The Pilot

by Michael Cole

  Seymour emerged from the wall of plants. His face was tense, almost demonic.

  “You assholes are on my last nerve,” he said.

  “Sorry, Boss,” Sutton whispered. He nudged his elbow toward the spider. “We’ve discovered Ivan’s worst enemy.”

  “Hey guys,” Ivan whispered. They quietly walked over. Sutton shook his head.

  “It’s a boar,” he said.

  “I know it’s a fucking boar!” Ivan said through clenched teeth. “But what’s that?” Seymour gazed at the creature’s bulk. From the center of its thick hump was a strange bulge. Though it appeared like a large infectious lump, it wasn’t part of the animal itself. Shaped like a mushroom cap, the bulge appeared to have several veins running through it. Where it connected to the flesh, the veins were red, but as they moved further up, they took on a greenish color.

  Sutton studied it quietly, then looked at its trunk. “It looks dead, but its blood is free-flowing…”

  “Yeah, okay…” Ivan said. “But what is that?” He knelt down, pointing at the strange lump.

  “Hey boss?” Terrie’s voice came through the radio. Ivan twitched again. Even Seymour had difficulty hiding his amusement. A rare smile creased his face.

  “Go ahead,” he said.

  “We’ve located the harbor.”

  “Any movement?”

  “Negative, sir. From what we can see, there’s not a soul here. But it looks like something went down. You’ll want to take a look at this.”

  “Copy that. Stand by, we’re on our way,” he said.

  “Oh, and sir?”

  “Yes?”

  “Let Ivan know he can borrow my dress, since he’s being such a girl.”

  Ivan grunted. Bitch.

  “He’ll take a raincheck,” Seymour said. He stepped away from the boar. “Alright, gentlemen, let’s get a-moving. I’m getting tired of saying it…keep it quiet. Easley, why don’t you take point.”

  “Aye-aye,” Easley said. The nerd gripped his rifle and disappeared into the jungle. The rest of the team followed, maintaining fifteen feet of distance.

  CHAPTER

  11

  Seymour knelt six feet away from Nagamine, concealed in tall grass. The team spread out along the edge of a steep hill overlooking the harbor. The harbor was located in a cove, which indented into the inner side of the peninsula. Several trees around it had been chopped down, making room for three helipads. From the shore, three docks extended fifty feet into the water. Thirty feet inland, between the docks and the helipads, was the outpost. It was a similar design as the abandoned one on the southside cliffs, but much larger. And like the other, it had a propane generator.

  “Jesus,” Seymour said. They could see the charred remains from a sixty-foot vessel, docked near the furthest deck. It remained afloat, but the top portion was riddled with burns and impact craters, as if it had taken hits from RPG’s. Two hundred feet out in the water was another boat, half submerged. Its bow pointed upward at a forty-five-degree angle, the stern lodged into the reef.

  The two helicopters were in even worse shape. The cockpits were smashed inward, the rotors fragmented in countless pieces spread all over the cove. Even from afar, the team could see traces of a large fire that ignited from what they speculated to be two crashes.

  “Don’t know about you guys, but I’d say these fellas had themselves a fiasco,” Rex said.

  Seymour studied the area through his binoculars.

  “No movement,” he said.

  Terrie looked up from her sniper scope. “Nothing that I can see.”

  “Alright,” Seymour said. “Let’s check it out. But don’t drop your guard. Keep low. Rex, Ivan--take the left near the shore. Sutton, Nagamine--move out to the right. Terrie, provide sniper cover. Easley, move down the middle with me. Move!”

  The team crouched down to blend in with their surroundings. Each movement between open space had to be swift and silent as they moved down the hill.

  Terrie ignored the ants that sprawled toward her from the ground as she consistently moved her crosshairs along the harbor. Having spent time in both Iraq and Afghanistan, she understood the cost of dropping her guard.

  Several trees in the area made a clean line of sight impossible. She kept her main focus on the building. She could see one entrance, but not the other. As with the previous outpost, the lights appeared to have been turned off.

