Dark images of their own dead were displayed on a nearby wall. He saw the mangled image of a severed skull and felt an undeniable sensation of revulsion.
So, they were also cannibals.
He felt no surprise.
It would only be right. For they had no consciousness, no sense of morality or regard for life. So one of their own dead would naturally be as welcome as another creature's. Flesh was flesh, and any blood was warm enough if drunk quickly.
Staring about, he saw that the cave emptied into a dozen large tunnels that doubtless led into lower levels, possibly more lakes or even to the outside. He didn't presume that this was the only entrance. In fact, he reasoned that there would probably be much more accessible openings, but most had been half-buried or obscured by the mountain's changing geology over time.
Everyone was fairly scattered now and Hunter searched the ground, looking for tracks. He saw where the creature had entered, how it had hesitated, as if in shock. And he began to wonder about the scream he had heard.
Could it be that whatever genetic memory the creature possessed didn't contain any memory of the war that destroyed it? Was it possible that it had come here expecting to be received by its own kind? He wondered; this scientific madness had created something that was in essence the equal of this ancient species, but it was also the twisted manipulation of nature. It seemed possible that genetic coding, distorted and erased by the unnatural transmutation, had been lost.
It had come here expecting its own species, and had found nothing but a bone-Uttered tomb. So its rage had been expressed in the only manner it knew — by an unchecked release that would have destroyed any living creature, if it had been present.
Hunter nodded; he could use that to his advantage.
Rising slowly, feeling the stiffness in his limbs from the brief respite, he wiped his brow. The heavy humidity, probably close to a hundred percent, was making all of them perspire heavily. Already Bobbi Jo's hair was plastered back across her head. She had ripped a piece of clothing from her shirt for a headband, and her battle-dress uniform was blackened with sweat. The rest were equally suffering.
"All right," Hunter said, turning to them as he racked the bolt on the Browning, slamming home a six-inch, 50-caliber cartridge. "I can track it, but we're gonna have to stay alert. This is its home ground, and it’s gonna use it. So look high, and get a shot off quick if it charges. The rest of us will back you up."
An animal roar, angry and wounded, bellowed from the depths of the cavern, enlarging the room with an astounding bestial fury that smothered them together. Hunter raised his head at the thundering rage and frowned before casting a glance to Bobbi Jo. She revealed nothing as she chambered the Barrett.
Haggard and pale, she carried the huge rifle on a shoulder sling, the long barrel leveled at her waist. Her finger was curled around the trigger and her poise was solid. But Dixon trembled, backing away from a huge yawning tunnel that echoed deeply.
Hunter grabbed him by the shoulder, pushing him forward as they advanced. "No place to go, Dixon," he said. "This is where you learn all about eternal life. And the lack of it."
The tunnel was wide enough to accept all of them with a separation of ten feet. But its vastness defied both their hand-held light and the illumination of the burning oil pool.
Staring steadily into its depths, Hunter understood why the creature had chosen this terrain.
Ledges loomed, unseen in shadow, along the tiered stone walls. And the floor, flat and level, was unencumbered with crumbling rock, allowing rapid movement. Other, higher tunnels disappeared into the uppermost reaches of the passageway — blackened eyes that could conceal anything. Hunter moved forward carefully, alert to the slightest sound. But he knew this was more of a wait than a search.
No, he wouldn't see it first, and knew it would come from a ledge. It would descend into them furiously and hope to finish them quick. And if it hit the ground before they could target it, Hunter recognized that they would be seriously handicapped. For it would move fast, in and out and back again, and they'd have to be careful not to shoot one of their own. He blinked sweat from his eyes as all of them moved in painful silence, the lights revealing their position to the beast.
Brick spoke from the side.
"This thing, it's gonna try an ambush, right?"
"Yeah," Hunter said, raising eyes to a submerged ledge.
"Then why don't one of us stay a little farther back?" the big ex-marshal asked. "If it's directly above you, you won't see it coming down. But somebody a little farther back, they'll get the angle on it."
Nodding, Hunter knew it was a good idea. In fact, he had already considered it, but discarded the tactic because one man isolated as a rear guard would become more vulnerable. He explained the objection to Brick.
"Yeah, it's a risk." The big man breathed heavily. The suffocating humidity was affecting them all. "But I'll take the risk. If that thing lands in the thick of us, we're gonna be shooting each other, son. I know what I'm jawin' about."
Hesitating, Hunter looked at Chaney, who nodded. "Let Brick take rear guard for a while," Chaney suggested, swiping his face. "But I'll flank him. That leaves the three of you up here, two of us in the back. It won't be that easy to get the drop on us."
Hunter stared, finally nodded. He wondered when it was that he had somehow taken military control of the situation, then forgot it; it didn't matter. Takakura acknowledged his agreement and they divided forces, Hunter leading a wary wedge.
Behind him Brick and Chaney had the double-barreled Weatherby poised high as they searched the ledges, ready to shoulder as if shooting clay pigeons. And Hunter felt safer with them guarding the upper tiers, but slowly began to sense a vague, intensifying nervousness that he couldn't lock down. It was a sensation that whatever should have happened by now hadn't happened.
He quickly analyzed all his former battles with the creature, reviewing its tactics, instincts, habits, and almost unconscious inclinations. More than anything, it used the same tactics over and over again. It ambushed from high ground with a directness of action that capitalized on the prey's limited reaction speed. It never attacked directly unless it was in the open field, always used darkness or broken terrain for short, devastating assaults before seizing solid cover from small-arms fire. It also preferred to use the advantage of confusion, but that wasn't an option for it now, so..
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."