“We’ve got company.”
4:32 P.M.
No wonder it took us so long to run these bastards down . . .
Dylan Wright stood behind the driver of the largest CAAT, staring out at the expanse of swampland and the lumbering herd of Pachyceri. Far to his right, a vehicle blazed a bright trail across the periphery of the glowing herd, a comet arcing along the floor of the dark cavern.
So they got Byrd’s old snow cruiser moving again.
It must have happened after Dylan and his team fled Hell’s Cape a year and a half ago. But it was no great matter. Land-bound, the cruiser could not match the speed and amphibious dexterity of a CAAT, especially the smaller ones.
Plus the odds were stacked in Dylan’s favor: three against one.
Not to mention, his team already outmanned and outgunned their opponents, likely by the same uneven ratio.
Dylan touched his radio’s earpiece. He spoke to the smaller CAATs to either side. “McKinnon, flank right. Seward, head left. Keep them pinned down. I’ll take the big CAAT and run it right up their arses.”
He got affirmations from both men.
“Go!” he ordered, tasting the familiar lust of the hunt in the back of his throat.
Now to end this.
4:33 P.M.
Jason rode shotgun next to Kowalski as the snow cruiser raced across the swamplands, crushing through the reeds, scattering wildlife, while avoiding the larger obstacles in their path, namely the lumbering Pachyceri. The big beasts trumpeted their complaint, trotting out of the way as best they could. Kowalski jackknifed the big rig back and forth to avoid hitting any stragglers—not necessarily out of concern for the animals, but out of fear that a collision would do more harm to their vehicle than to the thick-hided creatures.
The snow cruiser struck a ridge and jolted up, going impossibly airborne for a moment, then crashing back down on its giant wheels.
Jason clutched the arm of his chair, while keeping watch out his window. Across the cab, Stella crouched in a jump seat behind Kowalski, keeping her eyes glued to the left side of the cruiser.
Lights flared out in the darkness to the right.
“Here they come on our starboard side!” Jason yelled, loud enough for Gray to hear down in the lower cabin.
“Over here, too!” Stella echoed.
On both sides, twin spears of headlamps flanked the barreling cruiser, racing about thirty yards out, running faster and more nimbly than their cumbersome rig. The smaller CAATs were plainly trying to get ahead, to slow them down. A larger CAAT trailed, but it was closing fast, its buoyant treads allowing it to skim across this watery landscape.
“We need to go faster,” Jason mumbled under his breath.
Kowalski heard him. “Got it floored, kid. Unless you want to go out and push, this is it.”
Jason shared a worried glance with Stella.
They’d never outrun these hunters.
The flanking CAATs began to squeeze closer, drawing tighter in a pincer move, attempting to cut them off. Gunfire erupted. Rounds pelted the side of the cruiser and chipped the front windshield. The thick glass held—for now. The cruiser had been built for the harsh terrain of Antarctica, to withstand avalanches and icy crashes, but there were limits to its World War II–era technology.
They needed to break free of this snare. It was now or never. The hunters were as close as they dared let them get to the cruiser.
“Get ready!” Jason yelled down to Gray.
Stella pointed ahead and to the left. “Over there . . . that one!”
Jason nodded and hollered. “Port side! Got a big bull on the port side!”
“Do it!” Gray called back.
Kowalski leaned over the rig’s wheel. “Hold on to your asses.”
4:35 P.M.
Gray had belted himself into the last seat in the cabin, facing the back of the cruiser. Harrington sat on the opposite side, equally secure in place.
The snow cruiser suddenly swung to the side, making a sharp right turn. It lifted up on two tires, rubber squealing across wet rock, teetering precariously as it still spun to the right, swinging its tail end around to the port side.
Gray held his breath, sure they would topple over—but the cruiser finally righted itself and crashed back down to all four tires.
“Now!” he yelled to Harrington.
The professor hit a large black button above his seat.
Bolts blew near the top of the back wall—and the rear door fell open, dropping away to form an exit ramp. The far edge struck the ground, and the ramp got dragged along behind the cruiser, rattling and bouncing across the cavern floor, plowing through shallow puddles or streams.
Harrington bellowed to be heard above the racket of steel on stone and the bugling of the frightened herd outside. “That must be the one!”
The professor pointed to where an exceptionally large Pachycerex came into view out the back door, thundering along, trumpeting its anger. The bull stood a third taller in the haunches than the others. Beyond its bulk, one of the small CAATs raced, still trying to compensate for the sudden maneuver by the large rig.
Gray raised his DSR rifle aiming for the rear quarter of the massive bull Pachycerex. He waited until the pursuing CAAT drew abreast of the beast—then fired.
The recoil of the electric rifle slammed his shoulder. He got enough of a backwash from the pulse to set his teeth on edge. The sonic bullet struck the flank of the bull. He could tell because its hide had been glowing a dark crimson—then suddenly flared in a splatter of blue, as if Gray had fired a paint gun into its side.
The bull roared and reared up on its hind legs, twisting away from the noise and pain. It dropped back to all fours and charged in the opposite direction—straight toward the CAAT racing along that side.
The bull took its wrath out upon this intruder in the herd. It lowered its head and struck the vehicle broadside with a ringing crash of bone on steel. The smaller CAAT got knocked off its treads, going airborne, flipping sideways. It struck the pond’s far bank, landed on its side, and skidded away in a grinding flurry of sparks.
One down.
Knowing they were outnumbered, Gray had come up with this plan to use this harsh world as a weapon, to turn it against these hunters.
Kowalski threw the rig in the direction of that crash, sending the rear end swinging around again. Gray got tossed hard against his seat’s straps, almost losing his grip on the rifle. The cruiser aimed for this new break in the closing snare, intending to burst free.
The lumbering vehicle roared past the crash site. In the distance, the larger CAAT fell back. Gray stared toward those fading headlamps, sensing his nemesis was aboard there.