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."
Locking and loading, they entered the long tunnel.
It was a labyrinth of sorts, far different from the steady certainty of the passageway above and inviting a new kind of nervous fear. But Hunter was too exhausted by battle to be nervous. His steadiness was fed by cold determination to destroy this creature; he felt nothing at all.
In fact, there was almost a recklessness in his approach now, as if he was more than willing to go face-to-face one more time in order to deliver all the damage it could endure. But only the most acute awareness of those beside him could have discerned that he moved with a lesser edge of caution.
The tunnel began to curve away, angling gradually until Hunter sensed that they were retreating along the same general direction. In the distance, flares burned to a small circle of light, and Hunter steadily followed the splashed blood trail until they saw a bright glowing dome before them.
It was the central chamber of the cave Uttered with the bones of ages. Hidden in utter darkness for centuries, the skeletons glared white in the flame. And Hunter knew that the beast had returned here to finish the battle.
The damage they had inflicted upon the creature had finally reduced its almost measureless strength. So, no, it no longer trusted its superior senses without relying upon sight. And it had circled back to this place, where it would launch a last ambitious attack. But Hunter never assumed anything. Cautious as a wolf, he moved slowly into the cathedral chamber of bleached bone.
Leading, he studied the endless expanse of dunes and crests and mounds. And with each uplifted clawed hand he saw the creature — a merciless and malignant power that knew no restraint. Only the darkness of its own mind had been its doom. And yet, despite the gigantic strength, Hunter felt no fear because it had so maliciously killed those he loved: Ghost by violence, the professor by its very existence.
Yeah, you're gonna die…
"It'll probably do the same as before," he said, organizing them, "though there's no way to be certain because it's always learning. So just put as many rounds into it as you can." He paused to study their tense faces and read the evident fear. Even Takakura seemed shaken. He added, "Listen, this thing isn't unkillable. We've already hurt it. Now it's dying time."
Silent consent, and they continued.
Fanning out, they entered the cathedral. Slowly, Hunter walked past a high, heaped pile of skeletons and studied the dust, searching for any area where it might have concealed itself. But he saw nothing. Not even blood, and it disturbed him.
Nothing moves without leaving a sign…
What was he missing?
The doubt tugged at him, distracting and alarming.
Suddenly seized by it, he paused and knelt, carefully studying everything he could see. Concentrated, he tried to read any sign of disturbance, of moment, and again saw nothing. And with each second, his alarm increased.
It's there… It has to be… Trust what you know…
A cavern silent with centuries-old dust stretched out before him. He saw the smears of where they had entered and left, the faint traces of track where it had staggered through, the minute claw marks on stone. But there was nothing more.
There should at least be blood…
Frustrated, Hunter rose and stared over the room. He trusted his skills and knew it couldn't deceive him. He had tracked this thing across an entire wildness scarred by animal life and weather. He had defeated it again and again with his knowledge and experience. No, it couldn't defeat him here. Not when he was this close.