Madman's Monster Read online

  "Team 3 in position. Negative contact."

  Craig listened, watching for any signs of life as the seconds ticked by like minutes. When he couldn't see any reason to hold back he once again pressed down on his earpiece, "Teams 1 and 2 move into position, Team 3, silent breech."

  The response that came from the Team 3 men were only confirming taps on their earpieces, which made an audible click through the speakers of the other earpieces worn by all the team members. The men from Team 3 raised their weapons and prepared to enter the building checking the door to see if it was locked.

  To their surprise, it wasn't.

  Trent, the leader of Team 3, looked back at the other men in his trio as he rested his hand on the door knob of the lab building. The men each gave him a slight nod as they watched the door through the red dot sighting systems on the tactical shotguns they carried. The SRM Model 1212 semi-automatic shotguns all had pistol grips and were equipped with extremely short 12” barrels, making the weapon highly maneuverable in close quarters. Each had magazines containing twelve of the 3” double ought shot shells which were capable of cutting an enemy in half in the confined space they were entering.

  Trent sucked in a deep breath, then let it out with a grunt, pulling sharply on the door as his partners rushed into the building past him. Quickly, they checked the room, the corners and any blind spots, until each man whispered "clear." They took up a position inside the entryway and covered Trent as he made his way into the room. Despite the ease of initial entry, and the fact that there were no alarms or any indication that the camp was anything but abandoned, something was clearly wrong. Trent knew it and, from the signs of apprehension in the body language of his two partners, he knew that they could sense it as well.

  The space they had entered seemed to be a small, maybe only two hundred square feet, greeting area with a couple of chairs lined up, backs flush against the concrete wall. Opposite sat a modest desk that looked as though it was reserved for some kind of receptionist. The desk was sparse with only a computer screen, keyboard and mouse evident on top. A flat screen television hung on a wall behind the desk and several framed photographs of the surrounding jungle hung, evenly spaced, on the walls to serve as art for whomever might be asked to wait in the room. Directly beneath the television was a single door that evidently was the only entryway to the interior of the building.

  Trent knelt by the door and listened, hopeful that he might hear something that would shed some light on whatever was happening. Hearing nothing, Trent pressed down on his earpiece, "Entryway clear, there is only a single door for further access. Should we proceed?"

  Craig's voice echoed in his ear a moment later, "Copy. I am moving the other two teams to your location and we will work our way to you."

  "Copy that." Trent spoke in a barely audible whisper as he flashed his teammates hand signals to get them into position for repeating their procedure to enter the building. Once again Trent rested his hand on the doorknob and tested it. Once again it was unlocked and the ready signals were given.

  Trent pulled the door and his men rushed in... only to drop immediately to the ground and call for Trent to stay behind cover.

  Chapter 2

  Trent had only a quick glance at what lay beyond the door and he thought his eyes had played a trick on him. It had appeared as though the interior of the lab was little more than a skeleton of large pipes twisting around themselves creating an almost organic appearance. The area was wet with humidity, even more so than the rain-sodden jungle outside, and steam was escaping from what appeared to be a series of pressure valves. The entwining cylindrical system could only be a kind of boiler system. But what purpose could it possibly serve here, in the lone building of an otherwise semi-permanent tent camp? It was impossible to understand.

  Trent peered around the door and noticed that the piping was stacked upon itself in such a way that it created barriers stretching from the floor all the way to the ceiling. This in turn created narrow walkways that extended from the dimly lit doorway into the darkness of the room beyond.

  "What the hell is this?" one of the men whispered.

  The trio scanned their limited line of sight for a target, even though they could only see a few yards into the darkness.

  "Goddamn Freddy Kruger's boiler room," the other man responded.

  Trent's voice was still a whisper, but the command behind it was easily heard, "Shut it! Stay on task and switch to starlight."

