"The lab is two stories belowground," Chaney said. "How are they gonna blast something that's forty feet down?"
"Oh, I ain't sure," Dixon responded casually, lighting a cigarette. "I suppose they'll use a fuel-air bomb. It was the only thing strong enough to destroy underground bunkers in Iraq." He shrugged. "Doesn't matter, really. Fuel-air. Sidewinders. Dragons. Whatever. But they'll do the job right, I guarantee you. So in less than half an hour, gentlemen, and lady, this glade will be a solid sheet of glass. No experiment. No facility. No evidence. No monster. No nothing."
The CIA man maintained his casual air. Hunter knew Dixon was certain that he and the others would be airlifted out on the single remaining Blackhawk as quickly as possible. Dixon believed they wouldn't leave him behind to die.
Bobbi Jo walked past them. "I'm going to get the professor," she said to Hunter. "We have to get out of here."
Watching her lope with amazing strength—considering her injuries— across the compound, Hunter judged her strong enough for the task. He turned back to Dixon. "That was your plan all along, wasn't it?" he asked. "You were gonna perfect the serum, trap that thing in the complex, then raze the whole place. Perfect containment. Everyone is dead. You've got what you want. And there's no evidence at all that anything happened." He shook his head. "Almost the perfect plan, Dixon."
"Almost?" The agent smiled. "I'd say it was perfect, Hunter. Except for you." He cocked his head. "I must admit, I never figured you would muck things up the way you did. My fault; I underestimated you. But, well, that's what happens when you make last-minute changes to a perfect scenario. Guys like you get involved. And you think you got it all figured, but this guy, whoever, turns out to be some kind of war hero. Just won't lie down and do as he's told. And then ..." He motioned around him, "you have gold-plated FUBAR."
"I die hard," Hunter said.
Dixon acknowledged it with a nod. "Obviously," he replied, spitting out a piece of tobacco. "Too hard, it seems. But I don't think you're gonna survive the firestorm that's gonna be dropped on this area in about twenty minutes."
"You still don't have the serum, Dixon."
At the mention of "serum," Hamilton groaned and closed his eyes. His hands had fallen to his sides and he stood in awful silence, head bowed in misery. Hunter ignored him.
Dixon was angry. "No, Hunter, we don't."
"Well, then"—Hunter stared at him—"I guess it all comes down to you and me. What are you gonna tell your bosses when they see how you messed this up? Think they're gonna be happy that, after this 'perfect scenario' of yours, they're out a billion-dollar facility, have to answer a congressional investigation and still don't get the serum?" He nodded. "I think Siberia is in your future, Dixon."
"Well," the agent answered calmly, "you may be right. I don't think they're gonna be too pleased at this end result."
"So what about it?"
"What about what?"
"What about letting us go after it?"
Dixon's eyes narrowed, calculating. "I must say, destroying the serum was a masterstroke, Hunter. But there are other trackers. And I'm sure we can find someone as skillful as you. Perhaps even more skilled." He spat out another piece of tobacco. "No, you're not irreplaceable, son. And when things calm down, we'll locate and capture the thing." He smiled. "Hope is not lost."
"You're deluding yourself, Dixon, and you know it. There's only one person in the world who stands a chance of finding it, and that's me. But I have to move fast." Hunter used his trump card. "If you cooperate, I'll have it for you in six hours."
Dixon laughed. "You've had a week, Hunter! How are you gonna find it in six hours?" He raised an arm to the forest. "Hell, it could be anywhere! Look around you! Look at yourself!"
Confident and smiling, Hunter stepped closer to the CIA man. "I know where it's going, Dixon," he said quietly. "I know exactly where it's going, so this won't be a track. You give me six hours, and I'll have your serum for you. But you have to give me six hours. Then you can go back and tell your boss that everything went according to plan. They're in the clear. You're in the clear. They have what they want. The evidence is destroyed. And you get kudos and a pat on the back."
Clearly it was tempting. Gazing solidly at Hunter as if to discern a lie, Dixon released a long, slow stream of smoke, rolling the cigarette in his fingers.
"Six hours?" he asked.
