by John O'Brien
The going is slow as the blades of grass are near razor sharp and cut into our clothing and gloves. Each member in line has to sweep the stalks aside with boots before moving forward into the gap. I hate elephant grass; it can leave a hundred paper cuts that then sting, especially when sweat rolls over the slices. In a jungle environment, where it’s difficult to keep things dry, those cuts can become infected in a short amount of time. And that’s besides having our clothing shredded to ribbons.
McCafferty guides us past the dense foliage surrounding the field, and we enter the jungle. Coming from the bright sunlight, it takes a moment to adjust to the gloom under the trees. With vampires in the area and being far from any form of civilization, I doubt there are any other people. However, we can’t just push that possibility aside, so we cautiously move toward our marked location.
Before long, the ground begins to slope upward, growing steeper seemingly with each step. We work our way past giant ferns and bushes growing where thin amounts of light filter through the overhead cover. Tree roots protrude like legs from the trunks, making every step like trying to figure out a logic puzzle. With the slope of the ground, we squat and thrust most of the way, groping for handholds for assistance. In the humid air and heat, it isn’t long before I’m drawing in deep breaths and sweat trickles across my temples and down my cheeks. I’ll be exhausted by the time we make it to the marked spot, and that may only be the start of it. Who knows how far we’ll have to trek after that?
The slope becomes steep enough that our boots slip if we don’t secure our footing. And, if we trip, we’ll slide down to the bottom and have to start again. My knee keeps saying hello with each push of my leg.
What in the fuck am I doing here?
However, if it stays this steep where we’re going, if I get into trouble, I’ll only have to take a step back and I’ll slide a hundred yards away in a heartbeat. Once we finish this shit and I get home, I’m sleeping for a fucking week and making the kids bring me shit on trays. I reach upward to grasp a tree root arching to the ground, set my foot on another, and pull at the same time as I push upward with my leg. Then, it’s rest until Gonzalez clears the next level and I go through the process again.
Breathing hard, we gather on a small flat stretch of ground. To our front, a cliff of gray stone rises straight up, the trees growing right up next to it. Vines hang down the cliff with moss and lichen clinging to the rock. A dark crevice opens in the middle, loose stones gathered near the opening. The soil is covered with footprints, both barefoot and soled shoes. Looking closer, the tracks are consistent with the numbers we guessed. I radio Lynn to let her know we’ve found where the vampires have gone to ground, the rock walls inside the cave blocking the signal of the trackers.
“Okay…we’re here…Now what?” Greg asks between breaths.
“Now…we say…fuck it…and go home,” I reply, my hands on my knees.
“I’m not…going…in there,” Gonzalez says, pointing to the crevice opening.
“That’s…a bunch of…nope…right there,” Denton comments.
Still catching my breath, I look around the area. There isn’t really much of a shelf to work with. If they had gone to ground, I had in mind that we’d place a line of claymores and blow the shit out of them when they emerged to feed, then toss a few grenades and lay into them with gunfire. With what I’m looking at, that plan isn’t going to work well.
In the dim light, we remove four claymores and angle them so that we’ll be out of the way of the back blast while we hunker on the steep slope at the side of the ledge. The soil is thin with solid bedrock underneath, so we can’t firmly anchor the devices. The hope is that the creatures will emerge en masse and we can catch all of them in the blast. From the side, we’ll engage them in what I hope will just be a cleanup operation. The steepness of the slope will make it tricky if we have to maneuver, and only a couple of us at a time will be able to put fire onto the ledge. We could split on both sides of the crevice, but any crossfire would put both parties at risk.
After setting up our small kill zone, the water I pour over my head feels like I dipped my head into a glacial stream. The rivulets running down my face and the back of my neck turn from ice to near boiling by the time they make it to my shoulders. Worry takes hold, as the upcoming engagement will be conducted within very narrow parameters. There isn’t room to maneuver and anything we try will end with tumbling down the steep slopes. In essence, I feel trapped, and that doesn’t sit well. I like having the freedom to maneuver and the flexibility it affords.
