"No…nothing. I do not expect life. I do not expect death. I expect nothing but to fight well. Life and death are the same. The water changes, but the river remains the same. It is the way of all things. And should I face death with this sword in my hand, then all will be good." He waited, staring at Hunter with a strange transparency. "Westerners do not understand such a life, do they?"
Hunter stared into the dark eyes. Takakura brushed his own forearm with the blade, a feathers touch, and a trickle of blood fell to the ground. In a single swift movement he sheathed the weapon. "You never draw the sword without drawing blood."
Hunter waited. "Yeah… I think I understand."
Chaos!
The creature tripped a deadfall and they turned as one, unleashing a hail of ammo into the foliage that left it on fire. And the barrage continued until Takakura's imperial voice demanded them to cease fire. But none of them could tell if it was still there or not because they had been deafened by the gunfire.
Hunter concentrated, lowering his head, listening not for the creature but for the forest. "It's moving to the south side, where it came before."
"Ready weapons," said Takakura calmly.
And it came again, bowed legs thick with simian muscle, shoulders inhumanly large, almost unbelievably thick with strength, and its fangs were distended to reveal jagged white tusks that announced its intent. And for a split second Hunter had a flash of what the soldiers and scientists at the massacred compounds knew as their last sight. He fired dead into it, the 45.70 hitting it solidly in the chest.
It roared and then Buck fired a grenade from the M-79, but he missed and the detonation disintegrated a tree beside it. Still, however, the concussion hurled it aside, and it staggered up and into the woods again.
Again, fierce and frantic reloading while Hunter counted the rounds still remaining on the strap of the Marlin. He had twenty shots left, and ten more in his pouch. He had never anticipated that it would take an arsenal to bring it down. Then he glanced at Bobbi Jo and saw her, once again, reloading the same clip from the bandoleer across her chest, full of .50-caliber rounds.
And on and on it went, time after time a split-second warning where they would whirl together — a tripped deadfall, a snare, sometimes even one of the electronic aids. Buck, with the M-79, was firing blindly into the forest to light it with a mushrooming flame that set part of the woods afire, and before morning most of the stand around them appeared to be clear-cut land. Broken limbs and blasted trees made this heavily forested" area resemble a swamp in winter. The open area was three times as large as when they arrived, but there was no sign of the creature.
Cautiously, Hunter entered the woods with Buck. Then they walked the entire perimeter, searching for signs of injury. But found only devastation. They returned and delivered the grim news to Takakura, who was silent a moment. "Very well," he said finally. "Break camp immediately. We move."
"I got bad news, Commander," Buck added.
"Yes?"
Buck took a deep breath before he spoke. "We're almost out of ammo. So we can't do this gig again. We could keep it off for maybe an hour with what we got, but…"
Takakura's frown deepened, then his left fist slowly clenched. He gazed toward the ground. "The radio is not operating correctly?"
"We're having a lot of trouble with it, sir. Wilkenson is working on it."
Takakura scowled as he muttered something in Japanese that Hunter couldn't translate, but he understood the tone. A moment more and the Japanese added, "We move in attack mode. Total silence. Plot a course for the nearest town or research station. A village. Anything. We are leaving this area."
Buck bent to study the map.
Thirty minutes later they were working their way up a rocky stream, feet and socks soaked and burning blisters on their feet, blood filling their boots, but they couldn't stop. They had to move quickly because the nearest civilized location was over forty miles away, and that meant one hundred miles in this mountainous terrain.
Hunter read their mutual fatigue, but revealed nothing. He knew he could have made the hundred-mile run, if he had pushed himself all-out and carried no weight. But he couldn't leave them behind. And he knew what would come with nightfall. His mind was working furiously on a plan to keep them alive when they lost the sun.
As they climbed a steep terrain, boot pressure tearing flesh from already bloodied heels, he began searching for a place to hole up.
And found it.
"Takakura," he said strongly.
The Japanese glared back angrily.
Hunter glanced at the sun. "We haven't gone ten miles, Commander. And you know the professor isn't up to this, and we can't radio for an extraction." He let the implication settle. "We're gonna have to do it again."
The scowl of hate on Takakura's face was terrible to behold. But he knew Hunter was right. That he had failed as a commander wounded his pride. He had led his men — men who depended upon and trusted him— into certain death. Motionless, he lowered his gaze to the ground, shook his head.
"But there may be a way to survive the night," Hunter said, watching him closely. He pointed to a small cleft; it would not qualify as a cave. "That hole in the wall is pretty narrow. Looks from here like only one person at a time can enter. If we can get inside it, and wait, and lay down whatever ammo we still have if it comes for us, maybe it'll think we've still got plenty of ordnance and back off. Buck says he still has two grenades. Taylor has some rounds. And Bobbi Jo alone can make it hesitate." He gave the Japanese commander time to consider it, then continued: "I think it's our only way out, Takakura."
A moment of concentration, a curt nod: "Hat."
It took a tight fit, but they squeezed into the cave and ate some warm MREs while they took turns with the Barrett, watching the entrance. Then Bobbi Jo was finished and took over the cannon.
And darkness descended.
Hunter secured Ghost at the rear of the cave with a rope because he knew that after last night's siege, the massive wolf would attack the creature on sight. And what they needed was order. It wasn't long before they heard the quiet but close footsteps approaching their position.
"Unbelievable," whispered Hunter to himself, "it can find us anywhere."
Hunter saw it first, something that didn't seem to move. But he was accustomed to that. He had spent so much of his life watching life in darkness, he knew that if it didn't look like it was moving, it probably was. His tactic was simple: infinite patience. He never took his eyes off the object of his concentration. And after ten minutes or ten hours, if it was an inch to the side, then it was moving.
The distance was fifty yards, but Hunter knew he could make the shot. "Give me the Barrett," he told Bobbi Jo, who obeyed. Hunter centered on the shadow, held his breath, released it, slowly squeezed the trigger.
In the close confines of the small cleft, the detonation was shocking. And it was followed instantly by an enraged roar as the shadow came rushing up the hill while they desperately opened up with the last of their ordnance. If Bobbi Jo had managed a single solid shot at that range, she would have dropped it, but she missed in the darkness and the speed and the blinding blasts of the other weapons, and Hunter knew it would be upon them in seconds.
Frantic, he whirled and saw Buck's small rucksack on the ground and dropped the Marlin. He ripped open the pack and tore out the tent, ripping it apart in seconds to sunder the white mosquito netting.
"Cease fire!" he yelled, and leaped to the entrance, quickly tying the white cloth to either side. And then it was upon them, awesome and raging, eyes glowing with hate. It came to within three feet of Hunter and swiped at him, a blow Hunter ducked as the tremendous gray arm tore thunderously through the air and the claws struck sparks from the flint walls. But Hunter leaped out of range, Bowie knife in hand.