Thrilled to Death

by James Byron Huggins

  A distant drone coming out of the southwest caught Hunter’s attention and he turned his head, searching the sky. Then a small speck like a metallic dragonfly rose from the far side of distant bluffs and he looked closer, recognizing the distinct forward silhouette of a Blackhawk flying fast and low.

  “Looks like we’ve got visitors,” he remarked.

  Bobbi Jo rose, shielding her eyes from the light of the dying sun. “It can’t be more troops,” she replied. “They’ve already got almost a hundred guys here.” She was quiet, gazing steadily. “It’s not a gunship. They’re not racked and they’re not carrying missiles. I wonder ...you think it’s another hunting party?”

  “No,” Hunter answered, “they’re not going to do that again anytime soon. They’ve already got some kind of plan for capturing, or killing, this thing. I figured that much out. I don’t really know what they would need ...unless it’s some VIP.”

  Takakura had ceased cleaning the M-14. He scowled as he watched the chopper close on the compound and then set down gently on the pad. A moment later, two men, one big and heavily armed, the other smaller but obviously in good condition, exited and walked slowly toward the station. After flashing some sort of credentials that demanded immediate respect, they gained entrance and vanished within the steel door.

  “Curious,” Takakura mumbled. Clearly, he did not like what he had seen. “Two soldiers to add to a hundred. It is not enough to make a difference, should the others fail to defend the compound.”

  The Japanese scowled, eyes squinting at the helicopter as the four-bladed rotor finally stopped spinning. Abruptly he looked at Hunter. “Perhaps we should investigate this,” he added. “Clearly, we are among those that we cannot trust.”

  “Where’s Taylor?” Hunter asked as he picked up his Marlin. “He’ll need to know about this.”

  “You think they’re hitters or something?” Bobbi Jo asked as she lifted the massive sniper rifle. “They didn’t look too friendly, for sure. In fact, they kinda looked like professionals, if you ask me.”

  “Professional what?” Hunter addressed her.

  “I’m not sure.” She shook her head. “But they sure know how to handle themselves. Plus, that Blackhawk isn’t a Chevy. It takes six months to learn to fly one and the only ones qualified are military. Marine or army.”

  Hunter analyzed the situation before addressing the Japanese commander. “Why don’t you find Taylor? Bobbi Jo and I’ll try and find out what this is all about.”

  “Hai,” Takakura replied, reassembling the M-14 before he had completed the cleaning. “I will notify him. Then we will meet back in the intensive care unit in thirty minutes. No more.”

  “Sounds good,” Hunter walked forward. “See you in thirty minutes. And it might be a good idea to look sharp. This place is dangerous, but what’s out there”—he lifted his chin toward the darkening forest—”is more dangerous. As dangerous as anything gets. And it’s coming. Coming tonight.”

  ***

  Eyes slitted like a cat’s, he watched the helicopter descend. His vision, almost perfect even in total blackness, followed the two of them until they were inside the building, and then he looked over the rest of the expansive, fenced-in compound.

  There were more soldiers, dogs, and guns here than at the others. He considered the large contingent that was visible and searched for a suitable place of entry. Then, as twilight faded to what would soon be night, and the huge lights ignited to blaze as day, he knew that there would be only one means of penetrating the complex.

  He was grateful that he had fed, for he could feel his fibers absorbing the nutrients, making him stronger by the minute. Yes, he was at the peak of his strength, and would need eat no more until he attacked. Then, as before, he would devour as he slew, methodically working his way through the compound until he shattered the steel portals and gained entrance, slaying still.

  Rising on legs thick and hard as oak, he stood in shadow. His hands, clutching involuntarily, made sharp clicking sounds as the long talons grazed each other.

  Soon ...

  By the time he had crept close enough for exposure to the bright lights, which he would have to disable, the darkness would be complete. And after he cast them into darkness he would become their lord, master, and destroyer. As always.

