Authors: Chad Oliver
The
half-man
snarled
again
and
grabbed
his
arm. His
grip
was
like
jagged
steel
and
his
long,
dirty
nails dug
painfully
into
Mark’s
flesh.
Instantly,
he
shifted the
.45
to
his
other
hand.
If
they
tried
to
take
it
away from
him,
he
would
have
to
break
for
it
at
once,
and that
would
take
at
least
three
precious
shots
.
.
.
But
if
the
Neanderthals
noticed
the
gun
at
all,
they paid
no
attention
to
it.
Mark’s
trick—it
wasn’t
much of
a
trick,
since
he
really
was
weak—worked
and
they evidently
considered
him
too
helpless
to
worry
about. Two
of
the
Neanderthals
moved
on
ahead,
going
back to
the
ceremony
beyond
the
fire,
leaving
Mark
with
the painted
half-man.
Mark
waited
until
they
were
clear
of
the
little
cavern entrance.
The
path
to
the
outside
world
was
open.
It was
dark
and
cold
outside,
but
that
did
not
matter. It
was
now
or
never.
Mark
hesitated
only
a
moment.
The
half-man
was
a horrible
travesty
of
a
man,
but
for
all
of
that
he
was
a man.
Mark
had
never
killed
a
man,
and
even
now
.
.
.
But
he
had
no
choice.
Tensing
himself,
Mark
suddenly
came
to
life.
He
stopped
short,
and
the
surprised
Neanderthal
stopped
with
him,
although
the
steel
grip on
his
arm
did
not
slacken.
The
half-man
growled
low in
his
throat.
Mark
looked
him
in
the
eye.
He
raised the
.45
and
his
hand
was
steady.
The
half-man,
not even
knowing
that
it
was
a
weapon,
looked
faintly puzzled.
Mark
aimed
right
between
the
eyes
and
squeezed the
trigger.
There
was
a
blasting
roar
that
seemed
to shake
the
cave,
echoing
and
re-echoing
back
into
the dark
depths.
The
gun
kicked
back
in
his
hand,
and
the grip
on
his
arm
fell
away
as
the
surprised
Neanderthal, still
with
a
puzzled
look
on
his
face,
crumpled
to
the cave
floor.
Calling
upon
hidden
resources
that
he
hadn’t
known he
possessed,
Mark
dashed
for
the
cave
entrance.
The rocks
stabbed
at
his
feet
and
he
had
a
wild,
irrational fear
that
he
would
lose
his
wet
shoes.
His
heart pounded
wildly
in
his
chest
and
he
clenched
his
fists, clutching
at
the
smoking
.45.
Which
way
could
he
go? How
long
could
he
last?
In
desperation,
Mark
increased
his
speed,
racing
like a
scared
rabbit
out
into
the
darkness
of
the
cold
night. He
remembered
all
too
well
the
terrible
stamina
and speed
of
the
half-men.
He
ran
frantically
down
the rocky
trail
and
into
the
starlit
valley
he
had
stumbled through—when?
It
seemed
like
a
million
years
ago.
Mark
felt
his
exhausted
body
crying
out
in
protest. He
was
weak
with
hunger
and
fatigue,
and
he
knew that
he
could
not
hold
out
for
long.
Gasping
for
breath, he
heard
behind
him
the
shouting
snarls
of
the
maddened
Neanderthals.