Author: Michael Cole
Date: 2025-11-04 08:00:00+00:00
Description: Evil can’t be cured. It evolves. Gale Frye was a monster long before the experiments began—torturer, killer, pure evil without reason or remorse. Sentenced to death, he disappears into the hands of a secret corporation. Their lead scientist, desperate to prove her new serum, uses Frye as her human test subject. The result? Unthinkable. Frye transforms—his skin turning to scales, his teeth to razors, his hunger to something inhuman. Stronger. Faster. Smarter. And thirsty for blood. When he escapes, the hunters become the hunted. Because Gale Frye isn’t a man anymore. He’s FLESH EATER.
Publisher: SEVERED Press

FLESH EATER

A CREATURE FEATURE BY MICHAEL COLE

www.severedpress.com

Copyright 2025 By Michael Cole

CHAPTER 1

The predator stared straight ahead. In the confines of its transport, it watched through the screen separating it from the two armed men transporting it. They were dead quiet the entire two-hour trip. Behind their vehicle were two others, containing four men with the same forest green uniforms and standard-issue Beretta M9s.

On their left shoulders, and both sides of each SUV, was the name Starfish Industries.

To all of them, the creature ceased to be a member of their species. Sure, it had a name, a family—albeit, a shitty, drug-addicted one—even a social security number. It was as white as show, save for the red and brown scarring and contusions covering much of its body; a consequence of living outside the laws of society. It stood at five-foot-eleven, had a lean, muscular build, and blue eyes.

It even had a name: Gale Frye.

But there were other things beyond innate characteristics that made one human, and the creature lacked many of these. Many like it had the excuse of having a neurological deficit which caused a lack of distinction between right and wrong. The creature sitting in the back lacked that excuse as well. Everything it did was by choice, and given the opportunity, it would do it a hundred times over.

Society deemed the fiend unfit to exist and had sentenced it to termination. But powerful forces believed there was a whole other use for the creature. Through backdoor deals, it was literally bought from the state. To the rest of the world, it was already dead.

The creature had even seen headlines with its name before its transfer. One read Murderer and Rapist, Gale Frye, Officially Meets His End by Lethal Injection. The truth would not sit well with the public. Frye’s history was notorious and made national news. Three police officers had perished during the hunt for the creature. The detective in charge of the case had thrown a fit to a news reporter about not being allowed to witness the execution. However, aside from a few conspiracy theories from independent sources, the public accepted the news of his death with open arms.

If it was dead, then the gates of hell were made of steel with barbed wire at the top of their fifteen-foot height. A steel bar laid across the entryway, where two men with similar green uniforms stood in wait.

The transport pulled up and extended his ID to the gate officer.

“Prisoner give you any trouble?”

“No,” the driver replied. “Stayed quiet the entire time.”

“Which suits me just fine,” the officer in the passenger seat added.

The gate officers scanned the vehicle barcode, then lifted the barrier. The driver pulled up slowly, not getting too far ahead of the other two vehicles while they received their security check.

“Unit One to Fifteen, I can see you from my post. Bring the package to Lot Three-Charlie. I’ll be waiting.”

“Copy that, Cap,” the driver replied through the speaker mic. He followed the trail to the right and headed for his assigned destination.

All the while, the predator in the back remained silent, seemingly admiring the tall, modular buildings. Every structure in this compound was high-tech and worth many millions, if not billions of dollars. Given the tech inside each one, ‘billions’ was a safe bet.

The predator could not care less about the worth of the compound and everything in it. If anything interested it, it was the basic layout, the number of security staff, and the weapons they carried. Then there was one other factor: their morale. Many of these men had an aura of professionalism. Some even looked tough. But the creature had a knack for sensing fear, and many of these security men, as well as the general staff who laid eyes on its transport, were filled to the eyeballs with it. They were used to quiet days, with nothing more than the occasional disgruntled staff member and maybe a few dumbasses, people who tried to sneak through the gates. But they had never been presented with an actual threat before. Not until today.

Fear was a tool the predator loved to utilize. As Greek gods relied on the prayers of humans for their power, the predator was like Hades—he thrived on fear. It empowered the beast, made it stronger.

And here, it felt stronger than ever.

***

“We are a species that have risen above our own atmosphere. We have explored the crushing depths of the oceans, developed methods of travel that can cross the globe in the span of a day, cured various diseases, and invented exquisite means of entertainment. This video, at the press of a button, will be seen by millions from across the globe in the blink of an eye. Yet, we are still at the mercy of nature and the pains of injury. Yes, even in my statement, I mentioned how we have cured disease. Some disease. But we are still imperfect creatures in our designs.”

Dr. Lillian Helmer directed her board of directors to a portrait of her ten-year-old child.

With a somber voice, she continued her speech.

“At the age of eight, Gracie was caught in a housefire. Burns covered seventy percent of her body. Despite intensive care and a lifetime of painkillers, she never lived a normal life. Skin grafts could only do so much. Her body failed to heal, her nerves constantly reminding her of the agony she was doomed to endure.”

A long pause filled the large room.

“Sometimes, the mind can only handle so much. If there is any solace to be had, she went in her sleep. At least, that’s what I was told. Truthfully, I would not be surprised if they just told me that to make me feel better—Gracie had a hard time sleeping most nights. Either way, the pain overloaded her brain and she just switched off.” Lillian’s voice intensified. “All because her body was not good enough… because medical science was not good enough!”

There was an awkwardness in the room. Many of the people in business attire glanced at one another, uncomfortable to have to relive Lillian Helmer’s tragedy. Not that they didn’t care—they weren’t that heartless—but that did not make it any less awkward, especially with the sudden burst of emotion in the doctor’s voice.

“There’s another point of solace,” Lillian continued. “And that is the fact her death has caused that unfortunate aspect of our mortality to change.”

The large screen behind her shifted away from the image of poor Gracie. In her place was a photo of a hideous looking fish. It was pan-shaped, almost like a typical bluegill, but looking at those razor-sharp jaws and armored scales, everyone knew that thing was anything but a bluegill.

“With human beings and pharmaceuticals not providing me the answer, I turned to Mother Nature herself,” Lillian said in a voice similar to someone declaring war. “In our search, we discovered a new species of fish in South America—the Reagan Piranha. Why this carnivorous species? Well, its ability to heal is unparallelled. It’s almost ironic, because the fish had a tough coating of scales covering its body. But in our research, we’ve discovered that they contain healing abilities we can only dream of. Instead of bogging you down with the scientific details you obviously won’t understand and won’t even remember two minutes after I state them, I’ll put it like this: when they heal, there isn’t even scar tissue. They don’t heal instantly like Marvel’s Wolverine, per say…” That got a chuckle from the audience, “…but their cells recalibrate and fix the injury, putting it almost a hundred percent of where it had been before. It’s quite a phenomenon that nature gifted these ravenous fish, of all things, with this ability. And ravenous they are… one of our people lost an entire hand when capturing specimens. Don’t worry, he has been well-compensated. When it came to paying the bills, we ‘gave him a hand’ so to speak.” That did not get a laugh from the flustered members seated before Lillian Helmer.

Undeterred, she proceeded.

“For the last two years, we have been working around the clock to harvest the secret of these incredible animals. Up until this point, you have denied me the ability to conduct human trials. Too risky, I was told. We don’t know the ramifications. Well, as some of you know, we’ve found a way to circumvent this issue—actually, all of you should know, as everyone in this room, including me, was required to sign an NDA regarding everything that takes place here today.”

She monitored the nervous expressions of her audience, then proceeded.

“We have a subject whom… let’s just say… if things go wrong, nobody will really care. This is a person as good as dead. Even with the gift of what my formula has to provide, this individual will spend a lifetime in captivity, with nothing but four concrete walls to keep him entertained. The only advantage of his atrocious history was that it gave our company an opportunity to put my discovery to the ultimate test. Should it backfire, eh, couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy. If anything, this will add to the punishment of the disgusting Gale Frye. He will be healthier than ever, meaning he’ll have longer to endure the excruciating existence of his life sentence. So, if any of you have any concerns that we’ve ‘bought’ him from Death Row to conduct this experiment, understand that Mr. Frye is, in no serious way, benefiting. We’re not the state or federal correctional system. Shit, they hand out tablets and televisions to their inmates. As I said, he’ll have four walls and a metal bench to sleep on. Trust me, after a week of containment, he’ll be wishing he got the needle.”

Lillian turned to a large medical table beside her.

“But first, we will get our use out of him. See, the subject has suffered third-degree burns during his… let’s just call them, ‘escapades’. If you can call arson, among his other crimes, escapades. Such a life has given him no shortage of injuries. He is known to have considerable pain in his left leg from a fracture obtained four years ago. It is said that the injury is what helped law enforcement overpower him. Our gift to him is that of life and good health, four walls, three meals, and a bed. Again, a week in our cell, he’ll dread the fact he ever received this second chance at life.”

