Hunter

Chapter 8

After reorienting from the discovery of the grizzly and deciding to establish camp at the first available defensive position, Hunter led them down the ridge by dead reckoning. He didn't have time for a map or compass, and the Magellan system only revealed where you were, not the suitability of surrounding terrain for bivouac purposes.

Bobbi Jo was to his left, as usual, and Ghost moved to his right, often lifting his head to search by sight before he lowered his nose and sniffed, suddenly disturbed. Hunter paused but saw nothing, and had no time for a detailed examination, so they kept moving through a gathering dark that would fall like a phantom's cloak on these trees, making even the moon seem distant and weak.

Since discovering the bear, Hunter had carried in his hand the ragged claw he had retrieved from the steel panel of the destroyed research facility, trying to construct everything he knew about the beast into a cohesive picture. Although broken, it was thick as a bear's — long and slightly curving with a tip that razored to a wicked, hooked point. He wondered if it was used primarily for slashing or piercing or even holding; he couldn't decide.

It was strangely tapered, almost in a wedge. He had never seen one like it because most claws were task-specific, tailored to a particular job like digging, holding, slashing, or climbing. But this claw seemed to be unnaturally all-purpose, as if it could gouge, pierce, or tear; an effective weapon or tool.

It was also finely serrated, so no matter what, it retained an effective cutting edge. It reminded him of the teeth of those prehistoric sharks, the Carcharodon Megalodon, whose teeth, recovered 10,000 years later from the ocean floor, still retained a serrated razor sharpness. He turned his mind back to making a quick and secure camp. Found Takakura moving beside him.

"You have never seen anything like this?" he asked with some credulity. "Not ever?"

"No," Hunter replied. "I've tracked everything on earth, Commander, and I've never tracked anything that moved purposefully from stone to stone. Nothing that made sudden changes of direction without reason. Nothing that didn't move on a circuit or within a territory. And, strangely, this thing doesn't seem to hunt at all. It just kills whatever it encounters by chance, eats it and moves on. It kills a lot and eats a lot, but it holds to the direction it's going like a man. It knows exactly where it's heading, that much is clear. So it has purpose." Hunter paused, turned toward Takakura: "But the only purpose a normal animal has is survival, Commander. So this thing, whatever it is, doesn't think like an animal. It has some kind of…some kind of plan or something."

Takakura appeared disturbed, but he did not dispute Hunter's words. "Can you discern anything else? We must know as much as possible. What about its fight with the grizzly? Did you learn anything of its methods?"

"I told you most everything I could read. It was short but ferocious. All I can say for sure is that it fights pure, with no hesitation. It doesn't have any mercy. But some part of it…" Hunter shook his head. "Some part of it thinks like a man."

Takakura also shook his head, openly frustrated.

Hunter continued as they moved quickly. "Generally a bear won't fight on the ground because nothing is big enough to take it down. Even another bear. They fight on their back legs, strike with their forelegs." His face tightened. "No, I've never seen anything strong enough to take a grizzly to the ground and kill it like that."

"I see," said the Japanese. He hoisted his rifle and adjusted a leather strap holding the katana. His dark eyes narrowed at the distant ridge, still lit by the crimson light of a descending sun. "We cannot make the ridge before dark. We will estab-"

Suddenly a thunderous god-roar of shocking animal might erupted violently from the ridge to crash over them, and they raised aim as one. And for the faintest split second an enormous manlike silhouette was half visible — snarling, raging, challenging. And then it was gone, turning and disappearing beyond the rocky ridge like a vaporous apparition.

Staring up, feeling the racing of his breath, the pounding of his heart, Hunter almost couldn't believe what he had seen — something he surely saw more clearly than the others because he had almost instantly separated it from the green mossy ferns and gloom.

He heard himself whispering, "God Almighty…"

Vicious expletives were hurled up and down the rank, Taylor overpowering them all with, "What the hell was that! What the hell was that?"

Hunter lowered his rifle long before the others, knowing it wouldn't reveal itself again.

