“Taylor and I will carry the professor,” the commander said, allowing no room for contest. “Hunter and Ghost will lead. Bobbi Jo, you will be back-up and Riley will be guard. Beware, Riley! It has struck once from behind. It may again. We go! Now!”
In seconds they were moving more quickly, almost at a trot, though Hunter somehow didn’t expect an encounter soon. He didn’t know why, exactly; perhaps it was just his forest sense. But he had seen the creature’s reaction up close when Bobbi Jo hit it with the Barrett and he had somehow sensed its surprise, as if it still could not believe these pitiful weapons could hurt it.
They reached the bluff quickly and Taylor was the first to rappel down. Takakura was second in order to back up Taylor at the base and then they rigged the professor, who was easily lowered to the bottom. Next, the three of them rappelled down, one after the other, with Riley last.
“What about the rope?” Takakura said. “We may need it. It is still tied to the tree at the top.”
“That’s why you brought me, Commander,” Riley responded. “I lassoed it to the tree.”
He pulled on one length of the doubled rope and quickly one end ascended. In seconds, the entire rope came over the summit and spiraled in a slow majestic descent over the climber. “One second,” he said, again out of breath; the ordeal was wearing on them all.
That Takakura did not hurry him was a measure of his command ability. In five minutes the gear was stowed and Riley lifted the pack, holding his M-203. “I’m ready,” he gasped.
Ghost ranged in front as they picked a path down a slope that bordered a creek running toward Windy Gap, a cut in the mountains. This was their only chance for getting the professor to the research center. It would be the last night alive in these mountains for all of them if they failed to succeed.
Leading, Hunter kept the Marlin ready, for whatever it was worth. When he cast a quick glance back at Bobbi Jo, he saw a vicious edge in the sniper’s eyes. She was not just looking; she was hungry. She wanted it in her sights again; she had confidence in both her skill and her weapon.
Then Hunter again remembered the demonic eyes that blazed with malignant intent, heard again the enraged deafening roar hurled from the humanoid face with curved claws weaving a black web of death that he had evaded again and again by the merest margin, escaping death by the space of a breath, and he knew one more thing.
It would never cease this hunt. He was the only one that had beaten it face-to-face, the only one to challenge that dark might and escape. Yes, it would come. And it would come for him.
***
“I can’t give it to you on a cellular,” Brick growled. “Call me on a land line.”
“Give me a number,” Chaney said, steering the rented Ford LTD into a gas station. He was less than thirty miles from the Tipler Institute. It was the most likely place to begin.
He wrote down the number Brick gave him and hurried to the phone, knowing he could be racing against a tap. Brick answered before the first ring finished.
“It’s only a piece,” Brick said hoarsely, “but I found something from one of the snitches in justice. This guy knows somebody who was asking questions about logistics, the satellite support stuff for these research stations. That ain’t much, but if someone is poking around, they got a reason.”
“Can this be traced back to you?” Chaney asked, suspecting a possible trap. It was the oldest trick in the book; put out false information to a particular person and then wait and see if it surfaces downstream. It was one of the best methods for finding moles and leaks.
“No, this guy is solid,” Brick responded. “We go back.”
“Did he give you a name?”
“Yeah.” He paused, and Chaney heard paper rattling. “He said the guy’s name was ... Dixon. Yeah, Dixon. Flashed CIA creds. He didn’t mention division. But if it’s dealing with this, I’d say covert ops is a good place to start. Want me to check on it?”
Chaney debated.
The Central Intelligence Agency was prevented by law from operating any facilities inside the continental United States, with the exception of a domestic office that they ran at a covert site in New York City. Both the CIA charter and presidential mandate prevented domestic activities. And whatever this would eventually turn out to be, it was definitely a domestic activity. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to involve Brick any further.