One of the board members raised his hand.

Lillian nodded at him. “Yes?”

“The prisoner… where is he now?”

The doctor smiled. “On his way here now. Accompanied by the best security professionals, of course.”

***

Captain Stephen Moro stood with five other armed security professionals at the gates of the Genetics Building, awaiting the convoy which delivered the subject of today’s demonstration. He was not fond of using such a violent criminal as the guinea pig. It was not a question of ethics, for he could not care less what would happen to the monster Gale Frye, but one of control. He was unpredictable. Worse, he was well known to be a crafty one.

He had made his concern known to the company administrators. As expected, they disregarded everything he had to say. Had Moro been a more ideal individual, he would quit his position in protest. But he liked his paycheck and title. It was a suitable change following his general discharge from the United States Army, which was, as he tended to put it, a little less than an amicable parting.

The three SUVs rolled up.

“Pay attention, boys,” he said to the five men around him.

They stood ready, each armed with M4 Carbines and Beretta M9s. A few of them took a couple of steps back, as though a whirlwind would come spiraling out of that back passenger seat.

The front vehicle came to a stop. Its two security men stepped out and acknowledged the captain. With plenty of guns at the ready, they assembled at the rear passenger door and opened it.

Inside, Gale Frye gave them his sadistic look. It was almost expressionless—which in itself served as an expression.

“Step outside,” Moro ordered.

To his surprise, the prisoner swung his legs out of the vehicle without question. Maybe he was glad to be getting a second chance at life. Maybe too glad.

He stepped out of the vehicle, sizing up all eight of the men around him. Moro took a moment to inspect the cuffs. They were tight around his wrists, with nothing but a security fob scanner capable of opening them up.

They formed a circle around him and faced the doors. Moro made sure to stand in the back where he could pop a round directly into the scumbag’s head if necessary.

“Proceed to Lab Two.”

***

The room went silent as the doors to Laboratory Two opened up. Even the assistant medical staff accompanying Dr. Lillian Helmer backed away at the sight of the hideous scarred fiend entering the room.

The pale-skinned Gale Frye was as silent as the grave he was destined for. He had been escorted through the hallways without issue, the only apprehension appearing when he made eye contact with the medical bed. ‘Bed’ was being generous. ‘Slab’ was a more appropriate word, complete with shackles to keep him in place. It was a design straight out of a Universal Frankenstein movie.

“Bring him to the table,” Lillian instructed the men.

Moro kept his weapon ready as two of his staff guided the prisoner to the table. There was a moment of apprehension as Gale reached its edge. He was alarmed, not just by the odd design, but by the large needles attached to ‘claw machine’ arms dangling overhead. The needles were large and thick, with twisting gears at their ‘wrist’. Even a monster like Gale Frye was taken aback at the sight of such a thing, especially knowing it was about to be used on him.

But, as vicious as he was, he was not stupid. He pulled himself onto the table and laid flat. A clamp shut over his neck, and two more over his feet.

One of the security men leaned over him with a fob in hand. A red light passed over a reader on the frame between the cuffs, causing them to spring open. Immediately, he and another officer put the convict’s wrists into designated restraints for the experiment.

With the prisoner secured, they stepped away and allowed Dr. Lillian Helmer to do her work.

“This is our moment of truth,” she announced to her audience.

Using a remote control device, she activated the large arm above the prisoner. The convict, Frye, grimaced, revealing stained teeth as he noticed the huge needle coming towards him.

“Harvesting the genes of the Reagan Piranha, we have developed the ultimate enhancement for the human species. This will not only correct horrible injuries sustained from burns, lacerations, chemical spills, pollution, and more: this will increase our average lifespans. Maybe even boost our metabolisms. Think of it; we’re living in an obese nation. Imagine, with one simple injection, you lose thirty pounds in a matter of weeks. And you can eat whatever you wish, because this formula that I invented has perfected the human genome. But most importantly, it will accelerate your healing. In essence, I present to you the near healing abilities of Wolverine. But sorry, folks, no cool claws.”

She smiled at the reaction that got from those in the crowd.

“Of course, you don’t want to just take my word for it. You want to see it for yourselves. Well… here’s the moment of truth.”

With the press of a button, the gears above the needle started spinning.

The prisoner shuddered, teeth bared, unpleased with what was in store for him. Instinct took over, and he fought against the metal restraints. Even as strong as he was, he could not break free. Shirtless, lying against the cold slab, he was helpless to do anything but await the invasive probe that lowered to his abdomen.

The needle pierced the skin, rotating as it made its way to his spinal column. He put his head back and growled like an enraged animal, veins threatening to pop out of his arms and neck.

All around him, the security officers shook, uncomfortable with the disturbing events taking place in front of them.

“It’s not enough to just put it in the bloodstream,” Lillian continued. “It needs to enter the nerves in the spinal column. Generally, we’d sedate the patient for this procedure. But for the interest of time…” She shrugged in a visual lack of compassion for the killer in front of her.

The machine did its work, filling his veins with the experimental fluid derived from the genomes of the newly discovered fish.

His fists clenched, appearing as though they would burst from the shackles at any moment.

As the moments went on, the board of directors shifted their expressions from shock and disgust to fascination. Many stood up, others leaning forward, all questioning what they were looking at.

The noticeable scar tissue comprising the monster’s body was literally shifting. It was as though the flesh had liquified and was reorganizing itself.

Now, he was yelling. More than yelling—roaring. His jaws were parted, his eyes bulging from their sockets.

All the while, his flesh reorientated. The dark patches became clear, matching the complexion of the rest of him.

Lillian smiled, her experiment proving successful in real time.

Gradually, the screams got quieter.

The needle retracted and the convict went silent. His skin continued to shift, healing all of the imperfections until he was literally perfect—physically, that is.

Every board member was now on their feet, watching in pure disbelief. Even the security guys could not believe what they had seen. Everything, including the injection wound, was healed. If there was any drawback to be seen, it was the exhaustion experienced by the specimen.

Lillian turned to the crowd, watching every face go from confused to glowing. She knew exactly what was going through their minds.

The funds that would flow to her department would be overwhelming.

“Any questions?”

CHAPTER 2

It was as though it was in an entirely new body. All of the pain, from the aches in its knees to the nerve pain in its neck and face, was gone. The evolution of its body brought a sense of relaxation that made it more docile than the strongest sedative could ever hope to achieve. Everything that ever inhibited it was now gone.

In its place was something stronger. The creature could not describe it, nor did it care to. All that mattered was that it liked the result.

Over the next several minutes, the doctor lady continued spouting off scientific mumbo jumbo to the people in fancy suits. All the while, the security guys stood there, looking all tough. The creature knew different. Most of them were on the cusp of pissing their pants, and that was with their prisoner completely restrained.

Little did they know that, lacking the pain that had plagued its nerves for many years, it felt stronger than ever. The euphoria it experienced gradually phased away, as the realization of its fate came front and center in its consciousness. It knew of the company’s plan. They wanted to place the specimen in a dull cell and watch it rot for the rest of its natural life. It had no interest in such a thing. What happened today was a gift beyond its wildest dreams. The pain was gone, the public thought it was dead. The company could not simply announce the truth without facing a scrutiny that would derail it for good. They had boxed themselves in. All the creature needed to do was tug on the threat and find a weakness.

Fortunately, that weakness was all around it. Sure, the security guys were well armed and understood how to operate their weapons. But unlike active duty soldiers, they had become used to the idleness of their job. Essentially, they were paid to stand around and look cool and intimidating. Most of them probably had not fired a weapon since their last training session. Even those who were military veterans were probably rusty at this point. Even if they shot at paper targets, none of them were adjusted to the threat of an adversary with nothing to lose and everything to gain. That, and very little fear.

The beast took pride in hardly ever experiencing fear. Not since the beatings it had taken in its teenage years did it feel inferior to others. Since strangling its father to death, it enjoyed the power of superiority. It was a power the thing enjoyed inflicting on women especially. One time, it broke into a house of a married couple, broke the man’s arms and legs, duct-taped his mouth shut, and made him watch the degradation of his spouse all night long.

The euphoria it experienced now made it crave such an act. Not just the taking advantage of an unwilling partner, but the thrill of listening to someone else gag in misery while helpless to do anything else but witness the act. There was no mental illness plaguing the creature. It just simply enjoyed it. Others had referred to it as simply evil. As far as it was concerned, if evil was this fun, then so be it.

It was not long after the procedure that the people in business outfits were cleared out of the room. From what someone said, they would be heading off site to have some fancy dinner at some fancy restaurant. Going by the looks on their faces, they were more excited about the food than the prospects of the crazy doctor’s invention.

Several minutes went by, during which the creature was kept on the table. The medical staff took several readings and blood samples. One of them stated there was an irregular pattern of…something—the creature didn’t understand the medical jargon—in its blood. Whatever it was, the lead lady scientist brushed it off as nothing significant.

