Hunter (41 page)

Takakura spoke softly. "Speak, Professor. Among ourselves, we make our own rules."

With a smile Tipler nodded, seemingly pleased at the acquiescence. "My friends, I believe I know who, or what, this creature is. And you may find my theory both irrational and unbelievable, but I beg you to listen to me fully before you deliver judgment. And, perhaps, when I am done, you will be satisfied that my reasoning merits some small measure of consideration."

"Go ahead, Professor," Hunter said. "So far, you're the only one that has made sense."

Tipler laughed, then his face grew intense. "This creature that we have tracked and joined in combat again and again, it is not a creature that has ever before walked the Earth. It is
... how do I describe it ... an
artificial
species –
a monstrous amalgamation of science and ancient man which should have been the work of God, not humankind. And I will explain to you how I have arrived at my observation. Clearly, the creature's habits, his faculties of strength, speed, need not be addressed. We have all observed them. That is sufficient. However, his faculty of speech is not in keeping with prehistoric man, as his physical attributes clearly are. Thus the mystery. Unless the creature is, in some dark manner, the genetic recombination of both ancient man and the modern mind." He gazed at each of them in turn.

"You see," he continued, "we now believe that ancient man was more beastlike than human. There is still a beastlike aspect to our nature, but it has been smothered and controlled by our higher faculties. No, this creature we now confront is not constrained by conscience or morality like modern man because, quite simply, it has none. Consequently it obeys all that it knows, which is the beast within. It is unhesitating, unconscionable, unrelenting, unafraid and unstoppable. It is the purest of all beings because it is totally unrestrained in its determination to fulfill its lusts for blood, or flesh, or vengeance, or any other motivation. Yet"—he waved a hand—"it speaks our language, which means it is not prehistoric or ancient man."

There was a long silence.

Takakura broke it. "And how would you explain such a phenomenon?"

The professor gazed at him. "Quite simply, I would surmise that DNA from prehistoric man survived in an icy tomb and was discovered in this barren land. It was somehow reconstituted and then implanted into a modern man."

Tipler allowed that to settle. Hunter said nothing. He wondered how complicated this would become. He was no scientist, but he had little trouble believing it.

"That is the only explanation," Tipler said. "I have looked at the facts, simply and dispassionately gone where science inevitably led, and arrived at this bizarre conclusion. I believe, my friends, that this creature was once a modern man. And these ... these research stations ... conducted an experiment which transformed it into what is neither ancient nor modern, but a hideous blasphemy of the two. It retains, however, somewhere within its once-human mind the power of speech, of primitive communication, and the emotions of vengeance, rage, and lust. It is totally dominated by the bestial character of man that was overcome ten thousand years ago." He stared at Hunter, focusing. "You do not merely challenge a beast, Nathaniel. You challenge the darkness within us all. A darkness that man overcame eons ago because it only wrought destruction, and death. Except, now, that darkness is coupled with a dark and terrible intelligence. Its rage has not changed. It is the same. Pure. Undiluted. Yet stronger. Because its major cerebral faculties are aided by some form of modern knowledge, however weakened by its transformation."

Hunter said nothing, holding the professor's stare.

He didn't really know what to say, except that he believed the old man's theory. Nor was he certain what the next course of action should be, since the professor was clearly too ill for an air transport. In a full-blown emergency, Hunter would risk it, but only then. Because the old man's heart would probably not endure the strain. Then Tipler relieved him of the burden of reply.

"Fantastic science is often difficult to believe, my friends." He lowered his head slightly, staring between them—at nothing. "But one tenet is certain: some things do not belong to man. And changing the fabric of humanity—the very stuff of which man is made—is a task best left to God."

