Hunter

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 shouldn'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.

Studying them closely, Hunter could imagine that thousands of years ago the fixtures had indeed resembled either tigers or wolves, but time and erosion had faded the finer features. A large section of the wall was completely smooth, and, gazing down, Hunter could see where it had broken away from the cliff long ago. Crumbled sections of granite, some weighing hundreds of tons, lay scattered across the valley floor.

At first glance the cave seemed inaccessible, but Hunter could see the remains of a trail, now unusable without climbing equipment, that had once led to the opening. Yet, while it would doubtless be a difficult climb for them, Hunter knew the creature could have easily clambered apelike to the entrance.

Rolling thunder rumbled over them and Hunter glanced back to see the storm approaching more quickly, streaking the black-gray wall of cloud with hazy lightning.

"We'll rappel from the top!" Chaney shouted, bringing the Blackhawk to a steady climb. "Looks like it's only about eighty feet, and we have gear for that!"

Removing the headset, Hunter walked into the bay to see Bobbi Jo and Takakura sitting somberly, holding fresh weapons. Bobbi Jo had armed herself with a dozen new clips and a Beretta 9-mm pistol. Hunter knew the sidearm would be all but useless against the creature, but he understood her thinking.

All of them were taking whatever they could find, mainly because they had little choice. Brick still carried the Weatherby, but the big ex-marshal was conspicuously low on rounds, with the bandoleer already half emptied. Still, he compensated for the shortage with the huge sidearm — a Casull .454—that would undoubtedly penetrate the creature's armor-like skin.

As the helicopter settled smoothly on the summit, shuddering slightly at a blast of gathering wind, Hunter turned to Takakura. He saw that the Japanese was armed as before. The katana, now well-used and proven to be an effective weapon against the creature, protruded from behind the Japanese's powerful right shoulder, and he carried a variety of primary weapons — a Beretta semiautomatic pistol plus at least six phosphorous hand grenades and a heavy rifle that Hunter didn't recognize.

Chaney angled into the bay and Brick threw open the port. Then Hunter bent, roughly lifting Dixon. Frowning with terrifying menace, Hunter reached over the CIA man's shoulder and lifted an M-16 and clips. Then he gave them to Dixon, knowing he wouldn't be stupid enough to attack them.

"It's game time," Hunter nodded, ignoring a half-spoken protest as he roughly shoved the agent out of the bay.

Hunter quickly grabbed a large Harris M-98 .50-caliber Browning sniper rifle from the bay. Similar to the Barrett, the Browning was a devastating weapon, easily capable of hitting targets at well over two thousand yards.

The .50-caliber rounds left the barrel at five thousand feet per second, and could penetrate an inch of steel plating. Plus, the gun's lethal effectiveness with the creature had already been demonstrated. But it was at least four feet long, with two-thirds of that in the barrel, so he had to make it more manageable for the close confines of the cave.

Reaching into a toolkit, Hunter lifted a lug wrench and unscrewed the bracing, sliding out the last seventeen inches of heavy barrel. The rifled extension is what provided long-range accuracy, but that kind of accuracy wouldn't be needed. The heavier section that was forged to the receiver would be sufficient for this kind of close-range fighting.

Then, working efficiently though it was an unfamiliar weapon, Hunter removed the scope and shoulder stock, leaving only the pistol grip. It took him two minutes, and when he was finished, he had a compact weapon that still held devastating power. As an afterthought Hunter reached back and attached two thermite grenades — phosphorous-fed incendiaries with a five-second fuse that vulcanized anything they touched — to his belt.

"Let's go!" Chaney said, quickly tuning the radio to a frequency beacon. "We need to get in there before this storm comes down on us! Everybody knows how to do this so we won't waste time! I'll go down first, and Dixon, you come down right after me! Hunter, you come next and let us know real quick if that thing is close or if it's even in there! I don't wanna be down there with my thumb up my ass when it walks up behind me!"

Slinging the Weatherby, Chancy shouldered a small Alice-pack loaded with flares and lights and was gone, descending over the ledge as if he'd done it every day for years.

It took them almost no time and then Hunter was standing deep inside the cave, staring at a tunnel that seemed to lead deep into the mountain. Behind him, flares burned red to the strong smell of sulfur, hissing loudly in a darkness made moist by mist.

Gazing down, Hunter saw where the shale had been disturbed by something passing this way. And he reached out, lightly touching the ground to discern the faint indentations.

Yeah, it was here…

He grinned faintly; he'd taken a chance, but he'd been right. It had retreated to the only place that it thought it could rest without being hunted and hounded. But they couldn't let it escape. For if they did, then it would only continue to kill without end or reason, feeding its lust for blood with more and more blood.

It had to end here. For each of them.

Chaney s voice was unnaturally subdued. "What do you think?" he asked. "Is it here?"

Hunter looked ahead into the darkness. "It's here. It didn't beat us by much. It's gone into the cave."

From the rear Brick growled, "How could it know the way?"

"A lot of animals can find their way back to where they were born," Hunter said, concentrating. "It's like they have some kind of genetic code that compels them to return to a certain place at a certain time. I've seen it before. It's nothing new." He rose and they moved forward, careful to keep the light as far ahead as possible.

As they moved, the tunnel widened, some corridors branching off into inky blackness. But Hunter could read the tracks now, even in the flickering half-light, and knew it was moving on a true course, deep into the vastness of this abyss. Its trail, occasionally marred by blood, was uninterrupted as the tunnel took a downward slant. No, the thing wasn't veering from side to side, distracted or confused by the connecting passages; it was holding a certain path.

Hunter realized vaguely that the thing's nocturnal vision was even more extraordinary than he'd guessed. And, unfortunately, that gave it a distinct advantage in this gloom.

"Wait," he said, lifting a hand.

No one moved or breathed.

"What is it?" Chaney whispered.

Hunter said nothing, staring hard into the darkness, and still they didn't move. Rising, moving along the walls, shadows lent an eerie atmosphere to the broken stone. No sound but the hiss of flares weighed in the air. Hunter finally spoke.

"It's there," he whispered, lifting the Browning. "Somewhere far ahead. I heard it."

Takakura had edged forward. He didn't look at Hunter as he spoke quietly. "What did you hear? I heard nothing."

Shaking his head, Hunter scowled into the vast dark ahead of them, stretching out infinitely to defy their torches. "I don't know. It sounded like… I don't know… like it was attacking. Something like that, and it wasn't close. But it wasn't far." He paused. "Another mile. Maybe two. We'll find out."

Dixon's voice was tremulous. "Jesus Christ, people, this is seriously not a good idea… Look, let's just blow this place and bury the thing! You know, we seriously don't have to go mano a mano with this thing again!"

"I do." Hunter looked at him for a moment. "And that's what I've never liked about people like you, Dixon. You sent hundreds of people to their deaths, and yet you don't have any idea what death is. Do you know why you kill so easily, Dixon?" Hunter let the question settle. "It's because you do your killing with machines — with numbers so you can spare yourself the blood and the horror and the work. And that's why you don't appreciate anybody's skin but your own." Hunter shook his head, leaning closer. "Whoever or whatever gave you the right, Dixon, to decide who deserves to live? That decision belongs to God — not man. And especially not you!" Hunter leaned back, openly revealing his contempt. "Fool."

