by E. R. Torre
“Any I.D.?” Becky asked.
“None,” he said. “Given his gear, I didn’t expect any. See this?”
Robinson pointed to the binoculars.
“They look like a typical pair of binoculars, right?” Robinson said. “They’re not. See the buttons on the side? Digital image enhancement and intensification. Night vision.”
Robinson put the binoculars back and pulled out the camera. He looked it over.
“This might tell us what we need to know about this gentleman,” Robinson said. “Mini digital, no brand name or identification. I’m guessing it takes some very high definition photographs and video. Likely has some kind of connectivity, should you need to send out your images.”
“What was he taking pictures of?”
Robinson turned the camera over.
“Don’t know,” he said. “Camera’s got no LCD screen. I’ll have to get its memory card to a computer to see whatever it was he took.”
Becky pointed to the small metal box.
“And that?”
“SOS,” Robinson said. He slid the front of the box open, revealing a small button. “Short range transmitter, waterproof, fireproof, damn near explosive proof. Allows you to tell whoever’s on the receiving end you’re in trouble.”
“Which is why he’s also got a handgun,” Becky said. “Not your typical lost tourist gear, I take it?”
“Not by a long shot,” Robinson replied. “What we have here is a British Special Forces operative.”
“Special Forces? You mean a spy?”
“Yes.”
“For the British Government?”
“I don’t know many Cuban nationals who talk with a strong British accent.”
“What is he doing here?”
“I’ll tell you what he wasn’t doing: Taking pictures of the island’s native flora and fauna.”
“He’s spying on Bad Penny?” Becky said. “He’s spying on us?”
“Of course.”
“Maybe I’m not up on current events, but aren't we supposed to be allies with the British?”
“No ‘supposed to be’ about it,” Robinson said. “We are allies, but that doesn’t stop us from sniffing around each other's playgrounds now and again.”
“Sniffing around?”
“Call it verification. Making sure everything’s going fine and we’re still pals and all.”
“Is everything going fine?”
Robinson shrugged.
“What’s going on at Bad Penny?” Becky asked. “Did it have something to do with him?”
“That I don't know.”
“The hell you don't,” Becky said. “Ever since you, General Spradlin and that Doctor came aboard our helicopter, we've been strung along like puppets. You know a hell of a lot more than what you’re saying.”
“That’ll be all,” Robinson said. The tone in his voice meant it.
Robinson pocketed the Heckler and Koch, closed the backpack, and handed it to Becky. The private took the offered backpack and stared at it. Though she tried, she could no longer contain herself.
“General Spradlin knew the helicopter was going to be hit,” she said.
Robinson shook his head and grinned.
“How long did it take you to figure that out?”
Becky was surprised by Robinson’s lack of surprise.
“I know,” she said. “And so do others in the group. We may not have all the facts, but we’re not idiots either.”
“I never thought you were,” Robinson said. “Look, this’ll all make sense, eventually. You’ll just have to trust me when I say what we’re doing here is the right thing, and that this guy may have the answers to many of my questions.”
He reached down and grabbed the intruder under his left arm. “For now, how about we shelve this discussion until—”
Robinson’s thought remained unfinished. When he tried to lift the man in black he found him an immovable object. The man was virtually welded to the jungle floor. Robinson let out a yell and tried to jump away.
He was too late.
The man in black’s left arm snapped against his body, pinning Robinson’s hand in place. The figure tightened its arm some more, sending crushing forces at either side of Robinson’s trapped hand. Robinson gasped as the sickening sound of breaking bones filled the area. Despite his agony, Robinson faced Becky and yelled:
“Get out of here!”
Becky, however, stayed in place. Spurts of blood flowed from Robinson’s crushed hand. She couldn’t let him suffer. Becky lifted her gun and aimed it at the figure in black’s lowered head.
“Let him go!” she screamed.
The figure stirred and Becky stepped back.
“I mean it!”
The figure stirred again. Its head, facing down and away from Robinson, turned at an impossibly sharp angle to look directly at her before coming face to face with Robinson. The figure’s face was still for only a second and then, as if it were made of living clay, shifted. Skin stretched and bubbled. The figure’s cheekbone rose and its forehead lengthened. Eyebrows and hair turned from black to brown. Wrinkles appeared under the thing’s eyes. Its face changed…
Changed until it looked like Robinson!
The thing stared at its counterpart’s face, as if checking to make sure every line and wrinkle were in their proper place. Yet there was a noticeable difference. The color of the real Robinson’s skin was more natural than the shiny plastic in his counterpart. In spite of this, it was real enough to fool anyone. At least for a little while.
“I asked you a question,” the thing said. Like its skin, the voice was also artificial. “Who are you?”
The thing paused for no more than a couple of seconds.
“Who the hell are you?” it repeated a second time. The mechanical edge wasn’t as noticeable.
“Go,” the real Robinson gasped.
Instead of doing so, Becky walked up to the unreal Robinson and aimed her .45 at the thing’s forehead. She fired twice at point blank range. The bullet splattered against its head, sending the thing lurching to the side. It fell to the ground, taking the real Robinson with it.