"Six hours."
"And then?"
"Then you have what you want," Hunter nodded. "And we go free."
Silence, minutes ticking.
"You're gonna try and do something, Hunter," Dixon said, absolute suspicion in his eyes. There was no doubt, and it disturbed him. "I don't trust you."
Hunter's smile was dim.
"Okay, Dixon, hire another hunting party." He turned and walked away. "Good luck."
"Wait."
Hunter hesitated.
"I want some insurance," Dixon said. "I want the woman to stay with me. Then I'll know you won't break our deal."
"Negative. I'm gonna need her."
"You're planning something, Hunter!" Dixon walked closer, glanced at his watch. "You think I'm not used to this? This is all I do! Of course you're planning something! You don't want that creature alive! You want to kill it! And then you want to destroy it so we'll never have the serum!" He raised his hands, as if in divine supplication. "Hunter, I have got you figured out! I've had you figured out! You're a very self-righteous kinda guy. It aggravates the hell out of me. The only thing I was wrong on was how hard it is to kill you." He blinked, utter frankness in his demeanor. "To tell you the truth, son, 'cause there's no love lost between us, I thought all you guys would be dead by day one. No offense, but that was the plan. But noooooo ... you're just like the bloody Energizer bunny! You just keep going and going and going! Except that I'm not as stupid as the good doctor here. And I'm not gonna let you go after that thing unless I've got some pretty good insurance that you'll bring it back."
"Okay," Hunter replied, smiling. "You can come with us."
Stunned silence, and it lasted. But Hunter did give Dixon credit for a quick recovery.
"No way," he said.
Hunter had watched Bobbi Jo approaching, and his eyes focused hard on her as she stopped, head bowed. He didn't need her to say it, and he bowed his head, too.
The professor was dead.
Something in Hunter told him that everything, his whole life, all he would ever be, had come down to this. He had lost the only two creatures he had ever truly loved, and in the same hour. Death didn't seem so bad now. But he wouldn't go out defeated. He turned his head briefly to Chaney.
"Fire it up," he said, and grabbed Dixon by the collar, hauling him across the compound.
"Jesus, Hunter!" Dixon shouted.
For a frantic moment, suddenly reduced to using primitive physical force instead of calculated threats and the power of an invisible empire of espionage and secrets, Dixon was dumbstruck. For all his brave talk and sinister promises, he had been heaved, in the space of three seconds, into a world where civilization and its power could not help him. He was talking fast, hearing himself protest as he was dragged along.
He stumbled but Hunter's strong right arm hauled him to his feet, the tracker never breaking stride as they closed quickly on the chopper. "Come on, Hunter!" Dixon pleaded. "You gotta believe me! They'll shoot us down!"
"Then they'll shoot you down, too," Hunter snarled, using the pain of the professor's death for strength. He violently hurled Dixon into the bay and was instantly on top of him as the rest grabbed seats and Chaney took the controls. Brick glanced at his watch, at Chaney.
"Two minutes, kid," he said.
"We'll make it."
Hamilton was at the bay, scrambling to enter.
With Dixon under control, Hunter turned on the no-longer-dignified physician. He spoke quietly. "Doctor, you might want to get some distance from your facility before they incinerate it. A lot of distance."
Hunter closed th
e bay in his face.
A muted scream of horror penetrated the steel door above the sound of rotors and twin turbos. "Everybody hang on!" Chaney yelled over the intercom. "I'm gonna have to try a cold takeoff. It might be rough!"
It was.
Without sufficient hydraulic pressure the Blackhawk pitched hard to the left, swinging across the field at an almost vertical angle before Chaney managed to stabilize the rotors, bring the nose up sharply. Then, rising hard, they cleared the edge of the forest and swept into roaring gray light.
Gazing down into Dixon's terrified face, Hunter took a moment to make it more real.
"This is what it comes down to, Dixon," he whispered, leaning close. "Death ... is that what you're scared of?" Hunter frowned. "Well, you've sent hundreds of people to their deaths, Dixon, so you should be used to it! And let me tell you, you're gonna know exactly what they knew! You're gonna know what it's like to stare that thing in the eyes!"
