SNAFU: Hunters

by James A. Moore

  “We have touchdown, Chop,” Mouth said into his earpiece. Then, “Oh, fuck off already, just get back here when we call you,” and the he-lo stuttered away in stop motion. Mouth smoothly ejected his mag, checked it and slapped it back in, pulled the charging handle of his short barrel AR-15 and a round chambered with a clean mechanical clank. “I know I’m pretty, but you might want to stop staring at me, Rook.”

  “Right, sorry, sir,” Rook said and checked his AR in turn.

  “Mouth,” he corrected, and clicked his selector from safe to deadly.

  “Right. Sorry.”

  Mouth walked away, a pistol-grip Mossberg pump shotgun on his back.

  Rook tested his tactical flashlight, flicked it on then off, then slapped at his foregrip. It jiggled slightly. He pulled a knife from his belt and tightened the screw.

  “On me,” Boss commanded and the crew scrabbled around him, boots scraping on the rocky rooftop.

  “Deacon, give us some protection.”

  “Boss.” Deacon nodded and let his weapon fall to the side. Then he locked his hands together and they all bowed their heads in prayer.

  The night was eerily silent, filled with nothing but the soft sounds of their uneven breathing and Deacon’s rumbling, arcane verse. Not even the passive swishing of cars on the street could penetrate the fog that separated Shadow Team from the world. It was like the city had become nothing more than a tomb, a new age Roanoke Colony, an abandoned sprawl of hidden sarcophagi with decrepit mummies awaiting discovery within. Rook shivered at the thought. It had made him uncomfortable, this long settled silence. That and what Boss had said.

  They were trained. They were strong. They were armed to the teeth. What more protection did they need?

  “In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti,” Deacon said.

  All eyes opened.

  * * *

  “Let’s move.” All eyes fell on Boss. He flashed a determined finger at the rusted door and the team made huddled moves towards it and stacked around the frame, first he and Mouth, then Deacon and Cypher just behind. Rook lagged a moment before stacking behind Deacon.

  Boss thought it over a moment; he didn’t want Rook at the back. Not a good idea.

  “Rook, move up.” Deacon let him pass. The kid’s eyes were wide, he was breathing heavy and he looked like the mouse that saw the hawk. “You stay with Deacon. Watch his back. He’ll watch yours.”

  “Yes, Boss.”

  Deacon patted Rook on the shoulder. “And you watch Boss too, Rook. We watch our front and our back in this crew.”

  Boss wasn’t sure that this one would last, but he did know Rook would be fine with Deacon. He had no doubt about that.

  With that settled, Boss tested the door knob. Locked.

  Mouth looked to Boss; placed a hand on his Mossberg.

  Boss shook his head in answer to the silent query. “Cypher, you’re up.”

  She pulled a small drill from her vest, attached a drill bit and stripped the lock. The door popped open slightly, fragments of metal falling from the holes where tumblers once rested. She fell back in line.

  Boss pushed the door softly and glanced through the opening. He shook his head and opened the door fully, waiting for his eyes to adjust. Its metal hinges squealed their complaints and the red flakes of rust and decay that had set in was soon lost in the gloom of the night.

  They moved into the darkened stairwell together, Mouth and Cypher shadowing close behind him, and Deacon covering the rear. Rook was lost somewhere in between. Boss popped his flashlight on and looked over the railing. Stairs spiraled jaggedly down the corrupt walls of the building and into the fast-approaching darkness below. He could see no living thing on the stairs, but that didn’t mean he believed the façade. He had been here before, a few too many times in fact. He knew the difference between still air and dead air. That kind of quiet that was too quiet. Too quiet because something had made it too quiet.

  This was dead air. And the whole damned city seemed to be filled with it.

  “PK-EM is strong here, but no heat signatures, Boss,” Cypher said, hovering her arm over the stairwell as if reading his mind.

  “You trust that?” Mouth blurted.

  Boss raised a fist. Talking ceased. Then he signaled to move forward.