“No,” he said finally. “I can take it from here. I want you to smooth things over. Act pissed off and ignorant. Say you wonder why a bunch of marines got wasted because you’re an ex-marine. Make like you’re angry about the whole thing. They’ll figure, once a marine, always a marine. Take that line. Let them know you don’t care who knows you’re interested, then they’ll think you have nothing to hide.”
He almost felt Brick nodding.
“You watch your back, kid,” Brick said heavily, his voice deepening. “You’re messin’ with ... Lord! I don’t know what you’re messin’ with! But I know a few tricks that you don’t. And I can promise you that they know you’re watchin’ ‘em. So they’re gonna be watchin’ you back.”
“I’ll cover my six.” Chaney glanced around casually at the highway. “You know me. I always do.”
“Yeah. Right.”
Chaney hung up and walked back to the car. From the first, he hadn’t liked the feel of it. Now he liked it even less. And the questions returned to him: What were they looking for up there? Why did they need one of the world’s leading crypto-zoologists, guys that specialize in identifying unknown species?
He opened the car door slowly, completely absorbed by the thought— the military and anthropologists working together in what was essentially a high-tech military hunting party. Which would mean they were, of course, hunting for ...no, not a person. They wouldn’t need an ecologist to hunt a—
Chaney stopped in place.
An animal?
He vaguely knew his mouth was hanging open.
Could they be hunting some kind of animal?
He mentally repeated it: an ecologist, a scout, a high-tech killing team ... for an animal? Could an animal have attacked the soldiers? Would that be why they were hunting it, if that’s what they were really doing? Could an animal be responsible for the destruction of the research facilities?
The thought was so outrageous, he went over the facts again, to make sure he hadn’t missed a major clue. But he hadn’t. And he stood for a long time in silence, trying to accept the possibility of it. He didn’t even attempt to measure the absurdity of it. He didn’t need to.
He tried to avoid thinking of how incredible a thought it was, concentrating on the hard clues themselves. They had found something up there, he conjectured, something that required someone to name. That explained the presence of the old man. And it was something that was moving—which meant it was alive—and that explained the need for a tracker. And it was something that they intended to kill, which explained the hit team.
Chaney was grateful that that much made good sense, despite the wild-ness of the theory. Then he continued to try to fit in what else he knew.
And someone with power wanted to conceal the operation, which explained the lies. And this agent, Dixon, had reportedly been asking questions about the team’s satellite linkups, and that was the factor Chaney couldn’t figure. Why ask about communications satellites unless ... unless ... How would you sabotage an attack team?
The answer was easy.
By cutting off their support. By shoving them into traffic and abandoning them.
Chaney frowned. If this thing—an animal, if his theory was correct— could wipe out two platoons of marines, it could easily wipe out a small attack team. But what could do that? What kind of animal could kill all those men in an attack? And why, if you wanted it dead, would you cut off your killing team?
Things just didn’t add up.
What could be s
o important at these sites that they would go to such extremes to conceal? And who would have any motivation to sabotage the operation? And finally, and even more important, who would have the power?
Slowly, turning it over and over, he pulled out from the gas station.
He was even more careful as he exited the ramp, moving north toward the Institute. Maybe he would find the answers there, he thought. But he doubted it. He had a feeling this was going to get a lot worse before it got better.
***
Hunter moved slowly down a gorge that led to a creek. He knew it would lead to an even larger creek. He wasn’t consulting the topography map; he didn’t have to. From here, his reckoning skills would take them to the gap, though they still had a long twenty miles ahead of them.
Ghost, the only one among them who knew no fear, roamed up the trail and down, always staying close. But Hunter knew it was to protect him, for if Ghost had chosen his preferred action, he would be tracking it even now through this frontier to battle it to the death.
Hunter watched everything, nothing. The forest was quiet, but not un-naturally so, probably due to the uncustomary presence of man in this wooded domain of beasts.
