NIGHT TERROR, page 1
NIGHT TERROR
A Genetics Investigation Team Thriller
Russ Tilton
Copyright
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This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are entirely the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to persons living or dead, actual locations, events, or organizations is coincidental.
Chapter one
Liam Sayed was ten minutes late when he left the cave, but only five minutes from meeting his seventy-two virgins. He felt a little guilty as he walked down the narrow trail. He was quick to condemn his relief when they were late, but he would offer Bibi a cigarette and all would be forgiven.
It was a good post for sentry duty. Away from his superiors, mostly out of the wind, and an approach the enemy would never use.
Had never used, he corrected himself.
If there was anything he learned fighting the infidels, it was to never underestimate your enemy. The moonless night was perfect for an assault, but there had been no hint of military activity in the area. If there had been Muhammad Rasul, Commander of the Faithful, and his three top advisors would not be here. Rasul was a careful man, and Liam felt honored to be part of his security force.
In the darkness, the trail appeared narrower than usual as he looked down the slope at the treacherous terrain. The ancient path, little more than a goat trail, was the only way up to the caves, stair-stepping through crags and rocks past five outposts. All the other approaches were shear rock faces. The enemy wouldn’t make it halfway up before they were seen and destroyed. And the tunnels were deep. The Americans would have to level the mountain to ensure they killed their target. This was about as safe a location as the supreme commander could hope to find.
Through the gloom, he saw the large boulder that marked his post. He skirted the massive rock, then called out, “Ho, Bibi. Do not be mad…” Bibi wasn’t there. Sayed’s heart rate kicked up.
He peered into the darkness, took a step forward, and saw a pair of feet sticking out from the shadows. He moved closer. There was Bibi, leaning against the rock, his head down and his AK-47 lying in the dirt next to him. Anger flashed through Sayed.
I can’t believe he’s sleeping!
“Get up,” Sayed hissed, looking back toward the cave. “You’re lucky I found you and not Hassem.”
The man didn’t stir. “Bibi, are you crazy?” He kicked his leg. Bibi toppled sideways.
Sayed pulled out his cigarette lighter and flicked it on. A scream caught in his throat when he saw the man’s shredded face, the flesh torn from his skull, his chest and abdomen ripped apart, his intestines lying in a pile between the man’s legs. Dropping the lighter, the young guard staggered back, unable to breathe.
Rocks clattered behind him. He spun around and saw something on the trail fifty feet from the cave entrance. He peered at it, then his eyes went wide. He clawed at his rifle strap. A shadow fell across him, and something slammed onto his shoulders, knocking him to the ground. Teeth tore into the back of his neck turning his shout into a choked gurgle while a dozen knives stabbed his chest and his left thigh.
In the seconds before he died, Sayed didn’t think about the reward waiting for him in heaven, he thought about pain he never imagined possible and about the strange creatures running down the trail toward the cave entrance.
Chapter two
The roaring water screamed its warning too late as Jessup came around the bend and saw the giant cottonwood tree lying in his path. Water slammed into the trunk, tearing at the submerged limbs with unimaginable power as the river sought to rip it from the shore.
Jessup jammed his paddle deep into the water and dug in with all his strength, but it was too late. His kayak slewed sideways and slammed into the top half of the tree, where bright green leaves fluttered like a thousand-headed hydra trying to pull him from his boat. Limbs skittered across his body, cutting his face, and tearing away his ball cap. He threw his arms up and somehow stayed upright, his heart pounding so hard he could hear it above the roar.
Water battered the plastic boat, rushing over the gunnel and into the cockpit, threatening to capsize him. He swung his paddle at the dense foliage like a machete. It caught in a branch, he went sideways, and the paddle was wrenched from his hands. The kayak lurched onto its side. Jessup grabbed at limbs, trying to hold himself up, but the rushing torrent was too much. It flooded the cockpit and flipped him under. The rushing current ripped him from the boat and wedged him against the submerged branches, his head just inches below the surface. His hand thrust into the air as he gasped for one last breath.
Jessup bolted upright, his heart pounding in his ears. He sucked in a few breaths, then fell back onto his pillow, rubbing his eyes. After a minute, he went to the kitchen, turned on the coffeemaker, then got back into bed, listening for the last gurgle of boiling water to cycle through.
After he poured himself a cup of coffee, he turned on the news before poking his head through the doorway of the spare room.
“Time to get up buddy,” he said.
A groan came from the pile of sheets and blankets piled up in the middle of the air mattress.
Ten minutes later, he heard the rattle of dry cereal being poured into a bowl.
“Sleeping beauty,” he said, ruffling the boy’s hair as he headed for a refill. “How’d you sleep?”
He got an unintelligible reply and glanced at the side of his coffee mug: “Coffee Before Talkie.” Just like me.
“Can I have a pop tart?” Davie asked as Jessup sat a glass of milk in front of him.
Jessup looked down at the nearly full bowl in front of him. “What’s wrong with the cereal?”
