Operation: Over There

After the deaths in Little Creek, Henry Cain is sent to Maine to help four Agency hunters.

         Henry's eyes felt like weighted blankets as he slowly forced his eyes open. His body ached all over, his muscles still recovering from his last hunt. As his senses started to return, he began to hear arguably his least favorite sound.


         And any time you feel the pain
         Hey Jude, refrain
         Don't carry the world
         Upon your shoulders
         
         "Ugh..." Henry tried sitting up in the bed he was in, slowly propping himself up even as the bruising on his chest began to protest the movement. His vision was adjusting to the bright lights of the room, and only then did he realize where he was.
                   He was in an Agency field office, he assumed in Whitehall. Whitehall was where Henry, Steve, and Rich had planned their hunt and then set out to Little Creek from.
Henry clenched his teeth as he remembered Rich and Steve. He didn't know if the Agency had collected their bodies or not. He hoped they had, only so that they could be buried. Being an Orthodox Christian, Henry didn't really approve of cremation, and he didn't want animals to pick the bodies over.
         Even so, he didn't want to see the bodies. Steve was minus his head, and Rich was minus his face. Henry didn't want to remember them like that. He'd only known them a few weeks, but the kind of work they did forged a wholesome bond between the three of them.
         And now they were gone.
         Henry looked around the small room, looking for whatever was playing The Beatles. He saw an IV drip embedded in his arm, a small bedside table that was holding up a bag filled with what looked like blood, and a radio perched on an alcove in the wall.
         "Freaking great," Henry groaned, pulling the covers off himself. He saw that he was only dressed in his underwear, and had a bandage wrapped around his left calf. He didn't even know he'd sustained an injury there.
         Henry looked at the needle in his arm, and saw the fluid bag was attached to a rolling stand. At least that meant he didn't need to rip the needle out. He hated needles.
         Just before Henry swung his legs out of the bed, the door to his room opened as a man in a white coat walked in.
         "Well look who's up, buttercup," Said the man, grinning as he closed the door behind him. "How's my star patient?"
         "Shit, Clay, I feel like I fell from a three story building." Henry had known Clay for a while, he was one half of the medical staff the Agency had deployed in Delaware. Sarah Carmichael was stationed up in New Castle helping to track down a Dawnwalker, so the other two counties were stuck with Clay Robinson.
         "Yup, a Cannibal'll do that to ya." Clay knelt down by Henry's arm and got ready to remove the needle. "You ready?"
         Henry nodded tersely. "Yeah, just do it." He shut his eyes tight and grimaced as Clay deftly pulled out the needle and put a Band-Aid over the insertion point.
         Henry looked down at the Band-Aid. "Spider-Man? Really? What am I, four?"
         "Hey, you turn eighteen you graduate to regular ones." Clay chuckled. "Until then, it's Spider-Man and Transformers."
         "What kind of Transformers you got?"
         "How the hell should I know? I just buy the things."
         "Well, if you've got Tailgate, Cliffjumper, or Soundwave use those next time."
         "Sure thing Bumblebee. Anyway, other than aches and pains, you feeling alright?" Clay's voice changed to his more serious medical professional tone. "Nothing really fucking you up?"
         "Nope, nothing major. Just your average bumps and bruises." Henry could sort of guess where the conversation was going.
         "And what about up here?" Clay said, gesturing to his skull. "I know it's a little soon to be asking, but I have to. I'd be asking the same question to Steve or Richie if they were here."
         "I'm just peachy." Henry responded, trying to make his voice as even as possible.
         "I figured as much," Clay sighed. "Well, if you change your mind, you know the Agency has resources for that kind of thing. They've got people you can talk to."
         "I don't need to talk to anyone, Clay. I'm good." Henry really wanted to change the subject, but more than that he wanted to turn the damn radio off.
         "Henry, no offense, but it's basically impossible to be good after you lose your founding team in one hunt."


         Hey Jude, don't make it bad
         Take a sad song, and make it better
         Remember to let her under your skin
         Then you'll begin to make it--


         "Dude, I'm good, can you please turn off the fucking Beatles?" Henry's voice rose a little, which he immediately brought back to a more neutral tone. "Anything else man, I hate those guys and their stupid bowlcuts."
