Sylvia said, "Get out of there fast. You're going to be up to your hips in rain. It's a major storm. You can't electrify the fences in the rain, can you?"
"No. How long have we got?"
"An hour. Then it'll last for days."
"Rain! You won't need me!" Marty's voice broke in.
"Right. We won't need you," Cadmann said wearily. "But we do need to get the Skeeters up to full charge. And the spare fuel cells. Marty, if the fences go, you can get out of here. We can't."
"Marty—" Sylvia's voice was horror held under rigid control.
"Hey, look," he said. "Dammit, I'll do my duly! But bloody hell,
Cadmann, I don't even know if I've still got motors, and you can't hold on in rain!"
"I know, and it's hardly a surprise. We're already sending people out.
You want anything else?"
"No."
"Then shut the fuck up for a while. Sylvia, you have any good news?"
"Actually, yes." Even through the static, her excitement was plain.
"Cad, this ‘superhemoglobin' in the sacs above their lungs is what gives them their speed. The speed is attack mode—for hunting and for defense against other grendels."
"Right."
"Jerry seconds my assumption. We know that they trigger on the smell of blood. In the water they undoubtedly trigger on the smell of superhemoglobin metabolites as well. Almost certainly it's an involuntary response."
Her voice dissolved into static for a moment, and Cadmann tapped his earpiece. "Wait a minute. Jerry? I need some enhancement here. Filters.... something. Thanks."
The static died down.
"Can you hear me now?"
"Better. Go ahead."
"Collect grendel corpses. Cut out the sacs, liquefy in water and feed it through one of the Skeeter crop-spraying attachments. Spray it over a mass of grendels. It should drive them berserk. "
Despite his fatigue, Cadmann grinned. "Thanks, hon. That just might work."
"My pleasure. Cadmann... how is Terry holding out?"
"He's all right. Already up at the Bluff."
The floodlights flickered, dimmed, then strengthened again. "That's all the talk, Sylvie. We're losing the lights."
"How many of you are left?"
Cadmann made a quick assessment. Skeeter Two was just humming back in.
"Seventeen. Another three loads. We should be all right for that long. These grendels are feeling lazy. I'll talk to you later. Jerry? Are you there?"
"Nowhere else."
"Good. Get someone digging through the miscellaneous equipment up there. We need a blender, food processor, something like that. And the crop-spraying attachment for the Skeeters. Have both ready in an hour."
"Got it."
Skeeter Two was fully charged. In an orderly fashion, the men retired from their positions and retreated to the makeshift landing pad. Two climbed up into the cabin. Three crammed into the cargo hoist beneath.
Skeeter Two swooped back out. Skeeter One was coming in. He'd want to put a full charge on it for what he had in mind. Cadmann counted rapidly. There were only six men left, quickly and quietly dismantling the machine guns. The grendels displayed only token interest.
"Rick," Cadmann called softly. The little machinist left his post and scurried over.
Cadmann was examining a section of fence that bulged inward with dead grendels. "They killed each other here, drove each other across the mine field and into the fence. They pushed from behind while the ones in front burned." His voice held a savage satisfaction. "I want to cut a piece away here. Can we get a bypass on the current, cut a hole in the fence and drag some of these bastards through?"
"Can do. What do you have in mind?"
"Butchery. I need one man to stand guard with a flame thrower. Someone to cut the fence and monitor the current. A man to drag them through. I'll do the rest. That's four of us. Two more at the north and south corners of the camp to give warning. Right now, I don't think we have much to worry about. You choose the crew, and make it fast."
Rick scrambled from man to man, whispering to them. One at a time they left their posts, and joined Cadmann. As if by magic, tools appeared, and wire, and a voltmeter.
The fog drifted in quickly as the air lost heat. Its mist cloaked them as they worked.
Rick whispered, "Now,"" and shut down the power. The camp lights brightened as the overworked batteries were unburdened. Two men, working quietly and swiftly, ran a cable from one fence post to the next, severed the electric leads, and spliced. They nodded, and Rick threw the switch. The camp lights dimmed and then strengthened.
They tested the fence section: not a flicker from the voltmeter.
Cadmann grabbed a pair of clippers and locked their jaws into the fence links. He gritted his teeth, scissoring the handles. One at a time the links broke, and he moved on to the next until they had cut a semicircle two feet in diameter.
A grendel head popped through the hole, inverted, looking up at them with fixed, milky, dead eyes. Cadmann sank a baling hook into its neck and dragged it through the opening.
Rick said quietly, "You wouldn't want to do that to a live and curious grendel. Whack the tail with a stick first and see if it wiggles."
"Hell, Ricky, there isn't any back end to this one." Cadmann went for another, but he picked up a stick first.
The mass of grendels outside the fence were only vaguely interested in the butchery. One at a time, corpses were pulled through and hacked apart with a machete. Cadmann chopped the glands out, tossed them into a bucket. He slashed the corpses until his arms ran with blood.
There was no way to get used to the stink. Putrescence wasn't far advanced, but it was flavored with puffs of weird chemical reek from the speed glands.
"That's it," he finally whispered. "My arm is numb."
Skeeter One floated back in over the camp. They disconnected the last batteries and hooked them to the Skeeter's cargo hoist. Two men piled into the cabin, and the Skeeter rose up and disappeared into the fog.
Cadmann, Ricky and two other men stood in the center of a deserted camp. Beyond the fence the grendels growled and snored, utterly sated.
Cadmann used the comcard. "Greg! Come and get your ride."
"Yo." Far down the line of the inner fence, a shadow detached itself and jogged toward the lights.
"Damn, they're quiet now," Ricky said. He depressed the trigger of the flame thrower, testing. Fire squirted out and puddled on the ground.
"Not for long. They're gorged now. Come tomorrow their bellies will be empty again. Corpses will begin to putrefy. Maybe they're scavengers, and maybe not. Between the survivors here and the ones still coming north, we're going to have our hands full, believe it."
"Still... it's just too damned quiet."
Skeeter Two came in for them.
"Find me an empty barrel," he said to Rick. "Half fill it with water."
The little man tested two, then found one. "This'll do." He ran a hose in. Water thrummed against the side of the barrel.
Cadmann shook his arms. Drops of orange blood and superhemoglobin spattered against the ground. The wind shifted slightly, and grendels stirred, alarmed by the scent.
He dumped a quarter of the bucket into the barrel and sloshed the brew around with a stick. God, it stank.
"All right, you two squeeze into the cabin. Ricky, with me in the hoist."
Carlos leaned out of the Skeeter. "What's the plan, amigo?"
"Just take us up gently. Hover over the fence: I have an unpleasant present for our friends."