  Both men went quiet and tapped their earpieces in confirmation. Each man maintained their sight on the darkness within the manufactured hallway they faced as they pulled the monocular of their night vision optics down to cover their eyes. Instantly the world went from color to green and white as the night vision illuminated the area to high definition clarity. It was at that moment they saw the enormous figure standing motionless at the far side of the room facing them through the darkness.

  "Target acquired! Going loud!" one of the men said, his voice no longer a whisper, and he aimed his weapon until the red laser dot rested at center mass of the figure at the end of the hallway.

  "Wait!" Craig's voice called out over the earpieces but was drowned out by the explosion made by the shotgun as the trigger was pulled. Incredibly, the target seemed to anticipate the shot and ran to one side as the buckshot hit tearing a wide gash in a six-inch metal pipe. Steam exploded in a white conical plume hissing as it escaped from the newly formed ragged hole, obscuring the room on the other side of the stream of scalding vapor.

  "Hold Fire!" Trent screamed over the cacophony of noise. He had no reason to be silent now as anyone inside the entire camp would be aware of their presence at this point. The two other members of his team raised themselves upright and started to move down the hallway until the steam that was escaping the damaged pipe forced them to crawl on their hands and knees in order to pass beneath the vapor plume without getting burned. Trent slung his own shotgun over one shoulder in favor of his sidearm. He knew full well that his Glock didn't have anywhere near the stopping power of the shotguns, but in tight spaces it was far more maneuverable. The Glock was also immune to wet conditions and was renown for being functional even under water. There didn't appear to be any risk of submerging the weapon at the moment, but with all the natural and unnatural humidity in the building, condensation might have soon become a factor for any other firearm.

  "Trent! Status!" Craig's voice was a straining to remain a whisper as it demanded to be answered, but Trent was too focused to answer as he made his way under the stream of steam.

  Once he was clear of the steam he stood, drew his weapon, searching for any sounds that might give away or dictate the enemy's position. It was possible that the ambient noise of the room could muffle whispered voices, much less any footsteps or other revealing sounds, but that didn’t mean the enemy couldn’t make a misstep or mistake and give away their position. Trent signaled his men to stop as he made his way forward, continuing down the hallway, with his men protecting his flank and rear until the trio had reached a terminal end.

  Static noise erupted from the earpiece and each man reacted by ducking their heads and grasping at the earpieces they wore. Trent could hear Craig's voice in bits and pieces, but the sound of static covered his words, making any message incomprehensible.

  Trent raised a hand up again signaling his men to hold their positions and he pressed the earpiece tighter to his head in an attempt to make out what Craig was trying to say.

  "Signal weak, say again." Trent spoke aloud as the other two men briefly looked down to see if Trent was having any luck.

  The response was only the empty sound of radio static when, without further warning, one of the men flanking Trent suddenly screamed as he was lifted off his feet to dangle nearly ten feet in the open air. His upper body had disappeared in the darkness above them, and all Trent and his team member could see was their teammate’s flailing legs. Desperate wet choking sounds gurgled from the man's throat and his shotgun dropped t
o the ground.

  "Jesus Christ!!!" the other man screamed, aiming his shotgun upward.

  Trent pivoted from the kneeling position and aimed the Glock at the ceiling but couldn't see what was keeping his man aloft. There were more wet choking sounds that must have been stifled screams of pain, as the man's dangling body began to bounce as if it were a marionette, being violently jerked upward and then allowed to fall back.

  "Take the shot!" Trent called out.

  "I can't see anything! What am I shooting at?" the partner replied.

  Blood, hot and wet, struck Trent's face as it began to pour in rivulets down the dangling man's pant legs.

  "What the hell is happening!" Trent heard himself call out.

  Then the body bounced one last time as the sound of something snapping or tearing resounded over the other noises in the chamber and the body of the man fell limply to the floor, followed immediately by his severed head.

  "Holy shit!" screamed the second man as he began to fire the shotgun wildly up into the ceiling.

