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Chapter 12. Race for the Border.

What counts is not necessarily the size of the dog and the fight. It's the size of the fight

and the dog. President Dwight D. Eisenhower.

$1,500 CST, 14 February. Clark found himself almost running to keep up with Gregor.

There was no need to track anymore. They could hear the creatures ahead of them almost taunting them.

Now that the Wendigo were aware of their pursuit, they were tormenting them by staying just ahead.

Clark could only wonder if the Wendigo retained enough human knowledge to know they were close

to the Canadian border, or if they were just mocking them with their speed. Either way it pissed them off.

Valkyrie, Viking, shouted Clark, get ready. When we reach the shore of Caribou Lake,

they're going to be out in the open. I want you both engaging them before they reach the opposite

shore. Drop as many as you can. Valkyrie left the HKUMP-50 drop on its sling and brought

her custom sniper rifle around from her back while she ran. Viking tossed his over his shoulder

as he pulled his own sniper rifle back to the front.

Kodiak roared Clark. Swing to the left when we hit the lake and engage with your mini-gun.

Yes, sir, said Kodiak. If we don't stop him at Caribou Lake, shouted Clark.

We've only got one more shot before the border. Clearwater Lake is about a mile on the other side

of Caribou. We've got to bring them down before they reach the border. What about launching

grenades? Ask Margolin. Negative, said Clark. Only as a last resort, if we crack the ice,

we'll have to go around and there'll be too far ahead to catch.

Copy that, said Margolin. When the snipers drop, yelled Clark, everyone get the fuck out of

their way. They could see through the trees and they were nearly at the lake. Get ready, roared

...