by Derek Gunn
The bullets pounded home. Purcell saw one shot tear into the thing’s cheek and exit in a spray of bone out the side of its head. Jesus, does anything kill these things? He thought as he saw the creature already pull itself to its feet. Its body was smoking from a number of areas now and Purcell could see pieces of exposed flesh shrivel and blacken in the sunlight. Purcell paled as he saw the creature actually smile through his ruined mouth as it approached him again.
He looked frantically around but his men were still reloading. He noticed another man fall from the line with an arrow in his leg. Despite their desperate position Purcell was proud of his men as the remainder stayed in place and mechanically reloaded their weapons. He drew his sword and ran at the creature who seemed momentarily shocked at his action. Purcell drove on with his advantage and swung his sword downward. The creature raised its arm and barely noticed as the sword severed its hand in one clean stroke.
The creature moved quickly as Purcell stumbled, over-balanced from his attack. He felt the thing’s grip tear at the flesh in his shoulder and then felt himself thrown through the air towards the entrance of the hollow. The creature pounced on him immediately and grinned as the high roof blocked out the sunlight and bathed it in shade.
Purcell groped backwards desperately into the darkness for a weapon of some sort and snapped his hand away in pain as his flesh sizzled when it grazed the guttering torch. He plunged his hand back into the darkness, ignoring the pain as he groped blindly for the handle. He gripped it as soon as he felt its uneven surface and lunged forward at his attacker. The creature sprang back but not fast enough to fully avoid the flame’s caress.
The creature’s clothes were covered in leaves and debris from resting in the forest and these acted as kindling to the flames. They ignited quickly and rapidly enveloped the thing in a sheet of flames. Purcell ignored the searing flames and grabbed the creature, forcing it out from the protection of the alcove. He screamed as his hands burnt in the fire but he pressed harder against his attacker regardless and finally managed to push the creature off him and out into the sunlight. He heard the crack of muskets as his men sent another volley into the creature and forced it to the ground but he was already moving. Purcell stumbled to his feet, ignoring the nausea that brought bile into his mouth and he snatched at his sword. Pain lanced through him as he gripped the handle and split the burnt skin of his hand. Ignoring everything but the task at hand he forced himself forward and slashed at the thing’s neck.
It took four attempts to behead the creature and by the time it was done Purcell fell to his knees in exhaustion. He didn’t even jump when another volley split the air. The pain in his hands was intense and was the only thing that was stopping him from falling unconscious. He was distantly aware of one of the men shouting, ‘I got ‘em, sir,’ and then even the pain was not enough and he fell forward into oblivion.
Chapter 8
Sergeant William Peters led his men warily through the forest. They had left Captain Purcell and his men over ten minutes ago and Peters was still trying to order his thoughts. The whole situation was so completely outside of anything he had ever experienced before, and was indeed beyond anything he had been trained for. He felt as if he were drowning.
He had joined Purcell and the marines on the HMS Swift only six months before and had been shocked with the way Sergeant Casey had manipulated, mistreated and abused the men in the time he had been aboard. He recognised how wily the grizzled sergeant was, always ensuring that his ill-gotten gains were well hidden, not an easy feat in a vessel the size of Swift, and that the men he brutalised carried their bruises under their clothes. He himself had been struck many times by the sadistic sergeant, although not as badly as some of the other men. His own six foot three frame and broad shoulders of solid muscle ensured that the sergeant only struck him when there were plenty of officers nearby, but not in actual view of course.
He had become aware quite quickly that the men tended to look to him for guidance from an early stage. His quick thinking during drills and in the rare ship-board battles they had had up till now had quickly earned him the respect and acceptance of the men. What he had not known, though, was that Captain Purcell had also noticed.
To find the sergeant dead had been a great relief to all of them but he had been shocked to suddenly find himself thrust into his vacated position. As if that wasn’t enough for him to take in he now found himself leading a patrol on an island infested with creatures from a nightmare. And to cap it all, his captain was injured and had delegated overall responsibility for the mission to him.
He shook himself from his reverie as the light suddenly dimmed. The area they had entered was covered by a particularly heavy canopy. The trees stretched high above them and disappeared into the gloom as if they might continue on up forever. There was a stiff breeze blowing and the creak of bending wood and the susurration of the leaves above sent an icy shiver through him.
He felt his own fear grow the further they walked into the gloom, every noise and movement in the forest hinting at some unseen horror. He could feel the fear of the men behind him like some palpable weight on his shoulders and tried to ignore it but he just did not know how. He would stand and fight against an enemy force far larger than his own as long as he could see them. But this wasn’t something he could see, or even kill, if the stories he had heard were true. Just how were they meant to fight something they couldn’t....?
‘Sergeant!’ He jumped as he heard the shout and it took him a moment to realise that the call was directed at him. He snapped his head towards the marine and crossed to him in three quick strides.
He was about to question the man when he noticed the four mounds on the ground just beyond the marine and merely nodded his understanding instead. The mounds were like freshly dug graves and were arranged neatly side by side in the darkest part of the forest.