  Seymour and Easley kneeled several meters within the last thick group of trees.

  “Ivan, Rex, provide cover,” he said. He pointed his rifle and hustled, followed by Easley. Sutton and Nagamine moved in from the right. They pointed their weapons toward the downed aircraft, and checked the open cabins. Confirming nobody was inside, they proceeded to the building.

  “Damn,” Sutton muttered to himself. The side of the building was charred. Entire portions, each roughly the size of a car tire, had been blown away, exposing charred edges. Shell fragments and bullet casings littered the ground. They hurried around the corner, finding the second doorway.

  The door was completely torn from its frame. The hinges had been bent into jagged, irregular shapes. Sutton looked at the ground. Two feet past the door, an arm lay in the dirt, torn off above the elbow. The hand still clutched the M58 assault rifle, the index finger pressed tightly against the trigger.

  Further along the outside wall was an assortment of other body parts. Blood, dried and charred, smothered the entire side of the building. All Sutton could identify was a boot. The rest had been completely mangled.

  Standing outside the doorway, he ignited the flashlight on his rifle. After a quick breath, he entered the building. Smears of blood, turned a light brown, covered the small hallway. He entered the radio room. Several computer consoles, all powered down, lined the dashboard.

  Sutton turned off his light, as the daylight seeping through the window provided enough illumination. He looked about the room.

  Three semi-automatic pistols lay on the floor, each with the slide locked back.

  Seymour and Easley entered, having already checked the armory. Seymour tapped his mic.

  “Building’s all clear,” he said. “Team three, anything?”

  “All clear out here, Boss,” Ivan said. Seymour examined the computer consoles.

  “The generator is out,” Sutton said.

  “I don’t think that’s why these are powered down,” Seymour said. He shined a flashlight under the dashboard, where the hard drives were located. Each one was riddled with bullet holes. Judging by the placement, Seymour knew it was done deliberately, and not in the midst of blind gunfire. “The generator was shot too,” he said.

  “Obviously, they didn’t want anyone to know they were downloading porn!” Rex shouted from outside.

  “Friggin apes,” Sutton whispered. He looked at the radio units. Like the computers, they had been shot repeatedly. He glanced back at the hard drives. “Can these be used for messaging?”

  “Probably, yes. Most likely, that’s what their purpose was,” Seymour said.

  “I mean, I doubt they would store important files in these computers. The only logic in destroying them is...” he paused and looked out the window at the ships and choppers, “…to cut everybody off from the outside.”

  “I know someone who might know,” Seymour said. He lifted his microphone to his lips. “Agent Hawk?”

  “I read you,” Hawk responded.

  “Bring the boat in,” he said. “Harbor is secure.”

  “Coming in,” she said. Seymour moved the mic away.

  “Frankly, I’m shocked she even followed my instructions,” he said. Sutton looked all over the room, then peered through the open window. He stared at the ships, then back at the choppers.

  “I don’t like this, man,” he said. “I’m tellin’ you; something’s not right.”

  “Yeah, man,” Easley said. “I mean, where are the bodies? All we saw was one…or what was left of one…splattered outside over there.”

 
They led Seymour through the door frame. He quickly noticed how the door had been pulled off the hinges, then looked at the charred body pieces.

  “There were no bodies in the choppers?”

  “No sir, not a one,” Sutton said. Seymour walked to the bloodstained wall. Through the layer of blood, he could see scorched markings on the wall directly behind the human remains.

  Ivan stepped around the front of the building. “They did a number on him, whoever they were.” Seymour didn’t respond and continued examining. He looked at the other damage along the side. Chunks of wall had been completely blown away, in near perfect circles, leaving behind burnt edges.

  “What do you think did this?” Sutton said. “Couldn’t have been an RPG.”

  “No, that would’ve done more damage,” Seymour said. “But these certainly are impact craters.”