He glanced back—everyone was moving well—so he continued on at an even, measured pace. Not too quick, yet not too slow because they had to make the pass by dusk. There, he knew, they would find some kind of hamlet where they could contact the research station by phone and obtain immediate medical assistance for the professor.
Hunter estimated another five hours on the trail. And, after he released the professor into the care of the army, he would pursue this beast alone and with the means to destroy it.
It was personal now, as when Ghost refused to fall before the wrath of the alpha wolf that he had fought over the dead elk. And there was something more.
Hunter knew this beast would kill forever if it was not stopped. It was like a lion that had become a man-killer. It would return to kill again and again until it was destroyed.
And this creature was even worse than any man-killer. This thing didn’t kill for a reason; not food, not fear, not territory. It was simply a mindless engine of annihilation that would continue until it was destroyed.
Hunter knew that nothing like this had walked the world for 10,000 years, if ever. Nor had it long been inside these mountains. For a species this unbelievably savage would have drawn the attention of the entire planet long ago, and quite probably would have been tracked down and killed.
Hunter knew that these “research facilities” were somehow behind this monstrosity. And he decided that, yes, he would fly into the next one ...and he would indeed find some answers to—
Hunter’s savage instinct made him whirl.
He twisted desperately aside as the volcanic black shape—a monstrosity of roaring black and red—erupted from a crevice to hurl a clawed hand at his face. The blurring black talons brushed his leather shirt and Hunter, incredibly, hit the ground on balance, spinning back with a snarl.
Yet the blow continued on momentum and hit Bobbi Jo hard, somersaulting her cleanly in the air with the Barrett flung far. Takakura whirled, firing a full round with the MP-5, unleashing a raging clip into its chest as it staggered, striking again to blast the Japanese back.
Driven to the ground by the impact, Takakura slammed into Wilkenson and both of them hit a small slope, a tangle of arms and legs and outstretched weapons rolling hard to collide with a boulder. Moving in a blur, it was on Riley almost instantly.
Without the advantage of Kevlar this time, Riley was virtually armor-less as it swiped out, lifting him cleanly from the ground, its monstrous hand buried to the wrist in a lung.
Riley’s face was open in shock for a stunned instant before blood exploded violently from his mouth and he ceased moving. Gloating, almost, it hurled the dead soldier at Taylor, rushing forward almost as quickly as the body sailed through smoking air.
The hulking commando agilely evaded Riley’s dead form and quick drew a sawed-off double-barreled shotgun from his waist to fire both blasts in its face.
It staggered, and with a massive roar, returned a murderous blow that should have torn Taylor in half. But, anticipating the response, the big man had ducked, rolled, and come up quick with his shotgun blazing. He hit it a dozen times in less than three seconds and dropped a clip to speed-load another as Hunter fired.
The Marlin’s roar was tremendous and the beast winced, staggering back as if Taylor’s assault had stunned it. Then Bobbi Jo fired a quick shot that disintegrated a small tree beside it.
For a split second, they had the advantage of distance and acquisition and took full advantage of it, laying a field of fire that hit and didn’t hit. Bobbi Jo clambered painfully to her knees, holding her chest. Hunter could hear nothing but the detonation of rifle fire but he saw her attempt to raise the Barrett for a shot. Grimacing at the pain of her effort, she dropped the barrel to the ground. Then, teeth gritted, she tried again.
The barrel rose.
Sensing that Bobbi Jo was about to fire, the thing leaped with superhuman speed, hitting a boulder and clearing the wide stream with a terrific bound before Hunter could raise the Marlin and fire another wild shot, knowing as his finger closed on the trigger that he had failed to lead it enough.
Vaguely it registered to him that a tree somewhere beyond it had exploded from the impact of the heavy 45.70 round, and then the creature gained the ground on the far side of the stream, running.
The entire creek bed was littered with smoking shells and casings, and waves of heat rose from the weapons in the unnatural silence that followed. Hunter could hear nothing but his own labored breath. And then he glimpsed the beast on a nearby hill, charging up the slope as if it had not been wounded at all.
