THEY WERE IN TROUBLE, FALLING INTO THE
building and moving to the back wall through the
dark, sweating and gasping, Cole expecting the flimsy
door to crash open any second.
- boom, and they come pouring in, screaming,
clawing us to shreds before we even see them -"Got a plan," John panted, and Cole felt a flicker of hope, a hope that lasted until John's next sentence.
"We run like hell for the back wall," he said firmly. "Are you nuts?" Leon said. "Did you see that one jump, there's no way we can outrun them."
John took a deep breath and started talking, low
and fast. "You're right, but you and I are both good shots, we could take out some of the streetlights along
the way. Even if they can see in the dark, it'll be a
distraction, stir up some confusion maybe."
Leon didn't say anything, and although he couldn't
see his face clearly, Cole saw him rubbing at his
shoulder where the creature had smacked him.
Slowly, like he was actually considering John's idea.
They're both nuts!
Cole struggled to keep the blatant terror out of his
voice. "Isn't there some other option? I mean, we could ... we could climb, go across on the rooftops."
"Buildings are all different heights," John said. "And I don't think they're built to hold much
weight."
"What if we..."
Leon interrupted softly. "We don't have the ammo, Henry."
"So we go back to Phase Three, think it over. . ."
"We're closer to the southwest corner," John said, and Cole knew they were right, knew it and hated it, a
lot. Still, he searched for some other option, trying to
think of some other way. The Hunters were terrible,
they were the most terrible things Cole thought he'd
ever seen - and from somewhere outside, one of them
screamed, the screeching, furious sound blasting
through the thin walls, and Cole realized that they
didn't have time to come up with a better plan.
"Okay, yeah, okay," he said, thinking that the very least he could do would be to suck it up and face the
inevitable like he actually had guts.
I won't drag them down, he thought, and took a deep breath, straightening his shoulders a little. If this
was the way it had to be, he wasn't going to shame
himself in front of them by turning into a sniveling
coward - and he wasn't going to lower their chances
by becoming a burden.
Cole pulled the clip that John had given him out of
his pocket and fumbled through swapping it for the
empty, his heart pounding - and was a little surprised
to find that now that he was committed, that the
decision was made, he felt stronger, braver.
I might very well die, he said to himself, and waited for the rush of horror - but it didn't come. He'd
already be dead if it wasn't for John and Leon, and
maybe this would be his chance to keep one or both of
them from getting hurt.
Without another word, the three of them moved for
the door, Cole thinking that his life had changed more
in the last couple of hours than in the last ten years
and that in spite of how it had come about, he was
glad for the change. He felt whole. He felt real.
"Ready . . ." John said, and Cole took a deep
breath, Leon grinning at him in the soft light from the
window.
". . . now!"
John yanked the door open and they ran out into
the street as all around them, the night was shattered
by the savage screams of the Hunters.
Reston's eyes glittered. He leaned forward, staring
at the screen intently, delighted by the suicidal deci-
sion. All three of them, storming out into the dark like
lunatics. Like dead men who didn't have the sense to
stop moving.
They ran south, John in the lead, Red and Cole
right behind. From a sidewalk to their right, a Hunter
leapt out to greet them...
... and there was a flash of light, a brilliant burst of
white-orange high above, burning glass like glitter
raining down across the street. One of the street-
lamps, they'd shot out one of the lamps, and the 3K
seemed to go mad as the broken glass pelted down
over it. The red-turning-gray Hunter whipped its
body around, frenzied and screaming, searching for
its attacker...
... and completely ignored the running men. All
three were sprinting past, raising weapons, firing into
the sky. Firing at more of the lights, and Reston saw
another Hunter spring out into the street, almost lost
as a shadow among shadows...
... and Cole, Henry Cole feinted left then right,
slamming the barrel of his gun against the crouching
3Ks head...
... and there was a burst of liquid, of brain and
blood projectile gushing from its temple, the electri-
cian firing at point blank range. The Hunter's arms
and legs were spasming, flailing, but it was already
dead. Cole jumped away and kept running, catching
up to the others as more of the streetlights exploded,
glass flying from strobing flashes of white light.
"No," Reston whispered, unaware that he'd spo- ken, but quite aware that things were going horribly
wrong.
John ran, paused to fire, ran again. The violent
shrieks chased them, the rain of glass and smell of
burning metal was coming at them from every-
where...
