He gained the kayaks and tore open a dressing, pressed it to his wound, found the surgical tape, and went to work.
A Big Mouth made it all the way to the roof of the Outlook in a single leap. Another chased a shadow on a curtain right through the window, crashing through window, frame, screen, and curtain. Valentine heard a squelching noise and blood sprayed on a wall, three quick arterial jets.
A man fled out the front door, uniform coat torn, one shoe off, running into the night toward the parking lot with arms pumping. A Big Mouth flung itself out the door after him, flew over the footprints he'd left in the snow, and fixed its mouth over his head as it landed, folding its prey like a clasp knife.
A soldier ran across the deck, heading for the wire gondola crossing the falls, spraying bullets from a pistol back through the door. Valentine sighted on him, but another shot rang out and Valentine caught sight of Nageezi's features in the shadows of a station wagon parked in the lot.
Gunfire shattered a second-floor window, peppering the station wagon, deflating a tire, and forcing Nageezi to flatten. Two men hurled themselves from the shattered window, hit the snow rolling,
and came up with assault rifles ready. One poured a magazine into the Big Mouth on the lawn, tearing its still-gobbling head to pieces.
They ran for a red full-cab truck. One paused, turned to look up, and waved at something in the broken window as the other made it to the driver's-side door on the truck.
Valentine recognized Thunderbird's features as he turned, bathed in the light of the Outlook.
Adler was at the window now. He hesitated, jumped, fell for what seemed to Valentine an eternity, but landed lightly and with more skill than the Bears.
Nageezi popped up from behind her bullet-stitched car, aiming, but Thunderbird spun and tore her to pieces with a short blast of his assault rifle.
Adler seemed to flow over the snow-covered yard, legs a blur. Thunderbird covered him as he approached the pickup.
Glass exploded and a Big Mouth followed the glittering pieces out onto the lawn, drawn by the motion. Thunderbird put in a new magazine as the creature turned, watching Adler run as the truck came to life, gathered...
And was brought down by a long tongue of muzzle flash from Thunderbird's weapon. He took two steps forward, pumping more bullets into it, flesh flying everywhere in the night.
More screams, more gunfire, a grenade explosion within the Outlook, and the red truck backed out of its spot, Adler slamming the rear passenger door.
Another Big Mouth, having passed all the way through the Outlook only to emerge at the far end of the wraparound porch, liked the look of the truck and covered half the distance to it in a jump. Thunderbird turned, but something went wrong with his gun. He threw it down, pulling a pistol as the jammed weapon hit, and sidestepped for the turning truck.
Now it was Valentine's turn to sight, not at Thunderbird, or Adler, but at the driver of the truck as he reached out to clear ice from
the windshield. He flipped the selector to single shot and put three 5.56mm shells through the front windshield into him.
Valentine ducked and changed positions. He came up again to see the truck rolling across the parking lot at the purposeless speed of an unpushed accelerator in drive, turning slightly to follow the path of least resistance downhill.
Thunderbird sprinted for the truck and Valentine fired at him, knocking him down. The Big Mouth liked the look of his fall and pounced.
The truck waggled, then turned, and Valentine saw Adler climbing into the front seat - too late. It bounced over the curb and nosed into the river, doors flying open as it hit.
Valentine splashed, slipped, recovered, and hurried toward the truck before Adler could escape. He saw a shape dive out the door on the opposite side, marveled at Adler's fluid athleticism. Ex-Cat? Valentine jumped up onto the river-walk path and pounded after him, saw Adler slipping and floundering on rocks, arms waving so fast in the light it looked as though there were three of them.
Valentine whipped his rifle behind him on its sling and launched himself into a flying tackle, brought down his quarry in a body blow that felt more like he hit a badly stuffed tackling dummy than a man.
He hauled Adler up by his slippery, oily hair and dug for the eyes, the nostrils, his left hand reaching for the windpipe and finding only cool squishiness.
But the blood was wrong...
"Turn around, Valentine", Colonel Thunderbird said. "I'm putting this right between your eyes. I want to see them empty as the bullet pops the back of your head off".
"Before you pull that trigger", Valentine said, turning and raising his hands, "have a look at this".
Thunderbird's blood-circled eyes widened; the pistol in his hand shook and lowered. Valentine held aloft the leaking, slippery body of a Kurian.
Or perhaps a Lifeweaver. Or both. Only the dying mind, twitching as it passed into inferno, glory, or nothingness, could say for sure.
"Is that..."
"A Kurian Lord", Valentine said.