The silence that followed was more condemning than Hunter's tone. And, shaking his head once more, he added somberly, "No matter what, Dixon, I'm gonna see that you're held responsible for everything you've done. That's a promise."

Turning away slowly, Hunter heard Brick grab the CIA man's shoulder and move him forward. The ex-marshal's burly voice had a grim intonation of doom. "Move on, boy," he growled. "You signed up to serve your country, didn't ya? So serve it."

Eventually the passage became almost like a shattered stairway, narrower and more defined.

Leading cautiously and in complete silence, Hunter no longer searched the shadows because the connecting corridors had faded. Now they were on a definite pitch that was carrying them directly downward, and in the distance Hunter saw specks of white light on the wall where the tunnel bent into blackness. Approaching stealthily, he lifted a flare and saw tiny leechlike creatures clinging to the moist stone.

The air was warmer, and utterly still. Hunter realized they must be at the base of the mountain, if not beneath. Yeah, they had come at least three miles through the cavern and were probably at the final chamber; this didn't appear to be a maze cave. Rather, the entire serpentine structure indicated that it led inevitably to a cathedral-like cavern.

Hunter had explored similar caverns and knew from experience what could be expected. And then, as the path turned sharply around a huge stalagmite, they saw it.

What was more amazing — the faded, titanic images painted on the sweeping cathedral walls, the underground lake that burned with a strange green tint, or the last and most terrifying discovery of all — Hunter could not say. But the last was, without question, a sight that chilled his blood and made his skin tighten.

Heaped in endless dunes and mounds and bleached crests, scattered across the vastness of the underground mausoleum, were hundreds of thousands of stripped bones — skeletal specters of some hideous subterranean slaughter. The scent of ancient decay, of old death, hung hauntingly in the blackened atmosphere, and as Hunter stared over the skeletal underworld he could almost count every bony finger pointing motionless into a dome of darkness, could almost register every crushed skull, shattered spine, or splintered bone.

To himself, he nodded.

Yes, it made sense at last, and he understood completely. Just as he knew that this ghastly tribute to mindless savagery was all that remained of the greatest predators ever to walk the earth.

Together they stared over the ghostly remains of a long-ago carnage that must have been the ultimate of horrors to behold. None of them broke the silence.

Scattered across the shadowed chamber, bony arms stretched silently from heaps of twisted, shattered skulls and taloned hands even now locked in combat — all that remained from a ten-thousand-year-old rampage that had decimated a nation, an entire species, in a single devastating battle.

Staring somberly, Hunter could read the scene, knew what had happened in this dark moment of history. Without equal in might or ferocity, this predatory species had stormed without rival to the height of the food chain, conquering all the world as they knew it, fearing nothing. With physical supremacy rivaled only by their inherent savagery, they had killed all that could be killed, leaving only themselves. Hunter saw the severed heads and dark skulls shattered by the sweeping black claws still buried in bleached bone.

It was a war, but it was only themselves that they destroyed.

Insatiable in their lust for blood, uncontrolled because the nexus of mind that powered their ferocity had no restraint or regard even for their own kind, the predators had eventually directed that unlimited thirst for blood and physical rage into this.

Hunter imagined that it had begun with a single attack that had somehow spiraled through the cavern like a forest fire. For once the rage was fueled it had met no barriers of consciousness. No, it had been pure and unbridled, and it had caught and spread as they blindly turned one upon the other, each rending and striking with that inhuman strength to slaughter the next.

Head bowed. Hunter imagined the wholesale battle as it must have been — monstrous forms slashing to dismember and slay only to be slain in turn. And he thought, dimly, that it had probably happened in the space of a few hours. The remorseless conflict had raged until there were only three, two…one.

Finally the wounded survivor, if any, had perhaps wandered into the mountains and died or simply remained here and perished from age or some pestilence. It didn't matter; what happened here had been their death. Their own ferocity had been their doom. There were no questions remaining.

Chaney's voice was strange.

"Well, now we know," he said in an unnatural voice. He shook his head, attempting to control his tone. "They actually killed themselves off! And all at once!” An awed pause; “Must have been a hell of a fight."

Takakura shook his head, frowning across the ghostly maze of shattered bone, the slashed or shattered skulls staring emptily toward the torches. He gazed somberly upon a twisted heap of slender skeletal arms and legs that lay in a larger dune.

"Such stupidity," he said.

"No," Hunter remarked. "Not stupidity. They were never mindful enough for that. They were without minds, really, as we understand it. They were just creatures of impulse. They killed on a whim, a thought, the slightest inclination. Whatever controlled them wasn't the conscious mind. It's what all of us fear inside ourselves. The beast, the rage we control because it terrifies us.” He nodded. “We've evolved beyond that. But they hadn't. They were the closest thing to the unconscious mind of man that this world will ever know."

"And look what it got 'em," Brick grunted. He, too, revealed astonishment, but was recovering quick. "Guess it goes to show you; be careful what you ask for."

A moment passed, and then Takakura walked forward, igniting another flare and tossing it onto a ledge where it cast a higher angle of light across the room. Shadows vanished at the elevated illumination and, slowly, they moved forward.

Then a familiar scent reached Hunter and he bent, examining a black pool. Vaguely the size of a man, the depression was heavy and stagnant, and he felt the thick liquid with a hand, slowly raising it to his face.

"Oil," he whispered, as Bobbi Jo knelt beside him. "Here," he added, "let me see your flare. Stand back." He touched the wick to the pool and it ignited explosively.

The mushrooming blast swept past Hunter's face before he could jerk back. Shocked, Hunter felt his face for a moment, reflexively checking for injury. But there was none and the fire burned bright, dulling the light of their flares to insignificance. Now the entire room was brilliantly visible, and they saw cave paintings that had endured the centuries.

Faded red images of creatures that had ruled this region long ago were inscribed on the stone — images of beasts running, leaping, hunted, slaughtered. And as Hunter turned slowly he saw that the entire mammoth cave was decorated in the primitive art. Entire frescoes of huge animal hunts— whole herds of buffalo and deer driven from cliffs by hunters in ragged clothing — occupied vast spaces before another image, some kind of cleaning and gutting, was detailed.

Almost every image involved hunting, killing, slaughtering, as if that had been the dominating force of their existence. There were no displays of family or play or societal rights — not anything that would indicate culture or civility. It was simply the bestial exultation of carnage — of slaying and gutting and feasting. And as Hunter saw it altogether he was overcome by the wild, barbaric atmosphere.

Dark images of their own dead were displayed on a nearby wall. He saw the mangled image of a severed skull and felt an undeniable sensation of revulsion.

So, they were also cannibals.

He felt no surprise.

It would only be right. For they had no consciousness, no sense of morality or regard for life. So one of their own dead would naturally be as welcome as another creature's. Flesh was flesh, and any blood was warm enough if drunk quickly.

Staring about, he saw that the cave emptied into a dozen large tunnels that doubtless led into lower levels, possibly more lakes or even to the outside. He didn't presume that this was the only entrance. In fact, he reasoned that there would probably be much more accessible openings, but most had been half-buried or obscured by the mountain's changing geology over time.

Everyone was fairly scattered now and Hunter searched the ground, looking for tracks. He saw where the creature had entered, how it had hesitated, as if in shock. And he began to wonder about the scream he had heard.