It would be nice to be able to lure them out like we did in the field. That would force the strigoi to pause in the established kill zone and possibly have all of them exit at once. We’d have to hit them prior to feeding, but that’s a moot point as I’m not hauling a cow up that slope on my shoulders. And, lowering one from a chopper would be difficult at best, even just a goat. My anxiety with the location is such that I’d rather just leave and come up with a different plan, but we need to hit them while they’re hopefully still weak and while we still have their location. Who knows what will happen to the transmitters. They may be able to just purge the damn things when they feed and discharge that old blood. The images of that still haunt me. So, this is where we’ll attempt to end this.
On the ledge, the gloom deepens as the sun heads toward the western rim. As it dips below the surrounding peaks, twilight envelops us. I’m not sure to what degree the vampires can survive in twilight, but I’m not taking any chances. We angle to the side and lean against the rock wall, finding footholds on arching roots or behind trees growing at impossible angles to the slope. Being foremost to the ledge, I tuck the clacker in my vest and we wait for darkness. There’s a chance we could be waiting in vain, but my guess is that the vampires are low on energy and hunger will drive them out into the night.
The light level dims enough for our night vision to come to the forefront. Gonzalez is precariously balanced on roots somewhat to my side. It feels as if we’re fighting on the Jacob’s ladders used on old sailing ships.
“Otter six, Falcon. I’m picking up the faint signals from two trackers near your position,” Lynn radios.
I tense. The fact that the signals are faint alludes to vampires drawing close to the cave entrance. The lack of the third could be that the one carrying it is still further within, or managed to get rid of it somehow. The lack also means that all of them may not emerge together, which will make our job much more difficult.
“It’s getting stronger.”
The surrounding jungle is plunged into darkness, but our night vision remains. I was fearful that the lack of light through the overhead cover would limit our ability, but it seems the adaptive mechanism holds in extremely low light conditions. I suppose we should have tested it more, but each of us has NVGs in our packs if we need them.
Standing with a clacker in one hand and my carbine in my other, I wait. The atmosphere is oppressive, the tension quivering like a taut wire. I truly feel that nature knows in advance when a storm is about to be unleashed and holds its breath. That could, of course, be my own projected anxiety. The absolute quiet adds to the oppressive nature, as if we stepped into a void where the pressure doesn’t allow sound waves to travel. My heart is beating with strong pulses and I force my breathing to remain calm and measured.
A low growl comes from the direction of the crevice, followed by the sound of sniffing. To the side, a vampire emerges and stops just outside the entrance. It lifts a pale head and sniffs the air, its eyes roving across the small ledge. Holding the clacker, I force myself into stillness, inhaling and exhaling through my mouth because nose breathing makes more noise. The outline of Gonzalez is in my peripheral, her weapon shouldered and aimed at the entrance.
With another growl, the vampire takes another step. I can’t help but feel that it also senses the tension and is trying to determine its source. Behind the first, another appears, almost hidden in the deep shadows of the cave. I catch mys
elf about to start my nervous habit of rubbing my thumb over the selector switch, and force myself to stop.
This whole thing could go south in a hurry. I’m waiting to fire the claymores until I think we can catch more of them, but if we’re discovered, the creature in front can easily hurdle them or rift past and quickly be upon us. In my current position, I’d be helpless. I suppose I could just push it down the slope. Gonzalez is ready, but her fire may not be enough to stop a sudden attack. So, in essence, I’m leaving my money on the table and playing the odds in the hopes of a better return. That bet, though, is with our lives. This whole fucking thing has disaster written all over it. If the vampire to my front makes any move or shows any sign we’ve been detected, the clacker is getting squeezed like I have palsy.
The leading strigoi takes another step, its head turning in all directions about the ledge. Thankfully, it hasn’t turned to where we’re huddled against the rock cliff. If I see the silver gleam of its eyes, I’ll start this show. The second one leaves the cave and joins the first, a third showing itself just outside the entrance.