Releasing a deep breath, Hunter stood off from the wall, met Takakura's glancing eyes. Focused again on Tipler. "Professor," he began gently, "you can't be moved. You said you want to leave, but to move you now might precipitate another—"

"I know what you are thinking, Nathaniel." He raised a hand. "But this is what I surmise. This creature, it will come. Probably tonight. Because it has been methodically assaulting these facilities, one after another
which, in turn, means there is something it is searching for – something its human mind still seeks. And when it comes, it will leave no living thing in its wake. So anyone deciding to remain will be in grave danger with nightfall."

Hunter leaned closer. "Professor, I'm not leaving. I'm staying here because you have to stay here. So is Ghost. And these other people aren't going to abandon the facility either. They think they can defeat it and
...I don't know ...maybe they can. They're heavily armed with high-caliber rifles, and this facility is far more secure than the others. It won't be easy for that thing to get in here."

Glancing at the rest of them, Hunter continued, "I'm gonna find out what's so special about this place, Professor. And I will be here until I can get you out. Takakura and Bobbi Jo have my respect, no matter what decision they make."

"I'm staying," said Bobbi Jo squarely.

Takakura didn't even reply. His chiseled face and resolute gaze said it for him.

"Yes," Tipler responded. "Just as I presumed." He shook his head lightly. "Sometimes it is unfortunate to possess strong faculties for anticipation. It makes life so much more painful. But, nevertheless, this creature is coming, and each of you will be forced to battle it once more. So you must make yourselves ready, and remove my welfare from your mind so that you are not distracted. In contest against such a beast, who has already decided what it will do and is moving upon that impulse while you are debating the proper reaction, you can tolerate no hesitation. No fear. No mercy. You must become just as merciless, just as instinctive. Equally as animal. And you must accomplish all this without losing your faculties of higher reason, which may yet defeat it. Yes, you must be what it has become, and more, in order to destroy it."

Bobbi Jo stepped from the wall and laid a hand on his. Her smile was radiant. "That's okay, Professor. We're ready for it. You just rest and leave the killing to us." She winked. "Hell, that's what I look forward to!"

A slight raising of his eyes and Tipler made a compassionate sound—something between agreement and amusement. His voice was raspy when he replied, "Leave the killing to you – yes, it is beyond me now. But I wonder ... What destroyed this creature before, for surely stood at the top of the ecosystem, virtually without enemies. And yet it was, somehow, wiped from the face of the Earth overnight. I wonder: What could have been its doom?"

Hunter said nothing, because he had nothing to say. But he raised his eyes to gaze out the window and measure the sun's dying arc. He didn't have much time to prepare, so he reached out and laid a strong hand on the professor's shoulder.

"Get some rest, Professor," he said confidently. "We're ready for it. And ...it's like you said; something killed this thing before. Something can kill it again."

***

Takakura and Bobbi Jo entered the Armory after preliminary identification was made according to rules and regulations. Takakura wore jungle fatigues but Bobbi Jo had switched to solid-black BDUs. Her blond hair was pulled into a tight ponytail and she wore dark glasses to prepare her eyes for night vision; the less light she perceived between now and dusk, the sharper her eyesight would be in shadows.

Takakura's eyes raked the weapons as the master sergeant looked on, waiting. Finally, the Japanese spoke. "Give me the M-14 on the wall, the one with a Kreiger heavyweight barrel, a belt for ten twenty-round magazines and a .45 with four extra clips."

The sergeant laid them out on the counter. The M-14, a preferred weapon of navy SEALs because of its accuracy and formidable stopping power with the .308 round, was almost a work of art.

"It's glass bedded with a titanium firing pin for faster contact," the sergeant said easily. "And the .45 is broken in. You won't have any trouble with either of them."

Saying nothing, Takakura lifted the weapon and cleared it. He inserted an empty clip and removed it. "Where can I practice with it before nightfall?"

"Got a firing range at the back of the base. It's supposed to give one minute of angle at a hundred yards. That's as far as the course goes. You want a scope?"

"The eyes which I possess are sufficient," Takakura muttered, outfitting himself with belts, clips, strapping the .45 on with a thigh holster. When he was finished, Bobbi Jo said simply, "I need thirty .50-caliber rounds loaded hot for the Barrett. Seven extra clips. And give me a cleaning and gauging kit."