Could it be that whatever genetic memory the creature possessed didn't contain any memory of the war that destroyed it? Was it possible that it had come here expecting to be received by its own kind? He wondered; this scientific madness had created something that was in essence the equal of this ancient species, but it was also the twisted manipulation of nature. It seemed possible that genetic coding, distorted and erased by the unnatural transmutation, had been lost.

It had come here expecting its own species, and had found nothing but a bone-Uttered tomb. So its rage had been expressed in the only manner it knew — by an unchecked release that would have destroyed any living creature, if it had been present.

Hunter nodded; he could use that to his advantage.

Rising slowly, feeling the stiffness in his limbs from the brief respite, he wiped his brow. The heavy humidity, probably close to a hundred percent, was making all of them perspire heavily. Already Bobbi Jo's hair was plastered back across her head. She had ripped a piece of clothing from her shirt for a headband, and her battle-dress uniform was blackened with sweat. The rest were equally suffering.

"All right," Hunter said, turning to them as he racked the bolt on the Browning, slamming home a six-inch, 50-caliber cartridge. "I can track it, but we're gonna have to stay alert. This is its home ground, and it’s gonna use it. So look high, and get a shot off quick if it charges. The rest of us will back you up."

An animal roar, angry and wounded, bellowed from the depths of the cavern, enlarging the room with an astounding bestial fury that smothered them together. Hunter raised his head at the thundering rage and frowned before casting a glance to Bobbi Jo. She revealed nothing as she chambered the Barrett.

Haggard and pale, she carried the huge rifle on a shoulder sling, the long barrel leveled at her waist. Her finger was curled around the trigger and her poise was solid. But Dixon trembled, backing away from a huge yawning tunnel that echoed deeply.

Hunter grabbed him by the shoulder, pushing him forward as they advanced. "No place to go, Dixon," he said. "This is where you learn all about eternal life. And the lack of it."

The tunnel was wide enough to accept all of them with a separation of ten feet. But its vastness defied both their hand-held light and the illumination of the burning oil pool.

Staring steadily into its depths, Hunter understood why the creature had chosen this terrain.

Ledges loomed, unseen in shadow, along the tiered stone walls. And the floor, flat and level, was unencumbered with crumbling rock, allowing rapid movement. Other, higher tunnels disappeared into the uppermost reaches of the passageway — blackened eyes that could conceal anything. Hunter moved forward carefully, alert to the slightest sound. But he knew this was more of a wait than a search.

No, he wouldn't see it first, and knew it would come from a ledge. It would descend into them furiously and hope to finish them quick. And if it hit the ground before they could target it, Hunter recognized that they would be seriously handicapped. For it would move fast, in and out and back again, and they'd have to be careful not to shoot one of their own. He blinked sweat from his eyes as all of them moved in painful silence, the lights revealing their position to the beast.

Brick spoke from the side.

"This thing, it's gonna try an ambush, right?"

"Yeah," Hunter said, raising eyes to a submerged ledge.

"Then why don't one of us stay a little farther back?" the big ex-marshal asked. "If it's directly above you, you won't see it coming down. But somebody a little farther back, they'll get the angle on it."

Nodding, Hunter knew it was a good idea. In fact, he had already considered it, but discarded the tactic because one man isolated as a rear guard would become more vulnerable. He explained the objection to Brick.

"Yeah, it's a risk." The big man breathed heavily. The suffocating humidity was affecting them all. "But I'll take the risk. If that thing lands in the thick of us, we're gonna be shooting each other, son. I know what I'm jawin' about."

Hesitating, Hunter looked at Chaney, who nodded. "Let Brick take rear guard for a while," Chaney suggested, swiping his face. "But I'll flank him. That leaves the three of you up here, two of us in the back. It won't be that easy to get the drop on us."

Hunter stared, finally nodded. He wondered when it was that he had somehow taken military control of the situation, then forgot it; it didn't matter. Takakura acknowledged his agreement and they divided forces, Hunter leading a wary wedge.

Behind him Brick and Chaney had the double-barreled Weatherby poised high as they searched the ledges, ready to shoulder as if shooting clay pigeons. And Hunter felt safer with them guarding the upper tiers, but slowly began to sense a vague, intensifying nervousness that he couldn't lock down. It was a sensation that whatever should have happened by now hadn't happened.

He quickly analyzed all his former battles with the creature, reviewing its tactics, instincts, habits, and almost unconscious inclinations. More than anything, it used the same tactics over and over again. It ambushed from high ground with a directness of action that capitalized on the prey's limited reaction speed. It never attacked directly unless it was in the open field, always used darkness or broken terrain for short, devastating assaults before seizing solid cover from small-arms fire. It also preferred to use the advantage of confusion, but that wasn't an option for it now, so..

No, there was no question: It would come from a ledge.

With a hundred yards of tunnel before him, an abyss where the light was absorbed by the gloom, Hunter turned and raised a hand. He knew it was close because it wouldn't be able to restrain itself for a more distant attack. And, in that, its maniacal desire to kill worked against it. Made it predictable.

Hunter knew, somewhere above, it was lying in wait.

Close and silent, it was pausing for them to pass so that it could either emerge for a silent approach or attack with that lightning speed and a roar to stall their reaction by fear. Neither of them, Hunter decided, was going to work. He was in a killing mode now, and there would be no hesitation.

Everything he knew — everything he had ever experienced in the wild — would be used in this encounter. There would be no attempt to wound or capture, nor would he have compassion. Then, raising his eyes to the walls, Hunter declared, "Light more of the flares. I want to see everything."

There was no dispute as Brick and Chaney, close but still forty feet away, ignited a half-dozen flares and tossed them in a wide uniform pattern, illuminating a large section of the passage. Although the ledges were deep in shadow, the red-whiteness of the light burned the darkness from every other crevice to leave a stark dead-white. The passage was fully visible in the steadiness, and Hunter almost smiled as his next tactic came to him.

Yeah, it might wait until the light died down, hoping that darkness could return so it could initiate its preferred plan. For it would expect them to search defensively, afraid of its overwhelming power. But Hunter would take that from it.

"Look sharp," he said as he stepped onto a boulder, slowly climbing toward the upper regions of the cave. "I'm gonna try and flush it out."

Shouldering the elephant gun, Brick cocked both hammers without a word.

Chaney spoke, swinging aim to the opposite side. "Hunter, be careful. It moves fast."

"I know." Hunter rose sharply above a ledge with the mini-light, targeting everything instantly. He turned the light to shine back across the passage, spying the opposite ledges.

Nothing.

A grim commitment to the task twisted his face into a frown. He knew that he'd come upon it soon enough, initiating a wild fight that would cause the cavern to explode in a haze of gunfire and chaos; a horrific battle once started that would rage with suicidal courage and adrenaline-white excitement to a savage end. Climbing onto the altar-like stone, he walked slowly forward, flicking off the safety of the Browning.

Still nothing, but he knew it was here…

Crouched like a lion, Hunter stared at the blind wall and considered waiting it out. But without even a glance at the flares he knew they wouldn't last another fifteen minutes. No, he had to find it, force it out. And when that happened he would have to survive the first blurring rush, try sending it into the passageway where they could target and fire freely. He knew without asking that, despite their courage and skill, they wouldn't chance a round if he were close to it.

The edge loomed before him, darkness beyond.