At this point, the creature didn’t care. Whatever the issue was, it considered it to be a positive. It felt too good for the issue to be a true negative.

Once everything was done, the lady doctor ordered it to be transported to its holding cell.

The bliss came to an end, the beast suddenly aware of what its future would become. Once it was in that cell, there was little chance it would ever come out. Even faking a medical issue would not get by these people, for they would perform any necessary procedure inside that cell and not risk letting their captive out.

Every meal, every shit, every breath would be taken in an eight-by-eight concrete unit, with nothing but its thoughts to keep it occupied. Even something like Gale Frye would beg for the sweet release of death after long enough.

It’s opportunity was now.

One of the officers approached the creature and released the shackles.

The creature lay flat, seemingly weak, implying to be groggy from the experiment. Beside it, the security man looked increasingly nervous, as did many of the others. The rifle was slung by his shoulder, his hands freed up to undo his restraints.

By now, all of the science staff had left the room.

The officer released the shackles, freeing the creature’s hands. He held up the cuffs and pulled the man’s wrists together. Dangling from his belt was the round fob, which operated the same on the operating table as it did on the cuffs.

“Come on, fella.”

The prisoner lay stiff, staring directly at the ceiling. The guard grew impatient.

“You can take a nap somewhere else.” He took one of the creature’s wrists.

At that moment, the fiend awakened, grabbing the flustered guard by the neck.

“You first.”

Freeing his other hand, he snapped the man’s neck with ease, grabbed the fob, and opened the restraints on his ankles and neck. A split-second later, he grabbed the dead man’s assault rifle, pointed it in the direction of the commanding officer, and let out a spray.

The leader, referred to as Captain Moro, tried to point his own weapon, only to take a round in the shoulder. He went into a spin before going down. The creature swept the assault rifle in a half-circle, killing two other guards and forcing several others to the floor.

Flinging off the table, it grabbed a spare magazine, then emptied its current one into two other guards coming through the door. Blood spurted from their midsections as the bullets cut through them. They hit their knees, succumbing to shock and pain, before faceplanting.

A guard on its right tried to bring himself to his feet, fumbling with his weapon to get a shot at the suddenly escaped prisoner. A crack to the nose with the butt of the rifle put him right back on the floor.

The creature went through the doors, finding a hallway full of frightened staff and running guards. It dropped to one knee, shouldered the gun, and let loose its entire magazine. Staff, both security and regular, were ripped apart by a violent stream of lead.

Hearing movement over its shoulder, the creature spun around. At the lab door were two of the guards who had escorted it, overcoming their nerves in order to pursue their prisoner.

Out of bullets, the human-shaped thing threw itself at them, closing the distance before they could pull their triggers. The first was taken down after having his head slammed into the wall. The other put his rifle muzzle in the creature’s face, only to have the barrel grabbed and redirected to the ceiling. A series of punches caved his face in. He landed on his back, his eyes, nose, and mouth covered by a rising red pool.

The creature took his rifle, spare mags, and pistol before continuing down the hall.

It was remarkably easy. Since the injection, it felt superhuman. Before, killing felt as natural as breathing. Now, it felt necessary, as if it needed to kill as much as it needed to eat.

With the pistol and spare magazines tucked into the waist of its pants and pockets, it continued to the exit. Having paid attention to the layout, it knew exactly where to go.

It turned a corner, finding a janitor jumping backward. With nothing better to do, the creature planted a round through his neck, taking joy in watching the latest victim fall backward and the puddle of blood growing underneath him.

Two other guards arrived. One of them fired a shot. It went wide, skidding the wall. The creature returned fire, hitting him right between the eyes. The other paused after seeing his partner hit the floor, unwittingly giving the prisoner ample opportunity to put a round through him.

Which it did.

It made its way to one of the checkout areas. There, a frightened female receptionist dropped her phone. Behind her, two security men appeared. They took aim, but with the friendly between them and the target, they hesitated. The creature, on the other hand, did not suffer from such a handicap. It unleashed several rounds, striking both of them, while miraculously missing the woman in the middle.

To the right was an administrator, based on his attire. The creature didn’t care—it just wanted to see that suit open up in bloody fashion. And that it did, bringing much joy to the perpetrator.

The window of opportunity was narrowing. Knowing it needed to make an escape, the creature grabbed ahold of the woman. Letting its rifle hang from its strap, it pulled out the pistol, held her close, and put the muzzle to her temple.

For the first time today, it spoke.

“You want to live? Do as I say.”

Whimpering, the dark-haired receptionist nodded. Stepping forward, he pushed her to the doors.

They exited the building. As predicted, several armed men were waiting. They hesitated, seeing the woman named Carol Darcy in front of the target. Her captor, taking advantage of the situation, used its free hand to put its rifle over her shoulder, using it as a resting post while spewing bullets at the line of officers. Two of them went down, the others fleeing to the sides.

The creature felt no anxiety. There was a fair amount of adrenaline, but nothing that hindered its performance. If anything, it felt more spot-on with its shooting than ever.

Turning to the right, it gunned down the three security men repositioning in the parking lot.

“Where’s your car?” he asked his hostage. When she didn’t answer, he put the pistol to her left eye. “I wonder if you’ll see the bullet…”

“Fourth row!” she squealed.

After reloading his rifle, he ushered her into the parking lot, repelling other guards along the way. He truly felt like a one-man army, laying waste to anyone who dared challenge him.

On the way to the car, he shot a few staff members hiding in the lot. Per his instructions, the woman named Carol surrendered the keys. He forced her into the passenger seat, then took control of the vehicle, immediately slamming on the accelerator and taking it right to the gate.

The guards stationed there exited their shack, ready to intercept. Once again, the creature’s aim was spot-on, taking both of them down with a wild spray.

It parked in the exit lane, stepped out, and used one of their fobs to scan her vehicle’s code. The bar raised, and the creature returned to the driver’s seat.

Off it went, speeding into the distance, leaving an entire facility in chaos.

***

It was well into the evening when Moody Baltimore arrived home. He’d had a long day at the office and was ready to veg out on the living room chair with a big bowl of ice cream.

He pulled into the driveway, eyes drooping shut. The routine debate on what TV show he would fall asleep to raged on in his mind.

It all came to a halt when he found the black Dodge Caravan parked in his backyard.

“What the hell?”

Moody put his car in park and started going around the side of his house. He stopped, seeing his front door ajar, the wood splintered near the latch. The more sensible part of him knew to call the police. His drowsiness led to moodiness; a tendency that led to many jokes about his name. More importantly, he heard sounds of struggle inside.

He thought of his brother, whom he shared the house with.

“Oh, shit!”

All sense of logic and planning went out the window. Moody ran through the front door and stepped into the living room.

In the hallway leading into the kitchen, his brother Billy lay face-up, expressionless. His body was front-side down…but his face was up—his neck had been broken, his head turned completely around.

On the couch was the killer, completely nude, baring teeth like a wild animal while he had his way with a helpless brunette. She was equally nude, though lacking the same pleasure as him. Her face was blank, the woman lost in a state of shock after God knows how long of this horror.

As any human would, Moody gasped. “Good God!”

The killer, having finished his business, turned his eyes to the visitor. He was smiling, his teeth pointy and malformed. His eyes were large—unnaturally large—barely human. They were round, the sockets around them equally malformed. Parts of his skin was pale white, while some of his naked body was oddly green and scaly. Not like a rash, but almost… fish-like.

He rose from his victim, fingers unnaturally long, their nails pointy.

Moody backed away, his sense of stoicism and aggression fizzling away.

“Get away from me, man!”

The fiend leapt at him, grabbing ahold of his shoulders and neck. Both of them went to the floor. Moody tried to wrestle the intruder free, but it was like fighting an actual demon. The fingernails dug into his flesh, sparking immense pain.

It paled to that of the teeth closing over his neck. The demonic intruder wasted no time biting into his flesh. It was more than a fighting tactic. It was instinct.

Moody tried to yell, but he made nothing more than a retching sound. Aside from the sound, all he managed to get out from the back of his throat was blood.

The creature raised its head, dangling strands of neck and esophagus tissue from its teeth. It had memories of many horrible deeds in its life—many similar to the act it had just performed on the hostage—but never did it contemplate what it had just performed on the homeowner. Yet, it felt perfectly natural. Not just natural, but good. Needed.

Succumbing to the strange feeling, it swallowed. A day ago, the creature Gale Frye would have gagged at even the thought. Now? There seemed to be no need for an oven, stove, or microwave. All of its needs were provided in raw flesh.

It had taken notice of the changes in its body that had occurred since escaping from the facility. This house provided a good hiding place thanks to being surrounded by thick woods that obscured even the long and narrow driveway. But it knew it would only be so long before the company searched this property. Alas, it needed to move.

