The barrel rose.
Sensing that Bobbi Jo was about to fire, the thing leaped with superhuman speed, hitting a boulder and clearing the wide stream with a terrific bound before Hunter could raise the Marlin and fire another wild shot, knowing as his finger closed on the trigger that he had failed to lead it enough.
Vaguely it registered to him that a tree somewhere beyond it had exploded from the impact of the heavy 45.70 round, and then the creature gained the ground on the far side of the stream, running.
The entire creek bed was littered with smoking shells and casings, and waves of heat rose from the weapons in the unnatural silence that followed. Hunter could hear nothing but his own labored breath. And then he glimpsed the beast on a nearby hill, charging up the slope as if it had not been wounded at all.
Taylor roared wordlessly, viciously as he opened fire again, aiming high because the beast was well out of range.
Takakura staggered from the freezing stream and cast a single glance at Riley's dead body before whirling toward the hill where Taylor was firing. He immediately joined Taylor, firing hopelessly far and high and wide.
Wilkenson was wounded, blood pouring from his slashed arm, but he raised his rifle at the fleeing shape and pulled the trigger.
Already it was more than a half mile away.
"God Almighty," Hunter whispered. "Already…"
He raised the Marlin and fired, knowing it was impossible but joining anyway. The slug would fall at a quarter mile, probably, and now it was almost a mile away, nearing the top of the ridge.
They were not even close to hitting it as he watched the thing continue to climb, unperturbed by the vengeful rifle fire cascading over it. And he knew that in seconds it would reach the crest, over a mile distant. They didn't stand a chance of hitting it.
Then, snarling, Bobbi Jo gained her feet. Her eyes blazed red and her teeth clenched as she understood the situation. She whipped a machete from her waist and with a single vicious swipe sliced off a nearby branch, instantly slamming it into the ground.
Then she racked a heavy .50-caliber round into the Barrett sniper rifle and laid the barrel through two strong branches that formed a support. She flipped open the scope covers.
Her face grew still and cold. Then her breathing slowed and she threw a lock of hair from her eyes with an impatient toss of her head.
Hunter looked back at the ridge and saw the thing near the crest. Dimly he knew that the rest had stopped firing, finally abandoning all hope with hateful screams.
"Come on…" He heard Bobbi Jo's soft whisper. "Come on… I'm gonna reach out and touch ya…"
She waited with cold fury until it reached the peak of the far ridge. Waited until it turned. Waited until it raised monstrous taloned hands in the air and its glorious bestial roar crashed over them, hurled from the sanctity of safety.
"Good night, you monster," she whispered.
Fired.
The violent concussion hurled it backward off the ridge. Hunter stared hard but saw nothing more, then dimly heard Bobbi Jo eject the Barrett's five-round magazine, inserting another round from her vest.
Her face was empty, devoid of pleasure or pain. And Hunter sensed that the concentration and cold control required to make such an incredible shot would fade slowly.
She kicked the branch aside and shouldered the strap of the sniper rifle, turning to Takakura. "I hit it low," she said with a surgeon's detached composure. "I was trying for a head shot. But I hit low."
Takakura shook his head in saddened frustration. He cast a single glance back at Tipler, motionless now on the stretcher. "We must hurry," he breathed. "We cannot risk another encounter with the beast. We will not be so lucky next time, I think… Taylor, help me with the professor. Wilkenson, you can take rear guard."
Hunter's eyes narrowed as he watched the Japanese bend for a second, recovering. He could not imagine, for some reason, Takakura injured or revealing injury. But it seemed for a moment that he would collapse. Then he straightened, a hard frown on his chiseled face, and walked to the professor.
Mile by mile, Hunter thought, they were becoming more ragged and battle-worn. Takakura's short hair was smeared with grime and sweat and his once-impeccable uniform savagely torn by the beast's massive claw. Bobbi Jo's uniform and armor were as devastated as Takakura's, and she appeared haggard, as if the long combat was leeching the life from her. Wilkenson was still holding onto some of his superior attitude, but he too was showing distinct signs of exhaustion and wear. Even Hunter, used to savage encounters and long arduous journeys in uninhabited lands, was feeling the strain. His coat had been shredded by the boulder and the blows of those clawed hands that had only barely missed the skin beneath. Uncounted purple and bloodied contusions lined his forearms and neck, but his face wore the most punishing remembrance of the conflict: the left: side was viciously slashed with four long distinct claw marks that had torn deep furrows from his cheek downward across his chin.
Hunter spoke quietly, Ghost at his side.
"We better get moving." He held the Marlin low, feeling a fatigue that was somehow deeper than any he had ever known before. "It'll be moving ahead of us again."
"Hai." Takakura nodded and waved. "Wilkenson will be guard. We cannot afford to lose another. We will return for Riley and Buck… if we survive."
Bobbi Jo seemed to have recovered somewhat, and turned to Hunter. For the first time, he saw true fear in her eyes. Her voice was soft. "We're gonna die out here, aren't we?" she asked.
She didn't blink.
No lies, her eyes said.
Mouth tightening into a line, Hunter reached up and placed a hand on her neck. He shook his head. "No," he said, "we're not."
She smiled faintly, returned the nod.
Hunter turned: "Ghost!"
The wolf was instantly in a stance, four massive legs solid as iron, ready for any command. His eyes locked on Hunter with a world of love and devotion and fearlessness. Hunter flung out an arm down the traiclass="underline" "Search!"
The wolf moved away, passing their weary forms as if they were stones. It cleared the small crest before them and hesitated, coming back, always keeping Hunter in view.
"From now on," Hunter said stoically, "we have to move as quickly as we can, Ghost will clear the trail a hundred yards at a time. We'll make the pass in less than four hours." He looked at all of them in turn. "Can all of you handle the pace?"
They agreed and Hunter reloaded the Marlin. He could hear Bobbi Jo's labored breathing from the ordeal, but knew that no one else was qualified to handle the massive Barrett; she would have to endure it. There was no easy way out. Not for any of them.
Always, Ghost roamed ahead, came back, and Hunter knew he was taking a risk with his friend. For even Ghost could be deceived if the creature was downwind and motionless. But he was thinking that the creature would assume they would continue as they had been — moving slowly, carefully, with extreme caution.
And it would surely be wounded somewhat by Bobbi Jo's dead-eye accuracy because she had hit it center-mass. Perhaps, by the time its animal mind suspected the change of tactics, they might have the distance to outrun it, even in this battle-ravaged condition.
Then, when the rest were safe, and he knew what he needed to know — as in who had betrayed them, and why — he would return to hunt it on his own terms.
It was a head he would keep.