First Strike Page 10

  Hatchling shambled from sight around a pine tree.

  Havoc rose to a crouch and carefully dogged the hybrids. They were

  moving at a slower pace than he'd anticipated, which was why he had almost

  blundered into them and ruined the mission. But no harm had been done, and all

  he had to do was stick with them like glue. He discovered a Hatchling footprint in

  a soft section of din and paused to examine the print. The impression in the

  earth was oval, with three protruding claw marks extending for three or four

  inches from the front of the imprint. He estimated the length of the foot at ten

  inches.

  A scream pierced the forest up ahead.

  Havoc quickened his steps, skirting the pine tree, seeking the hybrids.

  Seconds later he found them, gathered around the woman they'd abducted. She

  was lying on her back, her hands tied together at her waist, gaping at her

  captors in stark fear. He noticed her long hair was a sandy blonde and she was

  wearing jeans and a tan blouse.

  What were the hybrids doing?

  Havoc stealthily snuck to within 15 yards of the creatures, concealing

  himself behind a great log, a remnant of one of the forest's gigantic trees. Someone was speaking in a curiously sharp, metallic tone, the words

  clipped and precise. Havoc rose on his elbows and peeked over the top of the

  log. With a start, he realized oneofthehybridswasdoingthetalking! Because

  of their clicking signals, he had taken for granted the Hatchlings couldn't

  communicate verbally. Obviously they could when they wanted, although their

  speech pattern suggested they experienced difficulty in doing so. The clicking of

  their talons, he perceived, might be their special, secret technique for

  communicating when they wanted to stay in touch with a minimum of noise, a

  kind of code.

  "One more time," the Hatchling was saying, "and you will perish on the

  spot."

  "I'm sorry," the woman wailed. "I just tripped! I couldn't help myself! You

  haven't let me rest in two days!"

  "You will rest when we reach the Kingdom," the Hatchling said. "Not

  before." The woman nodded. "Why are you doing this to me? Who are you?

  Whatare you?" The Hatchling doing all the talking glanced at one ofhis

  companions. "These human wretches are pitiful." The second Hatchling grinned,

  displaying a mouth packed with glistening white fangs, two of which, the eye

  teeth, were an inch longer than all the rest.

  The terrified woman sniffled.

  Sergeant Havoc frowned, wishing there was something he could do to assist the woman. But if he helped her, if he tried to take out all the Hatchlings, he ran the risk of one escaping and warning the Spider. All he could do was bide his time and keep tabs on the bastards, just like Blade wanted. The head Hatchling leaned down and examined the trembling woman. "You will do nicely,"

  it commented. "The Spider will be very pleased with you."

  "Who's the Spider?" the woman made bold to ask.

  "You will meet the Spider tomorrow night," the Hatchling informed her. "The Spider is our father," added another hybrid.

  "Dear Lord!" the woman exclaimed. "Save me!" The leader of the mutants

  laughed, a sort of high-pitched, flinty titter.

  Havoc wondered why the six hybrids were wasting so much time in idle

  conversation. And suddenly his mind shrieked a silent "Look out!" as his brain

  belatedly registered the discrepancy in his count. There weren't six mutants

  surrounding the woman!

  There were only five!

  Where was the sixth?

  Sergeant Havoc whirled, knowing he'd been duped, perceiving the reason

  the other five hybrids were stalling, bringing his M-16 up, hoping he wasn't too

  late and mentally berating himself for his stupidity. The sixth Hatchling was a

  foot away, its four arms upraised, its talons poised for a strike. Its two hairy right

  arms grabbed the barrel of the M-16 and wrenched the weapon from the

  noncom's grasp before the trigger could be squeezed.

  Havoc rolled to the right as the Hatchling pounced, evading the hybrid's

  raking talons. He began to rise, going for the 45's around his waist, but he was

  way too slow.

  Although only five feet in height, the Hatchling made tip in bulk what it

  lacked in stature. And the creature utilized its weight to an advantage as it

  sprang again, slamming into its adversary's abdomen and bowling the human

  over.

