Hunter (36 page)

Until now, he had been holding back because they couldn't have remained at his side if he had traveled with even half of his true ability. But the time had come to unleash a little of his true strength, and they would have to remain behind unless they were ready to follow in a helicopter.

He glanced up to see Ghost lying atop a heavy stack of blankets. Violating regulations, the medical personnel had wisely decided it was more prudent to allow the wolf a quiet corner in the ICU than a space in the hallway.

From Ghost's quick notice of the faintest sound or movement, it was clear that he remained alert. His ears stood straight, quick to catch the faintest rustle of cloth, and his obsidian eyes carefully followed the actions of everyone in the room.

Bobbi Jo emerged barefoot from an isolated trauma room wearing a dark-blue surgical shirt and pants. Her hair was stringy and matted, and she rubbed her eyes sleepily as she walked slowly to Hunter. He watched with a faint smile as she sat down beside him on the table. Gently, she reached over and touched the stitches in his chest.

She laughed. "A good job. Tidy. I guess you'll have to add those to your list."

Hunter laughed with her. "I don't keep track anymore. Gave up on it a long time ago. Ran out of fingers and toes."

"Oh, come on, Hunter." She smiled. "Even though you've been frozen, starved, cut, smashed, knocked off cliffs, mauled by wild animals, and sewn back together with all your body parts in the wrong place, you've still got a few good years left. I asked the doc and he showed me your warranty card."

He found himself laughing—rare for him—and glad she was so close. After a moment of enjoying her presence, he asked, "So, what'd they tell you? You come out of it in pretty good shape?"

"Oh, I'm kinda beat up." She shrugged. "They told me I'm dehydrated. I've got a torn muscle in my shoulder. But it's not a rotator cuff, so it won't need surgery. Then, oh, I've got a mild concussion and I've lost twenty percent of the hearing in my right ear. They say it's probably only temporary. Got a ton of contusions, too many to count, and about three bruised ribs." She smiled and winked. "But they gave me some great painkillers." A pause. "Then my right shoulder has a bad bone bruise from not having the Barrett set tight enough on that shot beside the creek. But other than that, I'm just fine and dandy."

Laughing, Hunter shook his head. "Yeah, seems like you came out all right. What about the professor?"

"I don't know." She shook her head. "They told me he's not in a coma, but he's unconscious. I guess we'll know by tomorrow. They say he can't be moved."

"No," Hunter rumbled, "I'm sure of that. And I ain't leaving, either, 'til he can be moved. I guess the rest of them are all right."

"Oh, yeah. Taylor is already gone. Said he was hungry. Wilkenson is still in there, they're working on some bruises. He got a flash burn from the explosion in the cave. And Takakura ... well, you know Takakura. He's the curse of doctors everywhere."

With a smile, Hunter said, "Yeah, he's tough. He'll be okay. Guess all we do now is sit and heal up a little. Get some rest."

Silent, she stared at him intently.

"You're going after it, aren't you?" she asked finally.

He said nothing.

She shook her head. "Don't do it, Hunter. Just let it be. I know how you feel. I feel the same. But if you go out there, alone, it will kill you. And you know that."

"Maybe," he replied, stoic. "Maybe not. But if it's not stopped, it's gonna keep on killing. And who's next? Some old woman? Some kid? A village?" He stared at her. "You know it's not gonna stop. Not ever. It's gonna kill until someone stops it."

""It doesn't have to be you."

"So who's it gonna be?" Hunter held the moment with his conviction. "You? You know you can't track it. Not like I can. The army? They've already tried. So who's left?" The silence lasted. "There's nobody, darlin'. Nobody but me."

She didn't say anything, staring into space. Then: "You won't come back."

It was said with a professional warrior's objectivity, but there was an imploring look on her face.

Hunter grunted. He slowly lifted a hand and flexed it, testing its strength. He was hurt bad, but he could continue. Yet he somehow felt that he'd lost something of himself in this hunt—he had had some deep, untapped reserve of endurance or ultimate physical might that, once spent, might be gone forever. Some challenges took away a measure of what you were, and the body could never replenish it.

"Probably," he replied finally. "But I don't have a choice. If I walk away from this ...life won't be anything but regrets and ghosts and guilt."

Watching him steadily, she said, "And you couldn't live like that."