“It tastes like cardboard,” Davy said, scraping his spoon through it in a circle. “You said you were going to get me the kind I like.”
“I know, I forgot. I promise I’ll have some for next time. Eat two more spoonsful, then you can have a pop tart…just don’t tell your mom.”
“Cool.”
Jessup glanced back, “I said spoon fulls.”
“Ohh,” the boy groused as he scooped up more cereal.
“Then get ready for school.”
After he filled his Thermos with coffee, Jessup clipped his badge and gun onto his belt. He looked at his ID card, “Sergeant Jacob E. Jessup, Detective, Memphis Police Department.” The photo was an old one. He was supposed to get a new one taken, but he liked the wild edge to this one.
He checked on Davie. The boy was dressed and kneeling on the air mattress, stuffing his belongings into his backpack. Jessup didn’t like school uniforms, but he had to admit it made for fewer arguments in the morning. The blue blazer with the coat of arms embroidered on the pocket was a bit much, though.
“I promise I’ll get you a real bed one of these days,” Jessup said guiltily.
Davie shrugged. “The air mattress is cool. It’s kinda like going camping.” He jumped up and swung the bag over his shoulder. “I’m ready.”
“Okay, let’s roll.”
Once in the truck, Jessup held up two fingers and Davie held up three. Jessup cranked the engine and it roared to life on the second try. “Yes!” he said, raising a fist in victory.
“So, you got anything fun happening at school this week?” Jessup asked as they drove off.
“Mostly regular stuff,” Davie said, “but we have a field trip to the nature preserve on Thursday. They have a wildlife rehab center there. They’re going to show us all the animals they’re saving.”
“Wow, that sounds pretty cool.”
“Yeah,” the boy said. “They have a three-legged bobcat.”
“Man, that sounds neat.”
Jessup approached the school, and they joined a long procession of Lexus and BMW SUVs. His fifteen-year-old Toyota Tundra fit in like the proverbial turd in a punchbowl. When he got to the drop-off point, he yanked Davie’s backpack from the rear seat and gave him a fist bump.
“Okay, buddy. Have fun. Love you.”
“Love you too, Dad,” Davie yelled back, already running for the front door of the school.
As he pulled away, Jessup went around a woman in a new Cadillac Esplanade. She looked at his truck and made a face. He smiled back and mouthed the words “Mine’s paid for, bitch.” But he realized hers probably was, too. You didn’t send your kids to East Woods Academy if you worried about money.
He pulled back onto the street and his phone chirped.
Get Davie dropped off ok? the text read.
He thumbed in a reply. No, we’re on our way to Tunica to gamble and chase women.
A half minute later, Ok, have fun. Just get him back to the school by 3.
At least his ex-wife had a good sense of humor. He pushed Call.
“Hey,” she said. “Keep him off the craps table. He sucks at math.”
He laughed. “If that’s the case, he definitely got it from me. Just dropped him off.”
“You guys have a good time?”
“Yep, we caught a movie, ate pizza, and went to the children’s museum,” Jessup said. “He said he’s too old for that now, by the way.”
“Ah, I’ll try to remember that. What movie did you see?”
“Nope, what happens at Dad’s house stays at Dad’s house.”
“Hmm, that’s okay, I’ll get it out of him. Did he get his homework done?”
“Yep,” he said as he wove through traffic. “And I put a check for half the child support in his backpack.”
“I told you, you don’t have to…”
“Hey,” Jessup said, an edge in his voice, “he’s my kid too. I’ll pay my share.”
“I’m just saying, we don’t need the money—”
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” he said, cutting her off. “Look, traffic’s getting heavy. I’m going to let you go.” He hung up before she could reply.
No, they definitely did not need the money. Not like when she and Jessup were married. Living on a cop’s salary while she finished her accounting degree. Sure, things had been tight, but his side gigs had helped pay for the extras. But she complained about him being gone all the time. “A baby needs his father around, too,” she would say, as if he didn’t already know that.
Hell, my father wasn’t around for me, and I turned out okay, didn’t I?
He pulled up to a stoplight and stared out the windshield, his jaw clenched as he waited for the light to change. There had been good times, too, hadn’t there? The camping and canoeing trips, the trips to the beach, the cruise they hoped would rejuvenate things between them. Of course, those things paled in comparison to the Hawaiian excursion she, Donald, and Davie took during Christmas, or the Alaska tour, and the upcoming trip to Italy.
He heard a rumbling and looked over as a MATA bus pulled up next to him. He flushed when he saw the smiling face looking back at him with its perfect white teeth and the words “If your back is squallin’, call on Collins! Collins Chiropractic. Now serving you at seven locations.”
Diesel exhaust billowed through the passenger window and the eyes on the side of the bus followed him as the vehicle pulled away.
“A fuckin’ chiropractor,” he growled. “She had to marry a fuckin’ chiropractor.”
Chapter three
Derrick Flattner stood on the platform and watched the sun kiss the desert horizon, leaving a brilliant red-orange-yellow light show in its wake. “Red sky at night, sailor’s delight.”
