The Beast of Eridu

by Richard Fox

  "Then why are we having useless arguments with bureaucrats?" Steuben pointed an accusing finger at Yarrow.

  "I might resemble that remark, but that doesn't mean I’m wrong," Yarrow said. “You’re lucky I like you—and know you might eat my face—or I’d tell you how to do your job.”

  “You have learned much, young one,” Steuben said. “I will credit your wife for your mature outlook.”

  “She’d like to see you again,” Yarrow said.

  Steuben gave Hoffman the onceover as they left the room. "I like your new-not-new gear."

  "Really?"

  "No. I joke. Have you formed a plan to kill the Beast?" Steuben asked.

  Hoffman pulled a handful of small cameras from his utility pouch and showed them to the Karigole. "I think these will help."

  "Now you joke. What are those? Death rays?"

  "Cameras."

  The Karigole curled back his upper lip. "Are you going to capture an image of the Beast and taunt it to death on social media?”

  “Well, if you don’t see it, kill it, skin it, and eat it tonight, then maybe we can gather some intelligence that’ll be useful later,” Hoffman said.

  “Reasonable,” Steuben muttered.

  Hoffman put away the cameras and ran street to street until he saw his team moving toward the flare site. Their routes converged.

  “Radio silent,” Hoffman said as he accepted a low-tech assault rifle and several magazines of ammo. He slapped one into the weapon and frowned at the single switch on the side.

  “Have to pull the charging handle to get one in the chamber,” King said. “Not an autoloader like our gauss. Gas power cycles rounds. You can fire on semiautomatic or three-round bursts.”

  “Oh…” Hoffman’s face went red as he racked the charging handle. “How…quaint.”

  “Bullets pack a hell of a kick,” King said. “Like a .30-06 my grandpa had. Meant to take down something big.”

  Hoffman looked down at his fatigues and grimaced. This was how Marines had gone into a fight since the first days of the old United States Marine Corps. He’d make do without power armor.

  "Nothing to do now but improvise, adapt, and overcome," Hoffman said as shots rang in the distance. The rattling staccato of the weapons was surreal, like being in an old movie as the sun dropped toward the horizon.

  He handed out cameras. "Everybody, take one of these, attach them to your armor where they won’t get blocked when you aim weapons, then let's get a defensive perimeter in place."

  Booker took the first camera. "How cute," she said dryly.

  "Are we getting our gear from cereal boxes now?" Garrison asked.

  "Might as well," Hoffman said. "These are analog tech. They require film. Treat them as fragile and keep in mind that they're loud. You start taking pictures when you're trying to stay hidden, you might have problems."

  Duke pulled back from the mini-camera handout. "I won't be needing one of those."

  "Take one," King said. "We'll get you fitted with a telescopic lens at some point. But for now, take what’s offered."

  "He's not taking one," Duke said, nodding at Steuben.

  "They are too noisy," the Karigole said.

  Duke spread his hands as though to indicate "You see?"

  "We need a good look at one of these things. The best chance is for us to catch a long-range camera shot. For that, you’re going to need a big lens. Think of it as a kinder, gentler sniper rifle," Hoffman said.

  "Yes, sir." Duke spat out his tobacco wad.

  "But that's in the future. Our immediate objective is to travel to the supply depot, contact and destroy the enemy if the opportunity arises, and secure the zone to make it safe for civilians and other personnel," Hoffman said. "King, let’s move out."

  The sun was below the horizon now, casting a purplish glow out of the city with a thin strip of orange along the horizon. Something roared in the distance.

  "Sounds like a Beast to me,” Garrison said.

  "A dominance call,” Steuben said. “But that makes little sense.”

  “Why? Apex predators will do apex predatory things, right?” Max asked.

  “There are no others of its kind on this planet,” Steuben said. “Establishing dominance is useless if there’s nothing to dominate.”

  “Maybe there’s more than one out there,” Duke said.

  “Bro, come on,” Garrison said. “Don’t jinx us.”

  "Food for thought. Garrison, take point," Hoffman said. "King and Gor’al, bring up the rear. Keep a perimeter."

