Kong: Skull Island- Beneath the Surface

Chapter 9

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Mason follows the sound loyally. She lets out a huff of air in frustration. Surely these corridors should've met by now! How long have we been going down this way? Mason feels the map on her arm once more. The cuts sting. It is no help to her. She has been turned around and distracted: nothing made sense. Who is out there? Did MONARCH send a team to find her? These questions and others filter through her mind over and over again. Yet deep down she knows who is out there. It has to be. No one else would be crazy enough or skilled enough to come after her.

And that is a ginormous comfort in itself.

Because she knows him, and she knows he'd never give up. Not till her finds her. Just knowing there is someone looking for her makes her situation seem brighter (figuratively only of course) but knowing it was him? Her pace picks up once more. Mason's mind is working again.

We can get out of here and then...geez and then I'll need to develop these photos! Hopefully they weren't scratched...

She pulls herself up another ledge and feels her way along the wall, listening to the tapping. Mason's faithful camera gently bumps against her stomach as she steps in further.

I'll only give the images to Corey. I trust him. After that we'll have to call people. This is huge. I'm thinking department of homeland security. White House. Maybe even the Marine Corps. And if they don't help us we'll go international...UN, UK, Australia....

She stops moving. Her breath catches in her throat. The tapping noise is gone. Where the hell did it go!?

"No," she whispers, moving quickly to the wall, "no, no, no, no, no..."

But it is silent. She doesn't even hear voices. Where are they! And then she feels a hot breath on her head, neck, and back. Every muscle in her body tenses. Adrenaline gives her stomach butterflies. Her grip tightens on the machete. Pupils dilate. A growl resonates from behind her, deep, big, and low.

Without hesitation Mason swings around a lashes out towards the breathing sound. A guttural roar tears through the darkness as her blade meets soft tissue. This is no giant centipede. Mason has no choice and rips her flashlight from her belt. In the few seconds of battery left, Mason looks upon her attacker.

Bigger than a bear.

Furry back.

Claws as long as daggers,

Two rows, top and bottom, of needle-like teeth.

And long, pink feelers protruding from its nose, smelling it's way. Smelling her.

A mole bear. There is no other name to describe the ugly, powerful monstrosity in front of her. It looks malnourished. Starving. Desperate.

Mason swallows hard and fights the fear making her heart beat faster. Her body suddenly feels heavy and wooden. But she steels herself on one thought: she isn't about to go down without a fight. Not now. Now ever.