Read Online Maelstrom by Taylor Anderson - Free Book Online Page B

something else, indefinable—perhaps an anxious breath. The Hunter stopped about sixty yards ahead. He still whistled, but the tune had become monotonous. He appeared as casual as before, but his long tail swished rapidly, tensely, agitated. He was looking at the ground. For an instant his gaze swept across the jungle to his left; then he stooped and collected some stones. Abruptly shattering the natural quiet, he began a shrill, frightened barking sound, hopping to and fro. Whipping his arm forward like a sling, he flung his first stone into the trees. The only response was an indignant grunt, but the breathing came quicker, more defined. More barking and a second stone invited a deep, rasping inrush of air. Even before the third stone flew, the jungle erupted with a heavy, gurgling moan, and several substantial trees fell like grass blades.
    Silva had been keenly staring at the jungle, BAR at his shoulder, but when the massive head rocketed from the darkness amid a cloud of leaves, branches, and fleeing lizard birds, he hesitated for an instant, despite his promise. The head appeared almost twice as high as he’d expected, and by the time he acquired the target, it was already descending, murderous jaws agape, toward the Hunter on the trail.
    No one else fired either. Not even the other ’Cats had ever actually seen a super lizard before. Silva knew the Mice had—perhaps this very one—and they’d both emptied their rifles into it before it simply stalked off. But nothing, certainly not their surly, monosyllabic description of the thing, could have prepared them for what they saw. Bradford only gasped in astonishment. Two great, rapid strides brought the thing completely in view, and it had to be fifty feet from nose to tail. Unlike many other creatures they’d seen, including the Grik, no fur or feathers of any kind adorned its hide. The skin was coarse, wrinkled like an elephant’s, but blotched and streaked with a wild variety of dull colors. Even fully exposed, it was almost perfectly camouflaged against the dense jungle beyond. Only the sun, peeking from behind the clouds at a providential moment, showed them more than a rippling blur as it stooped to seize the Hunter with six-foot jaws lined with improbably long, sickle-shaped teeth.
    Fortunately, with the agility of the cat he so closely resembled, the Hunter somersaulted out of the way, but he hit the ground hard and it was clear another step would pin him beneath the creature’s terrible claws.
    “Great God a’mighty!” Silva chirped, squeezing the trigger. A mighty BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM filled the clearing. Possibly, in his haste and surprise, the first few shots went wild. But Dennis was an excellent shot, and the familiar recoil of the heavy weapon pounding his shoulder steadied him. His training and experience took over. In a businesslike fashion, he confidently emptied his first magazine into the beast. Even before he snatched another to replace it, other shots sounded.
    Silva didn’t know how he expected the monster to react to the fusillade; a stately collapse would have been nice. Even a dramatic tumble and a long, flailing, writhing death would have been fine with him. What he didn’t expect it to do, after absorbing most of a magazine from his BAR and numerous shots from his companions, was turn in their direction. The Hunter forgotten, it produced an ear-numbing roar and charged, its long-legged pace making it shockingly swift.
    “Shit!”
    Magazine in place, Silva racked the bolt and hosed the creature as it came. He knew he was hitting it, but the bullets appeared to have no effect. Way too soon, he burned through all twenty rounds and the bolt locked back. He turned to run, while groping at another magazine pouch, and saw that everyone else except Courtney Bradford had already fled. Even Stites. Bradford still stood, rifle hanging slack and apparently unfired, gaping at the charging beast.
    “C’mon, you crazy son of a bitch!” Silva