Elliott could close his eyes and claim to still see the face of the nightmare, but what details did he remember clearly? The dreadlock-like appendages that fell from the head? Yes, he still remembered them. The eyes? Maybe. The mouth so like the mandibles of a spider? Or the fangs nearly hidden by those vile moving barbs?
He couldn’t say for certain. The only time he thought he knew with any true conviction was when he was asleep, and the fucking thing came after him again. Of course those particular dreams seldom ended the same way as reality.
He sat at his desk for a long while, resting his head in his hands and breathing, doing his best to focus on the work ahead. There would be cataloging of equipment, and there would be so many pictures to take, proof of the creature’s existence. And then if he had his way, there would be an autopsy or, better still, a vivisection. So much more could be learned from a living creature.
The Reapers wouldn’t be back for at least two hours.
That little voice in his head, the one he did his best to ignore, reminded him that he still had time. He didn’t want to listen, but the voice was insistent, and try though he might, he could not make it grow silent. In time he gave in.
Just one little drink. A nip to calm the nerves that wanted to make his hands shake uncontrollably. What could it hurt?
One little drink.
He didn’t take a fast snort. He savored the liquor. If he didn’t take his own sweet time he’d blow back half the bottle and never blink. That couldn’t happen—not now. Not when he was so damned close to vindication.
* * *
The day after they got reamed out by the general, Elliott and his men went deep into the jungle. There was little they could actually see, little proof that anything was happening in those woods, but there was enough.
Fowler was a long-time hunter who knew how to look for tracks. He was surprisingly good at it, too. There weren’t a lot of marks to prove that anything had gone that way. A few branches bent against the direction of certain trees. An occasional mark. The most telling ones were the muddy prints on a few of the branches, several feet off the ground. Once Fowler realized the bastard was moving through the trees, tracking him became much easier.
The heat was stifling and the sweat ran down Elliott’s face, ignoring the brim of his hat that should have captured it, and dripping down to sting his eyes to the point of tears. That, and the damned bugs. Nowhere he had ever been was as teeming with insect life as Vietnam.
They stalked their killer as carefully as they could. They were spooks, and they’d earned the name well enough, not only because they were creepy to the average GI—he knew how the soldiers felt about them—but because they dealt with shit that no one wanted to think about, and they trained the locals in new ways to hunt and deal with their enemies.
All of which meant nothing.
It was one thing to know how to torture or terrify an enemy. It was something else entirely to deal with an alien that hunted them like animals.
They thought they were prepared. They were wrong.
* * *
Woodhurst heard the news and smiled. He’d be heading back to the Stargazer base just as soon as he could, but in the meantime the news was good for a change. He and Traeger met for lunch and he filled the CIA man in on the latest.
“Sounds like getting funding should be a cakewalk now, General.”
Traeger was smarmy. He still didn’t like the man, but it looked like he was helping turn the tide almost as much as the news would. Two of his contacts had already said Traeger was making solid steps forward on procuring the finances that Stargazer needed, and if that meant Woodhurst had to put up with the man, well, it was a small price to pay.
“I never trust funding until I see the check, Will,” the general said, “but it’s a step in the right direction, and I’m already hearing tales of your work. Thank you in advance. Even if nothing comes of it, I appreciate the backup.”
“We’re all on the same team here, General,” Traeger replied. “We all want the same things. Now, maybe, it looks like we’re getting what we want.” That smile again. “We got the prize, but how’re the Reapers holding up?”
“That’s the rough part.” Woodhurst frowned. “Three dead and one who’s lost an arm.”
Traeger frowned. “That’s a steep price.”
“What else could we do? They’re the best-trained soldiers I’ve ever dealt with, and we’ve seen what they can do in almost any circumstances—but this? Entire teams were taken out in LA during the last encounter. When you get down to brass tacks, we’re lucky the casualties were so low.” Knowing the truth of those words didn’t take the sting out of them in the least. The Reapers were a cohesive unit, and half of them had just been removed from the picture.
“Maybe we can work out a new team or two with a bigger budget,” Traeger said. “We play this the right way, we’ll have enough to make sure the Reapers never suffer that sort of casualty again.”
“I’d like that, but I’ll settle for enough to get the work done without having to spend half my days doing a song and dance up here.”
Traeger smiled thinly and nodded. “I think we can guarantee that now, General. I truly do.” He looked down at his bowl of clam chowder. “We get a few pictures, just a few to tease the right people, and we can write our own checks. I believe that.”
Woodhurst nodded his head. “I think I can arrange something. Just need to make sure we have a secure server to send the information.”
“Good. That’s good,” Traeger replied. “By this time tomorrow we’ll have all the information we need to head back home, General. I think we’re going to rock this town to its foundations, and when we’re done we’re going to make sure the USA is once again the only super power that matters.”
Woodhurst smiled. That was one thing on which they agreed. The Russians, the Chinese, and all the lesser powers and wannabes were in for a very big surprise in the near future. Of course, first they had to get there.
