Renaissance

Dan onerously lifted his head up, as he was shaking his shoulders and simultaneously exercising his neck, turning his head around like an inverted pendulum. As he was doing so, he gave an intent peek to the place where that couple of doom was standing.
There, the impact made a crater of the size of a small car, though not very deep, in that concrete. The muse of fate had smiled at him.

He felt pain extending in his mouth. As he touched lightly with his fist, he noticed that a tiny stream of flood was flowing from his mouth. He had bitten his own lower lip.

Using his hands as supports, he hoisted himself to a sitting position.
He was sitting on the ground, even more uncombed, dirty, soaked, tired, sored, bruised, and.... with a tinge of relief. With more effort, he arose and, standing up, released an heart-felt sigh. He was a now fool in a not-so-deserted town.
He still couldn't understand very well what had just happened, or everything ever since he left the train. At that time, though, he couldn't help but think of (Gip). It was now evident that the unfortunate man had, in the crisis, run into those things; those cold-blooded creatures were assuredly the cause of his fatal mutilations.

Those hideous monsters; he had seen first-hand something positively otherworldly.
Piercing thoughts assaulted Dan: those 'centaurs' possessed, surely, a remarkable intelligence; more than savage beasts, those humanoid shapes and uncanny advanced reflexes, somehow suggested that they were far more than simple sentient animals; they disposed of a high order rationale parallel to that of a human.
He could never imagine that these "wondrous" genetic enhancements could get so developed. His interest in scientific achievements surely never got committed enough to give it any decent regular follow-ups. Perhaps the result of the obscure "Project Shomu"?.
Perhaps guinea pigs too ferocious to be controlled? There were, surely, more out there, on the loose, waiting..... As spectacular as the creatures themselves were, it was also the way that they were promptly disposed of.

Limping, he felt a strange and dire need of give that live-saving contraption a closer look.
He was in great danger, that was granted. In spite of still having more ammunition magazines in his bag [and it was urgent to reload the gun], it was clear that such a short-range weapon wouldn't do that much damage to these creatures.
So much for planning ahead: the best he could do, perhaps, still would be to find a place to hide. He went near it, as it was now motionless. Curiosity drawing him, when a thousand dangers lurking about. How could that statue, with its dominant colour being green, come alive just like that?

But now he could see what was behind the "miracle": the statue, made of rusted, oxidated bronze, was constructed in such fashion that the joints were movable parts.
Incidentally, those joints (shoulders, elbows, wrists) were connected to the main body through noticeable ball bearings; its internal structure should perhaps comprise some sort of an hydraulic system to ensure the movement of the mechanism, as well as some well-located sensors.
The whole automaton was placed steadily on a circular base platform that could spin due to fitted gears of medium size, boxed inside the pedestal.

Dan had a hard time exposing the reason for the motion of the machine, as a casing made of hard rubber, opaque, coloured in metallic grey, encased the platform and the top of the pedestal. The tip of the flag was supposedly a cleverly concealed warhead of sorts, spring activated. The odd thing there was that the statue itself looked quite aged, somewhat thorn, but the ball bearings, the gears and the casing seemed to be built in very recently.

The obviously imposing question pounding inside Dan's head would be:
«How could this 'clockwork machine' get implanted into what seemed an antique statue? Who could have tempered with it, in such a preventive manner?»
An inner voice kept telling Dan:
"Come. Right now, it's imperative that I find a proper shelter."