         "A lot of hot ladies would disagree with you on that point, kid," Clay said as he turned the radio off before turning back to Henry. "Look, in addition to coming to make sure you're in ship shape, I'm also sort of the bearer of bad news."
         Henry sat up a little straighter in bed. "Shit. Alright, hit me."
         "The Agency is getting some sort of operation set up in Maine. It's in conjunction with a couple acronyms you might be interested in, namely the CIA and DARPA," Clay began, already piquing Henry's interest. "They're using Agency hunters in the operation, but the forces in Maine won't cut it. There's only like, four of them up there. So, the Agency came down to the great state of Delaware to recruit for it, don't ask me why."
         "What does this have to do with me, exactly? Sounds like a problem for a more seasoned hunter. My hunts aren't even in the double digits," Henry said.
         "Well, when the Agency people came down here, they recruited Steve and Rich for the job. Guessing they never told you?" Clay's blue eyes seemed like they were boring into Henry's grey ones.
         "No. They never mentioned it."
         "Well, the people up in Maine are expecting two hunters, basically right now, to head up to Maine from Delaware. The only reason they aren't recruiting from other states is because they need to keep this op on the incredibly hush-hush, and they don't want to get more people involved than they absolutely have to"
         "Okay, can't they grab some people from New Castle? Or Sussex?" Henry asked.
         "Well, the pair down in Sussex are missing, and the team up in New Castle is dealing with a vampire or something," Clay answered.
         "What the fuck? Missing?" Henry said, horrified.
         "Yeah, they were tracking a Scarecrow and just went off the grid. The Agency isn't exactly holding out hope, but they've only been missing a week. Standard procedure is to wait ten days before taking action," Clay paused for a second to let that sink in for Henry. "Meaning there's only one single available hunter to go up to Maine: You."
         Henry took a second to understand what Clay was saying. "So, I'm going up to Maine? When?"
         "The order from the Agency says you have a flight in ten hours." Clay began.
         "Ten hours? Shit!" Henry scrambled out of the infirmary bed and stood up. "I've gotta get moving."
         "How about putting on some clothes first, fuckin' nudist," said Clay, making a show of covering his eyes as he pointed to a duffel bag on a chair in the corner of the room. "We pulled a change out of your locker, so it's a Henry Cain original fit."
         Henry dug through the bag, pulling out a pair of black jeans, a white t-shirt from a 5k he ran in his junior year of high school, a dark red button down shirt, and a brown bomber jacket. After quickly pulling everything on, he began tying up the laces on his Converse.
         "Thanks, Clay. What do you think the temperature's like in Maine this time of year?"
         "Google said fifty-something, so you should be fine. Might be colder if the op's at night, though," Clay responded.
         "Alright. Where's the flight supposed to be? Is it on a private plane?" Henry asked, hopeful.
         "Nope. You're flying out of the Philadelphia airport at 9:00 pm sharp," said Clay.
         "Wait, how am I supposed to bring my gear through the TSA? Last time I checked they didn't allow swords," Clay asked, confused.
         "They said you'll be provided gear on site," Clay stated. "Some pretty non-standard gear too, by the sound of it."
         "Word." Henry finished tying his laces and began heading for the door. "Thanks for all this, Clay, but I've got to be going."
         "One second, Henry," Clay said sternly. "I have something to discuss with you."
         Henry turned around sheepishly, trying to think if he had done something wrong. "What?"
         Clay sighed and removed his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Look, when we recovered you in Little Creek, the rangers thought you weren't even human." Clay paused to look Henry dead in the eyes. "You had fangs, kid, and your hair was long all over your body. Besides that, your fingers were all fucked up, and you had blood all over your mouth and tongue." He pointed toward the bag of blood sitting on the bedside table. "That's from you. We're sending it down to Louisiana to get lab work done on it."
         Henry vaguely remembered some weird things going on with his body during the fight with the Cannibal, but at the time he had been too preoccupied with not dying to really think about it. "What do you think happened?" he asked Clay.
         "Honestly, Henry, I've got no idea," Clay said, shrugging. "Either way, we have to send it down south. I'll get the results to you as soon as possible."
         "Sounds good. Thanks, man." Henry said.
         "Yeah, yeah," Clay remarked. "Now get out of here."
         Henry gave Clay a parting wave as he stepped out of the field office's infirmary and began to head toward the locker room in search of his cell phone. He needed to call an Uber.




