Primal Gambit

Chapter 23: The Yard Pt. 2

The empty body slumped against the hood of a disemboweled sedan. As Husk approached slowly, thinking his lenses were too fogged to present him with what they did, he felt himself shrink in size and stature.

The addict's face was locked in a final scream, his one remaining eye wide, gazing into the sky during his last moments in heed of aid from some higher power. The other was missing, the skin around the socket torn and dangling. His fingers were linked together at the waist, holding what was left of his fleshy entrails. The only portion to escape his cup-handed grasp besides the excessive pool of blood by his barren feet were a coiled yet gnarled set of intestines. The corpse presented to Husk his own fate had he not decided it wise to retreat to Grey.

The man was ambushed quickly, chunks of his biceps hanging parallel to his elbows or missing completely. It could not have been the work of wild dogs as their prey was few and far between; as such they rarely left any flesh behind, grinding down on a kill until they reached the bone.

Just then Husk heard it again, though much closer now: a feral yipping of some nightmare he thought to only live in the wake of bombardment radiation. A quick turn, net-bow aimed at the ridgeline of debris surrounding the area, Husk saw the grizzled glisten of shadowed tufts of fur. For a moment, they rolled on the bouncing shoulder blades of whatever slithered between the junk. It moved like a serpent, disappearing before the man could get a thorough look. He switched his headlamp on as the night grew darker.

The small circle of cold light shined about the desiccated remains. Husk remembered the words a fellow mercenary once said: "Wild, isn't it – how claustrophobic you feel, even in the most open of areas, when the Charlie has you zeroed in?" Husk knew if he retreated to the helicopter he would be stalked by the predator. Even though he could not see it, he could feel the eyes piercing him. Cold sweat drenched his body under the heavy armor. His eyes watered, his face numb as he debated his next move. Calculated decisions became gusts in the dead wind as he filtered the right decision from what his conscience urged him to do.

He felt as though the eyes of his superiors, Marcotte and all his previous contractors, were veered away. Whether the man lived or died depended solely on his next move. While the overseers were not watching, while whatever beast lurked upon the canopy of pipes and encrusted remains, he felt the urge to pull out of the situation. It was obvious to him that he was the lesser predator, so he began to trek slowly backwards, both weapons holstered in hopes of attracting the monster nearby. The wicked hunter had a plan.

He stepped back, crunching over glass and tar with the unwavering hope that he could lead the eyes on him. Had the mutant not already taken Grey, Husk could lead it back to the point where the agitated pilot could open up on it with a spray of submachine gun rounds. He hoped. The hunter could feel the prowling monster tracking him from some high ground nearby, blistered eyes stalking him over the desolate terrain.

Husk wanted to whisper into the radio, though he felt that any sound besides that of the ground crunching under his boots would further provoke the thing to pounce. He struggled to maintain his breathing, isolated from the rest of civilization. The storm drew near; lightning crashed against peaks of debris so hard it sent hundreds of embers out, each descending slowly.

The cackling laughter hid behind walls of rust. Husk continued his retreat, peddling back toward the copter he hoped was still in one piece. His head was on a swivel, spinning about to negate the loss of vision from the mask. With every wipe of his lenses he pulled both water and muck, barely reviving his sight. When he could see, every ridge seemed to bear sets of knobbed shoulder blades. The hunter was unsure if he was hallucinating, due likely to the lack of reality presented before him. He climbed the wheelhouse of the de-treaded crane until he approached the cabin. Before breaking the door open, Husk turned to look about the area.

He saw nothing, heard nothing. Taking a deep breath, Husk turned back to the door, inserting the tip of his blade between the metal cracks and twisting the handle until the decayed lock finally burst under pressure. The door swung outwards with a burst of flies and Husk peered in to gaze upon the deranged skeleton that had been picked clean by larvae. The hunter wiped his mask and shone his light in to find the seat caked in dried brown gore.

It was then that he heard the sound, a nearby wheezing followed by the clicking of keratin claws against metal. The thing was nearby, perhaps riled by the headlamp. Husk peered over the cabin to find the helicopter still quiet in its nest. Blinking lights on the craft let him know that chop shoppers hadn't already come and extracted the engine. Communications seemed up with blinking lights from the cockpit reflecting off the glass windshield. Even the rocket pods and lesser weaponry seemed perfectly intact. The operational helicopter was the only respite Husk had from this dark nightmare he had forced himself into.

The only problem was that he could not see Grey.

When he lifted himself up to see if the pilot was still nestled in the cockpit, smoking hand-rolled cigarettes and tinkering with his dials, the wheeze became a growl. The keratin scratched against rustic remains as Husk buried himself into the cabin with the skeleton, slamming the door shut and turning his light off. Larvae began to crawl from the corpse and up his sleeve. He paid no mind as the lightning crashed one more time before introducing the storm to this region of The Yard. Wet ash pattered in hard droplets on the cracked window glass. The lack of vision reminded Husk of his own gasmask. He debated whether to take it off for a moment to recollect his bearings.

As he loosened the straps around the back of his neck he heard the laughter, though it became muffled by the rainfall. When he heard the metal clicks scratching against the ceiling of the cabin, he slouched down as far as possible, terrified by what was about to present itself before the window. Not relishing his only option, his only chance at survival, he drew the bow from his back and pulled the skeleton over his chest. Sparse bones fell from the lot and onto the floor, but the majority rested directly atop Husk who then positioned his bow-holding arm through the bicep of the bones. He aimed at the door, his right hand reaching for the line. The thing breathed through the ventilation, hot wet air glistened against his neck.

It was close – Husk not prepared mentally for what his hindered vision was about to behold. Crawling from the roof of the cabin the beast appeared on the glass, lowering itself to the ground, never once removing its bug eyes from inside the claustrophobic compartment. Sparse black fur clumped together from sog and perspiration as knobbed joints shifted under a thin layer of charcoal skin. Long cracked claws dug into the earth as the thing observed the crane casket, deciding which point of entry would prove the most terrifying and fruitful. Its mouth was agape, presenting a slew of haphazardly placed fangs.

The heart of the hunter thumped so hard he was sure the mutant could hear it. He watched in repulsion as the horror displayed a primal dominance, cutting the sky above with two long tusks that jutted from the chin. Husk could already envision the feeble glass shattering into shards from the first charge. Releasing a drawn howl-turned-roar, it disappeared from the fore of the cabin. The renowned mercenary gasped for chance breaths of filtered air. He could feel the claws on the yellow metal against his back.

The first charge came immensely, shrouded by the mask of thunder. Husk was not prepared for the invisible threat to land with such ferocity, startling him so badly that his entire body jolted. All sound from the beast then disappeared, the man anxiously awaiting the next attack. It launched from the roof and into Husk's eyesight, paws gripping mud and steel as it leaned on muscular haunches. The sog fell heavily, nearly masquerading the thing behind sheets of gray soot.

Husk grabbed the synthetic wire and pulled as far back as his contorted stance would allow. When the second charge came, it did so with feral intent. The beast appeared from the layer of sog and protruded its tusks, immediately shattering the glass on impact. Maw open and claws agape, the mutant was ready to claim another life. Blinded by an instant barrage of glass, rain, and muck, Husk choked on his own saliva as it latched onto his leg.

Blood and fleshy tissue exposed itself to the world as the mutant thrashed his calf from side to side. In a panicked agony, Husk released the net at the mutant, which expanded quickly around it. The brute force of the projectile pulled the thing from the cabin and out into the downpour. Soaked camouflage sticking to the gore of his calf, Husk dropped the bow to the floor and reached for his pistol.