  Sergeant Havoc suddenly found himself flat on his back, each wrist pinned

  to the ground by two of the creature's hands, the Hatchling straddling his chest.

  A sensation of revulsion washed over him as the mutant's fetid breath assailed

  his nostrils. He stared upward into the most inhuman orbs conceivable and

  repressed a shudder.

  The Hatchling smirked, exposing its lethal fangs.

  Havoc was astounded by the creature's strength. Try as he might, he was

  unable to dislodge his wrists from the hybrid's hold. He saw the thing lean

  toward him with its mouth wide, a yellowish saliva dripping from its teeth, and a

  fleeting flicker of panic paralyzed him. But only for a moment. The next instant

  his years of training and extensive combat experience came to his rescue,

  supplanting the incipient, uncharacteristic dread with a cool, calculating

  resoluteness.

  The Hatchling's fangs were six inches from his throat,

  "Eat this, ugly" Havoc growled, sweeping his forehead up and in, connecting with the mutant's large, thin nostrils. He felt the cartilage crunch

  under the impact.

  Hissing, the Hatchling recoiled, its nose flattened to a gruesome pulp. Havoc pressed his initiative, bucking his body, temporarily throwing the

  creature off balance. He swept his legs up, his ankles damping on the sides of

  the hybrids squat neck, and twisted his legs to the left. The Hatchling tumbled to

  the left, springing to its feet next to the log. Havoc was already rising, his right

  hand on his right automatic. He intuitively sensed a new threat to his rear and

  spun.

  Another Hatchling was charging toward him, mere feet away. Havoc executed a lightning left hook kick, aiming at the mutant's throat

  while simultaneously shifting to the right to avoid the hybrid's rush. His left

  combat boot connected with the Hatchling's neck below the chin, snapping the

  creature's head back as its feet left the ground.

  The second Hatchling fell onto its right side.

  Havoc drew his right pistol. He had to warn Blade! A couple of shots

  would do the job! But before he could fire, the first mutant pounced, plowing

  into the base of his spine and knocking him to his knees, the jolt causing the Colt

  to almost slip from his fingers. A tremendous blow was delivered to the left side

  of his head, above the ear, and he swayed, dazed.

  A third Hatchling entered the fray, leaping over the log and ramming into

  the human. Sergeant Havoc was rocked by the collision. He toppled backwards

  with the mutant pummeling his face, only dimly aware of his plight. His right fist

  instinctively smashed the mutant on the left cheek, enraging the creature. Two more Hatchlings vaulted over the log, and in conjunction with the

  first three they piled on their victim.

  Havoc was buried under a mass of hairy black shapes. Talons sliced his

  arms, chest, and legs, tearing the fabric
of his clothing and drawing blood. The

  Colt was gone. He attempted to fight his way free of the mutants, but he was

  hopelessly outnumbered. They rained punch after punch upon him, effortlessly

  dodging his futile counterstrikes.

  "We have him!" one of them declared.

  Havoc knew the damn thing was right. He could feel his limbs losing their

  vitality and his head was ringing. Self-reproach enveloped him. He had failed

  Blade and the Force. Worse, he had disgraced his father and his grandfather.

  Both men had served illustrious careers in the military. His grandfather had

  passed on, but his father would hear about his blunder, would know he had

  sullied the Havoc name. A numbing hit was delivered to his right temple and he

  nearly lost consciousness. His eyes closed and he went limp, hovering on the

  brink of sentience.

  "That's enough!" a Hatchling barked, as if through a long tunnel. "He's

  out."

  "He certainly was a tough one!" commented another mutant. "The son of a bitch broke my nose!" complained the one with the crushed

  nostrils..

  "Should we kill him here and now?" queried yet another.

  There were several seconds of silence.

