by David McAfee
***
Colby and Janice washed their clothes in the stream. He hated putting his clothes back on, especially wet, but damned if he was gonna walk through these woods naked. Too many biting, scratching things out there that would love a taste of his tender flesh.
Janice got dressed, too, but elected not to wear her bra, which she said would chafe like crazy. She slid her white blouse over her smallish, firm breasts and the thin fabric clung to them. Colby had a weak moment where he stared at her nipples through her now translucent shirt, then shook his head. Later, he told himself. Janice caught the look and smiled, shrugging her shoulders.
“Sorry,” she said.” It’s all I have until we get back to the tent.”
“Come on,” he said, as calmly as he could manage. “We should get back to the camp and see if any of the guys are still there.” He hadn’t meant for it to come out sounding so contemptuous, but he couldn’t help it. The others had just run off and left him and Janice alone and at the mercy of two psychopaths. Well, all except for Steinman, and Colby didn’t want to think about how that turned out. Four of his charges dead now, instead of three. That familiar ache resurfaced, and he found it difficult to breathe.
Janice, obviously feeling better and more clear-headed, picked up on his derisive tone, and jumped to her colleagues’ collective defense. “They were just scared,” she said. “I don’t blame them. If Harp… if that thing hadn’t had a hold of me, I’d have bolted too.”
Colby nodded. “I know.” It still didn’t make it right.
“They didn’t have the benefit of your combat training, you know. They aren’t soldiers. They’ve never seen anything like this before.”
Colby shook his head, surprised at the amount of anger he felt. “Neither have I. Moretz, Allen and Edison all ran off, leaving us alone. When I see them again, I’ll...”
“You’ll what? Beat the crap out of them for being scared? They are scientists, Colby, not fighters. Moretz and Allen wouldn’t have been any good, and Edison...” She trailed off.
“Yeah?” Colby asked. “Edison what?”
“He would just have gotten himself killed,” Janice said thoughtfully. “If he’d tried to save me, he would have just gotten himself killed. And he knew it.”
“No shit, he knew it. Why do you think he ran?”
She didn’t say another word the rest of the way back to camp. Colby couldn’t blame her, he really didn’t feel much like talking, either. He berated himself for his mistakes the entire way. If only he hadn’t left his rifle behind. If only he’d been paying more attention to where he was going rather than running headlong into a trap while trying to save a damsel in distress. Shit, this wasn’t the Middle Ages, where did that chivalrous streak come from?
He vividly recalled the intense pounding in his chest when he heard Janice scream, and the wall of red that washed across his vision. What the fuck was that about? He looked backward and saw her watching the ground in front of her feet, lost in thought.
He tried to think of something to say when they reached the camp. What he saw there stopped him cold. He grabbed Janice’s arm and held her back, not wanting either of them to walk into a possible trap.
Bock and Steinman’s bodies were gone.
Chapter Twelve
Moretz was the first to return to the camp, about an hour or so after the last shot was fired. He stopped at the edge of the brush and peered through the foliage into the clearing. Sarge and Janice sat and talked at the table where they normally had their meals. Sarge’s head rested on the tabletop, while Janice rested her chin in her hands. Moretz felt his face turn red. They were both alive. And more than that, they knew he had run away and left them to die. He swore under his breath at his own cowardice.
He couldn’t help it. When he saw Steinman’s chest vanish in a cloud of scarlet, all he could think to do was run. He told himself it was perfectly natural; the body’s Fight or Flight instinct kicking in. He’d never been one for the fight, but flight? Yeah, that he could do. He could do that just fine, thank you, and he’d proven it yet again. Damn it.
Well, nothing he could do now except step back into the clearing and take his medicine. If Sarge wanted to beat the shit out of him there was little he could do to stop the former marine, and he couldn’t get home on his own. He’d never find his way out of the forest, and didn’t know where to start.