"Couldn't be called living," he grunted. Then he shrugged. "Seems like it's always like this. Seems like there's always someone who can do some ... special thing. They have a skill. A talent. And they find themselves in a place where this ability is needed. And something deep down tells you what you have to do. That you were meant to be here, to do what has to be done." He shook his head. "Like I said, an old story. But true, I think."

She didn't blink. "I understand," she said at last. "And, I thought I'd let you know, I'm going with you."

"No, you're definitely not coming with me."

"Why not? This is still a military operation."

"Not for me." Hunter rose, loosening a shoulder. "I'm done with the military. They're lying to you. To me. To everybody. They always were."

"Think I can't keep up with you?" she asked.

He smiled lightly, touched her cheek softly. "No offense."

A pause.

"You're not gonna hold back this time, are you? You're not gonna let us catch up to you?"

"It's the only way," he said softly, gazing out the window at the spot
-lit night of the compound. "I have to run it to ground."

"And when you do? What are you gonna do when you corner it or it corners you? Just the two of you alone in those mountains? How are you gonna kill what can't be killed?"

"Anything can be killed," he said, sullen, and his face darkened as his suddenly cold blue eyes seemed to behold something beyond the compound. "Anything."

* * *

Chapter 16

Brick came down the stairs in a rush, the AK-47 slung around a bull shoulder, barrel bouncing on his hip. He walked wordlessly into the vault and came out with three hand grenades hung on his belt. He held a large starlight scope—a night-vision device for the rifle.

He glanced at Chaney, who now sat upright on the bed, testing his arms for injury. Chaney eyed him and knew, from the old days, that Brick was ready to deal out some serious hurting.

He asked, "Anything out there?"

"Not that I can see, kid." Brick adjusted the night-vision scope and mounted it carefully on the AK with a small screwdriver. "But I can't see so good in the dark. They could be laid up in the shadows." He took a moment, adjusting carefully. "Good thing I picked up one of these starlight scopes at the last gun-and-knife show. Figured it'd come in handy one day. Better to have it and not need it than to need it and not have it."

Chaney lowered his legs over the edge of the bed, rubbed his head. "Thank God for morphine," he mumbled. "Listen, I've got to make a phone call. Where's the horn?"

"Upstairs," Brick grunted. "But I don't think you're in shape for walking."

"I better be." Chaney rose with the words. "I've got to" get in touch with a girl at the Tipler Institute. She's in danger." He picked up the Sig, moved the slide enough to ensure it was chambered, checked the .38 on his left ankle, and slid it back into the concealed holster. Mechanically, he moved the Sig to his left hand.

The semiautomatic pistol didn't have a safety, all it needed was four pounds of pressure on the double-action trigger to fire. He had fifteen rounds to a clip, and two backup magazines. Strange, but before tonight he always figured forty-five 9-mm rounds to be sufficient for any gun-fight. Now he knew they weren't.

"Come on, then." Brick held him by an arm, moving to the stairs. If you gotta go, let's get upstairs."

***

Hunter awoke as a hand touched the doorknob to his room, but he didn't move. Only his eyes, gleaming in the dark, shifted as he watched the darkened portal.

They had all retired to quarters, Bobbi Jo in a room next to his, the professor still in the ICU. Takakura was across the hall and Taylor was also in the wing. Wilkenson was down the corridor, near the exit. And for the longest silent period, nothing happened. Then the door opened, just a crack, and a sliver of light cascaded through the gloom.

Without making a sound, Hunter found the Bowie knife and, even though the move almost made him groan in agony, lowered himself into a crouch beside the bed. He didn't look but knew Ghost was also crouching, poised to attack. He waited and a shadow slowly, almost tentatively, entered and stood motionless.

Bobbi Jo's silhouette stood in the narrow portal.

For the first time. Hunter saw Bobbi Jo the woman, instead of the warrior. Her hair was loose, and she wore blue jeans and a white T-shirt. Silhouetted against the light, she was more beautiful than any woman Hunter had ever known. She didn't say a word and didn't move, only stared at him.

Hunter laid the
Bowie on the table. Then he walked forward, stopping close in front of her. He reached out to touch her cheek softly, and at that movement she reached up, grasping his wrist, leaning her head slightly into his hand, closing her eyes.

He gazed silently at her.

Her eyes opened and stared into his.