He noticed that the men moved away from the graves and took up positions as far from them as they could get within the small clearing. Peters could barely see their bright red tunics in the gloom and the white splash of their cross belts appeared like tears in the fabric of the darkness itself.
‘Alright,’ he began and felt a calm spread through him as he concentrated on the task at hand. Here, at least, was something they could see. ‘Johnson and Smith, collect as much dry kindling as you can, Temple, light a small fire and prepare some torches. The rest of you keep your weapons pointed at those mounds and shoot if you see anything move.’ Peters noted that the men jumped to their tasks with enthusiasm and he realised that, like himself, they too were relieved to have something to react to.
They piled dried leaves, branches and undergrowth into a huge pyre over the four mounds. Peters realised that it would probably be better to dig away the top of the graves so that the flames would be closer to the bodies beneath but he just couldn’t ask the men to risk their lives when the flames should penetrate the soil eventually anyway. He had seen the things on the ship, how fast and vicious they were, and Captain Butler had stressed to them all that the creatures they now searched for were likely to be more powerful. Besides, he told himself, these graves may be just that – recently deceased villagers who were truly dead.
They lit three torches and threw them in at different angles. Peters had positioned his men in a ring around the mounds and each man stood with his weapon raised and aimed. The sudden flare of light blinded them all and it gave the creatures within the time they needed to strike.
Peters saw the movement but it didn’t actually register quickly enough to react to. One minute he was blinking his eyes and the next there was a flaming figure in front of him. He caught a glimpse of a snarling, hate-filled face. Flames licked greedily at the thing’s hair and skin and a smell of burnt flesh assaulted him as the thing struck. He felt himself fly back through the air, he hadn’t seen the thing move – in fact he hadn’t even felt it strike him. It had been that fast. He was dimly aware of intense pain in his chest and then he struck somet
hing from behind.
His back bent around the tree painfully and his head hit something hard and he fell to the ground in a daze. He was dimly aware of screams and gunshots but they sounded so remote, as if they were part of a dream. He tried to raise his head but agony seared through him. He felt nausea in his stomach and then bile surged upwards and spewed from his mouth in an uncontrollable retch. The violence of the motion forced him forward and he screamed as his back flared in agony. Something clicked and suddenly the agony fell away, his back was still painful but the crippling pain had gone.
Peters moved forward and attempted to rise. His head swam but he ignored it and rose drunkenly to his feet. His sword was still attached to his wrist by its lanyard and he gripped the worn hilt and surveyed the scene before him.
Flames danced in the clearing and lit the scene in a staccato of alternate light and shadow. He saw three of his men pummel a body on the ground with their bayonets repeatedly as the figure writhed and screamed in pain. Curiously, no matter how many times they pierced its flesh, the thing kept trying to rise. Two of his men lay torn to pieces on the ground, their red tunics indistinguishable from the blood and gore that surrounded them. Another creature lay on the ground on the far side of the fire, its head still rocking a few feet away and its eyes staring sightlessly ahead.
He heard a scream and snapped his head towards a marine who had just fallen to the ground with another creature on top of him. Peters began to run towards the struggling pair but was too late. The creature easily brushed aside the soldier’s struggling hands and bent forward to tear his throat to pieces. Peters bellowed his rage as he drew level and brought his sword down on the creature. It moved with blinding speed but Peters had been too close for even its ungodly pace and he screamed in triumph as his sword cut neatly through the thing’s neck and sent its head sailing into the flames.
The three soldiers holding the third creature down saw what he had done and two of the men continued to pin their victim to the ground while the third cut down on the thing’s exposed throat. The bayonet was not made for cutting and the beheading took quite some time with the creature screaming in agony as the bayonet hacked repeatedly at its neck.
Peters scanned the area and was sickened by the carnage. Of his original eight men only three remained on their feet. A thought suddenly struck him like a blow. There had been four mounds and they had only accounted for three creatures. He smelt something rotten behind him but before he had time to react the creature had already snaked its hand around his neck and pressed its long nails against his throat.
‘Tell your men to drop their weapons, Sergeant,’ the words were slurred as the creature tried to mouth the words through its over-long teeth, but the message was clear none the less. The other soldiers stopped and glanced across at their sergeant with frightened expressions.
‘Make sure you gut the bastard for me,’ Peters shouted and tensed for the expected attack. Nothing happened for a second and then a sudden gust of wind rattled through the clearing and a wild rustling shook the trees above. Sudden shafts of clear sunlight stabbed down from above in a wild and random sequence illuminating the scenes of carnage before them in devastating clarity.
Peters heard a shriek of agony and felt the hand at his throat loosen its grip and then disappear. For a moment he stood confused. Was the creature going to gut him instead? The three men across the clearing suddenly raised their bayonets and ran at him, screaming their fear and defiance. Peters felt a cold fear grip him as the men bore down on him and then, suddenly, they ran past and he turned to see them stab into the creature and force him to the ground, their long blades holding the struggling figure down.
The creature’s face was completely burnt and exposed bone glistened in the light. Suddenly it struck him. The sunlight, he thought, one of the shafts must have hit him.
