The first few changes went off without a hitch, but on the fourth try a static burst snapped the air between Danielle’s finger and the sensor.

Brazos radioed them instantly. “What did you do? The whole screen’s gone crazy.”

Danielle backed off and Hawker asked Brazos, “How’s it look now?”

There was a delay, presumably while Brazos cycled the screen. “It’s okay,” he said, in obvious relief.

“The humidity is making the static worse,” Hawker said. “You might want to hurry.”

She cut her eyes at him and he spoke into the radio once again. “Shut it down.”

Back in the clearing, Brazos threw a switch and the screen faded to black. For the next minute they would live without eyes, and Brazos had found he could not stare at the blank screen for such a length of time.

He surveyed the camp. McCarter stood on the temple’s roof by the Barrett rifle, while Eric, the lone survivor from Kaufman’s team, carried two heavy boxes of shells to the roof. Out near the original center of camp Susan rooted around in the remaining supply lockers for anything else of value, while nearby Verhoven worked Devers mercilessly, forcing him to pile heavy stones upon an improvised sled, which he would then have to drag toward the trench and unload. A dozen trips had left the linguist drenched in sweat and his shoulder wound bleeding through its gauze.

Next to them the other surviving canine sat calmly, licking at its bandaged wound and panting softly.

Brazos picked up his radio. “Can I switch on now?”

In the forest, Hawker looked at Danielle. “I don’t mean to rush you, but …”

Danielle ignored him as she struggled with the tiny dials. Finally she stepped back from the sensor. “That should do it.”

Hawker pressed his talk switch. “Go.”

As they waited for Brazos’ response, Danielle bit her lip softly.

“How’s it look?” Hawker asked.

The reply came with some uncertainty. “More static. I think in sector two this time.”

Sector two was halfway around the circle. “Doesn’t make sense, we haven’t gotten there yet. He’s probably looking at the wrong thing.”

Hawker brought the radio up to call Brazos again, but before he could the German shepherd beside them stiffened. A second later distant barking reached them from the canine in the clearing and the dog beside Hawker bolted for its companion.

The air-horn alarm sounded across the clearing as one of the creatures burst from the forest and raced across the open ground, heading for the temple.

Caught in the space between, Susan panicked, dropping what she was doing and dashing toward McCarter, unwittingly putting herself right in the animal’s path.

Verhoven shouted to her, but she was gone. He grabbed his shotgun, stepped into the line and pulled the trigger.

The solid lead slug hit the beast and cracked its shell, but it caromed off the angled shape and failed to bring the creature down. Without his hand taped to the barrel, Verhoven could not reload.

The animal leapt.

Verhoven swung the shotgun like a club, but the Zipacna crashed through the blow, knocking him to the dirt and savaging him.

Brazos was the closest. He fired and the Zipacna spun back for an instant.

In the brief moment that the animal was off him, a bloodied Verhoven pushed himself backward with his legs and pulled Hawker’s pistol from his belt.

The animal turned and lunged for him, the open jaws coming down just as Verhoven swung the pistol upward, into the mouth. He pulled the trigger.

The top of the animal’s head blew outward and the head swung laterally, tearing the gun and huge chunks of flesh from Verhoven’s arm. It staggered back half a step and then fell to the side.

Hawker reached him a few seconds later, shocked at the damage the thing had done. Verhoven had managed to protect his face and neck, but blood was spreading rapidly from a wound in his side and squirting in pulses from a torn artery in his forearm.

Hawker ripped a section off Verhoven’s shirt for a tourniquet and shouted for Danielle.

Verhoven looked at his arm, his eyes drooping. “Where’s the girl?”

“She made it to the temple,” Hawker said, threading the fabric around Verhoven’s arm.

Verhoven nodded weakly. “Stop,” he said.

Hawker cinched the tourniquet, and started another.

“It’s too late for that,” Verhoven said, his voice dropping to a raspy whisper. “Better to go like this … than in a home somewhere.”

Hawker paused and Verhoven looked at him, coughing up blood.

“All sins forgiven?” Verhoven asked Hawker stared at his old friend, his old enemy. The man was a ghost already. Hawker shook his head. “None to forgive.”

Almost imperceptibly Verhoven nodded. “Damn right,” he managed. Then, as Danielle came over, he reached out and grabbed Hawker’s shirt. “You finish this,” he said. “Finish this, and get these people home.”

Verhoven shook him once, as if to emphasize the order. But his grip had already begun to fail. He held on for a moment, gazing at Hawker, and then his hand fell, dropping to the dry earth. With his eyes still open, Pik Verhoven died.

Danielle crouched beside Hawker, a hand on his shoulder. Hawker stared at Verhoven, finding it impossible to look away.

Brazos’ voice reached them, breaking the silence. “My God,” he said.

Both Hawker and Danielle looked toward him. Brazos was staring at the defense console with a grim expression on his face.

Hawker put a hand out and closed Verhoven’s eyes. The black pistol Hawker had given him lay on the ground. He grabbed it, stood and walked with Danielle to the console.

Targets were showing up, at least a dozen already, gathering on the western edge once again. Their numbers were growing rapidly, as if they were massing for a charge.

Hawker looked up. The haze above them had thickened into a solid layer of darkening gray and the sun had all but vanished.

On the brink of the storm, all of them, animal and human, had run out of time.

CHAPTER 49

Hawker glanced at the computer screen; the electromagnetic radiation had almost destroyed it by now, but from what he could see the gathering at the western edge was still growing. “Get to the temple,” he said to Danielle.

She looked at the screen. “I’m not leaving.”

Hawker pointed to Brazos. “He won’t make it without you.”

She nodded reluctantly.

“Fill the trench and light it,” he added. “And do it quickly. You don’t have much time.”

Danielle grabbed Brazos’ arm and helped him stand. “Come on,” she said. They began walking and the two dogs followed.

Hawker gazed out at the tree line. The trees had begun bending from the wind, branches swaying, leaves turned inside out. In the spaces between he saw movement if not shapes. The animals were there, jostling for position, grunting and calling to one another. They seemed nervous, hesitant; perhaps it was the fires or the remaining daylight, or the death of the first animal, but something seemed to be holding them back.

Whatever it was, it wouldn’t last. The sky was growing darker by the moment and the wind had turned cold; downdrafts in the looming thunderstorm. Leaves and chaff were blowing across the clearing in a haphazard fashion. Before long there would be a tipping point, when neither the sun nor the rain was present. The charge would come then.

“Let’s see if we can give you something else to think about,” Hawker said, as he fired a quick burst into the pack and then turned and loosed a few shells at the remaining drum of kerosene, halfway between him and the western forest.

The container blew apart in a baritone explosion and the animals scattered, but they quickly re-formed, and a minute later one of them stepped through the trees.