"At least we have tonight," she whispered.

Hunter paused, then reached out and lifted her from the floor. He closed the door softly and carried her slowly across the room to the bed.

***

Dr. Hamilton, tirelessly overseeing every aspect of the isotonic distillation of the serum, studied the technicians who were preparing the first twenty cc's. Drop by drop, the serum fell into a glass vial that slowly began to fill. The processing had progressed slowly, but after three hours there was almost enough for the initial test.

Emma was beside him, holding her ubiquitous clipboard. "After we do the electron scan and cross-check it with the receptor and transmitter genes and insure that there's no reopening or cyclization, we can proceed."

"Yes," he said thoughtfully. "You have ensured that the linear itrons are still intact?"

"Yes, sir." She nodded. "It's four hundred and fourteen nucleotides long. The same as before. But we've removed transgressors and progresses to stop the mutated cyclization rate. Now, when the molecule splits off a fourteen-nucleotide share, the split will multiply no faster than human DNA. The RNA is no longer self-replicating and tetrahymena has been molecularly spliced to normal human DNA to neutralize any mutation splicing. So basically there will be no rate of mutation at all. No way for it to overtake the human system. And yet it still contains the RNA itrons and RNA-related proteins that provide the healing and longevity factors." She paused. "I believe we've arrived, Doctor."

"Good." He seemed pleased. "Then it is time for our first laboratory test."

"Doctor, I know what... what is at stake. But we have already had one catastrophe already. Do you truly think that it's wise to risk the same dangerous results without the necessary precautions in place? I mean, shouldn't we isolate the subject somewhere?"

Hamilton smiled, his native charm and confidence awesomely displayed. "Emma, Emma," he answered, "there can never be surety of results. That is why we use test subjects. Now, granted, this is an unusual scenario. And because it is an unusual situation, it requires creative thinking. Surely you don't expect us to quantify results with mammals that have less than ninety-nine percent mutual strands with Homo sapiens, which leaves us with man. Now, should the test be a success, no harm will have been done. And should it fail, then we will know more precisely how to alter the serum to achieve our goal."

"I'm speaking about the danger of another monstrous mutation, Doctor." She seemed firm. "I'm speaking about Luther."

He laughed. "Now, surely you don't expect me to proceed without safeguards. Every contingency has been considered, every measure put in place to ensure the safety of both our team and the facility. These measures have not escaped me. Do not trouble yourself."

Emma glanced back at the lab personnel. "I'm saying this, Doctor, because some of the lab techs are terrified. I'm worried that their work will suffer, that we'll make a mistake in the isolation process. You have to remember, Doctor, they've been working almost nonstop in an attempt to compensate for the data lost at the other facilities. They're tired and frightened and I fear they're going to make mistakes."

"That's the reason that I am personally overseeing every aspect of the distillation process," Dr. Hamilton said, nodding sagely. "By noon tomorrow, we will have the first experimental serum, and the day after that, we will know if our efforts to synthesize this gene have been successful."

Emma didn't move. "And if this serum causes another monstrous transformation? Like the last?"

"As I said"—Hamilton turned back to his work—"those contingencies have been addressed. If there is a transformation even slightly similar to the initial reaction, we will be quite capable of killing it and performing an immediate autopsy to study the electro-molecular phenomenon." He shook his head, as if dealing with a disturbed child. "Emma, trust me. No one else shall be injured, except the initial test subjects. And then, when we have perfected the serum, there will be many who will be greatly aided."

Silent, she stared at him.

"Just imagine it, Emma," he continued. "Imagine what miracles reside within that blood. The complete cure for every disease known to man. All the flivo viruses, utterly incurable until now, will fall one by one. The devastation of HIV shall be no more. None of the great killers, from anthrax to Marburg, will be able to overcome the unconquerable strength of this immunity factor. And, finally, with the endless regeneration of cellular structure, we will live for hundreds, possibly thousands of years. For all practical purposes, Emma, we will be immortal.

"Do you understand what I mean, Emma?" he finished, unmoving.

Emma Strait found herself nodding. "Of course, Doctor. I just ... I just thought I'd make you aware of a few things. I didn't mean that we should postpone the tests."

"Of course you didn't," Hamilton replied, more distant. "And now ..." He turned back to the microscope. "I must verify that these serum samples have not developed mutations which would allow the extraordinary transmission of qualities that destroyed our expendable Luther—these base animal faculties that transformed him into a creature which
... we may yet be able to use."