The choppers. The choppers would be coming here, to the clearing, and by God and sunny Jesus, Moretz was going to be here when they arrived. If that meant Sarge got a piece of him first, then so be it. Moretz would live, and then when the choppers showed up he could go back to Texas and take his frustration out on a handful of grad students. Better to get the shit kicked out of you than to be hunted down and killed in the woods by Bock.
He stared at Janice for a moment, and realized his infatuation with her was done. Every time he pictured her, he thought of himself running away into the night while she was in danger. Harper, with his grub-covered hands and piss-poor timing, had managed to see to it that Moretz no longer had a shot. Fucking asshole. The thought of Janice laying with that moron Sarge turned his stomach, but now it was inevitable. Moretz would have to find some other park to play in. That also meant he had to swallow his wounded pride and forget she kicked him in the balls. He could do that, if it meant getting the hell out of these woods in one piece.
He was just about to step into the clearing when a hand reached around from behind him and clamped down over his mouth. He tried to scream, but the hand held tight. He reached up and tried to pry the arm away from his face but it was like trying to move steel; it wouldn’t budge. Bock. It had to be Bock. Who else could it be? Bock was the only biologist Moretz had ever met that spent almost as much time in the gym as the lab. The burly jackass looked more like a football player than a man of science.
He kicked and scratched with his hands, trying to throw his attacker off, but he ended up overbalanced and he and his attacker fell to the floor of the forest in a tangle of limbs. He landed on his chest and felt the air squeeze out of his lungs, then something hard and painful jabbed into his spine. Bock’s knee, probably. It hurt like a son of a bitch!
“Hold still,” a harsh whisper said near his ear. He could feel Bock’s warm breath on his cheek. “This won’t hurt.”
Not Bock, he realized, but Allen. Allen had him pinned to the ground with his knee. What the fuck?
Then he felt a small jab of pain on the back of his neck. A tiny sting, really, as of something biting him. A spider, maybe, or a horsefly. He felt a wash of warmth flow through his body from the area of the bite, then the sting faded as the whole area turned numb. Venom, Maybe? Jesus! Allen was poisoning him!
He tried to thrash around on the ground, trying like mad to break Allen’s vice-like grip, or at least make enough noise to attract Sarge’s notice, but it didn’t help. Soon his whole body was numb from whatever poison Allen had put into his system. He slumped, too numb and tired to fight any more. Allen’s hand come away from his mouth, and he tried to shout to Sarge and Janice, hoping to get their attention so maybe they’d come save him. There were plenty of antidotes in the supply tent, they’d stocked up on them before they left. Surely they’d have something that could help him.
But he couldn’t work his jaw muscles, and only managed to drool on himself.
Then the numb feeling turned into a strange, pleasant sensation, and he discovered he didn’t want Sarge’s help anymore. Moretz was fine just where he was, lying on the forest floor with his good friend Allen. In fact, he was better than fine; this was perfect. He and a fellow man of science. Life was good! Why had he wanted to call Sarge, anyway? Sarge would just fuck it up. He was military, just another grunt. He didn’t belong in this group. The lazy, stupid bastard was just tagging along and trying to steal a bit of the glory for himself. And get a piece of Janice while he was at it.
The cocksucker. Janice was his, not Sarge’s.
He turned to look at the two, sitting
at the table and talking, and now he saw Sarge for what he was. A dumb ass pistol jockey just trying to make a move on Janice, another scientist, who was clearly above him. The bastard!
He’d show them. Both of them.
Chapter Thirteen
Colby and Janice sat at the small table in the center of their camp and listened for any sign of their missing comrades. Janice fidgeted with an empty test tube while Colby filled both clips for his .45 with hollow points. Some people might think a .45 caliber hollow point slug was overkill - a single round could disintegrate a man’s chest - but not Colby. Not in this case, anyway. The way the bodies kept getting up and walking around he figured he needed all the stopping power he could get.
