by C. R. Turner
“I don’t think it’s hurt anywhere,” she calls out softly.
Bradley cautiously treads closer, holding out his hand for it to sniff. He looks moved by the sight, his standard-issue deadpan replaced with a momentary veil of sadness. He steps closer and the Canine Maximus nuzzles its head into Bradley’s chest. I just sit there, not wanting to get Max too close. Sam and Bradley chat for a minute before Bradley walks over to me. Hawkins and Emerson join us.
“It must be SF Mustangs MOSAR attachment,” Bradley says before glancing back over his shoulder at the animal.
“Where’s the rest of the team? They’re not all dead, are they?” Emerson asks.
“We’ll stop for half an hour,” Bradley says. “Hawkins, Emerson, run a short radius sweep through the immediate area. Stinson, why don’t you check out the canine, see if it’s injured?”
I jump off and hand Bradley Max’s reins. I remember when I first met Max and the tension between us. That was a long time ago, but I must admit I’m still a little scared. The Canine Maximus – a female – is fully grown, but she’s still about half a foot shorter than Max: roughly six foot at the shoulder blades. She sniffs me as I approach. I must smell like Max. Her eyes are a deep jade colour. Now closer, I see all the blood. Where’s her owner? Whose blood is it?
She becomes unsettled and stomps her front paws. “Easy … easy,” I whisper.
“It’s got to be SF Mustangs, Ay?” Sam says.
I nod.
“Where are they?”
I shake my head. I’ve no idea what could get the better of a striker force team or make a member of SF Mustang shoot Teenan – their best chance of getting out of this jungle.
Sam pats the Canine Maximus on the neck to calm her. I notice some lettering stamped in the dark-brown leather bridle: the name “Jade” with some decorative patterning on either side. I lift the section of bridle to show Sam. We share a smile. Just when we have her calmed, a tree in the thick jungle behind us sways as though something really big jumped out of the tree. Jade flares her nostrils and pulls on her reins.
Bradley leads Max over. “What was that?”
“I don’t know,” I reply, as my heart rate returns to normal.
Max and Jade are now standing close and sniffing each other. It’s a comical sight as they size each other up, ears pinned back as they circle each other. After a tense moment they settle.
I ask Bradley, “The blood must be recent, surely?”
Bradley cracks his pursed lips. “Unless it just wasn’t raining heavily here, but I hardly see how that would be possible.”
Bradley presses the button on one of his Core-link earpieces. “Bradley, Emerson, contact?”
“Emerson.”
“Any sign of SF Mustang?”
“Neg, sir.”
“Bradley, Hawkins, contact?”
There’s a brief crackle through the Core-link, then Hawkins replies, “Neg, sir.”
Thirteen miles down, and it’s raining again. I don’t know why Sam doesn’t just ride Jade. The blood must be all washed off by now. The sound of raindrops hitting leaves, the sweat smell of tree oil and fresh vegetation, the fog flooding the jungle and the cool moist air on my face is like food for my soul – peaceful – though I know better than most, nature has a way of turning your world upside down and shaking everything out.
Movement high in the canopy ahead catches my eye. A cluster of animals with brown fur, long limbs and small eyes are sitting in the forks of tree branches. They’re devouring leaves while scanning the jungle, as though keeping watch. I’ve never seen anything like them, and I twist my neck to keep watching as we trek past.
A few hours later, Max lifts and turns his head, sniffing at the air as he walks. I take note and lead the team up the steep hill in the direction of Max’s gaze. I reach the top before everyone else and swallow as my heart starts to race. A striker force soldier in camouflage clothing is strung up in a tree. In another tree alongside, is the striker scout. If it weren’t for Max, we would have passed right by.
I leap off Max and run up, hoping to save them. We’re too late. I reach out and place my hand on the soldier’s boot. By the stage of decomposition, they’ve only been dead a short while, a day or two at most. I hear the team behind me as I drop my gear.
“It’s Specialist Falone and SS Smith, sir,” Hawkins says.
“Help me cut them down,” Bradley orders.
