- 6 -

Day 13, Saturday, Afternoon

Except for some new ruts through the ditch by the site, and several more sets of tracks through the field, no one could tell from the road that an elite army unit had set up camp in the woods. Troops were guarding the hole and a hundred yards up and downriver.

It was a different story if they were on the river. Two helicopters with pontoons and a small 32 foot National Guard boat (commandeered by the Army) were docked on the river below the site.

Technicians in white lab coats scurried around in the hole. They were passing up sealed and labeled gallon buckets of dirt. Some specific items were placed in shiny, metal vessels, quickly taken to one of the trucks and placed in other special containers.

______________________

Ox was showing Clyde how to sight the rocket launcher when they heard the bikes coming back. Hank was flirting with Sue, as usual. And, as usual, she wasn't paying much attention to him. She was more concerned with the bumps that were appearing on her hands and the rash on her arms.

"Hank, get over here," Clyde said, disgusted at Hank's preoccupation with Sue. "They're coming back."

Hank was disgusted with Clyde's preoccupation, also. To Hank, hunting for some rocks that might be absolutely worthless didn't seem to be more important than pussy. But, as usual, he obeyed Clyde's every wish.

The men came out of the woods and pulled up behind the trike, and timidly gathered around Clyde. Nobody wanted to be the first to talk.

"Well, goddamnit, somebody tell me what's going on," Clyde spat, looking at Guido.

"We found the guy's truck and the—"

"Shut up! It's this shithead I wanna hear it from," Clyde screamed and lunged at Ace, grabbing him by the front of his jacket and jerking him to within biting distance. "I told you to kill them, you stupid—"

Chuck interrupted, "They got away from Sue while I was getting the cop car."

Clyde looked at Sue. She glared at him, her hate gushed out, "I'm gonna kill the big bastard myself. You all hear me! I get the big one. Anybody fucks with him and I'll kill them instead." Venomous eyes flashed to each individual man, making sure they took her seriously. They did, even Clyde.

Clyde released Ace and stepped back, offering no apologies.

Ace patted the front of his jacket and carefully said, "They took some stuff from the trike, and that was them in the truck. At least, they killed the thing that got Skip and Cutter."

A few minutes ago, Clyde had been excited about going to see the thing, whatever it was, but that was then. Now he had some serious problems; the main one being the Feds having some real weapons. He snatched open the hatch on the trike, and tried to do some mental arithmetic, but couldn't do it. He could barely count. The ability to subtract totally eluded him. Guido tentatively watched over his shoulder.

"They got some Uzi's, some clips, and," lifting the lid on the opened case of grenades, he guessed, "and a bunch of grenades. That means that it was the goddamned Feds that were doing all the shooting," Clyde said, furiously scratching his leg by his right pocket.

"What about the rifle fire?" asked Guido.

"Did you forget who in the hell we're looking for?" Clyde spat vehemently.

"No, but—"

"No but, nothing. Your goddamned Green Beret sissies are with the Feds. Somehow they hooked up after the Feds escaped." Clyde paused to let that sink in. "I hope you realize that we can't let any of them get out of here alive. If we do, in two days we'll all be in the slammer. And that goes for the cops, too. They're already on to Hank, and Skip's truck is in the gully. If we don't kill all of them and erase every trace, there won't be anywhere for us to hide, unless you want to go to… He couldn't think of a safe country. …ah, ah… maybe the fuckin' South Pole."

The men glanced at each other, waiting for someone to say something. The death of three of their gang and the seriousness, and to some, the hopelessness of their situation, sobered them and focused their collective minds to one common thought, What do we do, Clyde?

He had their complete attention, and he knew it was time for a plan, but his mind was filled with jumbled thoughts.

He started giving orders, even though he didn't have a plan. It was more like a direction. A simple direction. Kill everyone and find more rocks. And get something to eat.

"Chuck, take your radio and go back to my bike. Stay outta sight and guard the road.

"Guido, you take Hank and Ace on the dirt bikes and search the woods between the road and the bluff, gradually working upriver. Don't let anybody get by you… Wait a minute! Go back down the road about a half a mile and then cut into the woods. They might already be going that way. I'll take Ox and Sue on the trike and cover the road and the river."

Clyde figured that Ox with the rocket launcher, and he and Sue with Uzi's and grenades were a match for the cops and anyone else that came their way.

______________________

Kawalski looked back. Sam was only about fifty feet behind, but Jim was really falling back. He slowed to a walk so they could catch up. Actually, he was about to drop, but he'd never let them know it. He had to prove to the kids that he still had it. But as the years flew by, it was becoming harder to do.

Sam jogged up, puffing like a horse that had just run a mile and a half stakes race.

"What's the matter, old man, the pace too fast for you?"

Kawalski looked at him, indulgently, and said in his fatherly way, "I thought you could use some rest."

"Rest? I'm gonna die in a minute, anyway. Why stop to rest now?" He sank to his hands and knees.

Jim plodded up, already looking like death. He flopped down on the ground and rolled over onto his back.

Kawalski wished that he could do the same, but maintaining his image came before his personal comfort, so he sat down and tried to breath silently.

The muffled roar of motorcycles brought new life to their tired bodies. They pulled out their guns, slipped into the bushes and waited silently. It sounded like the bikes turned into the woods and were going away from them.

"That scared the shit out of me," Jim said, holstering his gun.

"Let's get going, men," Kawalski ordered.

"Can't we rest a minute more?" Jim pleaded.

"You heard those bikes. They're heading upriver toward the Chief. He's going to need our help, so get your asses in gear." Kawalski turned and started running up the road. Sam followed close behind, while Jim, begrudging every step, trudged along, losing ground with every step.

The road made a jog to the left, then immediately turned to the right. Jim was just coming around the left hand turn when he saw Kawalski stop and raise his riot gun, ready to fire at something around the curve. As Jim got closer, Kawalski and Sam ducked back into the brush, both motioning a quiet sign with fingers across their lips.

Kawalski whispered, "There are two motorcycles in the road just around that bend. Doesn't seem to be anybody around."

Jim nodded, waiting for him to continue. Kawalski thought for a minute then appeared to have an idea. "I'm probably the only cop in the county that doesn't know how to ride one of those damned things."

Sam and Jim glanced at each other. Everybody on the force knew that Kawalski's fear of motorcycles stemmed from childhood when his older brother was killed on a cycle while showing off for Kawalski and his friends. Nobody would talk about it, but they all knew.

"The cycles we heard a while ago sounded like dirt bikes. The two in the road are big street machines. Whoever rode them here must have parked them and gone ahead on foot."

"Let's take them," Sam said eagerly.

"That's what you two are going to do, since both of you ride the damned things. I'm going to go through the woods until I get about fifty feet in front of them and then I'm going to cover you while you get them started. If there is no trouble, just drive up the road and pick me up and we keep going."

"And what if we have trouble?" Jim asked, trying to sound brave, and fooling nobody.

"I'll do my best to cover you. The main thing is to get the cycles and get to the Chief. If you don't have time to pick me up, just keep going."

"What'll you do?" Sam asked.

"Shit, I was raised in the woods. If there are only two of them, I'll have them cleaned and skinned in thirty minutes," he said seriously. "Time your approach to allow me exactly five minutes to get into position."

They followed Kawalski's lead and looked at their watches. He turned and quietly disappeared into the woods.

Sam and Jim silently crept to the curve in the road, Sam's riot gun at the ready and Jim nervously pointing his pistol at Sam's back. They rounded the curve just enough to see the two motorcycles.

There was nobody around.

Sam looked at his watch and held up two fingers. Jim nodded and anxiously looked around.

"You take the one on the right," Sam said, raising his shotgun a few inches. "The one on the left has bungie cords on the sissy bar to hold this thing." Jim nodded.

At the four minute mark, they started toward the bikes. Kawalski, already in position, could see them approaching.

Sam strapped on the shotgun, stock down. They got on the bikes and momentarily familiarized themselves with their machine. At exactly the five minute mark they kicked the motors over. They both roared to life.

There were no screams from the owners of the bikes. Nobody burst from the brush with guns in hand. They rumbled up the road toward Kawalski.

Kawalski relaxed and started to step out into the road.

Directly across from him, a man brandishing a machine pistol jumped into the road and opened fire on the bikes. Sam cut sharply into the brush and dove, rolling into cover. Jim hesitated a second. Before Kawalski could react, a hail of bullets raked Jim's bike. The headlight exploded. The front tire was shredded, and the gas tank riddled with bullets.

A severed sparkplug wire, arching to the engine block, ignited the gas showering over the bike. Jim and the bike went down in a ball of flames.

Kawalski's riot gun swung around, aligning on the target.

A long, horrid scream came from the fireball as the fallen bike pinned Jim's leg beneath it.

The stock of the shotgun came to rest against Kawalski's hip. As a spastic silhouette convulsed hysterically inside the fireball, his finger pulled the trigger, unleashing a hail of hot, lead balls, almost severing the shooter's arm and spinning him towards the riot-gun's barrel.

Eight more triple-aught buckshot developing 2840 foot pounds of energy hit the man in the stomach, doubling him over and knocking him back like a rag doll, his head bowing to meet the next shot. The top of his head caved in and appeared to explode out his neck.

Jim suddenly stopped his horrific, spastic fire dance.

The fourth and fifth shots into the lifeless rag-doll were for justice, and because Jim would have wanted it that way.

Kawalski enjoyed doing it for him.

He instinctively ran toward the bike. The searing heat drove him back. It was no use. He couldn't get within ten feet of it.

He changed directions and ran to the man crumpled in the road.

Sam scrambled to his bike, removed the shotgun, and ran onto the road. The shooting was over. He saw the still figure on the ground, engulfed in fire. He knew that Jim had been wounded seriously before the bike went down. Jim knew how to fall. He'd have pushed himself away from the falling bike had he been able to.

Kawalski picked up the biker's Uzi and found three clips of ammo in his jacket pockets. One clip was damaged by the buckshot. He removed as many shell as he could and threw the clip into the weeds. He cursed his lousy luck when he saw the shattered walkie-talkie laying on the ground.

Along with the smell of burning gasoline, oil, plastic, and rubber, a faint smell of burning meat reached Sam's nose. He had always heard that the smell of human flesh burning was a sickening, sweet smell. Maybe he imagined it, but he could have sworn that he smelled a steak cooking. It smelled good; the thought made him sick.

The bike! Fortunately, its crash-bar kept it from falling flat. He ran to it and stood it up. It didn't look like it had been hit. He tried to start it. The starter cranked and cranked. It didn't fire.

Kawalski ran up to him. "What's the matter?"

"The carburetor on these Harleys act up when they're laid over," Sam answered, a look of desperation on his face.

While Sam was trying to start the Harley, Kawalski looked around. He saw what appeared to be a dead animal by the side of the road, halfway between him and where the bikes had been parked. A shiny spot on it caught his attention. It glistened. Out of curiosity, he walked toward it. He was within a couple steps of it when he realized what the shiny spot was. It was an earring! He took another tentative step, still not believing what he saw.

It was a human head sticking out of the ground, facing the woods, the rest of its body obviously buried beneath it. He moved closer and called out, hoping for a response, a movement. The man's eyes were open, staring into the woods. Kawalski started to say something to him, knowing that the man was alive, merely buried in some torturous ritual, when he saw ants crawling up the man's cheek and into an eye.

The motorcycle engine roared to life.

______________________

The river road ended about a hundred yards from where the bluff and the river met. The ground was strewn with boulders and thick brush. About a hundred feet from the river the ground started sloping up into the bluff.

Cliff had found an obstacle that he couldn't get around. It was a boulder the size of a house. All around it were thorn bushes. He backtracked a few steps and stopped to evaluate the situation.

"Chief, what are we gonna do?" Joe asked.

After a moment of contemplation Cliff said, "It looks like the bluff goes to the river's edge. If that's the case then we can't get out this way, anyhow."

"We can't go back," Ed whined. "The bikers are back there."

Joe shoved him away. "You fuckin' little wimp. We outta tie you to a tree and use you for bait for one of those things," he said, relishing the thought.

"It looks like we're gonna have to make a stand right here," Cliff said.

Joe was quick to point out, "Two lousy riot guns and some revolvers aren't going to make a very big stand against the weapons the bikers have."

"You want to swim for it?" Cliff asked sarcastically.

Joe looked toward the river. "Yeah, I can swim better than I can climb that fuckin' bluff."

"Can you swim with your guns and your shoes on? Because when you get to the other side, how you gonna know if the bikers aren't already over there waiting? All they gotta do is go back to the road and come up the other side. I don't know about the rest of you but I'd rather die with my shoes on, shooting at something, than being shot down running through the woods in my underwear."

Joe thought for a moment, as if visualizing what it would be like to be caught on the other side as Cliff had described. His slight head shake let everyone know that he didn't like the idea.

Cliff continued, "There's plenty of cover here. Let's spread out and get them in a crossfire. We should be able to take out half of them before they get off their first shot." Cliff looked around and pointed to some good positions for them to take.

Joe eagerly took his position. Gunning someone down was an idea that he could live with. He chuckled at the irony.

______________________

"Stop this goddamned thing and shut it off," Clyde hollered at Sue when he heard the machine-gun fire, followed by shotgun blasts coming from behind them.

"That was Chuck," he said to Ox, "and goddamnit, he didn't shoot last."

They listened intently, hoping to hear Chuck cut loose with another machine gun burst. The only thing they heard were the muffled sounds of the dirt bikes. He reached in front of Sue, snatched the mike and called Chuck. No answer. He tried again, much louder, as if that would help, but his radio remained silent.

Have the Feds circled around behind us? He ruled that out. He knew that they couldn't have gotten past the guys on the dirt bikes without being seen.

He tried to think. His men and the Feds all had Uzi's. The only ones using shotguns were the cops, and they were in front of him.

He didn't understand.

He realized that if it was the cops that had gotten Chuck, and they were in radio communications with the cops in front of him, then he was the one that was trapped. He didn't feel quite as brave now that his men were searching the woods and he only had Ox and Sue with him.

He couldn't remember who still had a walkie-talkie. He pushed the button and hollered into the mike, "Guido, can you hear me?"

"Yeah, I'm here. What was all the shooting?"

"I think somebody just got Chuck. Who's closest to the road?"

"Ace," Guido answered. "I'm by the bluff and Hank's in the middle."

"Keep doing what you're doing. I'm coming back. Make sure the Feds don't get past you."

"Roger, bro."

Clyde clipped the mike back in its holder and put his hand on Ox's shoulder.

"Ox, take the launcher and get over there by those boulders," he said, pointing to a group of refrigerator size boulders on the bluff side of the road, "and blow away anybody coming down this road. We're going to circle back through the woods and come in behind them and force them toward you."

He turned to Sue, "You get in the back and be ready to kill somebody. I'm driving."

Ox, grinning sadistically, grabbed the launcher, two extra rockets, his Uzi, and went toward the rocks. Clyde turned to the right and roared off through the woods with Sue trying to hang on to the bucking machine and her Uzi.

______________________

John listened to the dirt bikes going back and forth in the woods behind him. They were slowly gaining ground, and he knew that if they didn't reach the cops soon, they'd have to deal with the bikers by themselves. He didn't like their chances. Unless he could get the man with the launcher, and either disable it, or ideally, take it intact along with some rockets.

Even though the bikers weren't quickly gaining on them, they still had to transverse the half mile or so of woods to get to the cops by the river.

Finally, he conceded to the others, "They've got us trapped."

"Let's spread out," Tom suggested, "and ambush them. If we get two or three of them, they'll have to run—they won't have enough people left to stay and fight."

John shook his head. "If we don't get the one with the rocket launcher, all we'll be doing is tipping off our position, and there's no place to hide from that thing. While we're getting two or three of them, he'll do the same to us."

Tom noticed Sherri nodding in agreement.

John continued, "Our best bet is to spread out and hide, and hope they go on by. Bob nodded confirmation. "You two go over by the bluff and stay at least a hundred feet apart. Bob and I'll find a place in the woods. If they see us, don't tip off your position until you see the man with the launcher. He's the one we've got to get. And let's hope that they've only got one launcher."

Tom saw a rock that was about two feet in diameter, told Sherri to get behind it and use the rock for a gun rest. He went about a hundred feet from her, downriver toward the bikers, and sat down beside a small scrub bush growing at the base of the bluff. He wasn't completely hidden, but if he stayed still, with any luck, he didn't think he'd be spotted. And if he was, he consoled himself with the fact that he'd at least get off the first shot.

John and Bob went into the woods and spread out, each finding a tree big enough to offer some protection. The bikers coming in opposite directions was a problem, but it was the best they could do.

They waited, listening to the cackling engines closing the net.

Tom looked at Sherri. She smiled and held up a grenade in her right hand. The pin was dangling from her mouth!

______________________

Ox stood against a chest-high boulder, aiming, making swooshing noises as he simulated firing the rocket launcher at imaginary targets, longing for something alive, something moving and breathing to blow away.

It had been almost a year since they'd acquired the launcher. A year of waiting and hoping. He wanted to recapture the exhilaration he'd felt in the Army. The awesome feeling of power as the rocket surged from the launcher, the building excitement as the rocket streaked toward the imaginary, hapless gooks.

Just knowing that with the touch of a finger, he could send death and total destruction wherever he wanted, excited him almost to the point of orgasm. He didn't realize that killing could be closely related to sexual excitement. He just knew that he liked killing more than anything else. He loved it. God, if we could only be at war all the time, he dreamed, I'd be a happy man. He wondered if a prayer would help.

