Page 37 of Murder Island

Dispholidus typus.A boomslang.

It was one of the deadliest snakes in Africa.

Kira held perfectly still. The snake started to curl across her chest, tongue flicking. Kira tensed her muscles, then whipped her left hand over and grabbed it behind the head. The snake coiled furiously around her forearm. Its jaws gaped wide, exposing a pink mouth and pin-like fangs.

Kira unwrapped the snake carefully from her arm and dangled it at arm’s length, ready to drop it to the ground. But then she had second thoughts.

She pulled a nylon bag from a side pouch of her backpack and stuffed the squirming little killer inside.

Her new pet.

“Welcome to the jungle,” she whispered.

CHAPTER 44

WAS I DEAD?

Not quite. I could still move and breathe.

It was still pitch-black. My head was covered by a soaking wet blanket. I ached from head to toe. The rain had slowed, but the boat was being blown by a strong wind. A loud throbbing sound was blasting down from above.

I pulled the blanket aside and got blinded by a huge light from about thirty feet up. It was all I could see. Then a shape came down through the glare.

A basket stretcher!

Was I hallucinating?

The padded edge of the basket whacked me in the head and I heard a man’s voice through a loudspeaker.

“Climb into the basket! Center yourself and hold on to the sides! Do not let go!”

I grabbed the basket with both hands and rolled intoit. The steel ribs and straps cut into my back, but at this point I didn’t care.

It was a helicopter! I was being rescued!

I felt a sudden tug from above as I was lifted off the inflatable—or what was left of it. When I looked down, I could see that the engine cowling had been torn off and one pontoon was underwater. At this point, it was barely a life raft. More like a deflated pool toy.

The chopper engine was pulsing above me. The higher I went, the louder it got, until my ears were pounding. The downdraft from the prop swung the basket back and forth until a pair of gloved hands grabbed the cable to steady it.

A few seconds later, I was inside the door and somebody was sliding me onto a rubber cushion. The basket went away. The chopper door slid shut. The nose of the chopper dipped and we surged forward.

We were flying. Fast.

I felt a plastic straw between my lips.Omigod, yes!I sucked in something cool and sweet, gulp after gulp, until somebody pulled the straw away. I felt my shirt being ripped open. I heard Velcro ripping and felt a strap being wrapped around my bicep. The inside of the chopper was dim, but I could see four or five helmeted heads hovering over me with small lights pointed down.

I felt somebody holding my hand and then the sting of a needle on the back of my wrist.

“Who are you?” I asked. “Where the hell am I?”

“Off the grid, that’s where,” said one of the helmets. “You’re lucky we found you.” Western European accent. I couldn’t quite place it.

For a second, I felt a swell of panic. I stared up at the faces. Were any of them smiling—like the killers in Chicago? Like Aaron Vail? Had I been rescued, or had I been captured again? I looked for patches on the uniforms. Flags or military badges. But all I saw was the glare from the headlamps.

I lifted my head and grabbed at somebody’s arm. “Who the hellareyou? Whosentyou?”

I felt a slight burn at the site of the needlestick. My head was being pushed back onto the cushion.

“Good night, Doctor.”