by Chuck Dixon
Mission Creep
The village was ablaze. The satchel charge tossed into the bonfire threw flames over the huts and the rooftops of dry reeds turned the huts to pyres within seconds. The skinnies ran through the crazed shadow shooting and shrieking. Smoke hung thick in the air. It stung the eyes, and made it hard to breathe.
Dwayne led the Rangers through an outer ring of huts toward the wide cave opening. The huts were arranged with no discernible pattern, a random arrangement that didn’t allow for easy navigation.
Spears and rocks came at them from all sides. Skinnies leaped from cover to taunt them with animal barks. The males used every opening to fling spears. The worst were the children who flung rocks, shells, and feces in a constant rain on the Rangers. And there were hundreds of the little bastards laughing and throwing their projectiles with astonishing accuracy.
Renzi fell to his knees when a rock struck him in the back of the head. Chaz dropped to a knee by him and poured a long burst of rocket rounds into the dark. The villagers leaped to cover behind their hooches. Rocket rounds ripped through the mud and wattle to dismember and disembowel. Chaz swung the barrel and sent a volley through a row of huts. He smiled when he heard screams from behind the structures.
“Shoot through the hooches!” Chaz said. “Through the walls!”
Dwayne and Jimbo fired rockets through the walls of the nearest structures. The hoots and catcalls turned to wails of fear and howls of agony. The storm of projectiles died away.
Chaz pulled Renzi to his feet. “You okay, bro?” Chaz said.
“I can hack it!” Renzi said. He pulled his arm from Chaz’s grip. He yanked a satchel charge from his shoulder and pulled the fuse ring.
“Fire in the hole!” Renzi flung the satchel underhand into one of the larger huts in their path. All four men dove for the sand and covered their ears. They held their mouths open wide to lessen the pressure effects on their skulls.
The flimsy structure instantly turned into a storm of flying splinters and bone shards. Villagers using the hut for cover were shredded to strings of meat. Others fell concussed all around The rest scattered as if a hurricane wind had blown them away.
“This is insane!” Renzi shouted as he rose. He had a hand to the back of his head. Blood gleamed black in the firelight on his fingers. A thin stream ran from his left ear and down his neck.
“Caroline Tauber’s in that cave,” Dwayne said. “We can make it there while they’re still shook up by the blast.”
“Man, these skinnies don’t scare so easy,” Jimbo said. “They’ll be back and more pissed off than before.”
“All the more reason to hurry our asses then,” Chaz said. He trotted after Dwayne, who was making his way toward the cave mouth visible beyond another row of huts. Villagers were already gathering again. Knots of them could be seen closing together in rough ranks in the flickering light. Chaz looked behind them and saw nothing but the burning huts and all around them the bodies of adults and children caught in the explosion or knocked down by rocket rounds. Some were alive but not for long. They shrieked and clawed at the scorched sand.
On their flanks, skinnies ran from cover to cover. They were moving alongside the four armed men, keeping pace. Everyone, villager and invader, was moving toward the cave mouth. They heard the bleat of horns resounding off the rocks above them. The skinnies were calling the whole neighborhood in on this. There was no way for the Rangers to know how large a force they could potentially be facing.
The four Rangers moved forward with fresh magazines. Each held his weapon firm to his shoulder and swept the area ahead. Villagers were gathering in a dense mob on the gradual slope of sand leading to the slit in the rock wall of the cliff. They stood swaying and muttering softly. Less than fifty yards to go to the cave opening.
Dwayne and Chaz picked off the closest spear carriers who dared to rush out from the crowd. Single shots on semi-auto. They were low on ammo and would need every round to get back to the mesa top and the field area of the Tube.
“Every one of these bastards and his cousin is here,” Renzi said.
“No way through that,” Jimbo said. “We’re low on rounds and charges.”
“We make a way,” Dwayne said. “Everyone gives up when they’ve suffered enough. Even these sons of bitches.”
“Renzi! Jimbo! Toss charges into them!” Dwayne planted his feet and sent a long burst into the massed villagers.
