Monster Gauntlet

by Paul Emil

  I found myself dreaming about the luxuries of home: a hot shower, a warm bed, food, a sense of security – things I had none of here.

  I glanced into the woods again. I couldn’t help it. I didn’t see anything. I wasn’t sure if “the thing” was still there, assuming it had ever been there. I shuddered. I was stressed out, sure, but it was way too early to be losing my mind.

  I ran my hand over the smooth metal canister and plastic pistol grip of the weapon at my hip. The cold solidity of it felt reassuring, but at the same time it seemed woefully inadequate. At the time the “gas gun” seemed like a good idea. Now I wanted a real one.

  Maybe Bear was right. We need firepower. The thought haunted me like a restless spirit: I should have picked the machine gun.

  We walked in silence. Eventually, the open plain seemed to narrow and the forest started closing in on either side. It was right about the time when this started bothering me that Mason shouted, “Monster!”

  We all swung around. About 200 meters away, behind us, a large black shape slinked across the ground we had passed over minutes before. It was some type of animal. Its movements were fluid and silent.

  Like a ninja, I thought.

  But unlike a ninja, the beast made no effort to hide or be stealthy as it approached. It walked fearlessly out in the open. We could soon see what it was.

  “It’s a cat,” I said. “A big cat.”

  “What the fuck?” said Bear. “What the hell does a jungle cat have to do with Scotland?”

  Marine said, “Does it matter?”

  “Actually,” I said, “There are rumors of big cats roaming Britain. This fits.”

  Trish shouldered her crossbow and said, “Who gives a fuck? What do we do?”

  Bear stood with his legs apart and held his pistol in two hands, like a shooter at a target range. His posture suggested he had experience with shooting. That gave me a small measure of reassurance. Very small.

  Mason, machete in hand, said, “Are you crazy? We should run.”

  Marine said, “We need some cover.”

  “Fuck you!” said Bear. “You wouldn’t need to run if you assholes had brought guns. The closer it comes, the easier it is to hit.”

  The cat loomed closer. I could see the yellow of its piercing, unblinking eyes. The beast stared at us like a high-tech death device locking onto a target. Bear shifted his weight from foot to foot, suddenly uncomfortable.

  “That’s a big cat,” Marine breathed.

  He was right. In the distance, it looked like a jaguar, which was intimidating enough, but as it came closer, it looked huge, like a mountain lion.

  “I’m outta here,” Mason said, and bolted for the woods.

  Idiot, I thought. Remarkably, the running didn’t trigger the animal’s instinct to chase and attack. Apparently, Mason was going to get lucky. I wanted to run, but not into the woods. But there was nowhere else to go.

  I remembered some nature show where they showed lions stalking their prey. One strategy was to work in pairs. One lion would walk openly, presenting itself to the gazelles or zebras or whatever. It would drive them towards an area where another lion was hiding, waiting to attack.

  That old TV show flashed through my mind in a second. So did a vision of a zebra getting torn to pieces.

  Marine said, “We need cover. I’m heading for the trees.”

  He looked over at me as if inviting or even imploring me to join him. Then he turned and moved towards the forest.

  I looked at Bear and Trish standing there with their long-range weapons. Then I turned and watched Marine disappear into the darkness between the trees. I followed him.

  I slowly moved away, never turning my back on the beast until I crossed the tree line. Only a few meters into the forest, I felt the temperature drop. I almost felt like I had entered some type of dark, immense, cavernous room with holes in the roof.

  I turned and hid behind a large tree trunk. I looked around. I couldn’t see Marine or Mason. I wasn’t too far into the woods. I could still partially see the open space through the filter of dark trees.

  I heard Bear and Trish yelling. I caught a glimpse of someone running from the field. It was Trish. Apparently, those two had decided against standing their ground.

  There was more yelling and a loud, blood-curling roar that could only have come from the large, inhuman throat of an animal.

