James Smith - The Flock

'Phorusrachids. They were a race of ground dwelling birds of prey that became extinct about a million years ago,' his encyclopedia had told him. Someone at Berg Brothers had done what research they could, and the mole inside Holcomb's team had filled in the rest. That was a bit of luck, making a turncoat out of one of the billionaire's own. But Grisham wasn't surprised. Everyone had their price. He had yet to meet a human being who couldn't be bought.

According to their source, there was a flock of about a dozen or two of the birds living out there. They mainly hunted in the open longleaf savanna at night, and bedded down during the day. At least, that's what the traitor had told them. In actuality, even Holcomb's team had been unable to locate the birds' hiding places during daylight hours. And they had only a slim bit of direct observation of them during lightless times, when the things apparently did all of their hunting and socializing. Despite the fact that the birds were large, and also appeared to be built for speed, Grisham didn't think that killing them all would prove to be much of a problem. He, for one, didn't have any doubts.

The colonel and his five men were all equipped with personal radio gear, compact boxes attached at the epaulet, right side. They would be as silent as possible, but it would be foolish to head out, armed to the teeth in the nighttime bush without being able to communicate effectively. Each man was carrying an AK-47 rifle. Grisham had chosen the weapons, keeping the complement of firearms uniform in case any man exhausted his ammunition and had to rely on another for spare cartridges. The guns were accurate, fired smoothly, and could go to automatic with the simple flick of a switch. And each of them carried the reliable 9mm Beretta, Grisham's sidearm of choice. There were pistols that packed a lot more power, but he enjoyed these weapons immensely and had handed them out to each of the members of his fire team. In addition to the guns and ammo, they of course carried emergency provisions to enable them to comfortably endure several days in the bush without returning to base to resupply. But it wasn't going to take that long. Within twelve hours, he felt certain that both Vance Holcomb and his giant dino-birds would be extinct.

They all moved eastward in a more or less even line, roughly fifty meters between each man. In this way they could cover a lot of ground and were likely to notice any evidence of either man or animal. Nothing would move or try to get away from them without being seen. And, likely, nothing trying to hide from them would escape their notice. Each gun was equipped with a night scope, and as they trolled along, they would periodically stop, raise the scope and look down it, seeing what the night could no longer conceal from them.

Grisham was so at rest, peering down the barrel of his rifle when he saw something out of place. It wasn't anything living, no movement or quick flash of panic from something forcing itself not to bolt in fear. What he saw was a pair of sumac limbs, the leaves partially wilted and pointing in the wrong direction for a growing bush. Patiently, he held the gun to his chest, looked down the sight and stared. Someone-someone who had practiced it well-had tried to hide something in the undergrowth. The colonel stood still, held his breath, and moved the barrel of his gun up a degree, and down, then swept it right to left a few inches. There was a tarp under the limbs and brush, and just at ground level he caught sight of a tire. An ATV, he thought, seeing.

"Watkins. Number one here. Out."

"This is Watkins," came the reply, bulling through a very slight mist of static.

"Fifty yards ahead of my position. Hidden vehicle. Approach with caution," Grisham ordered. He waited, watching, and soon Watkins's form came into view. The soldier approached the hidden ATV and soon had pulled the camouflage free of it. The vehicle belonged, he knew, to Holcomb. So that meant that Vance Holcomb was either out there, hiding in the forest and waiting for them, or sitting out there, somewhere, thinking he was just doing a little bird watching. Little did the billionaire creep know that Colonel Winston Grisham was about to hunt him down and kill him. Along with his stinking birds.

"It's time that we find Vance Holcomb," he rasped into his epaulet. "You all know what he looks like. Kill him on sight."

As he stood, shielding his eyes to make as certain as he could that no glass got into them, he tried to see where Billy Crane was and what he was doing now. He could hear the Seminole shouting at them. What the hell did he mean?

"Come out. Hurry," Crane was yelling. "You don't have much time."

Levin was still cowering on the floor, his arms covering his head, his hands and back coated in a glittering sheath of broken bits of safety glass. Kate was crouching just below the windowsill, where Crane could not see her. So far, only Ron had chanced a look outside. If Billy had seen him, he hadn't fired at the glimpse of head Riggs had offered.

"Where is he?" Kate whispered.

"He's about thirty, maybe forty feet straight out," Ron said. He pointed directly through the wall in front of them, against which they were both leaning, as if holding it up as a shield.

"What's he saying?" Kate asked. They could both tell that Billy's voice was fading slightly.

"Come out, you idiots," the Indian repeated. "Come out before they kill the lot of you."

"He's crazy," Levin muttered, head still down, still coated in broken crystal bits.

"No. I don't think he is," Ron told him. "I think he was giving us a way out of here." He braced to stand, but Kate's hand on his shoulder held him in place, her grip every bit as strong as his own.

"What are you talking about? He just shot at us."

"No. I think he was shooting out the window to give us an escape route. I believe he knows that's the only way we're getting out of here without having to face those guys who killed Kinji. There's probably more than two of them. We have to go. Now." Ron did stand, and had to exert some effort to break free of the hold Kate had on him.

"Don't do it," Kate said, her voice loud, forceful. "Think about it. It makes even more sense now than before. Mary and Billy are both Seminole. They're in this together." Ron heard Levin whimper as he stood and looked out to see what Crane was doing.

The Seminole was moving away, toward the corner of the building, where two of the compound's structures made a kind of open yard between them. Ron saw Crane glance back and motion for him to follow. "Hurry up, you damned fool," Billy yelled, his voice growing just a bit more faint.

Without thinking about it again, Ron knelt and grasped Levin behind the elbows and forced him to stand. Adam actually screamed, believing that he would soon be shot when his former companion caught sight of him through the shattered window. His eyes were wide and crazy as he looked up to see Crane retreating toward the forest. "What? What's he doing?" Levin asked.

"He wants us to follow him," Ron said. "He shot out the window so that we could get out of here without getting killed. Now, come on, dammit. Let's haul some ass before those other guys find us." He looked toward Kate who was just standing there, seemingly at odds with herself. "Make up your mind, Kate. I'm getting out of here now, while we can."

"You don't know," she stammered. She used the pistol to point toward the now all but invisible figure of Crane disappearing into the gloomy forest.

"We don't have time to debate this." He cast a glance toward the direction Billy had vanished. "We're getting out of here. Now," he said. He put his hands on the windowsill, not worrying about being cut, and he quickly vaulted over. On the other side, he was surprised to find that ground level was a full two feet lower than the floor had been, and he stumbled as he fell and went to the grassy earth. Grunting, he peered up and looked to see Levin following him, tentatively testing the sill.