***

Chaney received no answer at the Tipler Institute, and set the phone down. This was bad. But who could he call? The police? Hardly. His own people? Even more dangerous.

No, he had to avoid all government or official lines of communication. No matter how he handled it, he had to do it alone. He put on his coat, groaning. The stitches were in tight; Brick had done a good job. But the morphine was wearing off and he was feeling a multitude of sore muscles and contusions that he had been mercifully spared until now. Brick saw him moving, spoke from his position beside a window.

"Where in the hell do you think you're going?" he rumbled.

"I have to reach this girl," Chaney replied, trying to conceal the pain. "If she's not dead already, she will be. These people are thorough."

"You ain't in shape for it."

"Doesn't matter. I gotta go."

Brick bowed his head for a moment. His chest expanded as he took a deep breath and lifted the AK from the wall. "I don't like this at all," he said. "First, you get waylaid. Now you're going out in the middle of the night to find some woman who's on a hit list. You're busted up. I'm old and slow and out of shape. We don't know who these goons are, how many of 'em are out there, or what they're willing to do."

"They're willing to kill us." Chaney put the Sig in his hip holster. "That's all we need to know."

"Wait a second." Brick disappeared down the stairs. In five minutes he emerged in different clothes. Now he was wearing brown pants and a heavy shirt, and Chaney could tell he had put on a ballistic vest underneath. He also wore a thigh-length coat, and when the flap opened Chaney saw two Uzi submachine guns on dual shoulder holsters. The remarkably compact weapons hung on carefully designed hooks that allowed Brick a fast release.

"Now we're ready, boys!" Brick shouted. "Let me get us a car."

Chaney figured the retired marshal was carrying enough firepower for two or even three gunfights because Brick had only one rule: "It's better to have 'em and not need 'em than to need 'em and not have 'em. Just remember: ammo is cheap, your life ain't."

Brick fired up a Lincoln that was still mostly intact, and they drove across town. Morning was only hours away. Chaney watched the passenger side mirror for a tag but didn't see anything. Brick noticed his casual glances and commented, "Ain't nobody on us yet. But you've talked with the girl before, right? The brainy one?"

"Twice." Chaney winced as Brick took a corner.

"Once is enough," the retired marshal rumbled. "They could anticipate you doing this. Might lay up for ya. And you know that if it burns down, all you got is that Sig and the .38. Not much for a setup like this." He debated. "When we get there, we'll get a couple of CAR-15's from the trunk. I put 'em in there before we left."

"Doesn't matter," Chaney replied, glancing left, right, searching. He was painfully fatigued. "We'll go in heavy, but we're going in. Because that girl is next; I guarantee it."

"Probably. They've already killed just about everybody else. Might as well do her, too. Sanitize the whole thing. And if they're pros, they ain't gonna leave no smokin' gun. They'll be in, out, gone, and laughing in a bar when the locals call her folks."

Chaney said nothing, but he knew there were some things you just didn't do unless you wanted to provoke a little righteous retribution. And deep down, Chaney wasn't sure if he could stay on the right side of the law if they killed Gina. Whatever was going on, she was clearly innocent.

As the
Tipler Institute came in sight, Chaney studied it, brightly illuminated in the harsh white glow of security lights. Even at this late hour there were still cars in the parking lot.

"You see anything?" Chaney asked quietly.

Brick studied the grounds; the building itself covered at least four acres and rested on a large, conservatively landscaped lot. There was ample parking space; no one was visible.

Reaching down, Brick removed a pair of binoculars from beneath the seat. He stared over the grounds, moving the lenses slowly, pausing, moving on. "You got two security guards up front. Uniforms. Looks legit." Another pause. "The place is tight. Ain't sure how we'll get in."

"We'll just flash our creds," Chaney said, removing the Sig to again ensure that a round was chambered. "If that doesn't get us in, we'll call Gina up front. She'll take care of it."

"Sounds like a plan."

"Best I can come up with."

"Just walk right in, huh?"

"Yep."

Considering it, Brick shook his head. "Something don't seem right, kid. How come they got two security guards up front? 'Cause that ain't normal. Usually one guy does the desk, one patrols. Then they shift out. That's the way it's done."