Swamp Monster Massacre

by Hunter Shea

  Liz smacked his hand away. “Don’t fucking touch me! She’s not gone! She’s not!”

  “Jack, can you get Mick to land?”

  Jack nodded, pulling Mick along by his shoulders.

  Rooster stayed close to Liz, letting her cry, giving her all the time she needed before hope ran out. It was quite a while before she stopped, closed her eyes and crashed into his chest, sobbing. He picked her up and carried her the rest of the way, laying her gently down among fallen palm leaves.

  “Rooster.”

  Mick had gone deathly pale. Blood seeped out of his chest and formed a pool around his sides.

  “Yeah,” Rooster said, the effort of talking almost too much to bear.

  “We at your place? I hope that radio works. Call the goddamn army, have them smoke those hairy assholes out.” He laughed, and thick, dark mucous spluttered from his lips.

  Rooster put a hand on Mick’s leg. “We made it. I’ll personally make sure the army gets every last one of them.”

  Mick closed his eyes. “Good. I think I might need a doctor.” His breath came out in hitching gasps. “Might take a nap until he gets here, though. I’m beat.”

  He squeezed his leg. “You do that, brother. You earned it.”

  Mick’s chest heaved once, and deflated slowly, the air gurgling in his throat.

  Jack pushed two fingers against Mick’s neck. “He’s gone.”

  Rooster buried his head in his hands. Liz whimpered beside him.

  It took Maddie! I was right there, and it took her without a struggle.

  He pictured Dominic getting the better part of that fucker, replayed his arm being torn off. He looked at Mick’s savaged corpse, at Liz’s defeated gaze, at Jack’s paralyzing fear.

  Something in Rooster snapped.

  He wasn’t tired, or scared, or hurt.

  He was mad.

  So fucking mad, he wanted to tear the world in half.

  And he knew just where to start.

  Part Three

  Fight

  Chapter Nineteen

  Rooster lifted Liz to her feet. She had gone so slack, it felt as if her bones had turned to putty. He knew it had to be devastating to lose a sister, but a twin? Well, that had to be almost too much to bear. It must have been like losing half of yourself. She was crying so much, she had started to hyperventilate.

  “Get over here, Jack,” he said. The little man had been staring at Mick’s ravaged body, transfixed. He snapped to with a shake of his head and held Liz’s arm.

  The dark clouds were rolling in, seeping into the corners of Rooster’s mind. Just like at Cheech’s apartment, he was going to let them come, unhindered. He needed this to be the motherfucker of all storms, something that would quake and slash with ceaseless abandon. It had to last long enough for him to put an end to the fucking madness.

  It had been two days since he’d taken his meds, and the dull buzz they cocooned him within was gone, leaving him free to feel and hate and act.

  The first thing he had to do was get Liz back. She and her sister were the toughest chicks he’d ever come across, from clocking him out on the boat, to knowing how to shoot and survive, to not complaining for a single moment as they fled the murderous Bigfoots. He needed her strength and resolve. Which meant he had to force her into the storm.

  He placed his hands on either side of her face and drew her gaze to his own. Her pupils were dilated, and she had the look of someone who had seen the end of the world and lived to suffer with the images.

  “Liz, I need you to come back to me,” he said softly, yet sternly. “If you want those bastards to pay for what they did to Maddie, I’m going to need you with me. Take a deep breath. That’s it. Okay, now another, but try to hold it in for a bit. There. Keep doing that until you feel yourself settle.”

  Clarity seeped across her face like a slow-moving lava flow. It took several minutes, but the crying stopped, and all that was left was to wipe away the tears.

  He looked over at Jack, expecting to see a rabbit preparing to run. To his surprise, Jack looked ready for anything.

  “How far do you think your safe house is?” Jack asked.

  Rooster scratched the coarse stubble on his chin. “Could be a couple of miles, if we’re heading the right way. But we’re not going there.”

  Jack stepped back, looking like Rooster had slapped him.