Renzi and Jimbo pulled the rings on the fuses and swung the satchels by the handles for the long toss. As if by a signal, a steady rain of rocks began pelting them from above. Above the cave mouth there were dozens of figures on ledges and outcrops, and all of them were lobbing stones at the four armed men. The figures called and jabbered and pried chunks of rock free to fling below. Their elongated shadows climbed the wall of the cliff face projected in stark contrast by the spreading flames of the burning village. The mass of hostiles before the cave mouth raised up a scream of defiance and started forward at a run.
No words were needed. It was time to withdraw. The four men began backing away toward the burning huts. Renzi and Jimbo threw their last charges as they backpedaled. They could feel the super-heated wind at their backs as they turned to run for the cover of the smoke drifting from the inferno.
The two satchel charges went off within seconds of each other, throwing skinnies in steaming bits into the air. Others were hammered to the ground. The twin blasts sent a concussive wave up the face of the rocks and dislodged a few rock throwers who fell screaming from their perches.
Back in the maze of huts, they began a more orderly withdrawal, two men covering the rear as two more re-loaded their weapons. Nothing slowed the pursuit of the skinnies. More spears were making it through the suppression fire. Villagers were running along either flank as well, flitting between huts soundlessly. The Rangers would be cut off from retreat if they couldn’t get clear.
“Move it!” Dwayne shouted. “Bug the fuck out!”
All four men broke into an open run. They stayed in sight of one another, and all followed Dwayne, who fired wildly to either side of him while sprinting ahead. The crazy-quilt pattern of huts made them change direction several times, and only the growing howls of the mob closing in behind them kept them oriented. The village was larger than it looked when they first arrived. The dark beyond the bonfire hid the true expanse of it. It was a damned skinny metropolis.
They broke from the last ring of huts to find themselves on a long expanse of dark sand leading to the water. Villagers were rushing out onto the beach from huts to the left and right. It was darker here, farther from the flames. The numbers of skinnies were growing to either side and rushing toward them without a sound. The mob behind grew hushed as well. This was the kill, the endgame of the hunt. To the skinnies, the outcome was certain. They would run the Rangers to ground and finish them with spears and clubs and stones.
“We’re ringed in,” Chaz said. They were all out of breath from the run and coughing from the smoke in their lungs, their throats raw from it.
“Back toward the water,” Dwayne said. He turned and began stepping toward the sound of gentle surf. The villagers emerged in a mass from the cover of the huts and onto the sand. Even the dogs had found their courage again and were yapping at their masters’ feet. The mob formed a broad half-circle around the four men and started closing it up in a classic pincer movement. They were deliberate now. Their quarry was trapped. No need for haste or hysterics. Soon they’d have the intruders on a spit over their fire. The only advantage the Rangers had was the range of their weapons. But that edge would vanish if the skinnies rushed all at once.
“We make a last stand there?” Jimbo said. “At least I got to go to the beach,” Renzi said. He spat on the sand.
“Look around you,” Dwayne said. “You see any boats? Canoes? Dug-outs?”
Except for the scattering of bones and shells that marked the tide line the beach was empty all around.
“That means th
e little fuckers can’t swim,” Dwayne said. He unlimbered the last satchel charge he’d been carrying.
Spears began to fall around them. One landed with a thud by Jimbo’s boot, its point buried deep in the sand. The range was closing.
“Run for the water,” Dwayne said. He pulled the fuse ring of his last satchel and threw the charge in a high looping trajectory toward the growing mob of silhouetted shapes stalking closer.
The four men sprinted over the expanse of sand and reached the water just as the last satchel charge boomed behind them. They waded into the soft breakers with knees pumping. Chaz and Dwayne turned and fired suppression into the villagers just now reaching the water’s edge. The Rangers were up to their waists with spears and rocks splashing into the water all around them. Each man lay back in the warm brine to reduce his target area. The villagers came no deeper than their knees into the swirling water. The skinnies went mad with frustration at the four men. They could see their quarry, but not reach them.
