“We need to go, ma’am,” Walker told her. “Time’s a cooking and we don’t want to get burnt by it.”
“Double time!” Heather growled and charged ahead of the others in the direction of the VTOL.
****
Colonel Lee stood with Grayson, his lieutenant, at the end of the ramp leading up into the plane. Glen’s body still lay on the ground not far away in a pool of red where the colonel had blown a hole through his skull at point-blank range. The corpse was beginning to stink in the humidity and heat of the sun. The stench was the least of Colonel Lee’s concerns. The search of the plane had turned up nothing useful about the nature of the device Heather’s squad was after or the path they had taken to reach it. Colonel Lee knew that merely waiting here at the squad’s planned “exit” point would guarantee an encounter with Heather and her squad, but she and her people were too good for that. There would be no ambushing them in force by lying in wait for them. Their numbers were too great to conceal even if he sent the copters elsewhere. A single slip up by any of his men would reveal their presence to someone with as keen of instincts as Heather’s, and his men would be the ones on the defensive. No way in hell was he going to let that happen. His group may have the numbers and firepower, but Heather’s had other advantages that she could exploit if she and her folks weren’t intercepted before they reached the clearing with the VTOL.
“Lieutenant Grayson,” Colonel Lee purred, reaching out to place a hand on the man’s shoulder. “Fritz is something of a tracker, isn’t he?”
“He is,” Lieutenant Grayson answered.
“I want you to take him and a dozen men of your own choosing. Find the squad that Braxton sent out here and take the device from them by any means necessary,” Colonel Lee ordered. “If you feel inclined to bring some of them back alive when you return … I won’t think less of you for it though I would prefer otherwise.”
“We can be on the move in ten, sir,” Lieutenant Grayson snapped.
“Be about it then, soldier.” Colonel Lee watched Grayson scurry away to organize the men he’d be taking with him.
Alan and Boulder flanked his position at the end of the plane’s ramp. They were his personal guards. Colonel Lee had trusted the pair of them with his life on many occasions. Alan was a slimy sort of fellow, his hair always oily and with a beak-like nose. His lips were parted in a perpetual grin that reminded Lee of a weasel. Instead of carrying a standard-issue weapon like the bulk of Lee’s men, Alan wore twin revolvers holstered on his hips. Boulder was a sharp contrast to Alan’s meek appearance and sleek frame. He was a giant of a man, standing nearly seven feet tall, all thick, hardened muscle with a sour expression of determination on his face. Colonel Lee turned to Alan.
“This clearing is dangerous no matter how many sentries we post. We’re too exposed out here,” Colonel Lee commented. “If the lieutenant fails in his task …”
“I read you loud and clear, Colonel,” Alan said. “I’ll set up some nasty surprises in the trees for anyone who happens to come along this way as soon as the LT’s men have gotten moving.”
“I think that would be prudent,” Colonel Lee replied.
“Sir, you need to stay aboard the plane, sir!” Boulder roared.
Colonel Lee glanced at the giant. “Is that so?”
Boulder flinched at Lee’s tone. “Sir, I am only thinking of your safety, sir. The plane is armored and it’s unlikely that this Heather lady and her men are lugging around anything out there that could harm it.”
“Man has a point, Colonel,” Alan said. “Might not be a bad idea as I reckon you’ll be wanting us to head up the security around this clearing. There’s only one way in and one way easily off that plane, sir. We can station a healthy number of men in its rear cargo section to ensure that no one of the wrong mind will be joining you there.”
Colonel Lee laughed. “What would I ever do without the two of you?”
“You’d be dead, sir,” Boulder said, answering bluntly and honestly.
If anyone else had said those words, their bodies would be never be found … in one piece. Colonel Lee knew Boulder well enough to know his mental limitations however, and he knew that sometimes such devote loyalty in a follower came at a price. In Boulder’s case, the giant was too honest for his own good at times. Still, Lee let the comment slide and simply continued to smile.