______________________

Bob raised the Uzi and followed the zig-zagging trike through the trees, waiting for it to pop into the open. John hissed and motioned for him not to shoot.

They watched the machine weave by, coming within fifty yards, and continue downriver. Shortly after being swallowed by the foliage, its muffled engine sounds were drowned out by the louder, venomous racket of the approaching dirt bikes. Suddenly, all the engines quit except for the distant sound of a bike over by the river. An eerie, suspicious moment of near silence settled in.

Seizing the opportunity, John motioned to Bob. "Let's get the hell out of here. We've got to find a better place to set up an ambush."

He signaled Tom and Sherri and started up river, edging back toward the bluff.

______________________

Ace was making a hundred yard zig-zag sweep of the woods. At first he was as excited as a hound in a fox hunt, but he was rapidly becoming bored. He zigged toward the bluff. When he saw Hank, they'd acknowledge each other and he'd zag toward the road. Like clockwork, he'd see Hank, wave, they'd turn away from each other and start another diagonal trek in the opposite direction.

Clyde and Guido converged with Hank and shut off their engines.

Not having a radio, Hank asked, "What was all the shooting about?"

"Sounded like somebody got Chuck, the stupid shit," Clyde spat disgustedly. "I came back to drive them up to Ox. He'll take care of them." An attempt at grinning turned into a lustful sneer.

"Where's Ace?"

"He's over by the road," Hank said.

"Good. I'll take him with me in case they cut through the woods. I can't chase anybody through these goddamned trees on this thing. You two cover the woods and don't let them get by."

Ace weaved his way through the trees until he was within sight of the road and looked in both directions. Not seeing anything, he turned to his right and started diagonally toward the bluff.

Sam ran the big Harley in low gear at not much more than idle speed, trying to keep the huge, nearly 1500cc monster as quiet as possible. Kawalski held the Uzi pointing straight up between them, ready to swing in either direction.

Kawalski spotted the dirt bike in the woods to their right. Approaching the biker from the rear, they hadn't yet been seen. Tapping Sam on the shoulder, he pointed toward the bike:

"He probably won't hear us over the noise that contraption makes, but if he does, give it hell."

Sam nodded, keeping a sharp eye on the rider.

Even over the noise of his bike, Ace's highly tuned ears could hear a Harley. He stopped and looked around. Two cops are on Clyde's bike!

"He's seen us! Hang on!" Sam yelled over his shoulder as he twisted the throttle full on, then backed off a bit as the beast began fishtailing.

Not stopping to think about whether he'd need help, Ace went with his first impulse, give chase, catch them, and blow their fucking brains out. After all, he had a machine gun strapped on his shoulder and two grenades clipped to his belt. He turned and sent the bike screaming through the trees toward the road.

"Hey, that's a Harley!" Clyde yelled. Then they heard a dirt bike accelerating.

"Ace is after it," Guido said.

"And it's going upriver," Hank added an obvious observation.

Clyde listened for a moment to make sure. Suddenly shocked, he wailed, "That must be a cop Ace was supposed to have killed back on the road." Then he emphatically added, "And the cocksucker stole—!" He remembered that Ace had said three cops. He hoped that one of them hadn't gone for help. If they had, there wasn't anything he could do about it now. Then he realized that if one of them had gone for help, there would already be a hundred cops out here by now, and they sure as hell wouldn't steal a bike.

He had to smile at the irony. Cops don't like cop killers, but they don't mind stealing a motorcycle. To him, stealing a motorcycle was the worst offense imaginable. Don't they have any scruples?

"Let's get the bastards," Guido urged excitedly, his foot flipping out the kick-starter peg.

"Hold on." Clyde held up his hand to stop him from starting the bike. "Ace is already on his tail, and Ox is waiting with the rocket launcher. He'll take care of business." Clyde stopped, wide-eyed, shocked. "Oh shit! If that's my bike…"

"It sure sounded like it," Hank said, immediately wishing that he'd kept his fool mouth shut. "But maybe it's Guido's," he hastily added.

"What? The sonovabitches!" Guido yelled. Then whining, begging, "Come on, Clyde, you gotta let me go with you."

Clyde shook his head. "You two keep searching the woods. I'll cover the road and part of Ace's search area. We can't let the Feds out of here alive. And we gotta catch one of those lunatics and get some answers. Besides, they're the only ones that really know who we are. If it wasn't for all the goddamned buggies we've left scattered around, we could concentrate on getting them, and just keep the cops holed up until we get ready to split."

Guido looked longingly and listened dismally to the receding bikes. He loved his bike more than anything in the world, except for himself, but if he didn't do what Clyde said, he wouldn't be needing his bike, anyway.

Hank was impressed at Clyde's moment of apparent lucidity. It was good to see him thinking clearly for a change. He winked at Sue. She stuck out her tongue at him, wishing that she could stick a knife in him. He took it as a sensual response.

Clyde started the trike and drove away, leaving them both wanting.

______________________

Kawalski already had a respectful hate for motorcycles. Even driving slowly down the road, trying not to be heard, had made his stomach churn, but evading pursuit on one was worse than hell. If it wasn't for the sissy bar on the back, he would've fallen off when Sam accelerated. Now, it was a constant struggle, trying to hang on to Sam and the gun.

Sam screamed at him to start shooting, but he didn't dare release his grip enough to twist around and shoot.

Ace hadn't considered how foolish it was to give chase to the two cops by himself. All he knew was that he was gaining on them and was within shooting range, but speeding over the rough road made it impossible to control the bike with one hand and shoot accurately with the other. He grinned when he realized that the cop on the back of the bike was holding on for dear life. He knew that Clyde was somewhere in front of him and would hear them coming. It was only a matter of time until the cops got theirs.

He couldn't help but laugh.

______________________

Hearing the approaching bikes brought Ox back to the present. Like any real biker, he recognized a Harley, and he also knew that anybody coming up the road on one had to be the enemy.

Fifty yards down the bumpy road, it curved to the left. That's where the bikes would pop into view. He leaned across the boulder, rested the launcher on top and lined the sights on the spot. At that range he could easily put a rocket in their pocket.

The Harley sounded like it was still in low gear, the engine roaring. Ox was ready. He'd shoot as it rounded the curve, giving him time to grab his gun in case the improbable happened; a misfire. He didn't even consider missing. Not at this range.

The bike shot into view, coming straight toward him. He pulled the trigger and felt the satisfying whoosh of the rocket leaving the barrel, saw instant death streaking toward the target. His excitement mounted in anticipation of the kill, the resounding boom that would scatter blood and guts, the fireball dotting his deed with a capital period. The bike intersected the streak, silently. No boom. No climax. The streak continued on past.

Ace was flying around the corner when the missile hit him in the chest. He disintegrated like the covering on an exploding stick of dynamite; the motorcycle reduced to a flying, tumbling, burning carnage.

Ox couldn't believe it. He forgot the Uzi and grabbed another rocket. He had to do it again!

The motorcycle roared by. Two cops were on it!

"Shoot the cocksucker," Sam hollered at Kawalski.

"Get us out of here, goddamnit," Kawalski screamed back. He was absolutely positive that if he even relaxed his grip on Sam, he'd fall off the insane machine that was eventually going to fling him to his death, anyway. A ridiculously crazy paradox.

He'd seen the man start to reload his weapon as they streaked by. For a split second he considered jumping, but at the thought, his arms clamped tighter around Sam's midsection, the Uzi uncomfortably squeezed between them.

Ox raised the launcher, took aim, let out his breath, relaxed a second, and pulled the trigger. The rocker streaked toward the rapidly receding motorcycle.

______________________

Dan was sitting just inside the entrance tunnel to the cave, chewing on a piece of meat from the cop that Sol had brought back, while listening to Joyce scream at Sol about a piece of meat that he'd taken from her. Both of them were so engrossed in their argument that they didn't pay any attention to the explosion of the rocket that Ace had taken in the chest.

Dan got up and ran outside to see what was going on. He couldn't see anybody, but he could hear them out there. They were getting too close. After hearing the full volume of the thunderous second explosion, He knew that they were in trouble. The noise had even shaken the ground. He ran back inside the cave and forcefully broke up the argument and started making rapid, three octave, clipped bits of sound.

Sol and Joyce acknowledged and they all went to the stockpile of weapons. Dan wanted something to kill all of the noisy, slimy little things. He picked up a case of dynamite and ran through the tunnel to the cave entrance. He stopped and looked at the case in his hands. A look of confusion crossed his hideous face. He didn't know what to do with it. He stepped back into the entrance tunnel and set the case down, then ran back inside to the pile of weapons and picked up a rifle. Pointing it in front of him, he made a motion as if he was firing it. Nothing happened. He looked at it again and repeated the firing motion. Still nothing happened. He'd forgotten how to get it to make noise.

Sol and Joyce were still rummaging through the pile of weapons as if they couldn't find what they were looking for.

Dan stepped over to a rock and holding the rifle by the barrel like a club, smashed it down on the rock. The stock broke off. He threw the rifle away in disgust.

Sol handed him another gun. Dan grabbed it from him and smashed it against the rock. It broke. He angrily threw it away and said some gibberish to Sol.

The three of them left the cave and started down the hill toward the woods.

______________________

Hearing the two motorcycles racing upriver, John quickened his pace, but hearing the first rocket explosion brought him to a halt. It was a dull, bass whump, quickly captured and absorbed by the foliage.

They waited and listened.

The ensuing silence seemed to amplify the sound of the bikers making their swaths back in the woods.

He had to make a decision. Without help, the cops had about the same chance against the bikers as the Indians did against Gattling guns and cannons. But if the bikers are attacking over by the river, now might be their best and last opportunity to send someone for help. Sending Tom and Sherri was the logical choice. It would be the best way to get them out of danger. Even though their abilities were to be commended, they were still civilians and he had an obligation to protect them.

"It sounds like the cops are under attack," Bob said.

John nodded, knowing what they had to do. "That means that the bikers have split up."

"And it also means." Tom added, realizing the obvious, "that there's probably only those two bikes between us and the highway. And we know the launcher is upriver."

That made the decision easier for John. "Tom, take Sherri upriver along the bluff and find a place to hide. We're going—"

Another explosion echoed along the bluff.

Sherri barely batted an eye. "How in the hell can we help if we're over there hiding?" she demanded.

"I started to say that we will lead the bikers deeper into the woods and as soon as they go by you, get the hell out of here and go for help." John started to mention his car that might still be operable.

"Go for help?" she barked. "How many goddamned hearses and body bags should we tell them we need?" She was livid, and just getting warmed up, the fire in her emerald eyes building to laser strength.

Tom took her hand to urge her to come along, and managed to get as far as, "But, Sher—"

"Don't but me, Tom," she said between clinched teeth. "If they're going, I'm going. It just might make the difference. Besides, if they all get themselves killed, what chance will we have?"

A hell of a good one, Tom wanted to say, but her attitude momentarily shocked him speechless. She had to know that if they went for help, their own chances of survival skyrocketed, of course, John and Bob's went down the toilet, not that they weren't already there just waiting for the flush, but staying was to chain oneself to a table and invite the grim reaper to dinner, to taunt and tease him, to dare him to at least fake the courage to take you.

She wouldn't let it rest. "Besides, even if they get to the cops, a gun battle with popguns against bazookas would be over before we get as far as the cabin. Shit, they'll be cold by the time we find help and convince even one hillbilly cop that we're not crazy. And that's assuming that the bikers don't figure out what we've done and run us down before we get to the road."

Tom noticed Bob nodding his head in agreement, as if it were all settled.

"She's got a point," John said reluctantly. He hated to admit it, but she was right. Although, he didn't quite share her opinion that they'd make much difference, he tried to be upbeat when he said "and these rifles could make a big difference, especially against that launcher. If we can stay out of pistol range and take down whoever has it, and either get it ourselves or put a bullet through it, we'll be able to hold them off."

Tom shook his head. It was a lousy idea. He was prepared to knock Sherri out and carry her if necessary. It was probably the only chance he'd have to get her to safety and he wasn't going to let it slip away trying to be a hero. But before he could act, her defiant expression switched to shock and then almost to horror.

She whispered, "Look! There's three of those things over by the bluff."

______________________

Kawalski felt the bike leave the ground momentarily as the road dipped down beneath them. He hated that feeling, like going down in an elevator, only faster. The rocket screamed by within inches of the top of his head. He watched mesmerized as it streaked down the road. It followed the road for a hundred yards, the road veered to the right, the rocket continued on into the woods. For a long second nothing happened. The rocket amazingly traversed a couple hundred yards of woods before hitting anything. The explosion made Kawalski shudder. Within inches! he thought, wanting to genuflect, but daring not.

The road shrunk to a foot path, a trail created by fishermen and hikers. Sam quickly slowed. The bike bounced along the path like a salmon swimming up rapids.

"Stop this damned thing, you maniac."

Sam reluctantly stopped. "We couldn't go much farther, anyway, Sarge."

"Hide the bike over there in the brush, and let's get out of here before that crazy bastard catches up to us."

While Sam was hiding the bike, Kawalski put his tracking skills to use. He quickly found evidence that several people had gone upstream along the trail.

______________________

"Good God!" Joe said, shocked, fear oozing to the surface. "What in the hell was that?"

"I don't know…"

Jay's hissing whisper came from Cliff's left, "Chief, how can we fight them when they have weapons like that?"

Cliff looked defiantly at him. "We ambush them and take some of their damned weapons, is how we do it," he tried to say confidently. It came out with a twang of hopefully in his voice. Jay wasn't appeased.

They heard the Harley approaching, its engine roaring, from downriver.

The chief snapped off the safety on his riot gun. The other three cocked their revolvers and got ready.

The second explosion was so close that they thought they were the target. They dove for cover, their hopes for an ambush instantly vaporized.

After the rumbling of the explosion died out, Cliff was sure that he still heard the motorcycle. Then he couldn't hear it anymore. Were his ears playing tricks on him? He didn't know what to do. For the last hour he'd heard explosions and shots coming from every direction except behind him. They still didn't know why the bikers had killed Wally, or what happened to Kawalski. All they knew was that they appeared to be in a war zone and they didn't even know who was fighting whom. They were trapped by the bluff to their rear and the river to their right. He thought of Custer. What could he do, except make a stand and fight till the end?

______________________

When Clyde heard the first rocket he was sure that Ox had done his job. A few seconds later, hearing the second explosion, doubts began creeping into his mind.

He glanced at Sue sitting in the back of the trike with her Uzi ready. She was wild-eyed and her face looked like it was sunburned. How did she get such a burn? Sure, the sun was shining, but they'd been in the shade most of the day. He didn't know that the same thing was happening to him. He drove on, scratching his right leg.

Ox was just around the next curve to the right. As Clyde approached the curve, he could smell the odor of the rocket explosion. He slowed too late to avoid running over pieces of Ace's bike.

He slammed on the brakes.

They cautiously stepped through mangled pieces of a motorcycle. There were blobs of bloody pieces of things that resembled the leftovers from a hog butchering scattered all along the road.

"What in the hell is that?" he said to Sue.

Sue picked up a piece of it and looked at it closely, then started eating it.

"What in the fuck are you doing?" Clyde hollered.

"I'm hungry, you stupid shit," she hollered back.

"Goddamnit, I'm hungry, too, but…" He picked up a piece, looked at it dubiously, shrugged and took a bite. "But we got work to do. Get on the fuckin' trike."

Ox came running up the road toward them, holding the rocket launcher in his right hand and beckoning with his left, while screaming at the top of his lungs. "Two cops just got by me and they were riding your bike."

Clyde exploded, "Who in the fuck you think this is?" He held out a piece of bloody evidence.

"I don't know," Ox answered, stopping in front of Clyde, breathing like a man about to climax. But he knew. He just hated to admit it. In a small, almost humble voice, he added, "It looked Ace that was right behind them. Maybe—"

"You asshole," Clyde growled. "You shot Ace! What in the hell's wrong with you?"

"Hey, I didn't know that he'd be following them so close. I only missed by a foot."

"What about the second shot?"

Ox looked at his feet and, barely audible, said, "I missed again."

"That means another fuckin' cop we have to deal with."

"Two cops."

"Two?"

"Yeah, there were two cops on your bike," Ox explained.

"You keep killing our men," Clyde shook his head disgustedly, "and they'll have us outnumbered."

He scanned the terrain. The bluff was only about three hundred yards away and almost perpendicular to the river. The cops were there, somewhere, and they sure as hell don't have the weapons that we've got, he said to himself. He took another bite of the meat and chewed heartily.

Ox watched him a few seconds. Then it registered. "Hey, you're eating Ace!"

"Yeah." Clyde took another bite. "If I'da known he was this good, I'da ate him a long time ago."

Ox looked around, picked up a chunk that looked like part of a leg and took a small bite. His eyes opened wide, astonishment on his face. He swallowed, took a big bite, and chewed rapturously, with his mouth open. Something he'd learned how to do as a child, all by himself.

They ate for several minutes, only their chomping and slurping breaking the silence.

Clyde snapped out of his bliss when he heard one of the bikes in the woods.

"All right, let's get going. Sue, you drive. Ox get in the back and get ready with the launcher."

They looked at him resentfully, but complied, as always.

Clyde climbed in the back beside Ox and kept eating.