Twelve and a half hours later, Northern Maine Regional Airport.
October 20th, 2025.
11:39 pm, EST.


         Henry walked through the airport in search of the name "Roy Alder". Clay had texted him that that was the name the Maine hunters would use to identify Henry in the airport, since they didn't know what he looked like. He munched on the egg and cheese sandwich he had bought after landing in Maine. Almost getting killed really built a guy's appetite.
         He walked into the area of the airport meant for arrivals, looking for two guys holding a sign with his pseudonym on it. He scanned the area until he saw two men, a tall, clean-shaven Asian man with black shoulder length hair and a pale man with a goatee and short salt-and-pepper hair. They were both in plainclothes, and the goateed man was holding a sign for one Roy Alder.
         Henry purposefully walked toward the pair, and walked a little faster when they noticed him. He took the last bite of his sandwich and threw the wrapper away in a trash can as the two men intercepted him.
         "Are you Henry Cain?" asked the Asian man.
         "Yup, that's me," Henry said. "And you two are...?"
         "Roland Murphy," said the Asian man. "And this is Zach Carr."
         The pale man stuck out his hand for Henry to shake. "Pleasure to meet you."
         "Likewise." Henry shook the man's hand. "You guys gonna brief me on the way?"
         Roland shook his head. "Not our job. There's some CIA puke on site to get you up to speed. Your gear is there too."
         "Where exactly is 'there'?" Henry asked.
         "The Northern Forest," Carr stated. "The CIA's got a camp set up there, they're gonna start the hunt at like midnight or something. Come on, we'll give you a lift."
         The trio began making their way out of the airport, toward the parking lot. "I thought there were four of you guys up here?" Henry remarked.
         "The other two are in the car," said Carr. "You'll have to squeeze into the backseat with them, hope that's alright."
         "That's fine with me, man," The group exited the airport to the cool Maine breeze. Henry loved fall weather, it was a little on the colder side without being uncomfortable, and the breeze was just gentle enough to not freeze his nuts off with the wind chill. It was certainly better than the summer, when fighting in armor felt like running a marathon in a sauna.
         They approached a black Jeep Grand Cherokee with an almost illegal window tint. Roland went around the hood to get in the driver's seat, unlocking the doors for Carr to hop up front and for Henry to cram in the back with the two other men.
         Agency hunters tended to carpool to hunts, so Henry wasn't not used to being squeezed in between a car door and an armored shoulder, but that didn't mean he was comfortable.
         The two men in the backseat were in full armor except for helmets, so Henry could get a good look at their faces. The hunter immediately next to him was a bald black man with a bushy horseshoe mustache, while the other man was a tall, skinny white guy with what Henry considered platinum blonde hair. Upon further inspection, Henry noticed the platinum blonde guy had been blinded in his left eye, which left a jagged scar going down the side of his face almost from temple to chin.
         "Nice meeting you, Delaware. Name's George," The bald man said, offering his hand to Henry even in their cramped confines. As Henry introduced himself and shook George's hand, the other hunter spoke. "Holt Daniels. Stoked to be seeing another Delaware boy up here in Maine,"
         "No shit, really? Where're you from?" Henry asked. He always loved meeting other people from Delaware when he was out of state. Call it state pride.
         "Middletown. You?"
         "Shit, man, I'm from north Wilmington."
         "Ah, you're a city boy?" Holt said, grinning. "How're the Blue Rocks doing?"
         Henry chuckled. 'Fucking awful, and they got rid of the Garbage Pail too. Frawley Stadium's gone down the drain since Onix Vega went to the Senators"
         "You're shitting me! Damn, I fucking loved that thing! At least they've still got Grotto's though," Holt sighed.
         "Delware ain't ever gonna go a day without a Grotto's, thank God."
         "A-fucking-men!" Holt reached over George and gave Henry a fist bump.
         "Alright you two lovebirds, settle down," Roland called from the driver's seat. "George, care to fill the kid in on the hunt?"
         "Sure thing," George pulled his phone out and went into the photos. "DARPA, that's the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency, had some asset go missing in the Northern Forest. They've scrambled a ten-man force from the CIA to bring it back, unfortunately alive, whom we are supposed to assist. Makes our jobs that much harder."
         George scrolled through his photos until he got to a sketch. "They declined to show us leatherheads a photo or anything, but this is a sketch I made based on the description they gave us."