Hunter watched and waited, utterly cold. If it waited on the far side of the outcropping, he might be able to wear on its nerves, make it careless.

Seconds slid in silence, drops of sweat falling from Hunter's brow as he blinked. Still nothing.

Just do it!

Get it over with!

He rose, eyes narrowing as he approached the corner. Then he paused as his hairs stood on end at an impression, sharp and distinctly dangerous. Instinctively he had frozen.

Knowing that he might have only seconds, he continued to extend his arm, keeping the illumination moving forward as he settled slightly back, leg caving on his weight. If it was not on the other side of that wall, then his instincts were woefully wrong and he was unsure what to do. Then he decided, knowing that only elemental wildness could answer elemental wildness, and advanced with three quick strides.

On the edge of air and darkness Hunter dropped to a knee and raised the Browning from the hip to fire mid-waist into the air, not taking time to search, not knowing what lay ahead. The explosion of the cartridge was tremendous — blinding and stunning — and he brought the rifle out from a hard recoil with a roar. It took him a few seconds to realize that there was nothing…

No…

It's here.

It was the sense of certainty a man possesses when he feels a familiar sickness closing its grip on it. He knows the signs, can measure how long before he is broken and weak. Although it may be hours away, it is already present, his body warning him with subtle signs. But Hunter gave no overt sign of surety as he walked forward. He feigned confusion with consummate composure.

Moving a dozen steps into a collapsed alcove — a chamber domed by a ceiling whose stones were slowly breaking loose — he saw a dozen possible hiding places. Almost immediately he decided to use its own instincts against it. For he knew that, if it could not attack from ambush, it would strike from behind, as before.

Lowering the rifle to his side, Hunter turned his back to the chamber and took one step forward in absolute silence. Almost instantly he felt a tingling in his arms, neck. Knew he couldn't wait more than a few seconds…

Two steps.

It's gonna try for absolute silence…

Three.

Hunter wasn't breathing with his next step.

Turn!

NO!

Hunter gritted his teeth; it preys on weakness… Wait until you hear it or you can't wait anymore… Wait…You know how to do it. You know how to wait. So wait…

Wait!

At the last step, the ledge loomed before him. But it was a step that never happened as Hunter felt a sudden thrill that he couldn't suppress and turned into the threat.

Mammoth, crouching with arms hooked to grapple, it was creeping forward. Poised on one leg, it was almost laughing in its silent rage. The other foot was lifted in a step that would have placed it on Hunter in another second.

Hunter roared as he brought the Browning up and fired point-blank into its chest, fire joining them in the darkness, beast to beast, and it screamed in rage as it raised an arm. Then it drew back for a blow but Hunter had already leaped high and far, aiming for a sloping boulder ten feet below the ledge. He hit hard and rolled, avoiding the trigger of the Browning in the bruising concussion and descent until he crashed painfully against the jagged floor.

Chaney — everyone — had opened up, devastating the ledge in a thunderstorm of massive rounds that pulverized stone and seemed to hurl the creature back. Only as they frantically reloaded did it launch itself far from the stone, sailing cleanly across the corridor where it struck the opposite wall and rebounded, landing with terrific force beside Chaney.

Whirling, Chaney raised the rifle with a shout as a hammer-like fist descended to hit the Weatherby, shattering the stock and sending him back. And in the brief collision Hunter didn't need to ask; no, not dead, but the marshal was injured by the blow. Enraged, Hunter hotly exchanged clips as he rose.

Brick managed a clean shot, an almost point-blank exchange that made the monster twist away before it returned the violence with a sweeping right hand too quick to follow. Hunter saw it as it began, a great clawed hand drawn to the waist before the beast uncurled with that vicious velocity. And then the blow had passed — only a glimpsed flicker in the light — and Hunter stared numbly as a gory remnant of a human being fell back, Brick's face completely torn away as bone and blood rained through the haze.

Hunter saw it was wounded deeply now and fired. Bobbi Jo and Takakura were also shooting, and the passageway was lit by the deafening extending flame.

Staggering and howling, rocked by rifle fire, it unleashed a bellowing defiance of pain, then turned with that uncanny quickness and leaped for Takakura.

As if he'd long anticipated the attack, the Japanese reacted even as it began, diving and rolling under the blow and rising with drawn sword to slash a backhand blow that struck solidly across its spine. Injured yet again it whirled and hurled out a hand, tearing deep furrows across Takakura s chest, and he shouted in defiant rage as he went to a knee. Face twisted in pain, he returned the violence with a vertical blow of the katana, the blade cutting deeply through its ribs to enter the air with a wake of fiery blood.

Hunter's next thunderous shot hit it cleanly in the sternum, propelling it powerfully toward Bobbi Jo where, sensing rather than seeing her, it struck even as it staggered — a wild, almost desperate move that she easily sidestepped as the Barrett continued to explode. She hit it solidly, each shot erupting in a shower of flesh and blood. But its next blow was not so wild, and with a tiger's viciousness its hand tore away her vest to send a ragged shield of armor sailing through lightning-struck air.

Hunter hit it again and again with the Browning, each wound mortal but for the creature's immortal vitality. Bobbi Jo, recovered, opened fire, and for a spellbinding moment the holocaust continued, two titanic tongues of flame that stretched through the corridor toward a monstrosity that staggered, bending and rising with forearms raised across its face, bellowing in defiance.

Its arms were uplifted as it twisted between impacts, and the fanged mouth was open in a roar that thundered from its chest though the sound could not be heard above the detonations of the .50-caliber weapons. Then with a sudden decision it turned, hurling its hulking shape over a stone and into darkness.

Seized by the impulse to rush after it and finish the kill, Hunter managed to calm himself, steadying his adrenaline. Laying the rifle to the side as Takakura advanced, aim centered on the corner, he bent to Bobbi Jo.

She had fallen to a knee and the wounds on her chest were opened, now crossed with another set of deep furrows. She gasped several moments to regain breath, then lifted a hand to her chest and coughed, closing her eyes tightly in pain. A low moan escaped.

Experiencing a heated rush of emotion, Hunter laid a hand on her back, letting her know he was there. He didn't attempt to talk to her, knowing she was incapable of speaking.

Takakura's voice reached from the gloom: "Hunter."

Raising his head, Hunter focused on the Japanese.

Takakura stood stoically over the body of Dixon. He had been slain so quickly in the blazing chaos of the gun battle that no one had even seen the creature's blow. Hunter blinked, sniffed; he had not meant for the CIA agent to die. He had simply chosen not to let him escape without punishment for the carnage he'd created. But it was over; at the moment he had more demanding priorities.

Rolling to both knees, Chaney finally gasped: "Jesus!" He shook his head angrily. "What's it take to stop that thing?" Then his eyes settled on Brick and he grew utterly still. He stared with remorse at the gaping face, jagged skull glistening in the light of the flares.

"Oh, no," he whispered.

No one spoke as Chaney reached out, holding the big ex-marshal's shoulder for a time. His face was bent, concealing his expression, but he shook his head slowly as his hand tightened. After a moment he patted Brick's arm, nodding. Then he lifted Brick's cracked Weatherby and inserted a new round, violently snapping it shut. When he turned to Hunter, his expression was death.

"Let's finish this," he said stonily. "This beast is going down."

Hunter spoke gently to Bobbi Jo. "How ya doin', babe?"

