On a sweltering August day in the Missouri Ozarks, I heard a tier one operator from Joint Special Operations Command say two words I never thought I would hear again.

“Good dog.”

The German shepherd tugged fiercely at a knotted rope. A JSOC operator, a K-9 trainer recruited by the Phoenix Initiative, tugged back, the dog’s reward for picking up the Chimera’s trail.

It had inadvertently given us the slip in Springfield, where it had lived in peace for the last year or so, feasting on ghouls, wild animals, and when meat was scarce, whatever it could chew up and swallow.

Speaking of which, I had learned along the way that a Chimera’s digestive system is drastically different from any other creature on earth. Rather than passing through a tract, the raw material they consume goes into a stomach full of microorganisms that behave almost like nano-machines, breaking down and transporting amino acids and minerals. The creature’s respiration, rather than a heartbeat, moves the sluggish blood in its veins, allowing the nano-microbes to do their work. What little food the Chimera’s body does not use comes right back out the same hole it went in.

“They literally shit out of their mouths,” Hahn said, wrinkling her nose at the puddle of Chimera vomit at her feet. “Fucking stinks.”

“Yours doesn’t smell so great either,” Muir said, watching the dog tussle with its trainer.

Hahn gave him a daggered glare, but otherwise did not rise to the bait.

“You about done over there?” I called to the JSOC guy. “We’re burnin’ daylight.”

He glanced up at me, frowned, and gave a command for the dog to release the rope. The word was in Welsh, a language I don’t speak, and sounded like rid-dah.

A crash of vegetation alerted me to the return of my scout. I watched his horse weave through trees and step over fallen limbs as it approached. I thought of Red, the horse I bought years ago in Tennessee and later sold, and wondered what he was up to these days.

“The way ahead is clear,” the scout, Santiago, said, reining his horse to a stop. “Whatever ghouls were out there took off when the Chimera showed up.”

The kid was lean, average height, and possessed the hard, whipcord muscle of a man who lived his life on the trail. He had spent his early years working his family’s ranch in Brazil before emigrating to the States as a teenager. He could track better than anyone I knew, handled a horse like a rodeo showman, and was one of only a dozen or so Blackthorn scouts with no military or law enforcement experience.

“That dog ready to hunt?” I asked Schultz, the JSOC guy. He picked up a bundle of leaves from where the Chimera had slept and held it to the dog’s nose.

“Hela,” he said.

The dog, whose name was Taco, huffed at the leaves, rumbled low in its throat, and started sniffing the ground. After a few seconds, it set off at a trot, nose to the forest floor. Schultz untied his horse from the tree it was tethered to, swung into the saddle, and followed.

I rode after him with Hahn, Muir, and four Blackthorns in tow. The Blackthorns were from what the company called the Ranger Regiment, men who specialized in traveling long distances on horseback and living off the land. They were fighters, hunters, trackers, and reconnaissance specialists, some of them former Runners looking for steady employment, others military veterans who had learned survival the hard way after the Outbreak.

We followed Taco for what seemed like forever but was probably not more than a couple of miles. Taco stopped a few times when he lost the trail and a few more when he sniffed something he could not resist the urge to piss on. Finally, he slowed, growled, and sat down, snout pointing down a steep hillside.

Schultz dismounted, motioned for the rest of us to be quiet, and knelt next to Taco. From his tactical vest, he removed a small pair of binoculars and peered down the hill. A minute passed before he got Taco’s attention by whispering to him. The dog walked close at Schultz’s heels as he came over.

I dismounted so Schultz could keep his voice down. When I leaned close, he said, “It’s in the saddle between these hills.”

Looking down the hillside, I saw nothing but trees and brush. “Where?” I asked.

He handed me the binoculars and told me where to look. It took a few seconds, but finally I saw it lounging in a tangle of brambles and vines at the bottom of the hill. The Chimera was small by the standards of its kind, only about fourteen feet from its armored snout to the tip of its barbed tail. But saying it was small for a Chimera is like saying seven feet is small for a great white shark.

Another concern was the nature of the beast itself. The fact we were chasing it did not mean it was running from us. It was most likely pursuing some unfortunate forest critter and stopped because it had caught it, eaten it, and was now digesting. If it detected our presence, it would not hesitate to attack. Chimeras are smarter than other varieties of undead, but at the end of the day, they’re still ghouls. They fear nothing and will kill anything that looks like food. If we wanted to take it down, we were going to have to surprise it.

