“What the fuck,” Mapes choked. He could hardly speak. Hell, he couldn’t even move. It took every inch of energy to even crane his head.
The creature strode forward, stopping when it was ten feet away to tilt a head that looked oddly human aside from the overgrown fur on its face. Something hung from its beard…
Mapes squinted at the dried body parts; a shriveled eye tied to the hair, an ear, and…
The creature’s yellow-slotted eye on the left and blue eye on the right focused on Mapes. He squirmed and tried to raise his M9, but he couldn’t move anything below his neck. He dropped his head and saw the gun was gone. That’s when he realized the tree limb that had hit him was not a limb at all.
The long handle of a spear protruded from his chest. The blade had pinned him and his rucksack full of C4 to the tree like a thumbtack pinning a butterfly to a wall. If he had to guess, the tip had sheared his spine below his ribcage.
Mapes choked on blood and coughed. The pain was gone now, replaced by something he hadn’t felt in a long time.
Fear was an odd thing. It could be more paralyzing than any other emotion. But Mapes wasn’t afraid of dying. He was afraid of being left out here in this godforsaken ice jungle.
The beast crouched to study him, sniffing the air. Its bi-colored eyes flitted from him to the ground near his boots. He followed its gaze to the grenade in the snow.
In a swift motion, the beast turned and darted away, leaving Mapes to die, alone, and paralyzed in the frozen forest.
Fitz led Team Ghost toward a fence of trees. The shotgun blasts had come from somewhere inside over thirty minutes ago. He stopped to listen, but heard nothing over the screaming wind.
Sheets of thick snowflakes fell from the sky, air-brushing everything with white. The soft powder stuck to Fitz’s carbon fiber blades. A hundred things were running through his mind and none of them were good. But there was a mission to complete and he still held onto a seed of hope that Stevenson was alive.
If he was, he was somewhere through the forest ahead. Fitz had a feeling they would find Stevenson eventually, perhaps in the lab facility.
Fitz directed Dohi to take point and then gestured for Apollo to go with him. Together, the two trackers set off into the forest. Fitz led Rico and Tanaka after them.
The tips of the trees rose toward the sky of white, branches swaying and shifting. Cracks and groans came from all directions like they were on a wood boat in violent seas.
They were moving quickly, as one, keeping close instead of combat intervals. Whatever was out here was cunning enough to fool both Dohi and Apollo, and they had already slaughtered Fox Team. Judging by the lack of gunshots, Mapes was dead now too.
Fitz focused on Dohi’s outline through the snow. Apollo trotted alongside, sniffing, wagging his tail, then sniffing some more. For a moment, the sight reminded Fitz of Beckham. Fitz loved the dog, and the Shepherd loved him, but Apollo was Beckham’s dog, and Fitz felt guilty for bringing him all this way.
Just make sure you bring him home in one piece, Beckham had said.
Fitz exhaled and whispered, “I’ll bring him home, brother. Soon.”
The thought of seeing his friends again gave Fitz the boost of energy he needed. He walked a bit faster, knowing they were closing in on the target. Get in, find the weapon, blow the place up, and get out. That was all they had to do now. Well that, and survive. And find Stevenson.
Fitz worked his fingers in his gloves to keep the blood flowing. He needed to be ready to fire at a second’s notice, and the cold had already penetrated every layer. He raised his M4 when Dohi froze ahead. The tracker balled his hand and crouched next to Apollo. The dog trotted a few feet forward, his muzzle going to work before stopping at a mound that looked like a red snow cone.
Flashing a hand signal, Fitz ordered his team to toward the gore. As he approached he prepared himself to find a body, but instead, there was only a flattened area covered in fresh blood.
Dohi plucked something out of the snow and held it up. He tossed away a shotgun shell and looked up when Fitz arrived.
“Looks like a battlefield,” Dohi whispered. He stood and jerked his chin toward the north where bloodstains littered the snow.
Fitz wiped the snow from his goggles.
“But where are all the bodies?” Rico asked.
“On me,” Fitz said. He led the team through the site of a battle, searching for evidence of whatever had happened. Every few feet he spotted a shotgun shell and blood, but there was no sign of a corpse.
Fitz stopped mid-stride when he felt eyes on him. Dohi had already stopped.
“What?” Rico whispered. “Why are we stopped?”
Another voice came in the respite of the whistling wind. It was faint, and sounded strangled. Fitz followed Dohi’s gaze to the northeast. Through the gusting snow, he saw a figure against a tree.
Fitz flashed a set of motions for Ghost to spread out. With their weapons shouldered, they slowly approached the contact.
Squinting to see the man’s face, Fitz hoped to God it wasn’t Stevenson, The man’s head was slumped against his chest, and a wood pole had him pinned to the tree. Blood blossomed around his white uniform and vest, leaking down his stomach and legs. As Fitz approached he saw exposed, pale skin.
It was one of Fox Team, but there was no way the man could still be alive.
Fitz directed Rico and Tanaka to watch their six and then approached the tree with Dohi and Apollo. They stopped a few feet away, and Fitz reached out to lift the man’s head to see Sergeant Mapes. His lips were blue, and ice hung from his nose.
“Damn,” Fitz whispered. He slowly pulled his fingers from Mapes’s chin to set his head back on his chest and looked to Dohi.
“Help…”
Fitz’s heart leapt and he redirected his gaze toward Mapes.
“He’s alive,” Dohi whispered.
Purple, lips trembling, Mapes tried to talk.
“Water,” he mumbled. “Need. Water.”
Dohi pulled his water bottle, and Mapes craned his neck, wincing in pain, and tonguing the water
“Hypothermia. Makes the body hot,” Dohi whispered. “We got to get him down from the tree.”
Fitz nodded, but Mapes shook his head and coughed.
“No,” he said. “I can’t move anything below my neck. Do me a solid, Master Sergeant. Put one in my head.”
Dohi and Fitz exchanged a look.
Fitz had killed out of mercy before, but shooting out here would tell whatever was out there where they were. They would have to knife him instead, but Fitz wasn’t sure he could do that.
“Tell us what you saw. Tell us what did this,” Dohi said.
Mapes swallowed. “Some sort of…” He coughed and his eyes rolled up into his head.
Fitz grabbed Mapes’s cheeks in his gloves and said, “Tell us what you saw, Mapes. We have to know.”
Redirecting his eyes, Mapes focused on Fitz.
A branch snapped in the distance, and a pile of snow fell to the ground.
Mapes choked again. “I saw demons. Not Variant. Not human. Something in between.”
Fitz glanced down at the spear shaft protruding from Mapes’s chest. Whatever had thrown it had done so with such force that it had torn through flesh, bone, and a rucksack. He slowly let go of Mapes’s face and took a step back.
“After you complete your mission, come back for my body. Don’t leave me out here,” Mapes mumbled. “Promise me, Fitz.”