Taylor roared wordlessly, viciously as he opened fire again, aiming high because the beast was well out of range.
Takakura staggered from the freezing stream and cast a single glance at Riley’s dead body before whirling toward the hill where Taylor was firing. He immediately joined Taylor, firing hopelessly far and high and wide.
Wilkenson was wounded, blood pouring from his slashed arm, but he raised his rifle at the fleeing shape and pulled the trigger.
Already it was more than a half mile away.
“God Almighty,” Hunter whispered. “Already ...”
He raised the Marlin and fired, knowing it was impossible but joining anyway. The slug would fall at a quarter mile, probably, and now it was almost a mile away, nearing the top of the ridge.
They were not even close to hitting it as he watched the thing continue to climb, unperturbed by the vengeful rifle fire cascading over it. And he knew that in seconds it would reach the crest, over a mile distant. They didn’t stand a chance of hitting it.
Then, snarling, Bobbi Jo gained her feet. Her eyes blazed red and her teeth clenched as she understood the situation. She whipped a machete from her waist and with a single vicious swipe sliced off a nearby branch, instantly slamming it into the ground.
Then she racked a heavy .50-caliber round into the Barrett sniper rifle and laid the barrel through two strong branches that formed a support. She flipped open the scope covers.
Her face grew still and cold. Then her breathing slowed and she threw a lock of hair from her eyes with an impatient toss of her head.
Hunter looked back at the ridge and saw the thing near the crest. Dimly he knew that the rest had stopped firing, finally abandoning all hope with hateful screams.
“Come on ...” He heard Bobbi Jo’s soft whisper. “Come on ... I’m gonna reach out and touch ya ...”
She waited with cold fury until it reached the peak of the far ridge. Waited until it turned. Waited until it raised monstrous taloned hands in the air and its glorious bestial roar crashed over them, hurled from the sanctity of safety.
“Good night,” she whispered.
/>
Fired.
The violent concussion hurled it backward off the ridge. Hunter stared hard but saw nothing more, then dimly heard Bobbi Jo eject the Barrett’s five-round magazine, inserting another round from her vest.
Her face was empty, devoid of pleasure or pain. And Hunter sensed that the concentration and cold control required to make such an incredible shot would fade slowly.
She kicked the branch aside and shouldered the strap of the sniper rifle, turning to Takakura. “I hit it low,” she said with a surgeon’s detached composure. “I was trying for a head shot. But I hit low.”
Takakura shook his head in saddened frustration. He cast a single glance back at Tipler, motionless now on the stretcher. “We must hurry,” he breathed. “We cannot risk another encounter with the beast. We will not be so lucky next time, I think ... Taylor, help me with the professor. Wilkenson, you can take rear guard.”
Hunter’s eyes narrowed as he watched the Japanese bend for a second, recovering. He could not imagine, for some reason, Takakura injured or revealing injury. But it seemed for a moment that he would collapse. Then he straightened, a hard frown on his chiseled face, and walked to the professor.
Mile by mile, Hunter thought, they were becoming more ragged and battle-worn. Takakura’s short hair was smeared with grime and sweat and his once-impeccable uniform savagely torn by the beast’s massive claw. Bobbi Jo’s uniform and armor were as devastated as Takakura’s, and she appeared haggard, as if the long combat was leeching the life from her. Wilkenson was still holding onto some of his superior attitude, but he too was showing distinct signs of exhaustion and wear. Even Hunter, used to savage encounters and long arduous journeys in uninhabited lands, was feeling the strain. His coat had been shredded by the boulder and the blows of those clawed hands that had only barely missed the skin beneath. Uncounted purple and bloodied contusions lined his forearms and neck, but his face wore the most punishing remembrance of the conflict: the left: side was viciously slashed with four long distinct claw marks that had torn deep furrows from his cheek downward across his chin.
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