He knew now that the Agency had never really wanted the hunting team — they had been forced into the procedure by others — and that explained why they were secretly trying to sabotage it. But then that brought it back to…what? To protect this creature? Which brought him back to… the secret reason for the installations…
"No… there’s no way," Chaney muttered, closing his eyes as an idea came to him.
No, he thought, shaking his head. That's impossible. They couldn't have done that. They couldn't have been that stupid.
There is no way, his rationality told him, that they had infected, or altered, or in some way changed something, like a bear, with some wild experiments and created this fiasco. But if they had done it, and it was loose, they sure wouldn't want anyone to know about the disaster, which would explain why they would try and sabotage the hunting party. Nor would they want anyone to know the true nature of the research facilities, which explained the recalcitrance.
He thought about the cold rationality he had cultivated during twelve years as a Deputy United States Marshal, and he laughed. With a smile, he took another swallow.
Yeah, he was certain how that would look when he gave it to ol' Skulclass="underline" "Well, boss, there's this mutated son of a bitch up there in Alaska, see, and he's meaner 'an a junkyard dog, and that's what's killing all these good folks. No, don't have any proof. And then these guys have this germ warfare gig going… no, don't have any proof of that, either, but…"
He figured that'd be about as far as he got before Skull threw him out of the office and then out of the service. Then he thought of the murdered colleague of Tipler, Rebecca Tanus.
It was murder, obviously.
Only he could never prove it because the strut was so expertly cut. He had stopped by the junkyard just long enough to examine the car, and found what he'd expected. The left front strut had been very carefully filed away until there was only a thread remaining. And on the downhill slope, when the entire weight of the car was centered on that single point, it snapped. Artistic work.
With a gathering fear, Chaney glanced around. He attempted to appear casual, but felt twice as conspicuous. Shrugging, he sat almost upright, utterly alert.
Professional hitters. Illegal biological warfare. Some mutant killing people left and right. A hit team that was doomed from day one. Dead folks that shouldn't be dead.
He shook his head.
He should have known it would come to this. It took him awhile before he conceived something even faintly resembling a respectable plan. And he played it out slowly to measure the good and bad, weighing the value of the information he might obtain against the risk he'd have to incur to gain it.
He knew that, first, he would have to discover what was really going on inside those research stations. That would be the crux, give him something to work with. But to do that he would have to do some very covert work, probably even illegal.
Then he thought of all the good men that had gone down in this, men who were good soldiers, husbands, fathers. And, as an ex-marine, it affected him.
His mouth tightened slightly.
Let's go get 'em.
He was rising as his beeper went off, and he scowled as he looked down. He was on special assignment and shouldn't be disturbed for anything less than an emergency. Then as he saw the callback he knew that it just might be an emergency. It was Gina Gilbert at the Tipler Institute.
He left the mall quickly and walked outside into a hard rain.
Chapter 13
Submerged in gloom, he collapsed within a dark leafy silence, holding his hideously injured right arm. The man had stabbed and twisted. He had viciously severed muscle, vein and nerve, and carved into bone.
He had been so close.
He snarled with rage as he breathed heavily, truly wounded for the first time. He had never known pain like this, not ever. The rest, the guns, they could not hurt him. But this had hurt him. He did not understand. The fang — the knife, as his mind remembered it — was dangerous.
It was the same with the wolf.
The fangs tore through his flesh as bullets and blade never could. His arm ached where the demon had savaged him, and closing eyes to rage, he remembered that great weight straining against him, his shoulder twisting beneath the surging strength and the crushing fangs that numbed his arm and would not let go.
Yes, oh yes, they would die for this. If he had to track them to the ends of the earth to kill them all, he would do it.
Once he rejoined his brothers he would return, and together they would destroy them all, eat their brains, and rejoice in the blood. They would hunt them as before, in the night beneath the moon through the shadows of the forest, howls haunting the night as they caught them in the woods and valleys. As they cracked their bones for the marrow and sucked out the delicious black juice.
He attempted to rise, to return to them, to slay…
Collapsed upon the ground.
Breathed deeply. Shuddered.
A red moon… black lines against sky.
Almost nothing of what he had been could be remembered, but he did not suffer from it. He was content to be what he had become, content with the killing.
Yet he remembered another time, a time now dim but still there; a great darkness…something he could not define, could not see…screams and howls, roars of pain and rage and vengeance and defiance and surrender that died… the wildness, the purity, the ecstasy… another hunt, a different hunt. And the weak ones had not been the prey…
But there was blood, always blood.
He could not remember more.
Red moon…
He closed his eyes.
Silence and quiet repose followed horror in the mine. Tipler had passed out, and Bobbi Jo had carefully monitored his blood pressure, pulse, and breathing. She had administered something to help him relax, then sat down beside Hunter.
Stoic, Hunter was staring at the Magellan Satellite Phone case. Inside was the radio phone that was supposed to be able to reach any location in the world from any other location by sending a signal that triangulated off three satellites to its destination. It was not a line-of-sight megahertz radio as used by most field units. This was a specially modified device that utilized ultra — high frequency modulation and even offered a screen for graphic communication.
If needed, it could provide a visual depiction of weather, troop movements, climatic conditions, and other factors for as much as one-quarter of the earth at a time. It could, if it were working, tell them to within a distance of five feet exactly where they were standing on the planet, and the terrain around them. Seeing it unusable only reinforced for Hunter the reasons why he had honed his skills at dead reckoning to a fine art.
His face was studious, but he cast a discreet glance at Takakura, who rested against the wall on the far side of the professor's cot, and Taylor, who hadn't moved in over an hour, the shotgun laid casually across his legs. Hunter couldn't tell whether he was asleep or not, but the commando was unmoving, his face hidden in shadow.
Bobbi Jo's voice was gentle. "Talk to me. Tell me about someplace that's not this place."
They were sitting side by side. He glanced over and saw her eyes closed, her face tight. Her head was bent slightly forward, as if in sleep, but like the rest of the team she was too stressed to sleep. The team was alive because of her skills with her rifle. That was as it should be; this woman was a warrior. The surprise was that his friend, the professor, was alive only because she had given him such tireless attention despite fulfilling her combat responsibilities. Now that she had a moment to rest, he was more than willing to offer her some relief.
He leaned back, relaxed.
"Okay," he said gently. "Well, let's see. I guess I could tell you how, under a big, white full moon the Grand Canyon looks like a dream might look, and how, in firelight, you can feel like an angel walking the crest of a mountain. Or I could tell you about how the woods of northern England are so quiet and mossy and peaceful that it's like walking through time, to the days of kings and queens, and princesses waiting for their princes. Or what it's like to finally find a kid that's lost and scared and cold, and how they love you for it. What it's like to see their face when they see yours. All of that shared at once, and how it lasts forever. All that happiness, all that joy brought out of fear." He smiled. "Maybe that's the best."