Synbat (22 page)

10:30 P.M.

The regiment's horses had broken free of their picket line during all the commotion earlier in the evening and disappeared. Now the army people were telling them to vacate the area immediately and go home. Louis spent a fruitless five minutes arguing with some army major. He was damned if he'd leave behind eight valuable horses, six of which weren't even his.
The major had been sympathetic but unyielding. He gave Louis a vague promise that they'd be notified when the park was reopened after the escapees were captured, and then they could come back in and recover their animals. When Louis had asked when that might be, so he could decide whether to stay in the area or go home, the officer had told him to go home.
"Fuck it," Louis muttered. He turned to Jeremiah. "Let's get out of here."
They walked back to the main parking area where their rig was parked. The brothers slid the ramp into their trailer and shut the back doors, making it ready for travel. They got in the cab and Louis started the engine.
"You ready?" he asked. He received no response at all from his brother. Jeremiah had not uttered a word since the attack. As far as Louis was concerned, the sooner they got home the better. The army was full of shit about the escaped prisoners too. Why the hell would escaped prisoners have been up in the trees? And there had been something weird about those "escapees" from the faint glimpses he'd had of them. They hadn't looked quite normal. Louis didn't envy the regimental commander who had volunteered to fly up to Chicago out of Nashville and notify the families of the four dead men.
They followed the army guides who waved them out of the camp and onto Lick Creek Road. Army vehicles, machine guns mounted on top and headlights blazing, were parked all along the road. Louis reached the Trace at the Golden Pond Visitor Center, then followed a soldier's lighted baton and turned right onto Route 68.
At the bridge over Lake Barkley, roadblocks manned by army personnel were set up in center span, blocking any traffic from going out. On the far side of the bridge, the Kentucky State Police had roadblocks facing the other way. Passing the last of the army people, Louis breathed a sigh of relief. He could see helicopters with searchlights flying over the water on either side of the lake. They were damn serious about sealing off the park.
They rolled through Cadiz, then headed east along 68; at I-24 they would turn north for home. Louis decided to drive straight through and get his brother away from this place as fast as possible.

*Chapter 18*
_Wednesday, 8 April_
_Land Between the Lakes_
_4:12 A.M._
Three shadowy figures were standing in the tree line, two with something on their backs. Merrit knew she should be feeling fear but for some reason she didn't. Instead she felt almost peaceful. She started walking across the grass toward them, her hands held high, indicating that she didn't have a weapon and meant no harm. The Synbats held their position, their golden eyes unblinking.
Merrit wanted to talk, but she knew they wouldn't understand the words. How could she explain what was happening anyway? They were the hunted and she was one of the hunters. The Synbats finally moved, slowly turning to head back into the deep darkness of the forest. Merrit halted where she was. They all disappeared, except one, which looked over its shoulder at her. She stared. It was no longer a Synbat but a human face  --  a man. She recognized the face with a start; it was her father. She started walking toward him, drawn by something beyond her control. As she got closer he changed back into the Synbat and the mouth was wide open, fangs bared. She turned and ran.
Robin Merrit almost fell off the chair as she awoke, her head jerking up from the desktop where it had been resting. She was damp with perspiration. Her unfocused eyes swept over to the door of the van, half expecting to see her father standing there. As the fuzz faded from her vision, she recognized Colonel Lewis silhouetted against the glow of lights from the communications console.
"Are you OK?"
Merrit blinked. "Yes."
"You cried out. Get some more sleep. I talked with Colonel Hossey. You'll be going in with Riley at first light to look over the lair at the cliff."
"All right." As Merrit lowered her head, thoughts of the Synbats filled her mind.
* * * *

7:27 A.M.