  “What do you mean we’re not going there? That’s where the radio is so we can call for help! And why aren’t there any search parties? I keep waiting to hear helicopters or at least a damn boat! It’s like we fell into a Twilight Zone episode. I keep thinking, did we die when the boat wrecked? Is this hell?”

  That gave Rooster pause. True, it felt like they were in the fiery depths, and you could definitely consider those monsters demons. He wasn’t a religious man, but Jack’s words gave him a moment of doubt.

  “Do you know how big the Glades are? You might never hear that copter or boat. There are over ten thousand islands out here. This place is as remote and desolate as it was during the days of Columbus. And we are far off the tourist-beaten path. Out here, most times, the missing stay missing.

  “We’re not going to the cabin until we finish this shit. I’m tired of running; tired of being picked off like clay pigeons. You’re going to fucking do what I fucking say, and when I say we’re ready, then we can head to the cabin. You hear me?”

  Rooster’s chest heaved and he could feel the anger boiling over. He didn’t even notice when Liz grabbed his arm. “I’ll do whatever you say,” she said, her breath still hitching in her chest.

  He looked at Jack with his coldest, deadest stare. It was a look that had broken men a hundred times tougher than him. Jack averted his gaze as best he could, looking down and mumbling, “Okay, I’m in.”

  “Good. Let’s get into the trees more. I have an idea.”

  “What about Mick?” Jack asked.

  Rooster looked down at the pilot, wishing he was the one still on his feet. This was no time for pussies.

  “Nothing we can do,” he said. “Circle of life.” He grabbed Jack by the collar. “Come on!”

  The trees here were close together, with thick trunks and heavy leaves that blocked out the sun. As they walked, Rooster pulled out the last of their supplies and gave them out. “Might as well eat and drink what’s left now. You’re going to need your strength. We’ll worry about later if there is a later.”

  He downed the bottle of soda and tore the cellophane off a cereal bar. The bar was gone in one bite.

  Pointing down at the plastic case that Liz had somehow managed to cling to, he asked her to pop it open. Inside lay the waterlogged flare gun and three useless flares.

  “Well, so much for that.” He sighed. They couldn’t catch a single break, and it was pissing him off mightily. For a moment, he had dared to dream of setting a flare off in one of their halitosis pie holes. He tossed the case over his shoulder.

  Seeing that also made him become aware that he had left the money bag back in the water. He looked over the now-still surface and saw nothing. Double fuck! Now even if he did get out, he had zip to disappear with. Cortez would be on him like fat asses at a barbecue.

  But this wasn’t just about him.

  Every inch of Liz and Jack’s exposed skin was pocked with red bumps and welts from countless mosquito bites and scratches from bushes and tree branches. Seeing Liz like that was like seeing Maddie, which added to the intensity of his personal hurricane. They walked for ten minutes while he scanned the treetops. When he found what he was looking for, he said, “This will do.”

  “Do you see something?” Liz asked. She had fully regained her composure, what he assumed was a temporary state so she could get to the business at hand. There would be plenty of time for grieving. At least he hoped there would be.

  He pointed upward. “I sure do. See the way those limbs converge? That’s a perfect blind. You and I are going up there. Jack, you’re staying down here. I want you to lie o
n the ground and start hollering like you’re really hurt.”

  “I am hurt,” Jack said.

  “I mean hurt all to shit! I need you to sound desperate, weak, vulnerable.”

  Jack shook his head. “I see where this is going. You want me to be bait!”

  “You must have been the smartest kid in your class,” Rooster said with unrestrained sarcasm.

  “No way. I’m not going to sit around waiting for one of those skunk apes to tear me apart while you play Tarzan with Jane over there. That’s suicide.”

  Rooster’s jaw clenched so hard it felt like his molars would explode. He was about to tell Jack that he would be the one to hurt him when Liz jumped between them.

  “Wait! I’ll do it as long as Jack gives me his gun. I want a backup in case things don’t turn out the way we planned.”

  She held out her hand. Relieved, Jack was only too eager to hand his gun over.

  Rooster laid a hand on her shoulder. “You sure about this? I can make him do it.” He shot a glance at Jack, who looked like he had just wet himself.