No, that hadn't been for conflict. That had been to officially announce the battle and the war about to come. And, probably most of all, to satisfy some kind of pure bestial pleasure, some latent need to display its superiority.

Hunter was certain: tonight.

And if it attacked them here in the open ground when they were without a defensible perimeter, they would be slaughtered as quickly as the grizzly.

"Move quickly!" Takakura hissed. "We must make camp. Quickly! Quickly!"

Hunter was already moving, searching for clearing with easy access to the stream. They had covered a little more than three hundred yards when he found it, a fairly level section ringed on three sides by a wall of forest. Hunter didn't like the size of the perimeter and searched for a better place to camp, but they were out of time. This would have to suffice.

"This is the best we're gonna get for the night," he said, casting a glance at the low full moon, hazy and hauntingly large on the horizon. "In thirty minutes it'll be pitch dark."

"Fuck that!" Buck said, throwing a pile of wood he'd already grabbed down in the center of the clearing. "This place is gonna look like daylight!"

In two minutes he had a blazing fire going and was still feeding more wood. And he returned to the woods with his rifle close, quickly gathering more scattered branches to hurl a mound into a bonfire that would easily illuminate the small clearing through the night.

Takakura was hurling terse instructions for incendiaries, motion detectors, listening devices, occipital laser locaters and random intruder scanning devices to be set for the perimeter.

Working quickly, they had everything in place within twenty minutes.

Hunter, not involved in the military procedures, examined Tipler as they settled, concerned that the old man was breathing heavily and holding his left arm at the wrist. And Bobbi Jo stood watch in the center of the glade. She scanned left, right and back again like a machine, cold and focused.

Hunter knew that if the creature pierced the gloomy veil imprisoning them, especially while she still had light, she would hit it dead center before it made ten feet.

"You all right, Doc?" he whispered.

Breathing heavily, Tipler patted his hand. "I am fine, my boy. You'd best make your preparations as quickly as possible. You have little time. Hurry. You will need food in the morning."

"Forget the food. No time for it tonight."

Takakura spoke sternly to the team. "Buck! You take first watch with Wilkenson! We don't know what we are up against but we can be certain that it knows our location! From now, there will be a double guard on all shifts. The rest will sleep close to the fire with weapons ready at all times!"

Takakura expended the clip to the MP-5, tapped it, reset it quickly, and opened the bolt. His face was fierce as he turned to the surrounding forest. "A fortress of guards and security devices could not stop it from attacking the research facilities! Likely, this defense shall not stop it either! Our best strategy will be a concentrated wall of ordnance that might dissuade it from a full frontal attack."

Wilkenson spoke. "We actually have an advantage in the clearing that they did not possess at the compounds, Commander. For one, we can observe its approach. And, for the first attack, at least, we can target it easily. But that is an advantage that will exhaust itself after we hit it once or twice. More than likely, if it is effective, it will adopt a different strategy to avoid direct contact." The Englishman gazed about, seeming to measure distances. "I would project that we will defeat it earlier in the battle, but as the night progresses, I believe it will find a means of penetrating the perimeter."

Hunter felt a touch at his thigh and knew the silent familiar presence. Without looking he reached down and ruffled Ghost's mane, but the wolf didn't move. As usual, it had been scouting ahead and doubling back to ensure that Hunter was safe. But now they were making camp and Hunter knew Ghost wouldn't leave his side until morning.

No matter what.

"Rebecca?"

Gina s voice contained an edge of suppressed excitement and Rebecca Tanus turned. She saw the younger woman staring up at the electron microscope display screen. The power was set at three-quarter magnification for cytosine and thymine molecules. The pulsating blue light of the screen flicked as she adjusted half a dozen dials.

Holding a clipboard heavily laden with notes, Rebecca walked forward. "What is it, Gina?"

"This." Gina leaned back. "I think there's some sort of residue on the cast. Something indigenous."