I unclip my thigh holster and pull out my knife. Bradley, Hawkins and I jump into action, working together to get them down. Once they’re on the ground, Bradley kneels and touches the clothing around one of dozens of knife wounds, as if he’s sizing the puncture up.
Bradley looks up. “Death by exsanguination?”
I nod. This can only be the actions of a mad man. I wonder if the prisoners from the Equilibria are loose and on a murderous rampage. What other possible explanation could there be?
I kneel alongside Bradley. “Sir, should we be preparing to engage with the prisoners?”
Bradley raises an eyebrow and shakes his head. “I don’t think this is the work of a prisoner. Alright, bag them up … we’ll have to strap them down to Jade’s saddle.”
A bit of a gap has formed between me and Max and the rest of the team when Bradley calls me on the Core-link. “Stinson, we’ve travelled enough for stage two. Stop at this clearing up ahead.”
I press my earpiece. “Yes, sir.”
When we stop and I see the faces on the rest of the team, I feel guilty for having it so easy riding Max. They look stuffed. At least the rain has stopped and the clouds are clearing. Half-a-dozen Amanos munch away on leaves as we setup camp. Emerson and Taylor unstrap Falone’s and Smith’s body bags and place them on the ground. Hawkins gives me a wink as I setup Sam’s and my swags, closer to the rest of the group.
It takes some effort, but I manage to find some dry timber by smashing a big, rotten hollowed-out log. I’ve just got the campfire going when Emerson jumps up with his Ashra in hand. Alarmed, Taylor grabs hers but then grins when Emerson sets his Ashra to stun and shoots two of the Amanos.
An hour later, Emerson has the Amanos roasting on the campfire. After eating Union sealed meals for the past two days, I look forward to a cooked meal. The higher gravity is a drain, and it seems I’m always hungry now. Emerson takes the Amanos off the campfire and carves them up. They smell delicious. Max and Jade are lying side by side watching Emerson as he serves the roast meat. He hands me a plastic plate with a leg on it. Halfway through my tasteless Union meal, I take the plate, eager to try it. I offer it to Sam, but she just scrunches up her face and shakes her head.
I take a bite and wrinkle my nose. “Aw … it tastes like Bellona.”
I take a second bit. Nah … I’d rather eat something that has no taste than that. I put my plate down and reluctantly swallow before going back to my Union meal.
As the rest of the team relax and warm themselves around the campfire, I start to relax a little myself. Sam and I watch and listen, taking in their conversations. The fire burns down under the dim light of Daisuke, low on the horizon, and when we tire, we climb into our swags and try to get some sleep.
Chapter 9
I wake to the area engulfed in fog. I can’t even see most of the team, let alone the jungle. Through the insidious fog, a figure appears. My heart races. The fog stirs in eddies as the figure strides toward me. It’s Sam. She has her all-black Union knife clenched hard in her hand and is staring at me with murderous intent. There’s blood on her hands, face and clothes. Blood drips from her knife. I sit up and unclip my thigh holster as she closes in. She towers above me, her body silhouetted against the fog as she raises her knife high.
I jolt awake. My heart pounding so hard it feels like a series of small explosions in my chest. I try in vain to catch my breath. The campsite is blanketed in low-lying fog. Sam approaches with her Union knife out. Is this real? Am I still dreaming? Flailing my arms and legs, I try to crab away. What is she doing?
“Joel,” she calls out. I have a ringing in my ears and my head thumps as if it’s been whacked with a lump of wood.
Climbing to my feet, I scream, “What are you doing?”
Hyperventilating, I unclip my thigh holster and rip out my knife. I grip the polished wood handle and hold it up to defend myself. The shiny stainless steel blade catches Sam’s eyes.
“What are you doing?” she asks, terrified.
What? Why is she asking me what I’m doing? She’s the one approaching me with her knife in hand. I glance again, but her hands are empty. What’s happening to me? I feel dizzy and collapse to my knees, dropping my knife. Something’s seriously wrong! Sam gets down on one knee in front of me and places her hand on my shoulder. I bury my face in my palms.