  They spread out along the stairwell, moving down step by step, flashlights bouncing on wall and stair alike. As Boss spiraled downwards, he watched the dingy walls for any bad signs. He didn’t see any recognizable writing amongst the symbol-laden scrawl – well, nothing more than the standard, illegible, black spray-paint graffiti that should be expected of a shithole New York apartment – or any signs of struggle. No blood. No scratches. No charred marks. No holes that seemed to have tunneled themselves open out of nowhere and lead on and on and on. Just the usual grit, grime and decay of a needle-supported residency.

  Floor after floor, they continued down towards a growing question mark, and on every landing Boss looked to Cypher who checked her computer.

  “We just went down five floors and you’re telling me you haven’t picked up a single signature?” Mouth whispered hoarsely.

  “Not one,” she said icily.

  “And that doesn’t strike you as fucked up?”

  “Not one? Not even like a cat or something?” Rook chimed in, the kid’s voice wavering.

  “Nope.” Cypher gripped her MP5.

  Boss could see the nerves setting back in on the kid. Normal. But he needed Rook to have his head in the game, not in the clouds. That’s the tough part of the job. Stopping the what if to focus on the what is.

  What is kept you alert. What if could get you killed.

  “Cut the chatter. Now. We’re moving.”

  When they reached the 6th floor, Boss took to the doorframe and signaled to stack up once more, realizing now, for the first time, as he turned and looked back up the stairs just how dark it had become on their descent. He watched his team slowly materialize like ink blots out of the solid black that had swallowed them. All except one.

  “Where is Deacon?”

  Rook looked back over his shoulder. “I-I don’t know, Boss.”

  “What do you mean you don’t know, Rook?” Mouth growled. “Everyone watches the man to his front and back. Always.”

  “I’m sorry–”

  “Quiet,” Boss said. He listened closely. The stairwell seemed to rumble gleefully at him. The air felt heavy, different. Almost leaden. His head was buzzing, and the gentle hum behind his eyes that shook his teeth told him he was being watched. “What’s that sound?”

  “No signatures still, but PK-EM is off the charts, Boss.” Cypher said. “Could be auditory distortion as a result of the waves.”

  “Could that also be blocking heat signatures?”

  “It’s possible. The radiation is definitely strong enough. It’s unbelievable, Boss. There’s only one thing strong enough to produce this.”

  “A Sink Hole.” The words fell heavy from his mouth.

  “Seriously? Oh, that’s good. We got a party on our hands and he lost D. Fan-fucking-tastic,” Mouth said with a mocking chuckle.

  Rook winced, but the kid had the good sense to stay silent.

  Boss placed his foot on the first step and watched closely, expecting a Rorschach test named Deacon to spill from the black, backing down the stairs with his AA12 Automatic Shotgun poised and ready.

  Waiting for it.

  Hoping for it.

  Come on, Deek.

  Nothing but the steady thrumming that bounced through the stairwell. And it sounded louder. Hungrier. No more time to wait.

  Boss stepped back from the darkness and pressed himself to the wall once more. Then he signaled for them to stack on the doorway.

  It was time to move.

  * * *

  The team slid through the door effortlessly, fanning out, flashlights flicking every which way, casting their disfigured shadows over the walls and doors like prowling hunchbacked creatures.

&nbs
p; The hallway was long and untended, dirt and painted scribbles similar to those in the stairwell leading like breadcrumbs to a central lobby where the desiccated bodies of wilted plants draped over a stained and torn sitting area.

  Rook watched as Boss flashed a light down each corridor then signaled empty. Cypher shook her head – no signatures. Then Boss pointed down a hallway and they were moving in.

  A Sink Hole. Rook couldn’t believe it – no, he didn’t want to believe it. First field drop and he might have to deal with a Sink Hole. His anxiety welled up again.

  It could have been anything else. Why that? Why couldn’t it be something simple? Ghouls would be fine or goblins; yeah, goblins would be perfect! Doppelgangers, vampires, a poltergeist or two. Anything but a goddamned Sink Hole.