"No problem," the sergeant replied, and in a minute they were ready.

"I will meet you at the range ," Takakura said to her. "I do not go into battle with an untested weapon."

"I'll meet you in a half hour." Bobbi Jo placed the ammo and clips and kit into a small duffel. "I've got to clean and oil the Barrett and gauge the headspace and scope mount. I think all the jostling has it out of alignment."

"Very well. I will await you. After we check the weapons we must prepare for tonight."

"How much time till sundown?"

"Three hours."

"That's enough. Thirty minutes."

As the big Japanese vanished out the door, Bobbi Jo scanned the racks for anything that might penetrate the creature's bullet-resistant skin. "What did the other team member, Taylor, acquisition?" she asked, unable to find anything that might prove useful.

"The big guy?"

"Yeah."

"The one with the scar on his face?"

"Yes," she replied, slightly perturbed. "Do you remember what he took?"

Lifting a clipboard, the sergeant loosed a long whistle. "Man," he began, "that mother cleaned us out. He got fifty depleted uranium twelve-gauge shotgun rounds, took the only .50-caliber Desert Eagle we had in stock and forty rounds for it. Then he checked out ten antipersonnel grenades." He looked up, fear in his eyes.

Bobbi Jo was reminded that the team, and what had happened to it, was not a secret among the rangers. By now, everyone would know that this thing had almost wiped them out in the mountains. She had noticed that everyone on the base was very heavily armed with large-bore rifles and handguns. Just like the master sergeant, who wore a .45 in a shoulder holster, another one in a hip holster.

Beside him, leaning against the wall against regulation, was a World War II Garand, probably the most powerful self-loading battle rifle ever designed. Yeah, everybody knew what had happened to them, and the rest of the stations. This place, if it went down at all, would go down hard and slow.

"Is this gonna be bad as all that?" the sergeant asked, his eyes narrowing.

Bobbi Jo paused, a frown lowering the edges of her mouth. She didn't look up as she nodded. "Worse than you can imagine." Then she looked at him. "And that old Garand ain't gonna help you, Sarge, if you want to know."

He was shocked.

"Well, what will?" he asked nervously.

She shook her head.

"Prayer."

The sergeant's mouth hung open.

Bobbi Jo turned away. "Save the last one for yourself. You don't want it to get its hands on you while you're still alive."

Dr. Hamilton stood outside the glassed-in ICU, staring at the sleeping form of Dr. Tipler. The old man was completely unconscious and heavily sedated so his blood pressure and breathing could be more carefully regulated.

Moving his hand slowly, a smile creasing his face, Dr. Hamilton carefully removed the syringe from his right pocket, feeling the plastic safety cap.

It would be over quickly, and no one would know, he told himself. He would simply inject the experimental serum into the professor's IV and then wait, observing the results. If the serum was perfectly isolated from the receptors and transmitter genes that caused monstrous mutation, then the professor's health would improve immediately. If not, then the genetic transformation would require that they kill the old man. It would be the loss of a human life, but a significant gain for science. Nor did he have any compunctions against sacrificing a few for the greater good of others. Namely himself.

When the serum was perfected, they would never release it to the masses, to the world. No, they would conceal its greatness in the corridors of power, where those who were chosen could become immune to disease and decay and even death.

Yes, it would be easy to build unconquerable power in such a time, to gain control over entire continents, living from century to century consolidating forces, laying plans and pursuing them with cunning determination to actualize a kingdom without peer in history.

Moving through the almost abandoned ICU—a single nurse sat at the
monitor desk recording vital signs and making notations—Dr. Hamilton approached the room where Tipler lay sleeping. He nodded to the nurse and she smiled, returning to her work. She would notice nothing, so quickly would he work, and then time would be his only enemy because he did not know how long it would be before the serum assimilated the indigenous DNA.