Jellyfish emerged from the still, calm surface of the bay and floated across the air as though still underwater. The gelatinous, umbrella-shaped bells were pale and translucent, trailed by strings of tentacles. Each bell was at least the size of a man’s head, with tentacles the length of an average human body. Hundreds of the luminous creatures lifted from the waters, ornamented by tiny dots of light that flickered across their viscous surfaces. They drifted with ghost-like silence toward the shore.
Hayes leaped to his feet, holding his M16 rifle with trembling hands. “What the hell are those?”
Michael narrowed his eyes. The bulbous bells of the jellyfish appeared delicate as rice paper, and glowed as though illuminated by LED lights. But something else was inside of the near-transparent surfaces, vaguely familiar shapes that became clearer as the jellies drew closer. As they pulsed with ghostly light, it became ominously clear what the silhouettes were.
Human heads.
They were barely decipherable, but they were there. In various stages of decay from fully formed to nearly skeletal, they floated in their cloudy cocoons, faces staring outward as though still alive. Their expressions were frozen in assorted stages of terror and agony.
Thunder erupted right beside Michael’s face. He jerked and threw himself to the ground before realizing it was Hayes, firing continuous rounds at the oncoming jellies. His mouth was open in a wild roar, his widened eyes illuminated by muzzle flashes. The retorts sounded too loud, too booming. Michael placed both hands over his ears and craned his neck to see the damage.
Jellies exploded in viscous spatters, but what fell to the ground were rotting human heads. They struck the shore with sounds like overripe fruit splattering, as Hayes fired round after round into the hovering mass. Guy and Damon shouted and angrily gestured, but their voices were drowned out by the blazing gunfire.
Hayes’ chest heaved when his magazine went empty. His mouth worked, but no words escaped.
Lurch reached over and seized him by the collar. His cigar fell from his lips when he bellowed in Hayes’ sweat-soaked face.
“Weren’t you just told to save your rounds, you worthless prick?”
Hayes didn’t seem to hear. His eyes swam in his face, staring past Lurch at the oncoming cloud of ethereal jellies.
Their approach quickened.
Though still silent, their pale surfaces glimmered with angry red blushes as though agitated. Hundreds of whip-like tentacles fanned out, stretching toward the apprehensive group like accusing fingers.
Lurch shoved Hayes forward. “Move your sorry ass!”
The rest of them didn’t need further admonition. Lurch’s gravelly shout snapped them out of their initial paralyzed state, prodding them into sudden and panicky action. They ran the only direction they could — into the waiting embrace of the thick, tangled green of the jungle.
Humidity leaped on Michael’s shoulders as soon as he entered. His pores responded by saturating him with sweat. The rainforest appeared ancient, as if the towering trees and tangled vines had an eternity to grow and spread into a massive ecosystem. Large, damp leaves slapped him in the face, vines tried to ensnare his arms, hidden roots and stones turned his run into more of a stumbling jog as he attempted to keep his balance. The air was stifling, thick and heavy with the scent of dank, moldy earth. The only sounds were tramp of booted feet, the group’s heavy breathing, and Lurch’s mumbled curses.
They ran forever, following in one another’s footsteps. Guy took point, leading them deeper into the snarled foliage, never bothering to check who followed him. The light dimmed the further they went on, smothered by the heavy blanket of intertwined limbs and crawling vines above. Every shadow was a potential threat, every massive tree suspect for what might be lurking behind. Michael’s lungs burned, his mouth went dry, his legs felt made of stone, each step heavier than the last.
He didn’t complain.
Just when he felt he would pass out from sheer exhaustion, Guy held up a clenched fist, allowing the group to stop. Michael collapsed at the base of a dark, vine-enshrouded tree and snatched the canteen from the clip on his belt. The water was warm and tasted flat. It was the best drink he ever had.
“Roll call.” Blackwell spoke between gasps. “Everyone here?”
The others looked near as fatigued as he, breathing heavily on shaky legs. Their sweat-slicked, wide-eyed faces appeared torn between weariness and shock. Besides Guy, the only other person who didn’t look physically wasted was Damon. He stood straight with his arms folded and his forehead only slightly damp.
Hayes panted like an overheated dog, leaning against a nearby tree for support. “Looks like everyone made it.” He shook his head. “I… recognized some of those faces. Jesse, Mike… they were part of the squad. Some others were part of the ship crew. What the hell happened to them? We’re in over our heads, man. How do we fight against things like that? What kind of place is this?”
Guy continued to scan their surroundings as if he saw threats invisible to the rest of them. “You can expect things to get more and more unnatural from here. Aberrations don’t improve. They only get worse as the distortion increases. So don’t get comfortable. Those jellies are sentinels, and won’t stop scanning the terrain. We can’t spare no more than a few minutes at most.”
Blackwell’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know so much about Aberrations, Commander? You’re talking as if you’ve seen one before.”
“I have.” Guy’s eyes glinted in the shadows. “Many times.”
“That’s not possible. According to Michael’s reports, no one has that kind of experience, except—”
“Except Wardsmen. The last line of defense, fighting a battle the rest of humanity doesn’t even know is being waged.” Guy folded his arms, scanning the group as if assessing their strengths and weaknesses. “Michael is right. And since we all have to trust one another, I’m going to be honest. I am a Wardsman. The Wardsman who shut down the Aberration at Michael’s mill, among many others. And if any of you want to survive, you’ll do exactly what I say.”
Chapter 13: Preternatural Snafu
Nathan watched the group’s reactions waver between disbelief and morbid curiosity. Damon stepped in front of Blackwell with his sidearm pointed at Guy’s face. The others had their hands on their weapons as well, though most looked uncertain at best. Elena placed an arm against Nathan’s chest as though trying to protect him, eyeing Guy as though he were a poisonous snake about to strike. Nathan understood the sentiment.
It had been that kind of day.
Guy’s stance was relaxed, greeting the hostility with casual indifference. “I really don’t think you want to shoot the one person who knows what’s going on.”
Blackwell motioned for Damon to lower his pistol. “How the hell is that possible? What happened to Commander Steele?”
“Died on a mission, decades ago. I commandeered his identity into my collection to use if needed.”
“Did you kill him?”
Guy raised an eyebrow. “No. But does it matter?”
Blackwell shook his head. “I guess not. So you’re him. The mystery man Michael claimed saved him from the last Aberration.”
“That’s right.”
” Our recruits are rigorously vetted. How’d you manage to get through so easily?”
Damon’s heated gazed slid from Guy to Blackwell. “Are you serious? This guy completely subverts our security, infiltrates our inner circle, and you’re admiring his methods?”
Blackwell shrugged. “That one’s on you, Sid. You’re the one who recruited him. Besides, look at around.” He spread out his arms.