"Tango Two Seven, are you in place? Over."
"This is Two Seven. Roger. We've got you covered. Over."
Riley swung his arm over his head, toward shore. The four Zodiacs pulled on line, an M60 machine gunner in each prow, covering the advance. Three other Zodiacs, with men from another team, stayed offshore to give supporting fire if needed. Two A teams were positioned on top of the cliff to give covering fire and stop any Synbats that might try to escape in that direction, if by some chance they had returned to their lair.
Overhead, General Williams was flying in his command and control (C & C) Blackhawk helicopter, monitoring the radio net. Riley had a PRC-77 strapped to his back, with the headset tied off to the front of his combat vest on the left shoulder.
He reached up with his left hand and pressed the transmit button. "We're moving in. Over."
There were no signs of Synbats as the boats beached and Riley's team secured the area. He had his men clear fifty meters in each direction, making sure that at least the level ground was free of the creatures. The Synbats could be hiding on the rock face, but he had to count on the men in the boats and on top of the cliff to take care of that.
Satisfied that he had a relatively safe beachhead, Riley pressed the transmit button on the handset. "Clear down here. Bring in Merrit. Over."
A fifth Zodiac beached. Doctor Merrit stepped off, and Riley and Powers greeted her. The sergeant major pointed. "The dead horses are up here. We removed the woman's body last night. She was found over there."
They moved to the base of the cliff. Riley pulled out a machete and hacked at the undergrowth, gradually revealing more of the horses.
He noted that Merrit was either getting used to the sight of death or she was detaching herself from reality as she spoke. "The four Synbats that escaped were very cunning. I'd guess they drove the horses from the campsite where the Werners were killed to this point, then off the cliff face. Then they must have split. You chased two of them to the west, but the other two must have stayed here, hoping they'd escape the search. In fact, the two you chased were probably a diversion to lead you away. I'm sure they kept both sets of pods here." She bent over the horses, the stench apparently not affecting her, and pointed. "Look at these cuts in the rib cage. I think they planned on planting the pods inside the horses' bodies. That would ensure an adequate supply of food when the pods hatched, at least for a while, even if the other two had to leave this location and lead you away if need be."
The radio squawked. "This is Tango Two Seven. We're going over the edge. Over."
Riley looked up as ropes were thrown over the lip of the cliff. Men with submachine guns slung over their shoulders backed over the edge and slowly started rappeling their way down, sticking the snout of their guns in every crack and crevice that could possibly hide a Synbat.
Riley doubted they'd find anything, but it was worth checking out. He returned his attention to the base. "Since we took this site away from them, what do you think they'll do now? Find a similar area and do the same thing?"
Merrit nodded. "Their primary concern will be a food source for the young. Although they are omnivorous, they will most likely be looking for meat, because that would be the most readily available food source in quantity."
Riley pulled out his map and spread it on the ground, squatting down and looking it over. "Where would you go if you needed meat, Dan?"
Powers knelt next to him. "Plenty of deer out here."
"But they'd have to hunt it. I don't think they can run down a deer, and I'm sure they won't use their weapons for that. It would give away their position." Riley shook his head. "No, I'm talking something easier than that."
Powers stabbed a thick finger down on the map. "I'd go there."
* * * *

5:34 P.M.

The day passed with aircraft and humvees traversing the park with loudspeakers, advising all people to leave the area. The exodus slowed to a trickle by afternoon. For the past two hours, all the roadblocks had reported negatively when asked if people were still leaving. There had been no sign of the Synbats throughout the day. No sightings, no trails, no contacts  --  nothing.
General Williams was fighting his primary battle not with the Synbats but with the news media, who were gathering like locusts around the perimeter, demanding to know what was going on. Two news helicopters from Nashville had tried penetrating the aerial perimeter and been turned back by gunships. The cover story was holding so far, although there had been interviews with some of the Civil War reenactors, which had confused the situation somewhat.
The thump of helicopter blades echoed across the sky and a flight of OH-6 Special Operations helicopters flew by. The single-rotor helicopters were flown by the Nightstalkers  --  members of Special Operations Task Force 160. The two-man aircraft had advanced night vision and thermal sights on board and a 7.62mm minigun slung off one skid. For tonight's mission, the aircraft would fly in pairs, searching the area in a grid pattern that the operations officer had spent the entire day carefully laying out. Come dark, they would fire on any two-legged, two-armed image that didn't have fluorescent tape marking it as friendly.
* * * *

6:54 P.M.