“We’ll draw it in,” I said, after motioning the others to dismount and gather around. “Muir, Hahn, take the claymores and go to the northern pass. Set the mines and clear out. Santiago, I want you and Beck on the fifty-cal. Set up on the eastern ridge, but stay low and quiet. If the claymores don’t take it down, or if it veers off, light it up. If you get a clean shot, disable its hind legs. Schultz, I want you to hang back with Taco and keep eyes on the Chimera. Take a LAW and keep your radio on. Earpiece only. I don’t want that thing hearing you.”

Schultz rolled his eyes. “Yeah, no shit, Sherlock. This ain’t my first hunt.”

I turned my head and spoke flatly. “You think because you don’t work for me, I won’t slap the taste out of your mouth?”

He paled and sputtered, mouth working around words that wouldn’t form. I cut him some slack and said, “What did I ask you to do?”

“Take a LAW and keep eyes on the Chimera.”

“And keep Taco quiet. Last thing we need is an ill-timed bark fucking up the plan.”

He nodded, face reddening. I turned to my Blackthorns. “Reese, Finch, you two take a couple of LAWs each and set up on the western ridge.”

“Bit of a hike,” Reese said, looking westward. He was tall and lean, mid-thirties, with pale hazel eyes and dark hair. Four years with the Runners had taught him how to evade detection by both the living and the dead, and he was one of my best recon scouts. He spoke rarely, and when he did, got straight to the point.

“We’ll need to skirt wide around the Chimera,” he continued.

“We’ll give you a fifteen-minute head start before we kick things off,” I said. “That enough?”

Reese glanced at Finch, who thought a moment and nodded. Finch, for his part, was short, skinny, and peered out at the world through a mess of graying hair and a thick beard. He and Reese had been partners as Runners and had signed on with the Blackthorns as a package deal.

“Yeah. That should be good,” Finch said.

“Get to it,” I said. “Everybody else, gear up and stand by.”

“Who’s going to bait the Chimera?” Muir said, dark eyes narrowed as he stared at me.

“You’re looking at him.”

Muir shook his head. “Negative. Let me. I’ve done this before. I know how to stay ahead of it.”

I opened my mouth to refuse, but Hahn spoke up.

“He’s right,” she said. “You’re tough as nails, Garrett, but Alex is younger and faster.”

“He might be younger than me, but I’m the better horseman,” I said. Even to my own ears, the argument sounded weak.

“I’m good enough,” Muir said. “And besides, if you go down, the team will be without a leader.”

“If I go down, Lieutenant Reese takes over. He’s the ranking Blackthorn after me.”

“Boss,” Reese said, “I think you should take their advice. Muir does this for a living. Let him do his job.”

“You have a family,” Finch chimed in. “Muir doesn’t. No offense.”

“None taken,” Muir said, still watching me.

I looked from person to person and saw heads nodding slowly and expressions showing agreement. Sighing, I decided Muir had a point.

“Fine. I’ll help Hahn set up the claymores. Muir will draw out the Chimera. Reese, Finch, get a move on. The rest of you, set up your stations.”

The team began retrieving gear from the three pack mules we had brought along. Beck, a big Marine from Alabama, took down a Browning M2 while Santiago untied the machine gun’s tripod. Each man set off with his part of the gun and a box of ammo. The gun weighed over eighty pounds by itself, with each box of ammo tipping the scales at around thirty-five. The old M122 tripod added another sixteen pounds to the rig. Beck carried the M2 over one brawny shoulder while his other hand lugged the ammo, the muscles in his arms standing out like ropes beneath dark brown skin. Neither Beck nor Santiago seemed slowed by their burdens.

Oh, to be young again.

Reese removed the crate of LAWs from its harness on a mule’s back and began handing them out. I slung one across my shoulders just in case and untied a bag of claymores. The mines could be set up on trip wires or a remote detonator, but Hahn had informed me at the beginning of the mission that due to a Chimera’s bounding stride, trip wires didn’t always work. We would be better off with the remote.

I had hunted Chimeras before, but never taken one with claymores. In an ideal world, we’d report our quarry’s location to an Apache gunship and watch the pilot send a Hellfire missile up its ass, but the densely wooded Ozark terrain made that impossible. Nonetheless, if the mines failed, I was confident the fifty-cal and rocket launchers would be enough to get the job done.

