They could see nothing unusual.
“By the three Kennedys!” Doc exclaimed, rubbing a knot that was rising up from his head.
“What was it?” J.B. asked.
“If I’m not mistaken, it was a stone.” Doc searched the ground around him and found a small round rock by his feet. “As I suspected,” he said, holding up the offending rock.
Other rocks hit the ground around them, then stopped.
J.B. looked in the direction the rocks had come from. There was no movement in the weeds now, and whoever had thrown the rock had likely moved on.
“Jak, Dean,” J.B. whispered. “Find out what’s out there.”
Jak nodded and hurried off toward the weeds while Dean made a wide circle to the right.
“Are you hurt?” J.B. asked Doc.
Doc rubbed his head. There was probably a sizeable lump there, but the skin wasn’t broken. “Only my pride.” J.B. smiled.
“I would like to know why it is that I am the one who was first to come across such misfortunes on this trip?”
“Lucky, I guess,” J.B. said.
JAK MOVED THROUGH the weeds as quietly as a cat and as quick as a snake. His lean, muscular build and acrobatic athleticism were well suited for this sort of hunt. If there was anything out there, he would either catch it or chill it long before it ever saw him.
He pushed aside the tangle of weeds in front of him with the six-inch barrel of his .357 Magnum Colt Python and peered into the undergrowth. He couldn’t see anything, but that didn’t mean much. After all, whoever was out here couldn’t see him, either.
Jak crouched and moved deftly to his left, careful not to disturb any weeds or otherwise alert his prey to his presence. With his acute sense of hearing, Jak detected Dean making his way toward him from about twenty-five paces away. With one of his friends so close, Jak holstered the Colt Python and fished inside his jacket for a pair of leaf-bladed throwing knives. Even if he could positively identify an enemy through the weedy underbrush, the man-stopping power of the Colt could easily punch through a body and still chill Dean, even if he was standing dozens of yards away.
And then he saw it—the flick of a weed and the flash of color distinct from the pale green and sickly yellow of the weeds.
Jak moved in for the kill. If he was lucky, it would be a coon or squirrel and they’d soon be eating something better than jerky and nuts for breakfast.
Jak positioned a knife in his right hand for throwing and parted the weeds in front of him for a better view.
He reared back with his right arm…and saw Dean looking back at him, the boy’s Browning Hi-Power leveled at Jak’s head.
The albino teen relaxed his arm; Dean lowered his blaster.
Jak jerked his head to the left.
Dean nodded, moving away from Jak so he could circle whatever it was his friend was hunting in the brush.
Jak moved left and saw that the growth of weeds ended a little farther on. That meant that whoever or whatever was moving in that direction would either have to double back soon or make a run for it over open ground.
Either way, Jak would have them.
As the two youths neared the edge of the tangle of weeds, Jak caught sight of some color low to the ground. The color was pale, like the white of his own skin, which meant there was a good chance it was one of the spiderlike muties.
Jak readied the throwing knife again and prepared to move aside the final few weeds separating himself and the unsuspecting mutie. When he had a clear view of the creature, he’d throw the knife at its neck. The blade would penetrate a few inches, chilling it in a matter of seconds—quick, precise and almost painless.
Jak prepared to pounce.
He moved his left hand across his body, ready to push the weeds aside, almost as if he were about to open a sliding door.
One…two…three…
The weeds were suddenly gone, and he had a clear view of his prey. He reached back to throw the knife and realized it wasn’t a mutie at all, but a young woman.