Nasty Little F___ers-Kindle (14 page)

Allen looked in the direction the scream had come from and smiled. “Well, then, let’s go scavenge it.”

They turned in the jungle, heading toward the place where Edison’s body should be waiting for them, along with however many holes Sarge put in it. Before they went ten steps Steinman fell into the undergrowth. Moretz turned to look and saw the man’s whole right leg had been reduced to bone and a few stringy tissues, which the grubs chewed with abandon. The rest of his body was only slightly better off, as the grubs feasted on any flesh they could find: organs, skin, ligaments, everything. The little guys didn’t waste a thing.

They weren’t especially little anymore, of course. The more they ate, the bigger they got. When Moretz had first seen the grubs in Allen’s tent, they’d been about an inch and a half long. Over the course of feeding, they’d grown to over three inches long and half an inch wide. Easily the biggest larvae he’d ever seen, and Bock and Steinman were covered in the things. Covered! No wonder Steinman fell; there just wasn’t enough of his body left to keep moving.

Not all the grubs grew so huge, Moretz knew. The one on his back remained its original size. Allen’s too. He wasn’t sure why, but they weren’t eating him.

One particularly fat grub poked its little red face out of the hole Bock’s bullet had made in Steinman’s chest. It wriggled its pudgy body out and proceeded to chew on the flesh around the sternum, which was both visible and cracked. Along the grub’s body the off white color of it’s swollen flesh was tinted red from Steinman’s blood, giving it a swirled appearance: white marrying red and blending together to form a pattern not unlike that of a tie-dyed shirt.

Beautiful. Moretz felt moisture building in his left eye.

“Will they be okay?” he asked Allen.

Allen nodded. “They’ll be fine. There’s still enough of Steinman left to get them where they need to be. By this time tomorrow they’ll all be pupae.”

“Good.” Moretz couldn’t help but smile.

Then he, Allen, and Bock all set off down the path to pick up Edison. One other good thing about Edison’s death; there was now only Sarge and Janice to deal with, and that made the odds even better.

Chapter Seventeen

Colby sprinted through the trees, dodging trunks and low-hanging branches along the way. He unshouldered his rifle and slid the bolt into place, then put his thumb on the safety, ready to disengage it at a moment’s notice. He heard Janice running somewhere behind him, but he couldn’t slow down to wait for her. Another member of the group was in trouble and he had to do something to help.

Then he heard a noise up ahead. A low, rumbling sound that took him a moment to recognize. A growl. An animal’s growl. A bear, maybe? Or a wolf? He couldn’t tell, but most gray wolves, and even bears, will usually give humans a wide berth. Unfamiliar prey makes them uneasy, unless they are especially hungry or their young are in danger. But Colby hadn’t seen any signs of bear or wolf. Of course, that meant precisely dick. Thick as the woods were, he could have walked right by a sign that said ‘Look Out For Bears’ and never known it was there.

Colby rounded a small grove of birches and skidded to a stop.

His first thought was
That’s no bear.
His second was more mundane, something more akin to
Holy Shit!

Something huge, tan, and furry swatted at a bloody bundle of clothes and rags that had to be Edison. Muffled cries and grunts of pain came from the bundle, but they were weak. The thing lifted its head, then dove it back toward Edison’s face. Colby caught a glimpse of sharp teeth, pointy ears, and a snout full of whiskers.

A mountain lion.
Are you kidding me? A mother-fucking mountain lion?

Edison still had a little fight left, and somehow managed to keep the thing from wrapping its jaws around his throat. But shock and multiple wounds from teeth and claws were clearly taking their toll as his hands slowed and his cries lowered in volume. He didn’t have a lot of time left.

Colby raised the rifle and sighted down the barrel at the giant cat’s back, not wanting to risk hitting Edison. A shot in the back wouldn’t kill the cat, but it would certainly get its attention. If the mountain lion turned around and took even a second or two to assess the situation, it would give Colby enough time to put another slug into it, hopefully in its throat or eye.

