Free Warhead by Andy Remic

Sleeper Nex were old, a template for the actual Nex soldiers Spiral even now battled—they were a genetic master from which the Nex had evolved. The Priest had told Carter that if the Sleepers so much as scented you, they had your essence; they would never let you escape. They would pursue you to the ends of the Earth and eat your soul.
    Carter shivered ...
    ‘Mr Carter. You have evaded us for too long. Now your time has finally come,’ came the low and sibilant whisper; the voice of a snake slithering through the grass; the voice of a creature beyond the true understanding of mortal man.
    To one side of the dirt road lay a small shed stacked high with logs—used for keeping the farmhouse fires and stove burning through the winter months. From among these stacks of roughly chopped timber came Tomas, craggy face coated with drying blood, aged hands bearing a double-barrelled shotgun which he levelled at the two Nex—and Carter.
    Carter tensed. Then his elbow shot out to the right as he launched himself sideways, connecting with the Nex’s nose in a spurt of blood. The gun’s barrels blasted out deadly twin sprays of shot picking up the second Nex and spreading it messily across the stable wall—in several pieces. Carter rolled, coming around fast as he took the Steyr TMP from the stunned second Nex’s gloved hands, placed the muzzle against the hybrid’s lips and pulled the trigger.
    Bullets shattered bone. Smoke poured from the Nex’s nostrils as Carter placed his boot on its twitching dead chest and lifted the gun, spinning to level the Steyr at the Sleeper Nex—which had not moved during the sudden vicious exchange.
    Abruptly, silence reigned.
    Tomas was fumbling with the shotgun. He had cracked open the weapon and was struggling to insert new shells, his fingers trembling. Carter’s eyes narrowed. The Steyr TMP yammered in his hands as the Sleeper Nex back-flipped away, rolled and swiped with a massive armoured paw at Tomas, picking him up with a neck-breaking crack and hurling him into the wood store. The old man bounced like a rag doll, arms and legs flailing, slamming onto the floor with blood pouring from his battered face—and by the way he moved, his head lolling, Carter could see that he was quite obviously dead ...
    A stream of TMP bullets had followed the Sleeper Nex, each and every one failing to meet its target. Then the gun’s firing pin clicked on an empty chamber and Carter dropped the weapon with a clatter to the dirt road. He levelled his Browning, gripping it in both hands.
    The Sleeper Nex was swaying slightly, its slitted copper eyes locked on Carter.
    ‘We have your scent,’ it hissed, head tilting to one side. Claws slid out further from its huge armoured paws. ‘We all have your scent, fucker; even if you evade me, even if you kill me, others will hunt you; others will find you.’
    Carter swallowed, and fired off a shot.
    The Sleeper Nex rolled with incredible speed; the bullet cut a narrow line across the surface of its black chitinous armour, but did not penetrate. The two combatants started to circle, with a good ten feet of space separating them. Carter stooped, pulling free a long black knife from his boot, and with Browning and knife held out in front of him they faced off—turning slowly, warily—two hunters, each with an insane concentration of purpose.
    ‘Why me?’ asked Carter softly.
    ‘Durell wants you ... Durell will find you.’
    They had moved now, so that the Sleeper Nex had its back to the stable doors; its heavy muscles coiling under its plate armour were huge, powerful, thrumming with the tensioned promise of violence.
    Carter swallowed softly ... and knew. Understood. He did not know if he was physically capable of killing such a creature in one-on-one combat. He had no benefit of surprise. No back-up. No comrades with machine guns ...
    Out here, without Spiral, Carter was alone.
    And the feeling hit him hard.
    The Sleeper Nex growled and ducked a little, as