  “I’m not afraid. Not anymore.”

  She tucked the gun into the front of her jeans so it was nestled against her stomach.

  “I’ll be right up there. When the time comes, you and me are gonna make them wish they never fucked with us.” He pointed at Jack. “Asshole, start climbing.”

  Jack scampered up the tree with a good deal of difficulty. Liz lay down at the base of the tree and moaned. Rooster made the climb with the ease of King Kong going up the Empire State Building. The tree limbs were sturdy enough to support both their weights.

  “Let it rip,” he called down to Liz.

  She began to wail in agony, calling out for them to come back for her. He had to give it to her. She sounded like her leg had been snapped in two. Her cries were piercing. In between her labored screams were tears. He knew they were tears for Maddie, just as her false shouts of pain were for Maddie’s revenge.

  It didn’t take long for it to work. The Bigfoots’ rotten stench wafted over them.

  He tightened his grip on the machete, and waited.

  Chapter Twenty

  Liz’s scream caught in her throat the moment the skunk ape’s nauseating smell wormed its way into her nose. Instead, she gagged, fighting the desperate need to vomit. She couldn’t afford to lose whatever scant fluids she had left in her body, and she sure as hell didn’t want to be wracked with spasms when death was so close. Her heart went crazy, like a wild horse set free. She prayed Rooster knew what he was doing. She’d seen the murderous look in his eye, and knew in that instant that he was no stranger to death.

  Thinking about Maddie got her to calm down, to focus. Yes, they had killed the skunk ape child, but it had been an accident. In return, the creatures had taken six lives in the most brutal fashion conceivable.

  In the small amount of time they had been together, it was easy for her to see that Rooster had feelings for Maddie. She’d always been the charmer. And despite what he was, her sister seemed to be falling for him. Maybe it was all a case of Stockholm Syndrome, but it did unite Liz and Rooster in one thing: neither would stop until every last one of those skunk apes was dead. Both sides had adopted a policy of mutually assured destruction, and neither gave a shit anymore.

  She looked around, still doing her best to whimper softly and sound like easy pickings.

  A pair of red eyes poked out from behind a tree.

  At most, the beast was ten feet away.

  Huff.

  Was it calling to the others? Or was that just a grunt of satisfaction, knowing it had her dead to rights?

  “Please, if you can hear me, I’m hurt! Help me!” Liz hoped that would lure the beast closer. She cried, hot tears spattering the dirt.

  Old leaves shuffled, and she looked up to see the hulking shadow separate from the tree trunk. It wasn’t the big mother, but it was massive nonetheless. It stared at her, chest heaving, eyes locked on to her. She saw its lips curl back over razor-sharp teeth.

  “No! No!”

  She raised an arm across her head and inched the gun out of her waistband with the other, careful not to let it see that she was armed. The skunk apes had been shot at several times now. Even dumb animals could learn, and these things were not dumb.

  It took three quick strides, stopped and screeched as if it thought the simple act of bellowing at her could kill her.

  It didn’t hear Rooster leap from his hiding place, a war cry spitting from his throat. The machete connected with the skunk ape’s back before Rooster’s feet hit the ground, a tactic meant to utilize gravity, momentum and Rooster’s full weight so he could bury the machete deep.

  The skunk ape howled in pain, pulling away from Rooster. The machete was firmly lodged in its back. It twisted round and round like a dog chasing its tail, desperate to locate the source of its pain. As the handle spun his way, Rooster grabbed hold, put one foot on the skunk ape’s hip, and pulled with both hands. The machete came loose with a tearing sound and a jet of blood that colored Rooster from head to toe.

  “How do you like it, motherfucker?” Rooster wailed. The skunk ape fell to its knees, loosing a series of low, rapid grunts.

  Rooster didn’t give it a chance to regain its footing. He brought the machete down on its skull with an earsplitting crack. The tip of the blade poked out from between its eyes. He worked the machete up and down, up and down, trying to pull it free. The moment he did, with gray brain matter flicking off the edge, he began hacking at both sides of its neck. Arterial spray whooshed out with an audible hiss. Liz caught a mouthful and spat out the vile-tasting plasma.

