Hunter

by James Byron Huggins

  "No problem," the sergeant replied, and in a minute they were ready.

  "I will meet you at the range ," Takakura said to her. "I do not go into battle with an untested weapon."

  "I'll meet you in a half hour." Bobbi Jo placed the ammo and clips and kit into a small duffel. "I've got to clean and oil the Barrett and gauge the headspace and scope mount. I think all the jostling has it out of alignment."

  "Very well. I will await you. After we check the weapons we must prepare for tonight."

  "How much time till sundown?"

  "Three hours."

  "That's enough. Thirty minutes."

  As the big Japanese vanished out the door, Bobbi Jo scanned the racks for anything that might penetrate the creature's bullet-resistant skin. "What did the other team member, Taylor, acquisition?" she asked, unable to find anything that might prove useful.

  "The big guy?"

  "Yeah."

  "The one with the scar on his face?"

  "Yes," she replied, slightly perturbed. "Do you remember what he took?"

  Lifting a clipboard, the sergeant loosed a long whistle. "Man," he began, "that mother cleaned us out. He got fifty depleted uranium twelve-gauge shotgun rounds, took the only .50-caliber Desert Eagle we had in stock and forty rounds for it. Then he checked out ten antipersonnel grenades." He looked up, fear in his eyes.

  Bobbi Jo was reminded that the team, and what had happened to it, was not a secret among the rangers. By now, everyone would know that this thing had almost wiped them out in the mountains. She had noticed that everyone on the base was very heavily armed with large-bore rifles and handguns. Just like the master sergeant, who wore a .45 in a shoulder holster, another one in a hip holster.

  Beside him, leaning against the wall against regulation, was a World War II Garand, probably the most powerful self-loading battle rifle ever designed. Yeah, everybody knew what had happened to them, and the rest of the stations. This place, if it went down at all, would go down hard and slow.

  "Is this gonna be bad as all that?" the sergeant asked, his eyes narrowing.

  Bobbi Jo paused, a frown lowering the edges of her mouth. She didn't look up as she nodded. "Worse than you can imagine." Then she looked at him. "And that old Garand ain't gonna help you, Sarge, if you want to know."

  He was shocked.

  "Well, what will?" he asked nervously.

  She shook her head.

  "Prayer."

  The sergeant's mouth hung open.

  Bobbi Jo turned away. "Save the last one for yourself. You don't want it to get its hands on you while you're still alive."

  Dr. Hamilton stood outside the glassed-in ICU, staring at the sleeping form of Dr. Tipler. The old man was completely unconscious and heavily sedated so his blood pressure and breathing could be more carefully regulated.

  Moving his hand slowly, a smile creasing his face, Dr. Hamilton carefully removed the syringe from his right pocket, feeling the plastic safety cap.

  It would be over quickly, and no one would know, he told himself. He would simply inject the experimental serum into the professor's IV and then wait, observing the results. If the serum was perfectly isolated from the receptors and transmitter genes that caused monstrous mutation, then the professor's health would improve immediately. If not, then the genetic transformation would require that they kill the old man. It would be the loss of a human life, but a significant gain for science. Nor did he have any compunctions against sacrificing a few for the greater good of others. Namely himself.

  When the serum was perfected, they would never release it to the masses, to the world. No, they would conceal its greatness in the corridors of power, where those who were chosen could become immune to disease and decay and even death.

  Yes, it would be easy to build unconquerable power in such a time, to gain control over entire continents, living from century to century consolidating forces, laying plans and pursuing them with cunning determination to actualize a kingdom without peer in history.

  Moving through the almost abandoned ICU—a single nurse sat at the monitor desk recording vital signs and making notations—Dr. Hamilton approached the room where Tipler lay sleeping. He nodded to the nurse and she smiled, returning to her work. She would notice nothing, so quickly would he work, and then time would be his only enemy because he did not know how long it would be before the serum assimilated the indigenous DNA.

  The creature might, indeed, penetrate the compound and kill many. It might even be sufficiently powerful to shatter the steel portals above and massacre those within the facility, but his team would be well beyond its demonic reach within the vault.