The rifle was another matter. He had spare clips for it, of course, but the extra box of ammo he’d packed was missing, leaving him with two empty clips and one with five bullets remaining. Between the two guns, that meant they had a grand total of twenty-three rounds they could fire if the need arose. It should be plenty. He fingered the compass in his jacket pocket. Tomorrow morning he and Janice and any remaining members of the team were going hiking. They’d head East toward Caribou until they picked up a cell phone signal, at which point Colby was going to call Anzer and tell him to get them the fuck out of there.
After half an hour passed with no sign of the others, Colby’s stomach gurgled, reminding him he hadn’t eaten since breakfast. He glanced at his watch. Two a.m. They were going to have to eat something, then get to sleep if they would have any chance of getting out early tomorrow. He looked up to see Janice with her head on the table, already asleep. She looked cute sitting there like that.
He stood and walked to the tent, keeping an ear open for any noises coming from the outskirts of the clearing. He walked with his hand on the butt of his pistol, just in case. No fucking worm-addled scientist would get the drop on him this time, by God. He poked his head through the flap.
All his gear was in place, and the sleeping bag lay undisturbed on the floor of the tent. He stepped in and grabbed a bag of jerky from his backpack. After shoving the jerky in his pocket, he grabbed a bottle of water from the small cooler by the tent entrance, and stepped back out into the clearing.
He stood still for a count of sixty, listening to the sounds of the woods. No rustling twigs, no voices, nothing but the crickets and nighttime birds. Perfect.
He walked over to the table and set the water and the jerky on top of it, then he slung the rifle over his shoulder and bent over to pick Janice up. She would be easier to watch if she were safe inside the tent. She groaned at his touch, but settled into his arms easily enough. She was heavier than he thought she would be, but that was probably because of her muscle mass. The woman obviously worked out, and hard. He’d have thought the opposite to be true, but then again he didn’t know many scientists, let alone female botanists, so who was he to make assumptions?
He carried her over to her tent, again listening for sounds from the woods, but none came. He got to the tent in peace and carried her through the flap. Once inside, he laid her down on the sleeping bag and zipped it up. She snuggled into it and smiled in her sleep. Yes, definitely cute. He stared at her for another few seconds, fighting a strong impulse to lay down beside her, and then turned around and left the tent. Far better to let her sleep in peace, he thought. Besides, she’ll be gone soon. Back to her university and hallways full of students. It pained him more than he wanted to admit. Soon she would leave for Arizona, and he would be alone again, listening to the sounds of his empty house as he struggled to find sleep. The last two weeks with Janice had been free of his recurring dreams of Kuwait; the first time that had happened in over a decade. When she left, he knew the dreams would come back.
He thought about asking her to stay, but decided against it. Not because he thought she’d say no, but because he thought she just might say yes. She doesn’t belong here, Colby, he thought. And you know it. Don’t be selfish, now. He zipped the flap behind him and made his way back to the table, telling himself the moisture in his eyes was due to pollen.
When he reached the table, he checked the guns again, just to give his mind something else to think about. Twenty-three live rounds. Should be plenty. He picked up the jerky and popped a piece into his mouth. His stomach gurgled, excited at the sudden intake of food, and he dug out some more. He sat in silence, eating from the package and drinking from his water bottle, wondering when he would be able to sleep again. He couldn’t do it while Janice was asleep, that was certain. Someone had to stay awake and keep watch. Tonight, it seemed that someone was he.
***
Moretz and Allen watched as Colby sat at the table. Moretz wanted to run into the clearing and rip the bastard’s head clean off, but Allen held him back. Probably better, anyway. Moretz knew he could never get to Colby before the fucker got a shot off. Having seen firsthand how good the man was with a gun, he wouldn’t risk it. He would bide his time and wait until Colby fell asleep. Sooner or later, fatigue would win.
Then Colby would be dead, and Janice would be free for the taking.