... and he saw one of them in the street, in front of
them at the intersection that would take them to the
cage, saw the strange flashing eyes and the open black
hole of its screaming mouth -
- save the ammo Jesus it looks just like the street -
- and he kept running straight at it, taking aim, the
thundering rounds of the nine-millimeters behind
him, the screaming monster less than ten feet away
when he fired.
Now!
A short burst, measured, directly into the howling,
unnatural face -
- and it didn't go down, and although he swerved
to avoid it, he didn't get far enough. Its screeching
face seeming inches from his, visible, thick with
blood, it swung one impossibly long arm out and
slammed it into John's chest.
The blow crashed into his left pectoral, and John
expected to be crushed, thrown through the air, his
body shattered, but the creature must have been
weakened by the bullets, disoriented, blinded per-
haps, because though he could feel his pec contracting
in pain - the strike had been brutally solid - he'd
taken harder punches. He'd staggered but didn't fall,
then he was past and turning left, headed west.
He shot a look back, saw the others still with him,
looked ahead -
- there it is!
The street ended at the painted wall less than a
block ahead - and there was an opening set about five
feet off the ground, a hole eight feet wide and at least
ten feet high...
... and there was another scream to his right, he
couldn't see the camouflaged Hunter but bam-bam,
Leon or Cole shot at it, the shriek going frantic with
rage. John raised the M-16 and took out another
streetlight, ten seconds and we're there...
... and a panel of deep blue wall started to slide
down over the opening, slow but steady. In seconds,
there'd be no escape.
Reston stabbed frantically at the kennel lock, the
gate creeping down on its tracks like a goddamn snail,
his hands clammy with sweat, his drunken mind
reeling with disbelief.
No no no no...
He'd closed Two and Three but there'd been a
Hunter still inside before, he'd left it open, forgot-
ten and now the animal was gone and the three men
were about to get away. To get away from him, from
the deaths assigned to them.
Faster!
John was shooting a look back, screaming, Red
right behind, Cole almost at his side -
- and there was a Hunter less than twenty feet
behind them, gaining ground, its massive body flick-
ering between tan and asphalt, its claws scraping
gouges in the street.
Kill them, do it, jump, kill!
John made it to the opening, hands hitting the
bottom, vaulting him through in a graceful blur. One hand shot out and Red was there, grabbing it, being
jerked inside in an instant -
- and there was Cole, and he was going to make it
through, too, the gate wouldn't close in time and there
were hands reaching out to him -
- and then the Hunter behind him swept its arms
down, its talons ripping into Cole's back, through the
shirt and skin, through muscle, perhaps through bone.
The others swept Cole inside as the gate settled
closed.
Cole didn't scream as they set him down, though he
must have been in agony. They placed him on his
stomach as gently as they could, Leon feeling sick
with sorrow when he saw the shredded mess that had
been Cole's back.
Dying, he's dying.
In seconds, he lay in a pool of his own blood.
Through the tatters of his wet, crimson shirt, Leon
could see the ripped flesh, the torn muscle fibers and
the slick shine of bone beneath. The crushed bone.
The damage had been done in two long, ragged tears,
each starting above the shoulder blades and ending at
his lower back. Mortal wounds.
Cole was breathing in low, shallow gasps, his eyes
closed, his hands trembling.
Unconscious. Leon looked at John, saw the stricken
expression, looked away; there was nothing they could
do for him.
They were in a giant mesh cage that stank of wild
animal at the end of a long cement hall, one that
apparently ran the length of the four testing areas. It
was dark, only a few lights on, revealing the kennel in
shadows; the cages were separated by partition walls
with huge windows, and Leon could just see the one
next to them, the Spitters' home. It was covered in
thick, clear plastic, the floor littered with bones.
The Hunters' cage was empty, at least thirty feet
wide and twice as long, a couple of low troughs at the
mesh walls. It was a cold and lonely place to die, but
at least he was out, he wasn't feeling any...
"Turn ... me, over," Cole whispered. His eyes
were open, his lips quivering.
"Hey, lie easy," John said gently. "You're gonna be fine, Henry, just stay where you are, don't move,
okay?"
"Bull, shit," Cole said. "Roll me over, I'm,
dying..."
John locked gazes with Leon, who nodded reluc-
tantly. He didn't want to cause Cole any more pain,
but he didn't want to refuse him; he was dying, they
should give him anything they could.
Carefully, slowly, John lifted Cole and turned him.
Cole moaned when his back touched the floor, his
eyes wide and rolling, but seemed to feel some relief
after a moment. Maybe the cold ... or maybe he was
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