______________________

Kawalski led the way, running over the rough path with his Uzi at the ready. Sam kept an eye to their rear, ready to swing and shoot in any direction.

Cliff's ears hadn't been playing tricks on him. Joe confirmed that.

"They're coming on foot, Chief," Joe whispered. "And fast."

"Get ready and wait until I shoot," he ordered, hefting his riot gun.

Jay stood about ten feet to the left of the chief, his revolver cocked and pointed down the path. He was as nervous as a bird trying to get a grain of corn next to a sleeping cat.

The path was not very straight. Its makers had taken the path of least resistance, carving a niche around every rock, sapling, and tree branch. About fifty feet away it curved around a bush and then disappeared, only to reappear when it started up a slight slope about a hundred feet away, then it curved to the right and was lost from view totally.

They waited silently; all guns pointed and ready.

Two running figures burst from the brush and started down the slope.

Cliff started to whisper to his men, when a gun to his left started firing. He practically jumped out of his pants. He whirled just in time to see Jay fire his sixth shot and pull the trigger on an empty chamber. His eyes were closed!

Fortunately, the rest of the men knew the difference between a revolver firing and a shotgun blast. They'd held their fire.

Cliff screamed, "You stupid cocksucker, Jay. I said don't shoot until I do. What in the hell's wrong with you?"

Meanwhile the two running figures had disappeared.

"That looked like cops," Joe hollered.

"I know," Cliff said.

"Hey, that was probably, Kawalski!" Joe exclaimed.

"Kawalski," Cliff yelled, "is that you."

No answer.

Cliff turned to Joe, "If that wasn't Kawalski, we sure screwed up our ambush."

They waited and listened.

Joe finally broke the silence. "Maybe Jay hit both of them."

"No chance. The prick had his eyes closed."

"I'm sure glad he did," a familiar voice said from behind them.

They all spun around.

"Whoa now, it's only me."

"Kawalski!" they all said in unison.

______________________

After several tense moments watching the mutants milling around at the bottom of the bluff three hundred yards upstream, appearing to be deciding which way to go, six pistol shots rang out from the direction of the river. The mutants ran into the woods toward the sound.

"It looks like they're going after the cops," John said. "We have to figure out a way to help them."

"Good God," Tom interjected, "I saw how hard it was to kill one of them. What chance would we have against three of them?"

"I don't know, but I can't stand around and let the cops get slaughtered," John answered. "Besides, we've got grenades and your rifles—"

"Don't forget the rocket launcher," Bob said bringing a quick, skeptical look from the others. "Hey, if those bikers see the mutants, they'll sure as hell turn the launcher on them. And they've all got Uzi's and grenades."

"He's right," John said. "If, and that's a big if, the bikers see the mutants before they get to the cops."

They all stared at the spot where the mutants had disappeared into the woods, trying to think of a way to help the cops, but none of them had a good enough idea to voice a suggestion.

Finally, John broke the silence. "Let's go farther up along the bluff and find a place to ambush those damned bikers behind us. On a bike someone could get out of here and bring help back before we're completely cold." He winked at Sherri, then said to Tom. "You do ride, I hope."

Tom glanced at Sherri. "I ride like a flea on a dog if I've got her along to do the steering."

Sherri smiled and punched Tom affectionately on the arm.

Assuming that Tom was referring to Sherri having a proclivity toward back-seat driving, John dismissed it as a private joke. "Then let's go find a place to do it."

"What if all three of those things come after us?" Bob asked.

John looked up and swept his head around. "Do you think we can keep them from climbing a tree after us?"

"That just might work, at least until we run out of bullets, but what do we do about the rocket launcher if we're up a tree?"

A picture of a bug zapper popped into his mind.

______________________

Guido was like a dog on the scent of a rabbit. He knew that his prey was ahead of him. He just couldn't see them.

"Goddamn, I'm hungry," he said aloud. After he said it, he smiled at the double meaning of his words. He was starved, but he was just as hungry for the kill. He didn't realize that they were becoming synonymous cravings; him hunting a man, a fisherman trying to catch a fish and it was nearing suppertime. To Guido, it was practically the same thing. Any difference escaped him.

He saw Hank, waved, and turned on a diagonal toward the bluff, his stomach growling.

______________________

Dan didn't try to analyze or question his motives. He only wanted to protect his territory and his possessions, which included his people. He only knew that he had to stop people from getting his rock. He knew that the enemy were closing in on him. They were at the junction of the bluff and the river, they were in the woods, and they were coming up along the bluff. They were everywhere. He had to stop them.

He could feel where the threats were. He couldn't see them, but he knew that most of them were by the river. He could sense the ones by the bluff and the ones in the woods, but the largest group of them were by the river.

He knew that the things were fighting each other, but they were all his enemies.

As they entered the woods, he stopped and gave Sol instructions to circle to the left around the largest group.

______________________

Sue slid to a stop at the end of the road, barely in time to avoid hitting a group of boulders.

Clyde saw the path leading through the rocks.

"Ox, you go up the path. Sue and I will spread out toward the bluff. When Hank and Guido funnel our sweetheart and her boyfriends into the cops, we'll get all of 'em at the same time.

Ox grinned a Cheshire cat grin and patted the rocket launcher. He didn't know that he had small bumps forming on his face, nor did he think it unusual that Clyde and Sue had the same condition, only much worse. That was a strange phenomena; they each thought that they were normal. It was as if their changing was a natural occurrence that was to be accepted without notice. Maybe like a snake shedding its skin.

______________________

Guido's heart started racing. He saw movement by the bluffs. It had to be them. He drove another fifty feet and stopped. It was them!

He wanted to ride up and start shooting, mow them down with one long burst. He hesitated, remembering what Chuck had said about the girl and her sissy boyfriend. With a chuckle, he remembered Skip's bike being torched by the sissy. Then he remembered Deuce and the bucket of blood. Sissies?

He decided to wait for Hank to complete his next sweep. Guido had just finished his sweep toward the bluff and was turning to head for the middle of the woods when he had spotted them. That meant that Hank would be expecting to meet him almost perpendicular from his quarry. Guido knew that if he didn't meet Hank on time, Hank would continue on into the bluff to see what had happened to him. Then we'll have them trapped against the bluff!

His adrenaline started to flow as he slowly followed his prey along the bluff.

______________________

The rocky, leaf-covered ground next to the bluff made walking quietly nearly impossible, but knowing that their pursuers couldn't hear them didn't alter their tendency toward silence. They looked slightly comical as they tip-toed along, their necks craning up and down the bluff and into the woods looking for a hiding place. A look at their faces showed no hint of humor.

They were getting desperate. The bikers were closing the trap. The sheer, majestic bluff on the right was a two-faced blessing. It offered protection from attack by half of the world, but in doing so, it held them captive for the other half. Tom felt like a man standing at a firing squad wall, comforted only by the knowledge that he wouldn't get shot in the back.

And ahead somewhere, the three mutants posed a more serious threat than the bikers behind and the ones over by the river. Unless, as their prayerful logic had dictated, the bikers killed the mutants, they were all running blindly, as one panic-stricken, stampeding buffalo follows another off a cliff to their own death.

Every step they took crunched and crackled, totally drowning out the sound of the bike over by the river. The other one, much closer, cackled and rumbled as it came in toward the bluff behind. Suddenly it quit.

John stopped to listen. What was he doing? As the others halted, he could hear the bike over toward the river. It was making its normal sweep, but the one behind was silent. Then he heard a throttle blip from the one by the bluff. It was sitting, idling somewhere in the brush, straddled by a typical two-stroke rider thinking that blipping the throttle was necessary to keep the angry beast alive, not knowing that a normal two-stroke engine tends to four-stroke a lick or two to aspirate itself at slow speeds without any need for the constant twitching throttle of an overly concerned operator.

"It sounds like one of them might have spotted us," Tom said.

"I think so." John nodded, his steel-gray eyes searching intently for a glitter of chrome, a flash of yellow paint or plastic, a glint from the rim of sunglasses. Anything not a shade of green or brown. "He's probably just going to follow us until help arrives. Let's move along a little faster."

Sherri almost hoped that they had been seen. After the long day she'd already endured, and considering the bumps and bruises she'd incurred in the fall, she'd much rather fight than run.

______________________

Sue stood thirty feet to Clyde's left and he caught glimpses of Ox, thirty feet beyond her. And he could faintly hear Hank and Guido making their zig-zag search of the woods behind and to his right.

Clyde knew that the six revolver shots had come from one of the cops, but he couldn't figure out who or what the cop had been shooting at.

Why only one cop shooting?

Why no return fire if it took six shots to get the job done?

A snake! That's it. A snake. One of those city cops panicked. He probably killed it on the first shot and never saw a snake wiggle after it was dead, so he kept right on shooting. Stupid cop. Maybe he missed all six times and the snake, right this moment, had its fangs buried in the cop's leg and was pumping in a wonderful remedy for the infestation of cops that were plaguing society.

He smiled, and imagined what it would be like if there were billions of snakes and they'd only kill cops. It would be paradise, and I would be the King of Paradise—

A thought snapped him back to reality. The cops knew that he knew right where they were. Were! They've probably moved by now!

Before he could figure out a plan, all hell broke loose. Pops of revolver fire, mixed with the deep boom of shotguns, and the chatter of a machine gun filled the air. He heard the distinctive whoosh of the rocket launcher followed by an earth shaking explosion.

______________________

Cliff had told Jay to watch the path, and Sam to stand guard on the woods side of their little fortress of boulders, while he let Kawalski bring him up to date on what happened since their last radio contact. He knew that their planned ambush had been compromised, but he still felt safer among the boulders than in the woods. Knowing that there was a motorcycle hidden a short ways down the path, coupled with the fact that he was an excellent swimmer, gave him a feeling that there was a way out, at least for him. He was no Daniel Boone, and up a tree didn't appeal to him, so he was going to stay right where he was for the present.

Kawalski mused over the mixed reactions he had gotten from the chief.

The squad car being blown up, really pissed him off. That was understandable.

Jim being shot didn't seem to bother him. That pissed Kawalski off; losing a partner was serious to most cops.

Getting the Uzi off the biker's body; that immensely impressed the chief. Kawalski knew that Cliff was eventually going to ask him for it. Or demand it. Kawalski was undecided, not about whether he'd say no, but how.

When he'd told the chief about finding the biker's head, that brought a giggle of glee from him. Kawalski wondered what would have happened if he'd brought the head back and handed it to him. Maybe uproarious, gut-splitting fits of maniacal guffaws and horselaughs?

The chief had taken a special interest in the biker's motorcycle, and exactly where it was hidden. Kawalski let that one slide by, for now.

He really regretted not having learned how to ride one of those stupid things. He always thought that if you stopped your vehicle, and unless you put your foot on the ground, it fell over, you'd be better off with a horse.

Jay started shooting again. This time he was taken seriously. Everyone was accounted for.

In a millisecond, Kawalski noted the direction of Jay's firing. He brought the Uzi up, spotted his target, ripped off a ten shot burst and paused. When he saw that his target hadn't gone down, he started to squeeze off another burst.

He froze in disbelief.

He knew what a rocket launcher looked like, but he'd never seen one pointed at him.

Before he could twitch his finger, a rocket was streaking toward them.

His reflexes barely had time to flick his eyes to the left and see the rocket hit Jay in the stomach. He was sure that he didn't see the rocket actually hit Jay. It was more like he saw the rocket launcher, saw that it had been shot, and just happened to look in the right direction.

Jay exploded. Or more correctly, the spot where Jay had been, exploded. Jay only existed in memories.

______________________

Dan flinched when he heard the loud noise. He hated it. He had to protect his rock.

A question entered his mind. He was confused.

What was he protecting? A rock? It didn't matter. It had to be protected.

The question slipped from his mind.

He'd kill the noise makers. They were a threat.

He crept closer. They'd all dropped to the ground after the big noise. He couldn't understand that.

One of them had gone to the ground close to him. He looked behind. She was there. She was always there.

In front of him were many rocks. He could feel the enemy. He could feel warmth from behind one of the rocks. He could feel a thump, thump, thump, thump. He could feel the thump. It was the noise that came from all of them. That noise must be stopped. It was that noise in them that made them want his ward. Ward? He didn't know what that meant.

But he did know, pull them apart and the noise stopped. Then he felt good.

______________________

Sam hadn't seen anything quite like what just happened, except in the movies. He was in the Twilight Zone. Cops are supposed to apprehend criminals. Cops have more personnel, weapons, and know-how. They are supposed to win. A few hoodlums aren't supposed to be able to make the police cower. He was cowering. Praying. God, give them what they want and let's go home. As soon as he thought the thought, he regretted it. They wanted his life. While he was changing his prayer, something happened that made the Twilight Zone, and even God, seem remote.

Something grabbed his ankle and jerked him backwards into the air. Excruciating pain shot through his hip. The joint pulled apart. Only stretched tendons held him together. He screamed. The world spun. He begged to God for the pain to stop, for the world to quit spinning.

He was looking the other way when his head hit a rock and exploded, his begging prayer answered.

______________________

Sherri was tired of running. She knew that the reason she'd been running was because of the male-female stereotyping. The males had to think of her safety, first, and all of the bullshit that went with it. That's why they were in the run mentality when the men in the pickup had shot at them. Had she been more assertive, none of this would have happened. They'd have ended it with those first two men. And when she'd crashed trying to jump the gully—two against one—they should have killed the first man and captured the other one. It would've been much easier than what they'd gotten themselves into. And right now, the thought of running from a couple men on motorcycles really annoyed her. They didn't need a special place to set an ambush! Trees were plentiful. She could do it herself.

They were slithering along the bluff as creatures in the night, John and Bob in front and Tom behind her. The men trying to protect her. She knew it. And she hated it. She slowed her pace to widen the distance from Bob.

She was about to stop Tom and tell him a quick condensed version of a story that she'd been unable to tell anyone, when she saw a movement in the woods to her left. At first she thought she might have imagined it, but then she saw the movement again. It was a mutant!

She didn't want to say anything too loud, but then she realized how much noise they were already making. She jumped forward, grabbed Bob on the shoulder and whispered very loud to John. They all stopped and looked in the direction that she pointed.

They heard the bike coming toward them. Obviously the man on the bike hadn't seen the mutant.

Sol had also heard the biker. He ducked behind a tree.

They watched. Nobody had any inclination to warn the biker. He was a man caught in a low moment of time, a man without friends.

Sol knew that the bike was his enemy. It made an awful noise. He waited, his green-tinted, brownish skin blending perfectly with the surroundings.

As the bike jogged around the tree, Sol pounced, not at Hank, but at the bike.

Hank didn't know what happened. He'd just skirted a tree, looked to his right, the next thing he knew, he was flying over the handlebars. His shoulder-strapped Uzi went sailing. It wasn't the first time he'd taken a spill from a bike, but this was the first time a bike had been jerked from beneath him.

When he stopped rolling, he jumped to his feet and turned to see what he'd hit.

What he saw scared the shit out of him, literally. He felt the fear that a dog must feel when severely beaten. He couldn't help it. His bowels released. Not a lot, but enough to make him aware that he was more scared than he'd ever been in his entire life. He turned hoping he wouldn't spend the rest of his life running through the woods.

Sol saw the thing start running. He'd already torn apart the noisy thing. Now he started after his real prey. Sol wasn't particularly graceful, but his strides were long and unusually quiet for his size. Much like an elephant. Deceptively quick, yet quiet. He could outrun a man easily.

At that particular moment, Sherri had a small feeling of sympathy for the biker, and she could feel it emulating from the others.

Hank felt like the devil himself was after him. He ran as fast as he could, but he had a feeling that no matter how fast he ran, he was doomed. The thing had torn his bike apart with its bare hands, as if it had been a plastic model. A picture of Skip dangling by the throat from the monster's shaking arm— He blocked out the picture, ran like an insane paranoid, wishing he hadn't lost the Uzi. But it was just as well. The Uzi wouldn't have even slowed Sol down.

______________________

Clyde watched Ox jump from the path, duck behind a big tree and raise the launcher. He stepped behind a tree, himself, and waited.

He heard a lot of commotion in the woods to his right. What in the hell could that be? It sounded like an automobile being torn apart in a scrap yard. Then a yell. Someone was calling his name and something else that he couldn't quite make out.

"Clyde… Clyde hel…"

A rustling in the woods to his right. Something was running toward him.

Ox heard the noise, too. He came up alongside Clyde, the launcher loaded and ready.

They waited, listening, then saw flashes of movement through the trees.

"Clyde, help me. Clyde, where are you? Clyde…" came through the trees clearly this time. A figure broke out of the undergrowth. A huge monstrosity was close behind, gaining, roaring. It dove on the smaller, wailing figure, mashing it to the ground. It jumped up, jerked the screeching, flailing one above its head. It was Hank! Before Clyde could react, the thing jerked Hank's left arm off. Clyde fired a shot into the air, hoping it would quit and run.

Growling at the noise maker, it slammed Hank to the ground, placed a foot on his stomach and grabbed his head. With a twisting jerk, it pulled Hank's head off and threw it defiantly toward Clyde.

Clyde's machine gun belched fire, his finger frozen on the trigger until it stopped bucking. The thing jumped behind a tree, much too small for cover.

Ox shot a rocket. It hit the tree waist high. Taking the brunt of the explosion, the tree trunk shattered, the thing tumbled backwards. Shakily, the creature got up and ran toward the bluff.

Ox reloaded and took off in pursuit.

