Ahead several paces, Cheney suddenly gave a low growl, and the thick hair on the back of his neck bristled. He stopped moving, freezing in place. Hawk stopped, too, listening. He heard Bear release the safety on the Tyson Flechette. Then nothing. He waited a moment. Cheney growled again and started forward. Hawk and Bear reluctantly followed. Neither liked it that they could see so little. Neither liked the idea of encountering a danger they couldn’t measure in advance. But there was nothing they could do about it; they had to keep moving and find out what was waiting. Better to find it than to let it find them. They walked in silence, eyes and ears trained on the dark and mist, searching for some indication of what Cheney had sensed. The big dog walked point, head lowered and swinging side to side. He had stopped growling, but Hawk couldn’t be sure if that meant the danger had passed or if Cheney was just masking his presence. The silence was unnerving, but he held himself steady and waited it out. When the screams started, not long after that, they drew up short instantly. Cheney cast about, eyes narrowed and teeth bared. Bear’s stoic face turned pale and then empty of expression. Hawk listened to the screams rise and fall and then disappear. He could not be sure where they had come from. He couldn’t tell who had uttered them. The haze distorted both vision and sound and lent a feeling of disorientation to everything. Hawk tried to sort out what he was hearing and couldn’t. When the screams stopped, they stood where they were for a long moment, waiting for more. When nothing happened, Bear said, “Should we take a look?”

Hawk shook his head. “Not in that direction.” He took a deep breath, reached down to touch the tire tracks of the AV in the loose soil, and said, “Cheney, track.”

They set off a second time, decidedly uneasy now, less certain of themselves. Hawk, carrying only a prod, reached into his pocket and extracted a viper-prick. If something was going to happen, he thought, it was going to happen soon. He glanced skyward and wished for what must have been the hundredth time that the mist and clouds would clear. But he knew his wish was futile, that there would be no clearing before dawn and perhaps not even then. Finding their way would depend on luck and Cheney’s instincts. Finding the others might depend on more than that.

The minutes dragged on. The silence and the night deepened. Cheney kept moving at a steady pace. Nothing appeared. Hawk had almost decided that nothing would when Cheney gave a deeper, more threatening growl.

Ahead, masked by the haze, something moved.