  With soft steps—he did not know why he was moving with such stealth because the old man was sound asleep—Hamilton entered the room where he lay and with his thumb carefully removed the plastic cover on the syringe.

  Four seconds ... that's all I need ... four seconds ...

  He reached up to grasp the IV and found the injection port. He was smiling as he—

  A blackness moving silently and quickly around the foot of the bed, a wild shape low and massive, made Hamilton turn and gasp as he saw a huge dog head leading a gigantic body. He took the sight in at once; black eyes blazing over shockingly white fangs already distended, ears standing straight and hackles rising on broad, thick shoulders. Huge and powerful, it stood solidly before him. An ungodly subterranean growl made the tiles tremble.

  Already sweating and trembling, Hamilton backed away, attempting to call for a nurse but again found that he had no voice.

  "Good ... good God," Hamilton whispered, hands trembling violently. "I ...my God ..." He patted the air, slow and careful. "Stay, boy ... Stay! ... Good dog!"

  It didn't move.

  The opaque eyes glowed like a leopard's.

  Finally, since it had not killed him outright, Hamilton realized that it might not, and he found the courage to reach over and quietly press the switch summoning the nurse. In a moment she was at the door.

  She focused on the wolf.

  "Ghost!" she said sternly.

  Not immediately, but within a minute, the wolf backed away the slightest bit, though the uncanny eyes never left Hamilton. The small retreat returned some of his courage. "Nurse," he managed, trying not to appear overly rattled, "what . . .just what ... is that dog doing in the intensive care unit?"

  "Orders, sir."

  "Whose orders?"

  "The orders of Colonel Maddox, sir."

  Hamilton paused, taking deep breaths. "Is there some reason, I ask you, why the colonel ordered you to violate hospital safety standards and endanger your job by allowing a dog into ICU?"

  "It's a wolf, sir."

  "I don't give a damn what it is!" He glared at her. "What is a dog or wolf or whatever it is doing in ICU?"

  A commando appeared in the door behind the nurse; a woman heavily armed with her blond hair pulled back in a ponytail. She was dressed in black fatigues, two pistols on her belt and a massive black rifle slung from a shoulder. She stared at Hamilton.

  "Can I help you?" she asked.

  "No," Hamilton said sternly. "You cannot help me. I will speak to the colonel of this intrusion of the ICU and this blatant violation of hospital procedure."

  "Ghost," she said, looking at the wolf. "Down."

  Ghost didn't remove his eyes from Hamilton. And Hamilton seemed to know without doubt that if he moved one inch toward the old man, he would die horribly.

  "Ghost!" the commando repeated. "Down!"

  The wolf didn't move.

  Her eyes narrowed on the great black form. "He doesn't like you, Doctor."

  Hamilton's face twisted in true fear. "I am the senior medical staff member at this facility ... uh ..."

  "Lieutenant," she said.

  "Lieutenant," he provided. "Yes, well, Lieutenant, I am the senior medical supervisor at this facility, and I will instruct you that if that animal is not immediately restrained, I shall have him shot." He reached out, slowly, to gr
asp the phone.

  Ghost growled.

  "You would do well to restrain him," he added in a low, non-threatening tone, "before the guards arrive."

  Bobbi Jo measured the raised hackles, the growl that continued to make the air shudder. For whatever reason, Ghost was fully aroused and she didn't know why.

  "No, Doctor," she replied with the faintest worry, "I think it's a very bad idea to touch him right now."

  The commandos eyes watched him closely as he dialed the phone. She looked at Ghost again, slight fear in her eyes. "Ghost!" she said sternly, "Go lie down! Go lie down, boy! Do it now!"

  Ghost stood unmoving.

  Hamilton spoke quietly into the phone and then hung up. His gaze switched between the two of them and he managed a thin smile. "Do not worry, Lieutenant. I have summoned someone to help with this situation. They should be here in thirty seconds. And they will promptly kill this animal."

  A squad came through the door with rifles ready. Bobbi Jo jerked her head and saw six of them, fully armed with M-16's, running to Tipler's cubicle and sighting Ghost still poised.

  She didn't move from the doorway and felt a wave of panic. As they reached the door she lowered her head to the side.

