Xeno Sapiens (42 page)

Ingrid took a wall-mounted gurney down
and set it next to Alex’s bed. It would be easier to retrieve the
gun and bring it in here, but the missing door would leave them too
exposed. She had to find some semblance of a barricade.

“
Do you think you could roll yourself
over into this thing?”

Alex gave a reasonably concerted effort
to comply.

“
Oy gevalt,
” he said thickly. “I’ve performed
surgery in worse shape than this.” He settled into the
gurney.

“
That’s my brave little
man.”

Ingrid secured the IV drip in Clifton’s
arm with surgical tape, then set the stand diagonally across the
gurney. She wheeled Clifton from the infirmary and down the
corridor. The well-oiled wheels barely squeaked.

She rolled Clifton into Merrifield’s
office and situated his bed in a corner as far from both the window
and the door as she could manage. She didn’t turn on a
light.

She wanted Hall to show up outside the
window and try to see into a darkened room. The sporadic lightning
would outline him very nicely as a target. If he showed up at the
door? Ingrid would wager her life she could plug Hall before he
spotted her and started banging away. The odds were finally stacked
in her favor and she settled down to wait for the morning, when the
FBI guys could take over.

The hunter had tracked him all the way
to the beacons of light at the Alamo. Seth felt Hall’s presence,
but Hall was more cautious now. That small glimmer of uncertainty
was there and Seth intended to use it.

The blue skylights had shone him his
way for a while, but now they would be enemies as he had to break
cover and move across open ground. His saviors were gone, devoured
by the dragon who now stalked him. The man had procured one of his
weapons. The other had apparently been lost in the ambush on the
two other men. One was enough.

Seth had made his way to the rear of
the building, as had Hall, avoiding the lights at the front. Seth
could no longer catch the train of Hall’s thoughts, but he was
there. He was always there, a shadow god that held the reins over
his life or death. Eventually you would find yourself in a place
from which there was no shelter from his omnipotent weapons, no
cover from his all seeing eye, and there you would fight or
die.

Seth had slipped from the arena when he
heard the chattering of the weapon. One of the men who had arrived
was visible in the weird light of Seth’s vision. He showed up as a
vivid glow against the darker background of the cold earth. At the
sound of the weapon, Seth saw three spots of brighter color spout
from the glowing head of the figure. He knew instinctively he was
seeing blood and he felt the man’s life whither away.

Cold-blooded and ruthless, Seth had
used the diversion to aid his escape. He had forced himself onward,
but was slow and patient for more than one reason. His hunter was
skilled as well as mad. Seth was losing more ground to his ills
with every passing moment. He had to find the one called Ingrid.
And if he couldn’t find her he would rather die in the mother
wilderness than as Josh Hall’s trophy in this most dangerous
game.

The wind gusted and a chill traveled
down the long length of Seth’s spine. He was about to risk bolting
into the dark and mournful night, taking a chance on losing it all,
when there was another perceptible change. He gazed left in a semi
consciousness and saw Hall stealing out of the woods fifty yards
behind him. Hall moved like a cold spirit in the night, tracking
between the white patches of snow that had begun to collect on the
darker mud. The train of Hall’s thoughts began, starting up slowly
at first then suddenly gaining strength into a cyclonic whirl that
winged through the night like the bloody conscience of a crazed
raptor.

Your turn, Ingrid, you
bitch. I want to see your eyes in my hands. I want your blood to
run through my fingers.

With a desperate effort, Seth dragged
himself to his feet, beginning the arduous trek down the mud
slicked slope that led to the Alamo. His head pounded like metal
under the hammer of Thor and the flesh of his cheek felt like it
had been run through a shredder. But Hall had finally found the one
thing that would cause Seth to act directly against him. Fear for
his own life had kept Seth from confronting Hall, but Ingrid’s
death would be tantamount to his own destruction. He would use his
last ounce of strength to prevent it.

He lurched into the open space,
staggering faintly between the safety of the forest and the
battleground of the Alamo, where he would make his final
stand.

Where did you go, monster?
Have you disappeared into thin air? Did the bitch give you the
powers of the devil? And if so, who is more dangerous? You? Or
her?

Hall slipped nimbly out of the forest.
The monster was close, but was the monster really his prey? He had
escaped too many times, as if it were not God’s will for him to be
vanquished. The others had been easy. They had been
destined.

It was short work for him to scale the
fence that surrounded the facility. He moved across the open space,
behind the guards at the gate, straight to the front door. If
everyone else was as slack as the guards, he might be able to waltz
in and do his work with ease.

He tried the front door and found it
locked. The hair on the back of his neck stood up. Snow blew
against the gooseflesh on his body. There was someone he was meant
to meet on the other side of the door. It was a feeling like those
he experienced around the monster. He felt no fright, only
excitement. The feeling faded, became dim, and the gooseflesh on
his arms now came only from the cold.

Hall made his way to the rear of the
building, searching for silent entry to perform his
duty.

And the excitement he felt at the
knowledge of Ingrid’s presence may have been what kept him unaware
of another shadowy figure that followed him and kept him close in
his sights.

Ingrid kept silent vigil inside
Merrifield’s office. She held the pistol cocked, ready to use
instantly. She was unfamiliar with firearms and had been amazed and
a little scared at its heft, its oily smell and cold, metallic
reality. It drove home the fact that she wasn’t playing Cowboys and
Indians. This was the real thing, and a deadly thing at
that.

Clifton had stayed mercifully zonked
out and that gave her one less thing to worry about. She had
checked him several times and found his condition stable, but weak.
He wasn’t gaining any ground and it was imperative he receive some
special medical attention. But he would have to hold on for a few
more hours. By then, everything would be decided.