Powers scanned the pasture. The bison were stirring. The disturbance started from the far side and spread until the entire herd was alert. As Powers watched, the animals gathered together in a tight defensive perimeter, as far from the fences as they could get, the massive males on the outside, the females and the young on the inside.
The radio was a low, annoying buzz in his ear as the TOC coordinated the various elements that would begin the aerial search in six minutes. Powers and his team were hidden on a small hill overlooking the buffalo range. They'd been there for six hours, ever since Powers and Riley had convinced Colonel Hossey that the penned-in animals would make a tempting target for the Synbats and that the abandoned barn on the side of the field might make a good hideout for the creatures. Powers felt more worthwhile waiting here than sitting around at the TOC.
The sun was about down and the twilight made for very difficult viewing. Powers pulled his night vision goggles down over his eyes and turned them on. The range, fenced with barbwire, bordered the Trace on the side opposite Powers and his team.
"Be ready," Powers whispered. "Something's got the buffalo spooked."
On either side of him, men turned on their rifle night vision scopes; invisible laser beams licked out across the open field, probing the far tree line.
Two low-lying silhouettes broke out of the tree line on the far side of the road. Powers could barely make them out through the goggles, but he didn't want to take any chances. He gave the order while the shadowy figures were at the edge of the Trace. With a crack, two rifles sounded in concert.
Powers limped back down the hill and hopped into his humvee. His driver cranked the engine and they roared around the dirt trail circumventing the range.
The headlights illuminated the scene as the driver brought the humvee to a halt. Powers leapt from the vehicle, rifle at the ready. There were two bodies. The first dog  --  a scraggly Airedale  --  lay dead, shot through the chest. The second  --  a golden retriever, its coat almost black from dirt  --  lay panting, blood trickling from the bullet wound in its left foreleg.
Powers shook his head as he dismounted. The retriever looked up at him with wide eyes and whimpered. "What were you doing, dumb dog?" Powers whispered as he lowered his rifle. The dog's ribs showed and its fur was matted with brambles and dirt. It had obviously been running wild out here for quite a while.
Powers checked out the wound; the round had gone straight through and missed the bone. He tenderly wrapped a compress around the leg. Tying it in place, he scooped up the dog and placed it in the back of the humvee. So much for their buffalo idea so far. Powers drove back around and returned to his overwatch position. Maybe larger predators would be coming later.
* * * *

8:34 P.M.

"Are you sure they can see this? It seems so small." Merrit looked dubiously at the fluorescent tape sewn onto the top of the watch cap that Riley had handed her.
Riley nodded. "The sights in those aircraft not only can see at night, but they also give quite a bit of amplification. As long as you wear that, they'll know you're one of the good guys. That tape shows up like a beacon."
A Blackhawk helicopter settled onto the field. Riley tapped Merrit on the arm. "Let's go."
Riley shouldered the radio, tucking the end of the antenna down into his shirt, and picked up his rifle. He gestured for his team to move out, then he escorted Merrit onto the aircraft, seating her facing forward next to him. The aircraft lifted in a smooth rush of power.
Riley grabbed a headset that was hanging from the roof and put it on. "This is Chief Riley. We're all set."
The pilot answered. "Roger. I'm Captain Patrick. We're going to fly above the gunships, and we're on their freq so you can hear them talk."
As the chopper gained altitude, Riley's men rigged rappeling ropes on either side of the cargo bay. The ropes were attached to large O-bolts hanging from the ceiling, then were carefully coiled in deployment bags, ready to be used if they had to get out of the aircraft and a landing zone wasn't available. After checking the rigs, Riley turned to his team and gestured as he yelled above the sound of the blades and engines. "All right. Lock and load." Eight magazines were slammed home and the bolts pulled. The rifles were held between the knees, muzzles pointing at the floor. They were ready.
* * * *

9:14 P.M.

