What he needed.
Hunter saw the slope downward was like angled granite steps and took the first leap boldly, landing on a slab ten feet below and selecting his next angle of descent. Then down again, not worrying about Ghost's ability to negotiate the steep steps. And as Hunter hit the third slab he stopped fully, crouching like a beast, eyes afire, lips drawn in a snarl, listening. He focused, tried to slow his breath, to think.
The forest was everything to him now, his life, his place, his home. Somehow he felt more animal than man, but he had no time for that. He had to use his instincts but he had to use his mind. He couldn't let the animal out of the cage; he had to use it, control it, retain the human center.
He unslung the Marlin and held it in one hand as a frontiersman would hold a musket when he ran down a deer by sheer strength, exhausting the animal until he could get close enough for a shot. It was a sure tactic but required the endurance of a wolf and the accuracy of a true marksman when sweat was stinging your eyes, and your breath was heaving in hot blasts. And Hunter had practiced it at length when he was young, often running for twelve or fifteen hours before he could make the shot.
Ghost landed beside him without a sound, panting.
Hunter knew it had followed but he hadn't made it easy. Nothing could have followed him easily through the obstacle course of trees and rocks, ledges and ravines that he had leaped and descended, then doubled back to frustrate it.
A twig snapped.
Hunter raised his head, blinking sweat. Less than a minute and it would find him.
Already it was too close, searching now by sight. It was maybe two hundred yards away. Glaring around frantically, Hunter searched for an advantage, a place for an ambush, anything.
He had to outthink it, but the terrain was completely wrong for every trick that flashed like lightning through his frantic mind. He heard another crash in the woods about fifty yards from the crest of the ridge, then silence. Twisting his head viciously left and right, he searched for some advantage any advantage because he hadn't thrown it off for more than thirty seconds.
He was on a ledge about four feet wide, six feet deep. Another ledge, about two feet wide, ran to the right, disappearing around the edge of the slope. Beneath them was a river, roaring with white water. Hunter scanned it, estimating…
If a man fell into that, he would be dead instantly. But this thing… it would survive. Unless it was badly injured. Hunter debated it and in seconds made the decision because he was in a defenseless position. He moved along the darkened, mist-wet ledge with the utmost caution. Without hesitation Ghost moved carefully behind him. And thirty feet later, Hunter found what he needed.
A narrow niche, a cave of sorts, opened into the wall about halfway down the curve. It was utterly dark and, three hundred feet beneath, the river roared.
It'd have to do.
Ushering Ghost before him into the niche, Hunter slid inside, turning almost instantly as he heard a thunderous impact on the rock far behind him. Then he cocked the hammer on the 45.70, a massively powerful round once used for killing buffalo. Since the demise of the bison, however, the cartridge had been ignored. But Hunter had always preferred its stoutness for felling bear in stride.
Retreating six feet into the niche, he raised the heavy carbine to his shoulder and waited, aiming at the opening.
Last stand…
His breath, starving and strained, hurt from oxygen loss. And his focus was tunneling, seeing nothing but the target space. He fought it, but the hunt, the chase, the run, and this desperation move had overloaded his system. He tried to eliminate his breathing altogether though, because he knew that its preternatural senses would detect the slight disturbance of air.
Suddenly Ghost tensed behind him and he felt the great wolf move its shoulder an inch forward, as if to get in front of him. Hunter twisted back slightly against it, all he could allow, telling his friend to retreat and be silent. Hunter didn't know if it would be enough, but he knew he couldn't remove his eyes from the—
What dropped dead into the tomblike opening of the niche was beyond horror. It descended from straight above instead of creeping cautiously from the side, and was outlined by a glaring angle of moonlight that captured bristling white hair on huge, hunched shoulders that swelled out from a heavily maned head. Its face was sharp and wedged and monstrously deformed. And it was incredibly muscular in its slouched pose, the thickly corded arms hanging slightly longer than a man's. Then it expanded its chest and unleashed a crashing roar — a vengeful blast of hate.
Talons visible even in moonlight were displayed openly as it unhinged its fangs, glowering and thirsty, and the wholesale murderous gleam in its eyes was shock.
No time for shock…
Hunter fired almost immediately, not a full heartbeat passing between the horror and the detonation, and the report of the rifle was deafening. Then he glimpsed the huge apelike arms raised in pain and an unearthly, bestial roar of pain that contained bestial rage.
Hunter worked the action and fired again and again and again — six massive rounds as he advanced into it, moving it back on the ledge toward the river. It was swaying on the edge when he ran out of ammo. Then, swinging the butt of the weapon hard, Hunter struck it fully in the face as it fought for balance.
It bellowed in fury and lashed out with a wild blow. Hunter ducked and then returned his own before it swiped the rifle from his hands and caught him across the face with a clawed hand, leaving narrow furrows. It was only a glancing blow, but the force behind it was inhumanly powerful and Hunter was hurled against the wall.
Growling, hands raised, it came for him.
Stunned, Hunter tried to rise, couldn't. But he sensed the immense humanoid shape over him, so large and monolithic that it blocked out the moon and the night together, leaving nothing but itself, master of both.
Hunter clearly recognized its pure, dominating strength, but reached for his Bowie as it prepared, snarling.
It came.
Hunter rose, crouching, squaring off.
What happened next — it was a blur to Hunter — was something that moved with a fury and speed beyond anything he had ever seen or imagined, all coming from a roaring, wild black animal center that exploded from the wall.
Ghost struck the creature fang to fang, colliding against a creature of supernatural strength and rage, and the violence made the night retreat. Snarling and roaring, Ghost savaged it for a fantastic, spellbinding moment before the creature bellowed in pain and twisted as if to hurl the wolf from the cliff.
"No!" bellowed Hunter.
It heard the threat and hurled Ghost into the cleft, turning into the challenge. It slashed at him but Hunter struck first with a purity that merged grace and strength in the unleashed movement, and the blade struck true.
Flashing white in the moon in a crescent that hit the creature full in the neck, the ten-inch blade sliced through the armored skin to exit the other side in a flood of smoking blood and the creature staggered back, holding its throat.
Nothing but this…
With his right hand on the hilt, Hunter ducked under the wrathful counterattack — a wild clawed swipe — and slashed backwards to tear a deep slice through its torso, yielding a wild outpouring of blood.
It howled.
Staggering, it grasped roughly at both wounds — mortal for any natural creature — and focused on Hunter with a power and rage beyond anything worldly, staggering forward.
Incredible…
Hunter staggered back.
Moving with a savagery that shocked even Hunter, Ghost exploded from the cleft once more, roaring in the air, and they collided with a vicious exchange of fangs. Stunned, the creature toppled backwards.
It was too much.
Hovering in midair, the creature wind milled on the edge of the ledge for a long, surreal moment, before the true fall began.