Chapter Fourteen
Colby sat at the table and willed his eyes to stay open. It was too dangerous for sleep, that much was obvious. He’d just have to wait until daylight, then he and Janice could hike east toward Caribou and, with any luck, pick up a cell phone signal before the day was over. It shouldn’t be too hard. Even in northern Maine they built cell phone towers, they just put most of them far away from the woodlands because no one lived there. But the closer they got to town the more likely it was they’d pick up some of the weaker signals. Hell, any signal would be better than none at all. He’d take a staticky call over sitting in these fucking woods any day of the week.
The problem was, try as he might, he couldn’t seem to keep his eyes open. He kept nodding off, and he’d jerk his head up as soon as he felt it slipping down.
The forest didn’t help. Crickets chirped around him and night birds sang. An owl hooted a soothing call, and small animals rustled softly through the underbrush. All these soft noises tried to lull him to sleep. He’d sure like to hear a cabbie swearing and honking right now, or maybe a heated argument in the next apartment. Something other than the constant low buzzing of the night time woods, which seemed designed to keep people like him from staying awake. What a fucked up universe.
His head dropped again, and this time his shoulders followed it to the table. What harm would it do to lay his head down, anyway? It was so heavy. He could stay awake with his head on the table, couldn’t he? Of course he could. He pulled the .45 from his holster and laid it on the wood just underneath his palm. There, easy reach. Anyone who stepped into the camp would have to face his gun.
Then, against all his better instincts, Colby closed his eyes.
***
Moretz watched as Colby’s head went down to the table. He never took his eyes off the gun. From his vantage point, he couldn’t tell if the gun was cocked, loaded, or if the safety was on. It didn’t matter, though. Once Colby was sound asleep he’d make his move and walk into the campsite. Moretz spent the next few minutes imagining many horrible deaths for Colby. A burning stick through the eye, decapitation, even skinning alive, he smiled at each new thought. But in the end they were just fantasies, and none of them would be as quick and sure as a bullet through the head.
First, though, he had to get the gun. And for that, he had to make sure Colby was dead asleep. He smiled.
It won’t be long now.
***
The sound of a snapping twig woke Colby from his doze. He jerked to his feet and whipped the gun around to face whatever stepped into the camp. There was Bock, standing five steps away with his arms out in front of him like a zombie in a Romero film. How the fuck was that possible? He tightened his trigger finger and almost squeezed off a round.
“What the fuck, Colby?” The figure said. “Point that thing somewhere else, would you?”
That hadn’t sounded like Bock. Colby ru
bbed his eyes and shook his head, trying to clear away the cobwebs. When he opened them again he saw it wasn’t Bock, but Edison who stood in front of him, holding his arms up like some back alley robbery victim.
“Take off your shirt,” Colby said.
“What?”
Colby pulled the hammer on the revolver back and arched one eyebrow.
Edison got the point. He stripped off his shirt and stood, bare-chested, in the dying firelight. “There. Happy?”
“Now turn around,” Colby said. “I want to see your back.”
Edison did so, turning a complete three hundred sixty degree spin. Colby noted with relief there was not a single grub on him. Nor was there any sign of a bite. He nodded and holstered the pistol. “Sorry, Edison. After Bock, I ain’t taking any chances.”
Edison reached down and picked up his shirt. As he shoved his arms through the sleeves he looked around the campsite and his eyes finally settled on the big bloody patch where Bock’s head had been a few hours prior.
“I guess I can’t blame you there,” he said, and pulled out a cigarette. “Got a light?”
“I don’t smoke,” Colby replied.
“I quit fifteen years ago.” Edison stepped over to the dwindling fire, grabbed a thin branch that glowed red at the tip, and brought it up to light the cigarette. He drew in an exaggerated breath, and after a moment blew out a cloud of smoke. “Tonight seemed like as good a night as any to start back up again.”
“Where’d you get the smokes if you quit?”
“I stole a pack from Bock’s tent after you guys left to find what was left of Jared.” He took another drag off the cigarette.
“No shit?”
“Yeah. At first I was worried he’d get pissed, but now I don’t guess he’ll be coming back for them, huh?”