"Don't do it," he said.

Niccols brought her muscular right arm up and suddenly sent it down. The b.u.t.t of the pistol met the back of Kate's skull. Kwitney went to the gra.s.s, her lanky frame lying still there in the fading light. Ron, his knees buckling, reached out to support himself against a pin oak sapling. A moment later, Mary reached him.

"Let's get going. Now Now."

Riggs followed, feeling the underbrush slapping against his legs, keeping his eyes front and looking for some sign of Billy Crane. He hoped the other man was not too far ahead. They would probably need the protection of his shotgun. Although he was running as fast as he could to keep up with Mary, Ron spoke between breaths, feeling relatively fresh despite the stress.

"I thought you were going to kill her. I wasn't sure."

For a moment Mary didn't answer. There was only the slap of gra.s.ses and tough shrubs against their pant legs, their boots thumping against the earth as they raced away from the Eyesore. But after a few seconds, she did answer.

"I almost did, Ron. I almost blew her brains out. She was going to kill you just like she killed that poor jerk, Levin."

I know, Ron wanted to say. He kept it to himself and would not have voiced it even if the sound of gunfire had not suddenly erupted behind them. Ron wanted to say. He kept it to himself and would not have voiced it even if the sound of gunfire had not suddenly erupted behind them.

Just as the forest offered them some cover, they heard the first shot come, listened to it whizzing in the underbrush as it sped through the vegetation.

"Keep going," Ron said between gasps. "Billy Crane came this way. I think he knows where he's going, and he's armed a lot better than we are."

"Sounds like a plan," Mary said, the two of them now side by side. They let the forest take them in.

Chapter Thirty-Seven.

The Scarlet rogue was ahead of the Flock. They were moving in a manner not unlike that used during a typical hunt. It was something he recognized and had been a part of more times than he could count. Spread out: Spread out: they had done that. they had done that. Give the prey no way to run but forward: Give the prey no way to run but forward: that had been achieved; behind him was the bottom of an inverted wedge, probably three deep with adults. To the left and right of him was a line of strong members moving forward to pace him and outrun him if he tired; they were working as a group and would feed off their collective energy and purpose. that had been achieved; behind him was the bottom of an inverted wedge, probably three deep with adults. To the left and right of him was a line of strong members moving forward to pace him and outrun him if he tired; they were working as a group and would feed off their collective energy and purpose. Be careful, but relentless: Be careful, but relentless: this was the aim of the party and they would not deviate from that path unless the safety of the entire Flock was at jeopardy. this was the aim of the party and they would not deviate from that path unless the safety of the entire Flock was at jeopardy.

And although the Scarlet was still relatively young, still not the planner his elders were, he knew that was the weakness of his family. They would break off the chase if the well-being of the group became an issue. And only one thing could cause this.

Man.

And Man was here, now, in the Flock's domain, and in numbers. The big rogue did not know just why why the men were here, except that he could feel something emanating from their group that was not unlike the song the Flock would croon when the hunt was on. From behind him, too close for his own comfort, he could the men were here, except that he could feel something emanating from their group that was not unlike the song the Flock would croon when the hunt was on. From behind him, too close for his own comfort, he could feel feel that song moving perfectly from one flock member to the next. He heard it from his own Egg Mother, and from that d.a.m.ned Walks Backward, who he knew had wanted his own death for a long time. If there was any single number among the Flock that he feared, it was that one, the guardian who swept the way clean of their sign and watched everything, those eyes seeing it all. The Scarlet hoped that it would be possible to kill him before the Sun rose. that song moving perfectly from one flock member to the next. He heard it from his own Egg Mother, and from that d.a.m.ned Walks Backward, who he knew had wanted his own death for a long time. If there was any single number among the Flock that he feared, it was that one, the guardian who swept the way clean of their sign and watched everything, those eyes seeing it all. The Scarlet hoped that it would be possible to kill him before the Sun rose.