Rebecca put down the clipboard and stared. It took her only a moment to see the microscopic tendril set against a blue-gray electric background. "What is it?" she asked quietly.

"I think it's hemoglobin," Gina said. "I've got heme tone and what appear to be iron atoms and some protein."

"Protein?"

"Looks like it."

"Well, what makes you think that it's not a blood particle from one of the victims?"

"Because of this." Gina adjusted the screen again, and an amazing blaze of electrons and virtual protons could be seen flickering in and out of focus as she gently turned the dials. Rebecca was reminded that mastering an electron microscope was as much an art as a science. After a moment a cluster of atoms was isolated. Then Gina increased magnification and after another fifteen minutes Rebecca saw the beginning of a DNA chart. She stared at it.

"It looks human, Gina."

"'Looks' is the pivotal word," Gina replied, adjusting the scope again. "Watch what happens when I use electrophoresis. I'm going to magnetize the segment and see if it curls away from the positive or negative electrons like human DNA would."

After a moment, the distinction was obvious.

"Nothing is happening," said Rebecca.

"Exactly. Nothing is happening. But it should be."

They stared at the DNA strand, which seemed remarkably resilient to the magnetic provocation. Gina delicately added a slight amount of phosphorescent dye to the sample. In technical terms it was called fluorescent in-situ hybridization, or "FISHing" for short. It was a process in which geneticists locate particular genes in much the same way as a computer could search and locate for a particular word in a text.

"I tried to find out why the segment was so resistant to electrophoresis," Gina added. "And I found a hybrid segment of restrictive enzymes that accelerate cloning. Actually, they don't just accelerate. They clone so quickly that an invasion, like a virus or bacteria, is almost instantly absorbed and destroyed. The only thing this DNA lacks is the ability to reproduce enough of itself to construct a consistent molecular polymerase chain."

Rebecca was bending toward the screen. "And what, exactly, does that mean, Gina?"

"It means that, it this strand were complete, which it isn't, it would be able to clone, or, rather, duplicate, polymerase genes indefinitely. Which means, in effect, that it would have almost unlimited cellular reproductive capabilities."

Rebecca was silent for a moment. "Okay, let's suppose you're right on this. But let's check the preliminaries. Have you used sanitation procedures to make sure the cast wasn't contaminated?"

"Since it arrived, yes."

"And do you think you can print this out?"

"Yeah. But some of the sample will be destroyed. It's going to be impossible to pull it through without damage."

"I know," Rebecca said slowly. "But we'll still have enough for a printout. That's all we've got and that's all we should need. When you get this into the spectrograph and give me a reading, I'll run it down to Langley."

Gina turned. "Langley? Why Langley?"

"Because those are the guys behind all of this," Rebecca said. "I've got a contact there, somebody that Doc put me in touch with before he left. He's supposed to help us out."

Absorbing it, Gina turned back to the microscope. "Okay," she said in a low voice. "I'll have it ready for you in about an hour."

"Good enough," Rebecca whispered. A disturbed frown creased her face as she gazed at the screen. "So, this is our mystery man." Her eyes narrowed. "What is it that scares me about this guy?"

Glancing across the small glade, Hunter saw Bobbi Jo tightly holding the Barrett sniper rifle. It was an awesome weapon, and the full metal jacket cartridges were each six inches long.

Hunter couldn't imagine her taking the recoil of the savage detonation required to hurl a three-hundred-grain bullet as far as two thousand yards. But now that he knew what it was, he remembered that he had heard accurate hits at that range, and even farther ones were not outside the ability of the weapon.

He remembered that an emergency shipment of Barretts had been ordered by the U.S. Marine Corps after the 1983 attack on their barracks in Beirut, Lebanon. And in days following the attack they had more than proven their effectiveness at long-range combat.