  Rook stayed close behind Boss, checking his front and his back constantly. He wouldn’t make that mistake again. One brief lapse may have already cost someone their life. He hoped that one time he would look back and see Deacon rushing down the hallway to catch up. It didn’t happen.

  Cypher was behind him, Mouth following her. As they moved down the hall, the sound from the stairwell swelled in volume, pumping its thick tones through the halls into the very heart of the building. Only now it had changed. This was no longer the inarticulate clearing of a throat but a deep growl that streaked discordant high-pitched squeals throughout its roaring bass. The screeching was fast and long, then short and slow and all the while it was pained, bleeding agony in the air that shot through Rook in electrified spears and brought them straight to room 613 – Leak’s room.

  The door was covered in scratch marks, embedded with fingernails and painted with streaks of blood. Black muck oozed from the door frame with every agonized pulse that emanated from within.

  “Ectoplasm,” Cypher said. “Someone is angry.”

  Boss signaled and they formed an arc around the door, all arms shouldered and ready. Boss tried the knob. Locked. Mouth stepped forward, pulled his Mossberg 590 and waited for the signal.

  Rook dug his weapon into his shoulder, heart racing as he started rifling through his training.

  Ghouls: flesh eating hell beast. Cut out the heart.

  Cypher sat machine still.

  Poltergeist: nasty ghost-human attachment. Exorcism.

  Boss was trained on the door, his eyes locked and ready.

  Revenant: already went over that one. Shit.

  Mouth aimed at the lock.

  Sink Hole–

  Mouth fired.

  * * *

  The lock splintered into shrapnel and Boss booted the door, leading the charge into the dark room. He wanted this procedure to go by the numbers, even envisioned it all. He kicks in the door, the team files in behind, splits off into the adjacent rooms in a flurry of feet and reflex, all uneven gallops and sudden squeaking stops as corners were checked and rooms called “clear” until they found whatever had taken Leak – whatever ghost or goblin or ghoul – and they would blast it straight back to whatever hellhole it had clawed its way out of and Leak would be fine and they would pull out. That was the plan. It was a good plan. Solid. Perfect.

  Except they had already lost Deacon. And there were 123 residents unaccounted for in this apartment complex. And there seemed to be a Sink Hole somewhere nearby, which meant someone had to open it. And that someone would be dangerous, yes, but not nearly as dangerous as the Sink Hole.

  So, as the splinters floated in mid-air and he shined his light into the apartment, Boss was in no way surprised to find that his plan had gone all to hell.

  The living room was a crimson massacre delivered in flashes of white light. Blood soaked the walls in angry splashes beside deep, hateful scratches that were adorned with hunks of fatty flesh. Chunks of bone and sinew were strewn about the hallway like a child’s toys. The kitchen sink was filled with red and bubbled with putrid black sewage. The room smelled of shit and vomit and putrefaction.

  Someone gagged behind him. Boss knew that was Rook.

  “What the fuck?” Mouth stepped forward, accidentally crushed a bone and hopped back. “Shit. Sorry, guy.”

  “Boss.” Cypher. And for the first time since he had known her, she sounded nervous.

  “We’re finding Leak then Deacon and we’re out of here.” Boss shouldered his weapon. “No one goes off alone. In ninety seconds, we’re out the door either way.” He pointed to the lone hallway in the apartment. “Move.”

  * * *

  Rook couldn’t think of a single term to calm his nerves. There was no definition or explanation or measure of focus that could possibly push the images that were flashing in front of him from his mind. From the moment the door flew open and they had crossed the threshold, he knew these moments would be forever imprinted on the forefront of his memory.

  He was living a nightmare and he knew it. There was no way to escape, not until they had seen their mission through. And that’s exactly what he wanted to do. See this through, get the hell out of here and never look back.

  Rook fell in line behind Boss, his head now on a permanent swivel. He could feel uneven sprinkles of fluid dripping on him as he stepped carefully through the ruined apartment. He didn’t need to flash his light to the ceiling to know that stalactites of wet flesh were dangling above him, didn’t even want to, but the sight of this apartment served not only as a shock but as a warning. Something could be hiding up there in the darkness. So, he flashed the light upwards and discovered how bad it truly was.