“What’s that, sir?” the man next to him asked, his captain insignia still visible in the dimming light.
“Nothing,” Flattner said, turning his attention back to the enclosure. From his perch, the oval, dirt berm structure looked more like a Roman coliseum than a zoo, despite the concrete structures made to resemble a natural habitat, in this case, a mountainous desert area. Huge boulders and rocks made from gunite-covered wire mesh littered the open area, creating a maze of pathways and alcoves.
Steel struts jutted inward from atop the berm, linked by electrified barbed wire and topped with banks of spotlights. At the far end of the arena, to his left, was a cave entrance. The late afternoon shadows made the six-foot opening look sinister. He stared into it, watching for movement.
“Which one’s up?” Flattner asked.
“C-3,” the captain replied.
“We about ready?”
“Yes, sir, they’re strapping on his gloves now,” he said, holding a finger to an ear bud.
“Who’s the lucky victim this time?”
“Kowalski won the toss.”
Flattner chuckled. “I can’t believe you have guys that actually want to do this.”
“Oh, yeah,” the lean soldier said with a hint of pride. “It’s almost a rite of passage. You work in special projects, you have to run the gauntlet.”
Flattner shook his head. “Even after what happened to Brinks?”
“That did cool the enthusiasm a little, but the new Kevlar inserts seem to have solved the problem with punctures.”
“Hmm. He ever get the feeling back in his arm?”
“He still has a couple of operations to correct the nerve damage, but the doctors are optimistic,” the captain said.
Flattner glanced at him. “Anybody volunteering to test Operation Tall Grass?”
The captain barked a laugh. “Nobody’s that stupid.”
There was a loud whomp and the spotlights surrounding the enclosure flashed on and chased away the shadows. A buzzer sounded, followed by a loud click. Flattner looked toward the far side of the stadium, opposite the cave opening, where an entry gate was located in the wall. He saw movement behind it. A sudden, late afternoon breeze spun up a dust devil on the arena floor and carried a strong, musty smell up to the observation platform.
There was another buzz and click, and the gate swung open. Out walked a large figure covered from head to toe with padding so thick he looked like the Michelin Tire Man. Two inches of heavy material covered every inch of his body, with extra padding around the neck and head of the protective suit. Fastened to that area was a brown substance secured with nylon netting.
Kowalski’s arms protruded from his sides and he walked forward in slow, plodding steps, his heavy boots scraping the ground and kicking sand and gravel ahead of him. The captain reached down and flipped a lever on his portable radio. The sound of heavy breathing emanated from the speaker. In the echoing confines of the padded helmet, the man’s respiration made him sound like Darth Vader in Star Wars. Flattner tried to imagine the thoughts going through the man’s head.
Kowalski took about twenty steps, stopped, and twisted his entire body sideways and up to look at them.
“You ready, Kowalski?” the captain said into his mic.
“Yes, sir,” the man said through a staticky connection, lifting an arm in acknowledgment.
The captain turned and nodded to a soldier standing at an electrical panel. The soldier threw a switch. The lights went out turning the artificial daylight back into a shadowy dusk and filling the area with a hundred hiding places.
The padded man continued shuffling forward. When he was halfway across the enclosure, Flattner caught movement at the cave entrance. Something the size of a large dog slip behind a nearby boulder. The creature moved silently through the maze of rocks, blending in with the shadows and remaining all but invisible.
Kowalski turned onto a path lined with large rocks.
“They usually hit them right there,” the captain whispered, pointing at a pinch area between two boulders.
Flattner nodded. His heart rate increased, and his stomach tightened.
Man, the hunter, becomes the hunted.
Kowalski must have sensed the danger because his breathing quickened. He hesitated at the narrow opening, then looked around, twisting his entire body back and forth to try to see around him. He straightened and walked forward.
As soon as he hit the pinch, a blur of movement shot out from between a cluster of rocks to his right. A black shape bounded over a four-foot boulder and launched itself at the soldier. It hit Kowalski in the face and latched onto his head. The impact drove the man back and he hit the ground and grunted as the air rushed from his lungs.
The baboon savagely tore at the slabs of meat strapped to the padded head and throat. Grunts and groans blasted from the speaker as Kowalski swung his arms and legs, kicking up dust and gravel in a futile attempt to protect himself.
“Jesus,” the captain said, “every time I see it…”
Flattner nodded. “They are impressive.”
Kowalski slapped an arm against the ground and shouted, “Time!”
The captain threw up his hand and the floodlights snapped on and illuminated the area. A pair of soldiers ran up carrying a firehose. They yanked back the handle of the inch-and-a-half nozzle and the powerful jet of water blasted the baboon in the side. It ignored the torrent and continued to rip away at the meat strapped to Kowalski’s suit.
Flattner shook his head in amazement. The pressure was enough to knock a full-grown man off his feet. After a few seconds, the animal finally released its victim, ran several feet, then turned and hissed at its audience.
“What happened to its eye?” Flattner asked, noticing suture scars where its left eye should have been.