  He did not recognize fear as they recognized fear. No, he could feel nothing but the super-oxygenated blood coursing strongly from his chest, providing him with enhanced and all-but-matchless might. His shoulders swelled with chemicals that accelerated his speed and dulled whatever pain he might receive. His bare feet pawed the ground, toes clenching cold dirt and the decayed, cast-off leaves of many seasons.

  Glowering, he bent and glided over a hidden grassy path, using the trees to disguise his silhouette from their night-vision devices, for he still understood these things somehow—how they used things to see in the dark. These things would not be enough to stop him.

  Even darkness was as day to him, now that he was almost complete. And with the moon, the woods were white fire and pale shadow. And the presence of every living thing that had passed this way for weeks, and even months, hung heavy in the air.

  And yet, still, he was not perfect.

  But he knew what was protected within that facility—the purest part of his blood that would make him even greater than his brothers, would complete the transformation. Yes, greater, for then he would have the full power of the ancients plus the higher faculties of man himself—enhancing his glory.

  And when his system reached its zenith he would be as nothing the world had ever seen, or wanted to see. He would be without limits, an indestructible and wrathful god come to deliver a dark judgment upon the earth. Their flesh would be his for the taking, their lives and their deaths existing only for his amusement, the brutality of his pleasure.

  Hiding his steps under the whispering wind, he crept on monstrous strides—a Goliath etched against skeletal trees, shadow moving from shadow—fangs distended in a hideous smile.

  Soon, he knew, he would not need the wind.

  ***

  “So,” the man introduced as Chaney said with guarded interest, “you’re Nathaniel Hunter.”

  Measuring the man while he searched for whatever truth might be revealed in the stern eyes and face, Hunter answered, “Yeah, I’m Hunter. What can I do for you?”

  Facing each other squarely, they stood in the ICU where Professor Tipler, having regained consciousness and refusing to take medication to ease his pain, lay listening.

  Despite his agony and obvious exhaustion, the professor maintained an expression of keen concentration. His pale eyes never left Chaney’s face, nor did he move. The heart monitor beeped regularly, no trace of arrhythmia.

  “I’m glad you asked, Mr. Hunter,” Chaney responded. But Hunter detected the faint edge of caution in the reply and the pause that followed, as if the U.S. Deputy Marshal wasn’t exactly sure whether Hunter could be trusted. “The truth is that I’ve come a long way, and I’ve been through quite a lot of trouble, just to ask you a few questions. I hope I haven’t wasted my time.”

  Hunter cast a glance at the professor, who said nothing. “Well, I don’t know if any of us can help you, Marshal ...”

  “Just Chaney.”

  Hunter nodded. “All right, Chaney. Like I said, I don’t know if any of us can help you, but we’ll do what we can.” He glanced at Bobbi Jo. “We’re probably the only ones here that don’t care much for secrets. Ask whatever you want. But, first, why don’t you tell us who your friend is. Looks like he’s loaded for bear.”

  Smiling slightly, Chaney gestured to Brick. “Forgive me, that was an oversight. This is a friend of mine. He a retired marshal. But he’s temporarily reinstated until I close the investigation. As far as what to call him, you can just call him Brick. Everybody else does. Anyway, we’re working together.”

 
Brick nodded pleasantly to Hunter and Bobbi Jo. “I’m just along for the ride,” he said. “Any of you folks want me to step out, I’ll be glad to. Don’t want to ruffle nobody’s feathers.”

  Studying him a moment, Hunter shook his head. “No, I was just asking. Glad to meet you.”

  “Same here, Hunter,” Brick replied, and smiled. “I figured you didn’t care much for the ‘mister’ part.”

  Hunter laughed. He sensed nothing suspicious about either man, only honesty and frankness in their voice and expression and an unspoken but inflexible air of duty.

  The fact that Brick was heavily armed with a wide array of weapons seemed to indicate that they could skip the preliminaries. Obviously, both men had a rudimentary understanding of the situation, and had come well prepared.

  Nor did their posture indicate an air of superiority or command. Rather, it seemed as if they were in the dark even more than Hunter and the team. On first impression, Hunter liked them both.

