Xeno Sapiens (37 page)

Suspended by a sling around his neck
was an M-16, on his back the Remington 700 bolt action. A special
pocket sewn into the right ankle of the skinsuit was home to a
bayonet. One side of the blade was deeply serrated, the other honed
to a killing edge.

Hall squatted and scanned the terrain.
The lights of the Alamo had been visible for some time, but this
close they were blazing torches. They would be waiting for him and
it was only by virtue of his foresight he had eluded the young
policeman who had come knocking at his door.

He had slipped out of his second story
hotel window, closed it, and made his way along the balcony to the
stout terra cotta drainpipe and worked his way down to where his
weapons were secreted. Merrifield would have learned of the
confrontation in town and would begin his campaign against him.
Hall’s life as a minister had ended tonight, but he had slipped
back into his old life as effortlessly as walking in the door of
his own home. Not since his days in the jungles of Nicaragua had he
felt so exuberant. He was back in his element, a part of the human
race that lived only for the thrill of the hunt.

Hall brushed back the bare limbs of a
bush to get an unobstructed view of the Alamo.

On first sight, the monster was more
than he could have imagined. Hall had felt Seth’s power and it had
thrilled him to the marrow. Though it hurt to admit it, he had felt
a tantalizing trill of fear that was quickly snuffed out like a
toppled candle. By the time he had regained his senses enough to
grasp his best opportunity, Seth had fled in fear.

Hall picked his careful way through the
snarled woodland. He had tried and failed to pick up Seth’s trail.
The rain would have obliterated any footprints and the only
reliable signs would be broken limbs and trampled undergrowth. Hall
knew he and Seth were linked together. He would know when their
paths crossed.

He had made it this far undetected in
less than an hour, scrambling through dense forest and scaling
steep, treacherous slopes in a driving rain. His night vision
goggles shielded his eyes from the rain, but it still collected on
his nose and dripped on his upper lip. He had elected not to wear a
hood. It made too convenient a handle for an enemy to latch
onto.

He shone a small, hooded penlight at his wristwatch. Eleven
o’clock. Only ninety minutes earlier he had been preaching his
sermon. The thought of Seth’s effect on his audience made him
chuckle. One minute they had been hanging on his every word, the
next they had been plunged into cold darkness with a hideous
monster springing to life at their backs and shrieking hysterically
about resurrection. He had known when he watched the audience pour
out of the auditorium that they were more terrified of
him
than the monster.
Even his own ushers had found convenient corners to cower in. He
had strode from the door after the last patron had departed, past
the colorless, frightened faces of the ushers who shivered behind
curtains.

Things had gone too far and the assassin’s bullet he had so
long anticipated would soon find its mark. Before allowing their
greatest creation to become undone, those unknown masters of the
universe that had financed the birth of the beast would silence him
forever. Perhaps with the monster, perhaps with another like
himself. But before his life ended, he would take Merrifield,
Milner, and the monster with him.

His path had been lit not by moonlight,
but by instinct. He heard the hooting of the owls, a sound he
remembered from his youth as a reason to tie a knot in the corner
of his sheet. In dreams, the owl was a symbol of death, just as the
dragon was the embellishment of the serpent, the reaped product of
murder, the evil the scientists had brought out of Eden.

And the dragons who walked the earth
tonight walked on two legs.

The man had taken a position less that
twenty yards away. Seth had seen his red, infrared form stealing
through the woods minutes before. Hall’s breathing was easy despite
his exertions. Hall had followed him and would hunt him to the
death. The power of Hall’s hatred seared Seth’s brain like a hot
coal.

Hall waited. Somehow he knew that Seth
would have to return to this place. Seth remained perfectly still,
daring not to traverse the fifty yards of open area that would take
him to the Alamo and Ingrid, his salvation.

He was willing to stay that way until
the grass refused to grow if that’s what it took to convince Hall
that he wasn’t there. Seth had developed a damaging fever, high
enough at 105 degrees to cause brain injury. The frigid rain
drenched him and put a further strain on a body thermostat already
severely out of kilter. His infections would have weakened normal
men to the point of unconsciousness or death.

Seth shivered and pulled himself into a
fetal position. The mud was slick and his feet left grooves that
were quickly and efficiently pounded flat by the hammering rain.
His teeth chattered and he tried to hold his jaw still. As soon as
his jaw muscles clinched, one severed end that had clotted to his
face popped loose and contracted spasmodically. Fluid hot with
infection burst across his face and ran down his jaw. He squeezed
his open eye shut in pain. His bad eye rolled in a socket that felt
as if it had been lined with rock salt.

Hall moved toward Seth. His outline was
huge against the halos of brightly shining lights from the Alamo.
He was a dark shape tinged with red due to the peculiar nature of
Seth’s vision. He held his weapon at the ready, creeping slowly.
Seth felt Hall’s senses kick into a higher gear, heard the soft,
sucking sounds other men couldn’t hear of rubber soled shoes
squeaking in mud. Seth looked at Hall’s face, seeing it clearly as
if in a super zoom from a movie camera. His goggles were the eyes
of some monstrous insect, hiding the canny orbs behind them. Rain
bounced off of his skinsuit and exploded into fuzzy sprays against
the glare of the lights.

Hall had halved the distance when he
abruptly turned toward the Alamo, listening. Seth saw the strong
line of his jaw jutting ahead of his thick neck muscle. A drop of
rain coursed slowly down its length, leaving an oily
track

From the far side of the fifty yard
clearing came animated conversation. Murky stars of light stabbed
into the downpour. The crackle of radio static skipped through the
air like sparks.