         George handed the phone to Henry so he could get a better look. Looking at the sketch, he saw it had two thick legs situated toward the rear of its body and four smaller arms up by its neck. It had an almost torpedo shaped head with two beady eyes and a mouth full of jagged teeth. To Henry, it almost looked like...
         "Don't tell me they lost a fucking dinosaur. What the hell is that thing?" Henry was bewildered at what he was looking at.
                   "You aren't too far off with the dinosaur thing." Carr said from the passenger seat. "When it busted out of the lab they were growing it in, they sent security forces after it. The only body they recovered had a giant bite taken out of it."
         "By design, it stalks its prey and attacks from the shadows," George added. "It's not as big as the drawing makes it look, apparently it's only twelve feet tall."
         "Only?" Henry gasped. "And they want us to bring this thing in alive? We aren't animal control, dude, we have swords for a reason."
         "Today, the swords are going to stay sheathed," said Holt. "We're bringing our own weapons just in case, but the CIA spook running the hunt is going to supply us with nonlethal weapons once we arrive on site." Holt gestured toward the back of the vehicle. "Your gear's in the trunk, by the way."
         "'Preciate it." Henry replied. The five hunters spent the remainder of the forty minute car ride talking amongst themselves about meaningless topics, and Henry felt himself being ingratiated into the group. Hunters formed special on the job bonds by bullshitting, ribbing, fighting alongside each other, and dying alongside each other. It reminded Henry of Rich and Steve in a mournful way. Henry wondered when their funeral would be, or if there would even be a funeral at all.          
         After a while, Roland steered the car offroad, following a dirt trail for a few miles before pulling over and killing the engine. The hunters piled out of the vehicle and gathered around the opening trunk of the car. Henry stood back while the hunters retrieved whatever gear they needed out of the car. He noticed that they all carried longswords, which was actually atypical of a team of hunters. Usually each hunter would carry a different weapon either out of necessity or preference, but each of the four Maine hunters were currently strapping scabbards to their waists.
         As the four men stepped away to fasten their helmets, Henry reached into the trunk and grabbed the remaining bag of gear. He began donning his cuirass, pauldrons, greaves, and forearm guards, making sure each piece of gear was securely attached. He pulled his own longsword out of the bag and strapped it to his gear harness that ran below his cuirass. Finally, he inspected his overall favorite piece of any set of armor.
         The helmet was similar to a sallet, but with a few noticeable details that set it apart. Unlike the helmet he wore during the Little Creek incident, the visor could not flip up over his forehead, which allowed the helmet to have thicker armor around the face. It also looked more...elegant, in a sense. The helmet was definitely a little more slimmed down, and it had engraved lines decorating the face and accentuating the features of the "face". Also, instead of the bottom of the faceplate being a horizontal line, it came to a point in the middle, giving Henry a little extra armor below the chin. He wondered if he could take it back home.          
         Looking at his fellows, Henry took stock of their helmets so he could recognize who was who. Carr was wearing a spangenhelm with a mail curtain going down both sides of his head. Roland had donned a barbute helmet with a cross engraved on the right side of the faceplate. George wasn't actually wearing a helmet, but instead had a masked trapper cap covering his head and face, as well as a pair of black military goggles over his eyes. Finally, Holt was fastening the chinstrap on his kettle helm, which he had combined with a chainmail face mask that obscured the bottom half of his face.          
         With their gear set, the four men and one almost man set off further north into the woods. Henry instinctively reached for the shoulder strap of a backpack he wasn't wearing. There was no way he would have been able to get his bag of tricks through the TSA, so he had been forced to leave it behind. Not that he really had anything he would have been able to use in there. The things in that bag were meant to deal with naturally occurring, esoteric creatures, not lab grown monstrosities.
         The team was dead silent as they moved through the woods in pitch darkness, only guided by the beam of light Roland's flashlight was emitting. Henry was grateful not to be walking at the rear, that job had been left to Carr. Their earlier conversation had left them. They were all silently getting locked in for the fight ahead.
         Not too long later, they saw the bright, artificial lights that marked their destination. A few rows of tents and a couple hastily erected command posts were all that made up the CIA forward camp, but Henry could see several people milling about, all of them visibly armed. He briefly wondered how his armor would hold up against gunfire.