  “I’ll do what I can for you, Chaney,” he said. “What do you want to know?”

  Chaney sat back easily on the edge of a table, crossing arms over his chest. The sleeves of his black BDUs were rolled tightly to the elbow to reveal his forearms, and Hunter could see that no matter how many hours Chaney spent behind a desk or in court, it was clear that he kept himself in excellent physical condition. And Hunter respected that, because it indicated a practical man who knew that survival in combat, and even life, very often hinged on pure physical strength, endurance, and skill.

  “I won’t waste your time telling you things you already know as well as I, and probably better than I,” Chaney said frankly. “In a nutshell, I’ve been assigned to discover what this thing is that’s been destroying the research stations. And why it’s doing it. Basically, the same mission you’ve been given.”

  Chaney gazed without blinking, as if to make a point. “I know what happened to your team, Hunter. I got that from the CO when I landed.” He paused. “I’m sorry. I’ve led men in combat, and I know what it’s like to lose one. It’s something you never forget.”

  Hunter replied, “I appreciate that, but it wasn’t really my team. Takakura was in charge, and he did the best job any commander could have done. I was just there to track. I suppose you know already that I’m not current military or under any kind of military jurisdiction.”

  “I know.”

  “All right, so, again, how can I help you?”

  “Well.” Chaney cleared his throat, took a sip of coffee. “Can you tell me how many times you’ve made contact with the creature?”

  Hunter was cognizant that the marshal didn’t want to control or command; he simply wanted information, honest and complete. And because of that, Hunter was disposed to cooperate.

  “Three ... maybe four occasions,” he answered.

  “And they were all combat situations?”

  “Yes.”

  After a careful stare—as if wondering how Hunter had survived the encounters—Chaney added, “How is it that you’re all still alive? From what I understand, this thing ... well ... not a lot of folks walk away from a fight with it.”

  Hunter held the marshal’s stare. “Some of us didn’t, Chaney. And, frankly, I don’t know how the rest of us did either. It attacks and retreats guerrilla-style. So we never had a prolonged battle with it. It toyed with us, and when it finally got serious, it was too late. We were airborne.”

  Chaney didn’t reveal any surprise; instead he appeared intrigued. “You say these confrontations were quick but intense, and it would retreat before you could kill it?”

  “Well, Chaney, I don’t think we had the ordnance to kill it, anyway. Its skin is resistant to small-arms fire, to a degree. The professor can explain it better than I can, but it’s not easily hurt by bullets. Only the Barrett seemed to affect it, but we’re not sure if even the .50-caliber rounds really cut through its skin. To make it brief, I’ll say the fights were ... I don’t know, vicious but quick. Maybe sixty seconds.”

  “Yeah.” Chaney seemed intrigued by that aspect. “You said before that it retreated. You said it was playing with you. But animals don’t do that, Hunter. And you know it.”

  Nothing was said for a moment.

  “Seems pretty damn curious,” Chaney added finally. “There’s no reason I can see why it wouldn’t have attacked and killed and then eaten someone and moved on. Like a bear. A tiger. Something like that.”

  Neither Hunter nor Bobbi Jo volunteered any information. Hunter was tempted, briefly, to say that the creature had somehow taken Hunter’s dogged search as a personal challenge. But he reasoned that it would sound too bizarre. He didn’t say anything and Chaney continued to speak, almost to himself.

  “So it attacked time and time and let you live.... There has to be a reason why it could change its methods. It’s an animal, and they’re creatures of habit. It wouldn’t do something differently unless it had a damn strong motivation.” He looked hard into Hunter’s face. “Tell me the truth, Hunter. Take a chance. I’m asking you.”

  Hunter’s eyes were flat. There was a long silence.

  Chaney didn’t move at all.

  “All right, Marshal,” Hunter said finally. “I’ll tell you something honestly. It’s not an animal. And I don’t care if you believe me or not. But it’s not an animal.”

