Bobby walked over to Pops and dumped the game at his feet. The older man already had a buzz on. The fact he drank to excess was terrible enough. What made it worse was that the money he was to use to buy supplies for the foray into forests and mountains of Wyoming had mostly been spent on rotgut booze and locally brewed beer. Bobby dropped the gutted kills at the drunk’s feet. His beagle, Jobber, sniffed at the fresh meat.
“Here, Pops. Something to cook up,” stated Bobby.
“Who said I was the cook?” growled Pops.
“Well, you sure as hell are not a guide. Where is a that Eater sign you claimed you saw?”
Pops, before he was in his cups, had bragged far and wide that he knew where all the Eaters were in Wyoming just as soon as the new post-Great Compromise United States of North America had posted a bounty. That was why Bobby Parsons had left his mother and sister at Malmstrom Armed Forces Base in Montana so he could make some money. No one wanted to hire a Squid lover near the base.
At Bobby’s less than respectful comment, Pops somehow scrambled to his feet.
“Keep with that smart mouth, boy, and you’re going to get a bruisin’.” Pops tried to sound as menacing as possible.
“From you? Or is Jobber going to do it for you?” Bobby had put up with too much crap just surviving to be cowered by a loudmouthed braggart.
“Hey you two, knock it off,” Brian called out. “We need to make the best of a bad situation if we are going to break even.”
Brian looked directly at Pops. “Since you drank up most of our food budget, yes, you get to cook. I don’t see any great guide capabilities coming from you.”
Pops glared at Brian. Then he picked up the two dead animals and went to create a spit for each.
“See any eater sign out there?” Brian asked Bobby.
“Nope, I did see some deer sign, but it was a few hours old.” Bobby paused in thought for a few minutes, then continued. “If there were Eaters around, any deer would have been long gone or eaten days ago. Damn things can swallow animals whole, like a snake, and digest even the bones.”
“Bobby, did you see an Eater close up before the two we killed?”
“ A couple of dead ones near Cattle… near the Alabama border. They tried to get through a border fence and were electrified.”
Brian shook his head.
“I think we may head out tomorrow. We’ve wasted a week here, ate up the little food Pops bought, and have just two pairs of Eater claws to show for it. A hundred dollars per pair bounty won’t go far.”
“Well, Brian, it’s your SUV. I go where you want to go.”
Bobby walked over to where he had his pack stashed. He made sure Pops had not disturbed it as when the man was drunk, he forgot where he was half the time. Bobby shook his head as he thought once again how he could miss all the signs of an alcoholic about the old man. Brian had not noticed either.
“Talk about the blind leading the blind,” he mumbled to himself. He took out his gun cleaning kit and gave his two weapons a quick once over. They weren’t much, but they worked. Beggars could not be choosers, and as many wanted nothing to do with Squid lovers, Bobby was cursed to be a perpetual beggar. The Great Compromise signed with the Squids to prevent mutually assured destruction did not mean that human attitudes would change overnight.
Bobby ran a patch down the ancient 8mm Lebel bolt action rifle. The damn thing was well over a century old, with World War I technology limiting it to three round clips that inserted through the top of the weapon. At least the bullet was large and nasty, his one shot in the body of the first Eater they had seen dropped it like a sack of rocks. Its barrel had been cut back by someone which made it into a usable “bush gun” that handled well in the thick forest. His second weapon was a .22 semi-auto Colt pistol, almost as old as the Lebel. The elderly woman he had bought them from had just lost her husband and wanted to get rid of them. She did not check to see who is buying them. Bobby had a box of old but in good condition ammunition for each. Those two weapons would have to do until he could obtain others.
Brian carried a heavy compound hunting bow with a quiver of broadhead arrows, plus a few target arrows. He had shot the second Eater through an eyeball and into its brain. The man had done it with such ease that Bobby knew he must have thousands of hours of practice under his belt. Pops had a long barreled pump shotgun, but both the younger men thought his drinking would prevent him from being a very accurate shot. Pops had bragged about his hunting and guiding skills. He also had Jobber, who seemed to have a good nose. It helped, of course, that all dogs hated Eaters. Yet, even the canine’s nose could not locate any other of the “pests” the group was hunting for bounty.