Since they had begun tracking together, Hunter had developed sincere respect for the sniper. She said little, never seemed to lose patience, and only challenged his judgment when she had good reason. Yet if he overruled her ideas, she didn't debate. With a silent nod she would quietly tall in beside him, and he noticed she was learning from his movements. In time, he thought, she could be vastly superior to the corps of army trackers that this thing defeated so easily at the research facility

And, somehow, he was beginning to wonder if it might not also defeat him, too. He had been frustrated before, mostly by bobcats who walked so softly and carefully, leaving no sign. But never by anything of such enormous size and weight.

Even large cats, like cougars and tigers, were much easier to track than a bobcat because their heavy paws, which enhanced silence, also left distinct impressions. But this thing ruled in the worst of both worlds. It rarely left a clear track because it selected the hardest surfaces, always made the smart move, and couldn't be predicted.

Hunter's face hardened as he pondered it, and then Bobbi Jo shouldered the rifle and pulled her hair into a tight ponytail, tying it with a deft move. Afterwards she paused, staring at the perimeter, motionless and concentrated.

Hunter anticipated the movement, saw it in her profile before she even turned and, slowly, bent her head to gaze steadily at him. She didn't blink, didn't smile. And he held her look for a long time before he frowned, turning his attention to the professor. He had prepared the old man a meal from a large trout he had cooked and smoked that morning, knowing he himself would need the energy. But he sacrificed it now because of the old man's health. He had also given him a generous amount of pemmican — a mixture of beef jerky and animal fat. It was highly nutritious and kept for long periods of time in even the most extreme conditions. It had been a favorite staple of mountain men and American Indians, and Hunter always carried a small supply.

After a while the professor seemed to regain a measure of strength, though his face was still whitened, glistening with a sheen of sweat. Hunter knew it was the sudden run through the forest to the clearing that had strained him.

"Drink some more water, Professor," Hunter said. "Dehydration kills quick this high."

"Yes, yes, so I've heard," the old man replied, smiling faintly. He took a sip. "Ah, yes, a rather…electrifying experience, that was." After a moment he asked, "Will it attack tonight, do you think?"

Hunter shook his head. "No way to know."

"But what do you think, my boy?"

Raising his eyes to scan the extensive perimeter, Hunter saw everyone alert with weapons ready. "It could, Professor. But it's too unpredictable. This thing doesn't move or think like anything I've ever tried to—"

Hunter joined what happened next by reflex.

Buck had been the first to unleash, the shotgun shredding the night at a titanic and monstrous image of underworld might that had broken the south treeline, charging out of the dark with an imperious air of indestructibility. And not even a full second passed before they opened up together, six weapons blazing outward. But Hunter spun toward the center when Bobbi Jo finally fired — the Barrett detonating with at least five feet of flame mushrooming from the barrel in a tremendous concussion that made the other weapons seem insignificant.

Stunned, Hunter whirled back to the beast, still firing. But he saw that the incredible impact of the Barrett had stopped the beast in stride, wounding it in the collar. Then Bobbi Jo had fired again, the brutal collision of the round staggering it backwards into the brush as the rest continued to hurl a wall of heated lead.

Falling back awkwardly with a wounded roar, it rose again as the forest around it was devastated by multi-weapon fire. Then, holding a hand to its chest, it staggered away. They continued the attack for another moment before Takakura bellowed for them to cease fire. But he was forced to repeat his command a number of times before they fell silent in a swirling gray atmosphere of smoking rifles. The ground was littered with brass cartridges and spent shotgun shells, and echoes of the wild cascade reverberated off distant mountains.

Hunter had ceased firing before the rest, having expended the six rounds of the Marlin at the nightmarish form in seconds. Together, backing up, they reloaded, quickly dropping clips and inserting shotgun rounds.

"Jesus!" Buck shouted without removing his eyes from the shredded black wall of leaves. "Did you see the size of that thing?" He shoved a grenade into his weapon, shouldering instantly, unable to relax.

"Reload and watch the perimeter!" Takakura raged, quickly exchanging clips and raising his weapon to his shoulder.

Only Bobbi Jo moved with a deadly air of cold calm.