He was being herded toward the southwest. That thought was maddening to him, that he could be moved and chased like something to eat, like one of the frightened deer that sustained them. The inverted wedge that kept him moving was coming from the northeast, where the extended family had been bedding and hunting in recent days. It was far from the new activities of the men, where they had built their wooden and stone nests and had brought their dogs on which the Scarlet had been feeding.

The Scarlet had felt the need to attempt to cull some of the young females, so that he could begin a new flock of his own in a way that would not threaten the one from which he had been sp.a.w.ned. He had not intended to cause the present situation. There was an urge in him to create his own young, to expand the numbers of his kind. Wasn't he healthy, larger even than his own father, heavier than the huge male who stood guard over them and watched for danger? It was his place place to create strong, new young, to move into places that had long been denied to his race. Man, he was convinced, was not the threat the histories dictated. He had never seen a man deliver death from a distance, without touching: it was only a story. He had chased that lone man and would have feasted upon him if the others had not appeared. to create strong, new young, to move into places that had long been denied to his race. Man, he was convinced, was not the threat the histories dictated. He had never seen a man deliver death from a distance, without touching: it was only a story. He had chased that lone man and would have feasted upon him if the others had not appeared.

And it was those others who were now invading the land that had protected and sustained the Flock for so long. He recognized the taste of them that was delivered in molecules floating on the night air. His great nasal cavity drew in the motes, the particles, the ga.s.ses, and he held them there, tasting and scenting and examining examining each indicator. Yes, he had scented these same men before. They were coming, and he would use them. each indicator. Yes, he had scented these same men before. They were coming, and he would use them.

With a song of triumph barely concealed, the Scarlet felt his great heart push blood through his lungs. His wide, taloned feet pounded the gra.s.ses as he headed toward the wetlands that lay ahead, and toward the men.

Grisham and the others had examined the ATV before pushing on. Their intelligence had indicated that it was likely that Holcomb would use such a vehicle to take him to his camps in the bush. Without radio contact to the fire team sweeping through the billionaire's compound, he couldn't be absolutely certain that the man was dead. However, the presence of the ATV was all he needed to prove to him that one of their targets was nearby. There were items, technical instruments still in the covered bed of the little vehicle that also told them that Holcomb had perhaps left it in something of a hurry, that he might even know that there was the possibility of pursuit. Grisham was willing to work on that a.s.sumption until they had located the crazy tree-hugger and eliminated him.

Running point, following the occasional sign of Holcomb's pa.s.sing, Grisham set his face in a grim mask and thought. He would never be able to understand a man such as Vance Holcomb. The spoiled cad had inherited great wealth, had expanded his wealth by virtue of utilizing the vast system of free enterprise that had been protected and defended and expanded expanded by soldiers such as Winston Grisham and so many like him. How could a man who enjoyed such wealth even by soldiers such as Winston Grisham and so many like him. How could a man who enjoyed such wealth even consider consider standing against a system of economic freedom that had sustained and enriched him? The old Colonel had encountered such men in the past, could not fathom the way their stunted minds reasoned, and it would be good to kill one of them. standing against a system of economic freedom that had sustained and enriched him? The old Colonel had encountered such men in the past, could not fathom the way their stunted minds reasoned, and it would be good to kill one of them.

Pushing on, moving relentlessly through the brush, the soldier enjoyed the images of Holcomb's death that flashed periodically through his mind. He almost wished that it were daylight so that he could watch the fan of crimson that would open up behind the doomed man's body or skull when the steel jacketed slugs tore through him. It would indeed be a pleasure to finally make his acquaintance.

"Sir," came the voice. It was Gant, who was scouting the line to the north. Gant was the one who would come to the wetlands first, would encounter the edge of the stream that led toward the low country down at the bottom of the ridge.

"What is it?" Grisham replied, whispering.

"Kilgo Creek dead ahead. I'm less than forty yards from the bank."