         Probably not well, if he had to guess.          
         As Roland led the group into the light of the camp, all eyes turned to him. He must have looked very strange to the modern soldiers outfitted with tactical vests and helmets adorned with night vision goggles. Soon he was joined by Holt, George, Henry, and then Carr.
         One of the men approached the group of hunters, unarmed and wearing a small tactical vest over his black suit and tie. He stepped forward and spoke. "Flowing river."
         Henry had no idea what the man could possibly mean by that. He hadn't seen or heard a river on their trek.
         "Dead mountain." was Roland's response. The man in the suit nodded, and stepped forward to speak to the team.
         "Good, had to make sure you were the right guys." The man had short, graying hair and traces of a shaved off beard. Henry thought he looked haggard, like he hadn't slept in days.
         "Special Agent Lonnie Comer, Central Intelligence Agency. You're all from NAECRA?" The man pronounced the Agency's acronym like "nay-cruh", though Henry preferred the more commonly used "ne-cruh". It seemed fitting to him that the acronym for the North American Esoteric Creature Removal Agency should sound like the word "necro", which was associated with death.
         "Roland Murphy," Roland introduced the other hunters. "This is Holt Daniels, George Martin, Henry Cain, and Zach Carr," Roland introduced his team plus Henry to the Agent.
         Agent Comer nodded. "We're ready to give the mission briefing to the guys now, if you'd follow me."
         "Wait," Roland interjected. "What do you know about the Setting Sun protocol?"
         The Agent sighed. "Everyone who isn't a NAECRA agent will be administered an amnesiac agent post-op so this all stays under wraps."
         "Including you?" Holt asked.
         "Including me," Comer said, almost through gritted teeth.
         "Let's start the briefing. I want to get tonight over with," Roland said, motioning for Agent Comer to lead the way.
         The men walked toward the center of the camp, where an aide was setting up a projector screen in front of the waiting soldiers. Henry thought they looked awesome in their all black tactical gear and panoramic night vision goggles. Why the hell didn't he get those?
         The hunters took their seats on the ground with the other men as Agent Comer shooed the aide away and began his spiel.
         "As you all know, tonight is an incredibly sensitive mission. I won't have to read you people the riot act about what'll happen if you spill your guts to some hooker about tonight, because none of you sorry bastards are even gonna remember it. Myself included."
         Comer kept on. "Until now, none of you have really had any idea of what you're gonna be looking for out there tonight, so we're gonna have a little slideshow."
         He turned to the projected screen and pressed a button on a little remote, flipping the blank white image to a blurry still from a security camera. It showed a blurry black-and-green striped creature that instantly reminded Henry of a Jurassic Park analogue horror video he had watched on YouTube when he was younger.
         The gathered soldiers started to murmur amongst themselves, having the same reaction Henry had when he first saw what they were up against.
         "It's called Experimental Project One, known hereafter as X-1," Agent Comer stated. "Your task is to bring it in alive."
         The murmuring of the soldiers took an angered tone. Agent Comer continued nonetheless. "The soldiers under my command will be following the orders given by the NAECRA agents present here today. They are part of a government agency that even I didn't know about until a few days ago, so consider them your superiors."
         Comer flipped the slide to a map of the immediate area. "Our people have narrowed down X-1's location and cordoned the area off, so civilian interference should not be a problem. The NAECRA agents will help you track it down, and then the task will fall to you to subdue X-1."
         Carr raised his hand, and Comer gestured for him to speak. "If we aren't supposed to be killing this thing, how are we supposed to subdue it? Sedation?"
         "You're going to be divided into two teams, Hunter and Killer. Hunter will be the NAECRA agents, armed with DARPA issued shock spears. My soldiers will be Killer, armed with tranquilizer rifles." Comer responded, before addressing all of them at once. "X-1 was designed to be an infiltration unit that demolishes an enemy force using stealth and brutality. There's a pretty good chance you won't actually hear it coming, despite its size. Also, the striped pattern on its skin will make it harder to see with night vision, so keep your eyes extra peeled. When you do see it, go for the throat. That's your best bet at bringing it down." Comer pointed his remote at the projector, turning it off. "Last thing. Tonight's op will officially be called Operation Over There," he said. "That's it for the briefing. You're all heading out in ten, so gear up."