Trembling, Dixon raised his hands. "Hunter, listen, man, you've lost it ..."
"It's gonna be in your face" Hunter whispered. "And if you live ..." He laughed, "... you'll never forget the face of each and every one of the people that you sent up here!"
Dixon, trembling uncontrollably, closed his eyes, hands raised plaintively.
Remorseless and still emotionally traumatized by the professor's death, Hunter threw him back and turned angrily. A mushrooming orange balloon rose silently in the distance, a sphere of pure white fire expanding, rising, fading to red as it topped the trees.
The air filled with the roar.
"Hang on!" Chaney yelled.
The concussion struck them like a physical wave and the Blackhawk was hurled into a turn, whirling crazily as the helicopter shivered, quaking and trembling, spinning wildly.
Chaney s choked cries from the cockpit rose above it all and Hunter, thrown to the panels, saw the marshal struggling madly to regain control of the craft. He attempted to rush forward to help, knowing he couldn't, when a secondary shock wave—a wall of heavy air rushing overhead to fill the vacuum created by the explosion—smashed them from the opposite side and the helicopter pitched again.
With a curse Chaney righted the Blackhawk as the sky behind them brightened brilliantly, flame expanding to rise higher and higher, mushrooming in fire that only at the last darkened the horizon at once, fading slowly to silence with the dimming echo of roars rippling over unseen mountains.
Silence ...
And finally – steadiness.
Flying steadily, Chaney was rigid and possessed at the controls, utter exhaustion evident from his profile. He said nothing on the intercom, nor was it needed. They were safe, and it was enough. And the suicidal atmosphere in the cabin was grim with exhaustion, relief, and a slowly gathering rage that each one of them fed in silence, knowing what they had to do.
Dixon, relief expressed in his slow words, spoke. "Where are we going, Hunter?"
Groaning, Hunter reached back and pulled a headset from the wall. He mounted it, adjusted the mike. "Punch in White Mountains Park into the Magellan," he said. "There's a creek there; it's called Fossil River. It runs between the north and south sides of the range. We need to head upriver to find a cave. I'll tell ya more when we're closer." He paused. "Are the others following us?"
Hesitation as Chaney checked the radar.
"Radar says some of 'em have decked for refueling," Chaney said. "But there's a shitload on our tail, just the same. I'm tracking about seven Blackhawks and six A-14's circling. Damn, they musta’ had a cruiser off the coast or something. They ain't doing nuthin', though. Just circling. I guess 'cause they don't know what we're doing, yet." He paused. "Want me to tell 'em something?"
"Yeah. Tell them we have Dixon. Tell them to give a message to whoever’s in charge that we know where it's gone. And tell 'em we're gonna put an end to this." Hunter blinked; so tired now, so deathly tired. "Tell them that if they want this thing brought down quiet, they need to leave us alone 'til it's over."
Staring at Dixon, Brick suddenly rose, grabbing the CIA agent and tossing him roughly to the front of the bay. Then the hulking ex-marshal felt along the back wall, searching.
"For combat missions," he whispered to himself, though Hunter somehow heard, "these things always got a stash."
Chaney's voice came over the headset: "They say they're just doing surveillance! But I gave 'em the message! Everybody knows the score! They ain't gonna do anything!"
Hunter lowered his head, almost laughing at the absurdity of it. They had sent him out to die and he had survived, and now they both cursed and feared him. But this was the last of the game. Either he would die or it would die; there was no other way for this to end. Then remorse and affection struck him at once, and he gazed at Bobbi Jo.
She was waiting for it, was already staring at him.
What was spoken—and Hunter knew that she utterly understood, and agreed—was done without words or expression. Then she smiled—a sad smile—and he bowed his head.
Yeah, they'd finish it.
"I got it!" Brick shouted, and the back panel of the bay fell; a wall of steel lowered to reveal an entire arsenal of weapons.
Hunter saw stacked grenades, a flame-thrower, M-203's, rocket-launched grenades and two extra Barretts. The lower half of the compartment was packed with crated ammunition and extra napalm canisters for the flame-thrower.