‘When you’re ready, sir,’ one of the soldiers grunted as the creature continued to buck beneath them.
Peter’s brain finally caught up with events and he gripped his sword tightly and brought it down in one clean, fluid motion. Peters shuffled the head with his boot and kicked it towards the fire. It was only then that the soldiers removed their bayonets and went to check on their colleagues.
Captain Thomas Butler watched the patrols return from his vantage point on the beach. There were pitifully few of them. The sun was already beginning its inevitable journey below the horizon and the shadows were lengthening at an alarming rate. His side ached and, from the way Lieutenant Fowler kept glancing at him, he obviously looked at bad as he felt.
He shook his head sadly as he saw the last of the patrols stumble in. The new marine sergeant had four men with him, one of which was carried on a makeshift stretcher. Butler forced himself to remain in place as he watched Fowler approach the exhausted group and confer with Peters.
They had run out of time, Butler mused. Unless Peters had found the rest of these vile creatures then, for all they had done today and for all their sacrifice, they had not done enough. They had found a large open grave deeper in the forest, the smell had eventually betrayed its position and Butler felt bile rise in his throat as he again saw the slaughter in his mind. They had found about fifty bodies in total, ranging from babies to old men and women. All of them had been villagers and all had been ripped apart. The absence of any blood on or near the bodies was chilling.
He shook himself as he noted Fowler approach and took no solace from the man’s worried expression.
‘They found and killed four of them,’ Fowler reported as he wrote on a pad and then looked up at his superior. ‘That still leaves three by our reckoning, sir.’
‘And Sir John?’ Butler raised an eyebrow.
‘No sign, sir.’ Fowler sighed. ‘The uniforms on the creatures marked them as marines but not as officers.’
‘So, Sir John and his two Lieutenants remain at large.’ They had based their numbers on a log they had found in Sir John’s room that chronicled the journey to the island. Sir John, it seemed, was an embittered man and his tone in the log had been one of quiet madness. He had berated all those that had accompanied him, mentioning their names in a stream of hate-filled prose that was as frightening as it was disturbing.
There were only two names that were written without an accompanying expletive and both of these referred to the two officers who led his marine guard. Both men, it seemed, shared his views on how peasants should be treated and it was typical that it was these three that were still at large.
‘Okay, Peter,’ Butler sighed as they approached the jolly boat. ‘We will have to get back aboard the ship and prepare for them. I fear this will come down to the wire.’
Darkness came quickly, as if a shroud had been suddenly dropped, rather than pulled, across the sky, and with it came a fear that was almost palpable. Butler paced the quarterdeck and looked down along the length of his ship. Torches flared every few feet and valiantly pushed back the gloom but the sea breeze snapped at the flames and brought shadows alive everywhere.
Butler paled as he looked at the naked flame. Fire was a ship’s company’s worst fear and naked flame was never allowed on board, except for the enclosed lamps that provided light below decks. Despite the fact that they sat on miles of water the ship’s wooden frame was almost always bone dry from the sun’s relentless heat. Fire would devour their sun-scorched sails and wooden structure in minutes. Many a ship lay at the bottom of the oceans due to a careless mistake or from heated shot. But what choice did they have?
They had to be able to see the creatures in order to fight them and the heavy cloud cover ruled out any hope for the moon’s illumination to be of help. Men stood guard every few feet and buckets of water were placed at their feet but Butler doubted that the threat of fire was to be their worst fear tonight. He sighed as he remembered the surgeons report. They had less than half their original compliment available tonight. Over one hundred men were either dead or too badly wounded to return to duty. Butler had fought against two enemy
frigates and won with fewer losses than that and he knew in his heart that the dying was by no means over.
He could see the familiar figure of Lieutenant Fowler walk among the men as he whispered encouragement to them. Captain Purcell stood at the head of his marines, their numbers reduced to a mere handful but those that were there were stone-faced and ready. He had placed three men up high on the mizzen mast in the hope that they might give him some warning. However, the moonless night was far too dark for them to be of any use.
As if in answer to his musings there was a cry from above and then a body suddenly hit the deck and lay still. It was always possible that the man had fallen but Butler doubted it. He had no idea how they had managed to get aloft but he was certain that, somehow, they had.
The creatures had arrived.
Everyone on the ship stood perfectly still and strained their senses for the slightest sound. The ship rolled gently with the current and the gentle slap of water against the hull and the soft creaking of lines as the canvass sails flapped in the breeze were the only sounds. Everything was eerily quiet in the seconds following the crewman’s death and then the night erupted into pandemonium.
Butler saw the first of the creatures swoop down from the topsails. At first he thought that the creature was actually flying but then he saw the severed ratline in its hand and realised that the creature was actually swinging towards him. He caught a brief glimpse of a scuffle breaking out further down the deck and then the first creature swung in the air and landed gracefully on the quarterdeck. It wore the ruined uniform of a Marine Lieutenant but its once-proud lines were torn, ragged and encrusted with dirt and dried gore.
