by Michael Cole
Seymour picked up his revolver and turned around. Holding their machine guns, Ivan and Rex strolled from the blockade of trees.
“I hit him first,” Rex said.
“My ass!” Ivan said. “That counts as mine!”
“Your mother’s ass!” Rex barked.
Seymour shook his head. If they weren’t good soldiers… I swear…
CHAPTER
17
The jungle was an endless maze of green, seemingly leading to nothing other than more green. The soldier kept his rifle shouldered as he ran, resting his finger on the trigger. Saliva and bile built up in his throat, and his mind was a whirlwind of tactical planning.
After seeing his fellow comrades overtaken by the strike team leader, the soldier realized he was no match and had chosen to flee. He knew three others had made it out of the site, and he hoped to regroup.
Blinded by the dense jungle, he ran faster than he ever had. Leaves and branches scratched his face and uniform, constantly slowing him down. His lungs burned, his eyes watered, and his mouth dried. He tore under a bamboo bush, closing his eyes as the leaves slapped the ridge along his nose.
Temporarily blinded, he was completely unaware that his foot had landed in a bed of vines.
His rifle launched from his hands and the soldier tumbled forward. Propelled by a thousand yards of momentum, the soldier bounced along the terrain, rolling along the downward slope of a hill. Shouts of foul language rang from his vocals as his legs hit a tree, causing his body to turn like a lever as a combination of force and gravity pulled him down the slope.
Laying on his back, he opened his eyes. All he saw was one giant green blur. The world spun around him. His stomach churned and his legs ached. His energy nearly spent, he pushed himself up onto his hands and knees. Taking in deep breaths, he collected his wits. With his vision back in focus, he looked around him. He needed to locate his weapon. Otherwise, venturing further into the jungle was suicide.
Or would it make any difference?
The threat of the strike suddenly subsided from his mind, replaced by the realization of his situation. He wasn’t concerned with pursuit from the enemy soldiers.
His heart raced, driven not by the intense physical activity, but from the comprehension of his vulnerability. He thought of what his platoon was trying to barricade before the surprise attack. No longer did he have the visibility from the newly cleared perimeter. He no longer had access to the remaining explosives and flamethrowers, and the assistance of the forty-three remaining comrades.
He whipped himself around. He slouched slightly, ready to run. Something in the distance had rustled the trees. The soldier backed away. He turned, deciding on a path. Every direction offered no visibility. The canopy blocked the sun, leaving him in a dark ravine. Every so often, the wind would sweep through the trees, offering brief streams of light.
Every shadow was full of menace. Every plant served as a screen, concealing the presence beyond. The soldier silently breathed through his nose, taking in the sounds of the surrounding jungle. He was being watched.
He suddenly regretted his decision to retreat into the jungle, and not combat the strike team. In the midst of battle, being overwhelmed by a superior force, he did not consider that death from gunfire was a preferable alternative to what waited for him.
Echoes from within taunted him. Another small gust of wind brushed through the trees. Shimmers of light broke through, briefly illuminating the murky floor. A speck of light caught the soldier’s eye. A reflection, looking like a star in the dirt.
The soldier rushed toward the reflection. He had found his rifle, laying against a large root. He snatched it up, and began brushing the dirt from the slide. He removed the mag and checked for dirt in the barrel of the gun.
The light faded away, taken over by a shadow. Moments later, another breeze swept the trees. The soldier froze. He was still shrouded in shadow. Something else was blocking the light.
The soldier slowly turned. He looked up.
It stood two feet taller than him, gazing at him with an eyeless face.
Like a jolt of lightning, he felt its barb puncture his stomach.
Involuntary muscle twitches overtook his body. His jaw clicked, and his throat tightened. He tried to raise his rifle, but his arms failed to move. Foam filled his mouth and poured from his lips. The weapon dropped from his grip, his hands still frozen as if ready to aim.
He fell on his back. Paralyzed in the dirt, he stared upward into the canopy. The only thing he was in control of was his mind, which was a whirlwind of terror. He was silently screaming.
It lifted its barb from the inferior victim, and stood silently. Blending into the trees, it felt the vibrations from within the jungle.
It heard the thunder of battle raging nearby. The disturbance had stopped, and thus many of its quarry were now dead. However, new vibrations entered into its nervous system.
New prey now lurked within the island. New hosts for its seed. New potential for its species to spread.
CHAPTER
18
The fire died down, exposing blackened metal from the ravaged remains from the construction vehicles. The black smoke turned a faded grey, which faded through the opening in the canopy.
The mercenaries ransacked the tents, looking for any possible clues for the whereabouts of the remaining scientists.
“Remember, I got the three by the bulldozers, so that puts me ahead by five,” Ivan said to Rex.
“Yeah, but when we first lit them up, I was the first to shoot. I took down at least five before you even got cracking.”
“Bull-SHIT!” Ivan said. “I got to shooting right as you did.”
“Oh, for crying out loud!” Sutton said. “Give it a rest, why don’t you?”
“Eh,” Ivan said, waving him off. “We’ll determine this later.”