“You gents know where to find me if the need arises then,” Colonel Lee said and started up the ramp into the plane. “Keep your helmet radios on and stay alert. This lady, from what I have heard and read, is not someone you want to underestimate.”
“Yes, sir!” Alan and Boulder chorused together as he turned his back on them and went on up inside the plane. The air conditioning felt wonderful as he made his way to the cockpit area and took a seat there. There was nothing to do now but wait and let his men tend to the business that had brought them all to this place.
****
Wallace ran through the jungle. Her legs pumped beneath as her heart pounded against her ribcage. She was sure that she was long clear of anyone that might have tried to pursue her from the troops that had landed. What she hadn’t expected was to run straight upon a group of hungry cannibals who had apparently been on their way there. The native tribesmen were as surprised as she was when she came crashing from the brush onto the path they were traveling. Their eyes had gone wide as they saw her. Wallace would have opened fire on them, but she knew didn’t want to take the chance of the sound of the shots being heard by anyone else. She had skidded to a halt just short of the closest of them and the stench of their sweat stung her nostrils. Wallace flipped her rifle about in her hands and rammed its butt into the face of the cannibal she had stopped in front of as he reached for her. Bone crunched as the man’s nose caved inward from the force of her blow. His body slumped to land at her feet as the others raged, shouting what she was sure were obscenities in a language that was utterly alien to her. One of the cannibals was fast enough to get his blowgun up and take a shot at her before she could get moving again. The poison-smeared dart thunked into the combat armor covering her right shoulder blade but didn’t penetrate it. Wallace returned the favor by yanking her knife from where it was sheathed on her belt and throwing it at him. The blade tumbled end over end through the distance between them to slide into the tribesman’s forehead. Blood ran down over his cheeks and chest as his blowgun fell from his hands. One down, eighteen more to go, Wallace thought darkly as three of the tribesmen charged at her.
Wallace popped a smoke grenade and tossed it onto the ground between them. The shouts of the tribesmen took on an edge of fear as the smoke sprayed from the grenade to envelop the area. She quickly dealt with the three closing in on her, grabbing the first and flinging him around into the one directly behind him. The two of them crashed to jungle floor in a twisted mess of flailing and fumbling limbs. The third took a swing at her with what looked to have once been someone’s femur. Wallace dodged the blow and swept the tribesman’s feet from under him. Even as he fell, she was already moving, running away from the cloud of smoke. That was how her now seemingly endless flight had started. She could hear the cries of the cannibals as they raced through the jungle after her. Wallace kept telling herself just a little further and she could send the bastards to hell in a blaze of hot lead. And as soon as she had covered enough distance to be absolutely sure that no one from the other unit of mercs would hear her shots, that was her plan. The problem lay in that there were no means of being sure of what she wanted to be sure of so Wallace just kept running. Regardless, she was becoming sick of running.
There was another knife tucked inside her boot. Wallace paused and drew the blade. She could hear the tribesmen. They were almost on her. Ducking behind a tree, she hoped they would be so fired up that they wouldn’t notice her. Sure enough, caught up in a primal reaction to a pale-skinned redhead and the shock of the smoke bomb, they charged by her position. Wallace stepped out from behind the tree as they went by. She c
aught the last of them, slipping an arm around the tribesman’s throat to stop him. He struggled, howling like a wounded animal, as she plunged her knife’s blade into his back and kidneys in rapid succession. His cries drew the attention of the others, but this time, she was ready for them. She met the first to come at her with a snap kick that hurled him backward into another behind him. The two of them went down. A third tribesmen charged at her. The blade of her knife flicked through the air, slashing a deep groove across the man’s face, destroying his eyes in the process. Wallace pressed her advantage, rushing directly into the next trio of tribesmen closing on her. Like a dancer, she moved among their ranks, her blade drawing blood as she sliced open the side of one’s neck, rammed her blade up through a second’s chin and then yanked it free, before finally slamming the blade of her knife into the forehead of the last. This time, her knife refused to be pulled free. Its blade was wedged in the man’s skull. Wallace had no time to fight to free the weapon so she let it go. The two she had knocked to the ground were back on their feet behind her and the rest of their brethren were coming at her from the front. The fact that she had just killed five of their number did nothing to discourage the others.