Fortunately, it had a new vehicle to use.

It dressed itself; probably the last remnant of its so-called humanity. In doing so, it looked at the female victim, Carol. She was technically a witness and it would be suitable for the man-thing to kill her. Yet, something inside of it wanted her to live.

It went beyond ‘want’. The creature was required to let her live. She would be cared for by her fellow species.

At this moment, it considered the humans as something else entirely. It did not question this. The bliss was stronger than the most potent of drugs. Whatever was going on within its body, it was beautiful.

Leaving Carol slumped over the couch, it stole the homeowner’s keys, took his car, and ventured west.

CHAPTER 3

It was a pleasant surprise for Walter Reston to receive the spur-of-the-moment invitation on his phone from Clifford Gavin. Several times each summer, the guy hosted many people at his family’s private cabin down near Wine Lake. Only once did Walter receive an invite, and that was when he was off on a construction project. It was a bitter moment, as he knew Clifford knew he would be away. It was as though the guy extended the obligatory invite, knowing Walter could not make it.

Walter never understood the antics. Well, he did, somewhat. Life wasn’t the same since high school. Clifford and he had hung out plenty of times during those years, even performing a project for their school’s radio class. They attended birthday gatherings and helped each other with large assignments.

After that, life changed. It was expected to a degree. They were adults now, with careers to focus on. Then again, that part only proved true for Walter. Clifford was able to leech off his parents’ trust fund and earnings from their other properties that had been sold off. He only seemed hurt by the tragedy for about five minutes. Since then, he was very particular with his social gatherings. Generally, only those in his family were invited to his home and cabin.

But today, things appeared to be different. Walter had to call off work to come over, but he was more than glad to do so. He had worked almost every day for the last year. Downtime was starting to seem like a foreign concept. Something about the simple joy of watching a lake and hanging out with other people was appealing. His boss took no issue. The guy knew exactly what Walter was up to, but fortunately had the humanity to let his best worker enjoy himself.

“Gonna be sick for a whole week, are ya?” he had said between chuckles, to which, feigning a scratchy throat, Walter replied, “Oh, yes. Absolutely.”

It took a while to navigate these woods. Only two or three times in his life had Walter visited Lorey County, and those occasions were on the outskirts. Those areas were mainly farmland. These were all woods, with very few houses scattered about. Much of the area was used for public recreation, namely hiking and fishing. Even MapQuest struggled to find the cabin, forcing Walter to use the old-fashioned method of using a physical map.

He followed a long and narrow dirt road, watching the trees reaching over him. After what felt like an infinite series of twists and turns, he came across a clearing which led to Wine Lake.

Walter whistled with joy. He had arrived.

It was a place that truly earned its name. On a map, it literally resembled a wine glass. The cabin was placed at the center of its ‘base’, which stretched a half mile east to west. Three hundred yards across, there was a relatively narrow channel with trees lining its shores, heading directly south where it connected with the main body of the lake, which, of course, was the ‘glass’ section.

The property had been built to house many people. It was often referred to as Clifford’s cabin, but the word ‘cabin’ should’ve been plural, as there were at least five different buildings. Each one had a simple structure; living room, kitchen, bedrooms. Only the main one and the rec building had bathrooms. Each one was numbered for convenience, with Cabins Three, Four, and Five being spread out far along the left part of the shoreline. There was plenty of space between them, and no shortage of trees. If any occupant wanted privacy, they were gonna get it.

In the middle of the line of cabins was the rec room. It was shaped like a house, though it lacked a bedroom. Inside were ping pong tables, air hockey, foosball tables, televisions, and much more. That, and Cabin One were the only ones with access to electronics.

To the right of the building were cabins Two and One, the latter being the largest. It was not as big as the rec room, but its square footage was utilized well enough to house six people.

Considering the number of people on this trip, it would not be necessary.

Walter watched the beach area through his windshield. There were seven people messing around on the water and sand. He had seen each of them at least once before. While he didn’t consider himself great friends with them, he had gotten along with them well enough, and thanks to his good memory, he remembered all of their names.

There were two couples amongst the group. Even without prior knowledge, Walter would have been able to figure this out just from observing their behavior.

Marilyne and Jay were the worst. They were nice enough people, like the rest, but they had no tact when it came to their physical affections. Marilyne was a strawberry blonde college cheerleader and Jay was a model for art classes. While many people would be unhappy to have their significant other viewed in the buff by many other people, Marilyne seemed to embrace it. It was probably a power move; a way of telling all the girls, ‘you may be able to look, but I get to touch.’

Next was Allison and Bucky. Unlike the other pair who openly frolicked in the lake, they enjoyed a game of horseshoes on the beach. To no surprise, they sported well-sculpted beach bodies, covered by matching red swimsuits.

Walter suddenly felt a tad uncomfortable. He looked down at himself. His days of fitness were behind him. He was not obese by any means, but he was up a couple of notches in his belt. Though active, it was common for people to bring pizza or McDonald’s chicken to the job site. The liquid coffee creamer probably was not helping matters either.

Clifford emerged from the water, laughing after interfering with Marilyne and Jay’s wrestling session. He whistled at two other females swimming to the right.

One was a brunette with short hair named Irene. Walter did not know much about her except she did photoshoots for some magazine whose name he couldn’t remember.

Then there was Naomi Coontz. She threw a football over to Clifford, nearly bonking him on the nose. She was a veterinarian student who lived not too far from Walter’s residence. They had run into each other at the local grocery store on occasion. Each time, they struck up pleasant conversation.

She looked over at his truck, then called over to Clifford. “Hey! Someone’s here!”

Clifford looked in Walter’s direction, then smiled. “Hey! There he is!” Right away, he crossed the beach to the rocky driveway.

When Walter stepped out, he delighted in seeing Naomi’s expression light up after recognizing him.

“Oh! I didn’t know he was coming!”

He gave a wave to the group. The others, even Marilyne and Jay, made sure to return the gesture.

“Walter! Glad you could make it!” Clifford said. He approached, arms wide to offer a hug. He looked down at himself and the water dripping off of him, and resorted to a handshake. “How’s it going?”

“Better, now that I’m here,” Walter replied. He removed his ballcap and gave the place a nice look. “Wow! This is a nice place. I can see why you enjoy spending much of your summer here.”

“Beats listening to cars honking all night,” Clifford said. “Only problem is there’s barely any phone signal. Damn trees and hills get in the way.”

“Makes it better,” Walter said.

Clifford turned to the rest of the group. “You all remember Walter, right?”

“Hey!” Naomi said with a wave. She grabbed her towel and walked to the driveway, stopping short of the gravel. “How’s it going? Nice to see you in a place that’s not a grocery store.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” he replied. “I’m good. You?”

“Enjoying time away from school,” she said. “One year away from graduating, though.”

“After that, if you need anyone to cut your dog’s balls off, she’s the one you can turn to!” Bucky shouted.

Allison smacked the side of his head, saying to Walter, “Please ignore him!”

In the water behind them, Jay raised a finger, having come to a realization.

“Oh! I remember you! You were the guy who Clifford hired to fix the plumbing in his house.”

“That’s right!” Marilyne added with the same enthusiasm. She looked to the recreation building, then at Clifford! “Oh! That’s what you meant when you said help was on the way!”

Walter’s expression fell. He maintained a smile, but the dopamine of being on vacation had taken a hard fall after hearing those words.

“Something the matter?”

Clifford cleared his throat. “Well… the rec building… turns out, we’ve got some problems. By problems, I mean a broken pipe and, I think, some mold damage.”

“Ah.”

It was all Walter could manage to say in the moment. Deep down, he reminded himself to be grateful. After all, he was still on vacation, free of charge—fiscally speaking. But there was no getting around the fact that he was invited, not out of friendship, but because he was the only person in Clifford’s social circle who was considered handy.

By the look on her face, Naomi was similarly put off. “Wait, he didn’t know you wanted him to take a look at it?”

“Well…” Clifford shrugged. “I thought I had mentioned it, but…”

Walter swallowed. Not only was he brought out here to fix up the place, but he was a means for Clifford to save money. Why pay a contractor when you can just invite your friend all the way out here? Sure, he was getting free room and board, but what good was that when the first few days, if not the whole week, would be spent on fixing the place up?

He glanced at his truck. He was already packed for the week. The time off had been secured. In addition, he was not one to make a scene, especially in a setting like this, where several people were enjoying themselves.

“So…” a visibly uncomfortable Clifford said. “Would you mind taking a look at it while you’re here?”

Walter leaned into his nice guy side. Looking at Naomi, it came easily.

“Yes, of course.”

“Great!” Clifford said. “Cabin Two is vacant, if you’d like that one. I’ll be in number one. Jay and Marilyne are in Five, Bucky and Allison in Four.”

