They close all around, coming from every direction.
He finally clears the gunfire, races into deeper shadows, skids on his paws. He searches, extending his senses. He smells spoor and wet loam, damp leaf and rotted wood. Still, over all wafts the scent of burning oil. It hangs everywhere. The whirring fills the world around him.
He is a seasoned soldier.
He recognizes the truth.
To run again is death.
Exhausted, he pants heavily. Blood seeps hot from a graze to his flank. He settles to a wary crouch. He must stand his ground, keep the danger drawn here, away from those he must protect.
The hunters close upon him, bringing lightning and firepower.
His hackles rise against that threat.
But he will not be moved.
9:27 A.M.
In a haze of agony, Tucker sprinted through the forest, carrying the shotgun in both hands. He limped on his bad leg and propelled himself forward with the other. Pain flared with each step, like a fiery heartbeat matching his own pounding heart.
He bashed through low branches and bounced off of tree trunks. He kept one focus on the path and the other on the spinning needle of Kane’s homing beacon. A moment ago, he had watched Kane come to a halt after a mad flight through the trees, pursued and shot at the entire way. The thermal mode of his partner’s camera had showed a score of overheated Q-UGVs pursuing Kane. It was difficult to determine the exact number. They were everywhere around the dog, coming from every direction.
So many . . .
During the evacuation, the soldiers must have gathered all of the robotic dogs in one place, readying them to leave. Once the firefight had started, they had clearly released that entire pack into the forest, maybe to help cover their own escape.
Tucker watched the dark orange glows closing on Kane’s position.
I’ll never make it in time.
Still, Tucker had to help. He fumbled out his transceiver and found the series of buttons that controlled Kane’s bandolier. He found and pressed the proper button and released a frag grenade. He prayed it would be enough to give Kane the advantage to escape that noose.
Like last time.
Kane notes the jolt under his sternum. His ears pick out the snap of the release. The tumble of the silvery charge brushes his inner leg and lands in the wet leaves under him.
It assures Kane that his partner is with him. The thought calms him, reminding him of a life shared. He tastes the scrap of meat tossed from a plate. Feels the huddle of a warm body next to him. Sees the toss of a red ball through bright sunshine. Smells the sweaty musk that is as familiar as his own.
At the back of his skull, he notes the passing of each heartbeat, marking time until the fire and blast.
He knows what he must do.
The order still blazes bright.
Protect.
He can’t let a single hunter drift away, to return and threaten the others. He must hold his post. Knowing this, he settles atop that silvery egg.
He accepts what’s coming. Off in the distance, he hears the deep blast of a large gun. Still, he does not move.
He’s a good soldier.
And more important . . .
He’s a good boy.
Through his goggle’s thermal scopes, Tucker spotted the boxy orange glow to his right. He aimed his Mossberg and fired. The Q-UGV shattered into pieces. Tucker didn’t slow. As he charged through the woods, a countdown ran in his head.
Ten seconds . . .
Other glows lit the forest, marking more of the robotic Q-UGVs. They were everywhere. Easily a dozen or more. And he was down to six rounds.
Nine seconds . . .
Tucker radioed through his Molar Mic. “Move, Kane. Now!”
But like before, the dog remained in position, refusing the order, clearly still adhering to another command. Kane had been taught to prioritize, to trust his own instincts, not to follow blindly.
The dog could also be damned stubborn.
Eight . . .
Tucker limped and hopped, refusing to give up on Kane. A blast of gunfire ripped through the woods. Rounds slammed into his body armor. He twisted and aimed as one of the Q-UGVs appeared.
Tucker fired the Mossberg. The slug shattered the leg off of the robotic dog. The impact sent it crashing away. Its gun turret continued to fire blindly, shredding the canopy overhead.
Seven . . .
He hobbled fast, his body now a torch of pain. Leaves slapped his face; branches tore at his bare skin. He kept going.
Six . . .
He fired again, blasting another Q-UGV aside, clearing a path in front of him.
Five . . .
“Kane, buddy, move it. Please . . .”
Four . . .
Out of the smoky gloom, a new glow rose ahead, softer edged. He knew that shape. It meant home, like a lamp in the night.
Three . . .
Other shapes closed to the right and left. Rounds fired at him, chugging from the automatons’ turrets. But he ducked lower, not bothering to return fire. He didn’t have time.
Two . . .
He shoved aside the heavy leaves of a fern. There was Kane, half-buried in another bush. The dog’s dark eyes shone toward him. A tail wagged in a last greeting.
One . . .
Tucker leaped headlong. Time slowed to a standstill. He wished this moment could last forever. Still, he would take what he could.
To be together—to the very end.
Tucker hit Kane as the grenade exploded.
9:29 A.M.
Inside the com shack, Frank winced as the loud blast echoed out of the forest.
What the hell?
He and Monk had just finished the frantic call to Sigma command. They had kept it brief, giving Director Crowe as much time as possible to warn Gray of the coming threat. The director had also promised to alert the FARDC military and get them to dispatch helicopters to the island.
Frank crossed to Ndaye, who guarded the door. Monk kept his weapon on Willem. They had all heard the earlier shotgun blasts. Frank pointed to a billowing curl of smoke to the southeast.
It had to mark Tucker’s location.
“Is that anywhere near where you left Charlotte and the others?” he asked Ndaye.
Had Tucker gone to help them?
“No.” The eco-guard waved due south. “We left them over that way.”
Frank frowned.
Then what was the meaning of that blast?
9:27 A.M.
Tucker heaved off of Kane but held tightly to his buddy. The world had become a pinched knot. His skull ached. His hearing had flatlined to a single tone. Blood ran down his face, down his throat. He tasted it, breathed it.
He raised a palm to his face, felt the jagged bits of shrapnel imbedded there. A finger fell through a hole in his cheek.
Still . . .
I’m alive.
He ran his palm over Kane’s Kevlar vest.
Please . . .
He reached a soft ear, felt a whiskered muzzle. Then a tongue licked the blood from his fingers.
Thank god . . .
He rolled to a seat, gasping, cradling Kane, who panted hard. A low whine from his buddy pierced the storm in his skull.
I know . . . but we made it.
Still, they weren’t out of danger. He searched the blast area. Leaves were shredded from trees and bushes; branches hung crookedly. He had managed to roll off of the grenade at the last moment. His body armor—shielded around Kane—had spared their lives.
The four Q-UGVs that had been closing in on them had caught the brunt of the blast. They lay smoking and sparking. One had been tossed into the branches of a cedar and hung there.
Tucker searched for any others, unsure if there were more, or if the explosion had overwhelmed their sensors.
All he knew for sure—
“We need to get out of here.”
Kane whined again, sounding louder now that Tucker’s hearing had cleared a bit. Tucker shifted to help his buddy up, to start them moving. He couldn’t trust that those robotic dogs might not come sniffing around again.
Tucker got to his knees, but Kane remained sprawled on his side, panting hard, tongue lolling. His eyes shone with pain, staring off into a glazed distance.
“Kane . . .”
Then Tucker’s heart clenched.
Oh, god, no . . .