Why did it have to rain?
You’d think we’d get at least one break.

Count yourself lucky. Now
we’re even.

Lucky?

What he means is it’s just
as hard for Hall to be quiet in the mud as it is for us.

To hell with quiet. What
use is quiet when you can’t see a goddam thing?

The one of a kind, holier than thou
tones of Jon Merrifield fouled the airways.

Remember, Alex. Leave no
stone unturned. Stay in constant contact. We’ll be heading out now.
Good luck, gentlemen.

There was a loud blare of static as
Merrifield released the send button.

Hall watched the two sets of flashlight
beams diverge. One set came toward him while the other bobbed away
in the opposite direction, soon vanishing in the rain.

Hall thought he heard a large object
shift behind him, but wasn’t sure. Rainy nights could trick you,
especially in the mountains.

He looked for the maker of the noise,
suddenly sure the monster was more savvy than he had given him
credit for. He spun too quickly, cursing himself, knowing that had
anyone been looking they could have targeted him.

The flashlights remained on steady
courses, not faltering or hesitating.

Hall raked his eyes from side to side,
looking for any movement or telltale shape. Nothing.

He turned back around and moved ahead,
arms at the ready, feeling the comfortable, fluid rhythm of the
hunt come back to him. It was a pleasure he had denied himself for
too many years and he was gratified to know the old competence, the
old sureness, remained.

He felt a tingling thrill of
anticipation. He wished he could devise a way of getting rid of
Merrifield short of killing him, but God had seen fit to deliver
him.

With an almost bored motion, Hall
placed the 700 to his shoulder. He studied the figures moving
toward him. One of them was Merrifield. They would enter the woods
fifty yards to his left. A pity, Hall thought. The-death of his old
enemy should have been more difficult. And more
personal.

He centered the cross hairs on the
chest of each man in turn. The first was too tall.

The cross hairs settled on the second
man. Hall moved them up, seeing Merrifield’s slightly shielded face
in the green tinted light amplification. Spatters of rain bounced
upward from the rifle’s barrel. Hall’s firm grip never wavered as
Merrifield took another step closer to his death.

Hall slipped his finger over the
trigger.

Come on you bugger. You’ll
not meet your maker, Jon. Hell won’t have you.

Merrifield’s hooded figure loomed
larger in the scope.

Hall stuck the tip of his tongue in the
corner of his mouth.

Suddenly, with a piercing wail, Seth
bolted like a frightened rabbit less than six feet behind Hall.
Howling with fear, he sprinted deeper into the forest as if rabid
jackals were sniping at his heels.

It took only a split second for
Merrifield’s instincts to take hold.

“
Get down, you stupid asshole,”
he hissed at
Alan.

He grabbed Caudill’s coat by the lapels
and hauled him unceremoniously to the ground with him. Red gobbets
of mud squished into Alan’s eyes as he changed from a stunned and
stupid vertical to a flat and frightened horizontal in a fraction
of a second.

Only an instant before, from the woods
ahead of them, had come the sharp crack of a rifle shot. The firing
had ended as quickly and eerily as it had begun. Now, the only
sounds were the falling rain and a strange, forlorn wailing that
accompanied the sound of a large animal crashing into the
forest.

“
Did you see the muzzle flash,”
Merrifield asked.

“
No,” Alan said shakily. “But my eyes
aren’t what they used to be.”

Merrifield fumbled the radio from his
belt. It was streaked with mud.

“
Alex, come in, dammit. This is an
emergency.”

Static.

“
This is Jon, Alex. If you can hear me
you’d better fucking well answer.”

A reply crackled back
instantly.

“
What’s the trouble, Jon? Did I just
hear a shot fired?”

“
You damned well did. I think we have
a solid make on Hall.”

“
Shit,” Alex said. “No sign of Seth?
Do you think Hall was shooting at you or looking to take Seth
out?”

“
I don’t think he shot himself in the
foot,” Merrifield said acidly. “Of course he was shooting at Seth.
If he had been shooting at us, I wouldn’t be drawing breath right
now.”

“
Did he see you?”

“
I have no idea.”

“
If he is after Seth,” Alex radioed
back, “he’s either got him or is still after him. You’re in a hell
of a spot. He could be sitting there waiting for you to show
yourselves again.”

“
I don’t think so. If he was close
enough to take the shot, he was close enough to hit me. And he
would have if he’d seen me.”

“
You’re sure?”

“
If I’m not right, you’ll soon be able
to use me for a fountain.”

“
What?”

Merrifield ignored Clifton’s question.
The time had come to face down Josh Hall or his fear. He had no
idea he’d been but a chance encounter from death and that Seth, in
saving himself, had saved Merrifield.

Merrifield drew his pistol.

“
What are you doing,” Alan whispered,
appalled.

Merrifield peered into the misty woods,
straining to see what might be lurking amid the sickly trees.
Deeper in were evergreens and hollies that might afford some cover,
but for this moment there was no Josh Hall. Merrifield let his
drawn pistol drop to his side. He closed his eyes and swallowed
while Alan couldn’t see him. His heart thumped in his ears and he
thought his voice might be unsteady if he tried to use
it.

He let his breath out in a silent
shudder.

“
Nothing,” he said.

Alan scrambled to his feet. His white
jumpsuit was soiled beyond help. His pistol lay in the mud. He
picked it up and looked at it despairingly.

“
Wipe it down before you pull the
slide back,” Merrifield said. “You don’t want to get grit in the
chamber.”

Clifton’s voice, muffled through the
caked mud over the speaker, broke the miserable night.

“
What are you doing over there,
Jon?”