Hunter had ceased firing before the rest, having expended the six rounds of the Marlin at the nightmarish form in seconds. Together, backing up, they reloaded, quickly dropping clips and inserting shotgun rounds.
"Jesus!" Buck shouted without removing his eyes from the shredded black wall of leaves. "Did you see the size of that thing?" He shoved a grenade into his weapon, shouldering instantly, unable to relax.
"Reload and watch the perimeter!" Takakura raged, quickly exchanging clips and raising his weapon to his shoulder.
Only Bobbi Jo moved with a deadly air of cold calm.
With a brief glance, Hunter saw the female sniper very methodically remove the clip from her weapon. Then she took two six-inch rounds from her vest and shoved them into the magazine with mechanical precision before smoothly reinserting it in the rifle. Her motion to rack one of them into the chamber took obvious effort and then she was alert once more, eyes icy and sharp. Lowering the bipod attached to the rifle's stock, she rested it on the ground before her.
In all, the confrontation hadn't lasted more than fifteen seconds, but it had seemed like a lifetime until the beast had taken the second massive round from the Barrett and fallen to its back. But when it staggered up, it appeared that the awesome rifle had wounded it. It must have hurt it. But in the gloom, with such uncertain light and the detonations of the rifles half-blinding him, Hunter had been unable to tell for certain. All he knew was that it had been Bobbi Jo's weapon alone that had defied the beast's charge.
Takakura was speaking, still backing toward the bonfire. "For some reason it is resistant to small arms!" he yelled, since their hearing was dulled by the blasts. "But it is not impervious to the pain inflicted when it is hit! So if we can concentrate a heavy enough wall of rounds, the shock might make it retreat once more!"
Hunter wasn't betting on that; he knew that Bobbi Jo's rounds had really been what deterred its attack. But she could miss, or her rifle could jam, or the beast could launch a rushing attack and kill her first, temporarily disabling their ability to injure it. And all it would need would be seconds before it waded through them as it had waded through the guards at the research stations, stoically enduring the small-arms ordnance as it killed with impunity. No, they needed to come up with another defense if they were going to survive the entire night in this glade.
Already, it was too late to call for an emergency extraction. Because by the time the chopper snaked a dangerous path through these night-shrouded mountains to locate them, it would probably be over. Hunter estimated it would attack again in minutes — as soon as it determined that its injuries were minor. Obviously, the Barrett had stunned it — probably the first time a ballistic weapon had ever caused anything more than annoyance.
And despite their apparent shock at its unique ability to resist low-caliber arms, Hunter was not stunned. He knew that many creatures possessed skeletal density and skin composition sufficient to completely defeat low-velocity ordnance. A grizzly's skull could easily deflect a round from a 30.06 — a virtual cannon. And anything less than a 30.30 would only flatten on the skin of a rhinoceros. So, without question, nature had repeatedly demonstrated that the right combination of bone and skin could negate the effectiveness of almost any rifle — except the ultra-high-powered Barrett or a similar sniper weapon.
Hunter looked down to see how the undue excitement had affected the professor. But the old man appeared studious and relatively calm. He stared at the gaping hole left in the distant wood-line where it had fled, and his lips moved in silent thought. His first words came slowly.
"We cannot hold it off," he whispered, almost to himself. "It retreated only because it was shocked. But it will return soon enough… Yes, but not with a bold attack. It will attack with cunning unless…unless it is distracted… by something. But what? Not flame… no, it does not fear fire. What could distract it long enough for us to realize escape?"
Hunter's eyes narrowed; he looked at the old man. "I know what might distract it," he said evenly. With those words Hunter rose and walked away, knowing. He went directly to Takakura. "I know how we can hold it off for the night," Hunter said solidly.
Takakura stared. "Yes?"
"It uses the element of surprise. Likes to jump on you from trees and shit. We'll take that from him. If we see him coming, then we can open up and drive him back. No matter how many times he attacks, we can give him more than he can take."
"But it will be dark soon," the Japanese responded. "We cannot fight what we cannot see."
"We'll see him," Hunter nodded, angry, " 'cause I'm gonna rig this camp with more than claymores and fancy electronic devices, which it's already defeated too many times. I'm gonna set up some deadfalls, levers and fulcrums. He won't be hurt by them, but we'll know exactly where he is and we can open up. I'll have this place surrounded in twenty minutes."
Takakura s reply was instantaneous. "Do so. Take Buck with you. And Wilkenson. And hurry, Hunter." He glanced at the forest. "Or men will die tonight."
Hunter was in the woods like a panther, knowing every sound, every move, discerning instantly whether the forest told him it was near, knowing whether a broken branch had fallen from a tree, or whether it had been broken by a monstrous, approaching footstep. His skills were supreme now, and he used them supremely. His Bowie knife made swift work of sticks and twigs and the string he had brought by habit was vital. Buck and Wilkenson gathered the larger logs, and within a half hour they had completely surrounded the perimeter with carefully hidden traps that nothing could penetrate.
They returned to camp drenched in sweat, and Hunter knelt beside the fire, warming his bloodied fingers — fingers bloodied because he had worked more swiftly than caution allowed. But it didn't matter. He washed them in the stream and threw a hooked line across to the other side. It wasn't as good as a fish trap, and there was no bait, but should they survive the night, they would have food in the morning. And he knew the professor needed sustenance. For the first time he truly wished the old man had not come along.
Takakura spoke. "It is done?"
"It's done."
"Hat, this is good. At least we can know his direction now from the sound of the traps. We cannot kill him, but we can drive him back with concentrated ordnance."
"I hope so," Hunter threw in. "But we don't know its full potential yet. There's still a chance that bastard, if it's mad enough, can take more damage than we can dish out."
Takakura said nothing. Then Hunter noticed the sword strapped to his back and couldn't help but ask, especially since this might be their last night together. "Tell me," he said, "why do you carry that sword? Seems kinda archaic. No offense."
A soft grunt, perhaps a laugh, made the corners of Takakura's mouth rise slightly. "You are," he answered, "the first man to ever ask me about it."
Hunter waited. "Didn't mean to intrude."
Takakura laughed, actually laughed, as he turned fully to Hunter. Then he reached behind his shoulder and slowly, very slowly, withdrew at least forty inches of the finest steel Hunter had ever seen. It was a beautiful weapon, obviously forged by sword makers who were masters of a craft that the world had long forgotten.
"This sword was my father's," Takakura said, extending the blade so Hunter could behold its purity, its strength, the razor-sharpness. "And before that, it was my grandfather's, who died in battle with the Chinese. And before that, his father's, and his father's. Who also died in battle. It is four hundred years old." He laughed grimly. "Why do I carry it? I carry it because I am born of a warrior clan. And my code is Bushido. I have never used it in combat. And should I, I expect nothing from it."
Hunter blinked. "Nothing?"