Free Hunter by James Byron Huggins Page B

Tipler.
    "Try to get some rest tonight, Professor," he said. "Tomorrow's gonna be a hard day."
    "Ah, my boy, most certainly." Tipler rose beside him. "Thank you, Colonel. We shall leave at ...?"
    "0500 hours." Maddox nodded curtly. "We'll be on site by 0600."
    "Very good. I shall retire now, so that I can prepare."
    "Everything you need is in your quarters, Professor."
    "Thank you," Tipler waved. "Good night."
    With Ghost at his side, Hunter saw the professor to his room. Then he slipped silently into the night and, hidden in shadow, searched through a mound of discarded construction materials. It was a long while before he found what he needed: a long, pliable shoestring-thin wire of titanium alloy and a peg-sized section of solid steel. The steel fit perfectly in his hand, comfortable and cold.
    Then he returned to his own room and made preparations through the long night, working till sunrise. When he was finished he carefully placed the improvised weapon inside his wide leather belt with a frown.
    He thought that if this thing went as he feared, it might give him a last desperate chance.
    * * *

     
    Chapter 4
     
    Thundering out of low dark clouds, the Blackhawk descended into a charred glade. Twenty-four hours after the carnage, the snow was still widely stained with red—trampled by military boots.
    He quickly scanned the surrounding terrain for a quick orientation and in a breath memorized ravines and hills, what would be the natural approach, the most calculated line of an attack. It took him ten seconds to read the scene, proceeding more by instinct than by intense scrutiny.
    The Blackhawk settled gently in the square and Hunter was out first, turning back to help Professor Tipler from the bay. Then, after the old man dusted himself off, they walked out a hundred yards or so and stared silently at the fire-scarred facility. Clearly, the unfortunate team trapped inside it when the creature attacked didn't stand a chance.
    Entire portals constructed from fire-resistant steel had been ripped from the hinges as if by a hurricane.
    Shaking his head at the devastation, Hunter turned and saw them; the support team. A group of five, they wore specialized forest-camouflaged BDUs. They also wore load-bearing vests packed with weapons and clips. Ignoring Hunter and Tipler, they were unloading equipment from a second Blackhawk.
    Hunter observed that they moved with a certain cold economy; no emotion, no questions. They spoke little and each seemed to recognize his responsibility without instruction. Then he saw something else that attracted his attention.
    It was a woman dressed in forest BDUs like the rest, but also wearing some kind of high-tech, obviously lightweight armor. She knelt on one knee beside the chopper, bent over a rifle of formidable size. Hunter had never seen one like it, but noticed how adeptly she managed it. When she had finished loading four oversized rounds in a clip and tapping it on her knee to seat the cartridges, she inserted it into the rifle and loudly chambered a round. When she was finished, she lifted it to her shoulder as if it were weightless and aimed across the scorched square, moving left, right, hesitating ...before centering on him.
    For a moment, she held aim.
    Hunter didn't move, gazing stonily into the glare of the sniper's scope. Then, expressionless, she lowered the massive rifle to her side and turned back to her work. Hunter ignored her and studied the devastated, windswept station.
    An air of utter defeat was the first impression, then a lingering sense of horror: shattered steel doors, scars of explosions and fire, broken windows and red snow told the story.
    Everywhere the ground was stained crimson, and Ghost was pacing busily across the compound, checking scents. Hunter knew he was attempting to separate the human from the inhuman.
    Studying the tracks, Hunter determined easily that many of the men and women present here had fled wildly into the freezing night, heedless of the