  They reached the first door. Boss kicked it in.

  There were bodies – more accurately, pieces of bodies – in every possible position. Some were twisted and contorted in spider-like mockery of the human form. Others were dangling from chains that sunk deep into their skin, stretched out and posed like bleeding, disfigured marionettes, strung up and splayed out with parts from other broken bodies shoved into their abused and ruined orifices. Rook glanced in only briefly; just long enough to be sure it was safe.

  “One hell of an orgy,” Mouth said, moving past the door. “Are we sure Leak is alive?”

  “Yes,” Cypher said. “And that’s more troubling to me than if he were dead.”

  Boss threw a grave look over his shoulder, and Rook didn’t need to ask why. A Sink Hole didn’t just open. Someone had to open it. And if that was the case, and all of these dead weren’t Leak… Well, it didn’t take a rocket scientist to put two and two together.

  The next door led to the bathroom. That one, Boss didn’t have to kick in – it was held ajar by another shredded corpse.

  Then they had reached it, the last door on the left. The spectral sounds coming from behind it blasted straight through Rook’s chest.

  All weapons were raised, trained on the door and, for the first time, Rook felt like he was part of the team.

  He wished desperately that he wasn’t.

  Boss kicked the door in…

  * * *

  Inside, a squat shirtless man with a sharp Neanderthal face hovered over a gaping hole in the floor, circling it erratically with a wild-eyed smile. His gnarled hands were bunched like claws, and he was entirely oblivious to the fact that anyone else was there. Boss signaled for the others to hold position and stepped into the doorway. The hole seemed to be growing out of the floor, pulsing its impossible flesh with a respiratory rhythm, blowing putrid air and tortured sounds at him with every powerful contraction.

  It was a fresh, fully formed Sink Hole.

  “Leak,” Boss said, taking one step over the threshold of the room.

  The man stopped suddenly with his back to him, as if hearing a human voice for the first time. His body twitched and jerked rapidly, and he turned. Eyes blackened like burnt out coals, mouth dripping salivary red, he snarled then let out a horrid screech that shook the room.

  This was Leak, or what was left of him. What he had become. A Reaver. A man possessed by demon sickness. And there was only one way to deal with him.

  Boss put a bullet into the man’s brain, the hol
low-point round blowing the back of Leak’s head onto the wall in a crimson fireworks display and sending his body tumbling down the moaning hole.

  The room stilled, silent but for the sounds of the living hellhole before him. Boss noticed the walls were covered, once more, in scribbles and scrawls – ones that matched those in the hall and the stairwell. He had a sinking feeling that he had made a mistake and overlooked something.

  “Boss,” Cypher said and he immediately recognized the apprehension in her voice. “I’ve got signatures. A lot of them. And they’re coming right for us.”

  Boss approached the hole, shined a light down and what he saw shook him, knocked the words from his tongue.

  Reavers.

  There must have been a hundred of them.

  And they were scrambling up the walls of the Sink Hole.

  * * *

  A shrieking blast of anger shot out from the Sink Hole, shaking the building to its very foundation. The force was so strong that Rook lost his balance and fell on his ass, then sat there mouth agape. Frozen. Terrified.

  Mouth had braced himself against a wall. “What the fuck was that?”

  The writing on the walls glowed fiery red and Boss fired his rifle down the hole, backing out of the room and screaming, “Fall back! We’ve got Reavers incoming. Fall back to the rooftop and shoot anything that moves!”

  “Guess we know where all the people went,” Mouth said, grabbing Rook and hauling him back.

  Rook caught a glimpse of a corrupted claw reaching over the hole as he was helped to his feet then the door slammed shut.

  Boss led the charge back through the human wasteland. Rook’s eyes were locked onto the man’s back, no longer checking around carefully. He had seen enough. He just wanted out, wanted to go home. He needed to leave and fast.

  Lights bounced in every direction. The walls cracked and shook as they raced through the apartment, all too aware of the savage screams of hell beasts beating at the door behind them. When they reached the hall, they heard the wood splinter.