"Anything?"

"Nothing but some nesting egrets. Saw a gator's eyes off in the water a ways. That's about it."

A dozen types of crickets and four species of cicadas joined in a chorus, whirring, chirping, screaming into the night. Grisham slowed and breathed in the warm, moist air, tasting the richness of the southern winds. It was all in there: the soil, the pines, the moss, the collected blood of billions of living things things cruising the darkness. G.o.d, he loved it. This would truly be a fine night to kill a troublesome enemy and to make history by exterminating the last of a species. Some day, it would be spoken. Maybe he would live to hear it or see it appear in print. But he didn't really care. It wasn't important for the stupid cattle-public to know, but it was going to be a great thing. He breathed deeply and smiled. cruising the darkness. G.o.d, he loved it. This would truly be a fine night to kill a troublesome enemy and to make history by exterminating the last of a species. Some day, it would be spoken. Maybe he would live to hear it or see it appear in print. But he didn't really care. It wasn't important for the stupid cattle-public to know, but it was going to be a great thing. He breathed deeply and smiled.

"Joyner," he said. "Respond, Wallace."

"Joyner here," came the reply. "Moving out. I'm closing in on the big fields you said we'd encounter. Definite sign of the target's pa.s.sing." In the night, Wallace Joyner was looking down at the broken twigs and the trampled gra.s.s that had marked Holcomb's hurried pa.s.sing. The man was as good a tracker as there was, and he was going to quickly discover just where the millionaire had bedded down for the night. There was no doubt about that particular fact.

"Keep your eyes open. You think you're near him?"

"Yes. Couldn't have pa.s.sed this way more than two hours ago. Unless he's trying to hack through here in the dark, we're going to happen on him pretty d.a.m.ned soon. Instructions?"

"Hold your position." Grisham hissed into his radio. "Fire team. Joyner's position. a.s.semble now. Double time. Go." As one, they moved, becoming a single unit again.

Vance Holcomb gasped and snapped instantly awake.

He blinked, shook his head. For a second or two he couldn't remember where he was or why he was there.

Oh, he thought. I'm here I'm here.

He hadn't meant to sleep. He turned his head toward the face of a backlit digital readout that never faded, never went down. It was the timer on one of the monitors. 10:15, it read. G.o.d, he had been out for over two hours. Not good.

What woke me? He peered around, not moving from where he lay. A half dozen microphones fed him the sounds of the darkness. Billions of excited insects screamed l.u.s.t at one another. Some night birds sang a few tunes, telling also of love, perhaps, or threatening to kill a rival if s.p.a.ce were invaded. Hard to say, actually. Who knew, but the birds? He peered around, not moving from where he lay. A half dozen microphones fed him the sounds of the darkness. Billions of excited insects screamed l.u.s.t at one another. Some night birds sang a few tunes, telling also of love, perhaps, or threatening to kill a rival if s.p.a.ce were invaded. Hard to say, actually. Who knew, but the birds?

Sighing, he supposed he must just have awakened from the stress of the day getting to his subconscious. The interior of the little room was completely quiet. He could even hear the light push of his own lungs, and little else. But had had something else brought him to? He sat up. something else brought him to? He sat up.

There were always the perimeter cameras through which he could spy. He had set up a number of them throughout the area, high in the tallest longleaf pines where he had finally supposed none of the members of the Flock could reach. Holcomb had never actually seen seen any of the birds take out one of the electronic eyes, but he knew they had done it. The remains, typically just the fiber optic cable, had always been sliced cleanly through. Those jaws were frightening in their power and dangerous cutting ability. On one four-second tape of action he had witnessed a fully-grown whitetail buck having its head severed with three quick slashing bites of a single terror bird. In the lab, he and Kamaguchi had slowed the tape down more and more, turning split seconds into minutes. Those birds moved faster than any man could move, faster than any human eye could see. The deer had gone to the ground with its head detached from its body. Both prey and hunter had been moving at perhaps forty miles an hour during the attack. any of the birds take out one of the electronic eyes, but he knew they had done it. The remains, typically just the fiber optic cable, had always been sliced cleanly through. Those jaws were frightening in their power and dangerous cutting ability. On one four-second tape of action he had witnessed a fully-grown whitetail buck having its head severed with three quick slashing bites of a single terror bird. In the lab, he and Kamaguchi had slowed the tape down more and more, turning split seconds into minutes. Those birds moved faster than any man could move, faster than any human eye could see. The deer had gone to the ground with its head detached from its body. Both prey and hunter had been moving at perhaps forty miles an hour during the attack.

