that hit the man’s head like an AFL placekicker going for a field goal. The blow propelled the man backwards over the rail and sent him crashing down on the generator where he landed with a sickening crack.

Decker wasted no time in taking the man’s weapon and charging back up the engine room steps. He burst through the hatch to find the others were long gone, but he knew where they were headed when he heard the sound of helicopter rotors speeding up.

The helipad.