He continued, "You mean like all that food you carry?" He motioned vaguely. "You see that tree?"
"Yeah, I see it."
"That's a white oak. And a handful of those acorns, even the ones on the ground, will give you more protein than you'll find in a ten-ounce steak. They're not too bitter and you can eat them raw. And over there" — he pointed to the side—"is some purslane. Dig up the root bulbs and boil them just like potatoes and they'll give you vitamins and minerals." He continued speaking as he worked, not looking up. "We're surrounded by tamarack trees. Cut off the shoots and they're as good as any vegetable, and tastier. And you can use the stems as bow drills. Then on the other side of this clearing is some wintergreen. It's a plant."
"Yes, thank you. I know what it is."
With a patient smile he continued, "Yeah, well, anyway, boil wintergreen and the leaves make a tea that reduces fever better than anything in a hospital. It's good for a sore throat and the tea is full of vitamins." He shrugged. "It goes on and on. You're surrounded by a pharmacy and all the food you would ever need. And if you need clothing there are plenty of places for snares, deadfalls, bow pits. We passed over about a hundred trails and runs and beds today with everything from bobcat to beaver, so there's an abundance of food. And they're easy enough to catch with your hand if you know how. And this place is alive with fish, which I've already built a trap cage for. In the morning, while you're preparing your MRJEs, I'll cook up a couple of trout and eat them. Or eat them raw. Doesn't matter. What hurts you and the rest of these guys is that you try to overcome the land instead of taking advantage of it."
Bobbi Jo was silent, but her eyes had narrowed as he talked. Then he was finished and rose, walked slowly around the hut. He shook it with his hand: It was solid. It would keep him warm for the night.
Kneeling, he removed three large stones from the fire and placed them near the entrance, covering them lightly with dirt. He did not seem fatigued by the work; it was as if he had lived this life for so long that his body could complete the movements by muscle memory alone. His face reflected nothing but effortless concentration; a purity of movement that came from the purest strength and patience ruled by a disciplined soul.
"You really are some kind of Tarzan, aren't you?" Bobbi Jo asked quietly. She shook her blond head as she added, "You're more at home in the wild than anyone I've ever seen." She paused. "But there's still something about you I can't figure out."
He raised his eyes with a faint smile. "What's that?"
A pause.
"I don't know," she remarked plainly. "It's something you seem to hide. But I can sometimes glimpse it in your eyes when you respond to a sound. You react with some kind of wild purity. Like a wolf. Or a tiger. It's like you've got this fantastic instinct that is just way beyond the rest of us. I… I really don't know how to describe it and I don't know whether to be afraid of it or just be glad you're on our side."
Hunter gazed down at her, silent.
He blinked, considering her words.
Really, neither did he.
Lying quietly in her tent, Bobbi Jo stared at Hunter s hut, unable to forget the great black wolf that lay slightly to his side, ever on guard even in a thin semblance of sleep. Hunter was already asleep inside the enclosure. She had noticed that when he lay down he was asleep in seconds although she figured he could stay awake far longer than the rest of them, if he chose.
She wondered about what kind of man he was inside, and what he had found out here in the wild. Perhaps it was a simplicity of life that somehow escaped him in the cultured world, but she didn't think so. It was something more. Something deeper. And for the first time in a while, she felt an attraction. Even though she tried to shield herself from such thoughts in the field, she couldn't help but recognize the sensation.
She had read his dossier and was familiar with his documented history. Of the life he had led before he emerged in the public eye, little was known.
Yes, an unusual man…
She blinked. Then she reached out and gently clutched her rifle, sensing somehow that the strength, the will, and the spirit of this enigma of a man was probably worth more than all of them and their weapons combined.
Crouching, monstrous hands clenching, he stared at the camp, studying all he could see in the moon's skull-like light. Silent and unmoving, he saw the big man who led at the front, the man who tracked with such remarkable skill. Then he studied the wolf that lay at the man's side, the black one.
Even in sleep, the wolf seemed alert. Its ears still stood straight and its face was away from the fire. He could not tell if it was gazing into the treeline. The canine black eyes melted into the utter blackness of its face but its posture was decidedly tense, as if it never relaxed. He knew that it was a creature that could possibly deliver a savage battle. As much, even, as the grizzly he had killed earlier in the day.
But by now the wounds that branded him in that fierce fight had healed; only a thin pink scar marked the moment. With his frightfully dim human intelligence — what had been his name? — he estimated that he could recover from almost any wound within a day's time, the hybrid DNA in his system somehow synthesizing to accelerate cell replication and enhanced blood generation.
Slowly, outlined against the sky, he stood, still gazing somberly on the campsite.
No, he would not attack them tonight. He would wait. He would lead them across the forest tomorrow, allowing them to close. He would lead them and let them think they were cornering him, as he would corner them, in the end. Then, when his stalking was complete, he would launch his first attack, killing several of them before he escaped again.
He did not fear injury, or the soldiers, or the wolf. Though he did, somehow, fear the man.
They would fight fiercely, as all of them did, but the titanic might in his form, in his acutely enhanced senses and his superior intelligence would be more than enough to destroy them.
Yes, to destroy all of them.
He growled as he turned into the night.
Chapter 7
Bobbi Jo's voice seemed to come from a distance.
"What do you see?"
Hunter didn't move as he studied the tracks intently. The ground was soft on the ridge and he could read distinct impressions — dragging signs of where he had shuffled restlessly, thirsty. Hunter turned his head to stare down over the camp, estimating how long the beast had watched them during the night.
"Hunter?" Bobbi Jo leaned forward. "What do you see?"
"It was here."
"It was here? For how long?"
"Four hours, maybe." Hunter's brow hardened in concentration. "Early this morning."
Creeping up, she knelt beside him. Her dark blond hair fell forward to cover half her face as she stared at the tracks, and for a long time she was silent. Then she raised her head, scanning as her head moved in a precision pattern. "What is this thing, Hunter?" Her voice held the edge of subdued fear. "This isn't natural."
Hunter didn't move.
To lesser trackers, the footprints would only reveal that it had been here. Others could determine its approach, its retreat. But Hunter could determine more, using skills so long adapted into his very being that they were only slightly less than instinct.
He could tell how long it had stood before it shuffled its foot, measuring its patience. He could read from only the slight mulling that its balance was almost perfect, or that it had softly and silently clawed the loam in its silent vigil, and where it had watched the longest. He turned his head to stare down into the camp. And from the cliff's edge, he saw what it had watched the closest. What had been its highest priority. And knew it was him.