Yerik twisted and fell, one arm still reaching for Sychkin. A single word burst from this throat, breaking his vow of silence for the first time. “Papa...”
Then he crashed headlong into the boiling quagmire.
Sychkin got dragged to his knees by that last desperate grab of the terrified man. He fell at the pit’s edge as Yerik’s bulk struck the mud. A heavy, steaming wave splashed up, striking his upturned face. He screamed and rolled away. His fingers dug at his cheeks and eyes. He bellowed through the scorching mud, while writhing on the floor.
Anna lowered her flare gun, showing no remorse, only satisfaction.
Before they could move, another armored figure ran into view from the magnetite chamber. It was a lone Russian soldier. He had lost his helmet. Blood covered one side of his head. Though panicked, he grabbed Sychkin by the wrist and dragged his screeching body towardthe main tunnel. With his other arm, he pointed his rifle. The soldier fired toward the lodestone chamber, failing to note the two silent women in the side tunnel.
Then the soldier and his burden were gone, trailed by Sychkin’s screams.
“C’mon,” Elle urged and crossed the last of the way.
Reaching the mudpot room, she shied from the body sprawled facedown in the molten clay and sulfuric water. A scuffle of boots drew her attention. Omryn stumbled out, clutching an arm around his stomach. Blood soaked around his limb.
“They caught us off guard,” the man explained, waving them toward the chamber. “When I was holding Jason down.”
He led them back inside, then remained posted at the exit, leaning on the wall.
“Omryn...” Elle mumbled.
“Go.” He nodded to the jug in her arms. “Try your medicine.”
Inside, two men lay dead from huge wounds. Omryn’s shotgun was designed to drop polar bears in their tracks—and apparently, Russian soldiers, too.
Harper rose as they entered. She had thrown her body over Jason, protecting her patient with her life. The doctor snatched up a six-inch roll of gauze and stepped toward Omryn.
She glanced back at Jason. “Gave him a shot of valium to calm his seizures. Nothing more I can do. Time for you two to play doctor, while I see to a patient I can help.”
Elle didn’t argue. Omryn needed his belly wound wrapped. And from here, Jason’s survival was mostly out of their hands. It was up to the Hyperboreans.
She and Anna rushed to Jason’s side. Elle still held the jug she’d broken open. She dropped to a knee and poured its contents over his face, across his neck wound, and down his body, baptizing him with the blue-green oil.
Without being told, Anna snapped the neck off her jug. “What now?”
Elle took her jar. “Hold his head up.”
The nun dropped and pulled Jason’s shoulders across her knees. As Anna cradled his neck back, Elle tipped the jug and washed the oil across his lips, dribbling it down his throat with as much care as she could manage, trying to time it with his exhalations. Again, there was no swallowing. She might be drowning him, but she poured until the last drops fell away.
She then tossed the empty jug. “Better pray this works.”
Anna took her words literally, lifting her fingertips to her lips, bowing her head over Jason.
They waited for some sign.
Elle studied his body. At first, there was no reaction. Then a slight flutter of his eyelids and fingers. She feared he was starting to seize again. Then the movements became more purposeful. His eyelids blinked. His palms pressed against the stone. His knees bent. It was like he was trying to push himself out of the toxic storm within. Finally, his body relaxed. His legs extended, dropping flat.
But not in defeat.
Jason mumbled, and the roll of his eyes focused, staring up at Anna’s bowed face.
“You’re awake,” Anna whispered.
“I... I was never asleep.” He groaned. “Heard everything. Saw most.”
Elle cringed, realizing the toxin must have been a powerful paralytic, trapping him in his body—but not numbing him.
“Hurt so bad. The burning.” He tilted his face. “But worst of all. That black sludge. It was horrible. Tasted like sh—”