______________________

The biker had run toward the river, the mutant gaining on him when they'd disappeared from view. The machine gun fire and explosion were welcome sounds to John. The explosion was much larger than a grenade. It had to have been a rocket, which would surely stop the mutant, if they hit it. But did they? The best scenario would be that they hurt the mutant and he was able to kill the shooters before dying himself. The worst, they missed and the mutant got away, more angry than ever. And even worse, he'd be coming back this way with the bikers hot on his heels, not afraid of him as long as they had the rocket launcher.

John prodded his group on, giving instructions, not wanting to make a stand where they were.

The instruction that he gave Tom almost brought Sherri to a stop. "No matter what happens, you get Sherri to the cops."

The next thing she heard did bring her to a halt. It was a crashing sound to their left, coming toward them. "That has to be the mutant, or someone being chased by it," she said, raising her rifle in the direction of the sound.

"Keep going," John hollered to Tom and Sherri. "We'll stop the thing."

Sherri didn't budge. Tom, looking back toward the sound, ran into her.

"I'm not leaving them," she said, stubbornly. The look on her face told Tom that the subject wasn't open for discussion.

"Goddamnit, get out of here," John insisted.

"Oh, shit!" Tom exclaimed. "There are two more of them coming from the right."

The sound on the left burst into view. It was a mutant, the worst scenario John had imagined. It headed straight for Tom and Sherri, lumbering along with a pronounced limp. Tom's only thought was to try to divert the thing before it got so close that it didn't have any options but to attack them. Besides, he had the high-powered rifle.

John grabbed his gun barrel and pulled it away from the target before Tom could shoot. "Hold it. I don't think it's seen us yet."

The other two mutants seemed to be on an intercept course somewhere behind the one coming straight at them.

The mutant was within fifty yards and closing fast. John pulled the pin on a grenade.

"Look! There's something chasing him." Sherri yelled.

John threw the grenade and brought his Uzi up to fire.

Sol hadn't seen the grenade tossed in his path, but did see more of the things he wanted to kill. Dan and Joyce would get the ones chasing him. He'd get those in front.

The grenade exploded thirty feet in front of him. He stopped, confused for a second, then looked around. Nothing behind him. It had to be those if front. He roared and started toward them.

"Move it!" John hollered to Tom and Sherri. They ran along the bluff, but John and Bob ran the other way and started firing at the mutant. It went after them.

Tom ushered Sherri along the bluff. He glanced back and saw what John and Bob were doing. He knew that they were drawing the thing away. He wanted to keep going for Sherri's sake, but he also wanted to help the Feds. He didn't have to make the decision.

Sherri realized what was happening and stopped. She started shooting at the mutant.

It stopped and looked at Tom and Sherri as if deciding which way to go. Tom was momentarily shocked to see a biker coming through the woods behind the mutant. Had the mutant been running from the biker? That didn't make sense. The biker stopped and aimed some sort of gun. Tom realized why the mutant had been running.

Tom pulled the grenade from his pocket, and started to pull the pin, when he saw a rocket streak toward the mutant.

"Duck!" is what he tried to say. He didn't know if he got the word out or not, but it didn't really matter. The explosion would have drowned it out as he pushed Sherri to the ground.

______________________

Ox knew that he'd hurt the monster. He hadn't had any trouble keeping up with him. He was actually gaining ground on it. The brush began thinning out as they got closer to the bluff. As soon as he broke into the clear, he'd stop the thing for good. No tree was going to save it this time.

An explosion if front of the monster caused it to stop.

Ox instinctively dove for cover. Shots were fired to his right. Knowing that he wasn't the target, he jumped to his feet and raised the launcher.

The monster ran toward the bluff to the right.

Then there were shots from the left.

The monster stopped, looked left, then back right.

Ox fired the rocket. It streaked between the trees and hit the thing dead center in the back and exploded.

Ox laughed and reloaded the launcher. He knew that he had the Feds trapped. He'd seen them to his right. They were trapped against the bluff with no place to run. He was finally living his dream.

______________________

Dan saw Sol running from something. He had a sort of unexplained communications with Sol. He knew that Sol was in trouble. One of the creatures had hurt him.

When he saw Sol, he veered to the right in order to intercept what was chasing him. He saw the thing stop and point something at Sol. A streak shot toward Sol. An explosion shook the ground. Sol disappeared.

The thing made a noise as if it was pleased. Dan took the last few steps in full stride and dove. He felt the soft little thing break as he smashed it to the ground. He beat on it with his hands. It squealed. Joyce joined him and zestful helped tear the soft little thing to pieces.

______________________

Clyde had followed Ox, close enough to think he could be of some help, but far enough back to feel safe. He watched proudly as his baby brother took charge of the situation, chasing the monster, closing in for the kill, stopping as a grenade exploded, jumping up as shots came from the bluff, firing a rocket, laughing, reloading.

Hearing Ox's jubilant yell meant that something or someone was good and dead. He couldn't tell whether the rocket had been aimed at the thing or at whoever threw the grenade, but whatever, they all had to die.

Ox took aim again. Not wanting to disturb him, but wanting to be in on the action, Clyde quietly slipped forward. Suddenly a huge creature shot from the trees, dove on Ox and started ripping him apart. Then a smaller one joined in!

Trembling, a blinding rage barely held in check by raw, naked fear, Clyde jerked the pin from a grenade, quietly let the arming lever pop into his other hand, threw it on the count of three, and stepped behind a tree.

The grenade fell six feet short, exploding inches above the ground, directly behind the smaller one, lifting it up and over the other creature and Ox's gory, bloody, shredded remains.

The big one stopped ripping at Ox, picked up the injured one and carried it off through the woods toward the bluff.

______________________

Dan hadn't been aware of how strong his feelings were for Joyce until he saw her blown to the ground. She was moaning and making noises that only he understood. He needed her. Suddenly, she was more important to him than anything else. She was all he had. He picked her up and started toward the safety of the cave.

______________________

Tom saw the two mutants attack the biker. He started to urge Sherri away from the scene when he saw the other biker appear and throw a grenade. Instantly deciding that the risk of being pinned down by the biker far outweighed the risk of a flying bit of metal, he grabbed Sherri's arm and pulled her along the bluff, trying to keep her from stumbling as she refused to take her eyes from the nauseating, horrific carnage.

The explosion made both of them instinctively arch their backs as if putting themselves one inch farther from it would help them absorb the impact of a hot piece of stray shrapnel.

Suddenly Sherri hollered, "They're coming this way!" Tom only had one grenade and his high-powered rifle, but he still took his role as protector seriously. Still running, he pushed Sherri ahead and pulled the pin on the grenade, then tripped and fell on his face. The grenade almost rolled out of his hand. He felt the spring mechanism push against his hand. He squeezed as tightly as he could, hoping that he'd caught it in time.

He started to throw it, just in case, but something made him hang on. Wasting the last grenade would be no better than committing suicide. His mind raced, wondering, however stupidly, what his last thought would be. Some internal timer, seeming to run at a snail's pace, eventually told him that the time was up. The grenade hadn't exploded, otherwise how would he know that it hadn't? Other crazy thoughts popped into his head from a relieved brain running wild, glad to be alive. He didn't mind at all.

Sherri was bending over him. He knew that he hadn't been knocked unconscious, but there were a couple of seconds that he couldn't account for. Had she said something? Then she jumped away and he heard her say, "Oh shit!"

He twisted around into a crouch and saw her aiming her gun.

The mutant stopped twenty feet from them, cradling the injured one in its arms.

"Shoot! What's the matter?" Tom squeezed the grenade, resisting the urge to toss it. They were too close. He switched it to his left hand, glad that the pin was already pulled, and clawed for his pistol, vowing to grab the creature if it attacked, and sandwich the grenade between them, shielding Sherri from the blast as much as possible.

As he brought the pistol up, Sherri whispered, "Wait."

He glanced at her, then back to the mutants. The one standing had a look on its face that captivated Tom. At first it looked vicious, angry, panicky, then its distorted face seemed to soften, its black eyes resting on Tom. Grief and fear were there, mixed with sadness and recognition. It tried to speak, but only made a series of unintelligible sounds. Tom couldn't understand what it had said, but he felt something very compassionate emulating from it.

Then it hit him! He said softly, disbelievingly, "Dan?"

The mutant made a soft noise.

"Sherri, that's Dan! That's really him." He glanced at her expecting a confirmation or something. She had frozen with her finger on the trigger. Tom knew now why she hadn't shot. She'd thought the same thing.

Shots were fired to their left. John and Bob were coming to their rescue.

Tom waved at Dan to go on, then shouted, "Go on, get out of here."

Dan glanced back at his pursuers, hesitated, briefly undecided, then turned and ran along the bluff. He seemed to know to run right next to the bluff so that John and Bob didn't have a good shot at him without jeopardizing Tom and Sherri.

John angled out from the bluff to get off a shot. Tom stepped out, intercepting him, his arms raised, the grenade in one hand and his pistol in the other, yelling not to shoot.

"Get out of the way!" John hollered back, still angling for a clear shot.

"I said don't shoot, goddamnit," Tom screamed, waving the hand holding the grenade.

John stopped, his eyes settling on the grenade with the missing pin. "What in the hell are you doing?" he asked breathlessly. "I had a good shot at them."

Tom, not able to contain his excitement, blurted out. "The big one is Dan."

John looked at him incredulously. "Dan Jenkins? Are you sure?"

"I'm positive. He recognized me and tried to speak, but I couldn't understand him."

John let out a long, slow, troubled breath. "That sure as hell changes things."

Sherri was still watching the mutants as they disappeared around a curve in the bluff, still in a state of shock. She'd thought it was Dan before Tom confirmed it. "I still don't believe it," she said softly, her eyes glued to the spot where she'd last seen the fleeing figure.

As Bob came huffing up to join them, shots came from the woods, popping out little dust clouds as they pelted the sandstone bluff.

Bob returned a short burst and told the others to get going.

Tom threw the grenade as far as he could in the general direction and ran after Sherri, who was already sprinting along the bluff.

Bob shot another wild burst into the trees and followed.

______________________

Seeing the grenade thrown toward him, Clyde dove behind a tree. It exploded harmlessly, but was close enough to keep him from immediately poking his head out for a look. Just when he thought it was safe, another burst came into the woods. One of the bullets chipping bark from the edge of the tree he was hiding behind.

"Goddamned Fed," Clyde spat as Sue, coming from behind, dove to the ground beside him.

Not wanting to seem a wimp, Clyde stood up behind the tree and acted like he was looking for somebody to shoot. Sue, lying in a prone, military position, started shooting short bursts toward various places along the bluff. Clyde followed suit. He didn't see anything to shoot at, but he wasn't going to let her outdo him.

"Clyde," a voice said to his right.

He stopped and listened.

"Clyde," the voice said. "It's me."

"Guido, get your ass over here."

______________________

All eyes were on Colonel Rainier. He looked around the table at the six Generals. It was up to him to give them the technical details. General Fulmer had already given them the broad picture, something they could understand; something that had captured their attention. They liked hearing that a nearly undetectable piece of rock could cause serious damage to people while not harming inanimate objects. That's the kind of thing they'd always wanted. To them, it was a shame to destroy good equipment just to kill the people.

Now it was his time to bore them with the fact that the material had no apparent military use. But was it time to tell them that the material just might be one of their worst enemies? He wasn't ready to tell them that we may be under attack from a hostile alien force. He need more information, more test results, and more time to convince himself of the impossible being even a maybe.

______________________

As they ran north along the bluff, John evaluated their situation. He knew where the cops were, two more bikers were dead and their rocket launcher possibly destroyed, two mutants had been killed and one seriously injured. How many more of the things were there? Tom and Sherri swore that one of the mutants was Dan and that he recognized them, possibly eliminating that threat. Things were looking better. If the four of them could get to the cops, he didn't think they'd have any trouble taking command of the situation. He hoped that the cops hadn't realized that the only action going on was next to the bluff, and had made a run for it leaving his meager group to face the bikers alone.

Tom searched for a cave entrance as they moved along the bluff, towering two hundred feet above. They skirted a large boulder—Sherri said her dad named it Lucky, because you were lucky not to have been under it when it had fallen—surrounded by a pile of smaller rocks, and continued on. The bluff turned to the right, the ground began rising along the bluff, gently slopping down to the woods.

A ravine, coming from a twenty-foot wide crack extending two hundred feet into the bluff, neatly sliced a trench in the ground. Tom looked up and noticed that the crack ended into solid rock, almost halfway up the bluff. It appeared to have been cut by millions of years of torrential spring rains pouring over the top of the bluff from the hills beyond, an ancient waterfall. They clambered down into the dry ravine, and up the other side.

Ahead, the bluff turned to the left, the ground next to it rose higher, cluttered with slabs and boulders which had broken from the cliff over many millennia. They dropped halfway down the slope to avoid the treacherous footing, picking up the pace.

John pointed, "Sherri, does the bluff run straight to the river from here?"

She nodded, "It goes straight to the water which is about a quarter mile away. Then it turns right and runs alongside the river for about a mile."

"Then the cops have to be somewhere in front of us, unless they've already made a run for it."

John stopped, megaphoned his hands, and hollered for the cops, identifying himself as a Federal Agent.

There was no answer.

Further along, he tried again.

Still no answer.

"Bob, we're only about two hundred yards from the river. The cops have to be somewhere in between. Unless they've split, they're probably over there in that clump of trees and boulders by the river." John pointed to a tree about a hundred yards away. "They might think we're trying to trick them. Work yourself over to that tree and identify yourself. When everything's okay give us a wave." Bob nodded and started for the tree. "You two watch for the bikers. I'm going to slip over a bit and keep an eye on Bob."

They heard Bob holler.

Someone answered him.

Bob stepped from behind the tree and waved. A cop walked out from behind a rock with a shotgun in his hand, pointed at Bob's chest.

______________________

"I'm Agent Quint with the FBI," Bob said, noticing the unusual emblem of a winding river on the "Chief of Police" badge. "God, am I glad to see you."

With suspicious, darting eyes, never straying far from Bob's gun, Cliff Marlow took in the dirty, crumpled suit, the scabbed over wounds on his face, and the bloody shirt. He steadied the shotgun at Bob's waist and said, short and clipped, "Drop the gun."

Realizing how bad he must look to the chief, Bob slowly lifted the strap over his head, and gently lowered the Uzi to the ground.

Motioning with the shotgun, Cliff growled, "Now, put your hands behind your head."

"Sure, Chief." Bob raised his hands, interlocked his fingers, and cupped them behind his neck. The next step was to show his ID and they'd get out of this mess. When the chief asked for it, Bob slowly reached for his inside jacket pocket then remembered. He realized how lame it sounded as he said it. "I don't have it. The bikers took it."

"Sure pal, and my momma's a virgin. Who are you?"

"I told you, I'm Bob Quint with the FBI."

"What's the FBI doing here?"

Bob started explaining.

The chief kept interrupting. Why do you want her? and what do you have to do with the bikers? and how do I know you're telling the truth? and Dan Jenkins… and, "You're looking for a what?"

"A meteorite. It dug a crater beside the river about halfway to Big Bend, and we think that Jenkins has it. Probably hid it somewhere around here."

The mutants hadn't been mentioned by either man.

Cliff stared for several seconds then shook his head. He didn't understand how the man could stand there and say he was going to take the rock. It was his. Nobody was going to take it away from him, especially not the bikers or some phony city-slicker saying he was with the FBI, spouting some cockamamie story.

"This is my territory and my suspect and my business a-a-an…" Cliff stuttered, growing angrier by the second. "…and I don't believe a word you said, anyway."

"Now look, Chief, my partner is right back there," Bob said, becoming nervous at the chief's unexpected attitude, his rising anger, and his steadfast refusal to believe anything that he'd said. "He's with the CIA."

______________________

Tom was waiting for John, who was awaiting a signal from Bob. They watched the silent conversation, well beyond the hearing range of all but a yell. Suddenly Bob doubled over a split second before the shock of the sound waves hit them. Bob had been shot!

John screamed, "Hey, he's an FBI agent! Hold your fire!" and ran forward.

The cop swung the shotgun from the hip and let go with two quick shots at John and then ran back into the boulders as more shots came from behind the rocks.

Tom pushed Sherri to the ground and jumped down beside her, twisting around into a military prone position, his gun in hand. He held his fire as John dove through his line of sight.

The shooting stopped. The cop had already ducked out of sight.

Tom fired anyway, praying for a lucky ricochet. Sherri reached over and put her hand on his arm without saying anything. He stopped shooting.

"Goddamned cops!" John screamed. "I should've known. They're all fucked up, too, just like Jenkins and the rest. You two stay here. I'm going to try to get to Bob."

Sherri reached out and took his hand. "John…" she began, wanting to try to calm him down. It was obvious that Bob was dead. She didn't want John to get killed, too. She never got to tell him.

Shots rang out from their left.

John spun on his knees to return fire. Before getting off a shot, he jerked sideways and toppled over, clutching his left leg in agony.

Tom twisted around, still in the prone position, and saw three people only fifty yards away, all shooting short, automatic bursts from their machine guns. The cops opened fire on the new targets. The two on the right swung to shoot at the cops until Tom started shooting. In a crossfire, they jumped back behind trees.

Sherri, to the left, chose the target on the left, a girl.

The girl was shouting and screaming almost gleefully as she sprayed bullets wildly.

Sherri took aim with the rifle and squeezed off a shot. It missed.