  “And look up,” Steuben said. “Always be looking up.”

  Without power, the city was darker than it should have been, but lanterns and candles showed the rough outline of buildings and streets in the distance. As true darkness descended upon the city, the glow lights managed to heighten just how off the situation on Eridu was, like the team had traveled back in time to fight a demon of legend.

  "I've got a bad feeling about this," Garrison said.

  The team moved as silently as possible through the abandoned streets.

  "What? No one's going to argue with me? No shit-talking?" Garrison asked at a half whisper. The crack of assault rifles carried down the street.

  "Oh, me! I was to talk of the shit." Gor’al bounced up on his toes in his excitement, which made him seem almost as though he were skipping forward with his assault rifle carried at port arms. "Don't be scared, sissy. You're like a little girl!"

  Booker grabbed him by the chin strap on his armor and calmed his bouncy step. "Settle down there, Gor. It's not the time for that."

  Mortars fired parachute flares high into the air. The lights swung and cast weird shadows as they descended over the city.

  "For once, I agree with Garrison," Max said.

  King put a hand on Garrison’s shoulder to stop him as the team froze, weapons ready. He motioned his palm toward the ground and everybody took a knee. An explosion of activity left an alleyway, quickly resolving into the shadows of running dogs.

  King signaled the team to move.

  "I was just thinking,” Duke said, “my sniper rifle’s deadweight in this darkness. The scope gathers light, but there needs to be some ambient illumination for me to even pick up a target. It's getting pitch-black out here."

  Hoffman knew the sniper was correct. The situation was bad and their equipment worse. They were rushing into failure and no amount of elan would make up for a bad plan.

  The supply depot was an enormous warehouse surrounded by a large parking lot and access roads. A simple fence lined the outer perimeter and Steuben vaulted it easily, landing on the other side in a crouch with his rifle ready.

  Garrison and King attempted the fence next, making too much noise and taking far too long to negotiate the obstacle. King hit the ground first, tucking and rolling into a shooting position. Garrison got his hand caught near the top and dangled for a second before dropping awkwardly to his feet, grunting as air was knocked from his lungs.

  "I bet Opal does better than that," Max said.

  "Up and over, hotshot," Booker said to Max.

  "Enough chatter; just get it done," King snapped.

  Hoffman did his best not to embarrass himself. He heard his team complaining about the lack of power armor that would make the maneuver easier and appreciated King's exhortations for them to deal with it. They moved across the open area to the first building.

  King took half the team around the perimeter of the building and support buildings. Hoffman followed Garrison and Steuben, keeping Opal with him.

  “LT, we have contact with the personnel here. I think they crapped themselves when they saw Steuben, but I calmed them down. The local chief wants to talk to who’s in charge," Garrison said. “Which is you.”

  Chapter 11

  Hoffman ran forward to control the situation and found a sturdily built foreman looking pale and jittery.

  "Lieutenant Thomas Hoffman, Strike Marines. Do you have injured?"

  The civi
lian supply chief held a shotgun uncomfortably and shifted his weight foot to foot. Looking uncomfortable around an officer, he gave a lopsided quasi salute. "No one got hurt, sir. I didn't see the Beast, but Jake over there said he did. We went inside and locked the doors. Didn't expect it with the sun not all the way down yet."

  “How long has it been since you sighted it?”

  The man wiped sweat from his forehead. “’Bout thirty minutes. Keep hearing it. Are you gonna blast it?”

  King jogged over to Hoffman. "It's going to take some getting used to, not being able to just call you. Anyhow, we're basically set up. I did a run around the perimeter. Most of the civilians have been evacuated or locked inside. The supply depot is basically a warehouse with too many access points for good security."

  "Recommendations?" Hoffman asked.

  "I don't know where else to put the civilians, so we’ll leave that to local security forces. For now, make sure they're bunkered down. Set up strong points and wait. Try to get a good look at this thing.” King paused and gathered his thoughts before adding, “I'm not interested in chasing shadows that might kill us without at least knowing what this thing is. I mean, how big is it? What are its methods of attack? Is there more than one?"