  "No," stated the apparent leader. "Disposing of him now would be a waste

  of prime meat. We'll take him to the Kingdom. Father will decide his fate." The

  Hatchling chuckled. "We may have our next feast sooner than we thought." "Do you think there are more like him?" asked one of the other mutants. "There could be," the leader said. "He might be pan of an Army patrol." "What would a patrol be doing in this area?" interjected the second

  hybrid.

  "Maybe they're on to us," suggested the mutant with the busted nose. "No way," declared the leader.

  "How can you be so certain, Dox?" asked the second creature. "How would they know about us, Syph?" Dox rejoined. "We never leave

  any trace behind after a raid."

  "What about the human who escaped, the Morris female?" Syph

  mentioned.

  "We don't know if she escaped," Dox said. "She was probably killed in the

  fall from the cliff."

  "But we never found her body," Syph noted.

  Sergeant Havoc was losing consciousness, his mind swirling. He tried to

  eavesdrop on the Hatchlings'

  conversation, the effort draining him even more.

  "If the female escaped we still have nothing to worry about," Dox stated.

  "The Kingdom is too well hidden for the humans to find. The odds against the

  female being able to lead anyone to our valley are astronomical. The humans

  never venture this far into the forest."

  Havoc felt something nudge his right shoulder.

  "This one did," one of the mutant's commented. "And where there is one

  filthy human, there are more. They make rabbits look like a celibate species." "If there are more humans nearby, whether an Army patrol or not, we

  can't afford to allow them to leave," Dox said.

  "What should we do, big brother?" Syph inquired.

  "Half of us will escort the woman and this soldier to the Kingdom," Dox

  directed. "The rest will wait here. If the patrol shows up, slay them." "Who gets to go?" asked another hybrid.

  "Myself, Syph, and Rhea because he has been injured," Dox said. "Siad,

  you and the others will secrete yourselves and await more humans." "How long must we wait?" Siad questioned.

  "Until sunset," Dox instructed. "If no humans have arrived by then,, return

  to the Kingdom."

  "We wilt wait until sunset," Siad pledged.

  Sergeant Havoc was fading fast. He strained to hear some more. "If more humans do arrive, should we spare any at all?" asked a mutant. "You heard me," Dox said. "Kill them. All of them."

  "You don't care what we do with the bodies?" Siad inquired. "Do what you want," Dox stated, his bizarre voice growing fainter as he

  moved off.

  "Good," Siad commented. "I could use a snack."

  Sergeant Havoc made a supreme effort to remain awake, but was

  enshrouded in a benighted gloom.

  CHAPTER NINE

  The Freedom Force advanced ever so slowly to the west.

  Blade could see Thunder crouched next to a big triangular boulder 30 feet

  distant. The Flathead was minutely examining the earth at his feet. Constantly scanning the dense undergrowth for a telltale hint of trouble, Blade threaded his way to the Indian's side. "What do you have?" he asked.

  "Havoc was here, maybe ten minutes ago," Thunder said. "He got down on his belly and crawled in this direction." He moved around the boulder.

  "Any sign of the Hatchlings' trail?" Blade queried.

  "Not yet," Thunder replied. He walked a half-dozen yards from the boulder. "Ahhh. Here it is. They are heading to the west. Havoc intercepted them here, then followed."

  "Take the point," Blade ordered. "Signal if you find anything."

  "Will do," Thunder promised.

  "And remember," Blade added. "Go slowly. We want them to get a few thousand yards in front of us, give us a little breathing space."

  "I understand," Thunder said, and was gone.

  Blade grinned, pleased his plan was working. By proceeding at a snail's pace, he minimized the risk of being discovered by the Hatchlings. Added insurance was provided by Sergeant Havoc, who would warn them if anything went amiss. The mission was shaping up nicely. All he needed to do was let the Hatchlings lead the Force to the Kingdom, then mop up. A few explosives, properly placed, would demolish the Spider's domain.

  "Is it safe to talk yet?" Athena asked from right behind him.

  Blade glanced over his right shoulder. His men were trudging through the brush to the rear of Athena. Grizzly was next in line after the journalist, then Spader, Kraft, and Boone. "It's okay to talk if you keep your voice low," Blade advised. "I doubt they can hear us this far away."