Eventually, Pops growled that dinner was ready and the three dug out their mess kits. At least Pops was a passable cook and had also cooked up the rest of the ramen noodles with some tasty seasoning of his own concoction. After the meal and cleanup, Brian mentioned his plan.
“Tomorrow morning, zero dark thirty, we head out to another area. South, closer to Evanston, the site of the first pack level infestation.”
“Hell, that area was hunted out last year by the military!” protested Pops. “I tell you, I’ll find…”
“You’ll tell me nothing, old fool.” Brian’s generally cordial tone turned to ice, something Bobby had not heard before. Pops’ face flushed with anger and his hand went to a hunting knife on his belt. Bobby started to reach for his pistol, but from a hidden pocket, Brian magically produced a snub nose revolver and pointed it at Pops’ face.
“For a drunk, you are full of yourself. Try anything, and you will be buried out here.”
“I didn’t…” Pops began to sputter as the barrel of the pistol seemed to sober him up.
“And you won’t,” replied Brian. “I financed and organized this little foray as a means to do something different for the new U.S.A. and make some money at the same time. Now, how much of that so-called ‘liquid bread’ do you have, since that is about the only type of food supply we have left.”
“Two cases, over yonder,” answered a much more subdued Pops.
“Bobby, please move the beer to the SUV and lock it up. Pops here has had enough,” stated Brian. “Pops, I want that rotgut bottle of yours given to Bobby. Or you can walk home.”
As Bobby complied with Brian’s instructions, he noticed Jobber sat and watched.
“You’re probably the smartest one here, pup,” Bobby said with a smile. “We humans are a contentious lot, as Alesha says on her newscasts.
There being nothing much else to do, and with the night approaching, the three men readied their bedrolls. Bobby laid down and looked at the bright, star-filled sky. After the Long Winter caused by the rocks and with significantly reduced human industrial activity, the night sky had cleared up in many parts of the world. Bobby knew that surviving amateur astronomers were having a blast.
“Well. I’m glad someone is enjoying this,” the former Cattle Country guard said to himself. He soon drifted off into sleep.
Bobby woke up just as the sun was poking up over the mountains. He liked the quiet of late at night and early in the morning hours. As he rolled out of his bedroll, a rifle shot echoed through the forest and foothills. Bobby was up on his feet just as another far-off shot sounded. Then a series of reports from what seemed like a rifle of substantial caliber.
“What’s happening?” Brian’s voice came from behind him.
“Series of shots, from over there.” Bobby pointed towards a small ravine about a mile or so distant from the camp.
“Bobby, take the electric moped. It’s quiet and will get you there faster,” said Brian. “We need to know if we have some competition.”
“Will do.” Bobby began grabbing his gear.
“What’s going on?” A bleary-eyed Pops asked.
“Start breaking camp,” ordered Brian. “We’re leaving.”
Bobby grabbed the moped from alongside the SUV, mounted it and turned it on. The electric motor purre
d into operation, and Bobby accelerated down an old trail that was still open enough to allow decent passage. Thanks to Tschaaa solar energy development, a small moped like the one Booby used was quickly charged and could zip along at about fifty miles an hour on good pavement for an hour or so. The trail was a bit rough, so Bobby kept the speed to below twenty-five. His rifle was slung across his back, necessitating he watch out for branches along the trail which could hang him up. Bobby still made good time. About fifteen minutes into his journey, he heard loud voices arguing ahead. Bobby stopped the moped, leaned it up against a small tree, and continued on foot with his now unslung rifle at the ready.
Bobby Parsons soon found the source of all the noise and commotion. The trail opened out into a clearing where a couple of large SUVs were parked. Bobby saw the owner of one of the loud voices. A bronze-haired young woman with an athletic build and bumps in all the right places was giving hell to three good-sized bearded males outfitted in hunters camouflage. As Bobby stepped a bit closer, he realized the three men where the Smithers Brothers, all members of the semi-formal scavenger community out of Great Falls, Montana, near the Base. Once a significant source of scavenged goods for the Free States, the new Federal Government had stamped down on their activities after they had acted as if they were a law unto themselves. The men were not triplets, but the family resemblance was close. The redhead was showing a stereotypical ginger temper towards the brothers.