One of the tribesmen tried to cave in her head with a swing of the club he carried. Wallace dodged the swing and planted a fist in the man’s gut. His breath left his lungs in a pained grunt. She followed up with a strike to his throat that crushed his windpipe entirely. The tribesman staggered away from her, turning blue as he fought to breathe and couldn’t. A blowgun dart bounced off the front of her combat armor and another buried itself in the bark of a tree to her right. Wallace realized she had lost the advantage of surprise and the battle had become a numbers game. Even with seven of their number dead, the tribesmen still outnumbered her ten to one. She needed a distraction, something that would allow her to disengage and make a run for it again. The smoke grenade she had popped earlier was her only one. She still didn’t dare use any of the guns she carried for fear that they would draw even more unwanted attention. Wallace unslung her M-16 from her shoulder and lashed out with it. The tribesmen she struck at saw the attack coming and blocked it with his club, batting the end of the rifle aside. Wallace recovered quickly like the professional she was and struck again, this time bringing the butt of the rifle down on the man’s leg. The bone inside it cracked as the man wailed and toppled sideways. Wallace continued her fighting retreat as the tribesmen began to encircle her, using their numbers to pin her in and deny her the room to maneuver.
Wallace didn’t see or hear the thing behind her until its arm closed about her, lifting her into the air in front of it. Whatever the thing was, the tribesmen hadn’t seen it either, but they surely did now. Their battle cries and shouts of anger turned to shrieks of utter terror. Wallace watched them scatter, turning tail to run away with stark fear in their eyes. The smell of the thing holding her hit her nostrils. It was so powerful she didn’t just gag, its stench made her so sick she almost blacked out from the power of it. The thing holding her smelled of urine, crap, rotting meat, and congealed blood all mixed into a single, nasty odor. She used her legs that were dangling freely in the air to kick backward into what she hoped was the thing’s upper thighs. The thing was completely un-phased by her effort. It felt as if she had kicked the trunk of a tree or a brick wall. Whatever the thing was, its arms were so tight about her she felt as if her ribcage was about to fold in on itself from the pressure of its hold.
She felt something move against her back as if the very body of the thing holding her was shifting and changing in an unnatural way. Wallace realized that had actually sunk partly into its body before pain made her cry out and what felt like dozens of knife blades pierced her back and sides. Blood gushed from her as the thing released her to drop to the ground in front of it. Wallace could feel that a good bit of her back was simply gone. The world around her was spinning as she looked up at the creature towering above her and saw what had happened to her back. The beast stood over eight feet tall. Even moving, it was hard to see as it blended so perfectly into the jungle around it. Its movements were silent as well, despite the beast’s size and bulk. In the center of the front of its body was a huge mouth, its lips smeared with her blood. The thing had no head but at the top of its upper torso, a single yellow eye burned angrily, seeming to glow even in the sunlight that seeped through the cover of the trees. Wallace tried to get to her feet and failed. Her legs weren’t listening to her brain. The thing had bitten into her spine, damaging it. The pain that coursed through her was near blinding. It was difficult to stay conscious much less focus. It took everything she had left to draw the pistol holstered on her hip and aim at the creature. One of the creature’s giant, clawed hands slapped the pistol from her hands. The pistol bounced along the jungle floor away from her to land far beyond her reach.
Wallace screamed again as the fingers of one of its hands slid through her hair and closed upon her head. The tips of the thing’s claws pressed inward, sinking through the bone of her skull. Her body twitched and started to spasm as they dug into the soft tissue of her brain. She died instantly, wondering what the thing was that had killed her.
****
“Cannibals,” Fritz said, getting to his feet from where he had been squatting to examine one of the corpses that littered the clearing.