“What’s wrong?” Sam asks, a quiver in her voice, her hands shaking.
Bradley and Emerson are still sleeping. The rest of the camp is empty.
“Where is everybody?” I ask.
“I don’t know. When I woke up, they were gone. What’s wrong?”
Extreme anger builds inside me – at the Union, for the situation we’re in; at myself for taking us away from Arcadia. I’m like a pressure cooker with no relief valve. I want to grab my knife and slash at everything. What fresh hell is this?
I climb to my feet, holding my head as my adrenaline surges and my heart races. I should kill Bradley and Emerson while I have the chance. They dragged us into this … oh hell … what am I thinking? I grit my teeth, fighting my mad thoughts. This must be what happened to SF Mustang. It’s debilitating. Why isn’t Sam affected?
“What’s wrong?” Sam pushes for an explanation.
“I don’t know,” I gasp. “I can’t explain it. Something’s seriously off. I keep having visions of knife fights, and when I woke … I thought you were coming at me with your knife.”
Sam’s face is knotted with fear and confusion. Bradley wakes. He leaps to his feet grabbing his Ashra, setting it to blast and aiming it at Sam and me.
“Drop it,” he hollers, the vein on his forehead raised, his face red with fury.
“Drop what?” I yell.
Emerson finally wakes, and grabs his Ashra, unsure where to point it. Emerson can barely stand, his massive muscular body pulled down by Hikaru’s insane gravity.
“What did you do to them?” Bradley screams at us, spit and drool running down his chin.
Sam speaks up. “They were gone when I woke.”
Bradley and Emerson eyeball each other. If these guys start shooting, we’re all dead. Emerson backs up with rage in his eyes – he’s about to explode. I grab my chest – my heart’s pounding so hard I’m not sure it can take much more. Emerson turns and runs off into the jungle. Bradley aims his Ashra at me and backs up, before taking off in the opposite direction. As I stare off into the jungle to where Bradley disappeared, Sam reaches out to grab my hand, and I nearly jump out of my skin. I pull away and step back. Sam’s terrified. I muster all my willpower to slow my heart, anger still coursing through my veins. I concentrate on my breathing, taking slow deep breaths. Max walks over and lowers his head to mine. His calming presence helps. Sam steps closer.
“Why don’t you sit down?” Sam asks, concern on her face and in her voice.
Horrific images of knives and dead bodies keep flashing into my mind. I close my eyes and take a second to compose myself. Crashing on the ground, I lie back and focus on listening to the bird calls to take my mind away. Sam sits beside me and places her hand on my leg. This must be what insane feels like. What’s happening to me?
All the men’s backpacks and swags are right where they left them before all hell broke loose. Sam keeps bringing me bottles of water from a nearby creek, and we both just spend the morning sitting around the campsite drinking as much as we can. I get a snack out and share it with her.
“Do you think Hawkins, Taylor and Pisano are still alive?” I ask.
Sam frowns. “Why wouldn’t they be?”
The visions and flushes of anger have passed, but I still feel like I’m about to jump out of my skin.
“Because if they’re affected by the same thing I am, it would turn striker force soldiers into highly skilled psychopaths.”
Sam wrinkles her brow. “What are we going to do?”
I shake my head. “I suppose we gather the men’s gear and keep heading to the crash site.”
A twig cracks with vivid clarity, and Sam and I both spring to our feet. Hawkins walks out of the surrounding jungle with his Ashra.
“Hey,” he says, pointing his Ashra toward the ground. He seems calm.
“Where are Taylor and Pisano?” Sam asks.
“I woke this morning to Taylor holding her knife to Pisano’s throat. Pisano took off into the jungle, and Taylor chased after him. I gave chase to try to stop her but lost them.” Hawkins pauses for a second. “Where’s Bradley and Emerson?”
Anger swells up from the pit of my stomach like a volcano erupting, twisting my mind. “What the hell is that supposed to mean? Do you think I had something to do with them going missing?”
Hawkins is taken aback. “Take it easy Stinson. We’re in this together.”