“Sounds fine with me,” Walter said. He bit his tongue, preventing himself from asking where Naomi would be staying. Not that he had anything inappropriate in mind, but something within him wanted to know if she was staying in Cabin One with Clifford. The guy was generous enough to share the place with friends, but he was not going to come out here without getting laid. Irene was probably buttered up for that occasion. Knowing Clifford, he was probably attempting to two-time it with her and Naomi.

He shifted his mind from the issue and began unpacking his truck.

“Let’s get started.”

“Thanks!” Clifford said with glee. “Let me get some flipflops and a shirt on, and I’ll show you the place.”

He moved off for his cabin.

Naomi wrapped her towel around herself. “You, uh, need help with unpacking?”

It was at this point where Walter took notice of her figure. The bikini was the most modest of the group. In a weird way, that made her more attractive.

“I don’t have too much,” he said. “But thanks!”

“Okay.” She smiled and turned around. “Don’t let Clifford take advantage of you too much, alright?”

With that said, she turned around and went back to the lake.

Walter grimaced at the sight of the dreaded rec building.

“I’ll do my best.”

CHAPTER 4

“This cannot be happening. Are you sure you searched the entire area?”

Captain Stephen Moro could not believe what he was hearing. After the disaster that unfolded in the compound yesterday evening, with all of the people dead and one staff member missing, all Dr. Lillian Helmer could think of was her lost test subject.

It was not out of a desire to stop him from causing further harm. No, she needed her guinea pig in its cage to keep track of its condition and provide further reports to the board of directors.

News of the shooting was contained to the compound. The administration had provided a bullshit story about a large fire that spread through much of the station, causing massive loss of life. Those who were present for the event, and lived to tell the tale, were currently being bribed with hefty bonuses and additions to their benefits packages in exchange for an NDA.

For the most part, there were hardly any wounded personnel. The prisoner was like a force of nature, inflicting fatal blows to almost everyone in his path. Only Moro came out of the situation with a flesh wound.

His arm was in a sling, the muscle tissue aching, even with the benefit of painkillers.

“I’ve got limited manpower,” he said to her. “It’s not like we have state and federal resources at our disposal. Not for this. In case you’ve forgotten, we have to do this silently. The guys upstairs have made it perfectly clear what would happen if the prick got loose. Specifically, if the public finds out he got loose—and that we kept him out of Death Row.”

“Yes, yes, I know we can’t notify law enforcement,” Lillian said. “How far out have your men searched?”

“As far as possible,” Moro answered. “He took someone’s private vehicle, so we don’t have a GPS. At this point, it’s a needle in a haystack. I’ve got my guys checking out private residences to see if he made a pitstop. It’s a long shot, but it’s all we’ve got.”

“So, we’re screwed,” Lillian said. She began to pace across the section of the parking lot where they stood. “Okay, nobody knows he’s alive. Nobody’s looking for him. And it’s not like the guy’s trying to be caught.”

“Yeeeah…” Moro was raising an eyebrow. “Won’t do much good for the next unsuspecting person he kills.”

“…and his physical characteristics have changed,” she continued, not taking in anything the captain said. “So, it’s safe to assume he won’t be recognized. The board of directors won’t be physically there to view him through the cell. We could easily tell them we’re monitoring the subject, and maybe hire a lookalike to fill his place. Some computer doctoring and lab work tinkering, we can maybe get the funding we’ve all but secured yesterday.”

Moro looked away. “Lovely.”

“We already know the formula works,” she said defensively. “It happened in real time.”

“Yeah, but isn’t it necessary to study long-term effects?” Moro asked.

“Of course, and with multiple test subjects,” she added. “We’ll be able to get our long-term studies done with the next people who try the formula.”

Moro snorted. “Good to know you’ve got the important stuff planned out.”

“Thank you,” she said, not picking up on the sarcasm.

He shook his head. Fancy degrees and scientific know-how do not equal everyday smarts.

His radio chimed. “Unit One! Unit One! Come in!”

The tone of the security operative was at once alarming and exciting. There was an update to the situation, but knowing who they were looking for, it was probably not good.

“Go ahead.”

“We’ve found Ms. Darcy in a private residence.”

“She alive?”

“Affirmative. We have two other bodies here.”

Moro cringed, able to do the math on what happened with the staff member. That, and their test subject was making an even bigger mess for them to clean up. Locals were now being slaughtered, increasing the odds that Frye’s existence would be discovered by the public.

“Ten-four. Give me the location. I’ll meet you there.”

***

It was as ugly as he anticipated it would be. Miss Carol Darcy had been through absolute hell, arguably worse than death. Then there were the two dead men who lived here. Sooner or later, somebody would come along to check up on them.

That was the least of Moro’s concerns right now. The administration could strain themselves thinking of a cover story. His job was to find the bastard who did this and put a stop to him.

“We’re going to have to shoot to kill,” he said.

Lillian emerged from the kitchen like a force of nature. “Only if absolutely necessary!”

“Really?” he said. “You want to continue with this? I thought you had a whole plan sketched in your mind, with fake science to keep the board appeased long enough for you to get additional test subjects.”

“True enough, but if I can monitor Frye, I’d prefer doing that.” Lillian inhaled. “Having said that, I guess you are correct. He is proving more trouble than he might be worth.”

Moro snorted. Gee, ya think?

Lillian’s attention went to Carol. She had been covered up by the security staff after discovery, and was about to be loaded onto a stretcher from the compound’s ambulance service.

“Which hospital should we take her to?” one of the medics asked Moro.

Before the captain could answer, Lillian raised a hand. “Take her to the compound. Medical Room Three-Twenty. Alert Dr. Oberman. I’d like him to examine her.”

The medics looked to Moro for confirmation. Reluctantly, he gave a nod. He knew exactly what was on Lillian’s mind. It went beyond keeping her in a secure location to keep control of the narrative, and well beyond Carol’s well-being. Lillian wanted to examine the little ‘DNA samples’ left behind by Frye to see if there was anything different following the procedure.

Following their instructions, the medics wheeled the victim out, leaving Moro to continue investigating the place. With his arm in a sling, it took longer and was more frustrating. He could still move his arm, but keeping true to the on-call doctor’s advice, he kept it rested.

“He took their vehicle,” he said, looking at the empty driveway. “Maybe these guys shared a car. Whatever the case, they’re here, and there’s no vehicle except Ms. Darcy’s. Obviously, Frye switched them out.”

“In that case, it’s anyone’s guess what he’s driving,” one of the security officers said.

Moro stood over the body of the man who perished near the door. The first thing he noticed was the way he had been killed. Usually, when in a hurry, Frye killed his victims with stab wounds, firearms, and brute force. This did not resemble any of that. If anything, it looked as though the poor guy was mauled by a wild animal.

Sure, Frye was the type to relish in torturing his victims when given the chance. But as much of a monster as he was, he was cunning enough to keep a low profile. Something like this did not add up. Nor did letting Ms. Darcy live. Sure, he enjoyed keeping the victims of that particular act alive, not out of compassion, but as a power move. Again, he needed to keep hidden, and leaving her alive would only increase the likelihood of making his location known.

These were questions for another time. For now, Moro focused on the clues at hand.

He knelt by the dead man’s body and unclipped his smartphone from his belt.

“Got something on your mind?” Lillian asked.

“Just curious,” Moro said. “A lot of people these days use apps to track their vehicles or their keys, in case of theft, or in the case of the latter, clumsiness.” The phone was unlocked, making access easy. Shifting through the on-screen apps, Moro cracked a smile. “Maybe luck’s finally coming around.”

Lillian stood on her tiptoes to look at the screen. “Where is he?”

“Near the southern part of a lake, it seems,” Moro answered. “Wine Lake.”

“I know of that area,” Lillian said. “It’s secluded. Plenty of places for him to hide. Not too many people around. Some campers, maybe. People who come by to fish and skinny dip.”

“All in the freak’s path,” Moro said. He lifted his radio to speak into it, then put it down in favor of using his personal phone. He dialed a number, brought the device to his ear, and got straight to the point once the call was answered. “Listen, I’m gonna need our special response team to get together… Yep, not a drill this time… That’s right, we’ve got a lead on the guy.”

CHAPTER 5

The creature waded into the water. It loved the water. Not only was it soothing, but it was needed. It was not a matter of hydration, but natural habitat. Throughout the night, it had moved into the thick woods. As the hours went on, the bliss it had felt began to subside. Its body was telling it something; screaming at it; pleading to find a suitable environment.

In the early morning hours, it had ditched the vehicle, as well as its clothing. No longer did it view them as necessary. Part of its conscious mind questioned what was happening to it. The changes to its body were drastic and otherworldly. To most, it would lead to a mental breakdown. But the creature was fascinated, and more importantly, the changes felt natural. In addition to its body, its brain chemistry was adjusting, separating it from the needs that drove it before. Fortunately, the best one remained front and center in its mind.

The need to kill.