“Fine,” Rex said. Sutton glared at them. His mind swelled with suspicion. Please, God, tell me they weren’t using body cams. He tried to ignore the banter as he continued searching the south temper tent. It had been completely shredded by the machine gun fire. Underneath its collapsed walls were the bodies of several enemy soldiers. He went through their pockets, looking for any notes Hawk could find of use.
“Nothing here,” he called out.
“Damn it,” Hawk grunted, throwing a pile of papers aside. They scattered like leaves in autumn. She knelt by the body of another soldier and began digging through his pockets, hoping to find any written notes regarding the research of Dr. Trevor’s team. Each failed attempt elevated her frustration.
Seymour had his team collect any munitions compatible with their weapons. Being a career soldier, whether private-sector or military, he developed a certain sixth sense. He wasn’t worried so much about any possible remaining military force on the island. Rather, his mind kept wandering back to the strange gravesite, the abandoned outpost at the southside cliff, and the devastation at the harbor. Though they had eliminated the hostile force, responsible for the abduction and murder of scientists, U.S. citizens no less, that sixth sense of his was sounding off in his mind like an air-raid siren.
The presence of threat was not what troubled Seymour. It was that he wasn’t sure what the threat was. Initially, after investigating the harbor, he believed it to be a secondary strike team sent by a rival nation. Then they came across the “dead jungle,” and the resulting effects wrought on the soldiers and wildlife.
He began to feel something he rarely felt since completing his first SEAL mission; a small degree of apprehension.
“There’s nothing here,” he said. He stood up, having checked the contents of the tent.
“I think you’re right,” Hawk said. She stood up. Seymour couldn’t help but notice the mild twitches in her body. She leaned on a table, appearing notably exhausted.
“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” he said.
“Beg your pardon?”
“Since your last firefight,” Seymour said.
/> “Oh,” Hawk said. She looked at the submachine gun, still strapped over her shoulder. “I guess I’m a little rusty.” She unstrapped her weapon and held it back to Seymour. He glanced at it and shook his head.
“Hang on to it,” he said. “And by the way, you did fine.”
Terrie’s voice echoed from the jungle. “Coming out!” Seymour stepped from the tent, meeting Terrie and Nagamine as they emerged from the northwest perimeter.
“Did you find anything?” he asked.
“He found two sets of tracks,” Terrie said. “A single individual made it off to the southwest. Then another set, retreating to the north.”
“How many?” Seymour asked. Nagamine held up three fingers.
“Oh, come on!” Rex said, looking at the Japanese tracker. “We KNOW you can speak English! What? Do you just like to let the lady do the talking?”
“At least he thinks of me as a lady,” Terrie remarked.
“You’re complicated. You’re like…your own breed. You like macho stuff like shooting people, then you get back to the world and want to go salsa dancing and be taken out for dinner,” Rex said. He looked back to Nagamine. “Just say one English word. Just ONE.”
Nagamine stared at him. “Prick.”
“How ‘bout clowns,” Sutton whispered.
“Alright, enough with the nonsense,” Seymour said. Recognizing the authority in his voice, the group silenced the banter. Seymour dug out his map. “Hawk, where would you estimate our position to be?” Hawk glanced at it.
“We’re here,” she said, marking an X on the map with a pen. “That’s where the team had left their construction vehicles. The terrain matches the description. The bunker is over a click to the northwest.”
“That’s the direction the three remaining soldiers went,” he said. “Good. Two birds, one stone.” He turned toward Terrie and Nagamine. “What about the fourth?”
“We…don’t know,” she said. “The trail...it just stopped at a certain point.” Nagamine nodded.
“Stopped?” Seymour said.
“Just stopped. Like he had just vanished,” Terrie said.
“Look, it’s a thick jungle,” Hawk said. “It’s very easy to lose track of anyone here.”
“Not for Nagamine,” Seymour said. “He could track a termite through an anthill.”
“…tell you whether it screwed the queen,” Rex chimed in.
“POINT is…” Seymour glared at Rex, who promptly shut up, “…we still have hostiles in the area. We need to keep our wits about. We’re gonna secure the bunker, let the doctor do her thing, then vacate this island.”
“Wait, uh, Boss…if I may?” Ivan raised his hand. Sutton perked his head, surprised at the rare display of civility. Seymour nodded to him. “Frankly, sir, why aren’t these guys at the bunker?” Ivan pointed to all the slain soldiers. “What I mean is, look around. The mounds! The trees! These guys weren’t just trying to make a landing zone. They were barricading themselves against something.”
“Something?” Easley said, expressing a smile. “Not someone?”
“After seeing all ‘em dead soldiers and animals with the weird stuff growing out of ‘em, I don’t know,” Ivan said. “I don’t know if visiting that bunker is a good idea.”
“Whether it’s a good idea or not is out of the question,” Hawk said. “One thing it’s not, is a choice. We HAVE to go there.” Ivan stared at her, then looked to Seymour.
“Then let’s stop wasting time,” Seymour said. “Maintain awareness. We still have hostiles in the area. We’ll finish this then move back to the harbor, and have Charlie extract us.”
It watched the team follow their leader out of the construction zone, leaving the devastation behind them. Perched high in a tree, blending into the surrounding colors, it gazed upon the carnage.