  “Impact crater from what?” Sutton asked. “I don’t see any shrapnel in any of these blast points.” Seymour looked around. The doc was right. It almost appeared as if a fire had somehow burnt away these precise portions of the wall without spreading. However, looking at the remains of the exposed frames, it was clear they were bent inward. Something had definitely hit the wall, without leaving any physical evidence.

  “I see some in these choppers,” Ivan called out. Seymour turned around. The choppers lay twenty yards from each other. One was still on its helipad, the other embedded in the mound, turned over on its side. Ivan stood near the standing chopper, pointing out the fifty-caliber bullet marks. “This one didn’t even manage to take off,” he said.

  “Clearly the other one did,” Seymour said. Its cabin and cockpit had crumpled inward as the craft landed and rolled. Bullet holes were riddled throughout its hull. “Those guys we encountered on the ship fled from here,” he said. “Whatever happened here, we just missed it.”

  “Oh, it gets weirder,” Ivan said. He stuck his head inside the open hatch, and waved Seymour over to do the same. “Look at this.” Seymour poked his head inside and shined a light. The entire interior was charred black, and smelled of smoke.

  “Damn,” he said. “They took a flamethrower to this thing.”

  “Yeah man,” Ivan said. “Had to stick the nozzle right through this door. They really wanted to smoke out whoever was in here.”

  “At this close range? They probably caught themselves on fire in the process,” Seymour said. He backed away from it. He looked out toward the hill, seeing nothing but a thick blanket of green throughout. Whoever they are, they could be anywhere. He picked up his long-range radio. “Eagle nest?”

  “Go ahead, Hatchling.”

  “Is there any other point on this island where someone could make landfall?”

  “All I’ve been able to see are shallow areas along the east, and a couple of small areas to the west. I don’t see any vessels other than those in your location.”

  “You sure?”

  “Boss, I’ve been spending this whole time studying the terrain and layout. The north and south sides of the island are nothing but rocks and cliffs. The jungle is so dense, you can’t really land a chopper, except a grass plain over on the northeast. But I see nothing there.”

  “Alright, keep looking. Hatchling, out.” Seymour switched frequencies. “Terrie, scout ahead along the shoreline. I want to know of any signs of anyone moving in and out of here. Nagamine, you go as well.”

  “Hai!” Without hesitation, Nagamine took off toward the jungle.

  ********

  As instructed by Seymour, Hawk hid the Zodiac in another small cove further up along the peninsula. Thick bushes and dense trees created a perfect cover for it. Ivan and Rex had met her at the landing point, and guided her back to the outpost. During the trip, she endured the endless banter and innuendo between the two towering mercenaries.

  Upon reaching the outpost, she felt as though a whirlwind was twirling in her stomach. Her heart started racing. The hundred-degree heat, which had hardly fazed her, suddenly felt nearly unbearable.

  “Did you guys…”

  “Nope,” Rex interrupted her. “We found it like this.”

  “Oh, no.” She looked at the boats and choppers. Waiting by the outpost was Seymour, standing with his arms crossed. She quickened her pace, walking toward him. “Seymour…”

  “Agent, has the C.I.A. sent any other strike team to this island that you’re aware of?”

  “No,” she said. “They really wanted to keep this as quiet as possible.”

  “Are you guys aware of any other countries after…whatever it is they were working on here?”

  “Not that we’re aware of,” Hawk said. She stared past Seymour, looking at the damage along the outpost exterior. Seymour stood quietly, watching her examine the damage. She placed a glove on her hand and ran her fingers over the cavity.

  Ivan and Rex both started grinning.

  “Oh, for the love of…” Sutton placed a hand over his face. Hawk took no notice of the immature mockery. Her expression was stone cold as she observed each impact crater.

  Oh, Doctor Trevor, I hope you didn’t…

  “Agent?” Seymour’s voice broke her concentration. She turned around. Seymour was growing impatient. “You know what did that?” She held her breath, maintaining complete silence. Seymour kicked a small mound of mud. “Classified. I get it,” he said. He turned and walked around the building, moving toward the shoreline.