First, the changes had to continue. Some of them hurt, but it was a temporary price to pay. Like growing pains, they were necessary.

The bulk of the following day was spent inside the water. It was there that the creature learned of a new ability: it did not have to come up for air. Not once. Its lungs were still present, but they were not needed. By now, it understood what the discomfort in the sides of its neck were: it had grown gills.

Additionally, the rest of its body transformed. Gone was the clear, pale skin. Gone was the tattoo on his left ribs. The creature was something else now. Even food was viewed differently. If anything was normal in his previous life, it was the fact that it enjoyed the same type of meals ordinary people ate. Steak, potatoes, burgers, fries, pasta, and so on.

None of that stuff was even remotely appealing now. It wanted wet, raw flesh. His stomach fired off signals, alerting its brain that specific nutrients were needed.

Following the conclusion of its transformation, the creature moved north, using its newfound senses to pick up any vibrations in the water.

***

“Damn it, Keith!” Candace rolled to her side of the tent, fixing her bikini top after her boyfriend unscrupulously untied it. “It’s four in the afternoon.”

He stood on his knees, eyeballing her. “Yeah? And?”

“Are you an animal?” she said, still clutching her book.

He held his arms to their polyester habitat. “What else did you expect to come out here for?”

Candace scoffed at the dimwit’s response. Of course he only had one thing on the brain. She enjoyed that particular thing as much as the next girl, but she also hoped for a little peace and quiet out here. Working as a store cashier in a busy town, she was on her feet a lot, surrounded by all kinds of noise. It was a nice change of pace to be away from it all and surrounded by trees instead of cash registers and annoying people.

She mostly accomplished that ambition, except the peace and quiet was frequently interrupted by a boyfriend with an agenda. An insatiable agenda, at that.

“You keep this up, you’re gonna have a dry spell for the rest of the trip,” she said.

“Oh, that’s mean,” Keith said.

“The truth often is,” Candace said. “Now, either fumble around on your phone, read a book, or go away.”

Keith looked at his device. “There’s no signal out here.”

“Then go away,” Candace said, her eyes back on the pages of her novel.

Rejected, he stepped out of the tent.

Candace exhaled. She loved the idiot, but he lacked self-awareness sometimes. Ironically, he would get more of what he wanted if he wasn’t so obnoxious about it.

She heard a splash. He had gone swimming.

Fair enough. Burn some of that energy.

“Oh, no! Candace! Help!”

Hearing frantic splashing and intense coughing, she dropped her book and hurried out of the cabin. Twenty feet out into the water, Keith was struggling, his face dipping in and out of the lake. She remembered the weeds that were out there. Keith had probably gotten himself snagged.

“Hold on, I’m coming,” she said. She ran to the shoreline, then gasped as something wet hit her feet. She stopped and looked down.

Covering her toes were Keith’s orange swim trunks.

She directed her eyes back to him, watching the moron giggle obnoxiously. He put himself into a horizontal form and paddled, letting his naked form be witnessed by his girlfriend.

“Dude, not cool.”

He rolled over in the water. “Got you out here, didn’t it?”

“Not for what you’ve got in mind,” she said.

“Oh, come on…”

“Nope! You’re on notice!”

Leaving it up to him to interpret what she meant by that, Candace returned to her tent. She laid herself down on her sleeping bag and picked up her book, groaning after seeing that the bookmark had fallen out. Now, Keith was really in trouble.

The worst part was: even after all of this, she would probably find herself meeting his needs come night time. She loved the guy, despite his antics. He took care of her and treated her well. His sense of humor got in the way, sometimes. There were worse problems to have.

“Agh!” he called out. “Can—Candace! H-help!”

She grimaced, having just found her place.

Okay, GENERALLY SPEAKING, there are worse problems to have.

Her attempts to ignore him and keep reading proved more frustrating.

“Candace! Help me!”

The splashing intensified, as did his sounds. They became more bizarre as the nonsense continued. In a way, Candace almost admired him for the lengths he was willing to go to convince her he was in trouble.

No longer was it frustrating, but amusing.

“Yeah, yeah. Keep it up, moron,” she muttered under her breath.

“Agh! Cand—” A vomiting sound made her look up. She couldn’t see the water from where she was, but that noise was enough to make her uncomfortable.

“Holy smokes, Keith. Swallow some lake water?”

The splashing ceased. No reply came.

Candace gave thought to taking advantage of the newfound quiet and returning to her literature. She skimmed over a couple of paragraphs before her mind went to those wretched sounds Keith had made. It was clear he was making another prank, but she decided to be on the safe side. Just a peek would put her at ease, and maybe an insult to follow.

Moving to the opening of the tent, she looked at the water, half-grinning at the remarks she had in the holster.

Drifting towards the shoreline was Keith, facedown, surrounded by bright red water.

Candace put her hands to her face and screamed.

“Keith!” She sprinted from the tent to her boyfriend, splashing bloody water as she knelt by him. “Keith! What happened? Talk to—”

She flipped him over and got a look at the inside of his head. His face was gone… as were his guts. Rib bones protruded from his stomach area, intestines uncoiling like a fishing line.

Pushing him away like a freakish insect, Candace squealed. In the haze of her panic, she tripped over her own feet, landing in a floating array of her boyfriend’s innards.

Painted red, she crawled to the shoreline.

Once on the dirt, she paused, hearing small splashes from what sounded like footsteps approaching from behind her. Shaking, she looked over her shoulder.

Standing above her was something that was human-shaped, but anything but human. Its body was covered in rigid plates, like fish scales. Large gills pulsed on its neck, revealing soft red flesh inside. Its hands were webbed, sporting five fingers tipped with razor-sharp claws. As deadly as they looked, they did not hold a candle to those wedge-shaped teeth lining its jaws.

Above that mouth were a pair of eyes. They lacked eyelids and any hint of emotion, and were as red as the blood leaking from Keith’s body.

She put a hand up, inclined to plead for her life. It was all she could think to do in this moment.

The creature responded to her gesture… by biting down on her hand.

Screaming, Candace was pulled into the lake, where she was violently thrashed about and ripped into, just as her troublesome boyfriend had endured.

CHAPTER 6

When Walter Reston arrived at Clifford’s cabin property, he took joy in the idea that he would not have to navigate that mess of trails and dirt roads for seven days. Lo and behold, a half hour after arrival, he was heading back out. All of the lumber, nails, and other supplies were not going to bring themselves here.

Clifford was with him this time and was able to serve as a navigator. He had offered to hand over his card and have Walter go it alone, but Naomi had stepped into the conversation at that stage and gave Cliff a nice lecture. Without much fuss, he tagged along, hoping to make a good impression on the graduate student.

Roughly ninety minutes later, they returned with a truck bed full of supplies. Ten minutes into setting up for repairs, Clifford got distracted with some demands from Irene. According to her, he had promised to grill hot dogs for dinner.

As expected, Walter went at it alone.

The subflooring of the rec room’s western corner needed to be hollowed out and redone. Holstering a drill like it was a .44 Magnum, he lifted that section of the carpet and cut into the floor. Between the ground level and the concrete foundation was a crawlspace. It was plenty wet from where the pipe had been leaking.

Walter stared at the thing, his misery rising like mercury in a thermometer.

“Great friends I’ve got for myself. Only give a shit about me when I can be of use.”

“Hey!”

He looked to the door. The displeasure lifted at the sight of Naomi standing near the pool table. She had a coffee cup in her hand and a jug of hazelnut creamer.

“Hi!”

“I’m not intruding, am I?” she said.

“No, not at all,” Walter replied. “Just getting ready to make my descent into madness.” He lifted the buzzsaw and mimicked a crazed face.

Naomi smiled at that and approached, mug extended. “Need some fuel?”

“Don’t mind if I do.” Something about the smell of coffee reminded Walter of the long day it had already been. He took the mug and allowed her to add a little bit of the creamer into it. “Thanks very much.”

“It’s the least I can do,” she said. “I would’ve come through the back door, but you’ve got it blocked off with that plywood and those cement bags.”

“Hmm?” He looked out the back window. “Oh! Right. I placed them there because the grass is out of control everywhere else, and I wanted them out of the way in case someone was to mow it.”

“I’m sorry Clifford is making you do this. I saw all the stuff in your truck. Is it really that bad?”

Walter made a face. “When water leaks for a year unchecked, with humid summers like we often get… yeah, it gets bad.”

“What a jackass,” she replied.

Walter shrugged. “I doubt he intended for this to happen.”

“No, I mean the way he manipulated you into doing this,” she said. “He knew exactly what he was doing. You probably took time off your job to be here, and instead of hanging out with the rest of us, you’re stuck in here.”

Walter sniggered. “Reminds me of my sisters. They only ring me up if they need help with the house. As you’d expect, they obscure their needs under a veil of ‘hey, we haven’t spoken in a while!’” He looked at Naomi. “On that note; we haven’t spoken in a while. How’ve you been?”

