Book 2: Chapter 99: Retreat (1/2)

Cannibal soared skyward, carried unwillingly aloft by a tree trunk fired out of Dan's improvised railgun. The trunk had shattered on Cannibal's impossibly sturdy frame, but physics had done its grim work. Cannibal had no footing, no leverage, and no real chance to react. He still managed to rip the humungous projectile in half, even as it brought him above the tree line.

Abby's turret followed Cannibal's trajectory, thrumming as it pelted the tumbling serial killer with its viscous payload. It also completely spoiled Dan's follow up plan, which was to teleport directly beside Cannibal and attempt to launch him into fucking orbit. The storm of bullets put paid to that idea. Dan couldn't risk getting himself shot; he knew that what acted like paintballs to Cannibal could very well shred his own unenhanced body, and the turret was by no means perfectly accurate.

Instead, Dan blinked well below his falling foe. He looked up, lining up a shot. Cannibal spun wildly through the air, his body covered in black tar, almost completely devoid of senses. He still managed to dodge the log that Dan fired at him, some sixth sense telling the monster to twist out of the way. The vicious Natural hurled what was left of Dan's first projectile like a spear, planting the broken log into the ground nearby with earthshaking force.

Dan blinked away on instinct, cursing. That had been an incredibly accurate throw, given its originator was blind, deaf, and airborne. Cannibal could not be underestimated; he was insanely lethal, and they didn't have Gregoir around to tank. Dan absently ripped another tree into t-space as Cannibal's distant form slammed back into the ground. Bird's erupted from the woods, cawing in protest. Trees swayed and buckled, and a blood-curling howl echoed through the woods.

”I think he's angry,” Dan said flatly. His veil snapped out in every direction, scouting for Cannibal's return.

It found Coldwater guards.

They poured into the meadow, drawn to the wail of the siren. Nearly a dozen men, armed to the teeth and ready for combat. Dan almost slumped in relief as they moved forward in formation to stand between Abby and Cannibal's last location. Three peeled away, moving to escort Abby to safety.

”We need to move, ma'am,” one said firmly, and Abby was in no mood to argue. They pulled her away, and she motioned Dan to follow.

”Right behind you, dear,” he said, eyes staring into the woods. His veil extended across the forest floor, searching for Cannibal. He found no traces, but the shaking canopy quickly told him why. Cannibal was leaping from branch to branch, and approaching swiftly.

Cannibal burst into the clearing, still covered in tar. He'd barely taken the time to clear his own vision, and his face was twisted into a feral snarl. The Natural seemed briefly caught off-guard by the forced arrayed against him, blurry eyes squinting for his previous prey. The senses he so relied upon were badly impaired, and his surprise cost him.

”Bring him down!” the Coldwater leader bellowed, and his men complied. Dan felt like he'd stepped into a thunderstorm as the clearing was filled with noise. The turret droned and the assault rifles thundered and Cannibal's howls were drowned by black pitch. The Natural's pale, lanky body vanished beneath a flood of sticky oil and he staggered upon landing, as his feet lost traction.

Whatever substance Anastasia cooked up was working tremendously well. It stank like death and was completely opaque, blocking out Cannibal's sight and smell. It clung like taffy, but its outer surface was almost frictionless, obstructing his hearing and movements. Anastasia hadn't slacked on countermeasures, and for a moment Dan thought Cannibal would be overwhelmed.

FEARTERRORPANICFLEE!

Something dark and oppressive ripped its way across the clearing. It struck Dan's mind like a sledgehammer, sending him reeling. His heart screamed into overdrive, and his fight or flight reflex took over completely. He dropped into t-space—

And instantly felt relief. His Navigator drank his fears away, and he breathed in the cold not-air. Dan had felt Cannibal's fear aura before, but it had never been so focused. It had just been a passive thing, draped across the motel like a heavy blanket. It had been like being stared at by a predator. Being stalked. Hunted. Dan hadn't even been sure that Cannibal was aware of it.

There was no doubt about that now.

He returned to the clearing, mind fresh. He took a quick accounting of his allies: every Coldwater guard was staggered at the least. Two were out cold, curled into a fetal position. The commander had managed to stay upright, his gun weakly trained in Cannibal's direction but unable to draw a bead. The beast himself unhinged his jaws and ran his razor teeth along his own limbs. Black tar was scraped clean and devoured in moments, and he turned his baleful attention on the disoriented soldiers.