“Radio for a deputy and an ambulance to come up here. We’re definitely going to need assistance.” He stopped and stepped off the ATV. Daniel dug into the rear storage and pulled out the first aid kit, suddenly feeling as though it were far too basic for what they were about to face. “I’m going to see if there’s anyone we can help.”
Shelly pulled her radio and selected the correct channel as Hatcher stepped into the light of their ATVs and worked his way forward. He called out into the campground to try to get the attention of anyone he couldn’t see. He stepped cautiously to the first tent and peeked inside. Besides the blood splatters by the doorway, the tent was empty. Hatcher panned his light around to the next campsite and paused. It was far too quiet in the area and he felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He had the distinct feeling once again that he was being watched.
He turned and looked at Shelly who had finished making her call and was hanging her radio back onto her duty belt. “They’ve got calls in other areas, but they’ll try to get someone up here as quick as they can.” She quickly approached and stopped at the first tent, noting the blood trail exiting the camp. “That don’t look good, Hatch.”
Hatcher stepped toward the next campsite and pulled back the flap of the tent. Empty, but at least there wasn’t any blood. He withdrew and scratched at his chin. He hadn’t realized he had half-expected to find another shredded body until none was found.
Hatcher nodded toward the next tent, and with a motion of his chin, sent Shelly to check it out while he crossed back over to the other campsite. “Call out if you find anybody we might can help.”
Shelly went to the next tent and found it in ruins. Sleeping bags had been torn to shreds and ice coolers were upended, their contents scattered. It definitely appeared to have been the scene of a struggle. She let the flap of the tent drop and trotted off to the camper parked at the next site. When Shelly reached for the door, she found it locked.
Knocking loudly with the end of her flashlight, she called out, “Park rangers. Does anybody need assistance?” She waited by the door, straining her ears to listen for any sign of movement within the trailer. She stole a glance to Hatcher who was watching her from across the way. She shrugged and went to the next campsite.
Hatcher trotted to the next tent and the next, finding either blood sprayed along the inside or simply a mess within the confines of the tent and the campsite itself. He came out feeling more confused and frustrated than when he first rolled up on the scene. “Where could they all have gone?”
Shelly stepped out of the tent across from him and turned to him, her face pale and her hands trembling. “Hatch,” she said softly. “You might ought to—” She quickly turned and threw up beside the tent, her hands braced solidly on her knees.
Hatcher dashed across the clearing and caught her around the middle. “Are you okay?”
Shelly waved him away and pointed to the tent as she spat the last remnants of her supper from the back of her throat. She stepped away from the tent and tried to wipe the tears from her eyes and blow her nose from the acrid fluids that had erupted from her stomach. Hatcher paused, unsure he wanted to check the scene, then tossed back the tent flap. The first thing that hit him was the coppery smell of blood, quickly followed by the sharp and almost flavorful cut of smeared fecal matter, followed by the semi-sweet, pungent stench of death. He had to force himself to step into the tent and see what the source of the smell was. Once he turned on his light, he wished he hadn’t. A small child, he guessed a boy judging by the haircut, had been torn in half, intestines strewn about the tent.
Hatcher forced himself to slow down and study the scene, no matter how repugnant he found it. He noticed that the mesenteries had been ripped loose and that the intestines themselves had been stretched out and torn, almost as if someone had been playing tug-of-war with them. They were torn and their contents smeared about the tent as if whoever had been fighting over them hadn’t realized what they were fighting over.
He shuddered and began backing out of the tent when he noticed the hand prints in the blood and grime. They were definitely human. He fought the urge to lose his own supper as he backed out of the tent. Shelly was standing erect now, her back to him as she paced in small circles near the tent.
“That just ain’t right…” she kept repeating.
Hatcher took a few deep breaths to try to cleanse himself of the smells and to try to clear his mind. When he felt he had himself under control, he approached her. “We need to keep looking. There might be others. Someone we might can help.”