  “Teach…you…fuckers to…fuck…with Rooster!” He drove the machete down into every section of the creature’s body, like a chef chopping an onion in rapid motion. In under a minute, the skunk ape was nothing more than a mass of red, stringy fur, exposed bone and severed organs pouring out of fresh-made crevices.

  “Rooster!” Liz shouted.

  He stopped, looking at her with dazed eyes.

  “It’s dead,” she said. “Save your strength. We have more to go.”

  He looked down at his hands as if they had just been attached moments ago. Between the blood and the wild look in his eyes, Liz would have sworn he was the Devil himself. But that didn’t scare her. She needed the Devil to kill the demonic things that had murdered her sister.

  A loud splash gave them both a start, distracting them from the quivering bits of the skunk ape.

  Jack was still in the tree, vomiting hard. “Oh, my God, the smell,” he said between heaves.

  If living skunk apes smelled bad, dead ones that had been flayed open were even worse.

  When Jack stopped, he wiped his mouth with the back of his arm and said, “I’d always heard the smell of blood was awful, but I think you may have nicked whatever gland made it reek so bad. Maybe they’re not just rotten on the outside.”

  “Might as well come down,” Liz said. “It’s not like we can do the same thing here twice.”

  Jack hit the ground and rolled into his own vomit.

  He was about to protest when Rooster raised his finger to his lips.

  “You hear that?” he asked.

  Liz tried, but could only discern the natural sounds of small critter life on the island. Rooster hadn’t even bothered to wipe a drop of the blood from his face. It dripped down his cheeks, seeping into his mouth.

  He pointed to the east. “They’re over there.”

  “I didn’t hear anything,” Jack said.

  “Trust me. Your nose will know I’m right.”

  He turned and headed off without waiting to see if they would follow. Liz helped Jack to his feet.

  “I’m sure the rest of them will all be together, so get ready to use that,” she said,handing the gun back to him. Jack needed it more than her. He nodded, and they scrambled to catch up with Rooster, who Liz now felt with all her soul had become more beast than man.

  She could hear her da
ddy telling her, Stay close to him. If you want to survive, you have to put yourself in the eye of the hurricane. Remember everything I taught you. Don’t let me or your sister down.

  She stopped when she spotted a branch that was just wide enough for her to stretch her fingers around. It must have been snapped off in a storm. The tip had split into a jagged, sharp point. The guns hadn’t done them much good. Time for a new tactic.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Damn, it felt good to make mincemeat out of that friggin’ ape.

  Rooster was riding his anger high, hard and fast. Back there, carving up that fucker like it was a Thanksgiving turkey that had done him wrong, he didn’t even feel the blood as it bathed his skin or smell the hellish funk that oozed out of each chopped-up bit. It was like an out-of-body experience, this free rein given to his anger, letting it satisfy its every lust and hunger.

  Maybe that’s why all those folks back home tried their damndest to wring that poison out of me, he thought. As he ran recklessly, he briefly wondered what his life would be like after this—if there was an after. Would his anger all bleed out, or would it continue to boil? Then he thought of Maddie, and realized he didn’t give a crap. He had work to do.

  He skidded to a stop when he saw a pair of hairy, enormous skulls just above a line of bushes. They were facing the other way, oblivious to his approach. He jerked around and motioned for Jack and Liz to freeze.

  “Two, up ahead,” he mouthed.

  Liz’s mouth set in a grim line. Jack hunched low, looking nervous as all get out.

  He waved them to come closer.

  “Liz, I say we flank them while Jack here empties out that gun the moment they stand up. Looks like you found a spear. Nice. Just drive it into its belly, where you won't get much resistance. You try for the chest or head and it’ll just bounce off the bone. Drive it deep as you can and just keep pushing on it.”

  “Got it.”

  “And Jack, I need you to be fucking Wild Bill Hickok. Make the few shots you have count. Go for their upper backs. With any luck, you’ll hit their spine. That’ll drop ’em quick. Just breathe through your mouth and keep your eyes open when you pull the trigger.”