Blackhawk — and then yelled into the walkie-talkie: “Quince, I can’t find the damned thing!”
“Put a couple of rounds high into the trees, try to get its attention, and then keep on looking!” Lanyard’s crackling voice from the walkie-talkie’s low-range speaker. “And let Marcus know what’s going on.”
“What about Caldreaux?”
“Let’s just hope he got to the bloody trees in time,” Lanyard’s voice crackled again.
Between Cave 1 and Cave 2
The concussive roar of a. 50-caliber round ripping through the chilled night air echoed throughout the Maze, causing every creature in the area to stop and turn in confusion, disbelief, or pure fright.
As Bulatt and Achara stood on a rocky outcropping roughly two thirds of the way from their cave position to Hateley’s, they saw — and then heard — the billowing muzzle-blast of a second. 50-caliber round streaking across the snow-strewn sky in the direction of Bait Pile 3.
“What are they shooting at?” Achara asked.
“I don’t know,” Bulatt said as he pulled the walkie-talkie out of his vest and switched it to channel seven, “but I’m going to find out.”
The sound of Jack Gavin’s British-accented voice erupted from the small speaker.
“… into the trees. Still can’t spot Caldreaux. Hope the hell I missed him!”
“Gecko-Two to Gecko-Three, cease fire! Repeat, cease fire! We’re coming in over landing zone three now,” Lanyard yelled over the noise of the Blackhawks’ rotors.
“Gecko-Three, copy cease fire. Can you see it?” Gavin’s voice again.
“Gecko-Two, I can’t see anything from up here; too much snow. We’re going to set the chopper down and take a look around. Can you still see the lass and the Gunny?”
“Affirmative. They’re about two thirds of the way to Hateley’s cave position.”
Bulatt and Achara looked at each other, wide-eyed.
“Gecko-Two to Gecko-Three, suggest you disengage the one-oh-seven safety feature, main menu.”
“Gecko-Three, copy that, disengaging now.”
“They know where we are,” Achara said, “but how — ?”
“Gecko-Three, this is Gecko-One, they’re getting too close to Cave-One,” the deeply-accented Australian voice crackled from the walkie-talkie in Bulatt’s hand. “Snow’s too deep; I can’t get there in time. Put them down.”
“What?!” Achara stared disbelieving at the walkie-talkie.
“They’re tracking this damned thing,” Bulatt yelled as he threw the walkie-talkie aside, grabbed Achara and wrenched her to the ground an instant before a. 50-caliber bullet streaked through the snow-filled night air — a few inches from where his hand had been — and exploded into a nearby boulder, sending rock fragments flying in all directions.
Moments later, a second round ripped into the ground a few feet away in a violent eruption of snow and ice, sending rock, dirt, tree root and walkie-talkie fragments in all directions as Bulatt and Achara scrambled for the protection of the nearby boulder. They got behind it just as a third bullet — and then a fourth — slammed into the opposite side of the boulder.
“Your walkie-talkie, give it to me, quick!” Bulatt yelled, and then flung the small communications device as far as he could in the direction of the nearby trees. Seconds later, another pair of. 50-caliber bullets shredded Achara’s walkie-talkie and most of the lower trunk of a fifteen-foot Douglas Fir.
Landing Zone, Cave 3
Quince Lanyard waited until the Blackhawk had settled down onto the flasher-marked landing zone for Cave 3 and reduced rotor speed. Then he jumped out of the cargo door with the M4 carbine in one hand, looked around quickly, ran out past the marked zone, and got back on his walkie-talkie.
“Gecko-Three, this is Gecko-Two. I’m boots-down at landing zone three. I can see the bait pile, but no sign of Caldreaux or any of the targets. What’s your status?”
“Gecko-Three, I’m detecting negative transmission signals from Cave-Two or Sarge-One radios. Subjects disappeared behind a big boulder. May have killed or wounded one, can’t tell. Visibility that far out is spotty at best.”
“Gecko-One to Gecko-Three, do you still have a shot?”
“Gecko-Three to One, negative on a shot; but I’ve got a clear field of fire on their general position. If they’re still alive, they’re not going anywhere.”
While Gavin and Wallis had been talking, Lanyard had taken several more steps toward the seemingly abandoned bait pile. He stopped when he spotted something on the ground. He bent down and picked up what he immediately recognized as one of the spears he and Gavin had spent many hours constructing. The shaft on this one was visibly cracked and bent, as if it had been run over.
“Gecko-Two, I found one of Caldreaux’s spears. I’m going to check out the area and — oh shit!”
The huge and misshapen Bull Mammoth — the first of the creatures Sergei Draganov had created through genetic manipulation, and then subsequently labeled ‘a serious mistake’ before hiding it away in the MAX facilities — had stood in the trees and watched the Blackhawk helicopter land.
It continued to watch, as the single human figure got out and walked around, with an emotion that was more curiosity than anything else. The huge mammal didn’t recognize the M4 carbine in Quince Lanyard’s hands as being anything threatening to the female and her calf; so it remained where it was, hidden in the trees and watching contentedly, until the human figure bent down and picked up the spear.
The reflective glow of the green-flasher light off the obsidian head of the spear had an instant effect on the hulking creature with the mismatched tusks and extremely long trunk. Recognition sent a surge of testosterone and adrenaline coursing through the mammal’s hose-like arteries, propelling it in that instant to do the one thing that all such creatures of its extended Family had long been programmed to do:
It charged.
CHAPTER 41
Between Cave 1 and Cave 2
Bulatt and Achara were both crouched down against the protective mass of the huge granite boulder that had started out as a refuge from the devastating 50-caliber bullets; but had now become a snow-covered trap, because they realized they couldn’t leave it without exposing themselves to another barrage.
“Okay,” Bulatt said as he reached into his tunic pocket and pulled out his compass, “I think we can assume they’re on to us. It’s about time we called in the cavalry.” He took the compass in both hands, wrenched top and bottom in different directions, and then reached up and set it on top of the boulder.
“What’s it doing?” Achara asked.
“Ideally, it’s sending a distress signal up to a satellite and then down to Mike Takahara, along with our GPS position that tells him where to find us,” Bulatt said. “All we have to do is — ”
The incoming. 50-caliber round exploded into the top of the boulder, vaporizing several ounces of granite along with the GPS-transmitting compass, and sending Bulatt and Achara diving to the icy ground again.
“Are you okay?” Bulatt asked, winching as he rubbed at his ears.
“Yes, I’m fine, just frightened and angry,” Achara responded, blinking and shaking her head from the ear- ringing effects of the nearby concussive impact. “I don’t understand. How can they see us this far away, and in this storm?”
The big clumps of snowflakes were falling all around them now.
“They can’t, at least not clearly,” Bulatt said. “They’ve got some means of zeroing that one-oh-seven rifle in on transmitter signals — the walkie-talkies and apparently our emergency beacons as well. We’re not transmitting any more, but they still know our rough location. If we try to make a run for it, and they spot the movement, they’ll just start firing rounds in our general location, and keep it up until we run out of rocks to hide behind. Which,