With a brief glance, Hunter saw the female sniper very methodically remove the clip from her weapon. Then she took two six-inch rounds from her vest and shoved them into the magazine with mechanical precision before smoothly reinserting it in the rifle. Her motion to rack one of them into the chamber took obvious effort and then she was alert once more, eyes icy and sharp. Lowering the bipod attached to the rifle's stock, she rested it on the ground before her.

In all, the confrontation hadn't lasted more than fifteen seconds, but it had seemed like a lifetime until the beast had taken the second massive round from the Barrett and fallen to its back. But when it staggered up, it appeared that the awesome rifle had wounded it. It must have hurt it. But in the gloom, with such uncertain light and the detonations of the rifles half-blinding him, Hunter had been unable to tell for certain. All he knew was that it had been Bobbi Jo's weapon alone that had defied the beast's charge.

Takakura was speaking, still backing toward the bonfire. "For some reason it is resistant to small arms!" he yelled, since their hearing was dulled by the blasts. "But it is not impervious to the pain inflicted when it is hit! So if we can concentrate a heavy enough wall of rounds, the shock might make it retreat once more!"

Hunter wasn't betting on that; he knew that Bobbi Jo's rounds had really been what deterred its attack. But she could miss, or her rifle could jam, or the beast could launch a rushing attack and kill her first, temporarily disabling their ability to injure it. And all it would need would be seconds before it waded through them as it had waded through the guards at the research stations, stoically enduring the small-arms ordnance as it killed with impunity. No, they needed to come up with another defense if they were going to survive the entire night in this glade.

Already, it was too late to call for an emergency extraction. Because by the time the chopper snaked a dangerous path through these night-shrouded mountains to locate them, it would probably be over. Hunter estimated it would attack again in minutes — as soon as it determined that its injuries were minor. Obviously, the Barrett had stunned it — probably the first time a ballistic weapon had ever caused anything more than annoyance.

And despite their apparent shock at its unique ability to resist low-caliber arms, Hunter was not stunned. He knew that many creatures possessed skeletal density and skin composition sufficient to completely defeat low-velocity ordnance. A grizzly's skull could easily deflect a round from a 30.06 — a virtual cannon. And anything less than a 30.30 would only flatten on the skin of a rhinoceros. So, without question, nature had repeatedly demonstrated that the right combination of bone and skin could negate the effectiveness of almost any rifle — except the ultra-high-powered Barrett or a similar sniper weapon.

Hunter looked down to see how the undue excitement had affected the professor. But the old man appeared studious and relatively calm. He stared at the gaping hole left in the distant wood-line where it had fled, and his lips moved in silent thought. His first words came slowly.

"We cannot hold it off," he whispered, almost to himself. "It retreated only because it was shocked. But it will return soon enough… Yes, but not with a bold attack. It will attack with cunning unless…unless it is distracted… by something. But what? Not flame… no, it does not fear fire. What could distract it long enough for us to realize escape?"

Hunter's eyes narrowed; he looked at the old man. "I know what might distract it," he said evenly. With those words Hunter rose and walked away, knowing. He went directly to Takakura. "I know how we can hold it off for the night," Hunter said solidly.

Takakura stared. "Yes?"

"It uses the element of surprise. Likes to jump on you from trees and shit. We'll take that from him. If we see him coming, then we can open up and drive him back. No matter how many times he attacks, we can give him more than he can take."

"But it will be dark soon," the Japanese responded. "We cannot fight what we cannot see."

"We'll see him," Hunter nodded, angry, " 'cause I'm gonna rig this camp with more than claymores and fancy electronic devices, which it's already defeated too many times. I'm gonna set up some deadfalls, levers and fulcrums. He won't be hurt by them, but we'll know exactly where he is and we can open up. I'll have this place surrounded in twenty minutes."

Takakura s reply was instantaneous. "Do so. Take Buck with you. And Wilkenson. And hurry, Hunter." He glanced at the forest. "Or men will die tonight."