Once on the ground, the thing convulsed and released Robinson from its grip. Becky grabbed and pulled the wounded man up. She assessed his injured right hand and found it was completely crushed. There was no way it could ever be repaired.
“Let’s go,” Becky yelled.
Alan Robinson nodded weakly.
“Thank you,” he said.
It would be his last words.
The creature reached up as Robinson rose. It grabbed the Colonel by his neck and, in a flash, pulled him down. Becky again heard the repellant sound of bones cracking and knew Robinson was finished. The creature had done to Robinson’s neck what it did to his hand.
“You son of a bitch!” she yelled. She aimed the .45 at the creature’s face and fired over and over and over again. Pieces of the creatures face chipped away, revealing an oozing dark matter just below the surface of the plastic skin. One of the bullets smashed into the creature’s right eye, collapsing it. The creature sank back and rolled away, coming to a stop almost exactly where Robinson and Becky originally found it. It lay face down and remained very still.
Becky sank to her knees beside Robinson. She felt a rising nausea.
Easy. This isn’t the time to let emotions get the best of you.
She checked Robinson’s body to verify what she already knew. The creature squeezed the Colonel’s neck to less than a third of its size. His spinal cord was nothing more than bone chips and powder. It was a wonder the man’s head remained connected to the rest of his body.
Becky removed Robinson’s M-16. She laced the weapon’s strap around her shoulder and removed the Heckler and Koch from Robinson’s belt. Next to it was Robinson’s sheath and knife. Becky stared at the odd weapon, and started to pull it off.
As she did, she sensed movement to her side.
Becky fell backwards. She watche
d in horror as the creature rose, its face still marred by the shots from her .45. It appeared disoriented and was looking around. Looking for her.
Becky didn’t let it do so for long.
She fired at the thing with the Heckler and Koch. The fearsome gun’s bullets ripped into the creature’s chest and face. While the bullets from her .45 weakened the integrity of its face, the bullets from the Heckler and Koch tore through what remained. Strange green and black fluids poured from the gory facial wounds. The creature’s mouth opened and it let out a hideous scream before sliding back down and falling into the brush.
It lay still.
Very cautiously, Becky approached the creature’s side. Her weapon’s entire clip spent, she put the Heckler and Koch away and grabbed the M-16. She nudged the creature with the barrel of the rifle. It did not move.
“Stay the fuck down,” Becky growled.
Without turning away from the creature, she took a several steps back. She reached down and felt for Robinson’s corpse, then slid her hand to his black knife. She removed it from its sheath and examined it.
The knife was surprisingly light, far lighter than any metal blade of similar size and dimension. The blade’s black surface remained a complete mystery to her. It looked like it was made of some kind of stone rather than metal. She strapped the knife to her side and stole one final glance at Robinson.
“I don’t know what you were up to,” Becky said. “But you didn’t deserve this.”
Becky shook her head.
“Nobody deserves this.”
She got to her feet and, after taking one last look at the creature, ran toward the camp.
If she had stayed only a few more seconds, she would have seen the creature’s left arm twitch once again.
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
The distant sound of gunshots echoed throughout the makeshift camp site. Frank Masters sat up and winced.
“What the hell?” he yelled.
Samantha was on her feet. She and Alicia Cunningham, the only two left in the camp carrying weapons, drew their .45’s. They looked in the direction of where the shots originated, and realized it was coming from where Becky Waters, Alan Robinson, and Dan Thompson had ventured. The first series of shots was closely followed by a second. The echoes of that second volley faded and a dark, brooding silence descended over the campsite. No one spoke, no one moved. It was as if they were frozen in amber.
The quiet lasted only a few seconds.
The bushes opposite from where the sound of gunfire originated rustled. The people in the camp did an about face. Someone crashed through the bush and was heading directly toward them.
Samantha raised her gun at the shadowy forms and peered down the barrel. In the corner of her eye, she could just make out Alicia Cunningham. The newbie held her gun at her side, as if a cowboy of the wild-west, ready to draw. The muscles on her thin arm flexed with tension, then shook with fear. Her eyes were also on the disturbance, yet they nervously shifted back and forth.
Samantha felt a bead of sweat roll down her cheek. Alicia might be armed, but she doubted the newbie was ready to fight. It was possible she might fire blind and hit a friendly.
Screw that. She might hit me.
The disturbance in the bushes drew closer, and closer.
“Take it easy, Alicia,” Samantha muttered. A dull burn grew in the pit of her stomach.
Take it real easy.
The bush the two faced crashed apart and, for a fraction of a second, Samantha’s finger tensed on the gun’s trigger. In the next fraction of a second, she released the trigger and in a flash reached over and pulled Alicia’s gun hand down.
Standing some twenty feet away and exiting through the forest was General Spradlin.
“Don’t shoot!” Samantha commanded.
Alicia neither fired nor fought Samantha off. Belatedly, Samantha realized the newbie was so overwhelmed as to be useless.
Immediately behind General Spradlin came Jennie Light. The blonde soldier’s head swiveled back, to look in the direction from where they had come. Her hands were locked around the M-16.
The two stopped in the center of the camp.
“Where's Bartlett?” Samantha asked.