  Chaney didn’t seemed shocked

  Brick grunted, an unpleasant scowl clearly visible on his beefy, squared face. And, though he did not reveal quite so much, Chaney also allowed his curiosity to surface.

  “So what in the hell is it?” he asked.

  The question reinforced Hunter’s initial impression that the deputy marshal had nothing to hide and wasn’t here to command or intimidate. Hunter blinked, and decided to cruise truth, and if Chaney had the instinct to accept it, Hunter would tell him everything.

  “I think,” he began slowly, “that it could be an undiscovered species, Chaney. It’s manlike and tiger-like in how it stalks and kills, but it’s also like a man. It obviously anticipates, and it’s exclusively bipedal, but it has the stalking method of a quadruped. It has no territory that I could identify but it doesn’t wander, either. So it’s unlike a bear or tiger in those aspects. It prefers to attack in the night but it’ll also attack in the day if it’s presented with the opportunity.”

  Chaney made no movement. Didn’t even blink. “Hunter, have you ever encountered anything remotely similar to this?” he asked finally. “Anywhere?”

  “No.”

  “Have you ever heard stories of something like this?”

  “No.”

  “Well, then, how do you explain it?”

  “I don’t explain it, Chaney. I’m just telling you what I think.”

  Chaney pursed his lips in thought. And Brick, having listened to the entire enigmatic conversation, lowered his gaze at nothing. His visage hadn’t altered, but from the depth of his frown it was obvious that he deplored the sullen direction of his private thoughts.

  Shaking his head, Chaney said, “Hunter, I know you haven’t lied to me. You’ve told me what you think. But I don’t think you’ve told me everything. And ... that’s smart; I can understand, after what you’ve been through, why you wouldn’t trust anyone in a uniform. But the situation has become more serious than you know. I’m afraid ... that I’ve got some bad news for you.” He paused as Hunter froze. Then: “I’m afraid that one of your employees, Rebecca Tanus, has been murdered. They tried to kill Gina, too.”

  Hunter didn’t move, but his mouth opened slightly and his eyes turned dark. Slowly he moved away from the table, approaching Chaney with a single step. It was an unthreatening action, and Chaney seemed to understand. He waited patiently until Hunter asked in a hushed, clear voice, “Who killed her?”

  “They’re dead,” Chaney replied. “Brick and I did ‘em in.”

  A moment
, and Hunter nodded gratefully. “Good. And Gina?”

  “In the hospital. And she’s the one who led us here. She indicated you might be able to tell us the plain truth without all the wildlife bullshit.”

  “All right, Marshal, let me tell you exactly what you’re looking for.

  And no bullshit. But get ready for it, and if you don’t believe me, I don’t give a damn.” Hunter was solid, his eyes unblinking. “You’re looking for a genetic freak. Something that is half man and half monster. Something that can speak. Something that can move like lightning and has skin that is, for all practical purposes, bulletproof.” Hunter watched the amazed reaction at that. “We hit that thing with enough ordnance to kill a hundred men, and it kept coming back stronger than it was before. No wounds, no nothing. The only way we’ve been able to hurt it is with knives.”

  “With knives!” Chaney exclaimed. “How in the hell could a knife injure it when a bullet wouldn’t? And how did you get that close to it, anyway? From what you said, nobody would stand a chance against it with a knife.”

  From his glass cubicle, Professor Tipler responded. Weak and light at first, his voice grew in strength and tone as he continued. “It is quite possible, Marshal Chaney. It is only a simple matter of engineering stress.”

  Chaney gazed at the old man.

  The professor added in a low drone, “This creature’s epidermal molecular structure is, ah, probably similar to a rhinoceros which, incidentally, has the thickest and most densely designed epidermal surface on the planet.” Gesturing as if it would assist him in framing the concept, he continued, “You see, a blunt object such as a bullet or shrapnel cannot penetrate its skin unless the leading point of impact is a cutting edge. This phenomenon does not necessarily reflect the thickness of the skin, however. Merely the composition.”

  Chaney moved closer. “Explain that to me, Professor.”