  A gunshot made my whole body flinch. Two more shattered the stillness of the air. They seemed unnaturally loud and I was actually shaking. They were never that loud in movies. Even at the gun range at MG training, I had earplugs in, or other protection. Real gunshots, especially this close, were terrifying.

  I was shaking.

  It’s freezing in here, I thought, trying to convince myself that my body’s reaction was due to the cold and not fear.

  There was another gunshot. A twig snapped behind me. I spun around and raised my weapon. I saw nothing.

  “Marine?” I said. “Mason?”

  A large figure emerged from the darkness between trees. Bear?

  He was still in the field, wasn’t he?

  The large figure might have been Bear. He was about the right size, and his head looked hairless. He moved towards me. For a moment, I had a flicker of hope.

  The figure came closer, and my hope was snuffed out as if someone had stomped on it. I felt terror pouring like ice water down the back of my shirt.

  The thing wasn’t Bear.

  11

  The thing in front of me looked like a man, but it had no face. The “face” looked like a blurred photo, with dark smears where the features should have been.

  I shouted and my hands instinctively flew up to protect my face. I pointed my mace at the thing’s head where a face should have been. I hadn’t even leveled my arm before the monster closed the distance with startling speed and knocked the weapon from hand. I slapped around my belt for my knife. I found the handle. The thing tackled me like a rugby player.

  The ground, forest, and sky suddenly skewed. Some instinctive squirming or some stroke of luck saved me from landing with the monster on top of me. I avoided taking the full force of its weight. Instead, we both hit the ground equally hard. Not that it mattered much. The attacker recovered quickly and was on me.

  I was flat on my back with the monster mounted on top of me. I’ve seen enough MMA fights to know I was screwed. I expected a knife or something to appear in the thing’s hand. He would raise it over his head, pause for dramatic effect, and then drive it down into my heart. The fist did rise, but I didn’t see a weapon. It suddenly zoomed down and filled my frame of vision.

  My face exploded in pain. Blooms of light burst into view. They didn’t disappear when I closed my eyes. The thing punched me in the face, again and again. Everything went blurry and faded to black like a movie when it’s over.

  I woke up with pressure on my stomach and the weird sensation of being off my feet. I remember looking down at the forest floor passing by. I was being carried over the intruder’s shoulder. I started struggling and yelling. The view of the ground became scrambled with trees and sky. Then I felt a massive jolt of pain and saw more lights. I was no longer looking at the ground but at the sky with a ring of trees poking into it.

  The thing jumped on me. His weight alone was a weapon, making it hard for me to breathe. I squirmed, attempting to make space to escape. That was one of the only things I remembered my brothers telling me when they thought they were Brazilian jiu-jitsu experts and tried to give me advice on wrestling. I wasn’t interested in any of that, but now I wish I had been. Not that it would have mattered.

  The thing spoke. “Stay down or I knock you out!”

  The attacker drew its face closer to mine. Up close, I could make out dark hollows of eyes and a protruding nose. This wasn’t a faceless monster but a mugger in a mask – a flesh-colored stocking mask.

  “You’re ... you’re a man,” I said, genuinely surprised.

  “That’s right, bit
ch,” the thug said, his voice suddenly hushed and raspy, like the hiss of a snake. My skin felt like a living entity, retreating as far back as it could from this brute.

  Maybe if I keep him talking ... I thought.

  “Who are you?” I asked.

  “Punishment,” the man said, “I’m ...”

  The man yelled as I dug my knife into his leg.

  I pulled the knife out. He screamed. I was ready for another blow. He grabbed my wrist with both hands, remarkably avoiding the blade. I felt the bones in my forearm decompressing. The knife fell from my fingers.

  I screamed and instinctively bucked my hips and pulled his arm. The man was committing his weight to one side, and I helped him over. Bridge and roll. A jiu-jitsu move. I’d learned something from my brothers after all. Now I was on top and he was on his back.