  "Stand fast. Sergeant," she said. "I'm senior officer here."

  "But ..."

  "But nothing!" Bobbi Jo shouted. "I'm senior officer! Get Maddox on the horn and do it now!"

  The sergeant, a powerfully built soldier with the emblem of the 82nd Airborne sewn onto his left arm, stared at the wolf and jerked his head hard to the side. "Do as she says!" he ordered another guard and the soldier was instantly on the radio, calling for Maddox.

  Then another form parted the soldiers like a ship slicing through water. Without announcement or permission Hunter boldly entered the cubicle and Bobbi Jo turned her head at the approach.

  He passed her without a word. He didn't ask questions and paid no attention to the soldiers as he reached Ghost and grabbed the huge wolf by the scruff of the neck, forcibly pulling him back.

  Ghost strained against the granite physical control for the briefest moment and Hunter bent, eye to eye with the wolf, before he spoke in an imperious tone: "No!"

  Ghost did not move, so Hunter lifted him from the floor by the scruff of the neck and moved him to the foot of the bed. Then Hunter pointed at him, locking eyes.

  "Stay there! Stay!"

  Glaring at Hamilton, the wolf growled once more and shook its head in frustration.

  Without a wasted second, Hunter approached Hamilton and stood in amused silence. He noticed the syringe, still exposed, in Hamilton's trembling hand. Then he reached out, slowly removing it from his grip. Eyes narrowing, Hunter raised it before his face, studying the amber-colored liquid.

  "What you got here, Doc?" he asked with a wry smile.

  "It is something for pain."

  "Really?" Hunter smiled, glancing at Tipler. "The professor doesn't look like he's in too much pain right now." The smile faded. "Maybe I'll keep this for later."

  "And you are qualified to make such a medical judgment?" Hamilton's force of personality was instantly enlarged. "For this interference in the treatment of a trauma victim I could have you forcibly removed from this facility. I could even, if I so chose, have you locked up in the brig."

  "Oh, I doubt it." Hunter casually handed the syringe to Bobbi Jo. "But you could give it a try. Unfortunately for you, this facility is still under military jurisdiction. So I can't be removed without the approval of Colonel Maddox."

  Hamilton was easily taller, though Hunter had the advantage in sheer muscularity over all of them. The physician used it to his advantage, stepping closer. "I want you to know that that animal attacked me. And for that, he will be destroyed."

  Hunter laughed out loud. "If he had attacked you, Doctor, you wouldn't be standing in the ICU. You'd be lying in the graveyard. And if Ghost came to visit you at the cemetery, all those dead folks would be leaping out of their graves."

  "It is a vicious dog."

  "He's a wolf."

  "I don't give a damn what he is! He interfered without cause or provocation in the performance of my duties. He is a dangerous animal and he'll have to be destroyed or removed from the base."

  "Oh, he'll be removed, Doctor. Just as soon as I'm removed. Just as soon as the professor is removed. And, until then, he'll do just as he's told. He'll stay in this room and guard Dr. Tipler."

  Hamilton sneered. "We already have guards, Mr. Hunter."

  Hunter smiled.

  A moment passed, and the physician's eyes narrowed. "So you are the one who led a team of professional soldiers into a massacre." He shook his head. "I cannot say that I am surprised by your recklessness. As I said, we already have guards but you insist on this insanity."

  "You don't have a guard that never sleeps, Doctor," Hunter half-laughed at the ludicrous insult. "And if you have a problem with it, take it up with Colonel Maddox. He's the one who approved it."

  "Be assured, I will."

  Maddox came through the door, slightly winded. His face was flushed, as if he had raced from the other side of the compound. "Then you can speak to me right now," he said, coming forward. "What is the problem, Doctor?"

  Pointing solidly at Ghost, Hamilton spoke with anger. "That animal is the problem, Colonel. This is a hospital facility, not a kennel. Certainly I need not remind you that it is both unsanitary and dangerous to have a wild animal inside the compound, and even more dangerous to contain it in a trauma facility. I advise you, as senior medical supervisor, to have it removed or destroyed immediately."

  Maddox looked at Ghost, at Hamilton. "You don't appear to be injured, Doctor."