I grasp my forehead, close my eyes and empty my lungs. “Sorry, Hawkins … I’m not myself.”
Hawkins’ face is riddled with confusion. “What’s going on?”
I try to recall the past few days, but nothing explains this madness. Why are Sam and Hawkins unaffected? Hawkins is a vegetarian but … “I’ve been having mad visions of knife fights and dead bodies. I had bad stomach cramps and nausea last night after we went to bed. Do you think it’s the Amanos we ate last night? I wonder if it has some kind of hallucinogenic chemical in it? I only ate a small amount, but I was seriously ill this morning.”
“Could it be?” Hawkins asks.
I shrug. “I don’t know … it could be anything – the water or even some of the plant life. But the stomach cramps and nausea have to be related to the Amanos, surely.”
Hawkins shakes his head. “Well, that would explain Taylor’s behaviour. Bloody hell, it has a wonderful natural defence mechanism.”
I add, “Yeah … you dare not eat it or you’ll become a resident in hell.”
Hawkins flicks through his Core-link. “Pisano and Taylor are five miles out. They must have been really hoofing it.”
“Where’s Bradley and Emerson?” Sam asks.
Hawkins pans over. “They’re a couple miles out.”
“Now what?” I ask.
Hawkins shakes his head while Sam and I stare at him. “We’ll keep heading to the crash site.”
“Shouldn’t we try to pull the team back together?” I ask.
“Negative. We’re not going after a striker force prime and chordus in the condition they’re in. They’re on their own for now.”
Stage three – zero miles down. Hawkins takes point. Sam and I lead Jade and Max, now fully loaded, on foot. Noises in the jungle spook me from time to time, and using my Core-link, I confirm we’re being followed. We’re well behind schedule, but I hardly think that matters anymore. With both Kyts destroyed, our only hope of getting out of here anytime soon lies with the Equilibria. If we can’t find it or it can’t be salvaged, it means turning around and trekking all the way back to landing site Falcon, then an additional thousand miles on through to the RASB. Something I don’t even want to contemplate right now.
We’re three quarters through stage three’s time allotment and should have already made camp and be resting, but we still have miles to go. I can feel my stomach and guts churning – I guess it’s a mix of hunger and my body still trying to expel the last of the Amano.
After hours without a break and having to walk for the first time, I can now appreciate how tough it’s been on the rest of the team. Riding Max everywhere instead of walking has made me soft. Hawkins is a machine; he keeps pounding out the miles like it’s a race against time. I wane and slip in the mud, sliding back down the hill a few feet
before coming to rest.
Hawkins turns back and kneels. “Are you hurt?”
“No,” I reply, not wanting to tell him I’m exhausted.
I dig deep and push myself up out of the mud.
“Come on. We’ll make camp at the top of this ridge.”
Though I’ve hardly eaten all day, I find it somewhere within me to push on. I learned long ago how to ignore pain. I’ve got this.
When we make it to the top of the ridge, there’s a break in the trees and we can see for hundreds of miles. It’s a breathtaking sight, but it just drives home how isolated we are. We’re the rescue team. If we’re going to survive this, we first have to rescue ourselves.
We unload Max and Jade and crash on the ground for a while.
Sam gets up and grabs her bow and arrows. “I’m going to see if I can get us some food.”
Hawkins gets up. “I’ll come with—”
“I’ll be fine,” Sam cuts him off. “If I see any of the men, I’ll run back to camp.”
“At least take your Ashra,” Hawkins yells to Sam’s back.
“I don’t need it,” she yells over her shoulder as she vanishes into the jungle.
Hawkins smiles and shakes his head.
After pulling the meat off the fireplace, I carve it up with my knife. I hand Hawkins and Sam some before helping myself. I forgot how good razorbacks taste. What we don’t eat, we plan to give to Max and Jade. I’m sure they’d prefer some fresh meat over the preserved beef the MOSAR Division provides.
“I think we should wait a few hours before giving Max and Jade any, just to be sure,” Hawkins says.