Hunter (6 page)

The forest, all that was in this land, would completely consume what remained of the elk; nothing was wasted.

Hunter had often thought of the incident, wondering what savage pride had driven Ghost to continue the fight. But, from the first day, it was clear that he would die before he walked away.

Hunter smiled as he reached out to ruffle Ghost's mane once more but noticed the wolf was staring away intently, as if perceiving a slowly approaching threat. Suddenly sensitive, Hunter turned his head to gaze into the cargo hold. But he saw nothing.

Nothing but darkness.

***

Standing half-naked in the shadowed gloom, he was amazed that he could not remember his name.

Faintly troubled by it, he slowly raised his hands before his face, frowning slightly, for they were slightly different than before. They were wider, thicker, and tipped with what remained of claws. The transformations were lasting longer, and taking longer to fade, he thought. But that was something to be expected. Soon, he assumed, they might not fade at all. That was well with him; he had grown to prefer that superior state of being—that matchless measure of might that he alone enjoyed.

No, never again would he be one of them—the weak, the puny, the prey. No, he would forever enjoy a higher realm of existence—a physical glory not seen on the Earth for ten thousand years, and which he alone possessed.

Strangely, though he could not remember his name, he remembered so much else. To test himself, he attempted to recall everything he knew about the alien DNA he had injected into his body.

Electrophoresis, he remembered clearly, had categorized the recombinant DNA as ninety-nine percent Homo sapiens. Yet it was the one percent that had demanded their attention and launched the first stage of the experiment.

An aggressive immunity to every disease tested against it had been discovered in that DNA, which contained the very building blocks of life. It was like a battery able to recharge endlessly. Yes, there was not just life, but virtual eternal life hidden within.

For death, he well knew, was simply the aging of cells—a progressive mutation of the body until the cells could simply no longer reproduce. But this creature, Homo scimitar, was not cursed with such a fate as modern man. Although the DNA hinted that there was ultimately an end to the recombinant strength, it was at a level far beyond modern Homo sapiens. Yes, this Lord of the North had possessed a life span of hundreds and hundreds of years. Theoretically, he realized that a thousand years was not beyond hope.

Although the true biochemical essence of its phenomenal longevity was, despite their calculations, a mystery, its immunity system had been readily understood.

A breakdown of the coding had revealed the astonishing level of restrictive enzymes that prevented a foreign agent, like a virus or bacteria, from infecting and interfering with the host DNA. Literally billions of various restrictive enzymes were locked in the helix, a clear indication that this creature had been as invulnerable to virus and bacteria as he was to age—a superior species from a superior realm.

Then the time came to see if the DNA could be copied in modern
homo-sapiens. And after performing his own series of tests, he had decided to experiment on himself.

He never even debated his right to inject himself with the coding. He knew that, if successful, he would share those superhuman qualities, and he had judged the potential triumph worth the risk. His motives had not been pure, nor did he care. What he wanted for himself was justification enough for his actions.

But he had not anticipated the transformation to be so overpowering. And he could even now feel the strength growing again, flexing solid muscle that was increasing moment by moment. He could even sense the increasing bone density in his arms and chest and legs, and realized he would soon change again.

He did not know what had compelled his rampage on that first night when he changed within the chamber. He only remembered a dim transposing of visions, screaming faces and hands raised in appeal as his own hands—black claws there—swept left and right with the scarlet world falling before him. Then morning had come and he was himself, in his own mind and with his own eyes.

And after the next research team arrived, replacing those he had massacred so joyfully in his rampage, he had felt it building within him again and knew without question that, when night came, he would be as he had been.

And he was.

They screamed when the steel door exploded before his blow, and a cloud of concrete dust arose as the deep-set bolts were ripped from the wall.

It was a single thunderous impact of his forearm, smashing down with the irresistible force of a wrecking ball that reduced the concrete to chalk and laid the steel flat before him. Then he saw them through the familiar red haze. He saw them backing away in horror, screaming, always screaming.

And he had roared in among them.