  He looked out into the ocean. The storm had completely moved off, unveiling a bright, beautiful horizon. The majestic, distant view contrasted sharply with that of the cove, which was now a murky, discolored lagoon of death. Metal groaned under the water as the bow of the sunken ship swayed a few feet toward the shore and back, pushed by the tide.

  The four remaining team members stood silent, each staring at Hawk with questioning eyes. Hawk grew anxious, but tried to maintain a calm, commanding presence. It was clear they felt uneasy about this assignment. With the C.I.A. forcing Seymour into taking the assignment, the classified info, the strange disappearances, the entire scenario reeked of some sort of set-up.

  Her visibly increased anxiety only strengthened their suspicions.

  CHAPTER

  12

  Even up to the shoreline, the jungle was intensely thick. Even moving a thousand yards out proved a challenge in itself, as the terrain did not allow for easy movement. Terrie stepped atop a fallen tree and leaned down against her own knee. She opened her canteen and guzzled a small mouthful. The humid air felt heavy and thick as did the jungle itself, like an invisible weight clinging to her.

  Nagamine approached from the right, stopping to make sure she was aware of his presence. A quiet whistle from him drew her attention. She held a hand up, acknowledging his presence. Exhaling sharply, she put away her canteen and stepped over the dead tree.

  There were no traces of footsteps or machinery. The portion of jungle appeared undisturbed. Whoever stormed the harbor did not come in from this direction. She whistled at Nagamine. With his attention on her, she pointed at herself, then pointed to her left, indicating she would proceed north. Nagamine nodded, and continued east.

  Ducking under vines and enormous plants, Terrie walked a hundred yards. So far, there was no sign anyone had come through here. A mild wind brushed through the jungle. Terrie stopped and embraced the cooling sensation, listening to the leaves rustle in the canopy high above. That thirst irritated her throat again.

  Damn, she thought. She felt mildly dehydrated. With the ocean splashing her face as the team approached the island, she believed to have inadvertently swallowed a mouthful or two of saltwater. Just one more. She leaned against a tree and unscrewed the lid to her canteen.

  The crackling sound of a snapping branch burst through the air, immediately followed by the rustling of leaves. Mud splashed as something heavy fell to the earth. Terrie snatched her rifle, completely alarmed. She looked toward the sound, keeping the barrel of the gun pointed forward. The wind died down.

  She figured it
was probably just a tree branch damaged in the storm that gave in to the wind. However, she knew better to be sure. She slung the rifle to her back and drew her PM-84 Glauberyt Machine Pistol. She walked a hundred feet, coming to another downed tree. This one was fresh, having possibly fallen during the worst of the storm. She peeked through the wall of leaves.

  She saw nothing but black. However, it wasn’t darkness. Because of the fallen tree, a stream of light had managed to burst through the upper layer of forest. Two hundred feet of land had been burnt. Ash from trees and other plants had crumpled down into the earth, creating a large open area.

  Terrie looked to the ground. Cartridge casings had peppered the dirt. She looked to her right, seeing several assault rifles in the mud. Terrie squinted as she gazed past the rifles.

  “What the—”

  Two large canisters, each encased with mud from hours of exposure, lay in the mud. They were strapped together, linked to a single hose that hooked to an ignition valve. It was a flamethrower.

  Maintaining awareness of her surroundings, she slowly approached the weapons. Empty magazines surrounded the rifles. She knelt to check the gauges on the canisters. They were empty.

  She stood straight, ready to alert Seymour.

  As she adjusted her mic, she found herself staring at the maze of plants ahead. Many of them were dead, but not from fire. They appeared withered, as though the life had been sucked from them entirely. Their natural green pigment had darkened to a wet charcoal color. A thick oily fluid dripped from the withered leaves. She moved over, noticing several feet of jungle in the background, with the same bizarre color and texture.

  She carefully brushed the plants aside, and gazed at the dying area of jungle.

  “Oh…Jesus,” she said. She prepped her mic. “Seymour…”

  “Terrie, go ahead.”

  “You’ll want to check this out.”

  CHAPTER

  13