There was a surprisingly strong undertow, and the Rangers let it carry them from the shoreline and away into the darkness, stripping off gear and clothing as they went. Soon the enraged howling of the villagers and the yipping of their dogs faded away into the distance until all the four could hear was the lapping of the mild chop around them.
The current eventually carried them into shallow water they could stand up in, the level at their chests. Dawn light was beginning to show the outline of ridges to the north. Dwayne led the way, and the rest waded after him. The water had a slightly salty tang to it. There were rolling swirls on the surface near them and once or twice they were bumped by something unseen beneath the chop. Chaz wondered aloud what kind of fish might be in this water, but no one answered him.
They were down to the clothes on their backs. They’d stripped off ammo belts and other gear that might drag them down. Their rocket rifles were empty, and were discarded. All had dropped away to the bottom of the sea.
The sun was over the mesa as they splashed through still water that only came to their knees. They’d waded for miles as the lake floor rose at a slight grade, turning from sand and shale to gooey, clinging mud. The shoreline was marshy here and thick with reeds. They cut their arms to bleeding as they crashed through the saw-toothed fronds growing from the seabed. The mud sucked their boots off. They retrieved them from the muck and hung them around their necks by the laces.
Dragonflies with a wingspan as wide as a hubcap hovered just over the water. Flocks of birds that looked and sounded like geese exploded from the clumps of reeds as they neared.
Renzi fell hard with a splash and lay on his side.
“Move your ass, Ricky,” Chaz growled. “Give me a minute,” Renzi said and touched a hand to the patch of dried blood caked in his hair.
“You okay, bro?” Chaz crouched, his tone was softer.
“Dizzy,” Renzi said. “Puked back there. It’s a concussion.”
“You lean on me, all right?” Chaz extended his hand.
“Stick that up your ass,” Renzi said and rose to his knees. “I can hack it. I never needed help before.”
“Then fuck it.” Chaz jerked his hand back and stood up.
Dwayne slipped back between reeds and looked at them hard. He pulled Renzi to his feet. Renzi began to growl his thanks, and Dwayne put a hand to his mouth.
“Listen,” Dwayne said.
The three men grew quiet. Jimbo stood point in the reeds ahead with his head up and listening hard. All around them they could hear the brittle crack of reeds being broken down. There was a soft sucking noise of movement in the mud. A snuffling sound, a gruff rattling exhalation of breath, came out of the reeds. A lot of somethings were making their way through the canes toward the open water. They were close enough to smell now. A rank, gamey smell.
A shadow fell over them as a shape loomed large over the reed tops.
“Don’t. Run,” Jimbo hissed and held a hand out to still them.
An elephant. A huge, hairy elephant. It stood in the muck looking down at them with one rolling eye. Two yellowing tusks swept the reeds over their heads as it swayed and the four men ducked low. The beast’s trunk snaked toward them, making deep snorting sounds. The men stared at the enormous animal, transfixed. They could sense more large shapes moving slowly behind them, splashing through mud and trampling reeds in easy, deliberate progress.
The big bull mastodon made a sudden basso huffing sound and turned away from the Rangers. It moved away through the reeds and on toward the open water of the lake. The rest of the herd followed along, flattening reeds and churning the water a muddy brown.
Jimbo held a hand flat and lowered it toward the water.
“Slow,” he said softly. The Rangers followed his example and moved away to the left to get out of the way of the lumbering animals.
They came out of the reeds and climbed a muddy slope to where a dense pine forest ringed the shoreline as far around as they could see. The slope was trampled to stinking muck with the passage of the elephant herd now standing somewhere out on the water. Their bleats echoed from somewhere out behind them. A misting rain had begun that reduced visibility to fifty yards in any direction.
Exhausted and chilled, they dropped to the forest floor.
“What now?” Chaz said with an arm thrown over his eyes.
“Inventory,” Dwayne said and sat with his back against a tree bole.
It was a sad collection of gear that remained. No rifles or ammo. They had their botas and a few protein bars. The special wristwatches Doc Tauber was so proud of had gotten soaked, and the bands parted. The boots were nearly useless. The water had weakened the vegetable-based glue that held them together, and the soles and uppers were peeling apart. The socks were holding up surprisingly well, as were the BDUs.