“I told you not to shoot them in the head. I need undamaged brain samples for the official research. Later on, you will need to kill them with headshots, as I will need whole bodies. Can you understand the difference? Are you deaf, or just stupid?”
The four humans were standing among the corpses of four large Eaters and a stack of rifles. The alien creatures looked more massive than most based on Bobby’s experience. Two of the Smithers looked towards the third brother.
“You gonna let her talk to us like that, JoJo?” one of them asked.
Bobby figured by the question that JoJo was the eldest and in charge.
“No, Willy, I’m not,” replied JoJo. He stepped towards the ginger woman.
“Professor MacDuff, I suggest you watch your mouth. We do not take kindly to insults.”
“May I remind you who is paying you for this trip?” MacDuff shot back. “You’re receiving substantial pay in addition to the Eater bounties provided by the Government.
“How about just do your jobs?” the woman added.
JoJo looked at his brothers. “Willy, Jay, whattya think? Too much shit?”
“Yeah,” the two brothers answered in unison.
With their answer, JoJo turned towards the Professor and swung a flat hand slap at her. She ducked and kicked him in the family jewels. As she scrambled backward, she reached for a holstered pistol. Willy came and wrapped his thick arms around her, stopping her attempt to grab the handgun. JoJo, holding his groin, limped up to the woman.
“Now the real fun begins,” growled JoJo.
Bobby stepped out from behind a tree, rifle pointed at the tableau.
“Stop right there!” Bobby bellowed. The brothers looked at him as if he had three heads.
“Who the hell are you?” JoJo asked.
“Someone who doesn’t like to see women beaten up, no matter how much they piss you off.”
“Look at the old piece of shit rifle he has,” called out the brother Jay. “He’s lucky it don’t blow up when he shoots it.”
“Want to try me?” Bobby shot back. “I killed an Eater with it a couple of days ago.”
“Now, boy, let’s not do anything rash here,” Jojo said. “We’re all just trying to make a living.”
“Then do your goddamned jobs!” yelled the Professor. Willy squeezed her tighter, which resulted in the woman stomping on his foot, then putting a heel into his shin. Willy lifted her off her feet, twisted and threw her to the ground. He reached for a long-bladed knife in his belt as Bobby prepared to shoot him.
An Eater burst from the underbrush, heading straight for the four figures in the center of the clearing. It hit Jay first as he was the closest. Jay man screamed as the Eater opened its expandable jaws and latched them around his entire chest. Man and monster collapsed in a heap, as JoJo pulled a Bowie knife from his belt and scrambled to help his brother. Another Eater came running from the treeline on all six limbs, lather dripping from its oversized maw. Willy screamed as it went for him. The Eater leapt at him as Willy swung his blade, slicing the bug-eyed monster’s eye open. The creature let out an unforgettable scream and began to spin around in a circle as a third of its kind dashed from the vegetation. Bobby shot it as he yelled, “Make for the vehicles! Get inside!”
The Professor was up and running as a fourth beast made its appearance. Bobby shot it between the eyes as it beelined toward the woman. He worked the bolt and ran towards the SUV the Professor was jumping into. She held the door open for him as he saw a fifth and then a sixth Eater explode from the underbrush.
JoJo had gutted the Eater which had latched onto Jay, but not before it had chewed on the Smithers brother and gotten some of its highly corrosive digestive juices on him. Jojo lifted his brother up onto his shoulder and tried to run for the vehicles as Willy made it to the rifle stack and grabbed an AK-47. He fired a burst of bullets at the fifth and sixth Eaters, taking them down.