  "I've been thinking," Athena mentioned. "You could have some problems up ahead."

  "Like what?" Blade questioned.

  "They keep lookouts posted on the ridge above the Kingdom," Athena reminded him. "They cover all the approaches. If you try to follow those Hatchlings we saw into the Kingdom, you'll be spotted."

  "Then we'll follow them as far as we can,'' Blade said, "and go in later, under the cover of darkness."

  "That's when the. Hatchlings arc most active," Athena divulged. "They don't come out a lot during the day. The ones we're following must be eager to reach the Kingdom."

  "We go in the first chance we get," Blade stated.

  "Just thought I'd let you know," Athena commented.

  They marched in silence for a minute.

  "You never did tell me about yourself," Athena remarked.

  "Like I told you before, there's not much to tell," Blade said.

  "Do you have a family?" Athena queried.

  Blade nodded, smiling at the memory. "I have a lovely wife and a little son."

  "What are their names?"

  "My wife's name is Jenny," Blade said. "We called our son Gabriel."

  "How old is your little one?" Athena questioned.

  "He turned three this past December," Blade replied proudly.

  "Any plans for any more?"

  Blade looked at her. "Are all journalists so nosy?"

  "Yep," Athena said. "Nosiness is our stock in trade. That, and a healthy dose of curiosity."

  "Will you go back to being a journalist when this is all over?" Blade inquired.

  "I don't know," Athena admitted. "I haven't given the matter much thought. I can't think of anything except making the Spider pay for what he did to me."

  "Do you think you'll be able to sleep easier once this Spider is dead?"

  "I hope so," Athena said wistfully.

>   "Don't worry," Blade counseled. "Everything will work out."

  "I stopped believing in fairy tales years ago," Athena mentioned bitterly.

  "Don't allow the Spider to sour you on life," Blade recommended. "You've been through a terrible ordeal. There's no denying that. But you've got to look at the bright side."

  "What bright side?" ' ,

  "I have a friend by the name of Joshua," Blade said. "He's the spiritual sage in my Family, and twice a week we gather to hear him speak about truth, love, and faith. He said something once which applies to you."

  "Like what?" Athena asked.

  "Adversity is the crucible from which wisdom is derived," Blade quoted.. Athena snickered. "You missed your calling. You should be a preacher instead of a Warrior."

  "I'll leave the spiritual teaching to Joshua," Blade said. "I'm content being a Warrior."

  "Is everyone at the place you come from, the Home I heard about, so religious?" Athena inquired.

  "Yes," Blade said.

  "Everyone?"

  "Yes," Blade reiterated.

  "Amazing," Athena stated. "Tell me something. How can you believe in truth and love and all that, and go around killing others for a living? Seems inconsistent to me."

  "If the spiritual do not protect themselves from the unspiritual," Blade intoned, "the spiritual will be wiped off the face of the earth."

  Athena laughed lightly. "What fortune cookie did you get that out of?"

  "Fortune cookie?"

  "Yeah. A crisp cookie with a slip of paper inside. They're supposed to tell your fortune," Athena elaborated. "Haven't you ever had one?"

  "We do not have fortune cookies at the Home," Blade said.

  "The last one I had was right before I took off for Yreka and my plane went down," Athena commented.

  "We had stopped inSan Franciscoenroute and I did some sightseeing. I ate at a fantastic Chinese restaurant in the Bay Area."

  "What did your fortune cookie say?" Blade asked.

  Athena snickered. "Detours delay the soul on its path." She stared up at the sky. "I always thought that was appropriate, given what happened later"

  "You mean the plane crash?"

  "What else?" Athena retorted.

  "Perhaps the fortune cookie referred to your inner path not your outer one," Blade suggested.

  "What's the difference?" Athena queried.

  "The inner path can lead your soul to wisdom," Blade said. "The outer can lead you astray."

  "Is that what your Joshua teaches?" Athena inquired.