Woodhurst smiled his thanks as the waitress brought his porterhouse steak. He’d regret it later but just now he felt like a little celebration. A very small one. Nothing was written in stone yet, and three very good men were dead because they had followed his orders.
They were dead, but they’d gotten the job done.
For the first time in US history, a predatory alien species that hunted humans had been successfully captured. Soon they would glean the information they needed about the creature and its technology. Somewhere out there was a ship that had brought the creature across light years of space and managed to hide so completely that every satellite in orbit around the planet failed to catch so much as a heat trail.
That sort of technology was the exact sort of thing that would change the face of global politics. He intended to make certain the change was for the better.
14
Sean Keyes and Roger Elliott stood together in the decontamination chamber, both in their birthday suits and meticulously looking at spots on the wall rather than each other.
“You nervous about this, Commander?” Keyes didn’t just look like his father, he had the same mannerisms, if slightly less intense. The difference, of course, was that his father had been a Company man, and Keyes himself was a medical specialist with a serious background in xenobiology and both reptilian and arachnid physiology.
He’d read the notes when he was in school. Anyone else would have been told that there were no notes to read, but Elliott himself had made the decision to break the rules and let the college frat boy look at the long series of observations his father had written before he died at the hands of an alien hunter.
That was something they had in common. They’d lost important people in their lives to the things that hunted humans for sport, or maybe to prove that they were adults in their society. It was hard to say with any certainty.
Elliott looked at him and gave a weak smile. “Nervous? No. Terrified. Excited. Angry, maybe, but not so much nervous.” He shook
his head and closed his eyes as the light in the room intensified and burned away a fine layer of anything that was touching his body, including skin and hair.
“No? Hell, I’m nervous,” Keyes responded. “Excited, too. I mean, I’ve been studying these things for as long as I’ve been able to. And now, finally, I get to see one.”
“That’s the difference, maybe. I’ve seen one before.” Elliott tried not to think about it. The thoughts came just the same, echoing through his mind and every fiber of his being.
Keyes stared at him, speaking carefully, doing his best to keep his face neutral. Elliott remembered the man’s father, how he did the same sort of thing, and found himself wondering how close they’d been. Was it genetics that made him respond like that? Or was it nurture?
“You know, I’ve got a full run of tests ready,” Keyes said. “Blood samples, saliva, skin, hell, even stool samples—the very best we could muster on our budget, and that’s really a lot. I know you’re the reason for that, too. I know you called in a lot of favors just to get me the DNA sequencer.” The kid smiled nervously and licked his lips.
“I’ve got just about everything I could possibly need to identify everything I can, right here,” he continued, practically babbling. “I’ve got ultrasound, I’ve got an MRI machine. I have enough shit to analyze this creature a hundred different ways. Hell, as you well know I have everything I need to cut that thing apart and damn near put it back together again. And even with all of that, I don’t know if I have enough.”
Elliott nodded. “I know what you mean. I’ve wanted to see what makes one of these things tick for as long as I can remember, hell, just about since I needed to shave.”
“It’s never happened before in human history, Pappy. We’re going to examine an otherworldly life form. We’re going to see what its capabilities are. What sort of life it is, and how it can survive here.” There was almost a reverence in his voice, and Elliott shook his head.
“You seem remarkably well balanced for a man whose father was killed by one of these things.”
Keyes looked at him for a moment with an intense stare, and Pappy started to apologize. Sometimes he forgot himself.
Then Keyes smiled. It wasn’t a kind expression.
“Don’t mistake enthusiasm for acceptance, Pappy. I want this sonofabitch for a reason. I know what it did. I’ve looked at the pictures. I know exactly how my daddy died.”
“I’m sorry, Sean, I didn’t mean—”
“No, it’s all right. I get it,” he said. “You just have to understand, I intend to learn everything I can about this thing. I’m going to do every test I could possibly need to do, and then I’m going to do some special tests. I figure they’re tests you might be interested in, too.”
“Yeah?”
“You ever see what happens when you excite a pleasure receptor?” Keyes smiled. “I mean excite it with a live electrode, of course. I intend to find out exactly what this thing’s thresholds are, especially for pain, Pappy. I intend to test that threshold roughly a hundred times at the very least. For accuracy’s sake, you understand. In the name of science.” His eyes glittered. “I’ll do everything by the book. Hell, Pappy, you damn near wrote the book in this case. I’m just going to add a few hundred footnotes.”
Pappy smiled as he slipped into his hazmat outfit.
“Gotta go, Pappy. We’re expecting a very important guest.” He spoke even as he was sliding a surgical mask over his face. A moment later he was securing the airtight seals on his own suit.
Elliott nodded and watched the younger man moving away from him and toward the guest they had both been waiting for. He wasn’t alone in his hatred of the alien. He also wasn’t alone in his desire to see the damned thing suffer, but priorities were priorities. He would have to take care of information before he could take care of vengeance.
Sometimes it was good to know you weren’t alone in the universe, even if that same knowledge was the source of most of your fears.
