Ghostwalk. James Axler
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makes you so sure?”
“They wouldn’t have warned us about attracting their attention.”
Grant knuckled his chin thoughtfully. “Even so, I don’t think they were worried about our safety.”
Kane nodded in agreement. “Neither do I. But I have the distinct impression the millennialists bit off way more than they could chew.”
Grant gusted out a sigh, then stiffened. He hissed, “Shit!”
Bobbing like a multitude of tiny bubbles on the surface of a stream, a cloud of green orbs circled overhead. An icy hand clenched around the base of Kane’s spine. The orbs swirled in a clockwise direction, then back again. With each rotation, the glowing flecks sank lower and lower.
“What the hell are those things?” he demanded angrily. “Weapons? Tracking devices? Are they alive or what?”
Grant inhaled a deep breath, turned and started running again. “Let’s ask questions when we’re safe.”
They ran toward an area of rock formations, dust spurting from beneath their boots. They jumped over a tumble of stones, turning toward a narrow cleft, wide and tall enough for a man to enter. Kane risked a misstep by looking over his shoulder. The green-glowing swarm darted after them. He heard a strange hissing noise, like static over a dead comm circuit.
The two men sprinted toward the cleft and squeezed into the crack, sidling through the deep shadows. After a few feet, they were in absolute blackness. They kept moving forward, wincing at the clink and crunch of stones beneath their feet.
The sandstone walls of the cleft would provide some protection from the swarm, since pursuit in a straight line was impossible. Kane and Grant threaded their way through a labyrinth of cracks, slamming their knees and banging their elbows against outthrusts of rock.
They swore between clenched teeth, but kept running, stumbling and lurching from wall to wall. The farther they penetrated into the cleft, the narrower the walls became. A stitch stabbed along Kane’s left side, and the muscles of Grant’s legs felt as if they were caught in a vise. Both men’s vision became shot through with gray specks.
Even over the rasp and gasp of their own labored breathing, they heard the incessant hiss of their pursuers. It was like running on a conveyor belt and getting nowhere.
Then both men saw the wedge of relative brightness ahead of them and they struggled out of the cleft and into the cooling desert air. Looking behind them, they saw the green glowing swarm sliding around bends in the rock wall, like a stream of embers.
Panting, Grant snatched an M-33 fragmentation grenade from his combat webbing, slipping the spoon at the same time. “Enough of this shit.”
He threw the grenade underhanded into the cleft. He and Kane dropped flat behind a tumble of low rocks. The grenade rolled only a few feet before detonating with a brutal thunderclap. A hell-flower bloomed, petals of flame curving outward. A rain of shrapnel spewed from the end of every petal, rattling violently against the rock walls. Loose shale showered down from above and crashed from the sides of the cleft. The rolling echoes of the explosion faded, replaced by clicks and clatters of falling rock.
Cautiously, Kane and Grant rose to their knees, spitting out grit and particles of sand. They saw only a thick, roiling haze of dust and smoke. Quickly they got to their feet, backed away, neither man wanting to voice the hope that the swarm of ghostly pursuers had been crushed and buried.
Suddenly a hiss of static filled their heads and both men jumped in startled reaction. Then Brigid Baptiste’s voice filtered through their Commtacts. “Kane! Grant! Where are you?”
Glancing around, Kane saw the ridge of gravelly dunes that bracketed the settlement barely half a mile away. He said, “We’re close. Be there soon.”
“What was that explosion?”
“Our way of swatting bugs,” Grant replied dryly.
“When did the Commtacts start working again?”
“I don’t know,” Brigid replied. “The EM interference is still around, but it’s not as pronounced. Brewster is still picking up an energy signature on the sensor. There’s some sort of generalized power source around here, so I suggest you double-time back to us.”
Brigid closed the channel and Grant said grimly, “I don’t feel much like running anymore.”
Kane shrugged. “Me, neither. But you heard the lady.”
The two men sighed with weary exasperation and began jogging across the moonlight-splashed landscape. Both of them cast apprehensive glances over their shoulders, but saw no sign of anything small, glowing or green.
They reached the little settlement within ten minutes and found Brigid, Philboyd and CAT Alpha, tense, anxious and ready to move out. Two of the away team supported the man who called himself Mr. Gray between them. He looked pale and frightened. Brigid had already retrieved the interphaser’s cushioned and waterproof carrying case from its hiding place in one of the abandoned dwellings.
“I thought I told you to wait for us at the parallax point,” Kane said to her by way of a greeting.
Brigid lifted one shoulder in a dismissive shrug. “There wasn’t enough time to get there. Besides, I didn’t know that you weren’t going to get yourselves lost out there.”
Kane only smiled, not in the least offended by her mendacity, knowing it was her way of concealing her genuine concern and worry.
At the beginning of their relationship, it was very difficult for Kane and Brigid not to give offense to one another. Both people were gifted in their own way. Most of what was important to people in the early twenty-third century came easily to Kane—survival skills, prevailing in the face of adversity and cunning against enemies. But he could also be reckless, high-strung to the point of instability and given to fits of rage.
Brigid, on the other hand, was compulsively tidy and ordered, with a brilliant analytical mind. However, her clinical nature, the cool scientific detachment upon which she prided herself, sometimes blocked an understanding of the obvious human factor in any given situation. Accommodating their contrasting personalities, Kane and Brigid now worked very well as a team, playing off each other’s strengths rather than magnifying their individual weaknesses.
Philboyd swept the sensor wand of the energy analyzer in the direction of the mesa. Despite his swollen lips, he frowned. “There’s definitely a low-level pattern out there…it spikes, then flatlines, then spikes again.”
“It’s probably a good idea to get out of here during a flatline period,” Grant said uneasily.
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