Holcomb grunted and stood, stretching, arching his back and bringing his arms out fully. Still thinking of the birds, he looked around the little room, letting his eyes become accustomed to the bare light given off by the few electronic readouts that he allowed to burn constantly. In otherwise total darkness, such illumination was rea.s.suring. The terror bird was fast, he knew. He wasn't certain just how fast, but Kamaguchi, from examining the film and calculating length of stride and frequency of movements had come to the conclusion that some of them could run at speeds approaching fifty miles per hour. They were magnificent creatures. He would have to ask Kamaguchi...

The wealthy man groaned and sat back on the foam mat. He had forgotten. Levin had said that Kinji was dead, shot. "Two men," he had babbled. Now Vance wondered if Levin and the rest of them were still alive. Probably not, he figured. It was time for him to get moving himself. Crawling across to one of the video monitors, his hand rested upon it while he tried to decide whether or not to risk turning it on. What he needed to do was get out of there before he was located. What he needed to do was. .h.i.t the north side of the old military base, move through what remained of the area of what was basically a no man's land of possibly unexploded ordnance and lost mine fields. He knew a way through it, had carefully mapped a way past the dangerous place. On the far side was the Kissimmee River. A quick swim would take him to the farms and campgrounds over in that direction. He doubted anyone would expect him to head that way, through the heart of the wilderness that Edmunds Military Site had accidentally protected for almost a hundred years.

"Throw caution to the wind," he whispered, and threw the switch. The monitor hummed to life.

The dark figure he could see on the screen was the same one who was at that moment speaking into the small radio on his right shoulder.

"Target positive," Joyner relayed to the others.

As Holcomb watched, five killers came out of the night to converge on the artificial shelter in which he thought he'd been hiding.

Both Ron and Mary paused for breath, kneeling in the tangle of a patch of young pines. Even if the men who were shooting at them had some kind of night vision scopes, they would have found them hard to hit in the tangle of limbs and brush and moss that were now affording them some cover. They crouched, gasped for breath, and listened intently for the sound of pursuit. So far, there was nothing. The sun had set completely beneath the line of trees, and stars had appeared in the clear sky. All around them the wildlife had geared up for the night shift. The whir of insect life alone was enough to drown out most other sounds.

"Think they're still on our trail?" Ron asked. He had one hand resting on his bent right knee, the left one touching down on the damp soil to support his weight.

"I don't think they intend to let us get away, if that's what you mean. But I don't think any of them are close enough to shoot as us. Otherwise the bullets would be flying right now." Mary was on all fours, her head slumping toward the earth. She was just a big dark shadow to Ron, one that shifted among the others.

"Wonder where Crane went," Ron whispered.

"h.e.l.l if I know. Without any way to see in the dark, I don't think we're going to find him. If he was smart, he hauled a.s.s out of here and is halfway to Salutations by now." Mary's breath was coming easier. She went to a kneeling position, her head turning this way and that, straining to hear if anyone was trying to sneak up on them.

"We'd better not stay here," Ron said. "They'll be coming this way soon, I'd think."

Mary stood up. "How many do you think there are?"

"I don't know." Ron stood, too, ready to be off. "You saw, what, three of them?"