Shelly stared at him wide-eyed. “Who in their right mind does something like that, Hatch? To a kid?”
Hatcher shook his head. “I don’t know. But there could be someone here we can help. We keep looking.”
Shelly wrapped her arms around herself and fell into step behind him. They continued on, searching each tent and camper together.
As they approached another camp trailer, Hatcher reached for the doorknob and tried it. “Locked,” he announced and turned to leave.
Shelly gave him a dirty look and rapped on the door with her flashlight. “Park rangers!” she yelled. “Open the damned door!” Hatcher shot her a sideways look and cocked his head to one side. She shot him a dirty look back. “I’m not risking any more kids.”
Hatcher shook his head as he turned away. “If they’re in there behind a locked door, they’re safer than they are out here.”
A curtain pulled away from the window next to the door and Shelly saw movement behind it. “Someone’s inside,” she told Hatcher excitedly. “They may know what happened here.” She beat on the door again with the flashlight. “Open up!”
Hatcher grabbed her hand and pulled her away. “Step back,” he barked as he stepped up to the door. “You can open the door, or I’ll open it for you,” he said firmly to the occupants. “Your choice.”
They waited a moment while a lock was thrown. Hatcher had his sidearm up and ready. As soon as the door was cracked, he pulled it open and stepped into the trailer, weapon up and scanning. He found an elderly couple, obviously scared out of their minds, made even more so by the intrusion of the two armed rangers.
“We haven’t done anything wrong,” the gentleman said, his hands in the air, but stepping to put himself between Hatcher and the older woman.
“Who else is here with you?” Hatcher asked as he stepped away from the door and allowed Shelly to step in with him. She pulled the door closed and covered the other side of the trailer.
“Nobody,” the older man said, maneuvering to keep himself between his female companion and the two armed rangers. “It’s just my wife and I.”
Hatcher glanced over the man’s shoulder and saw the older woman, shaking behind him, and he lowered his weapon. “What happened out there?”
The old man slowly lowered his hands and shook his head. “I’m not really sure,” he began. “We had gone to bed and were woke up to this horrible screaming.”
Shelly turned to him. “What kind of screaming?” she asked. “Didn’t you check it out to see if anybody needed help?”
The old man sighed and sat down at the dinette table, his hands trembling. “Martha told me to stay put. She has better eyes than I do and she could see out the window that things were bad,” the man said. “I thought maybe I could help. I put some clothes on and came out here for my Army surgical kit…and that was when I saw it.”
“Saw what?” Hatcher asked.
“All the bloody people,” the woman said, stepping up to stand behind him. “They were running around and snarling, howling like crazy people. They were just attacking anybody and everybody.”
The old man nodded. “The awning lights were on and I could see them running about, attacking everyone,” he said slowly. “I got down on all fours and crawled to the door and made sure that both locks were locked. Then I checked all the windows.”
The woman lifted her chin. “Once things settled down, I made him turn off the
outside lights. We’ve been hiding in the bedroom ever since.”
“Just waiting for daybreak to make a run for it.” The old man nodded, patting her hand.
“So, you don’t have any idea what started this?” Shelly asked.
He shook his head. “We were asleep.”
“Do you have any idea where they went?” Hatcher asked.
Both pointed toward the hill and the next nearest campground. “After the bloodbath, they sorta gathered like a group and took off,” the old man said.
“Very quickly, too,” his wife added. “I’ve never seen anybody run that fast.”
Hatcher turned to Shelly. “Those campgrounds are in a line toward the concert.”
“Do you think they’d go that far?” she asked.
“I have no idea, but we need to warn somebody if they are.” He turned back to the couple. “I’m sorry we frightened you, but you may have just saved a lot of lives. Thank you.” Hatcher patted the old man’s shoulder. “Lock up after us and keep your heads down.”