Fucking do whatever you’re going to do already! Do something!
The second one turns around toward the third, the gleam of its eyes shining for a split-second. A second later, the silver-gold sheen returns and seems to anchor on my position. I feel like I’m staring at the gleam of a sniper scope zeroed in.
Well, fuck. That’s not what I had in mind by doing something.
“Grab hold of something,” I radio the others, rapidly squeezing the clacker.
A thunderous explosion shakes us on our perches, threatening to send me sliding down the steep slope. Flashes of light and heat are embedded in a wave of smoke rocketing across the ledge, quickly engulfing the two and the third on the fringe. Thousands of BBs are launched in that wave, tearing through flesh and bone and extending past to shred the bark from trees on the other side. The vines draped down the cliff face shake back and forth and leaves start drifting slowly down.
Recovering my balance, I drop the clacker and bring my carbine to bear. The smoke clears, leaving two bodies pushed near to the edge. I watch as the shredded, bloodied bodies begin to heal, the devastating wounds closing and broken bones protruding from torn skin knitting together. The remains of clothing they had are now smoking scraps of cloth.
I jump onto the ledge, noting a flash of movement vanishing back into the cave. Grabbing a grenade, I pull the pin, warn the others, and toss it into the cave. I have a vision of the grenade hitting the rock wall and bouncing back into our midst. That would be a terribly bad thing. It vanishes into the darkness beyond the entrance. I duck as it goes off inside the cave with a quick flash of light, smoke and debris blowing out of the entrance. A whine of metal ricochets overhead.
Rising from a crouch, one of the creatures on the ledge is still attempting to heal, a wound nearly closing but then stopping just short. I head toward them with quick steps, but Gonzalez is there faster, sending her knife into one neck and extending the blades. No blood streams from the instant beheading, and tendrils of black smoke rise from both bodies. The second body that had been there has already perished and reduced to ash.
I head toward the cave entrance, peeking quickly inside and ready to leap backward in an instant. A body with smoke rising from it lies on a narrow twisting rocky path leading further within. The cave takes a sharp corner deeper inside, but I don’t see any other vampires. On the ledge, a large swath of dirt has been cleared, revealing bedrock underneath.
“We have three down without any others in sight,” I radio the others and Lynn.
Lynn informs us that the two transmitters she was picking up are gone. “But, I’m starting to get the third away from your position and higher up the ridge.”
Shit!
“Where are they heading?’
“Down slope, angling toward the open field.”
“Okay. Do NOT fire on that remaining tracker. It’s more important we know where they are,” I call. “And, give us an intercept angle.”
Lynn gives us a direction and we start down, having to take more care, as going down a steep slope is so much more difficult than going up. It may not be as tiring, but gravity is waiting to pluck us from our precarious position at the slightest stumble or off-balance maneuver. We’ve taken out three, which leaves us with the possibility of six remaining. My hope is that they’re traveling together, because if they’re not, that’s going to make finding the rest bordering on the impossible until they strike again.
We step down, holding onto the roots above as we find footholds. I swear the slope curves inward in places. As we progress, the grade shallows and we’re able to make better time while staying on a more direct intercept course.
“Otter six. They’ve altered course and are angling back toward your previous position. I’m guessing perhaps drawn to the explosions,” Lynn radios.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I mumble, looking back up at the terrain we just traversed down.
I feel that this is some carnival show.
“Falcon, is there anyone else using this frequency?”
“Um, no. This and the ones we hop to are all ours,” Lynn answers.
“Can we please dispense with call signs, then? I’m Jack, you’re Lynn, and everyone else is themselves. If I need the aircraft commander, they can be Falcon,” I say, frustrated.
“I’m fine with that,” Lynn replies.
“Okay, give us a new intercept. But, if we have to climb Everest again, it’s going to be slow going,” I state.
Lynn gives us a new heading, which indeed takes us back uphill.