She coughed again. Her hand, when it came away from her chest, was heavy in blood. "I'm okay." She rubbed a forearm over her eyes. "Just let me change clips. I just need… a second."

"We can turn back," he offered.

"No!" She raised eyes on fire. "We finish it!"

Hunter studied her resolve, nodded. "All right, but let me take a look." A quick examination of her chest revealed that the wounds, while bleeding profusely, had not penetrated muscle. "You bring anything for pain?" he asked.

"Yeah, but by the time they kick in, this'll be over. I'll go just like I am."

"All right. Stay close to me."

She nodded, silent in her injuries.

Hunter stood at the sound of Takakura's voice. But the words were cloudy and buried, or submerged somehow, by the dark atmosphere. Hunter realized that the rifle fire had temporarily deafened them.

"It is gravely wounded," the Japanese said stoically.

Hunter's voice was angry. "Yeah, well, wounded is one thing, dead is another." Gently, he helped Bobbi Jo to her feet. Then he lifted the Barrett and she took it in bloody hands.

"Still, though, it is badly wounded," Takakura intoned, staring at the tunnel with the sword stretched before him. "And the blood trail is wide. It will not retreat far."

"No, it won't," Hunter said, knowing it already. "It's hungry to kill us now. It has to. We've hurt it, and it knows that it can't survive more damage." He racked a fresh round. "The next time is the last time. Nobody is going to walk away if we don't put it down fast."

Locking and loading, they entered the long tunnel.

It was a labyrinth of sorts, far different from the steady certainty of the passageway above and inviting a new kind of nervous fear. But Hunter was too exhausted by battle to be nervous. His steadiness was fed by cold determination to destroy this creature; he felt nothing at all.

In fact, there was almost a recklessness in his approach now, as if he was more than willing to go face-to-face one more time in order to deliver all the damage it could endure. But only the most acute awareness of those beside him could have discerned that he moved with a lesser edge of caution.

The tunnel began to curve away, angling gradually until Hunter sensed that they were retreating along the same general direction. In the distance, flares burned to a small circle of light, and Hunter steadily followed the splashed blood trail until they saw a bright glowing dome before them.

It was the central chamber of the cave Uttered with the bones of ages. Hidden in utter darkness for centuries, the skeletons glared white in the flame. And Hunter knew that the beast had returned here to finish the battle.

The damage they had inflicted upon the creature had finally reduced its almost measureless strength. So, no, it no longer trusted its superior senses without relying upon sight. And it had circled back to this place, where it would launch a last ambitious attack. But Hunter never assumed anything. Cautious as a wolf, he moved slowly into the cathedral chamber of bleached bone.

Leading, he studied the endless expanse of dunes and crests and mounds. And with each uplifted clawed hand he saw the creature — a merciless and malignant power that knew no restraint. Only the darkness of its own mind had been its doom. And yet, despite the gigantic strength, Hunter felt no fear because it had so maliciously killed those he loved: Ghost by violence, the professor by its very existence.

Yeah, you're gonna die…

"It'll probably do the same as before," he said, organizing them, "though there's no way to be certain because it's always learning. So just put as many rounds into it as you can." He paused to study their tense faces and read the evident fear. Even Takakura seemed shaken. He added, "Listen, this thing isn't unkillable. We've already hurt it. Now it's dying time."

Silent consent, and they continued.

Fanning out, they entered the cathedral. Slowly, Hunter walked past a high, heaped pile of skeletons and studied the dust, searching for any area where it might have concealed itself. But he saw nothing. Not even blood, and it disturbed him.

Nothing moves without leaving a sign…

What was he missing?

The doubt tugged at him, distracting and alarming.

Suddenly seized by it, he paused and knelt, carefully studying everything he could see. Concentrated, he tried to read any sign of disturbance, of moment, and again saw nothing. And with each second, his alarm increased.

It's there… It has to be… Trust what you know…

A cavern silent with centuries-old dust stretched out before him. He saw the smears of where they had entered and left, the faint traces of track where it had staggered through, the minute claw marks on stone. But there was nothing more.

There should at least be blood…

Frustrated, Hunter rose and stared over the room. He trusted his skills and knew it couldn't deceive him. He had tracked this thing across an entire wildness scarred by animal life and weather. He had defeated it again and again with his knowledge and experience. No, it couldn't defeat him here. Not when he was this close.

Steadily he allowed his vision to roam, absently noticing the creeping silhouettes of Bobbi Jo, Takakura and Chaney. They were holding a close formation as they advanced in a solid line, searching. But he knew in his soul that something was wrong.

Nothing moves without leaving a sign…

Hunter turned back to the tunnel they had just quit. There was only darkness there, and he had followed the blood trail into the cavern. He walked slowly back toward the corridor, and with each step felt a rising fear — a sharpened instinct that told him to beware. He halted twenty feet distant of the entrance, staring into the circle of blackness. Experience and instinct decided for him, and he went with it.

"It's backtracking on us," he said to the rest, not removing his eyes from the corridor.

Chaney's voice boomed from across the room. "What?"

"I said it's circling!" Hunter shouted, taking a hesitant step as he cast a careful glance at another darkened corridor. "All these passageways interconnect! It's trying to come up behind us!"

Takakura scowled. "I thought you said it came in here!"

"Oh, it came in here, all right," Hunter answered more quietly, moving to the side as he searched another tunnel, rifle leveled. "It couldn't fake that. It just didn't stay long. It went back into the tunnels to come up behind us."

"You're sure about this?" Bobbi Jo asked incredulously. "It was hurt pretty bad, Hunter. I don't think it could have gotten very far. Not bleeding like that."

"It didn't have to." He shook his head, maintaining their location by voice. "It wouldn't have taken it more than thirty seconds to backtrack into the tunnel and let us pass it by. Then it turned around and went back the way we came." He stared. "Yeah, that's what it's done. It's scared now. Knows it's hurt. It's waiting for us to come to it. But it won't fight us again if we're together. It senses that it could lose, so it laid low while we passed it."

"We could flush it out again," Chaney said, disturbed.

"No," Hunter responded with certainty. "It won't do that this time."

"Why?"

"Because it learns from its mistakes, Chaney. It's savage, but it's not stupid. This time it'll keep moving, trying to avoid a trap. We have to cut off its lines of escape."

"Cut off its lines of escape?" Chaney answered. "Hunter, that'll mean splitting up! We can't split up with the thing out there! Hell, even together we might not be able to put it down!"

"It's either that or we lose it!" Hunter turned his head into the words, then calmed. "Listen," he continued, "there's only one way to corner this thing, and that's by cutting off every line of retreat simultaneously. It's like driving a tiger. You beat the bush until you've driven it from hiding and into a kill zone! And remember: this is that thing's home ground! It may have come here on instinct, but by now it knows this cave like the back of its hand! So if we're gonna get another shot at it, we have to force it into the open!"

An uneasy stillness settled over them.

Bobbi Jo was the first to lift her rifle. "I say we go for it. We've come too far to walk away now." The entire front portion of her uniform was blackened with blood.

"We'll split into two teams," Hunter said. "Me and Bobbi Jo will take the passage we just quit." He nodded to Chaney. "You and Takakura take the bigger passage that runs to the right. We'll meet where they converge. Remember that we have to check all the ledges. We can't give that thing the slightest chance to come up behind us."

They nodded together.