Mitch approached the creek and slowed his pace. He came to rest at the base of a large pine tree and leaned against it, taking the time to check all of the area around him. He even peered up in to the trees to see if maybe the sorry bitch might have shimmied her sorry little ass up into the branches so she could jump him as he hunted her. Having reloaded with a fresh magazine, and slipping the partial mag into his mag pouch, he was ready to play ‘hunt the naked psycho bitch’ and win.
He stepped away from the tree and began his approach deftly. He wanted to be as careful as he could not to give his position away and hoped and prayed he could sneak up on this nimble vixen and give her a high-velocity dose of hot lead. He slid from one tree trunk to another and darted from bush to bush as he made his approach to the water’s edge. With the tree canopy so thick in this area, barely any moonlight made its way through and the darkness was so thick you could cut it with a knife. He knew better than to light a torch, as it would be the fastest way to give away his position.
He crawled to the creek and gingerly worked his way up the bank, following it farther upstream, eyes constantly scanning for the ever-elusive, big-breasted cuckoo bitch. Mitch held his weapon at the ready and could almost imagine himself back with the teams, hunting another operator in the thick of things. In another life, he’d be armed to the teeth with the long rifle of his choice, but as many of his confirmed kills soon discovered. Mitch Richardson was just as deadly with a pistol as he was with a knife, or even his bare hands. He had retired early and taken this job with the Park Service in order to give his nerves a break. It turned out he liked hunting people a little too much because of the adrenaline rush that came with it.
Being an adrenaline junkie has its drawbacks. One starts feeling totally lethargic unless one is constantly chasing the next rush. He began finding himself volunteering for missions he had little to no hope of ever walking away from, yet he always seemed to find a way. He had earned a nickname, but he hated it. He vowed to do away with not only the nickname, but the lifestyle that had earned it for him. Yet, here he was. Finding himself back in the thick, hunting an unarmed crazy woman who could kill with her bare hands as easily as he could, and, when he needed it the most, his adrenaline wouldn’t come. That part of him that allowed him to pinpoint his focus to a single task and come out alive? It seemed to be failing him now. He paused yet again near another stand of brush and searched for tracks, hoping he could find something, anything that might trigger that familiar rush. But there was nothing.
A snapping twig in the near distance snapped his head around to listen more intently, but even then, he felt his reaction time to be sluggish. The adrenaline wasn’t coming. He allowed himself that microsecond to wonder why before focusing on the task at hand once more. Why was his body not going into hunting mode? Was it because mentally he didn’t consider her a real threat? He knew that was bullshit. He’d seen the way she moved. He knew the strength that one of these drugged out feverish fuckers had. Darren proved that.
Was it because she was a woman? He doubted that as well. One of his confirmed kills was a female sniper. She was one of the best, and she nearly kicked his ass in hand-to-hand combat. She had been trained to be deadly from childhood, and despite his size and strength, she was nimble and deadly fast. In the end, it was his sheer size and strength that overpowered her…once he actually caught her foot mid-kick and was able to fling her into a stone wall, stunning her.
So what was making this different?
Mitch couldn’t answer that, but he knew that if his adrenaline wouldn’t come and allow him to focus like he truly needed to, he’d have to pull every trick in the book in order to beat this one. One can’t second guess crazy people. There’s no rhyme or reason to their actions.
As he slowly turned and tried to face the sound of the breaking twig, a scream pierced the night air and the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. This kind of bloodcurdling scream definitely got his attention, but with the sound echoing off rocks and the edge of the stream, he couldn’t pinpoint the source. All he knew was, it was nearby.
With a heavy sigh, he stood and turned around, exposing himself from his concealed position. “Okay, you crazy bitch!” he yelled into the night. “Here I am!” He threw his arms out wide. “You think you can take me?”
Another scream broke the still air and he turned quickly. He hoped to catch a glimpse of her before she moved again, but there was nothing to see. “Come on, you crazy cunt!” Images of Darren flashed through his mind. “Bring it!”
Motion from his peripheral vision caused him to turn and Mitch froze. He saw a large, lumbering figure stagger toward him and stop. Mitch thought he recognized him, but wasn’t sure. Slowly, he reached for his flashlight and flipped it on. The man he saw before him caused him to take a step back. “Fisher?” he gasped.
