"What are you locked into, Dixon?"
Dixon started to reply; something real. Then he dropped his hands to his sides as if he never could.
"Just… everything, Hunter."
"So this is what it comes down to, huh?" Hunter shook his head. "Hundreds of people die so a handful of the privileged can live. Doesn't sound like much of a tradeoff, Dixon. Especially for the people you pushed into traffic."
"You and I don't make those calls, Hunter."
"Who does?"
Dixon stared. His expression was honest. "I have no idea."
Having already lowered the serum to his side, Hunter held his Bowie in a loose fist. He would use both when the moment came. And the words of the old Indian returned to him, more meaningful in the last six hours than they had ever been.
He understood, now, where it was going. And he knew he would have pieced it together a long time ago, if they had only been honest. But he had been forced to discover the truth for himself beneath layer upon layer of lies and deceit and betrayals.
Somber, he turned to the forest. The far horizon was touched with a steel-gray dawn that matched his mood.
The beast was wounded, and retreating.
It knew, now, that it would never obtain the serum; whatever remained of its human mind would convince it of that. But the animal would rule as it always ruled. So it would do what an animal always did when it was wounded. It would retreat to where it could heal. It would go to its lair. And that's where Hunter would find it.
Time to finish this…
"You're not listening to me, Hunter," Dixon implored. "The best thing you can do right now is just hand over the serum. Listen, I know you destroyed the relic. So all we have left is that bag because the…the elements…whatever they're called…can't be synthesized. It has to come from the source."
"There's still him," Hunter said stoically.
Dixon paused. "Yeah, there's still that … thing."
"And what if I capture him for you?"
A laugh.
"I don't think I can authorize that, Hunter. Things are too out of control."
"It was authorized before."
"No," Dixon shook his head, "not really. That was just smoke and mirrors. You were there to make it look official.” He sighed, “We never really wanted you to find it. But we never wanted you to kill it, either. We just wanted it to look like we were doing our best. And it worked." Impressed with his own genius, Dixon nodded. "Worked pretty well, actually. Answered a ton of questions and everybody thought we were doing the right thing. We'll never catch any heat. Because we used the best tracker in the world, hired the best hunting team in the world, and you guys did all that anyone could do, so no matter who wants heads roll after this, I’m covered like a blanket." He smiled. "I'm a pro at this, Hunter."
With no hesitation Hunter drew the Bowie and smoothly slashed the serum bag, spilling the precious liquid onto the dirt. As he dropped the bag to the ground, Dr. Hamilton gaped.
Shocked, Hamilton stood in place, mutely extending arms to where Hunter had trashed his life's work.
Dixon, disappointed, shifted slightly in his stance, staring at the ground. It was a moment before he could find the appropriate words, but his tone retained an air of professional calm.
"You know, I figured you were gonna do something like that," he commented.
Hunter controlled the moment, nodded.
"And then there was one."
"Aaahhh…" Hamilton managed, arms extended in mute protest.
Dixon cast the scientist an annoyed glance before focusing again on Hunter, the team. He looked over all of them for a long moment, shaking his head in amazement. "You're really planning on taking this crew out one more time?" he asked. "Have you looked at yourself lately, dude? You're wasted! Your team is wasted! All of you, especially you, look totalled. Yeah, I know you're a tough guy, survival is an art you cultivate, all that. But you ain't gonna last three days out there. All of you belong in the hospital, man, not some jungle. And I've got more happy news for you."
Silence, as Dixon smiled.
Chancy walked up. "No," he said. "You can't be serious." He searched Dixon's face as he stopped, standing beside Hunter. "You can't tell me they're that crazy."
"Oh, yeah, they're that crazy," Dixon confirmed, casually glancing at his watch. "We've got… oh, about twenty-six minutes, I'd say."
Hunter laughed brutally; he didn't have to be told.
A moment of strange silence reigned.
Dixon was impassive, and the rest were too emotionally burned out to feel anything at all. Only in their minds did they dispassionately realize that this entire area was going to be vaporized by an air attack, erasing any traces of the research facility, the records, the dead, the creature, the earth itself.
What would remain here in half an hour would be a blasted piece of planet that would burn for days until only ashes smoldered in the midst of a strangely silent and deserted wilderness. There would be nothing for prosecutors to examine, and nothing hidden. It would be as if it had simply never existed at all. And any investigation, should it happen, would die with nothing but innuendo, suspicions, and questions easily deflected.
"The lab is two stories belowground," Chaney said. "How are they gonna blast something that's forty feet down?"
"Oh, I ain't sure," Dixon responded casually, lighting a cigarette. "I suppose they'll use a fuel-air bomb. It was the only thing strong enough to destroy underground bunkers in Iraq." He shrugged. "Doesn't matter, really. Fuel-air. Sidewinders. Dragons. Whatever. But they'll do the job right, I guarantee you. So in less than half an hour, gentlemen, and lady, this glade will be a solid sheet of glass. No experiment. No facility. No evidence. No monster. No nothing."
The CIA man maintained his casual air. Hunter knew Dixon was certain that he and the others would be airlifted out on the single remaining Blackhawk as quickly as possible. Dixon believed they wouldn't leave him behind to die.
Bobbi Jo walked past them. "I'm going to get the professor," she said to Hunter. "We have to get out of here."
Watching her lope with amazing strength — considering her injuries— across the compound, Hunter judged her strong enough for the task. He turned back to Dixon. "That was your plan all along, wasn't it?" he asked. "You were gonna perfect the serum, trap that thing in the complex, then raze the whole place. Perfect containment. Everyone is dead. You've got what you want. And there's no evidence at all that anything happened." He shook his head. "Almost the perfect plan, Dixon."
"Almost?" The agent smiled. "I'd say it was perfect, Hunter. Except for you." He cocked his head. "I must admit, I never figured you would muck things up the way you did. My fault; I underestimated you. But, well, that's what happens when you make last-minute changes to a perfect scenario. Guys like you get involved. And you think you got it all figured, but this guy, whoever, turns out to be some kind of war hero. Just won't lie down and do as he's told. And then…" He motioned around him, "you have gold-plated FUBAR."
"I die hard," Hunter said.
Dixon acknowledged it with a nod. "Obviously," he replied, spitting out a piece of tobacco. "Too hard, it seems. But I don't think you're gonna survive the firestorm that's gonna be dropped on this area in about twenty minutes."
"You still don't have the serum, Dixon."
At the mention of "serum," Hamilton groaned and closed his eyes. His hands had fallen to his sides and he stood in awful silence, head bowed in misery. Hunter ignored him.
Dixon was angry. "No, Hunter, we don't."
"Well, then" — Hunter stared at him—"I guess it all comes down to you and me. What are you gonna tell your bosses when they see how you messed this up? Think they're gonna be happy that, after this 'perfect scenario' of yours, they're out a billion-dollar facility, have to answer a congressional investigation and still don't get the serum?" He nodded. "I think Siberia is in your future, Dixon."