Dark eyes narrow with amusement, Takakura added, "Not, I suppose, as well as some whom I know. But, then, I had nothing to distract me." He nodded to himself, as if he had discovered something profoundly pleasing. "Yes," he added, "it is amazing how the crucible of war can bring hearts together. For you can discover more of a person in a few hours of combat than in years of casual acquaintance. And when the battle is over you realize that you have glimpsed into a heart. I have seen lives forever changed by such things."
Bobbi Jo said nothing, but her smile didn't fade.
Glancing over at her, then at the range, Hunter said, "Guess you're right. Never really thought about it."
"Until now," Takakura said, finishing disassembly of the M-14. "But it is a lesson worth learning, and remembering. I can tell you that the closest friends I possess are those who fought beside me in war. And the only people I truly trust are those who have, out of honor and courage, risked much for me.
"Anyone can be brave in the day, when you feel warm and safe and protected. But one must first walk in the night, alone and unaided, before he can say he is not afraid of the dark."
Without another word he began cleaning the weapon. Even at a distance Hunter could feel heat emanating from the barrel and receiver, but Takakura seemed not to notice as he efficiently swabbed the bore. In fact, the Japanese seemed not to be thinking of anything at all as they tell silent.
A distant drone coming out of the southwest caught Hunter's attention and he turned his head, searching the sky. Then a small speck like a metallic dragonfly rose from the far side of distant bluffs and he looked closer, recognizing the distinct forward silhouette of a Blackhawk flying fast and low.
"Looks like we've got visitors," he remarked.
Bobbi Jo rose, shielding her eyes from the light of the dying sun. "It can't be more troops," she replied. "They've already got almost a hundred guys here." She was quiet, gazing steadily. "It's not a gunship. They're not racked and they're not carrying missiles. I wonder…you think it's another hunting party?"
"No," Hunter answered, "they're not going to do that again anytime soon. They've already got some kind of plan for capturing, or killing, this thing. I figured that much out. I don't really know what they would need…unless it's some VIP."
Takakura had ceased cleaning the M-14. He scowled as he watched the chopper close on the compound and then set down gently on the pad. A moment later, two men, one big and heavily armed, the other smaller but obviously in good condition, exited and walked slowly toward the station. After flashing some sort of credentials that demanded immediate respect, they gained entrance and vanished within the steel door.
"Curious," Takakura mumbled. Clearly, he did not like what he had seen. "Two soldiers to add to a hundred. It is not enough to make a difference, should the others fail to defend the compound."
The Japanese scowled, eyes squinting at the helicopter as the four-bladed rotor finally stopped spinning. Abruptly he looked at Hunter. "Perhaps we should investigate this," he added. "Clearly, we are among those that we cannot trust."
"Where's Taylor?" Hunter asked as he picked up his Marlin. "He'll need to know about this."
"You think they're hitters or something?" Bobbi Jo asked as she lifted the massive sniper rifle. "They didn't look too friendly, for sure. In fact, they kinda looked like professionals, if you ask me."
"Professional what?" Hunter addressed her.
"I'm not sure." She shook her head. "But they sure know how to handle themselves. Plus, that Blackhawk isn't a Chevy. It takes six months to learn to fly one and the only ones qualified are military. Marine or army."
Hunter analyzed the situation before addressing the Japanese commander. "Why don't you find Taylor? Bobbi Jo and I'll try and find out what this is all about."
"Hai," Takakura replied, reassembling the M-14 before he had completed the cleaning. "I will notify him. Then we will meet back in the intensive care unit in thirty minutes. No more."
"Sounds good," Hunter walked forward. "See you in thirty minutes. And it might be a good idea to look sharp. This place is dangerous, but what's out there" — he lifted his chin toward the darkening forest—"is more dangerous. As dangerous as anything gets. And it's coming. Coming tonight."
Eyes slitted like a cat's, he watched the helicopter descend. His vision, almost perfect even in total blackness, followed the two of them until they were inside the building, and then he looked over the rest of the expansive, fenced-in compound.
There were more soldiers, dogs, and guns here than at the others. He considered the large contingent that was visible and searched for a suitable place of entry. Then, as twilight faded to what would soon be night, and the huge lights ignited to blaze as day, he knew that there would be only one means of penetrating the complex.
He was grateful that he had fed, for he could feel his fibers absorbing the nutrients, making him stronger by the minute. Yes, he was at the peak of his strength, and would need eat no more until he attacked. Then, as before, he would devour as he slew, methodically working his way through the compound until he shattered the steel portals and gained entrance, slaying still.
Rising on legs thick and hard as oak, he stood in shadow. His hands, clutching involuntarily, made sharp clicking sounds as the long talons grazed each other.
Soon…
By the time he had crept close enough for exposure to the bright lights, which he would have to disable, the darkness would be complete. And after he cast them into darkness he would become their lord, master, and destroyer. As always.
He did not recognize fear as they recognized fear. No, he could feel nothing but the super-oxygenated blood coursing strongly from his chest, providing him with enhanced and all-but-matchless might. His shoulders swelled with chemicals that accelerated his speed and dulled whatever pain he might receive. His bare feet pawed the ground, toes clenching cold dirt and the decayed, cast-off leaves of many seasons.
Glowering, he bent and glided over a hidden grassy path, using the trees to disguise his silhouette from their night-vision devices, for he still understood these things somehow — how they used things to see in the dark. These things would not be enough to stop him.
Even darkness was as day to him, now that he was almost complete. And with the moon, the woods were white fire and pale shadow. And the presence of every living thing that had passed this way for weeks, and even months, hung heavy in the air.
And yet, still, he was not perfect.
But he knew what was protected within that facility — the purest part of his blood that would make him even greater than his brothers, would complete the transformation. Yes, greater, for then he would have the full power of the ancients plus the higher faculties of man himself — enhancing his glory.
And when his system reached its zenith he would be as nothing the world had ever seen, or wanted to see. He would be without limits, an indestructible and wrathful god come to deliver a dark judgment upon the earth. Their flesh would be his for the taking, their lives and their deaths existing only for his amusement, the brutality of his pleasure.
Hiding his steps under the whispering wind, he crept on monstrous strides — a Goliath etched against skeletal trees, shadow moving from shadow — fangs distended in a hideous smile.
Soon, he knew, he would not need the wind.
"So," the man introduced as Chaney said with guarded interest, "you're Nathaniel Hunter."
Measuring the man while he searched for whatever truth might be revealed in the stern eyes and face, Hunter answered, "Yeah, I'm Hunter. What can I do for you?"