  The flashes of each triggered round illuminated the area into daylight, but only for the briefest of moments. Perhaps the momentary clarity it provided was insufficient to fully scrutinize the piping and ceiling for any hostiles but Trent still strained to make out any sign of whoever was above them. After firing his sixth shot, the shotgun made a slight clicking sound to indicate it was empty, and Trent removed the night vision monocular and lifted a small but powerful flashlight from his tool belt.

  Trent peered first at his still living companion and he called out, "Stand Down!"

  Somehow the man managed to pull his eyes away from the ceiling and nodded as he found a measure of self-control.

  Trent nodded back, "Good, now reload. I'll cover us."

  Again the man nodded and began to fish fresh rounds from his pocket and push them into the appropriate chamber of the shotgun. Trent knelt down next to the body as blood flowed out of the top of the neck and puddled around where the body lay. The wound was surgically straight, almost as if the head had been severed in one powerful quick blow by an enormous razor. There was a portion of the spinal column that had been removed and it left a small cavity in the rear center of the dead man's neck. Then Trent looked to the severed head and noticed that a couple of the cervical vertebrae were protruding from the base of the neck, which explained the cavity in the body, but there also appeared to be something long and thin that was still attached to the bones.

  Cautiously Trent approached the head and found that a small loop of wire had encircled the vertebrae at one end while the other end was wound around a short, thick dowel of wood that appeared to serve as a makeshift handle. It appeared as though the wire had been secured to the man's neck from above and is what was used to lift him off the ground.

  The bouncing of the victim had caused the wire’s loop to sever the tissue of the man's throat, resulting in the shower of blood that had struck his face, and eventually led to decapitation by the force of the man's own weight.

  Trent pointed the flashlight up to the ceiling again and shook his head in confusion. The wire was too short to have been thrown over a pipe for leverage. The only possible explanation is that someone had been entwined within the pipes above them and lowered the loop of wire down and around the neck of the dead man. Whoever had been up there had to lift the man aloft using only his strength and bounced his body until he had completed the decapitation.

  But that was impossible, wasn't it?... His man weighed over two hundred pounds. The killer would have no leverage to lift with his body or legs while hiding up in the pipes; and therefore, he would have had to accomplish the lift with only the strength in his arms.

  No one was THAT strong!

  Trent could hear his remaining partner load the final round into his shotgun and ratchet it into the ready position.

  "What's the plan boss?" the man said softly but still loud enough for Trent to hear.

  Trent looked up and was about to speak when he saw the figure standing just behind his partner. It was a man, or at least it had the same basic shape and features of a man, that stood motionless just outside of the shadows. It appeared to be little more than a collection of scars and tattered flesh. Bright red eyes, cold and vacant, stared back at Trent who momentarily lost the ability to speak at the sight of the monster that faced him. The man holding the shotgun must have read Trent's body language and spun into a shooter's crouch as he pulled the trigger only to have the shot fly just wide of it's intended target. Fingers thick and long as sausages and as powerful as a vise encircled the man's throat as the creature shot past him. Fingernails dug deeply into the tender flesh of the man's neck and then jerked away as tissue and vessels tore away from the man's throat sending, once again, a hot spray of blood bursting in every direction.

  Trent screamed and he raised his weapon to fire as his partner flopped down to his knees from the sudden, massive loss of blood. The figure pivoted and changed direction as it dove to the ground. The result was Trent's first two shots flew harmlessly over the creature's back. Despite the sheer immensity of what barreled toward him, Trent realized he was too close to be able to aim properly, so he jumped back in order to create more space. He pulled the K-bar combat knife from its sheath and met the creature as it closed the distance. Trent continued firing the Glock, hopeful that one or more of the rounds might strike home. He then reversed his stance and shot forward toward the creature.