"Eagle Center, this is Nighthawk Three One. I've got movement. Location point eight klicks east of checkpoint three seven. Request permission to break pattern to investigate. Over."
"This is Eagle Center. Permission granted. Over."
Riley found checkpoint three seven on his map and spoke into the intercom to the pilot. "Let's slide on over there, sir." He felt a surge of adrenaline. First contact of the evening. Maybe the last.
"Roger," the pilot acknowledged. The Blackhawk swooped to the west, overflying the OH-6 gunship pilot. Riley could see the green and red running lights of the smaller helicopter below.
"This is Nighthawk Three One. I've got multiple targets moving west. They're under the trees. Over."
"This is Eagle Center. Roger Three One. Break. Nighthawk One Six, break pattern and support Three One. Three One and One Six switch to tac frequency one-niner-five. All other elements hold in place and move to an altitude of five hundred AGL. We might be going hot here. Over."
Looking like fireflies, the other gunships drilled up into the night sky to five hundred feet and held position while the two designated gunships paired up. Riley had his pilot switch frequency and listened to the two pilots coordinate as they closed in.
"Do you have them? Over."
"Roger. I've got you and them clear. Do you have me? Over."
"Roger. Got you in sight. I've got a clear field of fire at two hundred degrees. Over."
"I've got a two-seventy. Eagle Center, we've got multiple targets on thermals. Image is broken. They're moving under the trees. Request permission to fire. Over."
There was a brief pause and then General Williams's voice came over the airways. "This is Eagle Six. Do they look like they might be people? Over."
"Eagle Six, this is Nighthawk Three One. We can't tell through the thermals. There's too much residual heat coming off the trees to get a clear picture. If we can get them out in the open we could check them with our goggles. Over."
"Do you have any open area in the immediate vicinity? Over."
"Roger. About five hundred meters to the south we've got a field. Over."
"Use your miniguns to move your target to that field and get a positive ID. Over." "Roger."
A line of tracers roped out of one of the helicopters. Again and again it fired small bursts, herding the target in the desired direction.
"This is Three One. They're moving south. Over."
"This is One Six. I'm in position at the tree line. Over."
Riley talked to his UH-60 pilot. "Move us above One Six; over the field, so we can see the tree line." Riley took a set of night vision goggles and slipped them on. He put another set on Merrit. "Watch that tree line."
Another burst.
"This is Three One. They're just about there. Over."
"There!" Riley grabbed Merrit's arm. "See them?"
In the green glow of the goggles, shadowy figures were slipping out of the tree line. "What do you see?" Riley asked Merrit as he strained to make them out.
"I don't know. They're moving fast."
"This is One Six. Hold guns. Hold guns. I've got targets in the open. I make out six deer. Over."
Williams's voice was disappointed. "This is Eagle Six. Resume search pattern. Over."
"Take us back up, sir," Riley spoke into the intercom. The Blackhawk climbed into the sky and they settled down to wait.
Three more times they moved in as gunships picked out heat images under the trees, and each time the result was negative. As the night chill settled in and the residual heat dissipated, the thermal sights began to function better, identifying targets under the trees without having to move them out into the open. No Synbats  --  just deer and other animals.
By midnight the helicopters were beginning to retrace areas that had already been searched. There was the possibility that the Synbats had moved through search areas and been missed, but it was a slim one. The operations officer had even planned the refueling schedule to make sure that contiguous areas were monitored and there would be no gaps.
At five after midnight, Riley's Blackhawk swooped down and flared, wheels settling onto the grass. Riley leapt off the left side and then turned to help Merrit. His team off-loaded wearily. The aircraft lifted with a surge of wind to head for the forward arming and refuel point (FARP) that the 160th had set up in a nearby field.
"Make sure your caps are on, tape facing out," Riley ordered. Despite being at the headquarters, he was taking no chances. He walked over to the TOC with Merrit. It was not a happy group that stood in the large tent listening to the radio reports and tracking the search on map overlays. The entire park had been covered. The lair had been gone over in excruciating detail. No live Synbats had been found in the park. The perimeter defenses had reported negatively. Nothing.
"What do we do now?" Williams directed the question at General Trollers, the senior man on the ground.
Trollers was as exhausted as everyone else. "We've done about all we can do." He turned to Merrit. "Is there anyplace you think they could be hiding from the thermals?"
