came the
clang
of metal on metal, which caused him to pivot toward the barn, Rossmore at the ready.
But rather than the sudden burst of gunfire he half expected, the only sounds were the gentle tinkle of the wind chimes hanging from the porch of his childhood home, the rasp of his own breathing, and the steady
crunch, crunch, crunch
of his footsteps as he made his way over to the barn.
There was a yawning black hole where the big doors hung open. Hale entered cautiously, shotgun at the ready, but saw nothing other than what he expected to see. His father's office was located at the near end of the cavernous building, the workshop was next to it, and stalls lined the west wall. Stalls Hale had been responsible for mucking out each day along with all the other chores his father insisted on. He'd been resentful then, but those duties didn't seem so bad now, and Hale would have been glad to return to that carefree time.
The north end of the barn was stacked high with balesof hay intended to get the family's livestock through the winter.
Hale's father had purchased sheets of steel and laid them just inside the entrance, where they would protect the wooden floor from the wide range of abuses that the entryway would otherwise have suffered. Now, as Hale took a step forward, he saw a hunting knife lying in the middle of the metal ramp.
His head went back and his eyes focused on the half-loft located directly above his father's office. A central walkway led across the rafters to the point where the hay was stacked. All of which had been an indoor playground for Susan and himself.
Is someone up there now, concealed by the darkness?
Yes, Hale thought so, and he felt certain that the knife's owner was human. Because had any of the Chimera been present they would have attacked.
“I know you're here!” Hale shouted. “Come on out … I won't hurt you. My name is Hale … Lieutenant Nathan Hale. And this is my parents' ranch.”
There was a long moment of silence, followed by a vague rustling, and the sound of footsteps somewhere over Hale's head. Then he heard what sounded like a boy's voice. “Don't shoot! We're coming down.”
Moments later the end of a rope slapped the steel ramp, and a boy in his late teens slid down, followed quickly by a younger girl. The boy hurried to retrieve the knife—leaving the girl to speak for both of them. She had big brown eyes, a slightly upturned nose, and a wide mouth.
“My name is Tina. That's my brother, Mark … He's the one who dropped the knife. I told him not to play with it, but he did.”
Hale saw that both youngsters were dressed in multiple layers of clothing, and both were armed. The boyhad a lightweight Reaper carbine slung across his chest and carried at least half a dozen extra magazines stored in a modified Chimeran battle harness. The girl was wearing some sort of semiauto pistol in a shoulder holster and had what Hale recognized as a sawed-off .410 shotgun as well. The weapon dangled from a lanyard.
“I recognize you,” Tina added. “Except for the eyes … They look Chimeran.”
“You
recognize
me?” Hale inquired incredulously. “Have we met?”
Tina shook her head.
“No, Mark and I are from Pierre. We were going south when a Chimeran fighter strafed the road. Mommy and Daddy were killed, but we got away. That was four—no, wait—five weeks ago, and we've been on our own ever since. The house was empty when we got here, but there were pictures all over the floor. That's how I knew you.”
Mark had brown eyes, just like his sister, and the beginnings of a fuzzy beard. Hale noticed that the teen's right index finger was extremely close to the Reaper's trigger as he spoke. The boy followed his gaze.
“No offense, mister,” he said skeptically, “but what about your eyes? They don't look right.”
“All of the Chimeran forms are the work of a virus,” Hale explained. “I was infected while fighting the Chimera in England. That caused my eyes to change
clang
of metal on metal, which caused him to pivot toward the barn, Rossmore at the ready.
But rather than the sudden burst of gunfire he half expected, the only sounds were the gentle tinkle of the wind chimes hanging from the porch of his childhood home, the rasp of his own breathing, and the steady
crunch, crunch, crunch
of his footsteps as he made his way over to the barn.
There was a yawning black hole where the big doors hung open. Hale entered cautiously, shotgun at the ready, but saw nothing other than what he expected to see. His father's office was located at the near end of the cavernous building, the workshop was next to it, and stalls lined the west wall. Stalls Hale had been responsible for mucking out each day along with all the other chores his father insisted on. He'd been resentful then, but those duties didn't seem so bad now, and Hale would have been glad to return to that carefree time.
The north end of the barn was stacked high with balesof hay intended to get the family's livestock through the winter.
Hale's father had purchased sheets of steel and laid them just inside the entrance, where they would protect the wooden floor from the wide range of abuses that the entryway would otherwise have suffered. Now, as Hale took a step forward, he saw a hunting knife lying in the middle of the metal ramp.
His head went back and his eyes focused on the half-loft located directly above his father's office. A central walkway led across the rafters to the point where the hay was stacked. All of which had been an indoor playground for Susan and himself.
Is someone up there now, concealed by the darkness?
Yes, Hale thought so, and he felt certain that the knife's owner was human. Because had any of the Chimera been present they would have attacked.
“I know you're here!” Hale shouted. “Come on out … I won't hurt you. My name is Hale … Lieutenant Nathan Hale. And this is my parents' ranch.”
There was a long moment of silence, followed by a vague rustling, and the sound of footsteps somewhere over Hale's head. Then he heard what sounded like a boy's voice. “Don't shoot! We're coming down.”
Moments later the end of a rope slapped the steel ramp, and a boy in his late teens slid down, followed quickly by a younger girl. The boy hurried to retrieve the knife—leaving the girl to speak for both of them. She had big brown eyes, a slightly upturned nose, and a wide mouth.
“My name is Tina. That's my brother, Mark … He's the one who dropped the knife. I told him not to play with it, but he did.”
Hale saw that both youngsters were dressed in multiple layers of clothing, and both were armed. The boyhad a lightweight Reaper carbine slung across his chest and carried at least half a dozen extra magazines stored in a modified Chimeran battle harness. The girl was wearing some sort of semiauto pistol in a shoulder holster and had what Hale recognized as a sawed-off .410 shotgun as well. The weapon dangled from a lanyard.
“I recognize you,” Tina added. “Except for the eyes … They look Chimeran.”
“You
recognize
me?” Hale inquired incredulously. “Have we met?”
Tina shook her head.
“No, Mark and I are from Pierre. We were going south when a Chimeran fighter strafed the road. Mommy and Daddy were killed, but we got away. That was four—no, wait—five weeks ago, and we've been on our own ever since. The house was empty when we got here, but there were pictures all over the floor. That's how I knew you.”
Mark had brown eyes, just like his sister, and the beginnings of a fuzzy beard. Hale noticed that the teen's right index finger was extremely close to the Reaper's trigger as he spoke. The boy followed his gaze.
“No offense, mister,” he said skeptically, “but what about your eyes? They don't look right.”
“All of the Chimeran forms are the work of a virus,” Hale explained. “I was infected while fighting the Chimera in England. That caused my eyes to change
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