He pulled the trigger, and the shot rang through the forest like thunder, followed almost immediately by the solid thump of the bullet as it tore into the big cat’s back, sending up a small spray of blood and fur.

The effect was instantaneous. The lion jumped off Edison and landed in a crouch five or so feet away, facing the new threat. It took a moment to analyze Colby, which he used to slide the bolt back and chamber another round. As the hot casing from the old round popped into the air from the rifle’s breech, the lion roared and tamped down on its haunches, ready to spring.

Colby fired another round, right into the lion’s mouth. The cat’s head exploded in a cloud of blood, fur, and bone fragments, sending a little of each into the air and showering Edison’s prone body with viscera and gore. The mountain lion slumped and fell over on its side, its tail twitching in spasms, having not yet received the memo from what was left of its brain that it was dead.

Colby stepped over to Edison and knelt in the damp earth. Right away he could see it was bad. Edison would never make it. The leafy smell of the forest was tinged with the coppery hint of blood. It stood out among the smells of birch, earth, and pine like an accusation. He’d failed again.

Half the scientist’s face was gone, replaced by claw marks that oozed red in the noon sunlight. Edison’s right eye was missing, and only a gaping red hole stared back from that side of his face. His left eye, which seemed intact, was clouded with pain and stared off to some point beyond Colby’s shoulder. A deep gash cut across his torso, and blood seeped from it and stained his shirt, which also shone red from a dozen other cuts and scratches. Through the tear in Edison’s shirt, Colby saw patches of exposed ribs and even the lower left corner of the sternum.

There was blood everywhere, and it continued to pour unabated from Edison’s many wounds. There was no way to stop the bleeding, and even if they could, Colby knew it wouldn’t help. Edison was good as dead.

“Edison?” Colby asked. “Can you hear me?”

Edison’s head swiveled, and his bleary eyes roved around, staring vacantly at nothing. He moaned.

“Edison?”

“C-can’t see.” Edison said. “C-can’t… see.”

“It’s me, Edison. It’s Colby. Sarge.”

Edison nodded, a slight incline of his head. “Hi, Sarge.” Then he clenched his teeth and groaned. Blood bubbled up from his lips and rolled down the side of his face like a tear. “Sarge?” he croaked again. “Sarge?”

“I’m here, Edison.”

“Janice… where’s...”

“Edison?” Janice’s voice. Colby had forgotten she was behind him. She must have caught up. He turned his head to look at her. She stood ten feet away between a pair of maples, wringing her hands and resting her elbow on the butt of Colby’s .45, which stuck out of the pocket of her jeans. Where the hell had she picked that up? Edison must have dropped it. She looked at Edison with a mixture of fear and worry, then turned a hopeful gaze to Colby.

Colby frowned, then shook his head. No way Edison was going to pull through.

“Janice?” Edison’s hand went up, his fingers splayed open. “Knew… knew you’d come back.”

Janice turned to Colby. “For crying out loud, do something!” she shrieked. “Help him.”

Colby looked at her, but he didn’t speak. He couldn’t think of anything to say.

She must have read his expression well enough, however, because she started to scream at him again. “No, you don’t. You help him, you fucker! This is your fault for bringing us out here in the first place. We should have stayed at the camp and waited.”

She pounded the heel of her hand into her forehead and started pacing between the two maple trunks as she said it again. “We should have stayed at the camp. We should have stayed at the fucking camp!”

Colby stared at her, not knowing what else to do. Tears streaked down her face and her nose had gone bright red. “I’m sorry, Janice,” he said.

She stopped pacing and squared her shoulders, her face a mask of rage and grief. Before he could say anything else, she had the .45 in her hand and pointed it at his head. “This is your fault you mother fucker! You got us into this, now you are going to help him, damn it! Now!”

Colby raised his hands above his head, thinking as fast as he could. Janice was obviously unstable, and he had no doubt she’d make good on her threat if he provoked her. But the fact was, there was nothing he could do for Edison. His eyes flicked to his rifle, which he’d dropped after he shot the mountain lion. It lay among the leaves and twigs some fifteen feet away. He’d never make it. Janice was only about ten feet away and unless she was a very bad shot, she could squeeze a round or two into him before he got five feet. Besides, what if he did manage to get to the rifle without getting shot? Then what?
You going to shoot her, soldier?
Not a fucking chance. He’d let her empty the entire clip into his chest before he’d hurt her.

