Hunter gazed up somberly at the muted giant, monstrous head bowed so that the square chin rested between huge pectoral muscles thick as armor. "And him?" he asked. "You call that human?"
"No," Hamilton answered frankly. "It was a beast. Half man, at best. And, in truth, we never categorized him. Once his fantastic qualities of rejuvenation and enhanced longevity were discovered, a classification became needless. It was enough that within his bones lay the remnants of heme units that provided the magical coding, which we attempted to duplicate. It was only Luther, the fool, who moved too quickly, precipitating this incident."
"Incident?" Hunter asked coldly. "Several hundred men and women are dead, Hamilton. I wouldn't call that an 'incident.' I would call it a disaster."
"And that is where your mind fails to seize the opportunity for turning a disadvantage into an advantage." Hamilton's tone was dead-steady, certain, and convinced. "You see, in any experiment there is always the danger of compromised security. It wasn't until the creature had struck for the second time that I was inspired to turn this… disaster… into a positive force."
Hunter was appalled. Feeling a rush of warm blood to his face, he spoke: "You let them die." It wasn't a question, and he repeated it. "You're worse than your monster. When you got what you wanted, you let those people die so you could contain your secret."
Hamilton's expression was bland.
"As you said, Mr. Hunter, no one lives forever."
"This is ungood," Taylor muttered.
Bending his head inside the listening post they had established in the motor pool, Takakura spoke in a low tone. "Use your night visor. You should be able to see easily in the shadows."
"The night visor don't see through solid steel, Commander. I've already checked the treeline and the rocks, and it ain't there, far as I can tell. But I know it's somewhere. I can smell it."
Takakura held the M-14-A1 close, a pistol on his chest and thigh. Anti-personnel grenades and extra clips for the M-14 were staggered on the left side of his gun belt. Taylor, as always, was armed with a variety of shotguns. The street-sweeper was loaded with twelve depleted-uranium shells. It fired as fast as the trigger could be pulled. It would be his primary weapon.
The headphone Takakura wore suddenly squawked with a static burst before the Japanese frowned. Watching, Taylor listened to the muted replies: "No…no, we have not observed him… Hai… I will inform you." He returned to observation.
"What was all that about?" Taylor asked.
"It was the marshal, the one called Chaney." Takakura frowned. "It seems they are looking for Hunter. They do not know where he is."
Studious, Taylor squinted. "You know, now that you mention it, I haven't seen him around. That ain't like him. Usually he's on the front line. Where's the wolf?"
"Guarding the professor. I stopped in ICU and checked on them before we took listening-post duty." Takakura’s pause was long. "You are correct. It is not like Hunter to vanish."
Taylor didn't like it either. "Maybe we oughta’ go find him," he muttered, but even as he said it, he realized it was impossible. Every listening post was vital; it was the first line of warning, and their best defense. Plus, the CP didn't have either the time or manpower to reassign the duty. An alarming thought settled over Taylor as he pondered possibilities.
"You don't think Hunter went into the woods, do you?" He hesitated. "I mean, like he did before?"
"No," Takakura answered with confidence. "What he did before, effective as it may have been, was from desperation. Hunter is a brave man, but he is also wise. He does not risk his life unless it is necessary, or unless he consciously forfeits it for what he has decided is a greater good. No, he would not have gone out alone. For with this electrified fence and this much armament, we might have a chance of resisting the beast until dawn. Then, hopefully, we will airlift from this facility and leave it to the creature."
"We should have done that today," Taylor grunted. "But so what. They ain't gonna do it tomorrow either, Commander. 'Cause they're stuck between a rock and a hard place. They have something to do with that thing out there, I guarantee it. And they can't let it roam around killing innocent folk. Word might get out, and then they'd be toast. No, they gotta kill it or capture it before the press and public get wind, one way or another. And that's what all this is for. Man, the brass is briefed on the fact that we don't stand a snowball's chance. But that ain't their problem. 'Cause we're just grunts; we're the ones who are supposed to be doing this stuff while they sit on their butts making their oh-so-smart political decisions. And plus that, we know too much. I don't know what's going on here, but I know it's heavy. And if I know those buttheads in Washington, they ain't gonna want too many witnesses walking around when this is over. Heads have a habit of talking." Anger shook him. "No, they're gonna leave us hanging here until that thing's dead or we're dead. I know that score."
Frowning, Takakura nodded. His expression was stoic, the image of a man who accepted pain without complaint, a professional soldier, a man who intelligently measured risks before a battle yet joined the battle nonetheless. When he looked back at Taylor, his expression altered slightly, and there was a glint of humor in his dark eyes.
"You know, there was a time," he remarked, "when I dreamed of honor in battle."
Taylor stared. "And now you don't?"
"Not for armies," the Japanese whispered. "Just for men."
Quiet for a time, Taylor finally added, "Well, we might be able to put its face in the dirt. We're loaded for bear, we're rested, and we've got the home-court advantage. It won't be easy to take this place."
A grunt, and Takakura glanced at him, the frown returning.
"We shall see."
Words in a moaning wind floated to him as he lay concealed behind more rocks, almost lost to air that vibrated with the roaring engines contained within the building.
He still had a short distance to crawl before he was close enough to vault the fence — he knew from the distinctive feel of invisible fire in the surrounding air that the barrier was dangerous — and the battle would begin.
There was something familiar in the subdued tones that reached out to him over hundreds of feet; a tone or…emotion. He could not be sure, except to know that he had somehow known the tone before. The sensation caused him to lie very still. But he heard the voices no more.
Scowling faintly, he gazed up, staring through spaces in the rocks, watching the patrolling guards. Their weapons were meaningless. He did not see the woman, whose weapon had blasted the breath from his lung and ripped open his ribs, allowing the black blood to flow hotly over his side. Yes, the woman could injure him, and the fact that he did not see her aroused his anger.
But he was not afraid. He would never be afraid. And if she challenged him again he would hunt her down with singular, undaunted rage and kill her quickly, for she had injured him enough. For the pleasure of that blood, he would ignore the rest of them, would ignore what he sought until it was finished. Then he would continue as he had continued before, stalking, slaying at will, enduring their pitiful resistance until they fled screaming into the roaring night, where he would hunt them down still, slaying one by one.
A growl that began deep in his chest was choked in his throat, because he was too close. He would make no sound until he struck, would give them no warning until he was among them. Then their fear would be his ally, his weapon.
Moving only a muscular forearm and foot, he inched forward. He did not feel the impulse to rush, so complete were his stalking skills. Just as he knew he had the patience to wait for days, if necessary, waiting for a single chance to ambush his prey. With either means of attack he was skillful, though he enjoyed much more the glaring triumph of descending from above, beholding the terror in their eyes as they screamed and raised hands for mercy…before he feasted on their brains.