With Ghost running lightly beside him, Hunter moved in a loping crouch; fast but cautious, always cautious because he knew the child could wander away from the path at any point. He didn't cast another glance at the last crimson light of the sun as he moved along the ridge.
Fatigue from moving ceaselessly for hours and expending extraordinary concentration to read the almost invisible tracks was beginning to take a toll. But Hunter knew in his heart that it had come to this moment. He was only minutes from last light and minutes from the boy. But he had to find the child before last light because even he couldn't track in the dark.
I ain't gonna let you die, kid…
I ain't gonna let you die…
Something huge, dark and frightening suddenly and silently loomed out of the shadowed granite slab above him. And the boy looked up to see… a man?
A man and… a wolf?
Yes, it was a man. And it was a wolf.
The boy beheld the beast's black eyes staring over him with such intensity, saw the slightly distended fangs that glinted sharp-white even in moonlight, and felt new fear.
Then the man and wolf dropped without a sound from the rock and bent over him, man speaking soothingly as the huge wolf pressed a warm nose against his cheek, making him smile. The boy raised a shaking hand, touching the warmth of the thick black mane.
Without another word, the man gently wrapped him in his coat and lifted him from the hateful ground, and then they were moving through the trees with the sound of a great roaring of wind — the shadowed leaves and limbs sliding over them but never touching them because the man held him so close and so strong.
He was warm again and, reaching up, he felt the man's great strength, and knew he was safe.
"By God." Cahill shook his head. "I never thought you could pull it off, Hunter."
Cut by branches and covered with bruises, Hunter was silent a moment as he took a sip of coffee, sitting against Cahill's desk. He stared into his cup as he spoke.
"The boy's gonna be all right?"
"Yeah." Cahill rose from his chair, pouring himself another cup. Burly and deep chested with blacksmith arms, the sheriff moved with the square grace of a heavyweight boxer.
"The doc says he's dehydrated and in shock, but they already got him in a room. Ain't got no frostbite." Cahill sat and leaned heavily back, taking a slow sip. "The parents called. They wanted to thank you."
Hunter took a sip. "Tell them I'm glad their boy's okay."
Silent for a while, Cahill studied the face of the man who stood before him.
Muscular with a ragged mane of black hair that fell slightly to his shoulders, Hunter seemed to have stepped out of another, more primitive age. His eyes were dark beneath a low, hard brow burned brown by years of living in the wild. His cheeks were sharp above a mouth deeply cast in a bronze frown. His broad shoulders, deep chest, and heavy arms were evidence of great strength but, Cahill had noticed before that Hunter seemed to possess a greater strength than was visible there. He had long suspected that Hunter's best, greatest, and truest strength was something he purposefully hid. He had always wondered why he hid so much of himself.
Cahill spoke. "You really don't have much use for people do you, Hunter?"
He waited. Hunter didn't reply.
Cahill continued, "But you risk your life finding these people when we got a thousand people in the woods that don't have a chance." Cahill didn't seem disturbed by Hunter's silence. "Like last year when you found that couple lost down below the Sipsey. You tracked 'em for four days with no food, no shelter." He grunted. "They got lucky. So did you. That track almost killed you."
Hunter sighed, raised his eyes slightly in agreement. "Once you get on a track, it's best not to take a break. The more single-minded you are, the better your chances." He paused. "But you're right. That one was tough. So was this one. The little guy kept wandering on me."
Cahill nodded, thoughtful. "So where you headed off to?"
"Manchuria."
Cahill laughed out loud. "Manchuria! For what?"
"The Tipler Institute wants me to try and capture a Siberian tiger."
Hunter shook his head. "They're pretty rare, but a recent expedition said they saw one." He shrugged. "I doubt it's there, but it's possible. I'll find out if I don't get myself killed."
Cahill smiled. "So, ol' Doc Tipler is still alive." Then his smile thinned, disappeared. "You know, kid, I hear a tiger is the meanest thing on four feet. Meaner than a grizzly. And they're kinda like a griz, too. They like to sneak up on you."
Hunter smiled. "Yeah, Siberians are the best stalkers in the world. They don't make a sound 'til they move, and they always attack from ambush. I've captured them before, but I think this might be different."
"What's gonna be different?"
'Just the range." Hunter set the coffee on the desk, stretched his arms. "Because of the foliage I'll have pretty limited range for a shot. Maybe thirty, forty feet."
"Think you can get that close to a tiger and stay down wind?"
"Guess we'll have to find out." Hunter's face was contented and easy as he spoke. He rose and reached for the door and Cahill could have sworn he heard half a laugh as the man went out the door.
He moved through the night, at home with the darkness.
Cold wind separated around his form, swaying the surrounding spruce, birch, and pine. He paused, breathing slowly and rhythmically, reminded of so much, and knew that the moss beneath his feet had survived here for ten centuries. The scent of a dozen flora concealed by the night rose to greet him, he knew them all. The bark of this nearby tree could quell pain, and the root of that plant could fill his stomach. He knew their secrets, their uses, even merely as food, though this was not the land he had known, was far from the land he had known. He could survive here.
And he could do even more than survive.
The guard drew near the gate.
It is time.
He knew that he must move before the dog could sense his presence. A hunting instinct that was clearer than human intelligence, purer than any purpose, pulled him forward.
His human intelligence reigned, yet it was reinforced by the instincts of this fantastic evolution of his flesh. Crouching low, he padded forward with silent steps, emerging ghostlike from the forest — a phantom rising from a dark mossy silence and gloom into the light of a dead moon to near the gate almost undetected. Only at the last did a guard turn to behold the phantasmic shape taking horrific form from darkness — an image beyond fear — and screamed in disbelief before whirling to wildly chamber a round in his rifle.
It was too late.
A single horrific blow tore the first guard's head from his neck and another clawed hand rent a lung from the second before the dog's howl burst from the fence. Snarling, the beast turned to see the German shepherd hurling itself forward with a fury beyond anything human.
A clawed hand arched through dark air to tear away the animal's heart and then he cast the lifeless body aside. It required no effort — so easy was it — and he leaped forward to finish, evading the panicked rifle fire of the last guard before he slew again.
It was over quickly.
Growling, he stood over smoking red snow and turned, glaring bale-fully at the heavy metal doors that secured the facility. He stalked forward and when he reached the portal he roared, hurling up gigantic arms to bring them down against the steel, thunderously sundering the panels.
Night eyes narrowing instantly at the light, he saw a white-coated mob screaming and running, running and screaming. He struck again and again as he moved through them to slay, and slay…
And slay.