He sighed. Trying to buy some time. “OK,” he said. “I’ll see what I can do.”

She nodded, choking back a sob.

Colby turned back to Edison, but the scientist was already dead. His one good eye was already beginning to cloud over, and a small fly lighted on it and took an appraising step. Probably looking for a place to lay its eggs. Fuck. First Jared, then Harper, Bock, Steinman, probably Moretz and Allen, and now Edison, too. At least five dead, with two missing. Another failure on Colby’s part. Some protection he’d turned out to be. He hung his head, trying and failing to keep the memories of Kuwait from resurfacing. He’d failed. Again. What good was he?

Colby reached up, shooed the fly away, and closed Edison’s remaining eye. “Sorry, Edison,” he whispered, shaking his head.

“No, you don’t!” Janice shrieked. “Oh, no you fucking don’t!”

Colby whirled to face her and found himself staring straight down the barrel of his own pistol. Janice had taken a few steps closer and now stood a mere five feet away, her trembling hands locked around the gun so tight her knuckles shone white against the black metal grip. “Oh, no you fucking don’t,” she said again, the whites of her eyes clearly visible around the deep blue irises. “Help him, you bastard.”

“He’s dead, Janice,” Colby whispered. “There’s nothing I can do for him.”

“Fuck you! Fuck you, he’s dead! This is your fault.” She thumbed back the hammer.

Colby dove to the side just as the shot rang out. A jet of dirt and earth exploded from the spot he’d been squatting in only a heartbeat before. One second too slow and he’d be laying in the dirt next to Edison.

He rolled to his feet and squared off against Janice, not wanting to give her a second chance. But she had apparently misjudged the amount of kick that comes with a .45, and now sat in the dirt and loam of the forest floor looking a bit dazed. A reddish mark on her forehead told him what happened. The gun had kicked back and hit her square in the face, knocking her to the ground and dazing her. He’d seen it before at the firing range when people fired such a big gun without properly bracing their arms first. That had to hurt.

But it wouldn’t last long. He dove for her and knocked her to the ground. The pistol flew from her hand, but he couldn’t watch it as it sailed into the trees. He landed on top of her and held her shoulders down while she screamed, kicked and bit at him. She thrashed underneath him with such violent force that once or twice he lost his balance and had to readjust in order to keep her pinned. He let her hit him and kick him, knowing she needed this. She needed to get rid of this pain and fury, and right now he was her only means of doing so. It hurt like hell, but it was the only thing he could do for her. Even amidst the blows, the idea came to him that the bruises she left would be with him longer than she would.

Soon her fits turned into sobs, and she stopped struggling. Colby waited a minute or so to make sure it was genuine, and then he climbed off her and sat next to her in the dirt. He pulled her to him and wrapped his arms around her, whispering any empty platitudes that came to mind. It didn’t matter what he said, anyway. What really mattered was his tone. Janice was terrified, and she needed to let some of it out. She leaned against him and sobbed into his shirt for five minutes or so, and he stroked her hair and continued to whisper to her.

Finally, when her body stopped wracking with sobs and the tears slowed, she pushed off him and wiped the side of her face with her sleeve. She regarded him with red, puffy eyes and a nose that would have made Rudolph the Reindeer proud. He reached over to move a strand of her matted brown hair away from her face and she slapped his hand away.

“You’re an asshole,” she said.

Colby nodded. “I get that a lot.”

Janice stood and left the group of trees, leaving Colby sitting in the dirt, alone with a dead scientist and a headless mountain lion. He shook his head, wondering just how the hell he’d let so many members of his team die. Now there was only him and Janice, and she was so mad she probably wouldn’t speak to him to tell him he was on fire. His own eyes began to water, and he frowned and wiped them dry with his sleeve, using a little more force than necessary.