  "The guards arrived in time to prevent an attack."

  "I see." Maddox lifted his chin slightly. "So you were in fear of an attack?"

  "Of course I feared an attack." Hamilton seemed offended at the tone. "Just as any reasonable man would have been in fear of an attack. Clearly, that is a dangerous animal. A wild animal. It belongs in a cage, not in an infirmary."

  "Which is precisely why he is to remain beside Dr. Tipler until we airlift the hunting party from the facility, Doctor."

  Maddox stopped Hamilton as he opened his mouth to reply. "There will be no more discussion on the subject, Doctor," he stressed with military bearing. "This is my command. And the wolf remains as a personal bodyguard to the professor until I receive contrary orders from my superiors. If you wish, you have my permission to contact them and discuss the situation."

  Hamilton was enraged but spoke coldly. "I will, indeed, speak with them immediately, Colonel. I can assure you of that. We will see who is truly in charge here."

  "You do as you see fit," Maddox replied.

  Hamilton walked past him. "Believe me, I will."

  Almost out the door, he stopped before Bobbi Jo and extended a dead-calm hand. "The syringe, Lieutenant."

  "I'll take it," Hunter said as he gently removed it from her grasp. "Maybe the professor would like to take a look at it when he wakes up." He gazed, unblinking, at Hamilton. "Unless it's something you don't want anyone to see."

  Hamilton's face flushed.

  Without a word he walked out.

  Watching him exit the trauma unit, Hunter's brow hardened. Bobbi Jo stepped up and looked thoughtfully at the syringe, at him. "Why did you do that?" she asked.

  He once more raised the amber-filled syringe before his eyes. "Just thought about something an old man once told me about how I can tell if something is right or wrong."

  "Which is?"

  "He told me that if you can't tell if something is right or wrong, ask yourself if you mind people seeing what you're doing. If you'd rather keep it a secret, then maybe it ain't so right after all."

  ***

  A crimson sun rose higher in the sky as Chaney lifted off in the modified Blackbird from Sparrevoh Airbase. He was immediately struck by the crimson dawn that domed the horizon in scarlet tatters and an atmosphere of eternal day.


  But he knew it was an illusion created by altitude. For as long as they remained high, the day would last. It was only when you were trapped in the deep valleys and ravines that night settled so early and without warning.

  Located ten miles from the closest township, the four-hundred-acre airbase was still more than five hundred miles from the as-yet unnamed research station. But the helicopter had a range of fifteen hundred miles at its maximum speed of three hundred miles per hour, so they would be there soon enough.

  It had been surprisingly easy to commandeer the attack helicopter after the base commanding officer telephoned Washington to verify Chaney's orders. Then he and Brick had quickly loaded the chopper.

  Chaney had used ten minutes with a qualified pilot to re-familiarize himself with the updated flight control panel and was impressed with how modern technology had changed what was basically a Huey into a flying limousine.

  It was a well-crafted machine with a muffler that could be hydraulically lifted to virtually silence the twin turbos and engine. He also learned that, when cloaked, the only sound the chopper made in flight was that of rotors slicing air. It was also armed, doubling as a gunship. Yet Chaney didn't expect he'd need the 30-mm cannon so they had lifted off with only the armaments they'd brought, which seemed formidable enough.

  They easily cleared the first jagged whitewall of mountains at nine thousand feet and the Magellan Navigational System kept them on a steady course. Chaney glanced at the displays as they gained even more altitude to ensure the craft was operating smoothly and not approaching the twelve-thousand-foot limit because the cabin wasn't pressurized. Plus, unless you were on oxygen at twelve thousand feet, a sudden loss of consciousness was a possibility.

  With only a quick glance he saw that hydraulic pressure was steady, no overheating or cooling, and that the rotor speed and pitch were appropriate. Rear automatic stabilizers were computerized, and they automatically adjusted to wind and climatic changes.

  Chaney had never flown a chopper with computer-enhanced rear rotor blades or anti-torque control, but it was easy to become accustomed to. He realized that he felt a sense of calm because, overall, the Blackhawk was a much easier chopper to fly than the crude but effective Huey.