Hunter (60 page)

No, there was no question: It would come from a ledge.

With a hundred yards of tunnel before him, an abyss where the light was absorbed by the gloom, Hunter turned and raised a hand. He knew it was close because it wouldn't be able to restrain itself for a more distant attack. And, in that, its maniacal desire to kill worked against it. Made it predictable.

Hunter knew, somewhere above, it was lying in wait.

Close and silent, it was pausing for them to pass so that it could either emerge for a silent approach or attack with that lightning speed and a roar to stall their reaction by fear. Neither of them, Hunter decided, was going to work. He was in a killing mode now, and there would be no hesitation.

Everything he knew—everything he had ever experienced in the wild—would be used in this encounter. There would be no attempt to wound or capture, nor would he have compassion. Then, raising his eyes to the walls, Hunter declared, "Light more of the flares. I want to see everything."

There was no dispute as Brick and Chaney, close but still forty feet away, ignited a half-dozen flares and tossed them in a wide uniform pattern, illuminating a large section of the passage. Although the ledges were deep in shadow, the red-whiteness of the light burned the darkness from every other crevice to leave a stark dead-white. The passage was fully visible in the steadiness, and Hunter almost smiled as his next tactic came to him.

Yeah, it might wait until the light died down, hoping that darkness could return so it could initiate its preferred plan. For it would expect them to search defensively, afraid of its overwhelming power. But Hunter would take that from it.

"Look sharp," he said as he stepped onto a boulder, slowly climbing toward the upper regions of the cave. "I'm gonna try and flush it out."

Shouldering the elephant gun, Brick cocked both hammers without a word.

Chaney spoke, swinging aim to the opposite side. "Hunter, be careful. It moves fast."

"I know." Hunter rose sharply above a ledge with the mini-light, targeting everything instantly. He turned the light to shine back across the passage, spying the opposite ledges.

Nothing.

A grim commitment to the task twisted his face into a frown. He knew that he'd come upon it soon enough, initiating a wild fight that would cause the cavern to explode in a haze of gunfire and chaos; a horrific battle once started that would rage with suicidal courage and adrenaline-white excitement to a savage end. Climbing onto the altar-like stone, he walked slowly forward, flicking off the safety of the Browning.

Still nothing, but he knew it was here ...

Crouched like a lion, Hunter stared at the blind wall and considered waiting it out. But without even a glance at the flares he knew they wouldn't last another fifteen minutes. No, he had to find it, force it out. And when that happened he would have to survive the first blurring rush, try sending it into the passageway where they could target and fire freely. He knew without asking that, despite their courage and skill, they wouldn't chance a round if he were close to it.

The edge loomed before him, darkness beyond.

Hunter watched and waited, utterly cold. If it waited on the far side of the outcropping, he might be able to wear on its nerves, make it careless.

Seconds slid in silence, drops of sweat falling from Hunter's brow as he blinked. Still nothing.

Just do it
!

G
et it over with
!

He rose, eyes narrowing as he approached the corner. Then he paused as his hairs stood on end at an impression, sharp and distinctly dangerous. Instinctively he had frozen.

Knowing that he might have only seconds, he continued to extend his arm, keeping the illumination moving forward as he settled slightly back, leg caving on his weight. If it was not on the other side of that wall, then his instincts were woefully wrong and he was unsure what to do. Then he decided, knowing that only elemental wildness could answer elemental wildness, and advanced with three quick strides.

On the edge of air and darkness Hunter dropped to a knee and raised the Browning from the hip to fire mid
-waist into the air, not taking time to search, not knowing what lay ahead. The explosion of the cartridge was tremendous—blinding and stunning—and he brought the rifle out from a hard recoil with a roar. It took him a few seconds to realize that there was nothing ...

No
...

It's here.

It was the sense of certainty a man possesses when he feels a familiar sickness closing its grip on it. He knows the signs, can measure how long before he is broken and weak. Although it may be hours away, it is already present, his body warning him with subtle signs. But Hunter gave no overt sign of surety as he walked forward. He feigned confusion with consummate composure.

Moving a dozen steps into a collapsed alcove—a chamber domed by a ceiling whose stones were slowly breaking loose—he saw a dozen possible hiding places. Almost immediately he decided to use its own instincts against it. For he knew that, if it could not attack from ambush, it would strike from behind, as before.

Lowering the rifle to his side, Hunter turned his back to the chamber and took one step forward in absolute silence. Almost instantly he felt a tingling in his arms, neck. Knew he couldn't wait more than a few seconds . . .

Two steps.

It's gonna try for absolute silence
...

Three.

Hunter wasn't breathing with his next step.

Turn
!

N
O
!

Hunter gritted his teeth; it preys on weakness
... Wait until you hear it or you can't wait anymore ... Wait ...You know how to do it. You know how to wait. So wait ...

W
ait
!

At the last step, the ledge loomed before him. But it was a step that never happened as Hunter felt a sudden thrill that he couldn't suppress and turned into the threat.

Mammoth, crouching with arms hooked to grapple, it was creeping forward. Poised on one leg, it was almost laughing in its silent rage. The other foot was lifted in a step that would have placed it on Hunter in another second.

Hunter roared as he brought the Browning up and fired point-blank into its chest, fire joining them in the darkness, beast to beast, and it screamed in rage as it raised an arm. Then it drew back for a blow but Hunter had already leaped high and far, aiming for a sloping boulder ten feet below the ledge. He hit hard and rolled, avoiding the trigger of the Browning in the bruising concussion and descent until he crashed painfully against the jagged floor.

Chaney—everyone—had opened up, devastating the ledge in a thunderstorm of massive rounds that pulverized stone and seemed to hurl the creature back. Only as they frantically reloaded did it launch itself far from the stone, sailing cleanly across the corridor where it struck the opposite wall and rebounded, landing with terrific force beside Chaney.