I packed half the claymores and gave the rest to Hahn. We passed Santiago and Beck on the way to the northern part of the narrow valley. Beck had mounted the M2 on its tripod and Santiago sat on a short folding stool loading an ammo belt into the weapon. They were in a good position to rain hell on the Chimera if it ran north along the valley floor. ‘If’ being the operative word.

I knelt next to them before leaving and whispered, “Wait until the chase starts to chamber the first round. Copy?”

Beck nodded silently, sweat glistening on his shaved head. Santiago answered with a yes sir and a crease at the corner of his mouth. I knew I wasn’t telling them anything they didn’t already know, but it made me feel better to say it. I did that a lot, reminding my men of things beaten into their heads a thousand times. When I did, the looks I got were mixed messages of what an asshole and good looking out, old man. I didn’t care so long as my guys didn’t do anything stupid and get themselves killed. If being an overbearing prick was the price I paid for that, so be it.

Beck and Santiago kept working slowly and carefully, trying to make as little noise as possible. Hahn and I did the same as we made our way northward for half a kilometer, then began descending the hill to the valley floor. She set up her mines on the eastern side, and when hers were set, I rigged mine in a staggered pattern on the opposite edge. When the time came, I would use a sequential radio-frequency triggering system provided by the Phoenix Initiative, one remote trigger for each side. Hahn wrapped a rubber band around the handle of her detonator so I would not confuse the issue. I did not bother telling her my eidetic memory, which had not yet faded to my advancing years, made that impossible.

Each press on either device would trip the mine farthest away first, then closer with each additional trigger. As fast as Chimeras could move, I knew I would have to be quick if I wanted to disable it. We would use as much ordnance as we needed, but since this was government gear and not something purchased by BSC, I’d have to justify it on my expense report. The less we expended, the better. Not just because I hate paperwork, but because the government’s supplies were not limitless, and eight years of fighting ghouls, marauders, separatists, and even foreign invaders had put a strain on their resources. Great strides had been made restoring the manufacturing capacity of the federal war machine, but some things were still irreplaceable.

I did a comms check and found all stations in position and ready to go. Reese and Finch made it to their firing position far sooner than expected, once again raising my estimation of the duo’s capabilities. With nothing holding us up, I contacted our designated rabbit.

“Muir, Team Lead. You ready? Over.”

“Ready as I’m gonna be, Team Lead. Just say the word.”

“All stations, Team Lead. Stand by for mark. Three, two, one, mark.”

The instant the last word was out of my mouth, I heard a whooping shout as Muir and his mount charged down the hill and reached the valley floor. He had picked his path well, and his horse, a sure-footed Arabian named Percy, had no trouble navigating as it sped down the embankment and sprinted northward.

The Chimera must have been sleeping because it took a few seconds to stand up, sniff the air, and take off toward the sound of Muir’s shouting. I watched through my rifle scope, perched halfway up a hill at my end of the valley. Not for the first time, I was amazed at the speed of these things. Chimeras were not the most graceful runners, but what they lacked in coordination they compensated for with raw power.

Muir’s horse was well trained, but Arabians are known more for endurance than speed. Percy could keep going long after most other horses had collapsed, but it could not out-sprint the Chimera. That said, it didn’t need to. Muir, true to his word, had estimated precisely where he needed to be when the Chimera gave chase. He wanted to be close enough to keep the Chimera’s attention, but not so close he wouldn’t be well ahead when the bombs when off.

“Team Lead, Beck. I have a clear line of fire.”

“Beck, Team Lead. Stand by.”

“Roger that. Standing by.”

I waited a few more seconds. The Chimera closed the distance to Muir, gaining ground with each bounding stride. Muir, for his part, leaned over his horse’s neck with the reins in one hand, teeth bared, legs gripping the saddle hard. His other hand swung a riding crop in a steady rhythm, urging Percy to greater speed. When the Chimera was five strides from overtaking them, I keyed my radio.

“Beck, open fire.”

Rather than answer, Beck sent a stream of fifty-caliber hell streaking down the valley. The heavy, armor-piercing bullets tore up the hillside just behind the Chimera, bursting tree trunks and shattering fallen limbs. Beck used the tracers to find the beast’s rear legs and pummel them with a barrage that shattered the hip joint. The Chimera stumbled and fell with an angry roar, its red-eyed gaze turning up the hill as another burst raked its flank.

“Hey fucker,” Muir shouted. “I’m over here!”

