Synbat

Chapter 17

Doc Seay and Martie Trustin were working on the wounded under the glare of headlights from various pickup trucks and rigs. Riley had the rest of his team deployed in a loose perimeter, supplemented by almost a hundred men with Civil War muskets. It would have almost been humorous except for the four bodies laid out under ponchos nearby and the wounded who were being tended.

Riley had already called the situation in to Search Base. Other than holding a perimeter to prevent the Synbats from coming in again, he was at a loss as to what to do. Going after the Synbats wasn't possible because they had no idea where the creatures were. By the time they'd gotten here, the Synbats had already disappeared and no one was sure in which direction.

Riley had ignored the numerous questions thrown his way by the reenactors. There wasn't anything he could say, except to tell everyone to stay inside the parameters of the open field.

Military vehicles were now rolling into the field as reinforcements arrived. General Trollers and Colonel Lewis hopped out of one humvee and hurried over to Riley's location.

Trollers's eyes were flashing in the glint of the headlights. "Where did the Synbats go?"

Riley shrugged. "I don't know, sir. They hit coming from the west, but I haven't been able to find anyone who could tell me which way they left."

"What about Nighthawk?"

"It's picking up multiple targets. Our people are marked, but these reenactors are all over the place."

Trollers turned to Colonel Lewis. "Let's clear these people out now."

"Yes, sir."

Few wild animals have had a more devastating encounter with man than the bison, commonly miscalled the American buffalo. From an estimated peak strength of thirty million to a low of five hundred at the turn of the century, the herds have slowly increased to a present size of approximately thirty-five to fifty thousand.

With a half moon rising in the eastern sky, the herd of fifty-three bison at the Buffalo Range at Land Between the Lakes had just increased by one. The mother finished licking the newborn calf to clean it off, and it immediately suckled up.

The bachelor groups of massive males, some weighing almost two thousand pounds, ignored the maternal efforts. It would be two more months until breeding season, when they would mingle again with the cow-calf herds to initiate the reproductive process.

This particular evening one of the males, an old bison that had seen the turn of many seasons, was alert, but not because of the events going on inside the fence of the range. There was something outside that disturbed him.

He turned his massive head from side to side, shaggy long hair drooping to the ground. His nostrils flared as he took in a deep breath of dark air: There it was again, just on the edge of his smell range, coming from the east. Synapses clicked in the bison's brain as it tried to recall ever smelling that particular odor.

The bull waited with growing agitation. The smell was getting closer — an incoming tide of danger. Other bulls were aroused, shaken by the old one's movements. A ripple of unease ran through the herd. Instinctively the mothers pushed their young calves to the center and the males spread out in a semicircle, facing the Trace that ran along the fence on the east side of the range.

The old bull's beady eyes narrowed, searching the dark tree line on the far side of the road. Something tentatively left the safety of the darkness and crept out onto the road. Another joined it. The intruders were drawn by the smell of fresh blood from the birth. The bulls began snorting and stomping at the earth, huge horns swinging back and forth.

The newcomers crossed the road, skulking up to the fence, sensing that the barbwire was the range of their safety. They looked over the thousands of pounds of horned protection between them and the newborn calf.

Tonight would not be the night. The intruders turned and slunk back into the woods in search of easier prey.

It took the herd almost an hour to calm down. Soon all but the old one were asleep, the newborn curled up with its mother. The old one walked slowly along the fence. He was troubled. This was something bad and he didn't like it. He knew that those predators would be back.

Riley put his team on 50 percent alert. There was a long night ahead and tomorrow would be a critical day. His men needed rest. He doubted that the Synbats would attack Search Base, but at this point he was past trying to figure out what they would and would not do.

He'd received Kate's last message from Powers when the NCO had returned to the base camp after his adventure at the cliffs. Although Ward was no longer an issue, Merrit certainly was. How much of what she said could be believed? Riley hadn't been overly impressed with the videotape. Although it was certainly possible that the Synbats had been trying to trick Merrit into opening the cages, it was more likely that she had overreacted. Riley shook his head. The issue wasn't Merrit; the issue was the Synbats. He needed to concentrate on what he knew for sure.

He lay back on his rucksack outside the glow of the lights at the TOC and took stock of the situation. About half of the reenactors had been moved out, but there were stragglers here and there. It was also unknown how many other people were still in the park. Tomorrow would be the big clearout and then tomorrow night the shoot.

It was all looking too easy. The Synbats had been one step ahead of him from the start, mainly because he'd thought of them as animals, never as intelligent opponents. Now that he knew the truth, it was time to correct that operational fault. To anticipate the enemy's moves was a tenet of operational planning. Riley decided to review the facts in his mind, see how they fit together, then try to project a course of action for the Synbats.

As he started to concentrate, a figure appeared in the darkness. "We need to talk."

Riley unwrapped himself from his poncho liner and followed Colonel Hossey over to the DIA van. A single man sat at the communications console, monitoring it. A small figure bundled in a blanket in a chair was the object of Hossey's search. He tapped her on the shoulder, waking her. "We need to talk to you."

"Stop!" she cried out. Merrit blinked the sleep out of her eyes. "Another contact with the Synbats?"

Hossey led the way to the door. "No. I want to discuss what's going on. Let's go outside and talk."