         Henry and his associates walked over to the crates to assess the gear they had been given. When Henry had heard they were getting "shock spears", he hadn't really known what to expect. As Roland passed them out to his fellow hunters, Henry took a second to examine his weapon.          
         The haft of the spear was made out of what looked like titanium, with a steel speartip affixed at the end. A wire attached to the speartip ran down the length of the haft and attached to a trigger housing on the bottom third of the haft. Henry tested the trigger, causing the speartip to hum with arcing electricity. Attached to the trigger housing was another wire which connected to a belt-mounted battery pack that looked like two Pringles cans stacked horizontally on top of each other.
         The hunters quickly assembled their gear, testing their spears to make sure everything was in order before the hunt. Henry saw the soldiers doing the same with their bolt action tranquilizer rifles. Eventually, all of the men gathered at the edge of the camp. As Roland observed the treeline, one of the soldiers approached him.
         "Staff Sergeant Ryan Cole," The man said. "Lead the way."
         Roland nodded and addressed the assembly. "All of you stay behind me and my associates. Try not to hit us with the tranqs." With that, the party began moving into the deep woods, leaving behind the bright lights and relative safety of the camp.




         Four Hours Later


         Henry was on edge. Nobody was talking over the radio, no crickets were chirping, and no birds were singing. The forest was covered in an oppressive silence which, combined with the impenetrable dark, was really freaking him the fuck out. He tightened his grip on his spear.
         The hunters had quickly picked up on their quarry's trail, and were currently split up to cover more ground. Each hunter, accompanied by two soldiers, was currently advancing north, no more than one hundred meters away from another hunter. They were using their walkies to communicate with each other about Sign, but other than that there was no chatter. Henry could feel the eyes of the two soldiers at his back as he trekked through the growth, searching for anything that would further the trail. So far, the teams had found dung, destroyed saplings, animal remains, and footprints. They were on the right track for sure.
         The walkie clipped to his pauldron crackled. "George here. Found another print, looks pretty recent. Adjust your search about twenty degrees to the left," he paused. "We're getting close. I can feel it."
         Henry made the necessary course correction. The hunters were spread out in a horizontal line across the forest, with Carr and George on the left, Roland in the middle, and Holt and Henry on the right. Henry hated being on the edge, he'd only have Holt to fall back on if things went south. Not that he didn't trust in the guy's abilities, but the way Agent Comer had framed it sounded like they were pretty much guaranteed to be taken by surprise by X-1.
         What a stupid name for this thing, Henry thought. They should have named it something cool, like Project Tyrant or something. Although that sounds like the thing from Resident Evil. I can't wait until Requiem comes out. I wonder if Leon's really coming back? Ethan Winters is still my goat though.          
         "All teams, radio check," Roland said over the radio. Henry responded first, followed by George, then Holt. The silence rang loud as they waited for the remaining hunter to check in.
         "Carr, sound off," Roland commanded. Henry stopped moving and looked at the two soldiers. They were both in a defensive stance, rifles raised in different directions. Henry was only a few feet away from them.
         "Fuck. Everyone group up on me," Roland said, an almost imperceptible trace of panic entering his voice. Henry and his entourage started heading east toward where they knew Roland was.
         After two hundred meters of traipsing through the dense treeline, they met up with the others. Holt's and George's teams were already there with Roland's, waiting for Henry. Carr and his two men were nowhere to be found.
         "Ramirez and Coltrane aren't responding either," Sergeant Cole was saying to Roland. Henry guessed those were the two soldiers Carr had been with.
         "We're going to go look for them, but your men need to stay here," was Roland's response. "We can't get caught off guard out here."
         Roland noticed Henry and his guards walking over. "Henry, you and I are going to look for Carr's team. The rest of you," he addressed the others. "Are staying here, keeping a defensive perimeter."
         Roland gestured for Henry to follow him, and Henry left his entourage behind and caught up to Roland as he headed away from the group. Carr had been on the edge of the line, so he should theoretically be two hundred meters from where the rest of the group was currently gathered.
         Henry followed behind Roland, both men guided by the dim glow of their handheld flashlights. After a minute of walking, Roland held up his hand, motioning for Henry to stop. Henry paused, spear at the ready, watching Roland.
         Henry watched in confusion as Roland dropped his flashlight and ripped his helmet off so he could puke. Roland was bent at the waist expelling a torrent of orange bile onto the ground, spitting the remains out of his mouth when he was done.