The girl swung her machine gun toward Sherri.

Sherri pulled the trigger again as bullets hit the ground beside her.

The girl staggered, her gun silenced, teetering toward the ground. Suddenly she jerked the gun up and pulled the trigger.

Sherri's next shot hit her in the chest. She staggered backwards and fell to the ground, the gun shooting up into the sky.

Her anger boiling, Sherri shot once more. The gun toppled over.

Tom caught glimpses of the two bikers as they broke through the woods, heading downriver, dodging between the trees for cover. Raising up, he peeked over the knoll at the cop's position. There was no sign of them.

Sherri crawled past, flat on the ground, using her elbows, knees, and toe-tips, military style. "Get down, damnit. What are you trying to do? Leave me stuck out here alone?"

Tom imitated her crawling technique as best he could, glad that he had opted for the Navy. When he arrived, he saw the blood gushing from beneath John's hand. Sherri began removing his belt.

Between clenched teeth John said, "Did one of you call 911, yet?"

Feeling a special empathy for the stricken man, something Tom imagined soldiers must feel for a fallen comrade, he tried to be encouraging, comforting. "Don't worry, John. We'll get you out of here and you'll be dancing in no time." It sounded stupid and he knew it, but it felt right. Stupid encouragement, but what else could he do? Tell the man that he was surely going to die?

"The bullet must have cut an artery," Sherri said pulling the belt free. "I don't think the leg is broken, though." Then she mumbled, "If that's any consolation."

She put the belt around john's leg and pulled it tight. There were no holes in the belt at this diameter, so she bent it over the buckle and gave the end to John.

"Can you hold this and keep some tension on it?" she asked.

He grabbed the belt, the pain obvious on his face. "Now get the hell out of here."

"Yeah, sure," Tom said sarcastically. "We'll just leave you here and go for a stroll in the fuckin' woods or something."

John ignored the sarcasm and looked around. Pointing, he said, "See those boulders up by the bluff? Just get me up there, then you two get the hell out of here and go for help."

Tom started to object but John continued. "Stop and think. You don't know how many cops are over there. The bikers seem to be in some disarray right now. I'd try to get past them right now. They are probably back in the woods trying to figure out what to do. You get past them and you've got it made. Maybe climb to the top of the bluff the way you said you came down and head across country. If it looks like you can get to the cabin, our car is just past it, backed into the woods. Maybe the keys are still in it, and maybe they didn't screw it up… If you stay here, they'll eventually all close in and you won't have a chance."

"But what about you?" Sherri asked, genuine concern in her voice.

John winked at her. "I'm counting on them seeing you trying to get away and they'll think you're the only ones left." He smiled at the shocked look on their faces. "You don't think that you'll slip out unnoticed, do you? On second thought, if you get to the top of the bluff, or to the car and it still runs, shoot a few shots to confuse them, make them think that help has arrived."

Trying to stay low, they each hooked an elbow into John's armpit and with some help from his good leg, they managed to squirm up to the rocks, hopefully, for John's sake, unseen by the cops. They placed him between two boulders, reloaded his gun, and promised him that they'd be back. He insisted that they take both of his grenades and the Uzi. That started a whispered argument.

"What good does it do for me to have this thing if you two don't get out and bring help," he argued sensibly.

Ruling out the possibility of retrieving Bob's gun and ammo and hating to think that the cops might get it, Tom suggested that they might be able to work around through the woods and get the girl's gun and ammo. John and Sherri both rejected that idea as being too risky. The girl was laying in the open, in clear view of the cop's position. And Sherri pointed out that the girl probably didn't carry any extra ammo, since she was only wearing tight jeans and a tee shirt, and her death grip on the trigger had surely emptied the gun.

"Just leave me one of your pistols," John said.

"Sure," Sherri said angrily. "And I suppose you only need one bullet, too. Right?" She glared at him, knowingly.

It took Tom a second to realize that John knew that he didn't have a chance against anybody if he was found, and that Sherri suspected he'd use suicide as a last option.

John retorted angrily, "That's the last thing I'd do." Realizing that the words had come out wrong, he tried to smile. "You know what I mean. If I'm found, and they really want me dead, they won't have much of a problem doing it, so why cut your chances down." He grimaced and gritted his teeth.

Tom finally agreed to take one of his grenades, but they both held steadfast against taking the Uzi. They again promised him that they'd be back, pronto. Then Sherri reminded him to release the tourniquet for a bit every fifteen minutes. And whatever you do," she insisted adamantly, "don't pass out."

He grunted a response, already fighting a sinking weakness tugging at his body.

They crawled along the bluff, not wanting the cops to see them until they were well away from John.

______________________

Ollie was frustrated. He'd spent all day doing everything in his power to find Lance's killer. The license number on the van had given him the name of the owner; Henry Lee Carter, a well known local punk with a rural Joplin address. Hung out with the Driegeo bunch. He'd seen them go by the scene of the murder, but didn't see any connection. An APB was out for all of the Driegeoes for questioning, until he could come up with something better.

There was nobody at Carter's house, and no van. He had three men in unmarked cars staking out the roads leading to the house. He also had a search warrant in his hand, but he wanted to wait a while before searching the place. With today's electronic equipment the place might be wired with a transmitting burglar alarm that would transmit to a pager and warn the man if they broke in to search the house. Maybe Carter didn't know that Lance had transmitted the license plate number before being shot. Of course, if that was the case, the man wouldn't have any reason to hide. He must suspect it. He must have really been loaded to do something so stupid.

The roadblocks had turned up nothing. The van hadn't been found abandoned, as he'd expected it to be by now. Ollie just hoped the man was stupid enough to report the van stolen, and try to lay the blame on some mysterious thief. That rarely worked, unless it was backed by an air-tight alibi.

Every search procedure in his arsenal was being implemented. The man would be found. It was the waiting that he hated.

He wondered what had happened to the FBI man. He was supposed to stop by and see him. It shouldn't have taken very long to go to the Blake girl's cabin. If she was there, how long could they talk? What was it about Jenkins' friends that bothered him? Two things that really annoyed him was that Miller hadn't told him that he and Sherri had gone on a float trip with Jenkins, and not mentioning the meteorite. Something was wrong. His cop's intuition was trying to tell him something.

He grabbed his jacket and headed out, telling Beth that he was going to get something to eat, then going out to Blake's cabin.

"If a man from the FBI stops by, give me a holler," he said as he was leaving.

______________________

Since the security council meeting, General Fulmer had been on the phone almost constantly. Colonel Rainier's hourly updates were growing more and more alarming with each report. New discoveries were popping up hourly. All bad. Cells changing, some dying, others growing rampantly. He didn't understand it all and really didn't care about the scientific details any more than to know that finding the meteorite was becoming absolutely imperative. That was his job.

Reluctantly, he picked up the phone and punched the button for the private line to Lieutenant General Hoffman Niles, the beginning of the road leading to Special Groups, one of which was Section Six.

______________________

Ed knew that he was on the losing side. Cliff was afraid to go after the rock. He only thought about saving his own skin. Joe only wanted to kill somebody. Kawalski was a normal, good cop, which made him more than useless. He'd probably become a problem.

When Cliff had shot the man that claimed to be an FBI agent, Ed, inconspicuously stepped back between the boulders until he was out of sight of the cops. He thought no one had noticed.

Joe noticed. He watched the wimpy assayer like a hawk. Stepping around Kawalski, he mumbled something, walked into the brush and circled around.

Ed stopped, turned around and waited, listening intently, just to be sure he hadn't been seen.

Finally convinced that he was safe, he realized that he didn't have a plan. All he'd cared about was getting away from the stupid cops. He knew they wouldn't share with him even if they found the meteorite. He wondered if he shouldn't try to find the bikers. They'd need him, and maybe he could make a deal.

"Where in the fuck do you think you're going?" A voice hollered from behind.

Ed froze.

"I said, where in the fuck do you think you're going?" the voice said, more menacingly.

It was Joe! Ed tried to think.

He put his hand on the pistol butt that was protruding from his belt at his navel.

Ed knew that he was a fair shot when he shot at cans and bottles.

Three seconds breezed by while Ed was thinking these thoughts and he realized that he didn't have the courage to go for the gun.

Letting his hands drop to his side, he said with an annoyed tone in his voice, "I'm trying to find a good place to take a shit." He didn't know what had made him say that, except that Joe had almost scared it out of him. But he was proud of his quick thinking.

Joe never said anything.

"Is it all right with you?" Ed asked, yearning for a reply.

Joe still didn't say anything.

Ed was sure that Joe knew he was lying. He also knew that Joe was going to kill him. He only had one choice, and that was to go for his gun and take his chances. Ed started to raise his hand to his belt.

"Shit. And hurry up you worthless wimp."

He almost did when Joe's voice shattered the silence. He breathed out a sign of relief and turned around. Joe was standing about twenty feet away. Ed was no expert, but the hole in the end of the barrel of Joe's gun looked like it was pointing right at his heart, which was beating as if every beat was its last and it didn't want to go out without one big beat. Ed shuddered at the thought.

"I was just trying to find a log or something to make it easier," he whined in his most masculine, macho voice. He knew that it didn't sound right, and that Joe could sense his fear, but it was the best he could do. At least he hadn't stuttered.

"Hurry up, goddamnit. I've got people out there that are trying to kill me." Joe glared menacingly at Ed, then softened into a forced smile, "But you've got people everywhere that want to kill you."

Ed faked a smile, took a couple of slow steps over to a rock and unbuckled his belt.

He slowly put his hand on the gun butt and removed it from his pants. He could practically feel Joe's finger tightening on the trigger during that tense moment. He bent down and placed the gun on the ground beside his right foot. Joe didn't pull the trigger.

Ed undid his pants and slipped them down.

He was still alive.

For some reason, he no longer felt like taking a shit.

He squatted down and leaned against the rock beside him.

Nothing happened.

He grunted.

Joe had kept his eyes on Ed's face until he squatted. Then his eyes shifted to the ground between Ed's legs. Then back to Ed's face. He repeated this for a full minute.

"I thought you had to take a shit, shithead. Maybe you should be standing on your head."

Ed grunted again.

Joe smiled and pointed his gun at Ed's crouch.

Ed grunted harder and noticeably louder.

Joe smiled a bigger, more wicked smile and took a step closer.

Ed didn't realize the power of fear when a person tried to shit. With a little plop he excreted something that smelled like shit. It must have looked like shit because Joe appeared to relax. His smirk turned from a killer's to someone watching something disgusting.

Ed breathed out, inhaled, and grunted again.

Joe's eyes wandered as if he wished he was somewhere else.

Ed grunted again.

Joe lowered his gun until it was pointing at the ground by his feet.

Ed looked around, then he looked up at Joe and said, "Would you hand me some of those big leaves over there?" He pointed to a bush behind Joe.

Joe smiled and looked around for some poison ivy.

Ed let his right hand slowly drop to the ground, resting while Joe found some suitable wiping material.

Joe didn't see any poison ivy, but he noticed a bush to his left that had big leaves that looked like they had fuzzy hairs sticking out on them. He knew that leaves that looked like they were covered with fuzz were actually covered with millions of very small, irritable needles. He smiled inwardly and stepped toward the bush.

He reached for a particularly large, fuzzy leaf.

Parts of his brain beat his hand to the leaf. He never even heard the first shot, much less, the next two that plowed into his back.

Ed waddled over to a different bush and selected leaves of his choosing.

______________________

Kawalski hadn't heard Bob identify himself. He thought that the chief had shot someone with the bikers. He still didn't know why they'd gone after the bikers in the first place. This morning all he'd been told was that they were after a cop-killer named Jenkins. He figured that Jenkins had somehow gotten involved with the motorcycle gang and the whole gang was trying to protect him. When he had asked Joe about it, Joe had told him that everyone up here belongs to a gang, and to shoot anyone he didn't know, on sight. He figured that it was simply some kind of drug related gang activity. He hadn't seen much of it, himself, but he knew that it was rampant around the big cities.

He'd found a good place among a group of boulders that shielded him on all three exposed sides and gave him a wide field of fire. He constantly scanned the woods. Ed had slipped away unseen, but he saw Joe go by.

He'd never cared about the administration and internal politics of the police department. He did his job with a kind of dedication that didn't require much involvement with headquarters. In the town of Big Bend there weren't many arrests made. As far as he was concerned, brawling drunks, husbands and wives getting into it, fender benders, and hot-rodders were the only reason that Big Bend needed a police department.

Three shots rang out to his right. He brought up his Uzi and snapped off the safety.

The shots had come from the same area that Joe had just gone, but the shots hadn't come from Joe's big .44 caliber cannon.

He waited.

"Kawalski, was that you?" the chief said from somewhere to the left of him.

"I think it was Joe. He just walked over that way."

They waited. All of a sudden Kawalski felt very alone. He knew that the chief was somewhere beside him, but there wasn't any sounds from the direction of where the shots had come from. He heard the chief walk up.

"What happened."

"I don't know. Joe walked over that way and a few minutes later there were three shots fired. I didn't hear anything after that."

They waited together, in silence.

______________________

Clyde had run almost back to where Ox had gotten killed, with Guido practically stepping on his heels. Clyde stopped behind a tree and tried to catch his breath and think. He didn't realize it but, as if having a reverse drug flash back, his mind was going through a phase of crystal clarity.

He had watched the cops shoot one Fed, and he'd shot the other one. Now, all he had to do was worry about the cops, and keeping them from killing both the girl and her boyfriend. They could kill either one, but not both.

"Guido, go back by Ox and find the launcher. It looked like it sailed into some brush past him. I'll meet you back by your bike. Make sure that they don't get past you."

Guido nodded as if he understood.

"I'm going to try to reach the cops."

"The cops?" Guido asked in amazement.

"You saw the cop kill the Fed. I don't know what's going on, but cops don't kill FBI agents… I'm gonna try to make a deal with them."

"Shit, man! Maybe the cops came up here lookin' for Jenkins, and didn't come up here lookin' for us."

Clyde stared at Guido in amazement. "Goddamnit, why didn't I think of that before? After I beat up the prick, they arrested him. If the Feds know what we're after, then that crooked, lazy fuckin' cop must know, too. I knew something was wrong all the time. If they were after us for killing a cop, there would be two hundred cops up here with dogs, and helicopters, and who knows what else. That fat cocksucker's trying to ace us out!"

Guido nodded in agreement.

"Besides," Clyde continued, becoming increasingly excited, "Big Bend police shouldn't be up here for any reason."

"I never did like that fuckin' Chief Marlow," Guido said, as if there was a cop somewhere in the world that he did like.

"Maybe I can con them into believing that we're on their side. We'll use them to help us catch Miller and the girl. After we find out what we want to know, we'll kill 'em all." Clyde watched Guido's scowl turned to a smile. "They'll be a lot easier to kill from close range, especially when they turn their backs to us." Clyde made his own version of a smile. Neither one of them would have melted any kid's heart.

"What should I do?"

Clyde looked at him, wondering if he'd been listening at all. Clyde started to repeat his instructions, then drew a blank. What had he told Guido?

Guido saved him. "You still want me to look for the launcher?"

"Yeah. And don't let anybody get by you. I'll work around by the river and make contact with fatman. If everything's all right, I'll shoot two shots, then we'll start closing in on Miller and the girl."

"What if everything isn't all right?"

"You'll hear a whole fuckin' bunch of shots," Clyde said sarcastically, holding up his machine pistol.

Guido moved back a step, out of back-hand range.

Clyde just shook his head, then added, "You keep the launcher with you just in case something goes wrong. We can have one hell of a Mexican standoff with that baby."

Clyde gave Guido his extra ammo clips and his grenades. "I'll stop at the trike and get more."

Clyde had gotten back to the trike and renewed his arsenal, including six more rockets and a belt holder, when he heard someone running up the path.

He ducked behind the trike.

It only sounded like one person. He slipped the Uzi's safety off.

The sounds stopped in front of the trike.

Clyde waited, his finger on the trigger, his legs ready to spring.

Footsteps slowly approached.

Clyde was just about to jump up when the trike wiggled slightly.

Clyde jumped up with the Uzi pointing at the quickly turning, startled face of Ed, and demanded, "Who the fuck are you?"

Ed threw up his hands and whined, "Don't shoot. Please, don't shoot."

"What are you doing on my trike?" Clyde growled.

Ed didn't know why the bikers were here in the woods in the first place, but he knew how to relieve the tension.

"I just killed a cop and got away," Ed said, trying to look tough.

Clyde was skeptical. "You killed a cop and got away? Explain." Clyde stepped around to the side of the trike and put the barrel of the Uzi against Ed's neck. "Now!"

Ed shuddered and inhaled a deep breath. He didn't know what to say. He didn't know what the crazy looking biker wanted to hear. He did know that whatever the biker wanted to hear was what he desperately wanted to say.

"Goddamnit," Clyde snapped. "What are the cops doing here?"

Ed stammered, "They're l-looking for a-a killer."

"Bullshit! Those are Big Bend cops. They wouldn't be way up here looking for a fuckin' killer." He grabbed a handful of Ed's hair with his left hand, jerked him off the trike and smashed him to the ground. Ed landed on his back, the wind knocked out of him. Before he could get his breath, Clyde jumped on his chest with his left knee and poked the barrel of his gun into Ed's mouth. Ed gagged and tried to squirm away. Clyde slammed his hand against the top of the gun, breaking two teeth in Ed's lower jaw. "Now, asshole, what are you doing here?"