Hunter was in the woods like a panther, knowing every sound, every move, discerning instantly whether the forest told him it was near, knowing whether a broken branch had fallen from a tree, or whether it had been broken by a monstrous, approaching footstep. His skills were supreme now, and he used them supremely. His Bowie knife made swift work of sticks and twigs and the string he had brought by habit was vital. Buck and Wilkenson gathered the larger logs, and within a half hour they had completely surrounded the perimeter with carefully hidden traps that nothing could penetrate.

They returned to camp drenched in sweat, and Hunter knelt beside the fire, warming his bloodied fingers — fingers bloodied because he had worked more swiftly than caution allowed. But it didn't matter. He washed them in the stream and threw a hooked line across to the other side. It wasn't as good as a fish trap, and there was no bait, but should they survive the night, they would have food in the morning. And he knew the professor needed sustenance. For the first time he truly wished the old man had not come along.

Takakura spoke. "It is done?"

"It's done."

"Hat, this is good. At least we can know his direction now from the sound of the traps. We cannot kill him, but we can drive him back with concentrated ordnance."

"I hope so," Hunter threw in. "But we don't know its full potential yet. There's still a chance that bastard, if it's mad enough, can take more damage than we can dish out."

Takakura said nothing. Then Hunter noticed the sword strapped to his back and couldn't help but ask, especially since this might be their last night together. "Tell me," he said, "why do you carry that sword? Seems kinda archaic. No offense."

A soft grunt, perhaps a laugh, made the corners of Takakura's mouth rise slightly. "You are," he answered, "the first man to ever ask me about it."

Hunter waited. "Didn't mean to intrude."

Takakura laughed, actually laughed, as he turned fully to Hunter. Then he reached behind his shoulder and slowly, very slowly, withdrew at least forty inches of the finest steel Hunter had ever seen. It was a beautiful weapon, obviously forged by sword makers who were masters of a craft that the world had long forgotten.

"This sword was my father's," Takakura said, extending the blade so Hunter could behold its purity, its strength, the razor-sharpness. "And before that, it was my grandfather's, who died in battle with the Chinese. And before that, his father's, and his father's. Who also died in battle. It is four hundred years old." He laughed grimly. "Why do I carry it? I carry it because I am born of a warrior clan. And my code is Bushido. I have never used it in combat. And should I, I expect nothing from it."

Hunter blinked. "Nothing?"

"No…nothing. I do not expect life. I do not expect death. I expect nothing but to fight well. Life and death are the same. The water changes, but the river remains the same. It is the way of all things. And should I face death with this sword in my hand, then all will be good." He waited, staring at Hunter with a strange transparency. "Westerners do not understand such a life, do they?"

Hunter stared into the dark eyes. Takakura brushed his own forearm with the blade, a feathers touch, and a trickle of blood fell to the ground. In a single swift movement he sheathed the weapon. "You never draw the sword without drawing blood."

Hunter waited. "Yeah… I think I understand."

Chaos!

The creature tripped a deadfall and they turned as one, unleashing a hail of ammo into the foliage that left it on fire. And the barrage continued until Takakura's imperial voice demanded them to cease fire. But none of them could tell if it was still there or not because they had been deafened by the gunfire.

Hunter concentrated, lowering his head, listening not for the creature but for the forest. "It's moving to the south side, where it came before."

"Ready weapons," said Takakura calmly.

And it came again, bowed legs thick with simian muscle, shoulders inhumanly large, almost unbelievably thick with strength, and its fangs were distended to reveal jagged white tusks that announced its intent. And for a split second Hunter had a flash of what the soldiers and scientists at the massacred compounds knew as their last sight. He fired dead into it, the 45.70 hitting it solidly in the chest.

It roared and then Buck fired a grenade from the M-79, but he missed and the detonation disintegrated a tree beside it. Still, however, the concussion hurled it aside, and it staggered up and into the woods again.