"Yes. And Levin encountered two. So let's go on the supposition that at least five men are going to be tracking us. I saw the van they came in on, and I doubt it could carry more than six without being conspicuously overcrowded. Let's say five."

"Okay. Five."

"And all of them are probably heavily armed. I think they were carrying rifles. Can't say what kind. Some kind of a.s.sault rifles, though. That last volley sounded like it, to me."

"I'll take your word for it," Ron told her. He wasn't particularly fond of guns.

"So. Here we are. Two of us. One gun. Four shots."

"Only four?"

"Yeah. I checked. Four shots. That's all."

"d.a.m.n."

"You got it."

Ron shook his head, rubbed the sweaty locks of hair out of his eyes. "So. Best we could do, optimum, is take out four of the five."

"Fat chance," Mary admitted. "I ain't that good with a pistol, tell you the truth. How 'bout you?"

"Don't even mention it. I probably couldn't even figure out how to throw the safety off unless you showed me."

"Christ. What kind of wildlife officers is the government training, any-" Mary went silent, put her hand out to warn Ron. Both froze. Mary put her head in close to Ron's ear and whispered, so lowly that Ron could barely hear her. "Think I heard something. To our right, behind a little."

Ron turned in that direction to look, but could see nothing save black lying thickly upon black.

"I'm going to move," Mary said. "Same direction we were going. Haul a.s.s. On three. One. Two. Three," she said.

They both exploded out of the patch of saplings, moving as quickly as they dared, doing their best to avoid the larger oaks into which they had wandered. The bigger trees were revealed to them as merely slightly lighter shadows that seemed to reach for the sky. It was a clumsy way to move, but they had no alternative. They were running as fast as they could under the circ.u.mstances when something dropped down from the limbs above, blocking their way.

"Jesus," Ron yelled, panic gripping his heart in a vise.

Mary was bringing the .357 up to fire a quick shot in the direction of the shadow. But before she could discharge the weapon, the figure spoke.

"Took you dumba.s.ses long enough to catch up," Billy Crane said.

A volley of shots slammed into the Kevlar mesh fabric that formed Holcomb's low dome. Inside it, he heard the staccato firing and felt the impacts of the slugs, not unlike drops of a particularly nasty rain. Although the material had stopped the bullets cold, he still fell to the floor, hugging it and bringing himself as close to it as he possibly could. It had been his first thought, but he was still a little ashamed of his reaction. Holcomb could smell his own fear in the close air of the room, and it bothered him. He'd come face to face with wild tigers, had stood unprotected when a bull elephant had charged him, all without losing his cool. But this was different. These were men, with guns, and he knew that standing his ground wasn't going to bluff them off as it had the wild animals he had known.

There was another tightly s.p.a.ced volley. They were acting in unison, he realized as the slugs once more pattered across the Kevlar walls, the metal seeking his flesh. Carefully, he reached up and flicked the switch to the monitors and they went dead, dropping the room back into almost complete darkness. He supposed it had been the light from those monitors that they had seen, probably leaking out through the air vents. Even clever air baffles couldn't shield out all light in the night. He'd made a mistake, most likely, even if they had already seen the building. Now they knew for certain that he was inside.

Still, the men were coming in from the west-southwest. That was also where all of the shots were coming from. And that was where the tunnel entrance he had used was located. They'd find it within minutes, if they had not already located it. But he had another way out, a secondary entrance.

One more volley of shots sounded, and this time there was the unmistakable sound of fabric giving way. The stuff was tough, but not invulnerable. A few more such rounds and the bullets would start to come in. He had to act fast.

Grabbing only a small f.a.n.n.y pack that was attached by Velcro holds to his main pack, he crouched and edged toward a low bench in front of him, a bank of receivers positioned on it. The smaller pack contained the only weapon he had ever carried into the site, a single shot dart pistol and a half dozen darts, each loaded with enough tranquilizer to stop a large bear. He doubted it would do him any good against the a.s.sa.s.sins, but it was all he had. Ducking, he crawled beneath the bench and pushed hard, releasing the very small doorway there. It led into a tunnel similar to the one through which he had entered. Creeping on elbows and knees, he went in.