Ed told him everything, without any hesitation or reservation.

After hearing Ed's story, Clyde knew that he had his ticket to get the cops to trust him.

______________________

"God, I'm hungry."

"How can you think about food at a time like this?"

"Easy. Juicy, medium-rare prime rib, lobster dripping in butter, hot, buttered popcorn, sweet, ripe cantaloupe. No problem."

Tom glanced back. "Not a bit afraid, are you?" They were whispering, looking.

Stretching each word mockingly, she repeated the words, "Not a bit afraid…" She shook her head, almost sadly, as if going to answer, then motioned with her gun and said, "Go on."

Tom looked around, fighting the desire to run. He figured the bikers would spot them first and he didn't want to run right into their arms.

"What do you take me for, an idiot. I'm scared to death." She raised her hand in front of Tom's face, her finger and thumb in the pinch position as if to tweak his nose. "I'm about this close to becoming a stereotypical, hysterical, babbling screamer." A split second of emotion fluttered through her eyes, her stern, cool, precise demeanor appearing to be on the verge of crumbling.

Tom hugged her tightly. She shuddered slightly then relaxed and kicked him sharply on the shin and backed up with a forced smile on her face, a flippant air in her stance, then suddenly turned serious. "Tom, there is something I want to tell you… in case we don't get out of here alive," she added. "Maybe it will help you to understand…" She paused and shook her head. "No. Now's not the time. We've got to get moving. John needs help, and fast.

Tom's curiosity was no match for that argument, so he pulled her to him, quickly kissed her, patted her on the butt, and said, "After you."

As they scurried down along the bluff, keeping a sharp eye in front and in the woods, Sherri found it an opportune time to babble.

"It's hard to believe that a meteorite did that to Dan. God, he was gross looking. How in the hell could that happen? It's like something out of a horror movie."

When Tom didn't immediately answer, she gladly continued, "But he recognized us. That means that his mind is still working, some, anyway."

"He recognized us, all right, but he's still all screwed up. Look at all of the killings. I don't mean today, I mean the hardware store and the old couple and who knows how many of the other deaths on the river lately."

Sherri scanned to the rear, constantly vigilant. "I believe he did them all, or his friends, the other mutants, did. What I don't understand is why."

"I don't know, Sher…" He thought a moment. "We know it first started as greed, then somewhere along the line, after being exposed to the radiation, something happened to his mind. He couldn't have run around the country, go to the hardware, and who knows where else, looking like that. He's probably got the meteorite with him right now, getting continuous radiation all the time and he doesn't even know what's happening to him."

Sherri nodded. "I hope John will be all right," she said optimistically. "If he just doesn't pass out and release the tourniquet. Maybe I should have tied a permanent one on him. That way he'd surely lose a leg, but he wouldn't die."

"He sure lost a lot of blood in the short time before you got to him."

"I know, that big artery—I don't remember what you call it, but you know the one I mean—the main one that feeds the leg. I know it's cut."

Tom held out his arm and stopped. "Listen."

They listened a moment, then he asked, "Did you hear anything?"

She shook her head, feeling silly for talking so much.

"Must be my imagination," he said.

"How many bikers do you think are left?"

"I don't know. I haven't heard any bikes for a while, but we know there's at least two of them. I'd guess four or five."

"Then eventually, we're going to have to stop and fight, aren't we?"

"I'm afraid so. There's no other way out," he answered glumly. "We're trapped." He thought a minute and then added, "Unless Dan has a way out of here."

"What do you mean?"

"Dan must have picked this particular spot because he knew something about the area that nobody else knows. He had to have thought that this place was the safest place for him to be. I know how he has always loved caves. There must be a cave in the bluff and we missed it."

______________________

Cliff and Kawalski are getting nervous. They've been waiting in silence for several minutes. Cliff wants to tell Kawalski to go check out the area from where the shots came, but he doesn't want to be alone. He's certain that one of the creatures killed Joe, and is just waiting for him to be alone before attacking. He wants to get what he came for, and get back to town and eat six steaks. He'd never been as hungry in his entire life. At least, as far back as he could remember, which wasn't very far back.

"Chief, it's me, Ed."

Cliff and Kawalski look at each other as if verifying that they'd heard the same thing. The looks on their faces assure both of them that they hadn't imagined it.

"Chief, where are you?"

"That's that damned assayer," Cliff said aloud to himself. "I wondered what happened to him." Then louder, "Over here."

Ed's voice came from the brush, "I've got someone with me that wants to talk to you."

"We're over here in the rocks."

They could hear a rustling in the bushes and then Cliff saw Ed's head. It ducked down, pushed a branch away and then reappeared. There was someone behind him.

"It's all right, Chief. He's a friend."

"Cover me, Kawalski." Cliff stepped from behind the rock to meet Ed, then recognized the man behind him. He knew all the bikers that hung out in Big Bend. The one behind Ed was absolutely the worst of the lot. It was Clyde Driegeo. The one that thought maiming someone was a fun sport. The one that he'd wanted to nail for a long time.

Cliff brought his revolver up. "Hold it right there, Driegeo."

"Be calm, Chief," Clyde said, stepping to the side with his Uzi pointed at Cliff's stomach, "I only want to trade this guy for some talk time."

Kawalski wanted to shoot the man but he didn't have a good angle. He knew that his machine gun wasn't a very accurate weapon, and he was afraid that he'd hit both of them. He had to wait for a better opportunity.

Cliff held his ground and tried to keep his pistol trained on the man.

"Put the gun away, Chief," Clyde said as casually as a cobra might be to a mouse. "I think you're gonna want to hear what I have to say."

Everyone stood still for a few seconds.

Cliff let his gun drift down until it was pointing at Clyde's feet.

"Don't fuck with me, Chief. Put that gun back in your holster!"

Cliff figured that he could jerk the gun up and get a couple shots off, but he could feel the hail of hot bullets cutting him in half before the man died. He reluctantly, slowly slipped the gun back into his holster.

"That's good. Now have your men put their guns down and get out here with their hands in the air."

Cliff just stared at him.

"In three seconds I make hamburger out of you. Now do it!"

"Kawalski, do what he says."

Kawalski hated to give up, but he didn't see any alternative. He knew that he could kill the biker in a matter of seconds, but the chief would probably get shot in the process. Years of being a policeman, the constant bombardment about protecting a fellow officer, and his own unselfishness dictated that he lay down his gun. But he wasn't about to give up the Uzi. He gently set it down behind the rock, out of sight, and stepped out with his pistol in his hand, pointing down, a firm grip on the handle, just in case he was forced to try one last dying shot. The UZI was pointed at his head. After two long, silent seconds, he gently laid the pistol on the ground.

"All right, get on your belly and spread-eagle," Clyde demanded, flicking the muzzle of his gun back and forth. "Now get the rest of 'em out here."

Cliff felt a rush of defeat overcome him. "That's all that's left."

"Jesus Christ, there ought to be three or four of you," Clyde said skeptically, with more than a hint of accusation.

Cliff was hoping that Joe was still alive, slinking through the brush, about to burst on the scene and kill the biker, but he knew that it wasn't going to happen. He shook his head and stared at Clyde. He didn't know why, but the biker seemed to believe him. At least for the moment.

______________________

Dan was confused. He wanted to kill all the slimy, slick-skinned things. They were disgusting. Why hadn't he killed them when he had the chance? He couldn't remember.

He took Joyce back into the second cavern and laid her down. She was leaking her life's juices and was very weak. He had to take care of her. She was important to him. She moaned, then made some noises that he understood. He told her that she'd be all right. She wanted to believe him, but drifted into unconsciousness before she could respond.

______________________

Kawalski was lying on the ground about thirty feet behind the chief, in front of the rock he'd been hiding behind.

Clyde motioned to Cliff. "Come over here. I want to talk to you. And you, assayer, stand where you are and don't turn around."

Clyde stepped to his right and back three steps and pointed to Ed, "Stop beside him, Chief, and keep your hands in front of you."

Cliff complied, not wanting to upset the crazed biker.

"Your friend here told me that you're looking for something that belongs to me."

"To you?"

"Yeah, Chief. That thing they dug out of that hole is mine, and I'm gonna get it."

Cliff didn't answer. The rockets and grenades hanging from Clyde's belt had his attention.

"And I don't think we need any help from you," Clyde added.

Shots rang out from the bluff.

______________________

Tom and Sherri had just left the boulder called, Lucky. It was a perfect place to fight from, but there wasn't anybody to fight. They'd stayed behind it a couple minutes listening and looking for any signs of the bikers and heard and saw nothing.

Tom needed some rest, but he just couldn't take the time, especially with Sherri urging him on. He hummed a few bars of Slave Driving Woman while they worked their way south along the bluff, staying low and taking advantage of every depression and rock and bush in order to offer as poor a target as possible.

They were about fifty feet from Lucky when shots ricocheted off the bluff above their heads. They hit the ground and rolled into a slight depression, offering them some cover.

Tom whispered, "Can you tell how many there are?"

She shook her head. "The shots all came from the same gun."

"That's what I thought. If there were more than one, they'd have all been shooting."

"I don't like where we're at," Sherri said. All he has to do is swing out into the woods and he'll have a clear shot at us."

Tom looked around furtively. "Trade guns with me, Sher, and give me your extra clip. I'll try to cover you until you make it back to the boulder." Tom needed the .223 with its thirty-shot clip to lay down enough cover for her, and the smaller gun would be easier to handle in thick brush. He gave her a full box of 30/06 shells. "When you get there, use your pistol and shoot a shot every second. I'm going to crawl into the woods and try to ambush him."

He hated the idea of using so much ammunition just to get one man, but they had to do something. The man could keep them contained until the others arrived, as they surely would.

Sherri squirmed around and said she was ready.

Tom started shooting randomly toward where he thought the shots had come from.

He glanced back at Sherri, praying that some of his shots were close enough to the man to keep him pinned down long enough for her to make it to Lucky. She was scurrying like a frightened snake along the bottom of the bluff.

After firing about ten shots, a burst of shots walked along the bluff beside him in the direction of Sherri. He started pulling the trigger as fast as he could.

The shots stopped.

He glanced back again. Another trail of shots skittered along the bluff.

Tom emptied his clip and looked back while snapping out the empty. Sherri jumped up, ran the last twenty feet and dove behind the boulder as shots ricocheted around her.

Tom snapped in his last clip and waited, hoping that she wasn't hit. He saw her dive behind the rock, but so many shells were flying around her, it would be a miracle if she hadn't been hit. He wanted to cram a grenade down the man's throat, but the man was well out of throwing range.

He waited.

Still no shots from Sherri. Trepidation and a feeling of doom crept over him.

He was about ready to make a run for the boulder to see if she'd been hit, when another burst chewed into Lucky.

As soon as the shots stopped, Sherri started shooting back.

Wasting no time, Tom started a military crawl toward the woods. Even if she was hurt, he had to take advantage of the cover fire. He couldn't help her with the man shooting at them.

The bushes were about sixty feet away. He knew that if the man saw him, his plan of an ambush would not only be ruined, but getting back to Sherri might become impossible.

He counted the shots. Six. Seven. Seven shots left in her gun. Seven seconds to make it. He wasn't even halfway! When Sherri changed her clip, the man would probably come up shooting again and see him. Not only would his ambush be thwarted, but he'd be an easy target.

Ten. Eleven. Twelve. He was still twenty feet away. He wasn't going to make it.

Thirteen. Fourteen.

Tom started to jump up and run when he heard, and practically felt the boom of the 30/06.

Then another.

Ten feet. Boom. Six feet. Boom.

His head reached the bushes when he heard the fifth shot. He was completely out of sight by the time the sound died down. He lay on the ground taking big gulps of air as silently as possible. He had misjudged how long it would take to crawl a miserable sixty feet. Sherri's quick thinking had saved his life. He hoped she hadn't been hit. She was becoming more precious every minute.

______________________

"You don't need any help?" Cliff asked skeptically. "Who's doing all the shooting?"

Clyde knew that the chief knew his weapons. They'd heard an Uzi, a small bore rifle, a pistol, and a big bore rifle. And the big rifle was the last thing they'd heard. A moment ago, Clyde had wanted to kill the two cops and the assayer. He was sure that he and Guido could take the girl and Miller, but if Guido was hurt or killed…

They waited in silence. He wanted to hear Guido's Uzi.

"How many men you got left out there?" Cliff asked

"Two," Clyde lied. He knew what the chief was thinking.

They waited and listened and watched each other.

______________________

Guido cussed the girl. He'd gotten a glimpse of Miller squirming along the ground, but he couldn't get a shot at him. His crazy broad was in a spot where he couldn't get to her and her shots had practically skinned the bark off the tree he was behind. He could feel the impact of the big rifle. She knew where he was. All five shots had hit the tree. She was too damned good. He had to work around her and get a good shot.

He knew that they were setting a trap for him. They were hoping that he'd circle around and Miller would be waiting.

______________________

Tom knew that if the man had seen him, he'd circle around and try to get him first, and then keep on circling until he could get to a position perpendicular from Sherri. She had nowhere to go. Even if she got between the boulder and the bluff, the biker could ricochet bullets off the bluff and tear her to pieces.

He got behind a large oak tree and waited.

______________________

Seeing Tom safely reach the bushes, Sherri quickly reloaded the guns, then got on the ground where she could peek around Lucky without being seen. She didn't like it. She was sure that the biker had seen Tom. From her angle, Tom had stuck out like a turtle on the highway. His idea of an ambush wasn't going to work. He was going to be ambushed by the biker. How could she help?

She couldn't see anything except brush and trees. The top of the bluff would be perfect. She looked up. There was an indentation in the bluff where a jagged portion of it was missing. Of course! she thought. The boulder and the rocks around her had broken out of the cliff right above her head. It was like the Jolly Green Giant had taken an ice pick and chipped out a chunk, leaving a great place for her to stand. She'd be a sitting duck to anyone near perpendicular, but there was good cover from anyone at an angle. And she was sure that the biker wasn't paying any attention to her. He was probably crawling through the brush, trying to sneak up on Tom.

The problem was how to get up there. Lucky was about eight feet tall, but the ledge was six feet higher. It looked like she could stand on Lucky and leap over to the bluff and grab the edge, but if she missed, it would mean a fall of about ten feet onto the rocks. Breaking a leg would surely doom them both. Tom, the great macho-man protector, would stay with her, getting himself killed, too. If she fell any other direction but feet first, she shuddered to think what might happen. She remembered what it was like to fall off a ledge about the same height onto the ground without any big rocks.

She had another problem. If she strapped the gun over her shoulder, she probably couldn't make the jump. Her alternative was to throw the gun up first and then jump, but if she couldn't make the jump, she'd lose their big rifle.

Knowing that Tom was in the woods being stalked by a killer with a machine gun, and being utterly useless to him, spurned her decision. She had to go for it. She peeked out and didn't see anyone.

She slipped her left arm through the strap on the gun and then stuck her head through it so that the gun was resting diagonally across her back. She started to tighten the strap with the intention of climbing up onto Lucky, tossing the gun onto the ledge, then roll the dice and hope she could make the jump.

As she pulled the sliding buckle she got an idea.

The gun had a very simple strap. On the barrel end of the strap was a hook like the kind used on a leash. It had a thin piece of metal that kept it from unhooking unless it was pushed inward. The other end of the strap went through a flat eye attached to the stock, and looped back toward the barrel. It was attached to a sliding buckle. When the strap was tightened, the buckle was almost to the hook on the barrel.

She slid the buckle back to the stock and unhooked the hook from the barrel, leaving her with a five foot strap hooked to the stock of the gun. She clipped the hook onto the bottom loop of her shoelace. Now, she could lay the gun on Lucky, make her leap for the ledge, and if she made it, she'd pull the gun up with her. And if she didn't make it, and fell and broke a leg or ankle, at least, the gun would be with her. Whether she'd be in a condition to use it was another matter.

She didn't like the extra amount of time that she was going to be exposed on top of the boulder while she unhooked the strap, lengthened it, and hooked it to her shoe, but she really didn't have a choice. She doubted if she could climb the boulder with it hooked to her foot.

Reconnecting and strapping the gun across her back, she tackled Lucky. It had enough irregular bumps and crevices on the side she was hiding behind to make it easier than she'd expected. As soon as she could see over the top, she stopped and watched for a minute. Not seeing anyone, she scrambled on top, unslung the rifle, unhooked the strap, slid the buckle back to the stock, and hooked it onto her shoe, within seconds. All the while, keeping the gun pointing back toward where she suspected the biker to be, just in case she had time for a lucky shot before she was riddled with bullets.

It already seemed like an eternity, but she was still alive.

She turned toward the bluff, laid the rifle on Lucky with the stock facing the bluff, and crouched. Mustering all of her strength and concentration, she sprang toward the ledge. For a long, long second she flew into midair. Stretching. Her eyes riveted on the ledge. Her fingers grasping for the top.

The palms of her hands were longing for the feel of the rock solidly slapping against them, to send a signal to her brain to pull her fingers down with all of their power.

The slack on the strap hooked to her shoe pulled taunt.

Her palms hit the ledge and her fingers started closing, seeking purchase, just as she'd planned.

Her fingers held.

Her feet pulled the gun free of the boulder. It swung against the bluff with a loud clatter that she hadn't counted on. She might as well screamed to the biker, "Look at me! Check out what I'm doing."

