Wondering what had Hunter so alarmed, she moved up carefully beside him, leaning close. He was studying everything around him in silence. She saw a single track in the hardened bank and nothing else. It was as if the creature had simply disappeared from the face of the Earth.
Hunter turned his head slightly to the side.
"Ghost," he said softly.
Moving with uncanny grace, the huge black wolf crept forward, head bowed with a kind of eerie calm. Bobbi Jo couldn't help but clutch the rifle slightly tighter at the savage profile, the wide head and the black eyes that revealed no life at all.
Pointing to the track, Hunter said, "Search."
Within a moment the wolf vanished around a bend in the river, lost to the lesser blackness of this seemingly infinite forest. Bobbi Jo waited but Hunter said nothing more as he continued to stare intently at the print. Then, taking a chance on this man who seemed so at home in the forest, Bobbi Jo spoke. "What is it that's bothering you?"
Hunter didn't reply for a time.
Then, "It doesn't make sense."
"What doesn't?"
"The pressure release marks in this track." Hunter looked to the right, ahead of them. "This thing moved to the right, but there aren't any tracks to the right. Just that ridge."
A sharply angled rise was beside them, over a hundred and fifty feet high. It was edged shale, revealing no path. They could free-climb it easily enough but there were no signs that the creature had used it, so there was no purpose to follow.
Bobbi Jo whispered, "You know, Hunter, it's been staying close to water all day."
"That's what bothers me."
"What do you mean?"
"Animals this size don't stay close to water during the day," he said, using the water to cover his voice, and then she understood how he was doing it. He was altering the pitch of his voice to blend with that of the current, modulating his words to fit the slightly lower rushing of the water beside them. She was amazed that he could so perfectly blend into the environment. It was as if he himself were part of the wild.
He continued, "Big animals always drink at dawn, then they drink again at night like clockwork. And they don't stay close to water during the day. During the day they hunt and feed."
"But the thing hasn't fed yet," she responded, trying to lower her voice so it would blend in with the current. "It's been moving fast."
"Yeah," Hunter answered. "That bothers me too. It's moving too fast. And a big animal doesn't do that. They cover maybe… three, five miles an hour. But this thing is making serious distance. None of this is right."
She leaned even closer. "Hunter, I think I might have a good idea on this. It's been moving beside water all day."
"Like a man would do," he said, not lifting his eyes.
She paused. "Yeah, well, maybe. But the fact is that it tends to stay close to water. And that's probably what it's doing now because it's not going to suddenly change its habits. This thing is strong beyond belief. But I think it's gonna continue doing what it's been doing."
Slowly, Hunter turned his head to look up the ridge, inch by inch. His mouth hung slightly open and his face was frozen, as if with revelation.
"No," he whispered, "this would do something…else."
His hawk-like eyes roamed the ridge.
"Tell you what," Bobbi Jo said, "how about if I cross-trail about a hundred yards out? I'll be careful not to mar any tracks if I find them."
She waited a long minute before he spoke.
"Yeah," he murmured, studying the jagged ridge. "You do that. I'm gonna have a look around here." He turned back to her, face hardening. "Don't go any farther than that."
"I won't." She rose with the words, stepping lightly from rock to rock, moving down the stream.
Hunter studied the cliff for a long time, reading ridges, slabs, and crevasses. A good man could climb it in about twenty minutes. Then he stepped forward and grabbed an outcrop, hauling himself easily over the edge. He effortlessly picked a path up the ridge, setting his feet firmly, testing the rock before placing his weight on it, choosing the easiest route.
The procedure was in effect just an extension of the method he used for moving in silence. He knew that in order to move through the forest without sound you had to set the ball of the foot down first, then settle the foot slowly, front to back. Also, it was important that you knew the step wouldn't make any sound before you placed your weight upon it by choosing solid ground. And if nothing but twigs were present, placing the foot down parallel with them.
Cautiously, he reconnoitered the rock, searching, reading every disturbance of the gray-brown dust that settled on the rock. And after twenty minutes of careful investigation he found it: a deep impact of claws branded in rock.
Crouching, Hunter turned his head and gazed down at the stream. He measured the distance and shook his head at the overall, overpowering impression before he calculated the leap to be at least thirty feet. It was an incredible distance for any creature to jump, even a tiger.
To confirm that he was correct, he looked around and found claw marks clicked in stone, marks of incredible clenching strength. He saw where it had climbed from a hundred infinitesimal signs that would have easily been overlooked by an inexperienced tracker. He nodded; yeah, this is why there weren't any more tracks in the streambed.
He moved up the cliff, climbing surely to the summit. Staring down, he observed Takakura crouching at the head of the team, still far away.
He waved them closer and waited until Bobbi Jo entered the open from the far side of the stream. When he saw her, he waved an arm and she nodded, coming toward them.
When the team arrived at the base of the cliff, Hunter simply pointed to the top, and together they began climbing.
Chapter 6
Fangs distended beneath gleaming red eyes, he stalked into the light of a pale moon that hung like a haggard skull over the mountains. Hulking and horrific, his slouched shoulders swelled beneath a vaguely human face and savage glare.
With animal grace he reached up to brush a branch aside and moved into a wide grassy glade, now that his sleep was done — and that what he had once been was gone.
As he entered the light he could be seen — hunched, tremendously muscular, hands slightly clutched. Long black talons extended from his fingers. He was distinctly mannish, though his bulk and brutal muscularity surpassed anything that could be called human.
He would attack them at night, he had decided. And when the moment was right, he would kill them all. For he had expected them to follow, had known that they would follow and try to destroy him for what he had done. Yes, he would kill them all, but not yet. He would not kill them until he cornered them in a place where their helicopters and support teams could not be their salvation.
Another day, and perhaps another.
He thought back over what he had observed…
During the day he had carefully watched the man who wore the moccasins, the one who moved with the wolf, following its steps so surely. And although he did not recognize fear as they knew fear, he knew he could not escape this one as he had the others.
Yes, he would have to kill the man first. Then the others would be chattel, slain at his leisure as he hunted them through the days and nights. Perhaps, if they were fortunate, some might escape. But he would kill the man with the radio quickly so they could not communicate; he understood this much of their ways.
Snarling, his mind returned angrily to the man…
Yes, he was dangerous; a hateful phantom of days when he had battled truly powerful enemies who had injured him. For certain, with the man he must strike quickly, and finish quickly.
The rest would be prey.
Although he was outnumbered, he was supremely confident because he was faster, stronger, and far more cunning than they. Nor did he fear pain, as he sometimes had when they had blanketed him with bullets and explosions.