But on that second occasion, everything was clearer, and he gained bestial satisfaction from the sheer exultation, the
uncontainable exultation of his omnipotent power.

Yes, he smiled.

Like a god on the earth.

Nothing could stop him.

Nothing ...

He knew in that moment that he could bring down a charging rhinoceros with the strength of his arms, that he could kill anything living—any-thing—with the massive might and claws that found no resistance in earthly substance. It was the best of all worlds; human cunning, the fierce blood of the beast, and prehistoric power. But then his human mind was fading, he knew, with each changing. And the changes were becoming more frequent, the beast slowly overcoming what he had been until he would be man no more. He thought of it a moment, and decided he did not care.

Whatever he had been no longer mattered. Tests no longer mattered. Nothing mattered but the power, the endless life, and the freedom to kill, and kill, and kill.

***

It was midday when Hunter climbed off the plane. Standing stiffly in the bay, he stretched for a moment. Then he hoisted his small pack, shouldered the Marlin and, looking out, saw Maddox dressed in a camouflage uniform walking toward the ramp.

Authoritative but more casual than anticipated, the lieutenant colonel stopped and clasped his hands behind his back, nodding. Hunter saw a pistol holstered at his waist and glanced at the grip: a Colt .45 semi
-auto. Standard army issue for World War II.

" 'Afternoon, Colonel," Hunter said as he walked slowly down the ramp, Ghost close beside him.

Maddox's expression altered slightly when he saw the wolf but he had the fortitude not to display the barely controlled nervousness of their first encounter. Still, his eyes shifted jerkily, as he tried to watch Ghost as well as Hunter.

"Welcome to the base, Mr. Hunter. How was your flight?"

" 'Bout like the rest," Hunter replied as he scanned the facility, observing with a wide, unfocused vision. It was a method he'd perfected in the forest, reading everything at once, concentrating on nothing in particular. If something important appeared, instinct or reflex would lock his gaze on it.

This place required no reflex or instinct to see what was important. The compound resembled a battle post more than a research station. Within a high wire-mesh fence sat six Blackhawk he
licopters, all armed with rocket pods and M-60's hung from bungee cord in the open bays.

Squinting, Hunter counted eight Light Personnel Carriers—heavily armored vehicles mounted with deadly 25mm Bushmaster cannons. There were at least fifteen Humvees, each carrying an M-60 machine gun mounted on the roof, and maybe six personnel trucks. Hunter estimated at least sixty personnel, which was a lot for a research station. Tin-domed winter huts were set well within the compound in a tight square, and there was a single-level tin structure about two acres in size that was reminiscent of Arctic research outposts located farther north. Yeah, Hunter thought, they were expecting to be attacked soon. He could almost smell the fear in the wind.

Expressionless, he looked at the colonel.

"We have a briefing at twenty hundred hours," Maddox said pleasantly. "Would you like to rest?"

Hunter gently grabbed Ghost by the scruff of the neck. "A little food would be fine, Colonel," he said.

"Ah, very well. The commissary remained open for you and the crew. Please." Maddox gestured.

It caused slight consternation at the commissary when Hunter requested thirty pounds of raw meat for Ghost, but Maddox smoothed it over. And before he himself ate, Hunter stationed Ghost outside the door with a shank of beef, knowing the wolf would eat it through the long day and night, storing up for a time when food might be scarce.

It was a wolf's way, he had learned, to eat continuously on prey for a period of a day and night, knowing it might not eat again for as much as a week. So, leaving Ghost in view, Hunter listened to Maddox expound on the importance of the mission.

"Here we cannot speak plainly," the lieutenant colonel said in a low tone. "But make no mistake. We have assembled the best support team in the world. Every conceivable emergency is anticipated. All you are required to do is...well, what you do best. Track."

Hunter, chewing slowly on a steak, cast a glance at Ghost to ensure that no one was approaching him—an unlikely event in any case. He saw several soldiers standing about fifty feet away, staring with fear and curiosity. But he doubted anyone would bother him, which would be a tragic mistake. Suddenly Maddox raised his head and Hunter sensed a presence. He heard the voice and turned to see a short, square, white-haired figure behind him.