Something else that she hadn't counted on was happening. There was loose shale on top of the ledge! Her fingers dug into the crumbling shale, seeking something solid. Seeking something to keep the rest of her body from plunging onto the rocks below.

She yelled something that sounded like, "OH SHIIIII," as her fingers slid off the edge.

______________________

Guido crept through the woods alongside the bluff, keeping out of the girl's sight. He couldn't see the boulder that she was hiding behind, but he knew that she'd stay there while he took care of the man. Then he'd circle through the woods and trap her. Clyde wanted one of them alive. Guido wanted her alive. And warm. And juicy. He hoped that she'd put up a good fight. That's when he liked it the best. He hated to kiss them. When he wanted to fuck, that's what he wanted to do. Fuck, not kiss. He remembered his mother's rotten breathed, whiskey stinking kisses. And her whiskered, slobbery mouthed attempts at affection when she eventually came home, or after she'd beaten him for no reason and wanted to satisfy her guilt.

He crept closer.

He couldn't see the man, but he knew that he was just to his left. The track that Miller had made crawling into the bushes was clearly visible. He scanned the woods. Suddenly, he spotted the man standing against a tree with his back to him. How stupid, he thought, and how easy it's gonna be.

Guido slowly crouched. He decided to kill him army style, like in the movies. Right leg extended for stability. Left knee brought up to rest the gun on. Of course that was for an M-16. He had to stop and think if it would work with an Uzi. It didn't feel right. With his M-16 it would only take one shot, and at this range he'd put the bullet in the back of the guy's head. But with the machine pistol it just didn't feel right.

He looked toward the boulder that the girl was hiding behind. He couldn't even see the boulder. That meant that she couldn't see him.

He decided that he was just going to jump up and put a burst in the man's back, like it was supposed to be done with an Uzi. Then he'd circle around through the woods and have some fun.

Just as he sprang up, he heard a metallic clattering noise to his right. Because he was so close to the bluff, it sounded like it was right beside him. He instinctively whirled to his right and shot a burst at his immediate attacker—the sound of Sherri's gun hitting the cliff.

______________________

Tom had hoped to find a hiding place that would give him a view of the boulder that Sherri was behind, and give him cover to the left, where he was sure the biker would be coming from, but it hadn't worked out that way. The only tree large enough to hide behind was completely obscured from the boulder by trees and brush.

He looked up into the tree tops, wishing he was up in one, in sniper position, but now wasn't a good time to try it. The biker was too close. If he saw or even heard Tom climbing, it would be all over very quickly.

Why hadn't he thought of it earlier? Sometimes, as now, Tom hated his brain for being so stupid. He pictured it as a mass of jelly, lazily wallowing around in his head without a care in the world, letting Tom fend for himself. He silently screamed to his lazy, worthless brain, what he wanted to scream out loud, "Don't you know that if I die, YOU DIE? Wake the fuck up and start thinking." He didn't know if it did any good, but it made him feel better.

He tried to relax and keep his reflexes loose, while carefully scanning the forest to his left. He had a creepy feeling that the biker was near.

Wishful thinking made him picture the biker laying somewhere in the brush in a pool of blood, riddled with rifle bullets. It was a good possibility that one of Sherri's shots had hit the man. She had emptied her pistol and the rifle. She hadn't been shooting haphazardly. He felt some of the tenseness go out of him.

His thoughts were interrupted when he heard a rustling sound in the brush behind him, then the loud chatter of the machine pistol. He whirled just in time to see the biker swing the gun back toward him. Tom didn't aim. There wasn't time to aim. He swung the semi-automatic .223 around and started shooting from the hip, pulling the trigger as fast as he could. Just as the muzzle of the biker's gun started flashing fire, it jerked around and fell out of the man's hands. The biker swung around and fell to the ground.

Tom ran to the biker, keeping his gun on him. One look at the man was enough. He didn't know which shot hit the biker in the leg, or which one hit him in the stomach, but he knew that the bullet that hit him in the left eye had decided the battle.

He looked toward the boulder and still couldn't see it. He quickly picked up the Uzi, took two full clips and two grenades from the dead biker, and ran to the bluff to get out of the brush, then turned left and ran toward the boulder. Sherri should have been watching. She should be in sight, covering him. Someone else had gotten to Sherri!

He clutched the Uzi in his left hand and a grenade in his right, thankful for the warning and thankful for the lucky shot that separated the biker's brains from his trigger finger. He didn't bother to thank his own brain for waking up. He didn't care what it did. He wasn't planning to outwit anybody. He wasn't going to run and hide. Nor was he going to play anymore games with a bunch of lunatics. This game was over.

Raising the grenade to his face, he pulled the pin with his teeth and spit it out. He was going in blazing and if necessary, going out blazing.

______________________

Dread swept through Clyde when he heard the Uzi silenced by the rifle shots. Guido hadn't won; he liked to kill and then make sure they were dead. He would've put a final burst into the unlucky bastard he was shooting at, and then stomped or stabbed them a few times for good luck. None of that could have happened.

In his heart, Clyde knew that he was now alone. Guido had screwed up. Miller or the girl might already be on their way to the highway. Then he remembered the Fed's car. Were the keys still in it? Or had they been in one of the Fed's pockets when they'd been searched? He couldn't remember. He had to stop them from getting away, but he couldn't ask the chief for help; that would be like asking to be shot in the back.

In a desperate hurry, yet having to maintain his cool, he screwed his face into an arrogant, confident mask and looked Cliff in the eye.

"Chief, it sounds like we just won the war, but there's still those big, ugly things to deal with. And you know that I've got the only thing that'll stop them." He patted a rocket as explanation, watching the obvious envy invade Cliff's face. "What say we become partners? We split it fifty-fifty and each take care of our own," he said, glancing at the assayer and Kawalski.

Cliff normally would have been repulsed at making any kind of deal with a biker-gang punk, someone who he considered to be the lowest forms of life, but for some obscure reason, he felt a sort of bond with the man. And it didn't seem strange to him. He actually started to like the guy and didn't even wonder why. It seemed natural.

Cliff reached out his hand, "Deal."

Clyde, momentarily startled, tentatively grabbed the hand and shook it. His loathing for the cop actually dropped a notch in intensity. He didn't want to kill the cop nearly as much as he'd wanted to a few moments ago. He also began feeling a strange sense of kinship with his mortal enemy.

"I told my men to take one of them alive," Clyde said, pointing toward the bluff. "It sounds like they killed one of them and are probably trying to get the other one to give up. Let's go see if they need some help."

Cliff thought it a reasonable suggestion. He didn't know that it was an order from a General with no troops.

The General suggested, "I'll circle around behind, downriver. You guys spread out along the bluff and close the net."

______________________

When Sherri felt her fingers slip off the edge of the ledge she instinctively tried to reverse her previous action. She had jumped toward the cliff, her reflexes tried to push her back to the boulder where she'd been safe. She pushed against the bluff with her hands, then kicked out with her feet. She heard the machine-gun fire.

A cat will always land on its feet when dropped. All animals exhibit that tendency. Even humans. The problem is, most animals, and especially humans, don't have the physical dexterity to succeed with this maneuver.

Sherri did better than most. She was halfway turned around when she hit the side of the boulder. She scraped and clawed. It didn't stop her from falling, but instead of crashing onto the rocks, she slid down the side of the boulder and tumbled onto them, then heard the .223 bark off a dozen shots. The machine gun remained silent. She breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed a moment, assessing her condition, expecting the worse; at least a few jagged, broken bones poking through her skin, and deeply gouged cuts from the sharp rocks. But, to her surprise, except for the pain, nothing seemed to be broken, and no rivers of blood ran from her body. Just small cuts, scrapes and bruises. She almost jumped up to dance a jig.

The pain of her multiple contusions, especially the one she'd taken on the back of her head, dictated a very slow and painstakingly cautious return to her previous fighting form. Dancing would have to wait.

She was barely up on one elbow when Tom arrived.

______________________

Cliff knew that the biker had wanted to kill him, but after they'd agreed to become partners, he wondered why he'd ever hated the scumbag. He didn't mind sharing with him, but Kawalski was another matter. Kawalski was different. He didn't understand. He rarely came into the station other than payday unless it was to deliver a prisoner, and he rarely arrested anyone unless they'd done something major. Something major happened in Big Bend about once every eclipse of the sun. Cliff couldn't remember the last eclipse. But he did remember an exception. He remembered Dan, and the rocks.

He watched Clyde leave, then asserted his authority.

"Kawalski. Get up and get your gun. We've got work to do."

Then to Ed, "What happened to Joe?"

Ed already had the answer on the tip of his tongue. "That fuckin' biker shot him."

"Well, he probably had a good reason," Cliff said, confident that his new partner knew what was best, and fortunate that Kawalski was retrieving the UZI and hadn't heard him.

It was good that Clyde knew what was best, because Cliff only knew that he had a goal. And his goal was all he wanted. He was becoming confused about the purpose of his goal, but didn't know it. Like most confused people, he was sure that he knew what he was doing.

"Ed, you stick with me. We won't let anybody get out this way. Kawalski, you go straight in toward the bluff. We'll circle to the right. If you see anybody, shoot to kill."

Kawalski didn't even know who they were looking for. "Shoot to kill? Who?"

Cliff was becoming tired of insubordination or tired of something. He didn't know what. And he didn't agree with Clyde's idea of taking anybody alive.

"Just kill anybody that you haven't seen before," Cliff hollered. "They're all cop killers."

Cliff could hear the muttering crystal clear, but he didn't care. Kawalski was expendable.

______________________

Clyde headed directly for where he'd last heard Uzi fire. He had to know if he was really alone. He needed Guido. And revenge. And… the rock. His hate for the things that killed Ox washed over him in waves, igniting a lust for revenge. He had to know if Guido was dead. Greed reared its ugly head. The rock was the most important. The girl? He was becoming confused. Killing the things that had killed Ox, and now, the creeps that might have killed Guido, was what he really wanted. Not to be denied, his greed overrode his thoughts. "Simply get the rock and kill everybody," it commanded. He ran faster, stumbling and thrashing through the brush rather than skirting around.

First he had to find Guido. The girl knew where the rock was. She's tell him. Then he'd kill her and the cops. But what about the assayer? Did he really need him? He was unaware of having a hard time thinking straight. To him, everything made a lot of sense. He knew what he was doing.

When he found Guido, he wanted to shoot him some more just for being dead. He needed him, and the selfish prick had gotten himself killed. Noticing that the Uzi was missing, he knelt beside the body and patted jacket pockets for the grenades. They were gone, too! Kneeling, looking like a moment of compassion was about to overcome him, he spit in Guido's wrecked face and cursed, "You stupid shit! Now look what you've gone and done to me."

Remembering the rocket launcher, he frantically looked around Guido's body and in the surrounding area to no avail. Then realizing that Guido wouldn't have gone into the brush with the launcher, he ran to the bike, saw the launcher and dropped to his knees, grabbing it tenderly in his arms. His moment of joyous greed might have looked as a moment of prayer to someone looking on, but it wasn't. Pleasure, power, and greed were his only gods.

He started upriver along the bluff looking for the killers. He ruled out his earlier fear that they were escaping. He knew that they were upriver. He could sense them. He could feel them. Almost smell them.

______________________

Ed felt a kernel of compassion for the chief, but something about his being repressed all his life caused conflicting emotions. He wanted to help the chief, but he had an overwhelming feeling that the man wasn't needed.

He followed Cliff with his revolver in his hand, and noticed that it was pointing at the chief's back more than at the ground where it should be. Every time it was pointed at the chief's back his trigger finger twitched. He felt that low-lifes like the chief and the biker weren't good enough to reap the rewards that should be his, alone. He was the only one that was worthy of…

That's as far as his thoughts went. He was also confused.

When the chief told him to spread out to the right, he didn't want to, but then he thought of the biker and tongued the blank space between his teeth. That's one creep he really hated. He drifted to the right.

______________________

When Tom saw Sherri, he expected the worst. She was lying on the ground, her right elbow under her, trying to get up. He was glad that she was alive, but he was totally disgusted at himself for letting her get shot up, as he vividly imagined.

"Sher, baby, how bad are you hurt?" he asked, crouching beside her. He set the Uzi on the ground, put his left hand under her head and started to set the grenade down, to explore her body, looking for bullet holes and bones protruding through her skin, when he realized that he'd pulled the pin and thrown it away.

She looked at him and smiled. "I hurt everywhere, you big lug. Just help me get up and let's get out of here."

Tom ignored her request and smothered her with kisses. He couldn't stop. Between sobs and kisses and tears he made a feeble attempt at helping her up. He didn't know that Clyde had already found Guido's body and was heading toward them. He forgot all about the outside world. His world was in his arms.

______________________

When Clyde got clear of the brush, he turned to the left, looking for somebody to kill. He knew that they were there somewhere.

He hadn't taken three steps when he saw movement at the edge of a big boulder about a hundred feet away. Spotting the narrow space between the boulder and the bluff, he raised the launcher and sighted, vaguely remembering wanting one of them alive, but that memory was fading and being replaced with rage and revenge. They were responsible for the killing of his brothers, his whole gang, and his bitch of the day. They had to die.

He didn't know anything about the accuracy of the launcher. It had sights on it. He aimed where he wanted the rocket to go, and pulled the trigger. And closed his eyes.

The concussion of the explosion caused him to instinctively turn away and put his arm against his head, shielding it from the devastation he'd caused. A picture flashed in his mind of the boulder being blown to small pieces, and his quarry, now thousands of gooey blotches scattered everywhere. He peeked. A dust cloud had settled over the boulder, but it was still there and looked untouched. The rocket had apparently hit its mark between the boulder and the bluff and his targets were as pictured.

To make sure, he decided to sneak up to the boulder and lob a grenade over it. Just as he pulled one off his belt, something sailed over the boulder, heading straight for him. At the apex of its arch, he realized that it was a grenade. He dove and scrambled backward toward the bluff. It landed twenty feet from him and exploded.

______________________

Tom was still holding Sherri when the world exploded around him. He leaned over, valiantly shielding her from the collapsing bluff. The shock waves died down. The expected huge slabs of limestone crushing him into the ground, mashing him and Sherri into one, never came.

Engulfed in a cloud of dust, a sandstorm sprinkled them with dirt and grit. Tom looked behind him and saw that the boulder was still there, and the bluff appeared intact. He knew that Lucky had saved them from something much more powerful than a grenade. Probably a rocket, he figured. But had it been shot from downstream along the bluff, or had it been an erratic shot from the woods? Hating to waste the grenade, but having no pin, or wire or tape to tie down the arm, a strip torn from clothing was his only option. Desperate to get away from the area, he guessed and tossed the grenade down along the bluff, laid the Uzi on Sherri's stomach, and picked her up.

She tried to object. She felt able to walk, even though racked with pain, but Tom, being the macho man that he was, insisted on carrying her. He'd picked her up as if she were no heavier than a baby, cradled her in his arms and started running along the bluff, ignoring her pleas.

Sherri welcomed the respite, feeling weak, tired, and in excruciating pain, but she also knew how vulnerable they were. Running along the bluff, out in the open, with the woods and brush to their left was comparable to running across a stage with some unspeakable monster behind every seat, waiting for a signal to jump out and unleash instant death.

______________________

Ed heard the rocket explode and ducked beside a tree, confused by the echoing sound, but when he heard the grenade, he realized that the sound was at least a couple hundred yards downriver. He peeked out from behind the tree and saw nothing.

His feeling of helplessness reignited his anger and hate for the chief. At least, he and Kawalski had weapons. Kawalski had an Uzi, and the chief had a shotgun. As soon as Kawalski had left, the chief check out an UZI beside the body of a man in a suit, but found that it had taken a slug right at the top of the clip which had messed up the mechanism.

Ed cussed himself for not having taken Joe's .44. He even forgot to get some more shells from somebody. All he had was three left.

How could they expect him to go up against people with machine guns and hand grenades and bazookas and tanks and maybe even atomic bombs and…

His runaway imagination was interrupted when he saw something move to his right. He wanted to turn and run. Instead, he ducked back behind the tree and froze, afraid that if he ran, they'd hear him.

______________________

Dan had taken Joyce back to his special place in the cave. He knew that she'd be all right, but he wasn't going to tolerate the slimy things outside. They were a danger to him, even though they weren't anything more than bugs. They were still dangerous. They could sting. They were easy to kill, but they could still sting.

______________________

When Kawalski got to the bluff, he started to go to his right, toward the action, then hesitated. There was no cover along the bluff and from the sound of things, friendly fire might be just as dangerous as the killers. Obviously, the bikers were driving them toward him. He slunk down along the bluff looking for a place to set an ambush. He came upon the ravine. It was perfect.

______________________

Ed peeked around the tree, afraid to run, afraid to stay. As the movement that he'd seen through the brush got closer, his courage returned. It was a man carrying a woman! straight into his gun sights

He couldn't miss.

Shoot the man.

Man drops woman.

Run up and shoot the woman.

He smiled. Maybe run up and rape the woman and then shoot her.

They were close enough to hit with a rock.

He raised his gun, stepped out from behind the tree, aimed and pulled the trigger.

______________________

Instant death did unleash its powers just as Sherri had suspected. She'd blinked as a person does when falling asleep at the wheel. The blinks got longer. She wasn't sleepy. Far from it, but every time she blinked she could feel a surge of warmth. It was as if her body wanted her to blink so she could rest and make the pain go away. She knew that she had to watch out for them. The Uzi rested on her lap, pointing forward, with her finger on the trigger, but she knew that she wasn't paying enough attention. The blinks felt better every time she closed her eyes.