         "Jesus..." was all Roland said, trying to catch his breath. Henry stepped past him, the beam of his flashlight revealing a grisly scene.
         Carr looked like he had been pulled apart, his cuirass doing nothing to prevent his torso from being separated from the waist. Pink entrails still connected the two halves of his body, and his blood decorated the rock he had been thrown against after the fact. He was also missing his arm, the limb a raggedy mess halfway down the bicep.
         The two soldiers who had been accompanying him weren't far. It looked like they had been taken by surprise, both of them lying face down in the dirt. The bodies were both crushed like a squashed beetle.          
         Henry knelt down by Carr's body to get a closer look. Carr's head was facing away from him, and when Henry examined it he could see that Carr was missing his throat and jaw.
         Damn. We didn't even hear them scream. This is bad, Henry thought. Rising from his position by Carr's body, Henry turned to face Roland. He froze solid like a deer in headlights.
         Roland had his hands on his knees, still catching his breath from his ordeal. Over Roland's shoulder, Henry saw two small, glimmering white dots.
         Eyes.
         Henry slowly leveled his spear, finger ghosting over the trigger. "Roland..." Henry whispered, desperately trying to get his attention.
         Roland looked up at Henry, his spear on the ground. "Yeah?"
         Before Henry could get another word out, the eyes disappeared and a black and green flash took Roland off his feet. Henry was already running for his life by the time he heard the rending of metal and the crunch of bone.
         Unlike Carr, Roland did scream.
         Loudly.
         Henry held onto his spear for dear life as he sprinted through the woods. The creature was in between him and the others, so he couldn't go back the way he came. Instead, he gradually turned in a loop back toward where he assumed the others were. He'd dropped his flashlight and so he only had the cold light of the moon to guide himself.
         His heart was jackhammering out of his chest as he saw flashlight beams through the dense foliage, almost colliding with one of the soldiers. The group had their rifles and spears raised, some speaking in a panic.
         "Henry, what the fuck happened?" Holt yelled when he saw his associate. "Where's Roland?"
         "He's gone Holt, he's dead! That thing is coming for us man!" Henry hated how bitch made he sounded right now, but he had just witnessed a man get eaten alive by a fucking nightmare creature. He'd give himself a pass this time.
         A throaty roar pierced the night, seeming to shake the trees around the group. Holt and George step to the front of the group, toward the noise. Henry joined them in their little formation, all of them with their spears pointing toward the darkness. The soldiers raised their rifles.
         They could all hear a booming sound, getting louder as X-1 got closer. Henry knew it could move without making noise. It wanted them to know it was coming.
         To their credit, the soldiers weren't freaking out, at least on the outside. Sergeant Cole was quietly barking orders at his men, telling them to keep their eyes peeled all around. Henry held his spear in a white-knuckled grip, willing himself to get his breathing under control.
         All of a sudden, the forest went dead silent. Henry felt a single bead of sweat roll down his face.
         The creature burst from the treeline, charging straight toward the group. The hunters all electrified their spears, embedding the points in its chin and face. It only served to make the creature mad as it was assailed by a wave of tranquilizer darts fired by the soldiers. Many of the darts simply bounced off its thick skin, and the few that didn't were inconsequential.
         Holt jumped and rolled out of the way as X-1 lashed out, gnashing teeth clipping just inches from his face. The soldiers were busy reloading their single shot rifles, and so they were defenseless against the beast for as long as it took to cram a dart into the chamber.
         George rammed his speartip into the soft flesh of the creature's throat, shocking the hell out of it. A few soldiers had managed to reload their rifles, but the creature's spiked tail slammed into the group, skewering a man and sending another flying into a tree, slamming his head against it full force.
         X-1 moved lightning fast, and Henry attempted to move faster. While it was busy chewing on the nearest soldier, Henry ran under the creature's head, thrusting his spear up into where its neck met its head, clamping down on the trigger. He felt the spear vibrate slightly as electricity surged into the beast.
         Henry saw that George still had his spear lodged into the creature, but Holt's had been broken in half by X-1's thrashing tail. Holt drew his sword and rolled under another tail whip, slashing at the tendon at the back of the monster's foot. His sword bit deep, deep black blood leaking from the wound.