The sky had cleared up somewhat and a few stars poked through. The weather report called for intermittent showers through Saturday. The temperature was down into the low fifties and Riley could see his breath puffing as they talked.

Hossey started out with the one remaining question Riley had about the past events. "How did the Synbats escape?"

Merrit looked at Hossey, then glanced around furtively. She spoke in a low whisper. "There was a power failure on Sunday night — actually early Monday morning. In response to the loss of primary power, the security guard lowered the status on the containment on the Synbats. Then those three escapees that Colonel Lewis is using for his cover story arrived at the lab. I don't know why, but they killed the security guard and then broke into the lab. We found all three of their bodies the next morning. The security guard was gone, but they found his body in a van driven by the sister of one of the escapees."

"Shit!" Riley exclaimed. "You mean you already had four dead people when we showed up here Monday morning?"

Merrit moved closer. "The security guard was killed by the convicts, but the three of them were killed by the Synbats."

"Great. That's just fucking great." Riley clenched his fists. He wanted to hit someone or something very badly.

"We thought the collars had terminated them by the time you showed up," Merrit reminded him.

Riley closed his eyes and did a slow count to ten, trying to control his anger. He knew that Merrit was not responsible for making the decision to withhold information from his team.

Hossey summed it up. "So right now the Synbats have killed a whole bunch of people and we've managed to get only one of them, losing a helicopter in the process."

Riley pointed at the TOC. "Doesn't anybody in there realize that it isn't just luck that these things have been a step ahead of us the whole time? The Synbats have had some sort of plan, while we've been pulling stuff out of our hat in reaction to them."

Merrit was confused. "I thought you had a plan now."

Hossey tried to make her understand. "We do, but we're still leaving a lot of initiative up to the Synbats. I've tried telling General Trollers that it isn't as simple as it appears, but he sees it differently. He feels that the attack on the Civil War reenactors was a sign of desperation because Sergeant Major Powers flushed them out of their lair. Trollers thinks they're on the run now. What do you think about the attack on the reenactors?"

Merrit was quiet for a few moments. "I don't think they would have attacked without a purpose. Every move they've made so far had a reason. I think they probably considered the reenactors part of the force that was after them and attacked to strike back. Those men were armed and acting in a military manner. I think it's reasonable to assume that the Synbats couldn't tell the difference between real and simulated."

"But the bottom line is that they are intelligent creatures, right? And they know they're being hunted," Hossey interjected, cutting to the heart of the matter.

"There's no doubt of that," Merrit replied.

"As intelligent creatures who want to survive, what do you think they will do now?"

"They have to find a new lair. They'll need a source of food for the young and someplace to hide for several days at least."

"Then the plan for tomorrow should work?" Hossey wanted to know.

Merrit shook her head. "I really don't know. They know they're being chased, but they certainly can't know the extent of the net around them. As I said before, I think they will try to hide. They already did that once at the cliffs."

"What about escape?" Riley asked.

"To where?" Merrit replied.

"I don't know." Riley thought for a few seconds. "Maybe we ought to go look at the cliff where they were hiding and get an idea of what they were doing. That might help us figure out where they might try to hide next."

Hossey quickly warmed to that idea. "We'll send you in at first light."

The regiment's horses had broken free of their picket line during all the commotion earlier in the evening and disappeared. Now the army people were telling them to vacate the area immediately and go home. Louis spent a fruitless five minutes arguing with some army major. He was damned if he'd leave behind eight valuable horses, six of which weren't even his.

The major had been sympathetic but unyielding. He gave Louis a vague promise that they'd be notified when the park was reopened after the escapees were captured, and then they could come back in and recover their animals. When Louis had asked when that might be, so he could decide whether to stay in the area or go home, the officer had told him to go home.

"Fuck it," Louis muttered. He turned to Jeremiah. "Let's get out of here."

They walked back to the main parking area where their rig was parked. The brothers slid the ramp into their trailer and shut the back doors, making it ready for travel. They got in the cab and Louis started the engine.

"You ready?" he asked. He received no response at all from his brother. Jeremiah had not uttered a word since the attack. As far as Louis was concerned, the sooner they got home the better. The army was full of shit about the escaped prisoners too. Why the hell would escaped prisoners have been up in the trees? And there had been something weird about those "escapees" from the faint glimpses he'd had of them. They hadn't looked quite normal. Louis didn't envy the regimental commander who had volunteered to fly up to Chicago out of Nashville and notify the families of the four dead men.

They followed the army guides who waved them out of the camp and onto Lick Creek Road. Army vehicles, machine guns mounted on top and headlights blazing, were parked all along the road. Louis reached the Trace at the Golden Pond Visitor Center, then followed a soldier's lighted baton and turned right onto Route 68.

At the bridge over Lake Barkley, roadblocks manned by army personnel were set up in center span, blocking any traffic from going out. On the far side of the bridge, the Kentucky State Police had roadblocks facing the other way. Passing the last of the army people, Louis breathed a sigh of relief. He could see helicopters with searchlights flying over the water on either side of the lake. They were damn serious about sealing off the park.

They rolled through Cadiz, then headed east along 68; at I-24 they would turn north for home. Louis decided to drive straight through and get his brother away from this place as fast as possible.