Bobbi Jo emerged barefoot from an isolated trauma room wearing a dark-blue surgical shirt and pants. Her hair was stringy and matted, and she rubbed her eyes sleepily as she walked slowly to Hunter. He watched with a faint smile as she sat down beside him on the table. Gently, she reached over and touched the stitches in his chest.
She laughed. "A good job. Tidy. I guess you'll have to add those to your list."
Hunter laughed with her. "I don't keep track anymore. Gave up on it a long time ago. Ran out of fingers and toes."
"Oh, come on, Hunter." She smiled. "Even though you've been frozen, starved, cut, smashed, knocked off cliffs, mauled by wild animals, and sewn back together with all your body parts in the wrong place, you've still got a few good years left. I asked the doc and he showed me your warranty card."
He found himself laughing — rare for him — and glad she was so close. After a moment of enjoying her presence, he asked, "So, what'd they tell you? You come out of it in pretty good shape?"
"Oh, I'm kinda beat up." She shrugged. "They told me I'm dehydrated. I've got a torn muscle in my shoulder. But it's not a rotator cuff, so it won't need surgery. Then, oh, I've got a mild concussion and I've lost twenty percent of the hearing in my right ear. They say it's probably only temporary. Got a ton of contusions, too many to count, and about three bruised ribs." She smiled and winked. "But they gave me some great painkillers." A pause. "Then my right shoulder has a bad bone bruise from not having the Barrett set tight enough on that shot beside the creek. But other than that, I'm just fine and dandy."
Laughing, Hunter shook his head. "Yeah, seems like you came out all right. What about the professor?"
"I don't know." She shook her head. "They told me he's not in a coma, but he's unconscious. I guess we'll know by tomorrow. They say he can't be moved."
"No," Hunter rumbled, "I'm sure of that. And I ain't leaving, either, 'til he can be moved. I guess the rest of them are all right."
"Oh, yeah. Taylor is already gone. Said he was hungry. Wilkenson is still in there, they're working on some bruises. He got a flash burn from the explosion in the cave. And Takakura… well, you know Takakura. He's the curse of doctors everywhere."
With a smile, Hunter said, "Yeah, he's tough. He'll be okay. Guess all we do now is sit and heal up a little. Get some rest."
Silent, she stared at him intently.
"You're going after it, aren't you?" she asked finally.
He said nothing.
She shook her head. "Don't do it, Hunter. Just let it be. I know how you feel. I feel the same. But if you go out there, alone, it will kill you. And you know that."
"Maybe," he replied, stoic. "Maybe not. But if it's not stopped, it's gonna keep on killing. And who's next? Some old woman? Some kid? A village?" He stared at her. "You know it's not gonna stop. Not ever. It's gonna kill until someone stops it."
""It doesn't have to be you."
"So who's it gonna be?" Hunter held the moment with his conviction. "You? You know you can't track it. Not like I can. The army? They've already tried. So who's left?" The silence lasted. "There's nobody, darlin'. Nobody but me."
She didn't say anything, staring into space. Then: "You won't come back."
It was said with a professional warrior's objectivity, but there was an imploring look on her face.
Hunter grunted. He slowly lifted a hand and flexed it, testing its strength. He was hurt bad, but he could continue. Yet he somehow felt that he'd lost something of himself in this hunt — he had had some deep, untapped reserve of endurance or ultimate physical might that, once spent, might be gone forever. Some challenges took away a measure of what you were, and the body could never replenish it.
"Probably," he replied finally. "But I don't have a choice. If I walk away from this…life won't be anything but regrets and ghosts and guilt."
Watching him steadily, she said, "And you couldn't live like that."
"Couldn't be called living," he grunted. Then he shrugged. "Seems like it's always like this. Seems like there's always someone who can do some… special thing. They have a skill. A talent. And they find themselves in a place where this ability is needed. And something deep down tells you what you have to do. That you were meant to be here, to do what has to be done." He shook his head. "Like I said, an old story. But true, I think."
She didn't blink. "I understand," she said at last. "And, I thought I'd let you know, I'm going with you."
"No, you're definitely not coming with me."
"Why not? This is still a military operation."
"Not for me." Hunter rose, loosening a shoulder. "I'm done with the military. They're lying to you. To me. To everybody. They always were."
"Think I can't keep up with you?" she asked.
He smiled lightly, touched her cheek softly. "No offense."
A pause.
"You're not gonna hold back this time, are you? You're not gonna let us catch up to you?"
"It's the only way," he said softly, gazing out the window at the spot-lit night of the compound. "I have to run it to ground."
"And when you do? What are you gonna do when you corner it or it corners you? Just the two of you alone in those mountains? How are you gonna kill what can't be killed?"
"Anything can be killed," he said, sullen, and his face darkened as his suddenly cold blue eyes seemed to behold something beyond the compound. "Anything."
Chapter 16
Brick came down the stairs in a rush, the AK-47 slung around a bull shoulder, barrel bouncing on his hip. He walked wordlessly into the vault and came out with three hand grenades hung on his belt. He held a large starlight scope — a night-vision device for the rifle.
He glanced at Chaney, who now sat upright on the bed, testing his arms for injury. Chaney eyed him and knew, from the old days, that Brick was ready to deal out some serious hurting.
He asked, "Anything out there?"
"Not that I can see, kid." Brick adjusted the night-vision scope and mounted it carefully on the AK with a small screwdriver. "But I can't see so good in the dark. They could be laid up in the shadows." He took a moment, adjusting carefully. "Good thing I picked up one of these starlight scopes at the last gun-and-knife show. Figured it'd come in handy one day. Better to have it and not need it than to need it and not have it."
Chaney lowered his legs over the edge of the bed, rubbed his head. "Thank God for morphine," he mumbled. "Listen, I've got to make a phone call. Where's the horn?"
"Upstairs," Brick grunted. "But I don't think you're in shape for walking."
"I better be." Chaney rose with the words. "I've got to" get in touch with a girl at the Tipler Institute. She's in danger." He picked up the Sig, moved the slide enough to ensure it was chambered, checked the .38 on his left ankle, and slid it back into the concealed holster. Mechanically, he moved the Sig to his left hand.
The semiautomatic pistol didn't have a safety, all it needed was four pounds of pressure on the double-action trigger to fire. He had fifteen rounds to a clip, and two backup magazines. Strange, but before tonight he always figured forty-five 9-mm rounds to be sufficient for any gunfight. Now he knew they weren't.
"Come on, then." Brick held him by an arm, moving to the stairs. If you gotta go, let's get upstairs."
Hunter awoke as a hand touched the doorknob to his room, but he didn't move. Only his eyes, gleaming in the dark, shifted as he watched the darkened portal.
They had all retired to quarters, Bobbi Jo in a room next to his, the professor still in the ICU. Takakura was across the hall and Taylor was also in the wing. Wilkenson was down the corridor, near the exit. And for the longest silent period, nothing happened. Then the door opened, just a crack, and a sliver of light cascaded through the gloom.