“Find the two pairs of boots in the best shape,” Dwayne said. “And save all the laces.” The boot laces were leather and had lots of uses. They made a pathetic pile of soggy belongings.
“Now your holdouts,” Dwayne said and met each man with a hard expression.
“What?” Chaz said. All innocence.
“Don’t bullshit me,” Dwayne said. “I’ve been with you guys too long. There’s no way all of you followed the rules. Or any of you.”
Jimbo shrugged and dug a six-inch clasp knife out of a cargo pocket on his leg. Renzi sat hunched forward with his head in his hands. “Yeah?”
“Give it up,” Dwayne said, standing over him with his hand out.
“What the fuck you talkin’ about?” Renzi’s voice was a weak rasp, but the defiance was still there.
“You have a hideaway. You always have a hideaway.”
Renzi reached into a cargo pocket, and his hand came back with a silver Zippo lighter engraved with RLTW (Rangers Lead The Way)
“Chaz?” Dwayne said.
Chaz dropped a black two-barrel derringer with rubber grips onto the pile.
Dwayne opened the derringer. Two .22 magnum rounds sat in place.
“Any more ammo, Chaz?” Dwayne said. “Naw.” Chaz grinned. “Two rounds was enough to give me the last word.”
They made a fire of pine needles and driftwood and banked it with earth all around to hide the glow. The smoke would be invisible in the misting drizzle that continued to fall. They stripped out of the BDUs down to skivvies and set the clothes around the fire to dry. Chaz washed Renzi’s wound. There was a gash to his scalp, but the bleeding had slowed. His skull was intact but all the signs of head trauma were there. All Chaz could do was squirt some antibiotic gel on it and seal the cut with liquid bandage from the med kit. Renzi was fighting hard not to fall asleep or pass out. They were all wasted and appreciated how much harder their buddy was having it. They took turns prodding him awake.
None of them expected any kind of pursuit right away. The skinnies across the lake would still be licking their wounds after the hurt the Rangers put on them the night before. Depending on how motivated they were, the skinnies would eventuall
y make their way around the shoreline looking for signs of where the four strangers emerged from the water. Or maybe the prehistoric assholes would just assume the four men had drowned as they would have if they entered water over their heads.
Dwayne cleared a patch of ground of pine needles and drew a rough circle in the dirt with a stick.
“We’re somewhere on the north shore,” he said and scratched an “x” in the dirt at the top of the circle. “The mesa and the compound are above the east shore. Somewhere…here.” He waved the stick to the right of the drawing.
“Where the compound will be,” Chaz added. “A long, long time from now.”
“Like my head don’t hurt enough already, you have to bring up that kind of shit,” Renzi groaned.
“What’s next?” Jimbo said and met Dwayne’s eyes.
“You guys still want to follow my lead?” Dwayne regarded them. “I brought you into this clusterfuck.”
“Don’t be an asshole,” Chaz said after a moment. The other two said nothing.
“Okay,” Dwayne said. “Chaz, you’re going to take Ricky out of here. And no shit from you, Ricky. You have a bruised brain and need it looked at. Chaz will bring you up to the mesa, and both of you wait for the field to open and go back to The Now. Jimbo and I will stay behind.”
“To accomplish what, exactly?” Chaz said. “To stay on post,” Jimbo said.
“Right. We can’t just walk away now,” Dwayne said. “They’re holding the doc’s sister. Me and Jimbo will set up a hide over the skinnies’ camp and keep an eye on them.”
“She’s slow-roasting by now, Dwayne,” Chaz said.
“I don’t think so. They had her painted and strung her with necklaces. They didn’t do that to their other kills, and they made sure they didn’t kill her when she was trying to stop them from taking Kemp. They got her penned up in that cave for a purpose. They’re worshipping her or something.”
“Or she’s part of a harem,” Renzi said. “She’s somebody’s bitch by now.”