Again, fierce and frantic reloading while Hunter counted the rounds still remaining on the strap of the Marlin. He had twenty shots left, and ten more in his pouch. He had never anticipated that it would take an arsenal to bring it down. Then he glanced at Bobbi Jo and saw her, once again, reloading the same clip from the bandoleer across her chest, full of .50-caliber rounds.

And on and on it went, time after time a split-second warning where they would whirl together — a tripped deadfall, a snare, sometimes even one of the electronic aids. Buck, with the M-79, was firing blindly into the forest to light it with a mushrooming flame that set part of the woods afire, and before morning most of the stand around them appeared to be clear-cut land. Broken limbs and blasted trees made this heavily forested" area resemble a swamp in winter. The open area was three times as large as when they arrived, but there was no sign of the creature.

Cautiously, Hunter entered the woods with Buck. Then they walked the entire perimeter, searching for signs of injury. But found only devastation. They returned and delivered the grim news to Takakura, who was silent a moment. "Very well," he said finally. "Break camp immediately. We move."

"I got bad news, Commander," Buck added.

"Yes?"

Buck took a deep breath before he spoke. "We're almost out of ammo. So we can't do this gig again. We could keep it off for maybe an hour with what we got, but…"

Takakura's frown deepened, then his left fist slowly clenched. He gazed toward the ground. "The radio is not operating correctly?"

"We're having a lot of trouble with it, sir. Wilkenson is working on it."

Takakura scowled as he muttered something in Japanese that Hunter couldn't translate, but he understood the tone. A moment more and the Japanese added, "We move in attack mode. Total silence. Plot a course for the nearest town or research station. A village. Anything. We are leaving this area."

Buck bent to study the map.

Thirty minutes later they were working their way up a rocky stream, feet and socks soaked and burning blisters on their feet, blood filling their boots, but they couldn't stop. They had to move quickly because the nearest civilized location was over forty miles away, and that meant one hundred miles in this mountainous terrain.

Hunter read their mutual fatigue, but revealed nothing. He knew he could have made the hundred-mile run, if he had pushed himself all-out and carried no weight. But he couldn't leave them behind. And he knew what would come with nightfall. His mind was working furiously on a plan to keep them alive when they lost the sun.

As they climbed a steep terrain, boot pressure tearing flesh from already bloodied heels, he began searching for a place to hole up.

And found it.

"Takakura," he said strongly.

The Japanese glared back angrily.

Hunter glanced at the sun. "We haven't gone ten miles, Commander. And you know the professor isn't up to this, and we can't radio for an extraction." He let the implication settle. "We're gonna have to do it again."

The scowl of hate on Takakura's face was terrible to behold. But he knew Hunter was right. That he had failed as a commander wounded his pride. He had led his men — men who depended upon and trusted him— into certain death. Motionless, he lowered his gaze to the ground, shook his head.

"But there may be a way to survive the night," Hunter said, watching him closely. He pointed to a small cleft; it would not qualify as a cave. "That hole in the wall is pretty narrow. Looks from here like only one person at a time can enter. If we can get inside it, and wait, and lay down whatever ammo we still have if it comes for us, maybe it'll think we've still got plenty of ordnance and back off. Buck says he still has two grenades. Taylor has some rounds. And Bobbi Jo alone can make it hesitate." He gave the Japanese commander time to consider it, then continued: "I think it's our only way out, Takakura."

A moment of concentration, a curt nod: "Hat."

It took a tight fit, but they squeezed into the cave and ate some warm MREs while they took turns with the Barrett, watching the entrance. Then Bobbi Jo was finished and took over the cannon.

And darkness descended.

Hunter secured Ghost at the rear of the cave with a rope because he knew that after last night's siege, the massive wolf would attack the creature on sight. And what they needed was order. It wasn't long before they heard the quiet but close footsteps approaching their position.

"Unbelievable," whispered Hunter to himself, "it can find us anywhere."

