Concerned, Hunter had tracked the wolf into a tall stand of birch to find Ghost squared off against another wolf — a large gray alpha, leader of the pack.
A bull elk had been brought down by the pack, and the alpha, by definition as leader, would eat first. But Ghost would have none of it. He waded in, and the alpha warned him off. Then Ghost emitted an ungodly growl that made even Hunter feel a thrill of fear, and the alpha attacked.
Ghost evaded the first lightning-quick lunge, struck a shoulder on the larger wolf and was gone again before it could react. And for an amazingly long and savage battle it was blow for blow, Ghost retreating and attacking, leaping and striking with feral fury.
Hunter watched in fascination as they joined in combat for six hours, neither surrendering, neither striking a mortal wound until Ghost finally slashed a crimson brand that savaged the alpha's neck and the gray wolf fell to a knee. But there was no mercy. Not now.
Ghost moved in, slowly at first, and then, in a movement too quick to follow, hit again, and there was a flare of blood, and the alpha lay deathly still. Ghost stood only a moment over the carcass before he went tiredly to the elk and began to feed.
The other wolves let him feast until he was done. Then, as he turned his back and moved away, the rest of them moved in and devoured what was left.
Hunter never forgot the episode, or the awesome, utter savagery Ghost had embodied. It had been a display of the purest primal fury, truly awesome in its power and awesome in its ferocity.
Hungry as he was, Hunter didn't interrupt as Ghost fed alone, though afterwards he fired a shot into the air to drive off the pack. Then he moved in cautiously beneath the uncaring gaze of Ghost to cut several large steaks from the hindquarter.
He ate one raw, cooked another, then air-dried twenty pounds of jerky for the long journey back. And by cutting off one of the massive legs, stripping the skin at the socket, and tying it back to the hoof, he made an efficient shoulder strap of raw meat — enough to sustain the wolf until they reached the Ranger base.
The forest, all that was in this land, would completely consume what remained of the elk; nothing was wasted.
Hunter had often thought of the incident, wondering what savage pride had driven Ghost to continue the fight. But, from the first day, it was clear that he would die before he walked away.
Hunter smiled as he reached out to ruffle Ghost's mane once more but noticed the wolf was staring away intently, as if perceiving a slowly approaching threat. Suddenly sensitive, Hunter turned his head to gaze into the cargo hold. But he saw nothing.
Nothing but darkness.
Standing half-naked in the shadowed gloom, he was amazed that he could not remember his name.
Faintly troubled by it, he slowly raised his hands before his face, frowning slightly, for they were slightly different than before. They were wider, thicker, and tipped with what remained of claws. The transformations were lasting longer, and taking longer to fade, he thought. But that was something to be expected. Soon, he assumed, they might not fade at all. That was well with him; he had grown to prefer that superior state of being — that matchless measure of might that he alone enjoyed.
No, never again would he be one of them — the weak, the puny, the prey. No, he would forever enjoy a higher realm of existence — a physical glory not seen on the Earth for ten thousand years, and which he alone possessed.
Strangely, though he could not remember his name, he remembered so much else. To test himself, he attempted to recall everything he knew about the alien DNA he had injected into his body.
Electrophoresis, he remembered clearly, had categorized the recombinant DNA as ninety-nine percent Homo sapiens. Yet it was the one percent that had demanded their attention and launched the first stage of the experiment.
An aggressive immunity to every disease tested against it had been discovered in that DNA, which contained the very building blocks of life. It was like a battery able to recharge endlessly. Yes, there was not just life, but virtual eternal life hidden within.
For death, he well knew, was simply the aging of cells — a progressive mutation of the body until the cells could simply no longer reproduce. But this creature, Homo scimitar, was not cursed with such a fate as modern man. Although the DNA hinted that there was ultimately an end to the recombinant strength, it was at a level far beyond modern Homo sapiens. Yes, this Lord of the North had possessed a life span of hundreds and hundreds of years. Theoretically, he realized that a thousand years was not beyond hope.
Although the true biochemical essence of its phenomenal longevity was, despite their calculations, a mystery, its immunity system had been readily understood.
A breakdown of the coding had revealed the astonishing level of restrictive enzymes that prevented a foreign agent, like a virus or bacteria, from infecting and interfering with the host DNA. Literally billions of various restrictive enzymes were locked in the helix, a clear indication that this creature had been as invulnerable to virus and bacteria as he was to age — a superior species from a superior realm.
Then the time came to see if the DNA could be copied in modern homo-sapiens. And after performing his own series of tests, he had decided to experiment on himself.
He never even debated his right to inject himself with the coding. He knew that, if successful, he would share those superhuman qualities, and he had judged the potential triumph worth the risk. His motives had not been pure, nor did he care. What he wanted for himself was justification enough for his actions.
But he had not anticipated the transformation to be so overpowering. And he could even now feel the strength growing again, flexing solid muscle that was increasing moment by moment. He could even sense the increasing bone density in his arms and chest and legs, and realized he would soon change again.
He did not know what had compelled his rampage on that first night when he changed within the chamber. He only remembered a dim transposing of visions, screaming faces and hands raised in appeal as his own hands — black claws there — swept left and right with the scarlet world falling before him. Then morning had come and he was himself, in his own mind and with his own eyes.
And after the next research team arrived, replacing those he had massacred so joyfully in his rampage, he had felt it building within him again and knew without question that, when night came, he would be as he had been.
And he was.
They screamed when the steel door exploded before his blow, and a cloud of concrete dust arose as the deep-set bolts were ripped from the wall.
It was a single thunderous impact of his forearm, smashing down with the irresistible force of a wrecking ball that reduced the concrete to chalk and laid the steel flat before him. Then he saw them through the familiar red haze. He saw them backing away in horror, screaming, always screaming.
And he had roared in among them.
But on that second occasion, everything was clearer, and he gained bestial satisfaction from the sheer exultation, the uncontainable exultation of his omnipotent power.
Yes, he smiled.
Like a god on the earth.
Nothing could stop him.
Nothing…
He knew in that moment that he could bring down a charging rhinoceros with the strength of his arms, that he could kill anything living — anything — with the massive might and claws that found no resistance in earthly substance. It was the best of all worlds; human cunning, the fierce blood of the beast, and prehistoric power. But then his human mind was fading, he knew, with each changing. And the changes were becoming more frequent, the beast slowly overcoming what he had been until he would be man no more. He thought of it a moment, and decided he did not care.