         X-1 used one of its four little arms to grab Holt's sword arm as he raised it for another strike, ripping it clean out of its socket. Holt shrieked in pain as he fell to the ground, but was silenced when the beast used its uninjured leg to crush him underfoot.
         By now, Sergeant Cole had had enough, and drew a pistol he had concealed in his belt. The weapon barked as he emptied the weapon's magazine into the creature, but X-1 had no reaction, coldly regarding the man as it slowly advanced toward him, crushing the skull of an injured soldier who had earlier been knocked to the ground.
         It didn't take a genius to realize the shock spears were doing jack shit and fuck all. Henry's mind raced as he thought of another way to kill the monster. He noticed that a fallen soldier, or rather the upper half of a fallen soldier, had a bandolier of grenades strapped to his vest.
         So much for nonlethal weaponry, Henry thought. He didn't care about bringing the creature back alive nearly as much as he cared about making it through the night. Screw the mission.
         He dove to the soldier and grabbed the bandolier of grenades. He ripped the wire off his spear, killing the electrical current. He began wrapping the bandolier around the haft of his spear, just under the spearhead. He fished around in the soldier's medical kit, finding stitching string. As Henry tied the pins of each grenade together, he heard a bloody, gurgling death rattle. Looking up, he saw X-1 shaking the body of Sergeant Cole like a dog with a chew toy.
         Hands shaking, Henry made the final tie, linking each of the grenade's pins. He gingerly hefted his spear and began running toward the creature.
         Out of the force of five hunters and ten soldiers, only George, Henry, and one singular soldier remained. George and the soldier were currently facing down the beast, the soldier sighting his rifle and George holding his spear like a javelin. The beast lashed out at the soldier, and George thrust his spear into X-1's left eye. He depressed the trigger on his spear, expecting the electrical current to fry the creature's brain.
         No current ran through the spear and into the creature. The wire connecting the spear to the battery pack had disconnected from the pack. With a roar, X-1 delivered a monstrous kick to George's body, knocking him out of his shoes. It would have been comical if George's body hadn't flown into a tree limb, the jagged spike bursting through the back of his skull and out of his face, holding him aloft like a hanged man.
         Henry charged X-1 as it chomped down on the remaining soldier, crushing every bone in the man's body. With an enraged scream, Henry jabbed his spear as deep as he could into the creature's throat, pulling on the string that connected the pins of the grenades together. The second the pins had fallen from their mounts, Henry ran for cover.
         He was aiming for the treeline, hoping the dense wood would protect him from the blast and shrapnel. He looked over his shoulder, almost shitting his pants in terror as he saw the beast's face just feet behind him. He felt its breath on his back as he dove to the side, covering the back of his neck with his hands and praying to God that the blast actually went off and didn't kill him.
         A deafening boom shook Henry's world as the grenades went off, the blast almost severing the creature's head clean from its shoulders. It swayed on its feet for a moment before collapsing in a heap on the ground.
         Henry dragged himself to a nearby tree, sitting against it as he took in the scene before him. The remains of the hunters and the soldiers were strewn about the area. Holt's shattered body was sprawled out on the ground, his arm sitting nearby like the paintbrush that had painted his corpse. George's limp body hung from where he was affixed by the head to the tree he had impacted. Henry had already seen Carr, and he didn't want to imagine what Roland even looked like right now. He felt a hot tear drop from his face to the ground as his hand went to the walkie clipped to his pauldron.
         "Come in...fuck...come in anyone. Christ man, is anyone there?" his voice was strained as he tried not to cry.
         "This is Agent Comer. What's your status? And who is this?" came the reply.
         Henry swallowed hard. "This is Henry Cain, I'm one of the hunters." He wiped the blood off his face as some of it dripped into his mouth. "I'm...I'm the only one left."
         "What is the status of X-1?" Jeez, this guy really didn't give a shit.
         "It's dead. I had no choice." The line went silent, and Henry thought Agent Comer was probably cursing him to hell right about now. The radio crackled as Comer spoke.
         "We're coming to you. Stay put and do not move."
         "Roger that," Henry said weakly. He let his hand drop to the ground as his conversation ended. He wanted so badly to cry, out of exhaustion or pure grief he didn't know. But he clenched his teeth and bit his lips, using every ounce of his willpower to make sure not even a single salty drop hit the bloodstained ground. At least he succeeded at this.