"All right," Hunter finished, "let's move. If you can get it on the run, drive it into this room, we can kill it. It won't survive another exchange like that last one."

Bobbi Jo advanced beside Hunter as they neared the passageway. Then they were submerged once more in the enveloping blackness, walking silently. The flares revealed them but they didn't want the sounds of their own footsteps to muffle the stealthy approach of a rear attack. Within minutes they stood at the intersection of the first passage.

Perilously fatigued, Bobbi Jo wiped sweat from her face. Hunter stared as she leaned her back against a wall, recovering breath in the intense humidity and thick air of the cavern. He knew the accelerating blood loss was also draining her strength, but he didn't know what he could do for her at the moment.

"Good God, Hunter," she gasped. "This thing has got to be hurting. 'Cause we're dying."

Grim, Hunter nodded. "It's dying, Bobbi."

She swallowed hard. "How do you know?"

"I just know, darlin'."

"Tell me how," she grimaced," 'cause I could use the encouragement."

Gazing back at her, Hunter smiled. He reached out, touching a stone. He lifted his fingers away, blackened by the diseased blood of the beast.

"That's bright blood, Bobbi Jo," he said. "Somebody hit an artery, and it isn't healing like it was. We're finally wearing it out." He nodded slowly. "Yeah, it's weak. Probably dying. But we still have to finish it. And it ain't going down easy."

She stood away from the wall; the Barrett was beginning at last to wear her down, but she held it firmly. "Then…let's finish it," she gasped. "Before it finishes us."

Hunter smiled. Nodded.

"Whatever made you so tough?" he asked softly.

She laughed tiredly.

"It must be the company I keep."

Chaney paused, hastily wiping sweat from his brow.

It was stifling work, working a slow path up the passageway. His entire uniform was drenched black with sweat and blood from a ragged and profusely bleeding cut on his forehead — the chance result, he had surmised, of the shattered stock arching from his hands when the creature had hit the Weatherby. But, although irritating, the wound was not incapacitating, so he continued.

Takakura, alertly scanning everything, stood on guard as Chaney attempted briefly to adjust his clothing, seeking to find any level of comfort. But the BDUs were so ragged and torn — stretched by perspiration and blood — that it was impossible. Chaney motioned in frustration, straightening.

"Forget it," he breathed. "It's not worth the—"

Slowly the hands extended behind Takakura, emerging with ghostlike silence from the utter darkness of a crevice. It was a terrible image: demonic claws reaching from blackness only inches from the unknowing Japanese.

Chaney raised his rifle instantly at the sight but words froze in his throat because, in the wild moment when he had seen and reacted, he didn't know whether to tell Takakura to leap away or risk a wild shot. Yet the Japanese, a true warrior, somehow realized and in the same breath had moved, diving and rolling forward.

Chaney's blast from the Weatherby illuminated the crevice to reveal the beast, its face distorted by a hideous scream. Then Takakura fired. Light again, then in the next second a creature possessed of a prehistoric rage erupted from the dark, instantly beside them.

Its roar was a physical force, slapping Chaney in the face and chest, and then he was lost in a frantic turning, twisting battle, his rifle erupting again desperately.

Takakura, rifle flung away wildly at the creature's first swiping blow, returned a crippling wound with a flashing slash of his sword, hitting it solidly across the chest to draw a sweeping stream of blood that trailed the katana into darkness. Then it turned fully into the Japanese, who met it force to force.

Chaney shouted as Takakura leaped, hurling the full weight of his body — everything he possessed — in a stabbing lunge that drove the steel blade into the tremendous muscular chest through and through to send a foot of steel out its back.

It was a blow of artistry, of poetic movement made savage only by the definition of its delivery. Then Takakura — not wasting time or motion to appreciate the perfection of his skill — shouted and turned, viciously jerking the blade clear and spinning. And as he came around the sword again caught it, crossing his earlier blow into its chest. And yet again the Japanese hit as Chaney finally reloaded, blasting two deep furrows into its back.

Takakura leaped forward again, striking for the arm, but it recovered from Chaney's shots and leaped into the Japanese, furiously blasting the blade aside.

Its clawed right hand snatched Takakura by the neck as Chaney was hurled wildly back, somehow struck by a backhand. Then the creature ignored Chaney completely as it turned fully into Takakura, viciously driving its hand into a blow that struck the Japanese hard, disappearing into the chest of his torn uniform.

Dead…

Chaney knew it.

Takakura, standing his ground to the last, was dead.

Knowing its incredible speed, Chaney was already on his feet and running, hurling his wounded body up the passageway with all his strength. He knew that he retained the revolver and debated turning to fire the remaining rounds, but realized it was futile. Feeling a sudden dissipation of strength as he staggered into the central chamber, the light casting monstrous shadows upon the walls, he careened forward and slid down a slope, crashing to a graveyard of bones that wrapped around him sharp and tangling, tearing at his skin with a thousand clutching claws.

Glaring back, too shocked to be astonished, he saw the creature standing imperiously on the crest of the slope. And, staring upon it, Chaney looked steadily into the glaring red eyes. Although pained, they reflected a purity of purpose — the awesome rage that had fired it to kill so relentlessly, so many times.

It was a moment of silence, each regarding the other.

Chaney rose amid the skeletons, refusing fear.

It smiled.

Strode slowly down the slope.

Only a split second for Chaney to notice the bloodied, ravaged wounds marring that monstrous strength — the bestial body, separated fangs, clutching talons. He never glanced again into the laughing red eyes that focused on him with such purity.

Raising his arm, his finger tightened on the trigger of the Casull. Then twin eruptions — or one; Chaney couldn't be sure — blazed from behind it to hurl it from the surface of the slope.

Roaring, it arched painfully in the air. And the attack it had suffered propelled it past Chaney to the cavern floor where it disintegrated in a dune of bones with a cascading, continuing crash.

Without even a backward glance it rolled, smashing a pathway through the grave mound, scattering bones that lanced the apocalyptic atmosphere like spears. Ducking away reflexively, Chaney avoided most of the projectiles before, stunned, he could turn back to target the creature.

It had vanished among the debris.

Hunter changed clips before he reached Chaney, gripping the marshal strongly by an arm.

"I'm all right," Chaney gasped. "Takakura…"

"We know," Hunter replied without breath. His expression was heated as he glared out. "It's wounded! Just kill it on sight! Kill it like an animal!"

He moved over the skeletons. "Everybody stay close! We'll have one more—"

Rising volcanically from a mound of bones it struck out with awesome accuracy at Hunter, and it was only the lion-like reflexes of the tracker that saved him.

Its first blow was a thunderous sweeping hand that Hunter ducked with pantherish speed. Then it struck with the other taloned hand, aiming to take his head at the shoulders but Hunter threw himself inside the blow, striking it solidly with his shoulder.

Together, fighting savagely to the death, they rolled down the skeletal slope in a whirlwind of blows and roars, each wounding and being wounded. At the base of the mound, Hunter was first to his feet, feinting a move to the left that it took, and Hunter leaped wide to the right, gaining quick distance.

Bobbi Jo fell to a knee, centering on it with the Barrett. And as it closed on Hunter she fired two more rounds that ripped wild surges of blood from high in its chest. Chaney was firing every round he had remaining in the Casull, hitting it over and over before he dove madly from the mound, rage carrying him beyond reason in the consuming heat of the battle.