15
The Reapers carried their prize off of the copter and put it onto the gurney that was waiting for them. There were more gurneys as well, but this one was reinforced and required the combined strength of three men to move it on a steady course.
The move was uneventful, primarily because the alien seemed to be in a chemically induced stupor. Just to be safe they kept it bound tightly at the wrists and ankles.
Five minutes after arriving at Stargazer the Reapers surrendered their charge to the tech team headed by Sean Keyes. He was wearing a biohazard outfit and a surgical mask under the faceplate. The man smiled, or at least his eyes did behind the surgical mask, but it wasn’t a sign of happiness so much as a grimace when he studied the shape.
“He’s a big one, isn’t he?”
Tomlin nodded. “It’s been tranked. It’s bound. It’s breathing.” He paused, then added, “It killed three of my men—Strand died en route—and we’ve got a fourth who might not make it. Don’t take any chances.”
“Preaching to the choir, Tomlin.”
Tomlin understood. Sean Keyes was a second-generation alien hunter. His father had been killed in Los Angeles while trying to capture one of the things.
“Sorry,” he said. “I just don’t want anyone else getting hurt.”
“I’ll be very careful.” Tomlin nodded again and then moved back to the other gurneys. Three of them sported body bags. The fourth held Burke, who was unconscious, breathing rapidly, and as white as a gallon of whole milk. His arm was gone, cut away by the alien.
Keyes called after him. “Get yourself to quarantine straight away. No playing. I mean it.”
“Quarantine? What for? That thing’s still got a mask on.”
“It’s also been bleeding all over the place, and we can’t take any chances on biohazards.”
Tomlin frowned.
“You ever see War of the Worlds?” Hill asked.
Keyes shook his head. “You want to kill everyone off with a virus you caught from this thing? Go to quarantine. Now. I won’t be far behind you.”
“What about the cops?” Tomlin demanded.
“We’ve got a team in there. They’ll be taken care of—the drug dealers, too.” He smiled grimly. “It’ll be complicated. Funny thing, though, what happens when a meth lab explodes.”
Tomlin still didn’t feel like going into isolation.
“Go on,” Keyes continued as gently as he could. “We’ve got Burke. We’ll do everything we can.”
Hill looked at him and shook his head. There wasn’t much chance the poor bastard would survive. The blood loss alone was catastrophic. They’d taken turns trying to stave off the worst of the blood flow, but it had taken time and they were all exhausted.
Four medics appeared and grabbed the gurney sporting Burke. They moved away as fast as they could walk.
“Fuck.” It was all he could think to say.
Hill nodded and then pointed. “Get on down to the medical station. You took a few hits.”
“I’m not the one with a scalp wound. Get yourself down there.”
Hill looked hard at him. “We’ll go together.” Tomlin didn’t have the energy to argue, so he walked alongside his second in command.
* * *
Pappy Elliott found them a few minutes after they had settled in for their examinations. He was wearing a biohazard suit as well. The Reapers sat on adjoining tables, and each of them had a pair of medics looking after them. Two of the doctors posted at the facility were busy with Burke, doing what they could for him.
“Gentlemen, when you are done here,” Elliott said, looking at the Reapers and the medics, “you will all report to quarantine.” They looked back, understanding where he was coming from. He’d been in their situation once, and had lost men to the exact same source. They were connected now, part of a very small community of survivors.
It felt nothing at all like a badge of honor.
“You did good, boys. I’m proud of you.” It wasn’t much, but it w
as enough. Mostly Pappy didn’t offer praise as much as he offered advice. A moment later he was on his way and they knew where he was going. They’d already faced the enemy, but for Pappy it hadn’t happened yet. He’d been looking forward to staring at this particular demon for a very long time.
Tomlin felt the fear come back, felt grief try to reach out from his center and wrap thorny vines across his insides, and he forced those emotions back.
“What the fuck is that thing?” he said the words to himself, but he said them aloud, and Hill answered.
“That is a predator, pure and simple,” he said. “That thing is a hunter, and it came here on a fucking safari to catch big game. It’s after trophies.”
“How many did it kill?”
“At least ten cops. A few of the people the cops were there to get. Three of us. Four, I guess. Damn thing barely got a scratch on it ’til we got there.” Hill shook his head and rolled his eyes when the medic working on him pushed his head forward to get a clear look at the wound.
“Just stay still, my friend,” the man said, “and you’ll be stitched in no time.” He administered an injection of painkillers. Hill gritted his teeth and he waited. Every muscle was tight.
The medic continued, “Listen, you need to take it easy. Seriously. You took a bad hit and there’s a possibility of a concussion. You need to look out for…”
Hill tuned the rest out. The painkillers had taken effect, and when the medic got to work all he felt was an odd tugging sensation. If he’d felt more than that, Tomlin was fairly certain the medic would have been spitting teeth all over the floor. As it was, Hill’s lips moved with each pull of the thread. He was counting the stitches.
“What do they call predators at the top of the food chain?” Tomlin’s question caught him off guard.
THE PREDATOR HUNTERS AND HUNTED Page 10