“Dead,” Light replied between gasps. She shook from fright. “Some...creature...”
Spradlin grabbed the rifle from Jennie’s hands and aimed it at the bushes.
“It's following us,” he said.
“It…it sounded like him,” Light babbled. “It talked like him! It...it was all black...all black.”
General Spradlin faced the camp’s occupants.
“Doctor Evans, Officer Light, grab Captain Masters. We're moving out.”
Jennie Light stumbled to Master’s side. She grabbed one end of the stretcher while Doctor Evans grabbed the other. They roughly hoisted Masters up. The injured pilot winced.
“We’re going that way,” General Spradlin said, pointing in the direction Waters, Robinson, and Thompson had gone. “We need to make it to the base. Fast.”
All at once there was movement throughout the camp. General Spradlin maintained a close watch on the bush he just exited. His eyes were locked in, searching for any movement at all. There was none. He took a second to look back at the camp and see the progress of his soldiers. He found Alicia Cunningham standing still in the middle of the maelstrom. She was shaking. She was still frozen in place.
“Don’t just stand there, Private Cunningham,” General Spradlin said. “Get moving.”
Alicia didn’t respond. Her mouth hung half open. Beads of sweat glistened on her forehead. Her eyes turned, very slowly, toward Spradlin. Her eyes were dilated. She was in shock.
“Alicia, you need to get moving,” Spradlin repeated. His voice was softer.
Alicia remained in place.
“Please move,” he whispered.
No response.
“Soldier? Move!”
As the words left his mouth, the bushes before the two exploded. A dark shape tore through the green, its movements incomprehensibly fast.
General Spradlin barely had time to react before the dark shape clipped him. The wind was knocked from General Spradlin and he collapsed to his knees. The creature’s forward momentum sent it directly into Alicia Cunningham. Alicia’s frail body was slammed into the ground and pinned under the dark shape.
The creature ignored Spradlin and the rest of the group and turned its full attention to Alicia. As if it had all the time in the world, the creature sat on her stomach, its muddy arms holding hers down. There was no fight in the newbie. Alicia’s face was a pasty white, her eyes a blank. The creature stared at her for a second, confused by her lack of fight. Alicia blinked. Some color returned to her face. Despite the creature’s dark skin, it had the face of Howard Bartlett. Alicia recognized him and was confused by this similarity. It looked like Howard Bartlett, but it clearly was not him.
“Please,” she pleaded. “No.”
The creature’s head tilted. The familiar features of Howard Bartlett disappeared. The creature’s face compressed. Empty sockets formed where there should be eyes. The emptiness was filled with black ovals. Hair appeared on the thing’s head. Lips formed. They opened, mimicking Alicia’s facial movements.
“Please,” the thing repeated. Its voice was mechanical, distorted. Almost, but not quite yet, emulating Alicia’s voice. “No.”
The right side of Spradlin’s body was on fire. It felt like he ran full speed into a fire hydrant. He looked around at the creature and Alicia.
“Oh no,” he said.
Spradlin dropped the M-16 and reached for the knife he carried in its sheath around his waist.
Just as he did, another figure burst through the bushes behind the General. Spradlin turned toward the sound. In his mind, he thought this was the end. Taking on one of these creatures was near impossible. There was no way he could fight two.
His despair instantly evaporated. It wasn’t another creature coming through the bush:
It was Becky Waters!
She ran past Evans, Light, and Masters. In her hand was Robinson's black blade.
The creature didn’t notice or care about Becky’s approach until it was too late. With one mighty thrust, she slid the blade into and through the creature’s back. Its tip exited out of the creature’s chest.
The thing stared at the black blade’s tip, curious but not noticeably disturbed by this sudden inconvenience. Its right hand rose, touching the blade, examining its surface. When it was done, its mouth opened. A low, eerie electronic howl filled the camp site.
The creature’s head abruptly spun around and stared at its attacker. It’s newly formed mouth opened, revealing a set of razor sharp, nightmarishly black teeth.
Becky stumbled backwards, startled by the creature’s reaction. As she did, she released the blade’s handle.
And at that very moment, all hell broke loose.
A loud hiss emanated from the creature’s wound. A loud energy crackle followed. Steam rose from the creature’s body as an incomprehensibly strong burst of electricity pulsed through it. The creature moaned as pieces of its body erupted and cracked. Its smooth shape almost melted under the extreme electrical assault. The black teeth, so terrifying only a second before, turned to ash.
Poor Alicia remained in the thing’s grip. The electrical current running from the creature’s body bridged the gap between them and shot directly into her body. Alicia shook and convulsed. Smoke rose from her eyes and the sickening smell of burnt flesh filled the campsite. Alicia’s body stopped shaking long before the creature finally collapsed at her side.
Becky watched it all in growing horror. The creature was dead. So too was Alicia. The black knife, the cause of all this, was all but gone, turned into flickering ash.
“I killed her,” Becky muttered. The horrible truth just a couple of feet away. “I tried to save her—”
“She was dead already,” Spradlin muttered. “She…she didn’t suffer.”
Becky got to her feet. She looked at her right hand, the one that had held the blade. It was red and singed. Had she not fallen away from the creature, she too would have—