It saw him descend and turned with clear contempt, a backhand sweeping out to blast him from the air like a fly. Crying out in pain, Chaney devastated a pile of bones as he exploded into a slope, sliding shocked into the skeletons.

Distracted by the marshal's meaningless attack, it raised red eyes to Bobbi Jo, who struggled to remove a jammed clip from the Barrett. Growling, it focused on her with special intensity. Then, as if in hated remembrance, it gazed downward at its body, frowning over fangs, and lifted a bloody gaze to her once more.

Bobbi Jo stared. "Oh my god …"

Suddenly ignoring Hunter, it took its first ascending step on the mound.

Its eyes blazed with inhabited darkness, the mouth turned down in a terrible promise of doom. And, electrified by the horrifying image, Bobbi Jo tore fiercely at the magazine. But it was twisted; the metal wouldn't surrender.

She hurled the rifle in its face as it reached the crest and leaped away but its long arm lashed out, snatching her back by the hair to hurl her into a heap.

As it moved over her, hands flexing, she searched for a weapon but in a moment of horror knew there was none…

Knowing the danger, Hunter rose, searching desperately for the rifle, but it was gone. He cast a single glance to see the creature cresting the mound, moving for Bobbi Jo, and then he was moving with it, climbing and reaching inside his belt for what he hoped he would never be forced to use.

He saw them together as the slope flattened and Bobbi Jo screamed, raising an arm in futile defense. The creature roared in glory and raised a monstrous arm, talons black-red with blood.

"Luther!" Hunter roared.

Utter stillness held.

The creature did not initially move, and then clawed hand relaxed and, glaring with red eyes, it turned.

A wall of flame rumbled behind Hunter.

Darkness highlighted the might and fury of the beast as it beheld him. Cold and contemptuous, it dropped Bobbi Jo to the bones, advancing into the challenge.

Stepping to the side, angling on the dune of bleached bones, Hunter held the titanium tendril behind his back. And it matched him step for step, walking slowly forward, squaring.

"You are a fool," it growled.

"Who's the fool, Luther?" Hunter shouted, still angling. "Somebody who sacrificed their humanity for this?" He flung out an arm. "Look! Look around you! What do you see! You sacrificed your humanity for nothing!"

Hands clenching, the beast took a step forward.

"Never call me Luther," it snarled. "Luther is dead."

Hunter shifted his hand on the handle, the snare.

"Your immortals killed themselves, Luther!" Hunter said as he retreated a half-step, trying to draw it from Bobbi Jo and Chaney. "There's nothing left! That's what you traded your life for! So who's the fool! You were a man! And you gave it up for nothing! For nothing!"

"We ruled this world!" it bellowed as it advanced a wide space in a breath. And at the move Hunter reflexively bent, preparing. His mind raced as he circled to his right.

"You returned to a graveyard, Luther!" he said. "Everything you thought was glory! Look! You've returned to hell, Luther! They're gone! You're the only one! So how long will you last? A week? A month? A year before they hunt you down?"

It roared — a soul-searing rage extending from greatly distended white fangs — and it suddenly seemed to stand closer and more terrible and infinitely more threatening. Monstrous taloned hands clenched as it slowly advanced.

"I’ll kill you for this!"

"For what, Luther? For showing you the truth?"

"For challenging me!"

Hunter cast a glance at Bobbi Jo to see her still trying to dislodge the clip; no time for it.

He stopped retreating, knowing he had to move now or it would move for him. Steadying, he focused on it, shifting his stance for perfect balance. Behind him, he felt the heat of flames. Beyond the creature, only darkness. No more games.

"You were doomed to lose, Luther."

Luther raged, "I am immortal!"

Hunter shook his head. "Nobody lives forever."

It leaped upon Hunter as he angled smoothly to the side. In his wounded condition he should have been struck but the beast was not so fast as before, injured as it was with open wounds shedding that titanic strength into the grave.

It was over him but Hunter was already wide of the impact and he twisted back on the skeletal hill toward its hurtling bestial form. Then his arm uncoiled with smooth skill that sent a flashing silver thread through raging red air.

And what he had hidden for so long was unleashed…

Staring in horror, Bobbi Jo saw the charge and leaped to her feet. And then Hunter was outside it and she saw a silver line lashing through flame.

It was almost beautiful in its symmetry — reaching, spiraling out in a white, waving line that straightened and tensed at the last moment. It hovered almost magically before it settled in a noose that descended smoothly over the neck of the beast.

Hunter twisted his arm; it closed.

Twisting powerfully, he hauled backward and the monstrosity straightened, clawed hands reaching instantly for its neck, but Hunter wasn't finished. Again he whirled to heave the creature off balance atop the haphazard heap of bones.

Hunter's next explosive twist sent it over his shoulder, and as the creature crashed on the bluff it tore at the restraint and hauled, and Hunter was suddenly airborne. He hit the creature squarely and together they tumbled down the slope, with the beast grasping at the sinewy strand snared so tightly around its thick neck.

As it reached the base it angrily regained balance and turned into its greatest enemy, grabbing the noose that it could not escape and whirling to send Hunter crashing into a skeletal hill.

Bones scattered spectacularly at the impact, raking the cavern in ribbons of white. But Hunter used the momentum to his advantage, turning once more into the defiant contest of strength and skill to hurl it beyond himself yet again.

And together they spun, each punishing the other with volcanic efforts that sent them revolving through red-darkness, screams, the horror-filled cries of slaughter that echoed from the fallen bones of its victims and their own defiant roars that collided and died with each impact, only to be reborn as they violently gained their feet.

Hunter was at the disadvantage as he barely avoided a bull-like charge by the beast. But at the last moment he turned its superior weight to an advantage by twisting away and hauling it cleanly over his shoulders with the cord.

Mesmerized, Bobbi Jo watched as they spun chaotically through the dark, each shattering skeletons and stone with the merciless impacts that carried them at one point past the burning pool.

For a heartbeat she saw them silhouetted against flame, fighting viciously to the death. Then Hunter's free hand held his Bowie — nine inches of wide razored steel — and he leaped, closing the distance before the creature could react. The blade struck true and tore away, a gout of blood erupting from its ribs. But the wound came at a price as the beast, hovering in midair, lashed out to tear four vicious claw marks across Hunter's face.

Yet as vicious as the creature was, Hunter matched it dark measure for dark measure. The Bowie swept out in a backhanded blow that caught it cleanly across the neck, severing muscle and armored skin with an explosive crack and a cascade of blood. Then, not hesitating to measure the extent of damage, Hunter roared and turned, catapulting it into a stalagmite that shattered at the terrific impact.

There was a moment of stunned silence as it rolled and then it rose, blood flooding from its fanged mouth and throat. It struggled savagely to draw breath, staggering again. For a strange, eerie moment, neither moved, each attempting to draw breath. Then the monstrous face twisted in rage and it charged again, colliding hard with Hunter. They grappled— a fierce, volcanic intertwining of arms before Hunter leaped clear, hauling hard on the wire to send the beast sprawling once more in a mound of skulls that scattered wildly.

The next engagement was a vicious dance of blows thrown and blows evaded, some that struck to leave a scarlet trail in their wake and others that missed cleanly to slash through smoking air. Neither retreating, they attacked and counterattacked, struck, blocked, and angled, striking from fantastic angles with fantastic skill. Heedless, they stumbled through a burning sea of bones, ignoring the surrounding flames as they fought on and on, each as merciless and savage and determined as the other.