Whirling, Chaney raised the rifle with a shout as a hammer
-like fist descended to hit the Weatherby, shattering the stock and sending him back. And in the brief collision Hunter didn't need to ask; no, not dead, but the marshal was injured by the blow. Enraged, Hunter hotly exchanged clips as he rose.

Brick managed a clean shot, an almost point-blank exchange that made the monster twist away before it returned the violence with a sweeping right hand too quick to follow. Hunter saw it as it began, a great clawed hand drawn to the waist before the beast uncurled with that vicious velocity. And then the blow had passed—only a glimpsed flicker in the light—and Hunter stared numbly as a gory remnant of a human being fell back, Brick's face completely torn away as bone and blood rained through the haze.

Hunter saw it was wounded deeply now and fired. Bobbi Jo and Takakura were also shooting, and the passageway was lit by the deafening extending flame.

Staggering and howling, rocked by rifle fire, it unleashed a bellowing defiance of pain, then turned with that uncanny quickness and leaped for Takakura.

As if he'd long anticipated the attack, the Japanese reacted even as it began, diving and rolling under the blow and rising with drawn sword to slash a backhand blow that struck solidly across its spine. Injured yet again it whirled and hurled out a hand, tearing deep furrows across Takakura s chest, and he shouted in defiant rage as he went to a knee. Face twisted in pain, he returned the violence with a vertical blow of the katana, the blade cutting deeply through its ribs to enter the air with a wake of fiery blood.

Hunter's next thunderous shot hit it cleanly in the sternum, propelling it powerfully toward Bobbi Jo where, sensing rather than seeing her, it struck even as it staggered—a wild, almost desperate move that she easily
sidestepped as the Barrett continued to explode. She hit it solidly, each shot erupting in a shower of flesh and blood. But its next blow was not so wild, and with a tiger's viciousness its hand tore away her vest to send a ragged shield of armor sailing through lightning-struck air.

Hunter hit it again and again with the Browning, each wound mortal but for the creature's immortal vitality. Bobbi Jo, recovered, opened fire, and for a spellbinding moment the holocaust continued, two titanic tongues of flame that stretched through the corridor toward a monstrosity that staggered, bending and rising with forearms raised across its face, bellowing in defiance.

Its arms were uplifted as it twisted between impacts, and the fanged mouth was open in a roar that thundered from its chest though the sound could not be heard above the detonations of the .50-caliber weapons. Then with a sudden decision it turned, hurling its hulking shape over a stone and into darkness.

Seized by the impulse to rush after it and finish the kill, Hunter managed to calm himself, steadying his adrenaline. Laying the rifle to the side as Takakura advanced, aim centered on the corner, he bent to Bobbi Jo.

She had fallen to a knee and the wounds on her chest were opened, now crossed with another set of deep furrows. She gasped several moments to regain breath, then lifted a hand to her chest and coughed, closing her eyes tightly in pain. A low moan escaped.

Experiencing a heated rush of emotion, Hunter laid a hand on her back, letting her know he was there. He didn't attempt to talk to her, knowing she was incapable of speaking.

Takakura's voice reached from the gloom: "Hunter."

Raising his head, Hunter focused on the Japanese.

Takakura stood stoically over the body of Dixon. He had been slain so quickly in the blazing chaos of the gun battle that no one had even seen the creature's blow. Hunter blinked, sniffed; he had not meant for the CIA agent to die. He had simply chosen not to let him escape without punishment for the carnage he'd created. But it was over; at the moment he had more demanding priorities.

Rolling to both knees, Chaney finally gasped: "Jesus!" He shook his head angrily. "What's it take to stop that thing?" Then his eyes settled on Brick and he grew utterly still. He stared with remorse at the gaping face, jagged skull glistening in the light of the flares.

"Oh, no," he whispered.

No one spoke as Chaney reached out, holding the big ex-marshal's shoulder for a time. His face was bent, concealing his expression, but he
shook his head slowly as his hand tightened. After a moment he patted Brick's arm, nodding. Then he lifted Brick's cracked Weatherby and inserted a new round, violently snapping it shut. When he turned to Hunter, his expression was death.

"Let's finish this," he said stonily. "This beast is going down."

Hunter spoke gently to Bobbi Jo. "How ya doin', babe?"

She coughed again. Her hand, when it came away from her chest, was heavy in blood. "I'm okay." She rubbed a forearm over her eyes. "Just let me change clips. I just need ... a second."

"We can turn back," he offered.

"No!" She raised
eyes on fire. "
We
finish it
!"

Hunter studied her resolve, nodded. "All right, but let me take a look." A quick examination of her chest revealed that the wounds, while bleeding profusely, had not penetrated muscle. "You bring anything for pain?" he asked.

"Yeah, but by the time they kick in, this'll be over. I'll go just like I am."

"All right. Stay close to me."

She nodded, silent in her injuries.

Hunter stood at the sound of Takakura's voice. But the words were cloudy and buried, or submerged somehow, by the dark atmosphere. Hunter realized that the rifle fire had temporarily deafened them.

"It is gravely wounded," the Japanese said stoically.

Hunter's voice was angry. "Yeah, well, wounded is one thing, dead is another." Gently, he helped Bobbi Jo to her feet. Then he lifted the Barrett and she took it in bloody hands.

"Still, though, it is badly wounded," Takakura intoned, staring at the tunnel with the sword stretched before him. "And the blood trail is wide. It will not retreat far."

"No, it won't," Hunter said, knowing it already. "It's hungry to kill us now. It has to. We've hurt it, and it knows that it can't survive more damage." He racked a fresh round. "The next time is the last time. Nobody is going to walk away if we don't put it down fast."