“Tired,” she said. “Looking forward to getting the last year of school complete. Considering myself lucky that I don’t have anything to do until mid-August.”

“You like animals, huh?” Walter said.

“Who doesn’t?”

Walter raised his cup. “Touche.” He took a sip and peeked out the window at the smoke rising from the charcoal grill. “Though I will say, I prefer many of them on a plate.”

Naomi laughed at that. Walter was relieved to get that reaction. He worried she may have been one of those animal lovers who became a vegan because she believed she was protecting the ecosystem.

“I was performing surgery on a cow one time,” she said.

That got Walter’s attention. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Tumor, but it was benign. Still needed to be removed, and it served as a perfect academic opportunity for someone like me. I told my professor, ‘hey, if this goes south, at least we can get some nice fat steaks.’ She wasn’t too amused.”

The professor wasn’t, but Walter certainly was. “That’s great.” He finished his cup and turned his eyes back to the work under his feet. “Crap. I just realized I’m gonna need a ladder. I didn’t think to ask Cliff if there was one on this property.” He shrunk about six inches after realizing he would probably have to head back to the hardware store, through that maze of trails.

“Oh! There’s a folding one in the storage shed,” Naomi said.

Walter felt his spirits lift. “Thank God.”

He followed her outside.

The shed was located in a cluster of trees in the space between the rec room and Cabin Three, though way behind the line of buildings. The area around it had not been mowed in a while, making both of them reluctant to trek through the overgrown grass. Walter could imagine the ticks lying in wait, ready to burrow their heads in his skin.

He pulled the door open, watching the hinges shift on the rotting door frame. Right away, he glanced at Naomi.

“Don’t let Clifford see this.”

She raised her pinky finger and winked. “No worries. For all we know, he’d make you build him a whole new shed.”

“At least I know what to expect when I get an invite from him,” Walter said. He stepped into the shed, using his smartphone as a flashlight.

“Wait, this was the first time he invited you out here?” Naomi asked.

“Mmhmm.”

“Or to anything at all?” she continued. “Not to last year’s Halloween party? Or the cookout at Tommy Rall’s place?”

Walter shook his head. “Never even knew those events were taking place.”

Naomi pursed her lips and looked in her host’s direction. “I ought to smack him upside his head. I suggested he have you over to those, and he said he did but that you were too busy with work.”

That statement got mixed feelings from Walter. On the one hand, he felt a tad bitter that Clifford essentially viewed him as disposable trash. On the other hand, the fact Naomi was trying to get him involved in the group was the perfect antidote.

He tried to play it cool, appearing to remain focused on the task. The ladder was in the back of the shed, with all sorts of items covering the floor between it and him. A shelf had broken off the lefthand side, dropping all sorts of pesticides onto the floor.

In addition, there was a lawnmower and a gas can. Walter checked the can and was pleasantly surprised to see it was half full.

“You’re probably gonna criticize me, but I might make some use of this thing,” he said to Naomi. “If there is any pet peeve I have, it’s oversized grass. And Walter clearly hasn’t kept up with the lawn near his cabin. Or this shed, obviously.”

“I’d tell him to do it himself,” Naomi said. “On the other hand, he probably won’t. And I’m with you: I hate an uncared-for lawn. The nice thing about having horses and cows is they tend to help with that issue.”

“What, you have yourself a little farm?” he asked.

“Tiny one,” she said, pinching her finger and thumb together. “Just a few animals. All I can afford right now.”

“That’s great,” Walter said. He pulled the lawnmower out, then stopped after knocking over a couple of the jugs. Realizing he was on the cusp of causing a hazardous spill, he overcame the temptation to be lazy and moved to pick them up. There was beach sand treatment material, some sprays for wasps, weedkiller, and a few other typical things. The only item that gave him pause was the large white jug of rotenone.

Walter raised an eyebrow. “What does he have this here for?”

“Oh, that?” she said. “There were invasive species in this lake at one point. Snakeheads. They’re mean sons of bitches. They can move over land and infest new bodies of water. It’s actually regulation in many places to kill them if you happen to catch one.” Naomi gave the jug of liquid rotenone a scowling look. “That said, I don’t think it got so bad that they needed this. There’s a reason rotenone is banned in many states for this type of use. If the state police found out Clifford’s parents used this crap in a public lake…” She whistled. One did not have to be a genius to envision the outcome.

Walter moved the mowing machine outside. Naomi was kind enough to move the gas can for him. After that, she helped lift the ladder out of its place.

“So, you spend a lot of time with Clifford, huh?” he said. Internally, he screamed at himself for his lack of subtlety. The desire to know the status between her and Clifford was too powerful. “At least, he invites you over to all of his events. Many of them, you know, secluded.” He gestured at the surrounding woods.

Naomi laughed. “Yeah, I’m considered part of his inner circle. Mainly because he’s banging Irene, and I’m her best friend.”

“Oh!” He tried to mask his joyful reaction as amusement for the remark about Irene. “Explains why she’s over at his cabin all the time. At least, that’s how it appears.”

“And all over him,” Naomi said. “Him, his wallet… she has no shame. Nor does he. They tried to get me involved in their… escapades.” She made quirky hand motions to get the point across. “I’m not that adventurous.”

That certainly got Walter’s attention. “Wait, Irene was good with that?”

“She swings both ways,” Naomi said. “It was a bit of a shocker to know she wanted to… you know. But I politely declined. Granted, it has made things a tad awkward ever since. I probably should have declined the invite out here, but honestly, I’m broke and this is the only semblance of a vacation I’m likely to get this year.”

“How’s it coming?” Clifford shouted over to Walter, still thinking he was in the rec room. “Need any help?”
Walter and Naomi looked at each other and laughed.

Like he’s going to provide any.

“I’m good!” Walter called back.

“Do you need help?” Naomi asked.

Walter was not going to say no to that. He usually preferred to keep the company of knowledgeable people during tasks like this. But this was Naomi. Even without the attraction he now gladly self-acknowledged, she was too sweet to turn down. That, and he understood she could use a break from the rest of the group. Allison, Bucky, Jay, and Marilyne were all too busy obsessing over each other, and Irene was all about Clifford. Naomi was a seventh wheel, existing with no real purpose.

“Absolutely,” he answered.

She beamed a smile at him. “Alright. Tell me what to do.”

CHAPTER 7

“Holy shit, Cap. You look like the cat that swallowed the canary!”

Stephen Moro shot a glare at Alverez, unsure what to make of that statement. He estimated it had something to do with the look of pain on his face thanks to the hole in his shoulder. In any other situation, he would be lying on a couch flipping through channels while he waited for the injury to heal. Go figure, the company had a crazed killer on the loose that needed to be immediately stopped.

“And you look like a moron.”

When all else failed, it was Moro’s go-to retort.

Three other men assembled near the captain. There was Gantman, a marine whose features were aging like milk. Ironically the only thing that stressed him more than three tours in Iraq was raising three kids. Moro chose not to ask about the youngsters; he knew Gantman didn’t like them. According to him, they were the cause of his sexless marriage and inability to save money.

Kilian was a little more likeable. He was the type to show up, do his job, get paid, and go home. On the job, he only talked shop and did not get involved with the personal banter. Having spent six years as a cop in some crime-ridden city, he had his fill of meaningless talk from partners who had nothing better to do between calls.

Last, but not least, was Swanson. He was a tad more talkative than Kilian, but lacked the repetitive griping of Gantman and the idiotic sense of humor of Alverez. His small talk revolved around his financial investments. If there was any griping, it was about stocks taking a plunge.

Alverez was another one with a mouth; a claim to fame he gladly accepted, specifically ‘merc with a mouth’, in reference to his favorite superhero. Sometimes, Moro was tempted to tear that jaw off his face. It would be the only way to shut the guy up.

In all of his time in the Army, Moro served on a few different squads. Every single time, there was a member of the team who was considered the funny guy. It was no different with the company’s specialist team, as Alverez proved every time he spoke.

This time, it was with a thick Texas accent.

“Listen up, men. Our fugitive has been on the run for…” he thought about the timeframe, “…almost a day! Average footspeed of a man on foot barring injury is four miles an hour; that gives you a radius of six miles… no, wait. Never mind, we’ll figure it out later.” The Southern accent returned. “What I need from each and every one of you is a hard target search of every gas station, residence, warehouse, farmhouse, henhouse, outhouse, and doghouse in that area…”

“If you don’t shut up, it’s gonna be Road House,” Moro said.

That got Alverez to shut his trap. For now.

“What is the plan, Cap?” Kilian asked. “Find the guy and shoot him?”

“We have a location to his last whereabouts,” Moro explained. “The target may move again, possibly swapping out the last victim’s vehicle for Lord knows what. We’ll know by whatever remains he leaves behind. Generally, he doesn’t leave people alive.”