  “BITCH!” the man yelled. There was a scramble. He knocked the knife somewhere out of reach. I ended up on bottom again. The man started punching my face again. A salty warm wetness filled my mouth. Flashes of light were going off in the forest. They appeared and disappeared in colorful bursts. There seemed to be other tiny lights zipping around in the background.

  My eyes and probably my brain were taking damage.

  I can’t take another blow to the head.

  Then the beating suddenly stopped. Still in mount, the man sat up. A cold piece of metal dug into the center of my forehead like a burrowing animal. A weird, tingling sensation radiated from the point, like tendrils of terror spreading throughout my body. Then the man pulled his hand back far enough so I could see the gun.

  “Good job, little girl,” the man said. “Nice resistance. We expected nothing less from the Hero of Mall. But now you have a choice.”

  He moved the gun and leaned forward, bringing his blurry face inches away from mine. He pushed the gunpoint into the soft flesh under my chin.”

  “Do you want to live?” he hissed.

  I froze.

  “SAY IT!”

  I flinched and nodded.

  “Good,” he said. “Then do what I want.”

  The gun in his right hand disappeared somewhere behind his back, while at the same time, a switchblade seemed to magically appear in his left. The blade flicked open.

  With the blade open in one hand, the man held me down while his other large, strong hand pulled my jacket open. With my T-shirt exposed, the man dragged the flat of the blade down the side of my neck like a caressing finger. The cord of the necklace was exposed, and he pulled up the amulet from the beneath the shirt as if he had hooked a fish.

  “Nice,” he said. “But this isn’t doing to help you now.”

  He dropped it and grabbed my breast with his free hand. My eyes were closed, so I don’t know if he cut the shirt with the switchblade or simply ripped it apart with brute strength. Tears ran out of the corners of my eyes.

  My mind was going blank. I didn’t even know what god to pray to. The man was breathing faster now, and said, “Alright bitch. Now we’re going to ...”

  His enormous weight was suddenly off me. My eyes snapped open. I gasped for air and was finally able to inhale deep breaths. I sat up and shuffled to my feet. The mugger was several meters away, rolling around on the ground. There was another man entwined with him. It took me a second to register what I was looking at.

  Marine!

  I suddenly had a surge of hope, then more fear.

  Marine was on the man’s back and the two of them were rolling around on the ground. It was hard to make out who was winning. The mugger pitched Marine off his back, but Marine kept his legs around the man, keeping him in “closed guard.” (I recognized the names of the moves from watching MMA with my brothers). Then mugger repeated punched Marine in the face.

  I turned away to look for my knife. I found it. When I turned back, the positions had totally changed. Marine was on his feet. The mugger was coming at him in a crouch. Marine kicked him in the face. The man moaned. I rejoiced. But the tackle still worked, and both men went to the ground.

  A scramble ensued. At some point, Marine cried out. Both men separated and staggered to their feet. Marine looked down at his hip and then held up his hand, gazing at the slick red blood glistening on his skin.

  The faceless thug waved a bloody switchblade.

  Marine winced. Then he growled and whipped out his own knife.

  The thug switched the knife to his other hand and reached behind this back.

  “Marine, he has a ...”

  “BLAM! BLAM!”

  The brute’s body staggered backwards.

  “FTTT”

  An arrow appeared in the middle of his right arm.

  The pistol dangled from his fingers and fell to the ground. The man was still on his feet and even took a step forward. He raised the blade.

  “BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!”

  The man’s head exploded. The body crumpled and slumped on the ground.

  Marine and I both stared in shock at the body, then at each other.

  Bear and Trish stepped out from the trees. I exhaled in relief. I was unspeakably happy to see them. The feeling was not mutual.

  “Next time you look for me to save your ass, don’t,” Bear said.

  He moved towards the body, keeping his gun pointed at it. I saw the mugger’s pistol lying near his hand, and that snapped me out of my state of shock. I moved so quickly I practically ran. I had to beat Bear. I kicked the gun away from the dead man’s hand like you see cops do in the movies. When it was safely out of the reach the fallen foe, I scooped it up. I wrapped my fingers around the cold handle. The weapon was heavier than I expected. It felt good.