  "I agree," Hoffman said. “Pass it along to the team.”

  Steuben grunted. "It is good working with Strike Marines again. Even if they can't climb the fence without high-tech armor."

  Hoffman put Duke and Booker on the northeast corner with binoculars and Duke's high-powered sniper scope. He placed King and Gor'al on the southeast corner, Max and Steuben on the southwest, and took the northwest with Opal.

  The night passed slowly, long stretches of boredom punctuated by parachute flares and alarms. It was excruciatingly quiet once the monster switched from harassing them to stalking them. He couldn't get on the radio for updates and Opal wasn't much of a conversationalist.

  “Every five or ten minutes, Opie. I think it’s playing with us,” Hoffman muttered as a tangle of tin cans was dragged across an alleyway just out of view.

  “Opal doesn’t like that noise.”

  “Me neither. It’s an effective alarm mechanism, but crude. Wonder whose kids are missing their treehouse alarms.”

  The cans clattered in the darkness. Around a nearby building, firecrackers went off, the snap too weak to be mistaken for gunshots.

  Hoffman considered shouting to King but disregarded the idea when he imagined them yelling updates back and forth until morning. “Opal, should we use the radio? I think we can risk it. Maybe draw it into the open.”

  “Opal no use radio. Opal just stay here and look for enemy.”

  “Right. Stick to the plan. Maybe I should promote you.”

  “Opal work. Opal no officer.”

  Hoffman chuckled as quietly as he could as another flare launched into the air and drifted lazily.

  “Contact!” Max shouted, and he fired a three-round burst through a busted window. "Big and mean-looking! Moving fast and coming right for us, LT! I say again, the Beast is circling our perimeter. Running between buildings and power conduits.”

  Hoffman braced himself against the wall. He expected to hear it before he saw it but was disappointed. One moment his ears were ringing from Max’s machine-gun blasts, the next he heard a crash from across the small parking lot.

  Hoffman swung his muzzle up to a nearby window just as an illumination shell burst in the sky.

  The shifting light of the flare dangling by a parachute swept over the open space and a pair of red eyes gleamed from a misplaced shadow. The Beast was matte-black, its body long and sleek with an exoskeleton at odd angles, no symmetry anywhere but the elongated triangle of its head. Multiple tails thrashed with sparks as it crouched back on its hind legs and leapt toward Hoffman’s building in a blur of legs.

  Hoffman aimed and fired a single shot, the recoil knocking him back a step and sending a sharp pain through his shoulder. He was so used to fighting in power armor that the simpler weapon had taken him by surprise.

  Opal had no such problems and used his bulk to steady his weapon as he emptied a magazine in quick order.

  Sparks flew off the Beast as more rounds from the Marines hit home. It turned sharply and vanished down an alleyway.

  "Opal, did you hit it?"

  "Yes, sir. Opal 6-1-9 struck the creature three times on its leg, twice on the torso, and once on its head."

  "Good shooting, Opie." He pivoted from his position and shouted, "It's coming around! We scored definite hits."

  "On it," Duke called out from the roof, then gave an uncharacteristic whoop. "Let me show you how it's done!"

  Several rounds of controlled gunfire erupted from Duke and Booker's position.

  "Give me an update," Hoffman shouted. By the time Duke and Booker answered, Garrison and Gor'al were spraying the target with rifle bursts.

  "I don't know if you hit it, but it's moving a lot faster than it was," Garrison shouted. "Maybe we wounded it, but I think we just pissed it off. You’d think these damn elephant guns would slow it down."

  Hoffman saw the Beast twice more, but from a distance and only silhouetted against lamplight.

  “Stay ready,” he shouted over the growing ringing in his ears. Hearing damage from the gunfire was another thing he’d forgotten to plan for—forgotten it would get increasingly difficult to alert someone the Beast was coming right for them because they couldn’t hear the warning.

  “LT, we saw it head north,” Duke called out. “We going after it?”

  Hoffman hesitated long enough to vigorously rub the back of his neck.

  “Opal needs more bullets.”

