The two creatures moved smoothly. One circled right and the other left. Mrs. Werner was frozen, her arms clasping her daughter. In tandem the two beasts accelerated their lope into the terrifying charge that had killed her husband.
Mrs. Werner finally reacted, stepping in front of her daughter in a last gesture of maternal instinct. They took her down quickly; she didn't even have a chance to scream as her throat was torn out.
Hapscomb untied and mounted his horse as he watched Mrs. Werner die. Christie now did the smartest thing that any of the Werner family had done that evening. Instead of screaming or running, the girl started slowly moving away from the scene of her mother's dismemberment. Hapscomb was touched by the girl's pathetic bravery and common sense. He checked his horse, which was trying to bolt. If Christie could make it halfway across the clearing, he'd try to pick her up.
Come on, Christie, Hapscomb prayed silently. The two demons still had their snouts stuck in Mrs. Werner. Bastards must like fresh meat, Hapscomb thought wildly. He watched the girl pick up speed as she got farther away from them.
She was halfway across the clearing, yet Hapscomb didn't act on his earlier silent promise. His conscience railed at him, but his ego told him that those things were too damned fast. They'd get both the girl and him if he moved now. Another ten feet and then he'd —
One of the creatures lifted its head and swung a dripping snout in the direction of Christie and, just beyond, Hapscomb. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Christ, no, he thought. I don't want to die like that. He dug his heels into the horse and turned for the trail off to his right rear. At that, the two leapt off the body of Mrs. Werner.
Hapscomb hit the trail at a full gallop. No way could they outrun Angel — she was damned fast. Hapscomb wasn't going to stop until he hit the goddamn Golden Pond Visitor Center, where he knew that there was a twenty-four-hour attendant. Lock the fucking doors and call the goddamn cops. Call the fucking army —
Hapscomb's entire body went rigid as Christie's scream pierced the night. She wailed again and again. Finish her! you demons, Hapscomb prayed as he rode away. Why were they taking so long? After ten long seconds Christie's cries abruptly ceased.
Hapscomb shut Christie out of his mind. The fucking army, he realized. Those things are why that helicopter landed tonight. Rabid animals, my ass. Whatever those things are, they have never been in this area, rabid or not. They aren't anything he'd ever seen before.
As he rode, Hapscomb weighed going directly to the Wrangler Camp, which held the closest phone, but he decided against it. He might be able to make a phone call, but he was afraid that the demons would trail him there and attack.
In another mile he'd hit Lick Creek Road. He'd turn right on that, then in another eight miles or so he'd hit the Golden Pond Visitor Center. He wondered if the attendant there had a gun.
Hapscomb slowed Angel just a bit. Nice and steady, girl, he thought. Just get me there. I sure don't want to have you come up lame on me now.
The horse settled into a steady canter and a quarter mile of road flew by. Soon Lick Creek Road. Hell, there might even be a late night car on the road, although that was extremely doubtful, Hapscomb knew.
Suddenly Angel halted and whinnied. She shook her head from side to side and skittered sideways, almost into the drainage ditch at the side of the dirt road.
What the fuck? Hapscomb wondered, and then he knew. He couldn't see or hear or smell anything, but he just knew, they were coming.
God Lord Jesus! Hapscomb wanted to cry. Didn't they have enough back there at the camp? Why'd they have to come after him? In answer, the side of the brain that Hapscomb had overridden in making all his decisions so far this evening whispered its indictment: Because you left the girl to die, asshole, that's why.
Aw, fuck. It ain't fair! Hapscomb gouged his boots into Angel's sides. The horse unexpectedly bucked and, without a saddle, Hapscomb slid off and slammed into the dirt. The horse wasn't stupid. Without the extra weight it took off, sprinting into the darkness away from the bad spirits.
Hapscomb shook his head groggily and rolled to his knees. His right leg throbbed with pain. Must have busted something, he thought idly. He peered back down the road. Where were they? He could see little in the dark. He started crawling down the road, his bad leg dragging in the dirt, eyes peering backward, waiting for those two forms to appear.
They leapt out of the trees above his head. Hapscomb's last thought as his throat was crushed was to pray to God that he be forgiven for leaving the girl to die. But his conscience told him to expect the gates of hell.
Riley yawned as the Huey settled down into the parking lot. In the glare of the building's arc lights he could see Colonel Lewis standing there, waiting for the blades to stop turning. Riley was in no rush to face Lewis. He sat back on the web seat as the pilots slowly decreased throttle until the transmission disengaged. For the next two minutes the massive blades whooped by overhead, slowing slightly on each revolution. Finally they halted.
Riley stepped off, followed by Seay, as Lewis strode up. "Well?"
Riley rubbed his aching eyes. "We spotted quite a few deer, lots of smaller creatures, and one campsite where two people were screwing each other out in the woods — but no monkeys."
Lewis shook his head. "Not good enough. You all need to go back up."
Captain Barret overheard and interjected from where he was tying down the blades. "Sir, with all due respect, we've just put in two hours of goggle time. We also flew for four hours today on and off. That puts us over our limit for crew rest. The — "
"I don't give a shit about your crew rest, Captain. I want you back up in the air now."
Barret faced the irate DIA colonel. "Sir, you're not authorized to make us break flight regulations. We don't need crew rest just because we feel a little tired. We need it because we're not too far away from putting this bird into a tree. My eyeballs feel like someone's turned them inside out. I'm not safe to be flying now. Besides that, there's a front coming in and I don't think we're going to be able to do much more flying for a while. At least not at night."
Lewis stabbed a finger at the other helicopter. "What about them? That crew has been sitting on their ass inside the building all evening. They've had plenty of rest. I want them up in the air now."
Barret shook his head. "Sorry, sir. Neither of those pilots are current in NVGs. They're not authorized to do that kind of mission."
Lewis shook his head. "Jesus fucking Christ. What a bunch of wimps." He turned and stalked off toward the lab building.
Riley grinned at the captain. "You sure know how to piss off the colonel, sir."
Barret shrugged. "I'm not going to corkscrew one of these birds into the ground looking for a couple of monkeys in the dark. If it was something important I'd do it, but this is bullshit."
Amen to that, Riley thought. He respected the captain for being safety conscious. He'd seen too many men overextend themselves needlessly and get themselves and others killed because of it. You pushed yourself to the extent that the circumstances justified. If this was a combat mission, he'd have been the first to get on the pilot's ass.
The night sky was rent by a mournful howl echoing from the west. Riley turned and looked out in that direction. Next to him, Doc Seay muttered, "What was that, Dave?"
Riley shook his head. "I don't know." It was something Riley couldn't recall ever hearing, and it sent a chill down his back. He was glad that whatever had made that noise was on the far side of the lake. His next thought was to wonder if that noise had anything to do with their mission. Could monkeys howl like that?