Primal Gambit

Chapter 67: Mutation Pt. 2

The hunting party dashed under drifting plastic canopies held in place by steel poles planted deep into the ground. Some chose to barrel through the insides of empty cars while other leapt over them entirely. Through the tank graveyard they bounded, a select few with the most muscular haunches launching from the roof of one tank and over the next. Clicking keratin against steel resounded about the area in a chaotic pattern, the echoes softened only by the storm that brewed in the distance. Crackling thunder revealed to the small portion of the clan that an intense storm of sog was heading their way.

Only the strongest beasts were selected to be a part of the stalking group within the clan. To be chosen for such a grave aspect of the hunt, individuals had to square off against the alpha. If they succeeded in proving their worth, the alpha female allowed them to skulk through the scrapyards with her. She trotted behind the small sect of night-horrors, all of them blended in with the rusted debris that peppered the ground. They were nearly invisible, masqueraded within their surroundings. The alpha snarled, watching her proven group of hunters sprinting full-fledged towards the area where dust and garbage had plumed into the sky upon the aerial beast's landing.

In the night, so deep into the clutches of The Yard, nothing would stop them.

They were far from the valley in which the cubs waited with the lesser adults and drew ever-nearer to the landed helicopter. Forward they rushed, galloping in twos and threes as they closed the gap with primal intent. Had they the wherewithal to recall the last few hunts, they would only continue stalking the prey until the alpha arrived. Once she finally made her way to the ridge on which they would observe from all angles, the alpha would calculate the best flanking method given the weather and terrain around them. Only then, upon a very specifically-pitched laugh, would the rest of the stalkers descend the ridge in attack patterns.

It was common upon an attack for the stalkers to slither between the canals of refuse to hide their bodies underneath the junk and draw themselves closer to prey. As they moved forward, unable to control the growls that emitted from their toothy maws, the alpha struggled to keep up. She was the oldest beast in the pack, aged prematurely from years of harassment and battles against both alphas from opposing clans and rogues attempting to gain dominance. The long tusks that protruded forward from either side of her chin were sharp and calloused – splintering into long stalks of puncturing shards.

With her age, she was unable to move as fast as the younger stalkers. The distance increased between her and the group, though upon reaching the top of a junk-laden mesa she saw the beta sitting in wait on the tallest boulder, looking toward her ascent. The more agile beta was also a female; had anything happened to the alpha on a hunt or during an attack, the lesser beast would take her place.

A long moaning howl emitted from the perched beast, calling the alpha forward. As the two mutated locked eyes and smelled the air for one another, the alpha stalker howled back. There was a deep respect between the two, as the rest of the horrors were so individualistic that it was more common to become a rogue than to stay part of the pack. The beta had proven her instinct to protect the clan in the past just as much as the alpha had. Unbeknownst to the two, they led the largest pack in all The Yard.

When she caught up to the boulder the lithely beta launched from her post – keeping pace and trotting alongside the alpha. The rest of the stalkers were out of range now, unable to be seen from how far back the two were. She could smell the runners, though, and knew exactly how distanced they were. Upon reading the range between themselves and the pack, the beta released a long laughter – commanding that the stalkers slow down.

Before the yipping barks could cackle down into a growl, the alpha female snarled viciously and nipped the beta on the throat, drawing viscous obsidian blood onto her elongated tusks. The mutant wanted to let the pack continue their charge, even as the beta called for them to ease up so that the alpha could catch ground.

They grew nearer to the landing point. Voices muffled by gasmasks and breathing apparatuses could be sensed just over the next ridge – a great mountain of garbage with deep crevasses and a sluggish ascent. Sharp metal scrap jutted from the ground as blue tarps embedded in the trash thrashed about in the wind. The mountain was a beacon to the Marcotte Reaper, whose communications and electronics became shot as soon as they entered the gigantic dark zone. The mountain acted as a landmark to them, allowing them to see where other helicopters had made their landing and chart their location on maps.

Once the stalkers reached the summit, some turned and waited for the alpha as the hardier brutes slithered between junk to find a prime position to flank the trespassers from. There was nothing standing between the invaders and the beasts now. As soon as the humans had departed from the airship, they were on the stalkers' land, intruding on territory that would soon belong to them. Minutes would pass like hours to the agitated beasts that wanted nothing more than to descend the giant hill, bounding over and sliding beneath junk as they assailed their hapless prey. Some began to emit low growls and laughs to one another as soon as the soon-dead humans came into view.

Their charge would not be hindered by the elder. She wanted them as feral as she was the day she fought for the alpha role, eviscerating the lesser male and tearing chunks from his neck, legs, and abdomen – gnawing them to pulped bits of gamy flesh.

None of the brood ever dared test her again.