Dean Koontz - Beastchild

He picked up the knife in both hands so that he could be sure of holding onto it. He pricked the point of it in Hulann's biceps.

The alien slept on.

He jabbed deeper. A small well of blood sprang up around the edges of the knife. A thin trickle of it ran down Hulann's arm and dripped onto the couch.

Leo felt ill.

The copter's engine boomed abruptly louder, three times the volume as before, as it came over the brow of the mountain down near the header station.

He twisted the blade, opening the wound farther.

More blood sprang up.

The copter passed over the hotel, turned to come back.

The room shook with its noise.

Leo gritted his teeth, twisted the blade viciously in the rubbery flesh.

Instantly, Hulann sat up, striking out with an arm that caught the boy on the side of the head and knocked him sprawling on the floor.

"They're here!" Leo shouted, not angry that he had been struck.

"I thought you were — "

"They're here!" he insisted.

Hulann listened as the Hunter's craft swept low over the hotel roof. He stood, his entire body trembling now. It had to be a Hunter, for they could not have been found so quickly by anyone else. The Hunter — Docanil. Yes, that was his name.

Dark blue velveteen trousers and shirt… Black boots… Heavy greatcoat… Gloves for the six-fingered hands, gloves with the ends open to permit the claws their deadly full-length when he chose to unsheath them… The high skull… The deadly, steady eyes… And the extended claw circled by the sharpened iron nails.

While he stood, nightmares flushing through his mind, the copter settled onto the promenade before the hotel, only a hundred yards from the lobby doors.

"What can we do?" Leo asked.

"Hurry," Hulann said, turning and striding across the lobby toward the rear of the great hotel complex. He was not certain where he was going. Panic was guiding him. But panic was better than paralysis, for it carried him away from the Hunter Docanil, gained a few extra minutes in which to think.

Leo hurried behind.

They passed the dining hall entrance, went beyond a small mall with a plasti-glass roof that gave a view of the sky. Here, there were a dozen shops for the hotel patrons, a few little restaurants, a barber, curios, and a hundred-seat theater. They went out the other side of the mall and into the offices of the hotel administration. These were bare now. The doors stood open. Dust gathered on what had once been urgent memos and important reports.

At last, they reached the back of the hotel, pushed open a heavy fire door, and stepped into the snow again. They had gotten several hours sleep, but the moment the cold and wind hit them, they felt as if they had only paused a minute or two since getting off the cablecar.

Ahead, the top of the mountain stretched. There were various markers indicating the direction to the ski slopes, toboggan trails, and other points of interest. A hundred feet away, they spotted a squat, block building perched on a small knoll, windowless, with a single sliding door that rolled away overhead.

"There," Hulann said.

"But they'll check that after they search the hotel."

"We're not staying there. I think it may be a garage. The skiers had to have some way to reach the slopes besides walking."

"Yeah!" Leo said, grinning.

Hulann could not grin, and he marveled at the boy's delight over such a small treasure. Even if it turned out to be a garage, there might be no vehicles there. And if there were cars, they might not run. And if they ran, there was still no guarantee they could escape Docanil and his copter. Certainly no time to grin.

The boy reached the door first, palmed the control set in a black panel in the concrete wall. The metal portal shuddered, then groaned upward, admitting them. The interior of the place was like a tomb, dim and cold and sifted over with dust and frost. But there were cars. There were heavy tread vehicles for use in drifts of almost any size.

They boarded the first, found that it would not turn over; the second was in the same condition. As was the third. But the fourth one coughed twice, sputtered like a man with a mouthful of some unpleasant food, and grumbled into life. Hulann brought the clumsy beast out of the garage, surprised that — now that it was running — it made almost no noise. That would be better for an escape. And for something else he had in mind. He turned the car toward the front of the hotel.

"Where are you going?" Leo wanted to know.

"To see if they left the helicopter unguarded," Hulann said.

Leo grinned. Despite himself, Hulann grinned too.

Docanil and the traumatist stood in the deserted lobby, surveying the rich draperies and plush furniture. Now and then, the Hunter would go to a chair or couch to inspect it. Banalog could not begin to guess what he expected to find.

"They've been here?" he asked the Hunter.

"Yes."

"Are they still — "

"Perhaps."

"It is a large place to have to search."

"We will not have to search it all," Docanil said. He bent to the carpet, his steady eyes on it. "The dust. Here. And there. And leading that way. It has been disturbed."

"I cannot see — "

"Of course not."

Docanil peeled off his gloves and tucked them into the pockets of his enormous coat. Banalog looked at the hands. Though they were larger than most naoli hands, they appeared no more deadly. He knew the truth to be different. They were the deadliest tools in the galaxy.

He strode off toward the back of the hotel… … and stopped instantly as the crash sounded from the front promenade.

"The helicopter!" Banalog said.

But Docanil was by him, running for the door, a huge, dark figure much like something a human might have painted to represent a demon of Hell fleeing the wrath of the Almighty. He burst through the doors and onto the porch, Banalog a few steps behind.

The copter was lying on its side. It had been rammed by a heavy, ten passenger ground car, toppled from its landing skis. The car circled and came back, running headlong for the front of the plane. It struck with a resounding jar that shook the ground and even sent a tremble through the patio on which they stood. The windscreen shattered. The nose crumpled inward, jamming the control mechanisms.

Docanil leaped into the snow, covering several yards, landing more lightly than Banalog would have thought possible. He started for the ground car in which Hulann and the human rode.

The car turned from the demolished copter, struck for the side of the hotel, trying to get behind it and away across the wild top of the mountain.

The Hunter Docanil turned, trying to cut them off, running faster than was possible in snow so deep.

Hulann gunned the engine of the car. The tread kicked up chunks of snow and mud, threw them back over the Hunter.

But it would take a few moments for the car to gain speed, whereas the specially nurtured, specially constructed muscles of the Hunter had ground into high gear in a fraction of a second. It would be a toss-up who would reach the end of the hotel wall soonest.

Banalog was furious that he could do nothing. But, if he had the power to decide the outcome of the contest, who would he choose? Hulann and the boy? And go against his race. Or side with the Hunter — and be responsible for the other two deaths. Two deaths? A human death was merely an extermination, was it not? His head spun dizzily.

It was now apparent that, despite his furious pace, Docanil was going to lose the race. The ground car was moving now, leaving him a few more feet behind every moment.

The Hunter stopped, not even panting for breath, and raised his bare hands.

The car was at the corner of the hotel.

Docanil's fingers twitched.

Around the car, flames sprang up, and the snow burned.