Hunter leaped and angled with the grace and strength of a lion to evade its most devastating blows, returning two wounds for every wound he received. Fatigue and blood loss were slowly claiming it now — it could feel the uncountable injuries only vaguely, but knew it was dying. Then it caught him hard, leaving another set of claw marks across shoulder and chest where he partially blocked the killing move.

Just the shock of the blow would have slain a normal man but Hunter was in killing mode now and felt little pain. He took the force of the impact and hauled it forward a step. Then he twisted violently back with the Bowie to gouge a deep crevice through its ribs. The blade sank to the hilt and Hunter twisted it sideways as he withdrew it, causing even more damage. And as he did the creature stumbled, obviously reduced by the injury.

Still, it would not die, and threw a wild backhand that Hunter ducked at the last second.

Without surrendering hold of the coil that was slowly choking out the creature's life, Hunter leaped forward — a desperate move — and kicked violently to send a shower of burning oil into the air. And the blanket of blue-tinged fire hit the creature in a roar to set it fully aflame.

It staggered back in shock, but it did not last.

Its rage was immeasurable as it charged Hunter with a scream.

Hunter saw the fire and made the decision instantly, only the dimmest, most overwhelmed region of his mind telling him that, if he made this desperate move, he would have to kill it quickly. Because its pain would be without end. And the pain would drive it forward, far past any pain that it now sought to escape.

Moving almost as quickly as the beast, Hunter drew tension in the coil as he turned and heaved with all his strength, taking its balance to drag it from its feet. And in the next instant he glimpsed a humanoid monstrosity fully aflame, soaring beyond him in a vengeful roar before it crashed heavily into the flames.

It landed and erupted with the same heartbeat, gaining the edge of the pit before Hunter had a chance to leap away. Even now, injured as it was, its speed was surpassing.

Live or die now!

Hunter had no thought for Bobbi Jo or Chaney or the rest as he crouched like a boxer, waiting.

Even the fangs were aflame as it closed the remaining distance with three rushing strides, reaching him in a horrifying image of death. Glaring through the wild flame, its blazing red eyes focused on Hunter with a deathless intensity. Hunter waited a final second — waited until the apelike, smoking arms had reached out to encircle, drawing him into the gaping jaws.

Leaping forward with a terrific lunge, Hunter collided hard against it and stabbed outward in the same movement. And, tight in his fist, the knife was a silver blur between the outstretched arms, aimed dead for the chest.

There was a flicker in the half-dark and then the huge blade hit solidly between the thick shields of its chest, disappearing into the beast with a thudding impact. Hunter instantly released the blade, ducking to survive the crushing arms as they closed.

For a moment there was an impression of being torn apart by two mountainous forces, each seeming to rip Hunters shoulders from their sockets, and Hunter resisted with all his strength. Pushing back against the monstrous arms, he separated a small space as talons tore deep grooves across his back and spine. Then he felt the talons lock deep in muscle and his back bent, closed in a force beyond imagination. A moment later, to his surprise, he found himself sprawled on the dusty cold floor, dazed but alive, struggling to regain consciousness.

Rolling painfully, he saw that the creature had collapsed onto its face, rising for a brief instant on a gorilla arm to grasp painfully at the protruding Bowie. Lifting its head with gaping fangs, it pulled at the blade, finally hauling the steel from its chest. Then it slumped back before struggling, far more slowly, to its feet.

Frowning, death in his eyes, Hunter stood to meet it.

Glancing behind the monstrous shape, he saw the flaming oil burning bright in the serpentine atmosphere. And, still hanging from its neck, was the snare that he had designed. Though designed from the simplest of tools — the tools of a simple man — the weapon streamed heavily with its blood.

One last move to make…

Hunter stepped forward and anticipated its reaction. He timed it— purposefully slow — in order to draw it into moving too early, and the blind, backhand blow missed by six inches. Then Hunter leaped forward quick, snatching the bloody steel tube of the snare.

Whirling instantly, all the strength of his devastated body behind it, Hunter twisted to hurl the beast in an arch. It was a final finishing move but carried it fully into the flaming pool, where it crashed in a screaming mass of pain. Knowing that everything — their lives and the lives of everyone else — had come down to this moment, Hunter pulled the thermite grenade from his waist and pulled the pin with his thumb to spin back instantly.

Screaming within flame, it rose.

Hunter opened his hand; the clip flew in red light.

Staggering, howling, and seeming somehow to understand, it straightened and gathered itself for the briefest moment to focus absolutely on Hunter. Immeasurable hate blazed in the bloodied countenance as it snarled, striding forward.

Staring it hotly in the eyes, Hunter tossed the grenade and dove away, hitting smoothly to roll clear and then diving clearly over a second dune of skulls before the thermite exploded within the flames.

It was a lifesaving move. The resulting explosion bathed where he had stood in phosphorous-and flame-washed oil that lit the cathedral like lightning. And Hunter was moving again as he narrowly gained balance in the tumult, leaping to place another mound of skeletal refuge between himself and the heart of the storm.

Subterranean thunder shocked the struck cavern, shattering longstanding stalagmites to send them crashing to stone. Reverberating through rock a long while with white sheets of flame descending wildly through the atmosphere like fallen ghosts, the thunder continued until the doomed cave abruptly collapsed with deep trembling.

Stunned, shaking his head, Hunter glanced back.

Only seconds passed before the flames engulfed the entire cathedral-like cavern, eerily igniting a wide spiraling funeral pyre that blazed with bones and skulls blackening in flame.

Slowly, attempting to clear his vision, Hunter stood and stared over the burning monument to such a black, savage empire. But he did not have long to contemplate anything at all as his attention was drawn away.

A consumed, red-black shape shambled from the flames.

Hunter turned his head, disbelieving.

Rising vengefully from the inferno, the creature even yet struggled to survive, to attack, to kill. It rose from the purest liquid fire, swirling and crackling with the holocaust, and finally gained a foot, an edge, before stumbling — falling to a knee.

Hunter picked up his Bowie, walking forward.

Luther glared at him, smiled insanely.

"I… am… immortal…"

Hunter reached out and grasped the burning hair, ignoring the flames that curled around his arm. He frowned, a force deeper than himself emerging.

"No, Luther," he said. "You're not."

He twisted violently and the Bowie came across and struck, and the blow continued without hesitation through flesh and blood and bone to finish the fight, the battle, and the beast. And the monstrous, headless body fell forward to the bone-littered ground.

Still ignoring flames that spiraled upward over his forearm, Hunter glanced into the now lifeless eyes. And if he had possessed the energy, he would have felt relief. For so long he had known only fear, desperation…rage. Now there was nothing within him but immeasurable tiredness.

He tossed the head aside.

Hunter raised his eyes to the heart of the cavern and saw Bobbi Jo slumped on the hill of bones. Beside her, Chaney rested, collapsed on a bloodied, determined arm. His head moved slowly with each exhausting breath; he didn't look up. Yeah, they were hurt, but they'd survive.

Hunter held Bobbi Jo in his strong arm, and as Chaney stumbled alongside them, stoically enduring the pain, he slowly led them up the mountain and into the world.