“Okay, folks, let’s turn this train around,” I tell the others.
“You’re kidding?!” Henderson calls.
“I only wish I were,” I respond.
“You know they’re doing this on purpose. They probably watched us from on high and then changed direction with a chuckle,” Greg complains.
“I wouldn’t doubt that at all,” I say, grabbing a tree root and starting to pull myself up.
Partway up the slope with my thighs quivering, having to rest to catch my breath, Lynn informs us that they changed directions, again heading back toward the clearing.
“I’m really starting to hate these fuckers,” I hear Gonzalez mutter as she turns around.
I have that exact same feeling and am tempted to call in the gunship to have them fire 105s until they punch through to the earth’s core. We trudge onward only to be informed that they’ve again altered directions. Frustrated, I halt our small column. We can’t keep doing this back and forth thing; I’m beginning to feel a little foolish.
“This is fucking amateur hour,” I mutter, visualizing their path and ours in my mind’s eye.
“Lynn, look over their path they’ve taken and see if it doesn’t look like they’re moving in a search pattern?” I radio.
A moment later, Lynn responds, “It’s not clear cut, but it does vaguely resemble one. Plotting an overall direction now.”
“Copy. We need to hit them before they’ve had a chance to feed, so we’ll need an intercept toward them as opposed to away.”
With a firm line of travel now set, we start climbing again, this time in a different direction. The terrain is still steep, but not as much as it was heading to the crevice. I’d rather not engage them on the slopes, but if they get a chance to feed, we’ll be screwed. The thought of fighting a group of newly energized strigoi is scary to say the least. They’re tough enough as it is without them rifting all over the place. So far, it’s been their weakened condition that has saved us.
With Lynn giving readings on the tracker, we find a place just ahead and spread our line. The vampires will be moving across our front, but we only have one of them tracked, which means that the others could literally be anywhere. We used the last of our claymores up on the ledge, so we only have a couple of grenades for additional firepower.
As at the ridge the night prior, the area is completely quie
t. A very light mist is drifting down the slope, an opaque carpet that’s moving across the ground like the waters of a river pool. It flows around pants and boots, an eddy of clear air behind our legs. If I use my imagination, I can hear the soft hiss of the mist as it moves around my legs. Listening to Lynn’s updates, I visualize our position with that of the moving vampires in an attempt to figure out where we’ll encounter them.
A sudden crashing in the undergrowth interrupts the stillness, sending a rush of adrenaline coursing through my system. Snapping branches and hurried movement is to our front, heading right to left. I haven’t heard the strigoi move in such a noisy fashion before, but perhaps they’re desperate. The sound of crashing undergrowth is coming from the general direction that Lynn’s updates said the vampires were approaching from.
“Three vamps at our ten o’clock, stationary at fifty yards,” McCafferty calls.
I look in the direction indicated and see what she sighted. There are indeed three stationary creatures standing behind trees in a downhill line, their pale skin almost the color of the moon’s rays and the fog flowing past their legs. Ahead, two boars break into an open area under the trees, their heads visible above the mist, running for their lives. Behind, another three vampires crash through the underbrush chasing after them. The pristine blanket of fog is stirred by their passage, swirling like the water behind a moving boat. The strigoi are leaping over bushes and plowing through branches in their path, chasing the boars toward the three silently waiting.
“Henderson, Denton, take those boars down, now!” I radio. “Lynn, on my call, I’m going to need four 40mm rounds at three five zero degrees, thirty yards from our position.”
“That’s putting it a little close, Jack.”
“We’ll duck. Those boars have to be bled before the creatures can get to them. Afterward, put an additional four thirty yards east and four the same to the west,” I respond.
Two suppressed rounds streak uphill and hit the boars with meaty thumps. The two racing hogs go down in flurry of flying dirt and a crash of breaking twigs. The strigoi charging after them continue, seeing their food source drop in front. To the side, three pair of eyes turn silvery gazes in our direction.