The Pandemic Sequence (Book 3): The Tilian Cure by Tom Calen Read Free Book Online Page A

he had truly lost that day.
    Only when Mike ended the turmoil in the only way possible—a responsibility Derrick now knew he himself had failed in—did the veil of anger and sorrow begin to lift. He had departed the camp that night not in fury, but rather with the torturous realization that his actions had placed him beyond the respect and trust of those once so dear to him. It was that same realization that had required him to save Mike and deliver him to the waiting ship. It was an act of attrition, a marginal penance in what he believed a self-inflicted road of redemption. Hicks’ short praise sparked a flicker of hope that one day he might atone for the mistakes of the past.
    Rising to join Hicks, Derrick made a cursory examination of his gear, retrieved the motorcycle helmet from the ground and began to pace alongside the older man as the two resumed their hunt. Only a few strides in, he felt a shiver pass through him as the hair on his body rose in alarm. Pivoting seamlessly on his right heel, his hands reflexively drew katana and firearm. Hicks immediately took a defensive posture of his own, weapons at the ready, and their eyes scoured the surrounding scenery.
    “What d’ya got?” Hicks breathed in little more than a whisper.
    “I don’t know, just felt something. Like we’re being watched.”
    The terrain stretched in relative flatness in all directions, with minimal trees to obstruct sight. Save for the slight shifting of tree branches in the breeze, the landscape was devoid of motion.
    Tense seconds passed, but Derrick was unable to locate anything to justify his alarm.
    “You sure, kid?” Hicks asked. “I don’t see anything moving out there.”
    Feeling the fool, Derrick muttered, “I guess not. It’s just that I…” He struggled to define the sensation that had precipitated his concern. Abashed, he eventually returned the blade to its sheath and shook his head. “I guess it was nothing.”
    Already having relaxed his tension, Hicks holstered his guns as he said, “It happens. When you’re out here on your own, your mind plays tricks on you. Don’t let yourself get spooked, kid. We have a lot more ground to cover before we have to head back.”
    Resigned to accept Hicks’ explanation, Derrick fell in beside him and continued to follow the tracks. So much for earning his respect, he thought with anger. I’m jumping at the wind. As they walked though, he continued to glance back over the ground they covered, unable to shake the prickling cold sensation of hidden eyes.
     
* * *
     
    Crouched low, almost pressed into the ground, the creature stared at its prey. Too distant to attack, it simply waited until the indistinct shapes resumed their walking. An almost inaudible growl expressed its condemnation to the two others from the pack. They had drawn too close and thus the prey had been alerted. Second only to the pack’s Alpha, it knew the two others, lesser males in the hierarchy, would obey its warning. The same hunger that burned within them, fought to control its own mind. But, the Alpha’s instructions had been clear. The pack needed to eat.
     
* * *
     
    “There’s at least seven different sets,” Hicks said in his usual grumble as he moved about the clearing in a hunch. It was nearing the time at which the two had planned to turn back when Hicks discovered the new sets of tracks. The footprints varied enough in size to account for several distinct Tils. Not far from the convergence of tracks, freshly deposited urine and feces attested to the recent presence of the tracks’ owners.
    Glancing at his watch, and also the late-afternoon sun, Derrick asked, “Do we follow them? Paul gave us twenty-four hours before sending a search party.” Personally, he was inclined to pursue the prints, if only to rid the world of a handful of Tils, possibly even the Til that had managed to penetrate the Horde’s defenses.
    As he rose from the ground, Hicks turned to him and spoke with a sincerity