  “You need a bigger weapon, Opie.” Hoffman tossed a magazine to the doughboy then shouted to Duke, “Let’s go! Let us catch up and form a QRF to handle it when it turns to fight. If you outpace us, abort the track and rally back here. King, let’s get the team moving.”

  “Yes, sir,” King replied. “You heard the man. Bring it in.”

  A minute later, his team was in the parking lot, crouched around a lorry.

  “No signal flares from anywhere else,” Hoffman said. “It must have doubled back the way it came. We make and maintain contact and destroy the Beast. Look sharp. A lot of Pathfinders and Marines have already died trying to take this thing down.”

  "It's one step ahead of us. Keeps turning corners." Booker was winded but enthusiastic after taking several flights of stairs.

  "King, watch our six," Hoffman said.

  "Absolutely, LT.”

  "We may have something," Booker said, glancing down at a printed map. "It's about to cross a drainage canal that one of the locals said is mostly empty—just a trickle of water running down the center. This will be the only time we have the high ground. The angle’s funny and the range is a stretch, but it's the best chance we’re going to get for a decent shot with the sniper rifle."

  "I need to be higher," Duke said.

  Hoffman raced forward with the team. "Duke, take Opal in case he needs to hoist you onto something."

  "Opal throw Duke.”

  “Settle down, big guy. I’ll say when I need a boost. Don’t want you pitching me to the moon,” Duke drawled.

  “Opal boost Duke.”

  The sniper shook his head. “Come on, then. Stay low and be quiet.”

  Hoffman watched them run off and then said to the rest of the team, “Garrison and Booker, King and Gor’al, Steuben and Max with me in the center. Let’s advance in a wedge on me and stay out of sight. We may need to swing a flank around quickly if we get this thing pinned.”

  Steuben frowned. “We should advance in a line. Unimaginative but quicker to envelop the Beast when we catch it.”

  “You’re the hunter here, Steuben,” Hoffman said. “What’s it doing?”

  “It’s acting wrong,” the Karigole said. “Predators do not expose themselves before they attack. It used itself to draw fire, test our numbers.”

  “I’m with you on th
at, Steuben. It’s been probing positions all night. Why?” King asked.

  “To know where to strike,” Steuben said. “Being mobile and aggressive will throw it off. We’re doing the right thing.”

  “A bunker would be mighty nice right about now,” Max said. “I feel like a mobile buffet for that thing.”

  "I'm going up to the power relay, which is shut off due to current events." Duke slapped Booker on the shoulder and the two peeled off.

  Hoffman came to a bridge that overlooked the drainage area. “Team, get in line.”

  “Garrison and I have something,” Booker shouted from a few meters to Hoffman’s left. “Fast-moving shadow ascending the other side of the concrete spillway. Range three hundred meters.”

  “Duke?” Hoffman touched his ear, reaching for an IR transmitter that wasn’t there. “Blast it, we need mirrors for signaling, something.”

  “I’ve got a running list of best practices we’re missing,” King said. “Long list.”

  The sharp crack of Duke’s rifle broke through the air and Hoffman glanced over the guardrails and saw the Beast just inside the drainage tunnel.

  “Light it up!" Hoffman yelled as he opened fire. A heartbeat later, the rest of his team joined in, leaning on the railing of the bridge and emptying their magazines.

  The Beast vanished back into the tunnel.

  "I don't know about you, but I drilled whatever that was several times,” King said. “Looked like a big cat, but weird, like it was made up of polygons or something."

  "Where is it?" Hoffman asked as King and the others shifted positions.

  "I'm not seeing it," Garrison said. “But if we’re not hurting it with these slugs, we might as well switch to spitballs and harsh language.”

  "It's gone," Max said.

  Hoffman looked at Steuben.

  The Karigole growled. “It got away. Again. I am starting to agree with the complainer. We need bigger weapons. And we need to be ready for an attack. If its pattern holds, the moment we lose sight of it, it will begin hunting us."

  "Which is getting to be a familiar pattern," Max said.

  “Form up and move out,” Hoffman said. “Sniper team will stay on overwatch. Rest of us will cross the bridge in two teams, bounding overwatch. King, lead off.”