“Don’t count on it,” Hale replied darkly. “There were three Steelheads, and as far as we know, one of them is still on the loose. Grab your packs… We’re getting out of here.”
Then as if to confirm Hale’s assessment, an air-fuel grenade came flying into the barn, landed ten feet away from the haystack, and went off with a loud whump! Hale and the two youngsters were outside the immediate blast zone, but the explosion set fire to the hay, and it went up quickly. Air-fuel grenades had been invented by humans, but just as humans made effective use of Chimeran weapons, the reverse was true as well. Hale theorized that the surviving Steelhead was planning to drive the humans out of the barn and silhouette them against the flames.
“Come on,” Hale said, having shouldered his pack. “Follow me.” Mark and Tina obeyed as Hale half slid down the ladder to the floor below. The fire was spreading, and the heat was intense.
Auger rounds began to probe the inside of the barn.
“Over there!” Hale shouted, as he pointed to the east wall. Having stopped by his father’s workshop long enough to snatch a sledgehammer off its hooks, Hale hurried over to where Mark and Tina were waiting. There was a loud bang as the first blow made contact with the wall. The key was to land each blow squarely between neighboring studs, and the weight of the pack, snowshoes, and Fareye made that difficult, but after three solid hits a section of siding gave way. That was progress, but not enough, as Hale put the sledgehammer down in order to kick at the loose boards.
“Mark!” Tina shouted. “Behind you!”
Hale turned and saw that one of the Grims was on fire. Whether it had been wounded previously, or was simply lurking in a corner at the moment when the air-fuel mixture detonated, didn’t really matter. What mattered was that the fiery apparition was just six feet away, and staggering forward with arms spread wide.
Mark shot the Grim repeatedly, but the monstrosity kept on coming. Hale was about to fire on it when the Steelhead who was lurking outside unknowingly put an Auger projectile into the Grim. That knocked the monster off its feet, and the fire crackled noisily as all six of its eyeballs began to boil. Its heels drummed against the floor, then stopped abruptly.
The Sentinel turned his attention back to the wall.
“There!” he exclaimed as a hole finally appeared in front of him. Peering through it, he saw no sign of the Steelhead, and judging from its last shot, Hale figured it was on the opposite side of the barn. “Tina, you first, then Mark.”
There was no need to tell the youngsters to hurry as the stack of hay collapsed, flames clawed at the walls, and the roof caught fire. The moment Mark disappeared Hale entered the hole, swore when one of his snowshoes got caught, and had to wrestle it loose.
Then they were free, as the entire barn was engulfed in flames. Thankfully, it was snowing again, which would help conceal their tracks, but Hale knew that wouldn’t prevent the Steelhead from following them. The Chimera was close, too close, and would have to be dealt with before the threesome could make their way south.
So Hale ran, breaking a trail for the others as they passed along the west side of the house and crossed the parking area beyond. There was plenty of light, thanks to the brightly burning barn and the battle lamps, which were still in place. Hale rounded the propane tank and angled up the slope beyond. Once on top of the low-lying hill he shrugged his pack off and motioned for the others to get down.
Having positioned the pack for use as a gun rest, Hale laid the Fareye across it and lowered himself into place. With his eye to the scope, Hale waited for the Steelhead to appear and it didn’t take long. Less than thirty seconds later the hulking stink rounded the northwest corner of the house and began to follow the human tracks south. That was to be expected, but what Hale wasn’t expecting were the three Grims who trailed along behind. He’d have to bag the ′brid and the Grims.
So Hale settled on a plan, smiled grimly as the Chimera crossed the parking lot, and put the Fareye’s crosshairs on the very center of his target. Then, as the Steelhead passed the propane tank, Hale fired. The high-velocity armor-piercing bullet passed through the tank and caused a spark. That was sufficient to trigger a flash of light, a rising ball of flame, and a loud explosion.
There were no bodies to be seen in the wake of the massive blast, just a large circle of blackened ground, and a cloud of hot steam.
“That was awesome!” Mark said admiringly. “What’s next?”
“One helluva long walk,” Hale answered, as he stood up. “It’s time to put your snowshoes on.”
Ten minutes later the threesome were ready to hit the trail.
The barn’s roof had collapsed by then, sending thousands of glowing sparks up into the air. Some of them fell onto the house and set it on fire as well. Hale was standing there, watching his childhood home start to burn, when Tina took his free hand.
“I’m sorry,” she said simply. “But we’re still alive—and we have you to thank for that.”
Hale turned to look down at her solemn face. “Let’s get going.”
It was pitch black once they put the house and barn behind them, and like it or not Hale and his companions were forced to use their flashlights. Thanks to the thickly falling snow they weren’t likely to be seen unless they had the bad fortune to pass within fifty feet of their pursuers.
As they slogged along, Hale assessed what lay ahead, and how to deal with it. The most pressing problem was time, because if they hadn’t reached the LZ when Purvis put the Party Girl down, the pilot would be forced to leave them behind. If that happened, could they make it all the way back to Valentine, Nebraska? Maybe, but the odds were against it.
Then there was the bridge across the White River to consider. Even more stinks would be standing guard on the span, in the wake of the first attack, and given the time constraint, Hale couldn’t afford to try one of the bridges up- or downriver. So what to do?
Bit by bit a plan came to mind. A crazy plan, but one that might catch the Chimera by surprise, and enable Hale and his charges to cross the first span.
Old Man Potter had been something of a recluse, especially after his wife’s death, which was when Hale had gotten to know him. Potter’s ten-acre spread lay just south of the Rocking F, and years earlier, while out riding his horse and searching for strays, an eighteen-year-old Nathan Hale had come across the old man lying unconscious at the bottom of a ravine, right next to the wreckage of the old Triumph motorcycle.
Potter had loved that bike.
Hale brought him around with water from his canteen, lifted him onto Blacky, and led the horse two miles east to Potter’s old farmhouse. The old man was more of a dreamer than a doer, always coming up with wild new business schemes, none of which bore fruit. His house was surrounded by the brooding remains of possibilities that had passed him by.
The collection included a rusting grader which was part of Potter Paving, a snow-shrouded drilling rig that had once been the pride and joy of the Potter Well Company, and a fifty-two-foot fishing boat the old man planned to haul cross-country to Seattle, where it would become the flagship of the Potter Fishing Company.
And the broken dreams were still there, sleeping under a blanket of snow, as Hale and his two companions approached the ramshackle house. It was growing lighter by then, the snowfall had slowed, and it felt significantly warmer. All bad signs insofar as they were concerned, but what was—was, so all Hale could do was keep a sharp eye out for tracks in the snow, and hope for the best.