Dwayne Fisher stared at Mitch for just a moment before his head tilted as if studying the other man. Mitch took in the tattered remains of his uniform—the dried blood and the red eyes of the man before him—and knew that, whatever Darren was infected with, Dwayne had it, too. The only question was, what would Fisher do next?
Fisher continued to stand and stare at him while Mitch held the flashlight on him. “Dude, are you okay? You look rough,” Mitch said cautiously.
Fisher opened his mouth and a mournful wail emitted that caused Mitch’s hand to tremble slightly. “Oh, shit, man. Don’t make me shoot you, too.” Fisher continued to stare at him and Mitch brought his pistol up to take aim. If Dwayne so much as flinched at him, he’d shoot him right between the eyes.
As Mitch continued to study Fisher, a blur moved in the corner of his vision, and before Mitch could turn to see what it was, he was tackled to the ground, the pair rolling. Mitch’s pistol discharged when he hit the ground, but the shot was wild. He maintained his grip on the weapon, and, as the two rolled, he came up and slammed the heavy weapon into the side of the face of his attacker.
The naked woman didn’t seem to care he had just broken her jaw with his pistol as she continued to snap her teeth at him and tried to claw at his jacket with her jagged nails. Mitch was many things, but a small man was not one of them. He came out on top and held the woman’s teeth and nails at arm’s length while she wriggled and swung from beneath him. He grabbed one arm and pinned it beneath his legs, then the other. He glanced around to find Fisher, only to discover he had once more vanished into the darkened woods.
“Looks like your partner-in-crime left you to take the heat your own self,” he panted as he holstered his gun and reached back for his handcuffs. “You should feel pretty fucking special, lady.” Mitch pulled the cuffs up and flashed them in front of her face. She snapped at the cuffs and tried to bite them. “I fully intended to blow your damned head off when I came into these woods.” He dropped the cuffs open and let them dangle in front of her. “But after seeing Fisher, I figure the least I can do is arrest your ass and let you spend the rest of your life rotting
behind bars.”
He grabbed one of her arms and slapped a cuff on it hard, hoping it hurt. She didn’t respond to the action, but continued to try to bite at him. He twisted her arm into an arm bar and rolled her over onto her chest. As her reached for her other arm to put the other handcuff on her, she bucked just as he was tackled from the rear and sent rolling over her head.
Fisher lay sprawled to the side of him, snarling, with long tendrils of thick, ropy saliva that swung from the corners of his mouth. Mitch rolled to his feet and quickly assessed the situation. The naked lady was back on her feet and screeching at the top of her lungs while Fisher was sizing him up like he was a midnight snack. Mitch reached for his pistol once more, only to find his holster empty. His eyes widened when his fingers brushed the empty Kydex and he quickly scanned the area. In the dark, it was damned hard to distinguish a black pistol in the disturbed dark soil of the forest floor.
Fisher got to his feet and threw his head back, howling in unison with the naked woman’s screeching. Mitch used that moment to scan the area a little more thoroughly. He spotted his pistol by Fisher’s feet and dove for it, grabbing the gun with one hand and rolling into Fisher, knocking him to the ground. As Mitch came up, he grabbed a handful of Fisher’s uniform shirt and shoved the barrel of his pistol under Dwayne’s chin and squeezed the trigger, his eyes instantly turning on the naked bitch across from him.
With the weapon’s report, her head snapped to Mitch and she cocked her head to the side as if studying what she should do with him. Fisher’s body twitched at his feet as Mitch rose to his full height. “So what’s it going to be, Your Craziness?” he asked. “You coming peaceful like, or do I get to put you down like a rabid dog, too?” He trained the front site on her forehead.
She continued to stare at him as she took a step closer. “Easy now,” Mitch said gently, speaking as he would to a junkyard dog. “No sudden moves.”
Caldera Page 14