Her chair faced the window. Lightning
glowed intermittently, then suddenly flared like a gas lantern.
Ingrid blinked from the flash. A huge roll of thunder shook the
night. The glass in the window vibrated so harshly Ingrid feared it
would break.

The rattle subsided and she began to
feel uneasy. Somewhere in the night, a murderer was stalking her.
She was alone, dragged to the end of her tether, awaiting a trained
assassin. He had bested a superhuman, constructed in a laboratory
for the purpose of legalized assassination. What chance did she
have?

She walked fearfully to the window and
looked out, not even thinking that Hall might have his sights set
on the window, awaiting his chance to pull the trigger. She looked
onto the flat, roiled landscape, now beginning to incandesce with
its patchy patina of snow. A small shudder seized her torso as she
stared into the kinetic night.

Hall sidled around an outcropping at
the corner of the building. He awaited some feeling, some
confirmation that Ingrid was close. He peered into darkened windows
and jiggled door latches, searching for an open avenue of
ingress.

The rain buffeted his face
relentlessly, now mixed with snow and ice pellets that stung like
the bites of tiny insects. It leeched the oil from his hands and
turned them to shriveled claws. He was surprised to realize how
much energy he had spent, but it had been a good night’s work. He
only wished he had not lost the 700 bolt action in the slippery
attack on Alan Caudill. It had slid easily away down the muddy
slope during the brief struggle. He still had the M-16 and that
would be ample.

He peered down the bleak side of the
building and spied a darker pool of shadow halfway down. It was a
small alcove with a door set into it. He moved toward it, his shoes
squeaking lightly. The doorway was set about three feet back and
Hall stepped into the alcove. It offered him but little shelter as
the precipitation, now mostly snow, continued to pour in from
above. He propped the M-16 against the rough brick wall of the
cul-de-sac.

He rubbed his hands briskly together
and produced a linen handkerchief from one of the many pockets in
his suit. He dried his hands and returned the handkerchief to his
pocket.

He touched the doorknob and found it
rattled easily. It turned just as easily. He turned around to
retrieve his weapon and the smile on his face widened to a gasping
maw of fright.

A wet, white arm curled around the lip
of the alcove like the tentacle of a horror-show octopus. It
wrapped its three, long, sinewy fingers around the barrel of the
M-16. Moisture glistened against the ropey muscles in the
forearm.

Hall gasped as the arm withdrew with
the rifle clutched in its hand. It was not a gasp of true fright,
but one of shock and surprise. He squinted his eyes to evil slits
and withdrew his bayonet from its boot pocket.

Something whirled away into the
darkness and hit the ground with a thudding squelch. Seth had
hurled the M-16 sixty yards through the air.

Hall backed up carefully and placed his
left hand behind him on the door knob. It turned easily and Hall
pushed backward.

It would not give.

He pushed harder, but the door was
deadbolted from the inside. Hall thought quickly. Being the stalker
was what had allowed him to control his quarry’s power. He knew
that Seth picked up thoughts and emotions just as he
did.

A thin sweat of fear gathered on Hall’s
forehead as he analyzed his dilemma.

Be strong. The Lord is on
your side. He will continue to protect you. He will give you
strength.

Hall stepped from the cul-de-sac, his
bayonet ready, no trace of fear remaining. His eyes blazed with
holy wrath and thin fire danced stealthily over the edge of the
knife.

Seth stood just outside the cul-de-sac.
He had thought Hall would be powerless without his weapon. But as
he faced Hall, standing two feet taller and looming over him like a
giant, he realized with inexorable, overbearing surety that he was
still no match for him. Seth’s heart groaned with fear at the sight
of the devilish lunacy in Hall’s eyes; at the sure way he
brandished the bayonet.

Now it’s your turn,
monster. You’ll see what your existence really means. You are a
sacrifice to the Lord; an atonement for the false prophets and
devils who created you. Your life is mine to do with as I please.
And I want to snuff it out.

Hall advanced through the blowing snow.
Seth took a faltering step backward. His legs were boneless and
hot. Burning tears welled up in his ravaged eyes as he realized he
was now the victim before the monster. The overpowering stink of
Hall’s madness engulfed him. Brilliant lightning burst into a
carnival fireworks display above them, flashing purple off of the
millions of snowflakes.

Hall launched himself at Seth, his
knife held chest high, poised to rip upward through Seth’s
belly.

Seth got his hand around Hall’s wrist
as they toppled to the ground in an Arctic eruption of mud and wet
snow. A foghorn of thunder blew through the night. Hall’s feverish
face worked and twisted just inches above Seth’s as they grappled.
Seth screamed a loud, long lament into the shadow of the night as
he held Hall’s wrist, feeling the powerful, lightning thrusts as
Hall tried to rip his guts out with the bayonet.

Then, the first of the energy surges
surrounded Hall. They came as always; unbidden and impossibly
strong. Hall’s eyes opened wide and his mouth stretched from a mad
crescent of fury to an “O” of pain.

Seth continued to scream as Hall
faltered. Some force like a grisly vampire clamped its teeth on
Seth’s soul and sucked every last erg of energy from him. He was
not going to die with a knife in the guts, but by having the life
drained from him.

Hall’s eyes began to vibrate before
losing sharp focus and starting to shimmer. The pupils became
indistinct and blended with the irises until the entire eyeball
appeared to be nothing but whites.

Hall was being shaken to pieces, every
atom in his body being super energized. Electrons jumped to higher
orbits and, instead of releasing their energy as light, simply
gained more energy until they reached their highest
limit.

The bayonet dropped from a hand that
was suddenly soft as putty. The tissues of Hall’s body oozed and
ran like liquid, but only for a few seconds. Before all the tissues
could liquefy, the atoms energized even more and formed into gas,
then into plasma.