Merrit seemed lost in thought. "I have no idea."
Riley was listening to this exchange with a growing sense of frustrated anger. He wasn't sure what the source of his anger was. Surprisingly, he couldn't focus on the Synbats as the enemy. Even though they'd killed two of his men and all the others, including the young girl, he was beginning to realize that the Synbats were pawns in this game just as much as he was. The one at whom he could best direct his disgust was Trollers. Hossey and Williams were like Riley; they'd been caught up in the fix-it phase. Trollers, however, was responsible for the start of the project. But even Trollers was just a figurehead, Riley knew. Ultimate blame had to rest with a system that saw the need to develop something like the Synbats.
Trollers laid out the facts, almost as if he were trying to convince himself. "We've checked the park. We're almost positive there are no live Synbats inside the boundaries. Our perimeter was secure and there's no way that any of the Synbats could have made it down to Route 79, or to one of the bridges, before we sealed them off. We'd have spotted them in the water from the air if they'd gone that way." He looked around the tent. "So where are they? Could they be dead and that's why we're not picking them up on the thermals? Or could they be hiding in a pond or a cave or somewhere that the thermals can't penetrate?"
Williams was looking at the map. "As far as we know there are no caves in the park. If they were in the water, they'd have to be breathing and we'd pick up some slight heat difference at the surface."
A fuel truck loaded with JP-4 lumbered by on the road heading for the FARP, where the helicopters were being refueled. Riley watched the truck roll out of sight. Then the idea came to him, as if it had been sitting there all along in his frontal lobe. He turned to the others. "They're not in the park anymore."
Trollers turned to him angrily. "How? How could they have gotten out, mister?"
Riley looked the general in the eye. "They rode out."
"They what?"
"The Civil War reenactors," Riley explained. "They had horse trailers. Did your people search them as they were leaving?"
General Williams blinked and then slowly shook his head. "No. We were in too much of a rush to get them out of the park. We never thought of that."
Riley wanted to kick himself for not realizing it earlier. He'd even been standing there while some of the reenactors had loaded, and he'd watched the cars and trucks drive away. If they had been looking for humans, they would have searched the trailers, but everyone had been thinking of the Synbats as nonreasoning animals. Riley vowed that this was the last time he would make that mistake.
"We need to contact the civilian authorities and try to track down those trucks."
Trollers wasn't buying into it. "You're saying they stowed away on one of those vehicles?"
Riley laid it on the line. "We have got to accept that these Synbats are intelligent and will do almost anything to survive. Whether you believe Doctor Merrit or not, they have capabilities we don't even know about. They're out of the park."
"How can you be sure of that?" Trollers demanded.
Riley stood his ground. "I'm not, but it's the only thing that makes sense. We have to listen to the evidence we do have. As far as we can tell, they aren't in the park. That means they got out somehow, and the most logical explanation is that they rode out. That would explain the attack on the reenactors. They forced our hand, making us move the Civil War people out quickly."
It was too much for Trollers. "You're saying that these things figured out that the park was surrounded and the only way they could get out was to sneak out in a vehicle? How could they have known that?"
"The same way they knew to attack Search Base," Riley replied. "The same way they split up and tried to lead us off in the wrong direction. We're dealing with something we don't understand, General."
Being talked to like that by a warrant officer wasn't high on General Trollers's list of favorite things. "Don't tell me what I have to do, mister. I've done -- "
"Sir, I have a suggestion." Hossey tried calming everyone down. "We can still keep the perimeter around the park and continue the search here. If the three adult Synbats have managed to hide somewhere in the park, I think they'll have a much harder time staying hidden once the young ones are born. We'll find them then. But if they are out, we need to get on line with the civilian authorities and check it out."
"Do you know how hard it's going to be to find all those vehicles and then find out if the Synbats were in them?" General Williams looked at the glowing red numbers on the clock above the radios. "We have about six hours before the backpacks initiate. If the Synbats were on one of those trailers, they could have hopped off anywhere along the way. We'd need a miracle to find them now."
Trollers rubbed his forehead. "All right. I'll get my people in Virginia working on the vehicle angle. Everything else here stays in place and we keep looking."