The Chimera’s head snapped around and again focused on Muir. Or, more likely, the large slab of meaty flesh that was his horse. It scrambled up to its three good legs and used its tail to take up the slack for its now useless fourth. Beck opened fire again as the Chimera began running.

“Beck, Team Lead, cease fire, cease fire.”

The fifty-cal went silent. “Copy, Team Lead. Standing by.”

“Keep eyes on it, but don’t shoot. I want it to reach the claymores.”

“Roger that.”

“When the mines go off, hit it with everything you’ve got.”

“Fuckin’ A, Team Lead.”

I smiled a little despite the breach of radio discipline. A strong fighting spirit is a good thing in a soldier and not to be discouraged. Even if it bends the rules here and there.

The Chimera, now slowed by its damaged leg, was keeping up with Muir but not gaining ground. Nevertheless, it plowed doggedly onward, exhibiting the quality that made ghouls so terrifying—their limitless endurance.

Muir approached the northern pass leading out of the valley and toward a clearing beyond. The Chimera could not be allowed to reach that clearing. Here in the valley, we could keep it contained and take it down on our terms. If it reached the clearing, that would be a whole different fight, and not in our favor.

Percy’s iron-shod hooves thrummed against the ground, and I could hear his snorting breath as he pounded forward. He had sensed the danger behind him and was doing what horses did best: running for his life. Muir had stopped swinging the riding crop and now held the reins in both hands, steering Percy away from stumps, large rocks, and deep depressions in the ground. There was a twenty-yard gap between the horse and the Chimera. Not as much as I would have liked, but it was enough.

The Chimera drew level with the first claymore, its taloned feet landing almost dead in front of the mine. I hit the trigger in my left hand. The claymore detonated, a hard clap of explosive cutting the air as hundreds of steel balls ripped into the Chimera’s left flank. The blast made it stumble but did not knock it down. Another stride from the monster brought it close to the second claymore. This time, I hit the trigger in my right hand, and again, the Chimera stumbled.

Beck saw his opportunity and let loose a stream of fire, tracers arcing toward the Chimera’s front leg. The bullets slammed through the creature’s thick plating and tore into the bones holding its shoulder together. It pitched forward onto its right side and sent up a warbling, prehistoric shriek of frustration.

“Finch, Reese, weapons free,” I said over the radio. “Aim for its tail.”

Taking out its legs would have slowed it more, but hard experience had taught me a Chimera’s most deadly weapon, even more than its claws and fangs, was the lashing, razor sharp barb at the end of its tail. Rather than looking like a scorpion’s stinger, a Chimera’s barb is shaped like a jagged, saw-toothed spear. On this one, the barb was over a foot long, more than enough to eviscerate any flesh it encountered.

“All stations, firing one,” Reese said over the radio. Half a second later, a LAW rocket streaked down the hillside and struck the Chimera in the back just above the tail. From my position, watching through a scope, I saw the force of the blast sever the Chimera’s main weapon and send it flying up the hill.

“Nice shot Reese. Finch, go for the head.”

“Roger that. Firing two.”

Another rocket screamed down the valley and struck the Chimera in the shoulder, disabling the leg connected to it and blasting out a chunk of its neck the size of a boulder. The Chimera lay stunned for a moment, then tried to stand on its one remaining rear leg, which as luck would have it, was right in front of a claymore. Not wasting any time, I told the team to hold position and triggered the mine. The blast kicked up a storm of fallen leaves, dirt, and debris, and when the smoke cleared, the Chimera was a disabled torso with its head only halfway attached.

At this point, Muir brought Percy to a halt and sat at the end of the valley, watching. His hand came up and keyed his radio.

“Looks like it’s down, Team Lead.”

“Beck,” I said over comms, “turn that fucker’s head into a puddle.”

“With pleasure, Team Lead.”

“Belay that order,” Muir said.

I paused, not quite believing what I was hearing. “Muir, Team Lead. What’s the problem? Over.”

Hahn’s voice came over the radio. “You know exactly what the problem is, Gabe. Don’t kill it. The recovery team is standing by.”

“Seriously?” I said, incredulous. I had been afraid this was going to happen. “You saw what that thing did. You want to let it live?”   

Hahn stood up from behind a fallen log and walked over.

“What the fuck?” I said when she was close.

She let out a sigh. “We need it alive.”

“Bullshit,” I said, my face growing hot. “That thing wiped out an entire settlement. Fucking women and children, Hahn.”