Hunter saw it first, something that didn't seem to move. But he was accustomed to that. He had spent so much of his life watching life in darkness, he knew that if it didn't look like it was moving, it probably was. His tactic was simple: infinite patience. He never took his eyes off the object of his concentration. And after ten minutes or ten hours, if it was an inch to the side, then it was moving.

The distance was fifty yards, but Hunter knew he could make the shot. "Give me the Barrett," he told Bobbi Jo, who obeyed. Hunter centered on the shadow, held his breath, released it, slowly squeezed the trigger.

In the close confines of the small cleft, the detonation was shocking. And it was followed instantly by an enraged roar as the shadow came rushing up the hill while they desperately opened up with the last of their ordnance. If Bobbi Jo had managed a single solid shot at that range, she would have dropped it, but she missed in the darkness and the speed and the blinding blasts of the other weapons, and Hunter knew it would be upon them in seconds.

Frantic, he whirled and saw Buck's small rucksack on the ground and dropped the Marlin. He ripped open the pack and tore out the tent, ripping it apart in seconds to sunder the white mosquito netting.

"Cease fire!" he yelled, and leaped to the entrance, quickly tying the white cloth to either side. And then it was upon them, awesome and raging, eyes glowing with hate. It came to within three feet of Hunter and swiped at him, a blow Hunter ducked as the tremendous gray arm tore thunderously through the air and the claws struck sparks from the flint walls. But Hunter leaped out of range, Bowie knife in hand.

Growling, it stared at the cloth, and reached out as if to tear it from place. But its hand halted, just short. It wanted to tear through, but hesitated again before a bestial growl of frustration shook its head and it raised infernal eyes at Hunter. For the briefest moment, it seemed more human than monster. The snarl that twisted its face embodied an intellectual hate.

Hunter held the glare.

Together, shoulder to shoulder, they paced up and down the flimsy white barricade. And their eyes remained solidly locked. It curled monstrous hands in frustration, claws clicking. Hunter held the huge Bowie knife in an iron grip. Up and down, up and down they paced, defiant glare to defiant glare.

It was the strangest of all standoffs, man and monster, each separated by something that a child could sunder. Then with a final, angry growl of promise, the creature whirled — a movement of tiger-like grace — and was gone.

Hunter stood there, numb, for a moment. His fist was locked so tightly on his Bowie that he couldn't let it go. Then he took a deep breath, and then an even deeper breath, backing away slowly from the thin partition. He turned around to see wide eyes, silence. No questions were asked; everyone was in shock.

Finally, Takakura spoke. "Could you…explain that, please?"

Hunter looked at Taylor. "Take the entrance. It worked that time. I don't know if it will work again. I doubt it." Then Hunter sat against a wall, staring at the wet limestone. He noticed that his grip on the Bowie had relaxed, and, very carefully, slid it back into the sheath. He licked his lips, took a sip of water, and explained it in a manner that they might understand. He began, "Do you know how they kill a tiger?"

Takakura shook his head.

"They take a piece of white cloth," Hunter continued, bowing his head. "Then they make a V with it in the forest. Maybe half a mile long on each side, but it leads to the place where the lines meet. It's only three feet high. Just a piece of white cloth. Then they drive the tiger into the V with elephants and beaters. And once the tiger is inside the V, they have him dead."

"Why?" Bobbi Joe asked.

"Because a tiger," Hunter continued tiredly, "although it can leap forty feet, won't cross a piece of white cloth that's over three feet high. It scares him, for some reason. And the hunters, the shooters, are waiting for it at the tip of the V. So the tiger is trapped inside this flimsy piece of white cloth, which it could easily leap, but it doesn't. And when it gets to the bottom of the V, the hunters open up and kill it."

Bobbi Jo was staring hard. "Why won't it just jump over the cloth?"

"No one knows."

She continued, "And you gambled that somewhere in this thing, whatever it is, are the latent instincts of a tiger, that it would be afraid to cross the white cloth?"

"It has to have some weakness."

A moment passed, and she smiled. "You've got guts, Hunter."

Recovering from shock, he laughed.

"I've been told worse."