David Robbins - Dakota Run

Gremlin collapsed into a senseless heap.

Ox flicked his thick tongue over his lips, tasting his own blood and relishing the flavor.

“Get on with it,” Ferret snapped, disgusted.

“Don’t worry,” Ox said, grinning. He bent over Gremlin, his mouth only inches from his victim’s exposed stomach. “This will be a piece of cake.”

He opened wide, prepared to rip a large chunk of flesh from Gremlin’s abdomen.

The new voice intruded on his concentration.

“Did someone call my name?”

Geronimo frantically backpedaled, putting distance between himself and the ant emerging from the pit wall. He aimed and fired, the ant shuddering at the impact of the heavy slug, but it kept coming, pushing through the wall. Geronimo shot again, and this time the insect slumped in the opening, motionless.

Another ant appeared, shoving the first ant completely through the hole it had made. The dead ant tumbled down the crater wall and disappeared in the tunnel.

Bull’s-eye! Geronimo grinned. He’d love to have that ant on his dart team!

The second ant was perched at the lip of the new hole in the wall, its antennae waving wildly.

Hold that pose, beautiful! Geronimo sighted and pulled the trigger, the big gun booming in his ears.

The ant recoiled as it was torn by the slug. It rebounded and exited the hole, hastening down the slope, coming toward the human on the other wall.

Toward Geronimo.

It was too bad the Great Spirit didn’t provide mortals with wings, Geronimo mused, as his legs churned and he tried to run up the far side of the crater.

No go.

Murphy strikes again!

Geronimo turned, aiming the Marlin.

The ant was at the bottom of the pit, only ten yards away, about to begin its ascent.

Geronimo held his breath, steadying the rifle, and pulled the trigger again.

Nothing happened!

What the…?

Geronimo worked the lever, ejecting an empty shell from the chamber.

The rifle was empty? But that was impossible! He’d kept track of his…

Damn!

He’d neglected to reload after shooting twice at that last ant inside the tunnel, the one trying to bulldoze past the bodies blocking the passage!

Idiot!

The latest threat was now five yards off, its jaws clicking together as they worked back and forth in anticipation.

So much for the Marlin!

Geronimo heaved the rifle at the ant, his throw true, the Marlin smacking the ant across the head and causing it to momentarily halt.

Try eating that, sucker!

Geronimo whirled, clawing at the earthen wall, pumping his legs, attempting to climb to the top of the crater.

It was impossible!

It was worse than running on wet, slippery grass.

A premonition of impending danger compelled him to cast a glance over his left shoulder.

The ant was stalking him again, only four yards away.

Geronimo turned and flattened, drawing the Arminius. The Magnum was a powerful handgun against mortal foes, but how would it fare against this gigantic insect?

Only one way to find out.

Geronimo fired twice, to no noticeable affect.

Uh-oh!

The ant stopped, only two yards separating them, the insect towering over Geronimo and seeming to reach the clouds themselves. Its jaws never ceased working.

Geronimo emptied the Arminius into the ant’s head, then quickly rolled aside, putting distance between them just in case.

It was well he did.

The ant uttered a peculiar high-pitched squeal, shuddered, and toppled over, sliding down the side of the crater. Its body came to rest near the tunnel.

Geronimo replaced the Arminius in its holster, eyeing the tunnel and the hole in the opposite wall.

No more ants in sight.

Time to make tracks!

Geronimo rose and started up the slope. There was no sign of Cynthia or Kilrane anywhere in the pit. Good! They must have escaped while the insects were occupied. His left foot slipped and he glanced down, righting himself, his attention diverted for the briefest instant.

But it was enough.

Something twittered directly in front of him, and Geronimo looked up, startled.

An ant was at the top of the crater, directly in front of him. In a burst of speed, before the man could wheel and run, it slid over the edge and pounced. Its huge jaws closed around Geronimo’s waist and lifted him from the ground.

Great Spirit, no!

Geronimo struggled, his arms still free. He grabbed the tomahawk in his right hand, raised it over his head, and plunged the sharp blade into the ant’s left jaw.

It was like hacking at a petrified tree.

The curved mandibles were impenetrable, bone-like in substance.

Geronimo decided to strike at the ant’s head. If his bullets could inflict fatal wounds in that area, his tomahawk might do likewise. He hesitated, wondering why the ant wasn’t crushing him to a pulp.

The ant was simply standing there, holding him in its jaws, its tremendous head tilting from side to side, evidently examining the being it held.

What was it waiting for?

Geronimo checked his swing, confused. If the ant wasn’t intending to rend him to pieces, perhaps wisdom dictated he shouldn’t do anything to provoke it.

But why?

His thoughts raced, his mind seeking a logical explanation. Was this ant a worker instead of a soldier? Would that explain its behavior? Were worker ants natural killers like the soldiers, or was their function merely to build, dig, and forage? More to the point, how could you tell a worker from a soldier?

Geronimo tensed, waiting for the ant to make a move.

Any move.

The jaws weren’t hurting him. Yet. But the slightest additional pressure could have lethal consequences.

Come on! Geronimo wanted to scream.

Do something!

Anything!

His skin was tingling, a reaction to the supremely uncomfortable feeling, the sensation of expectant imminent doom.

The ant finally did do something.

It unexpectedly moved toward the tunnel.

No!

Geronimo reared up and brought the tomahawk down, planting it as near to one of the eyes as he could. The blade penetrated the face next to the left eye, biting deep, creating a large gash oozing with a slimy, colorless liquid.

The insect responded violently, jerking backwards, instinctively releasing the source of its anguish. The jaws opened and discarded their cargo.

Geronimo dropped to his knees, overwhelmed with relief. He looked up at the underside of the ant’s head and swung the tomahawk again, ripping a two-foot tear in the insect.

The ant twisted to one side, then attacked.

Geronimo made a diving leap, landing in the dirt under the charging insect. He found himself on his left side, lying under the soft abdomen, and he spun, swinging the tomahawk. A smelly, sticky mess spattered all over him as the ant passed overhead and turned, running toward the tunnel.

He could take a hint!

Geronimo leaped to his feet and did his utmost to reach the peak of the crater before another ant appeared.

He failed.

Two ants emerged simultaneously, one from the tunnel and the other from the new hole in the opposite wall. They converged at the bottom of the pit and made toward the struggling human near the top.

Geronimo’s fingers were only a foot away from the edge of the crater, grasping for the rim, extending his arms until his shoulders hurt. His moccasins were slipping and sliding on the steep slope, unable to find adequate traction in the fine soil. In a desperate gambit for freedom, he lunged, hoping to grab hold of the top of the pit and haul himself over the top.

He missed.

For a paralyzing instant, he was suspended in midair, his body momentarily defying gravity. Then he plummeted like a stone, striking the ground and hurtling downward before he could arrest his momentum.