Hunters Run Page 0,66

at the same time, caught up on the same sandbar.

He rose slowly, unsteadily, trying not to startle his twin. He raised a hand in greeting, fear closing his throat. His twin took a step back, eyeing him balefully.

"Who the fuck are you?" the man said.

Chapter Sixteen

Ramon's mind was slow to react. He had to answer, but none of the things that came to his lips was the right thing. I'm Ramon Espejo and I'm you and Why should I tell you who I am, pendejo? He felt his mouth open and close, and saw the shock in his twin's eyes shift to something else, something more dangerous. The other man's grip on his knife tensed.

"Aliens!" Ramon spat out. "There's fucking aliens out there! They took me prisoner. You've got to help me!"

It was the key. The other man's tension eased a little. His head turned and he looked at Ramon, measuring him, his eyes still radiating mistrust but no longer on the edge of violence. Ramon leaned forward, moving slowly and being careful to do nothing that might startle the other man.

Ramon looked at him closely for the first time, feeling an odd fascination. After all, in spite of his memories to the contrary, this was the first human being he'd ever actually met! His twin was filthy and unkempt - the light stubble that often darkened his chin was already a moth-eaten beard. Distrust shone in his black eyes. His right hand was wrapped in bloody cloth, and Ramon realized, with a profound sense of vertigo, that in that mess of soiled bandages, a finger was missing. A finger from which he had been born.

But the other Ramon also looked wrong somehow. He had expected it to be like looking into a mirror, but it was not. The face he was accustomed to seeing reflected back was different than this. It was more like seeing a video recording of himself. Perhaps, he thought, his features were not so symmetrical as he'd liked to believe. Also, the voice was higher than he believed his own to be and slightly whiny. The voice he heard and hated when he heard himself recorded. The other Ramon's bearded chin jutted aggressively.

What did he look like in his twin's eyes? Finer hair. Fewer lines and creases in his skin. No scars, and thin whiskers. He would appear to be a younger man. And if the other Ramon didn't already feel that he was seeing himself, there was no reason for him to suspect what the aliens had done. Ramon's advantage was that he knew what had happened, who he was, and all that the other man knew. The other man's advantage was that he hadn't half drowned. And he had a knife.

"Please," Ramon said, searching for things he could say that would make him seem more plausible. "I've got to get back to Fiddler's Jump. You got a van?"

"I look like I have a fucking van?" the other man said, raising his arms out at his sides like Christ crucified. "I've been running from those fucking things for a week. How is it you came to get loose from them just here and now, eh?"

It was a good question. They weren't near the alien hive, and the timing was too convenient. Ramon licked his lips.

"It's the first time they took me out," Ramon said, deciding to keep as near the truth as he could. "They were holding me in a tank. Under a mountain up north of here. They told me there was someone they were hunting. I think they were using me. Seeing what I could eat and like that. I think maybe they didn't know much. You know. About people."

The other man considered this. Ramon kept his gaze away from the knife. Better that neither of them think of it. He heard himself going on, his voice thin and shrill. He sounded afraid.

"I tried to fight against them, but they had this thing. In my neck. Right here, you can see where it went in. If I did anything they didn't like, they shocked me. I've been walking for days. Please, man, you can't leave me here."

"I'm not going to leave you here," the other man said. There was disgust in his voice. Disgust and perhaps superiority. "I've been running from them too. They blew up my van, but I had a few tricks. Fucked them up pretty good!"

"That was you?" Ramon said, trying to make his voice sound admiring instead