She was in the middle of an extra long blink when she felt Tom jerk to the right as if he'd stumbled. She'd never heard that a bullet traveling faster than the speed of sound created miniature sonic booms. She didn't realize that what hit her in the face was compressed air from a bullet going by an inch from her forehead.

Time seemed to switch to slow motion.

She saw the man. She knew that she was too slow. He'd shot once before she'd seen him, and fire flashed again from his gun barrel.

She pulled the trigger on the Uzi and swung it toward him. Her brain was going at hyperspeed; time almost stood still. She knew that the man had pulled the trigger two or three times before she got her gun pointed at him. She waited for the impact of a bullet to hit her.

The man jerked several times and fell backwards onto the ground.

But she'd been too late.

She felt herself falling.

She rolled over to help him, when he jumped on top of her.

"Stay down," he hissed in her ear.

"Are you all right?"

"I think so," trying to hide the pain in his voice, while taking the gun from her.

"You think so?"

"Be quiet and get behind me," he slid off her and pushed her behind him with his left hand.

"You big fucking lug," she said indignantly. "What do you mean, get behind you?" She drew her automatic and started scanning the area.

The now all too familiar sound of an exploding grenade came from behind. It was too late to duck.

______________________

Clyde had back-pedaled along the bluff with his Uzi trained on the boulder until he was out of throwing range of another grenade. He heard three pistol shots, then a long burst from a machine gun somewhere well beyond the boulder. It and the bluff curving to the right blocked his view. Were the cops shooting at one of those things? Was anybody on the other side of the boulder? Keeping the Uzi trained forward, he crept to within ten feet, and lobbed a grenade over it, just in case.

The explosion sent shrapnel flying harmlessly in all directions, except for one piece that ricocheted through the three foot space between the boulder and the bluff. It flew at the speed of a bullet, and as if a marksman had aimed it at Clyde's right thigh. The hot, jagged piece of iron pierced the skin, tore through all the flesh in its path, and slammed against the bone.

Clyde barely flinched. He poked his right index finger into the hole in his jeans and ripped them open. There was no squirting of blood as he had expected; only a steady stream that slowed as he watched.

Most surprisingly was that within seconds after he'd been hit, the pain faded, replaced by a warm, tingly feeling. He tested the leg and found it to have less than its normal strength, but otherwise, it functioned perfectly.

He knew that if anybody had been on the other side of the boulder they were now just so much hamburger. He slipped through the space along the bluff. There was no hamburger. No blood. No guts. Nothing.

Stepping out from the bluff to see around the curve, he saw them running away, well out of accuracy range of the machine pistol. He fired off a burst anyway, hoping to get lucky. Cursing his lack of luck, he half-limped, half-jogged after them.

______________________

Cliff had stayed in the woods to give the others time to get into position. Just as he was about to move in toward the bluff, he heard pistol shots immediately followed by a long burst from a machine gun.

Clyde must have gotten somebody. Three pistol shot from them, twenty from Clyde.

He laughed and started in the direction of the shots. He choked off the laughter and froze when he heard the grenade explode. It didn't make any sense to him.

He waited impatiently.

More machine gun shots with no return fire.

Now he wished he'd gotten the jump on Clyde and forced him to trade the rocket launcher for his life. With that devastating piece of armament he could do the job without Clyde. Then he could've used the launcher on Clyde and his men. The thought made him feel at odds with himself. On one hand he wanted to kill Clyde and on the other hand he felt some indescribable sort of kinship with him.

Keeping undercover as much as possible, he crept through the brush toward the bluff. He heard someone running from right to left along the bluff. It sounded like more than one person.

He felt trapped. He couldn't charge through twenty feet of brush and expect to be able to ambush them if they were the enemy. They'd hear him long before he could do anything. If he hollered, hoping that one of the people was Clyde, and it wasn't, they'd probably start shooting into the brush and maybe hit him before he could even return fire. He silently crawled toward the bluff.

"Come out of there or I'll blow your ass to pieces."

"I SAID," the voice screamed, "get out of that brush."

Cliff was tempted to shoot through the brush with the shotgun; five triple-aught magnums were forty lead balls almost three-eighths of an inch in diameter. If I'm lucky…

Considering himself one of the world's few people blessed with total unluckiness, he reluctantly laid the shotgun down and stood up, hands stretched high over his head. "Don't shoot," he pleaded, as if it was up to him to tell them to shoot or not.

"Clyde, goddamnit, you scared the shit out of me."

Clyde had the Uzi in his left hand, trained on Cliff, and a grenade in his right hand, with the pin clamped between his teeth. Clyde looked like he was smiling, showing his big ugly teeth, keeping them clamped tightly on the pin. He wasn't.

Clyde glared at Cliff without blinking. Cliff looked from Clyde's eyes, to the grenade, then to the barrel of the gun, then back into his eyes. He thought he was scared a minute ago, but compared to the fear he felt now, a minute ago he was having one hell of a good time, laying on the ground eating leaves and wondering if he was going to get shot at.

Clyde wanted to kill everybody he saw. He considered everybody to be the blame for the death of his brothers and all his gang. He pulled the grenade away from his mouth, leaving the pin between his teeth.

Cliff knew that he only had five seconds to live if Clyde tossed it. The shrapnel would rip him to pieces before he could claw himself ten feet through the thick brush.

Cliff said the first thing that came to his mind, "Clyde, are we all that's left?" The words sobered him almost as much as they did Clyde. The hate drained from Clyde's eyes, to be briefly replaced with a look of sadness. He lowered the grenade to his side and the pin slipped from his teeth onto the ground. He kneeled down and looked around his feet until he found the pin. He replaced it.

"They got my other brother and your assayer."

Cliff didn't know what to say. He didn't want to set Clyde off again.

"And they've got an Uzi and at least two grenades," Clyde added.

"I'm not much help with this lousy thing," Cliff said, picking up the shotgun, and struggling through the brush.

Clyde unslung his Uzi and handed it to Cliff, along with two extra clips. "Throw that thing away and take this. I'm through screwing around with them. I've got six rockets and four grenades and—"

"How about giving me a grenade."

"Sure. Why not," Clyde said, handing the grenade in his hand to Cliff. "This one was meant for you, anyway."

Cliff didn't think it was funny, but he smiled and took it. He'd heard that when a Japanese person was really angry, they smiled. His smile got broader when he thought about where he'd like to put the grenade.

"Come on. Let's get after them," Clyde suggested to his troop.

______________________

Sherri tried to get Tom to stop so she could look at his arm, but every time she even thought about slowing down, he'd urge her on with a nudge to her back or he'd grab her upper arm and push her along. He succeeded in conveying to her the necessity of distance between them and their pursuers.

They ran along the bluff, thankful that it turned to the right and offered momentary cover from behind. As the ground began to rise along the bluff, Tom guided Sherri to the bottom of the slope where they weren't quite as visible. Tom kept a close watch behind and Sherri meticulously scanned the area in front. They ran down into the ravine leading up to the bluff and were climbing up the other side when Sherri got an idea. She stopped. Tom, who was looking over his left shoulder for their executioners, didn't notice that Sherri had stopped. He ran into her.

"Let's stop and think," Sherri said, trying to keep her balance. Tom grabbed her and looked back. "Wouldn't we be better off up there than running?"

Tom looked up the sloping ravine and reaffirmed his original assumption that it dead ended about a third of the way up the bluff. "We'd be trapped… but then again, there are some rocks up there to hide behind. If they check it out, we might be able to get a couple of them. And if they go on by, we'd have clear sailing back to the cabin. Sherri nodded in agreement. That's all Tom needed. "Okay, let's try it."

Climbing up the slope, Tom was soon convinced that his first assessment had been correct. It was a gully cut through the bluff by thousands of years of raging water. When they'd climbed up about fifty feet, he stopped. He could see how the ground below was depressed in a wavy line leading to the river. He looked up at the bluff. It was at least a hundred and fifty feet high at this point and the uppermost hundred feet was totally vertical with no interruptions. Then he realized that the top of the bluff wasn't rounded off as it would have been if there had been a waterfall.

"This must have been a river!" he exclaimed, pointing to the bluff and sweeping his arm down the ravine and stopping at the distant river, which they could barely see through the tree tops. "And it had to come out of the bluff somewhere up ahead. Not from the top. That would mean that there has to be a cave at the top of this ravine."

Sherri excitedly started climbing toward the top.

A voice froze her in her tracks.

"Freeze! Police!"

Sherri had one hand on the ground and the other holding her machine pistol. She started to bring the gun up. A rapid series of explosions, the now familiar sound of an Uzi, filled the air and echoed from the bluff. She froze.

"Drop your guns and get on the ground, face down," the voice hollered.

Tom sized up the cop standing in the path above them. For a second, he thought he had a good chance of getting a shot off at him. But the cop's gun was aimed directly at Sherri. A twitch of his trigger finger would kill her instantly. Tom placed his gun on the ground and lay down beside it. He watched helplessly as the cop came down the path toward them.

"Slip your pistols out of your holsters and toss them behind you," the cop ordered. They complied, reluctantly, beaten.

"Don't move a muscle. If it was up to me, I'd kill you on the spot. Cop killers don't deserve a trial." He kept coming down the path. "As a matter of fact, give me an excuse, just twitch one muscle, and I'll kill you right where you lay."

Tom knew that he should have taken the chance when he had it. Now he and Sherri were going to die with their faces in the dirt. He would've rather died fighting.

"We didn't kill any cops," he heard Sherri say.

"Shut up, bitch. What in the hell do you think we've been chasing you for?"

"You don't know?" Tom asked, knowing that he'd found a chink with which to work.

"Know what?"

"That everybody is up here looking for a friend of mine that found a meteorite that might be worth a lot of money."

"A meteorite? What in the hell are you talking about?" The cop stopped two feet from Sherri's head, the gun pointing at her forehead.

Tom told the story as quickly and in as few words as he could.

Kawalski didn't buy it. "Radioactive meteorite, bullshit. You and your motorcycle buddies killed a cop on the way here, and several more after you got here." He paused, thinking. "And I'm gonna make sure you don't get another chance. "He backed up a step and started to say something. Tom instinctively tried to warn him, but was too late.

Kawalski was jerked off the ground and picked high into the air.

"Dan!" Tom hollered. "Put him down."

Dan held Kawalski high over his head. Kawalski screamed. Tom yelled at Dan again.

Kawalski sailed over Tom's head screaming something unintelligible, and tumbled down the path to the bottom, arms and legs flailing like a rag doll.

Machine-gun fire erupted from the bottom of the path. The chief stood at the bottom, firing wildly up the path. As Tom dove to the side, Dan snatched up Sherri and ran up the hill.

______________________

Kawalski didn't know what had happened. One minute he had his suspects in custody and the next minute he was flying through the air, the Uzi sailing along beside. Bracing for a bone shattering crash, he was surprised at the minimal impact damage he received upon hitting the ground. He remembered falling several times while learning to ski. As long as he didn't hit a tree or something solid, all he did was tumble. That's what he did this time, tumble all the way down the hill, but with one grand, flopping cartwheel at the bottom, he felt something snap in his left hip.

The chief jumped out, holding an Uzi and started shooting up the ravine. Clyde, concealed in a niche in the ravine wall, watched as return fire came from above. Kawalski dragged his useless body behind a rock slab protruding from the ravine wall. Cliff dove to the ground and rolled beside Kawalski.

The instant the shooting stopped, Clyde stepped out and fired a rocket. It streaked up the ravine, hit the bluff and exploded, sending shock waves down through the crack. Chunks of rock broke off the bluff and tumbled down through the crack, creating a mini avalanche. Clyde ducked back into the niche as the deluge rumbled by. He peeked out, saw nothing. All was silent.

Cliff looked disgustedly at Kawalski's grimacing face. "What in the hell happened up there?"

"I don't know, Chief. I had Miller and the girl on the ground, ready to cuff them. The next think I know, I'm flying through the air and Miller is screaming something to someone named Dan."

"Dan? Dan Jenkins?"

"Nah. It couldn't be Jenkins. That skinny little shit couldn't throw a grapefruit downhill without straining himself."

"Yeah? How'd he beat the shit outta Clyde Driegeo?"

Kawalski shrugged wryly, the initial pain numbing shock giving way to excruciating bolts of pain racking his left side and leg. He had a question to ask the chief and he didn't know how to go about it. He'd known the man for twenty years and had never known him to be anything but a good, decent, by-the-book cop. Sure, he expected free coffee and donuts, and looked the other way when one of his friends got drunk, or ran a stop sign, or drove a bit too fast, but Kawalski never knew of the chief ever doing anything seriously wrong.

"Chief, Miller said something about you looking for a meteorite. What did he mean by that?"

"You gonna listen to cop killers? Hell, I don't know what he meant."

"They said that they never killed any cops. And they also said that the meteorite is radioactive. They said it would mess up someone's mind, and that everybody up here is screwed up." Kawalski scrutinized Cliff suspiciously. "Have you been around—"

Cliff angrily shook his head, not wanting to hear anymore. "The bikers killed the cops, but somehow, they're all in this together. Jenkins probably double crossed the Driegeoes."

"Chief, let's get some help in here. We've got them trapped and they'll eventually have to come down. There doesn't have to be anymore bloodshed."

"We've got all the help we need. See that man with the rocket launcher. He's help enough."

"Goddamnit, Chief, they're trapped up there. Let me talk to them. I'll get them to come down."

"Shut up, Kawalski. You had your chance and you blew it. I'll take them my way."

Kawalski strenuously objected, threatening to report to the Mayor, the Sheriff, and the State Attorney General, if necessary.

He did shut up when the chief pointed the Uzi at him. Only yelping when a slug grazed his neck, taking a part of his ear with it, and another ripped into his left shoulder. Shots came from up the ravine. The chief spun around, jumped out and started to shoot up the hill. Before he could pull the trigger, a dozen slugs tore into his body.

Clyde stepped out and fired a rocket.

______________________

Tom knew that he was no match for the launcher. Eventually a rocket or the rocks blown from the bluff would either kill or pry him from the precarious protection offered him by a boulder and an indentation in the ravine wall. He was waiting for the man to step out again. His best chance was to get him before he shot another rocket. But it was the chief that stepped out. Already tense and ready, it just took twitch of the barrel to send a stream of bullets into the uniform of his Chief of Police. Standing out in the open, thrilled at his success, he was almost caught off guard when Clyde stepped out and aimed the second rocket. He dove into the wall and dug in.

The rocket streaked by and exploded against the bluff.

Waiting for another deluge of rocks to rumble by, he realized that now might be his only chance to get away, while the man was reloading. Not sure whether he could make it to the top in time, he pulled the pin on his last grenade and threw it down the hill. Not waiting to see if it was on target or did any damage, he turned and ran up the path as it exploded. Instead of being a dead end as it appeared from below, a large slab on the left partially blocked an opening into the bluff.

He dove into the dark, ominous hole.

______________________

Clyde cursed as the second rocket did no harm to Miller. He loaded another one and was bringing the launcher up when the grenade exploded in midair twenty feet from him. Pieces of hot steel ripped into his face. His last reaction, as he was blown backwards, was to pull the trigger on the launcher. He tried, but it wasn't in his hand. He tumbled down the hill, the launcher sailing through the air ahead of him. He hit the ground and lay there for a moment checking out his injuries. Shrapnel had ripped into his face and chest, but he felt very little pain.

He got up and looked around for the launcher. Not finding it, and cussing every wasted second, his hate and anger totally out of control, he jerked two grenades from his belt, pulled the pins, and sprinted mindlessly up the path to kill the man that an eternity ago he'd insisted on taking alive.

He didn't even remember why.

______________________

Kawalski was semi-conscious when the rocket launcher hit him on the side of the face. He looked up and saw Clyde climbing the path.

Kawalski knew that if he didn't get help soon, he'd die. Blood was spurting from the base of his neck and forming a puddle under his head. He'd tried to stop it by clamping his hand over the wound, but the blood continued to spurt between his fingers.

He grabbed the rocket launcher and pointed it up the hill. He didn't even know why he was trying to shoot at the biker, but he did know that the chief had gone bad and the biker was worse. He was the enemy even more than the other cop killers.

He pulled the trigger.

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Clyde had reached the top of the path and was turning toward the cave entrance when the rocket hit him in the back. One rocket would have been enough to splatter pieces of Clyde all over the side of the bluff. Add to that the instantaneous explosion of the other three rockets hanging from his belt and Clyde was disintegrated. Of the two grenades in his hands, one of them was blown against the bluff directly in front of the cave entrance. The other one tumbled inside. It landed beside the case of dynamite that Dan had set down when he was trying to find a weapon.

The five second fuse had already burned for three seconds.

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Tom got up and looked at the dark hole in front of him. He blinked his eyes impatiently trying to get them to adjust from the brightness outside to the dark, ominous void in front. He stumbled forward, his hands groping the wall, and his feet feeling along the ground, trying not to fall into a vast emptiness that was surely in front of him.

He was unaware that he was almost at the end of the fifty foot entrance tunnel when the rocket hit Clyde in the back. The force of the explosion sent Tom tumbling forward. Grasping at the wall, his hands slipped into nothingness and he was falling to the right when the grenade and the case of dynamite exploded.

He thought he heard someone holler his name before his world ended.

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