  The thing threw its legs out in front of itself, sliding through the large puddle of blood that had accumulated on the floor, and effectively dodging all of the shots. Trent kept firing while trying to adjust to the thing’s forward momentum, but the recoil of each shot had the bullets flying anywhere but the location where he wanted them to strike. Trent felt the telltale stiffness of the trigger indicating he was out of ammunition and immediately he thrust the point of the K-bar at the large form. Just as he anticipated the feeling of the knifepoint contacting and penetrating flesh, a massive hand blurred in front of his eyes, grabbing his wrist and wrenching him to the side like a rag doll. Before Trent could recover the thing was on its feet and was launching him up and over as if weightless before he landed head first on the concrete floor. The impact made his vision swim and his thoughts hazy as he placidly watched his arm being twisted...until the snapping of his forearm bones sobered him.

  He was about to scream in agony when something solid struck his chest with such force that it took his breath away.

  Trent looked down and saw the handle of his own knife protruding from his chest. He couldn't pull any air into his lungs but did feel a torrent of blood force it's way out of his throat as he looked up to the... thing... that stood over him. Once again the blood-red eyes looked down at him as his chest spasmed. He coughed once more before his head fell to the ground. Voices were calling out in the distance but Trent paid them little mind as his vision started to blur. Then the excruciating pain he was feeling in his chest and arm simply flowed away as the darkness took him.

  Chapter 3

  "Come in Team 3!" The whisper that Craig spoke in, as he knelt just outside the entrance to the lab building, was as close to a shout as he dared. Still, to those who could hear, the emphasis in his voice couldn't be denied.

  He had lost contact with Team 3 mere moments after the initial sound of gunfire coming from the inside of the building. The unexpected surprise of the gunfire had sent the remaining six members of the unit scrambling for cover within the camp wherever they could find it. Then the building had gone silent again and the six mercenaries rose from cover, regrouped and stalked along the perimeter of the building looking for any other ways to gain entry.

  The building, having been constructed of prefabricated concrete walls and cinder blocks, allowed for no additional points of entry, so the unit regrouped at the solitary entrance. A quick scan of the structure revealed that the walls were of the "tilt-up" variety, which had to have been assembled off site and individually air lifted to the cam
p location. There was no way to get those enormous structures onto any kind of ground transport that could pass through the dense jungle en route to the camp. That meant this place had come with a large price tag and signified a VERY well funded operation. Whoever had set up this camp was no bush leaguer, not that Craig nor his team were ever led to believe the camp residents were such; however, it was clear that the target was far more capable than Craig had ever considered.

  "Trent!" Craig called aloud and the five other men around him all turned to see if their leader was losing his nerve. Craig looked up into the camouflaged faces of his men and sighed.

  "All right guys," he shook his head as he spoke, "we're going loud, but no unnecessary noise until we've acquired the package."

  All five men grunted their response and returned their attention to the doorway. They moved into the reception area and cleared the room with the same professional grace that their compatriots had earlier displayed, before changing targets and altering their courses for the boiler area. No orders were given...None were needed as each man was an experienced field operative and they knew their job on an instinctual level. If one were able to discern the look on each man's face it would be one of sheer determination and filled with a drive to complete the task at hand. The whole attitude of the mission had changed the moment the "Go loud" order had been given. Previously, the men would have taken extra care to avoid conflict; however, now every soul the unit encountered from this point on in the mission was to be considered a threat and dealt with lethal force...no exceptions.

  Craig watched as the first of his men crawled underneath the scorching vapor that came from a ruptured steam pipe near the end of the pathway. The mercenary gave the "all clear" call on the wireless once he had arrived on the other side and the rest of the team joined him at the end of the hallway shortly afterward. Their boots began to squeak softly as the men trod on a now wet floor, but it was too dark to discern what kind of fluid covered the ground. Craig didn't need to see what was on the ground to know what the substance was and he grimaced as the familiar coppery smell that filled his nostrils told him that they were all standing in blood. The question was, whose blood? Absently, Craig mused that the puddles looked more black than crimson in the sparse lighting within the building and had saturated the floor.