Grayson wasn’t sure what he had been expecting going after Heather and her squad, but cannibal tribesmen certainly weren’t it. He and his men had come upon what had to be a campsite they had used the night before. It was clear a desperate battle had taken place in the camp. There were bodies everywhere. Warren, one of his men, told him that there was over two dozen, but it looked like so many more to Grayson. Quite a few of the bodies were blown apart, by grenades given the burns that also marked them. Only one of the bodies didn’t belong to a tribesman. It wore partially removed combat armor and other gear. The body was male and its skin was horrid yellow color, a likely side effect of the poison that had killed the man. Grayson remembered that the pilot had told them that there were half a dozen folks in Heather’s squad, counting her and one corporate lackey that the Braxton folks had saddled them with. He imagined this poor bastard was that guy and not one of Heather’s own.
“How do you know that these guys are cannibals?” Grayson heard Warren ask Fritz.
“He’s got what appears to be shreds of human skin stuck in his teeth,” Fritz answered. “I’d say that’s a good sign that he was. The folks we’re after did us a favor by putting these guys down. At least we won’t have to deal with them now.”
“You don’t think there are more of them out there?” Warren had gone pale, his eyes flitting about the edges of the clearing as if he expected more of the tribesmen to magically appear at any moment and come at them.
“Could be,” Fritz answered. “Hopefully, if there are more cannibals, the guys we’re after scared the crap out of them and they’ll be lying low for a while.”
“All the more reason for us to proceed with extreme caution,” Grayson spoke up, taking control of the conversation. “We all need to stay sharp so we don’t end up like this jerk.”
Grayson kicked the yellowed, poisoned corpse with his boot.
Fritz came over to him and motioned that he wanted a word alone. Grayson nodded.
“Everyone hold your positions,” Grayson ordered, “ …and keep an eye out for trouble.”
He followed Fritz to the center of the camp as his men were spread out around its edges.
“There’s more, sir,” Fritz told him in a voice little more than a whisper.
“I gathered that,” Grayson said, wishing Fritz would just get to the point already. The sooner they had whatever talk the tracker wanted to have, the sooner they could get moving again. The corpses bothered him. Even in death, the feral nature of the tribesmen’s bodies haunted him on a primal level.
“Get on with it,” Grayson urged Fritz who seemed reluctant to say whatever he had called him aside for aloud.
“There are tracks around this clearing, sir,” Fritz finally said. “They’re not like anything I’ve encountered before. Their depth and placement point to whatever made them being huge.”
“We’re in a jungle, Fritz,” Grayson said with a sigh. “Of course there’s going to be weird stuff out here.”
“You don’t understand.” Fritz shook his head in frustration. “These tracks … I think they might belong to a Mapinguari or maybe even more than one of the creatures.”
Grayson started at Fritz. Usually, the tracker was a pretty solid guy. He had no idea what in the devil he was going on about now though. “And what’s a Maping …?” Grayson’s words stumbled as he tried to recall what Fritz had said correctly. “You know what I mean, dang it.”
“A Mapinguari is a creature that’s supposed to exist in these jungles. Think of them as the Amazon’s version of Bigfoot. They’re nasty things. Sort of like giant sloths if I remember right,” Fritz explained.
“You’re pulling my leg, aren’t you, Fritz?” Grayson snapped. “You can’t seriously believe in monsters.”
“I believe in facts, sir, and those prints … I don’t have any other explanation for them. Do you?” Fritz shot back at him.
Grayson saw that the tracker wasn’t joking at all. “No, but what you’re suggesting is insane. There’s no such thing as monsters.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure, sir,” Fritz argued. “Think about all the evidence that supports the existence of Bigfoot in America. There’s that much or more evidence that the Mapinguari exists.”
“This argument is over, Fritz,” Grayson warned the tracker. “We’ve got real problems to deal with.”
“If the Mapinguari are real, sir, we’ve got much bigger problems than you even realize. They’re predatory, ya know? And supposedly bulletproof,” Fritz said, refusing to drop the matter.
The Roaring Page 5