  Bear looked at me as if he smelled something bad. He obviously wanted the gun for himself. He held my gaze as if he wanted to say something, but didn’t. He returned his attention to the body.

  The gun was mine now. I pointed at the body, half expecting the headless horror to sit up and wave its outstretched arms, searching and reaching specifically for me. Even though the intruder was missing half of his head, I still found it hard to believe he was really dead. I cringed at the thought of what would have happened if my “friends” hadn’t helped. I wanted to squeeze the trigger and unload the gun into the body just to make sure it was dead and wouldn’t get up. I was about to when Bear said, “Put that thing down before you hurt somebody. I mean it.”

  I looked at him, but the darkness in his stare told me he was not joking. I slowly lowered my weapon. Bear descended on the corpse like a vulture and started going through the clothing. He pulled the man’s jacket apart like a jackal spreading a victim’s rib cage open.

  “Hah!” shouted Bear. “He’s wearing a vest! I knew it! It’s mine now!”

  I turned to Marine while Bear’s hands scoured the man’s remains.

  “You OK?” he asked me.

  I nodded. I look at him holding his arm across his stomach. His hand was glistening red.

  “You’re bleeding,” I gasped.

  He laughed.

  “What’s so funny?” I said. “You’re hurt.”

  “No, nothing’s funny,” he said, smiling. “It’s not bad, really. I mean, to a civilian, it looks bad, but I was a medic in the gulf, remember? This isn’t bad.”

  “It looks bad,” I said.

  “Nah,” he said. “Jacket took most of the force. Still, I want to dress it and get moving. Mason, hand me your med kit.”

  Mason, who had conveniently appeared from the darkness after the action was over, shifted uneasily. His eyes darted about like rodent’s, constantly scanning the surrounding for danger. He looked like a small animal in a world of predators, which, in fact, we were.

  “Mason? The med kit.”

  “Um, that’s mine.”

  “What?” Marine uttered, voicing what I was thinking.

  “It’s mine. You’ve got your own gear. Why should I hand my stuff over to you?”

  Marine said, “Because I will fucking kill you if you don’t.”

  Marine and Mas
on started getting into their fighting stances and I thought, Here we go. Boys and their testosterone.

  I said, “Guys, we ...”

  “OK, what the hell is this shit?” Bear said as he approached us.

  “We have situation,” Trish said. She had a weird smile, like she was amused and looking forward to the violence. Again, I thought, These people are dangerous, maybe as much as the monsters. I’m with a bunch of psychos.

  “Well, I’m outta here,” Bear said. “I don’t want to be near that body when the wolves or the vampires or who-knows-what shows up. I’m getting the hell out of the woods.”

  On that note, we were all in agreement. Mason handed over the med kit. Marine cleaned the wound – a swallow gash across his stomach – with impressive speed and efficiency and handed the kit back.

  Bear said, “I’m going back to the field. I’m ...”

  He looked around and I watch the fierceness in his face fall and melt into fear. “What ... where ... which way?”

  “That way,” Trish said. “I think.”

  We pulled out the map and compass and picked the direction we thought would get us out. We weren’t that deep into the forest. It was scary how close we were to the edge and still got lost.

  Everyone felt better when we were back in the gap between tree lines.

  Slumping as if he had shuffled off a heavy burden, Bear was visibly relieved. We all felt the same way. Then, as if realizing that if he wanted to assume command again he needed to look the part, Bear drew himself upright and said, “OK. Good. We’re back. Now let’s get moving. No stopping unless I say so. I want to get to that fort and hunker down. Got it? Move.”

  “Fort.” That’s what he called the castle. The very word conveyed as sense of power and purpose. It suggested strength and security, which was ironic. There was none of that here.

  We hiked in silence. Bear like to tell people to shut up, which was ironic considering how he would think out loud, complaining to the universe and anyone who would listen.