Smiling or frowning, Brick looked down.
His voice was grim.
"Let's see the son of a bitch survive this," he said.
*
Chapter 21
A vast wall of rolling gray storm followed them through the canyon as if to terrify and isolate them during their final battle against the beast.
The air rippled with ceaseless lightning, causing the chopper to tremble with thunder, as the Blackhawk descended into a jagged valley of broken stone cut deeply by a river that whitened over rapids and swirled into strangely cut eddies that disappeared beneath heavy overhangs of stone.
Inside the craft they defiantly loaded weapons, each of them committed to the last battle with this creature that they had come to understand too well. Beaten and bloodied, they paid little attention to their wounds, taking time only to staunch the bleeding of their most serious injuries.
Hunter wrapped Bobbi Jo's torso in heavy gauze, using most of the surgical tape. Then she replaced her shredded vest with another, tightening the elastic straps to further secure the dressing.
All of them were covered with dried blood from their own wounds and the creature's, but Hunter was the most seriously marked, with uncounted contusions and abrasions.
A wide cut on the right side of his face—a vicious injury he didn't remember receiving in the last chaotic exchange—still bled. But there was no way to bandage it without compromising his vision, so he had cleaned it and left it alone.
His forearm where he had blocked the beast's last thunderous blow was severely slashed and blackened with blood, as if the creature's skin alone were a weapon. He wrapped the forearm with what remained of the gauze and taped it; it would have to suffice. If they lived, he could attend to it more carefully later.
Rising from the bay, Hunter took the seat beside Chaney. He mounted the headset, dimly hearing the rest of them loading and preparing weapons.
Chaney was keeping steady distance on the storm, flying low and level. The radar revealed that the rest of the helicopters had detoured south, still close but avoiding the lightning-slashed sky behind them. His voice reached Hunter over the intercom system: "Could it have gotten this far so soon?"
Hunter barked a humorless laugh. "Yeah, it could have. Believe me."
Chaney took his word. "All right. So where is this cave that we're trying to find?"
"Further upriver." Hunter pointed. "It's probably somewhere around that bend. We're looking for a waterfall that comes out of a cliff face. And on either side there will be two rock faces that resemble ... I don't know, something like wolves. Tigers. It s
houldn't be too hard to find."
Chaney continued in silence for a moment. "Tell me something," he said finally. "If this thing was around ten or twelve thousand years ago, how did it survive the Ice Age?"
"Lots of species survived the Ice Age," Hunter responded, searching the cliff walls intently. "And this ... this species, if it's as intelligent as it seems, could easily have found shelter in these mountains. Something like a cave where it could have weathered it out. Plus, it has a high degree of adaptability." He considered it. "Yeah, it could have survived easily enough. It probably thrived when the rest of this region was dying out. That's why they wanted it. For its ability to adapt to disease, its immunity factor, its genetic mutation factors. They wanted a species whose genetic superiority made it basically un-killable."
Chaney grunted. "They did too good a job."
"What they didn't understand was that they had to take the bad with the good," Hunter said more slowly. "They wanted something that was unkillable. And what they got was something that lived to kill." He was silent a moment. "Stupidity. They wanted to live forever. And they killed hundreds to obtain it."
The helicopter moved upriver.
"Well," Chaney responded, "if these things stood at the top of the food chain, with no natural enemies, then why did they ever die out?" He stared. "I mean, something had to kill them off, right? But what could have done something like that? According to what I've seen, nothing that ever walked or crawled could have even killed off one of these things. Much less a whole race of them."
Meeting his gaze, Hunter said nothing. After a moment he stared away, considering. "I don't know," he said finally. "Maybe we're gonna find out."
"There it is," Chaney said suddenly, bringing the chopper to almost a dead stop as he swung it smoothly to face the south wall.
Hunter saw it instantly.
A waterfall at least three hundred feet from the valley floor cascaded heavily from the cliff side. And above that, slightly to the side, a fissure disappeared into darkness. On either side of the cleft, larger than he had anticipated, two jagged outcroppings seemed unnaturally cut into protruding stones.
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