Resistance by William C. Dietz Page A

himself to tiny sips.
    Feeling refreshed, he stripped off the parka and two layers of clothing underneath, to inspect the damage the Hybrid had done earlier. His T-shirt was thick with clotted blood, but thanks to the regenerative powers of the Chimeran virus, Hale knew the puncture wounds would already be closed and would soon be healed.
    It was a few degrees warmer inside the cave than outside, but it was still chilly, so he hurried to put his clothes back on. Having left his bulky sleeping bag behind, Hale planned to curl up on the floor, and not for the first time. He had slept there as a boy, though not during the winter.
    But first, before Hale could take care of his own needs, there were two weapons to clean. That took the better part of forty-five minutes, but was extremely importantsince both had been exposed to moisture all day long.
    Eventually, after completing his chores, Hale positioned his pack for use as a pillow and took the Ross-more into a lover's embrace. The lantern remained on—which was fine, since there was sufficient fuel to get him through the night. And while it provided no real heat, the light would serve as a source of psychological comfort.
    Hale could see the glow through his eyelids, as he thought about his family and the long happy days of his youth. Before he knew it he was far, far away.
    The ground shook.
    The vibration woke Hale immediately, but he wasn't sure why, and lay with the shotgun at the ready until a
second
tremor caused tiny particles of rock to rain down from above. And that was when Hale realized that something extremely large was stalking the land.
    A Titan? Like the dead Chimera he'd come across earlier? Or maybe a Mauler, like the ones spotted during the recon mission.
    Or perhaps a three-hundred-foot-tall Leviathan—possibly the largest creature to ever walk the surface of the planet. There were mechanical possibilities, too—including heavily armed Stalkers and Goliaths.
    Whatever the case, a full minute passed before the earth-shaking footsteps faded away, leaving Hale to try and go to sleep again. That took a while, however, as memory chased memory, and the hours ticked away.
    It was an urgent need to take a piss that caused Hale to awake at what his wristwatch said was 0632. His shoulder felt fine, but his rarely used snowshoeing muscles were aching, and there was a bad taste in his mouth.So he got up, urinated in a corner, and brushed his teeth. That process consumed what remained of his water.
    Having rolled the barrier rock out of the way, and with empty cup in hand, Hale lay down on his back and pushed his head and shoulders out into the open. It was cold,
very
cold, and as the thickly falling snowflakes kissed his upturned face Hale grinned happily. Because bad weather was
good
weather—for him anyway—since visibility would be limited to a few feet.
    Securing a mugful of snow, Hale wiggled his way back inside the cave, and went to work. Breakfast consisted of three drags of aerosolized inhibitor from the I-Pack, followed by
more
franks and beans, plus the mugful of snow-water in the form of some hot chocolate. Then it was time to clean up out of respect for his younger self, push his gear out into the open, and follow it into near-whiteout conditions.
    Minutes later Hale had both his pack and snowshoes on. With both weapons positioned for traveling, and the ski poles in hand, he set off for home.
    Thanks to his knowledge of the local terrain Hale felt confident that he could find the ranch house regardless of the weather, but was careful to check his compass every now and then just to make sure he was still on course.
    He did his best to keep his head on a swivel, but the parka made that difficult, as did all the gear he was carrying. After the first half-hour or so, the endless snowfall combined with the steady
swish, swish, swish
of snow-shoes threatened to dull his senses and leave him open to attack.
    To counter that possibility, Hale made it a habit to