Even as he squirmed down the tight s.p.a.ce, there was a new explosion of gunfire and some equipment shattered as this time bullets entered the dome. He was pushing his luck. He had to get out of the tunnel soon, before they surrounded the dome and saw him emerge to the northeast. He scrambled faster, pulling the little pack with him, abrading his knees and elbows.

The tunnel was semi-buried in the earth, and completely hidden by the sedges and brush that had grown to cover it. If any of the men who were firing at him stepped directly on it, they would realize what it was. But if he were quick, they wouldn't locate it until he was out and on his way. The length of the shaft was precisely sixty feet. The bulk of the dome, and the longleaf pine trees around the exit point would offer him at least some cover, he hoped. He was almost at the end, and was surprised when he pa.s.sed through a series of spider webs. The little b.u.g.g.e.rs had found a way through the far seal, which surprised him since he'd been a.s.sured nothing could. The spiders had obviously not read the manuals.

As he pushed on the flap of artificial material at the end of the tunnel, he listened as the rifles continued to open up on his former shelter, and there was the sound of metal being sheared by metal. His equipment was all ruined, now, he knew. It was a very good thing that he'd crawled out when he had. He pushed hard and felt the flap give.

With a soft pop, pop, the Kevlar/nylon mesh let go and he felt night air on his face. Holcomb did not pause at all, for it no longer mattered if they were watching for him, or not. This was the only way for him. He burst out of the tunnel like some obscenely huge afterbirth, went to his feet and began to run. This was the open savanna, and while it was not without its pitfalls and its varied barriers, it was relatively open country and he would chance an all out dash for salvation. On the other side of the shelter the bullets flew again, bringing sound of material catching some of them and allowing others through. None seemed to be aimed directly at him. He flew. the Kevlar/nylon mesh let go and he felt night air on his face. Holcomb did not pause at all, for it no longer mattered if they were watching for him, or not. This was the only way for him. He burst out of the tunnel like some obscenely huge afterbirth, went to his feet and began to run. This was the open savanna, and while it was not without its pitfalls and its varied barriers, it was relatively open country and he would chance an all out dash for salvation. On the other side of the shelter the bullets flew again, bringing sound of material catching some of them and allowing others through. None seemed to be aimed directly at him. He flew.

Grisham sent Watkins in. He was the smallest of the team, and the quickest, also. The tunnel was probably the most dangerous way in, if Holcomb had survived the fusillade, but it was also the quickest entrance. A soldier had to take chances. The four remaining members stood outside, positioned around the dome in a semi-circle and waited for word from Watkins. It came quickly.

"He's not here," Grisham was told.

"Where did he go?"

"There's another tunnel entrance. North by northeast. Looks like he went that way. I'll follow it."

"We'll meet you," Grisham told him, motioning his men forward. They trotted around the clever dome the billionaire had erected out here. It was almost invisible, the way it seemed to grow up like a low blister from amidst the gra.s.s and pines. From a distance anyone might have missed it if they hadn't been looking for it. But Grisham had had been looking for it. The need-to-know pages informing him of the possibility of some kind of permanent structure had been fed to them via the studio had come from that six-foot frail who'd sold Holcomb out. The old colonel shook his head in disgust. His people were made of better stuff than that. been looking for it. The need-to-know pages informing him of the possibility of some kind of permanent structure had been fed to them via the studio had come from that six-foot frail who'd sold Holcomb out. The old colonel shook his head in disgust. His people were made of better stuff than that.

In a few seconds all five team members were together, Watkins crawling up and out of the tunnel exit. As a unit, they brought their scopes up and aimed them out and away, dragging them across the landscape and looking for any sign of movement.