As Willy raised the rifle to shoot the Eater the man had cut, the Smithers brother did not notice the seventh Eater until it had latched onto him. He tumbled to the ground screaming. The cut Eater now joined the other in doing what it lived for—eating prey. Willy was cut off in mid-scream as his head was consumed whole by the mouth of the monster. Jojo was a few yards from the open door of the SUV when an eighth eater seemed to appear from nowhere. It slammed into him, impaling him with some of the quills that grew on its forearms. The front limbs ended in clawed hands which were used to grasp and rend prey—in this case, JoJo. Bobby stepped out of the SUV, jammed the Lebel’s barrel into the Eater’s face and fired. Brains and gore splattered about the clearing. He grabbed JoJo and dragged him into the SUV’s backseat as the Professor took the front. They shut and locked the doors. Bobby had been told Eaters would enter open windows but generally would not try to force or dig their way into structures or vehicles. They would usually wait for prey to come out into the open, then they would run it down.
Inside the SUV, the wounded JoJo tried to open the doors.
“My brothers…”
“Gone, stay here,” Bobby said calmly. “We can save you. Not them.”
JoJo slumped forward as the information sank in. Booby turned towards the ginger woman. “What’s your name?”
“MacDuff, Erin MacDuff.”
“Well, Erin, we need to find a first aid kit without moving around a lot and make noise. And we need to keep an eye on those Eaters.”
“You keep an eye out,” Erin said. “There should be a first aid kit in the back.”
As the woman crawled to the back of the SUV, Bobby reloaded his Lebel with a three round clip. Erin found the kit and stopped JoJo’s moaning with a syringe of morphine and bandaged him up.
“I do not know why I am doing this for you, JoJo,” Erin said. “I guess I’m a nicer person than you are, and your brothers were.”
.The two remaining Eater had gorged themselves on Willy, then took a few bites from Jay. After that, satiated, they crawled out into the brush to digest.
“They will now digest, and begin to bud in about a day,” explained Erin.
“Bud? You mean to make more Eaters?” asked Bobby.
“Yes. When Eaters have sufficient food, the monsters breed like our rabbits.”
“Well, our rabbits don’t try to eat us,” opined Bobby.
“No, they do not. By the way, what is your name?” asked Erin.
“Bobby. Bobby Parsons.”
“Are you with a Pest Control Group?”
“Yes. The other two folks should be along any time now. If not, we find some spa
re vehicle keys, or I hotwire the SUV, and we leave.”
“I can’t do that, Bobby,” stated Erin.
“Why not?” Bobby inquired.
“I have to have samples—Eater brains as well as Eater bodies to dissect. Something is going on with these damn aliens. Maybe a mutation.”
Bobby frowned. What was she saying? He repeated his thoughts aloud. “What are you talking about, Erin?”
“I’m working for Colonel and Doctor Bettie Bardun, the President’s Exobiologist. The Eaters seem to be getting larger, and their psychology and thinking patterns are changing. Some say they are becoming more like a social insect, like ants. Ants can make war. Can you imagine if Eaters conducted warfare activities like ants? We need to find out why.”
“Think it’s the Squids screwing around with genetics again?” asked Bobby.
“That, or some sick bastard humans.”
“So, that may be why so many came at us?” Bobby pondered.
“That, and the combination Eater vomit and human blood scent we developed to draw them in worked too damn well.”
Bobby laughed, then replied. “You scientists need to ask some of us Alabama farm boys about the animal scent. It’s hard to figure out what is needed to make animals do what you want them to do. Less is always best.”
Things were quiet for a few minutes. Then they heard an SUV approach.
“Hope that’s Brian,” said Bobby. “If I hadn’t left my radio in the camp, I could have led him to us.”
The SUV that approached was Brian, with Pops and Jobber. The dog went nuts with all of the Eater smell, barking and dashing around. Bobby stepped out of the vehicle to warn Brian and Pops about the Eaters still roaming around.
“You say the Eaters are in the brush over there?” asked Brian.
“Yes. Two at least. Sleeping off their meal,” replied Bobby.
Brian looked at both Pops and Jobber, then spoke. “You get to earn your keep. Jobber should be able to track them. Get your 12-gauge shotgun.”
“Why in the hell?” Pops protested. “Look at all these Eater carcasses. Cut the hands off for bounty…”
Free Range Protocol- Tales of the Tschaaa Infestation Page 35