“I know, Gabe. But we’re not here for revenge.”

“Maybe you’re not.”

A frown. “You were briefed on the mission, same as me. You know why we’re here.”

“That was before the mission. Things change.”

“Not for me, they haven’t. And not for you either.”

“Last I checked, I don’t answer to you.”

Her eyes hardened. “Do you know how many wild Chimeras the lab has studied?”

The change of tactic caught me off guard, and Hahn saw it. I stared her in the eye and felt my jaw twitch but did not answer. Not that I didn’t know the answer. I did. But being the stubborn old bastard I am, I didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of hearing me say it.

“None, Gabe. Zero. Not one. We’ve never caught one alive.”

Still, I said nothing.

“We don’t know why some ghouls turn into Draugr, and some don’t. We don’t know why some Draugr turn into Chimeras, and some don’t. In the lab, they all turn eventually. Out here,” she gestured at the surrounding forest, “things are different. And the more we know about why these things do what they do, the better we can fight them.”

“We already know how to fight them.”

Hahn made a frustrated noise and rubbed a hand across her forehead. “Sure. Well-armed teams of government exterminators can kill them. But not everyone has access to the weapons and equipment we do. Most communities are low on ammo and scared shitless. The people at Barton tried to fight that thing with Molotovs and pipe bombs. It didn’t work. We need to figure out a way to kill Chimeras that doesn’t require a fortune in ordnance, and we need to do it fast. That won’t happen if unless we study one that evolved in the wild.”

Everything she was saying was true, and I knew it. At the same time, every instinct in my body was screaming at me to tell Hahn to fuck off, take the LAW off my back, and send that armored nightmare to its final rest. I closed my eyes and heaved a deep breath, counting backward from ten. When I opened my eyes again, Hahn was watching me worriedly.

I reached up and keyed my radio. “Beck, Team Lead, how copy?”

“Lima Charlie, Team Lead.”

I imagined Beck hunched over the weapon, hands poised, waiting for the order to fire. Instead of giving it, I lowered my hand and looked at the Chimera. Hahn knew if I gave the order, my Blackthorns would follow it without question. I, however, knew if I gave the order, I would be doing more harm than good. Nevertheless, the urge to end the Chimera’s existence was like a siren blaring in the back of my skull.

“Don’t do it, Gabe,” Hahn said, stepping closer until she was less than a foot away. She smelled like sweat and dirt, and I noticed there was a broken leaf stuck in her close-cropped hair. At six feet tall, she had to crane her neck upward to look me in the eye. I moved my gaze to the blue tattoo on the left side of her head, just above the ear. It depicted a skull flanked by wings with something crossed below it and a curled banner that read HELLBREAKERS.

When I didn’t answer, Hahn said, “You have tactical command, but only one of us has federal jurisdiction here, and it ain’t you. Stand down, Gabe.”

I reached up, still staring at the fallen Chimera, and tapped a finger against the radio.

“If you kill it, you’ll be in breach of your contract. You won’t get paid, and neither will your men.”

That got my attention, but not in the way Hahn expected. My lips curled back from my teeth.

“You think I care about the damn money?”

Hahn looked away, closed her eyes, and let out a breath. Looking up again, she said, “No, and I’m sorry I said that. Still, the fact remains. You kill that Chimera, and it’s going to cause you a whole world of trouble.”

Again, everything she said was true. I was letting my emotions get the best of me. There was a time when that would not have happened. I would have been cold and calculating and stuck to the mission parameters. The old Gabe, the Gabe of my youth, would have shrugged and wished Hahn good luck hauling the Chimera back to Colorado. A distant voice asked me why I was not behaving that way now, and I couldn’t come up with an answer that felt like the truth.

“Fine,” I said, and keyed the radio. “All stations, Team Lead. Stand down. I say again, stand down.”

A chorus of copy that, Team Lead paraded through my earpiece. Hahn put her hands on her hips and let out the breath she had been holding.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Good luck with that thing,” I said, pointing. “My people have fulfilled our contract. The rest is your problem.”

With that, I pushed past Hahn and began striding toward the opposite hill. On the way, I radioed Reese and Finch to rendezvous where we had left the horses. When I was done, I heard Hahn’s footsteps behind me.

“Gabe, wait.”

I said nothing and kept walking. After another twenty feet, the footsteps stopped.

“Gabe…”

No response. I climbed the hill, gathered my men, and together, we rode east.