Dr. Tipler was dressed like he was going on safari, hands stuffed deeply in the pockets of a well-worn fishing vest. The chain of a pocket watch dipped on the right side. He was smiling broadly.

Hunter laughed as he stood, embracing the old man.

"Ah," Tipler said," 'tis good to see you again, boy." He patted Hunter's powerful shoulder with a pale hand, standing close. "I heard about Manchuria. Were you injured at all?"

Hunter had not had an opportunity to speak with the professor since returning from Manchuria, where he had narrowly escaped death after being trapped in a cavern by two Siberian tigers fighting for territory. Caught between them as they raged through the cave in battle, Hunter survived only because they had killed each other in the conflict.

Hunter shook his head. "No, I didn't get hit by either of them. But.. . I guess it came close."

"Well, good." The old man nodded with satisfaction. "Yes, all very good." He noticed that Hunter had ceased eating. "Here now, sit down and eat, my boy. Please finish your meal. It might be the last time for a while that we might enjoy a calm moment of relaxation." He continued as Hunter took a bite. "So, what of the resemblance?"

"I tracked it for six days," Hunter answered, chewing. "It was ranging high on the Bureiskij Chrebet. For most of the year temperatures are freezing. Could have been genetic, or an adaptation to the cold, but it had a mane like a Caspian, right down to the color. The misidentification is understandable." He pondered it, shrugged slightly. "But it was just a Siberian. Big, though." He opened his eyes slightly at the memory of it. "And seventeen years old. Went about seven hundred, maybe thirteen feet. From a distance it might have looked a Caspian. But it wasn't."

Tipler nodded, solemn for a moment, as Hunter ate in silence. Hunter knew he would need the energy because he would burn more calories in the altitude and cold. In fact, up here he would probably burn four times as many calories just remaining warm as his body would consume in a temperate environment.

"So," the professor said finally. "Perhaps we should concentrate on the business at hand. We certainly have enough to deal with!"

Maddox broke in. "Professor, this is not the place to—"

Gesturing impatiently, Tipler continued. "Oh, I am far too old for subterfuge and lurking about in shadows, meeting under bridges at midnight and whatnot. In fact, I am probably too old to be accompanying your men on this trip. So do not deny me my eccentricities."

Hunter looked up sharply at the professor, then across at Maddox. "What is this?" he asked. He had suddenly realized the air of danger in his stillness. "You never told me the professor was coming on this track."

"Uh, well, Mr. Hunter." The colonel motioned kindly to Tipler. "The professor is, indeed, expected to accompany you, but only as an observer like yourself, of course. And, be perfectly assured, should any mishaps occur, we are very well prepared to deal with them. We can have him out of those mountains and to a hospital within thirty minutes." He made an attempt at utter confidence. "There is no question: his health will never be at risk."

Hunter gazed at
Tipler. "Professor?"

The old man's hand settled on his shoulder. "Things will be all right, my boy. I have been, as you know, on several arduous expeditions in recent years." He laughed, leaning back. "Yes, I am somewhat old. And if I suspect at any time that I am slowing you down I will demand my, uh, what do you call it, a . . ."

"An extraction," Maddox contributed. "An emergency extraction."

"Yes." Tipler waved his hand. "An extraction, as they say."

"But Professor, this is going to be a hard track. And you know how I move. You can't keep up with me. Even this so-called support team couldn't keep up with me if I didn't allow them. Besides, we don't even know what this thing is. We just know it's dangerous. More dangerous than anything we've ever seen. Maybe more dangerous than anything anyone has ever seen. We don't know its habits, its instincts, whether it's territorial or nocturnal. We don't know what it will do when it's wounded or cornered. We don't know if it will counterattack or hunt us at the same time I'm hunting it. I know you're still in good shape for your age, but this isn't a bone hunt, Professor. We're going after something that can kill like a tiger. But this is worse because it plans to kill without any reason." Hunter paused, staring hard. "I think, Professor, this thing kills for the sake of killing."