So many potential hosts lay in the dirt, now inadequate to its needs. However, new hosts now lurked about. It had watched them, studying their vocals as they conversed. The creature, while incapable of producing speech or sound, contained an advanced intelligence allowing it to discern languages. During light-years of travels, it learned of the cultures of various species, whether advanced or primitive. On this new planet, the various human languages it had been exposed to was by far the simplest of intelligent beings.
It knew where they were going. More importantly, it now had access to further hosts. A new plan took shape.
Driven by its biological imperative, it lowered itself from the tree, following the trail set by its new prey.
CHAPTER
19
The team came around to a patch of trees ranging between forty and sixty feet in height. They were much younger than the other trees spread throughout the island. Hawk gazed up at the decreased canopy.
“We’re close,” she said to Seymour.
They pushed through another two hundred feet of jungle, until finally a small clearing opened up. A slight hill rested in the middle of that clearing, leading to the Japanese bunker. Seymour and the mercenaries kneeled in the bushes, keeping their rifles raised as they looked upon the cement structure. The trees and plants around it had been cleared for a twenty-foot distance. Scattered all over the ground were the rusted remains of Type 92 machine guns and other weaponry left over by Imperial Japan after World War 2. Most of the weapons were in pieces, scattered across the terrain amongst shell casings and spent cartridges. The grass was littered by a greenish-grey dust, with chunks of gravel littered about.
A remnant of a nation’s dark past, the bunker stood at thirty feet high, with a width of a hundred-and-fifty feet. The exterior had worn over the years. Small cracks formed throughout the foundation, though not enough to compromise its stability. The cement had turned a shade of yellow, and moss had gained years of growth onto the structure. Multiple orange cables stretched out from the open doorway, connecting to a large generator unit.
Behind the command post was an incomplete trench. Nearly eight feet deep, it extended from the building in a jagged line, stopping at a dead end near the trees.
“We’re in position,” Ivan whispered over the comm.
“In position,” Terrie said.
“Myself and Easley are in position,” Sutton said. The team had made a perimeter around the bunker, maintaining a visibility on all corners.
Seymour and Nagamine were the first to step out of cover. Seymour took position near the generator, while the tracker checked for signs. Nagamine made his way along the building, gradually checking the ground. The soil was covered with old prints of soldiers moving away from the building. Tire tracks led out to an open trail. They too, were at least a day old. Nagamine made his way back to the main entrance. He looked to Seymour and shook his head. There were no prints leading toward the bunker. The remaining soldiers had not returned.
“All units move in,” Seymour said. Quick and silent as fleeting shadows, the team moved in toward the bunker. Ivan and Rex took positions on each corner of the front entrance, while the rest regrouped with Seymour. Like a SWAT team ready to commence a drug bust, they converged on the door.
“Ivan, Rex, Easley, you three maintain a perimeter, and cover our backs. The rest of you, on me,” Seymour said. He pushed against the steel door, which opened with a loud clunking noise. Placing a night-vision goggle over his right eye, Seymour entered, followed immediately by Terrie, who substituted her sniper rifle for her H&K. The door led to a dark hallway which immediately turned left for ten feet, leading to a right turn. They passed by another open doorway, entering a large open space. Streams of sunlight passed through machine gun loopholes in the wall, enough to provide visibility without the goggles. They removed their night vision, they looked at the several computer panels lined across the south wall. On the opposite side, several communication patch panels, covered in dust and grit, remained in place.
Sutton and Nagamine entered, followed by Hawk. Sutton gazed at the old panels. For seventy years they sat untouched in this room.
“This was
the operation room. Damn, they really did use this as a communications station,” he said.
“This deep into the jungle?” Terrie said. “How would they get a signal out?”
“Well, the trees were shorter,” Seymour said. “Clearly, when this place was built, they landscaped the surrounding area. Everything’s been growing back gradually since.” He looked at the modern computers. “Agent, would these contain your data?”
“Not those,” she said. She pointed to the far wall. “That one.”
“Oh shit!” Terrie exclaimed. The “far wall” was not a wall at all. It was one massive supercomputer, nearly twenty feet in length. In the dim light, it simply appeared as though it was the wall itself. “Damn…what does a computer like that even do?”
“Configurates data,” Hawk said.
“My iPhone configurates data,” Terrie said, amazement still in her voice. “What the hell kind-of-data does that thing configure?” Hawk didn’t answer, and followed Seymour. There were two doorways at the corner of the room. He checked the first, which led to a vacant office. It contained leftover armaments, and a machine gun loophole. He pushed the second one open and entered into another large room. It was the bunker’s planning room, which was converted into another computer lab. Pieces of old tables, broken down by age, had been pushed into the corner, making space for modern equipment. More monitors lined the inside wall. On the opposite wall, streams of sunlight seeped in through more machine-gun loopholes. Just over eighteen inches wide, they were used to allow repelling fire against enemy forces. Several rolling chairs had been pushed out from their tables, some completely knocked over, as if their occupants had left in a rush.
Seymour felt a crunch beneath his boot. He stepped back and looked down, shining a light onto the floor. A broken glass had scattered all over the concrete floor.