“He left that lady alive,” Gantman said.

“Yes, I know. Generally, he does not,” Moro said.

“So, it’s kill on sight?” Swanson asked.

“I’d like to take him alive if possible.” Everyone turned in the direction of Lillian Helmer. She was dressed in outdoor hiking clothing, complete with a hat and vest. In that vest was medical supplies, including sedatives and medication, as well as items for collecting tissue samples.

To her, this was nothing more than a field trip.

The men looked to Moro for confirmation. After a moment’s hesitation, he nodded.

“If possible, we’ll try and take him alive. But one way or another, he’s coming with us. I’m not taking any unnecessary chances. The company’s ass is on the line. By extension, our asses are on the line. We weren’t exactly hired because we’re angels.”

Each of the men had their own nonverbal way of acknowledging that statement. Like Moro, they had less than perfect records, but were able to keep themselves from having anything equal to a felony charge, such as a dishonorable discharge from the armed forces. It was enough for those running the company to know they were comfortable with dirty work, while having a clean-enough record on paper to avoid questions as to why they were hired in the first place.

“We’ll head in by chopper,” Moro continued. “I want to get there as fast as possible. Meanwhile, we’ll have a couple of guys bring an unmarked armored truck to that location to ship the son of a bitch back. No way am I putting him on that chopper. I don’t care how many sedatives we inject into him. That guy will bring the thing down just to avoid going in that cell. Make no mistake, he’s aware of what we’ve got planned for him, and he wants no part of it. Might not sound like much, but believe me, put yourself in that box with nothing but your dick to entertain yourself, and you’ll go insane.”

Right away, he regretted his choice of words, solely because of the inevitable remark from Alverez.

“I don’t know. I can keep myself thoroughly entertained for quite some time. If anything, it might give me an opportunity to see how many times I can…”

Moro put a finger in his face. “Say one more word, and the next ‘discharge’ will be my gun to your nuts.”

Sporting a shit-eating grin, Alverez chose not to call his bluff.

“Should pop him in the jaw,” Gantman said. “Otherwise, he’ll keep talking no matter where you shoot him.”

“Fair enough,” Moro replied. He looked at Lillian, unsure why he was surprised by the fact she was tagging along. “I guess there’s no way I can convince you to stay here?”

“Nope, so don’t even bother trying,” she said.

Moro shook his head and groaned. In the end, he tilted his head in the direction of the chopper. Its rotors were turning, the pilot waiting for them to board.

“Fine. Let’s go.”

The five guns-for-hire and the mad scientist boarded the aircraft and strapped themselves in. After a few moments, they were airborne.

“I do have one question,” Kilian asked the captain. “The target; what’s the likelihood he’ll seek out other civilians? Yeah, he killed those two in the house, but one could say it was because he was hiding out and didn’t want them sounding the alarm. And the receptionist… well, he already had her hostage and is a sicko who decided to get as much use out of her as he could. But is he likely to go out of his way to attack anyone else?”

“Unknown,” Moro answered. He looked at the landscape passing underneath them. “I guess we’ll find out when we get there.”

CHAPTER 8

Lewis Keenly checked his phone for the hundredth time in the last couple of hours. Ever since the liquor store heist, he was on pins and needles, regretting his decision and worried he would get his comeuppance.

His older brother, Sully, stood near the lake, washing his face and getting an eye for any local population. They were on the east side of the ‘glass’ section of Wine Lake. There were a few boats way in the distance and one coasting a couple hundred yards from shore. It was nothing he was worried about. It was highly unlikely anyone aboard would recognize the three men as the perpetrators of a small liquor shop from a neighboring town. To his knowledge, the incident did not even make the news.

It was barely newsworthy outside of the town it was in. Nobody died, though the owner did get his bell rung pretty good. They all wore masks during the incident and changed the license plates on their getaway vehicle.

“Sully, you sure you want to do that?” Lewis asked.

Sully, tired of his younger brother’s anxiety, turned to face him. “Will you shut up? We got away clean. Anyone who sees us here will assume we’re camping.”

“They’re not entirely wrong,” their cousin, Dusty, added. He strutted to their little campsite after taking a leak in the woods. In his hands were a fresh beer and a cigarette. “All we need to do is lay low for a while. We’ve got plenty of stuff to keep us occupied.” He reached into the cooler and pulled out a beef stick, pointing it at Lewis before tearing the plastic off. “The only clue anyone would have would be some nervous idiot constantly checking his phone for any updates on some obscure robbery.”

“Not that it matters out here,” Sully remarked, seeing the loading circle of death on his own screen.

“I don’t know, man,” Lewis said. “I was the one who beat that guy. If we get caught, I’m gonna get the worst of it. After that thing with my ex-girlfriend, I’m looking at maybe ten years.”

Sully and Dusty looked at one another. It was amazing that the guy was such a hothead in the moment, but as soon as the smoke cleared, he became an inconsolable nervous wreck.

“Holy shit!” he continued. “What if they find out about the B&E I made last month? Shit, they could connect that to the liquor robbery!”

Both Sully and Dusty moved to the idiot, waving their hands, and hissing, “Shhh!”

“Say it louder,” Sully growled. He pointed his thumb behind him at the nearest boat. “Those guys you’re afraid will recognize us? Maybe they’ll overhear your dumbass squeaking about breaking into places.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Dusty said.

The three of them took a breath.

“Damn,” Sully groaned. “This was supposed to be the easy part. Just sit around and enjoy the outdoors. By the time we head north, nobody will even be thinking of us.”

“We planned this out perfectly,” Dusty added.

Lewis sneered at his cousin. Dusty was always sucking up to Sully, even if he was simply stating the obvious.

His moment of rising hostility reverted back to his typical cowardice after looking at the lake. Backing away, he pointed at the boat.

Sully threw his arms down, fed up with his scrawny brother. “What?”

“They’re coming this way,” Lewis said.

Sully turned around, his eyes widening seeing the boat gradually coming in their general direction. It was moving at a slow speed, and interestingly enough, was going sideways with the breeze.

“What the hell are they doing?” Dusty said.

“How the hell am I supposed to know?” Sully replied.

By now, Lewis was cowering by the truck. “You think they know who we are?”

“Oh, sure,” Dusty remarked. “Clearly, they overheard us and decided to sideswipe the shallow area in hopes of getting a positive ID.”

“It’s possible,” Lewis said.

The three criminals watched the boat make its approach. It went a little ways south of their position, nobody at the wheel as far as any of them could see.

After a couple of minutes, they heard the skidding of its hull against the sandbank.

“What do you think?” Dusty asked Sully. “Should we check it out?”

The group leader bit his lip, half-tempted to pack everything up and get a move-on. Realizing that would take too much time, he realized the only way to go forward was to check it out.

“Yeah. Let’s just play the role of happy-go-lucky country boys out for beer and camping. Figure out what’s wrong and help them on their merry way.”

“And if things go sideways?” Lewis asked.

Sully stood quiet, unsure of the answer.

“We’ll play it by ear.”

Lewis was back on his phone.

“What are you doing?” Dusty asked him.

“If I turn myself in, I might get a reduced sentence.”

Sully and Dusty shared another glance.

“You stay here,” the former said to him.

Lewis gladly remained by the truck while his cousin and brother walked south to check on things.

Being free of his complaints proved to be a luxury for the two men.

“Maybe we’ll take part of his share for being such a pain in the ass,” Dusty remarked.

“Suits me,” Sully replied. He sneered, thinking of the recent statements spoken by Lewis in angst. “‘Turn myself in’. What an idiot.”

They arrived at the boat and stopped near a tree to assess the situation. It was lodged in the lakebed, still with no sign of anybody aboard. Not actively, at least. From where the two robbers stood, they could see beer and soda bottles, fishing rods, and a radio.

One of the fishing rods still trailed its line, even though the pole was broken in half at the midway point. The canopy had been torn in a few places and the anchor line was severed.

“What the shit?” Dusty whispered.

“Hate to see what those guys brought in,” Sully remarked.

“Maybe we should get out of here.”

Sully looked at his cousin, who was now demonstrating the same degree of cowardice as Lewis.

“Okay, hold on a sec. We’re assholes, sure. Do we have a first-class ticket to Heaven? Probably not. Do we like to steal shit so we don’t have to work? Abso-freaking-lutely. But if someone’s hurt on that thing, I’d rather not have it on my conscience in the event they croak because they didn’t get help in time.”

“You were fine with the store guy getting busted up and left behind.”

Sully brushed the statement off with a dismissive wave. “He was messed up, but there was no doubt he would live. Even if Lewis went a little crazy.”

Not waiting for a reply from his cousin, Sully went to the water. He removed his boots at the shoreline and pulled his jeans up as best he could. It wasn’t enough to keep them from getting wet, but it was worth a try. Though he wasn’t fond of wet clothes, there was no way he was stripping off in front of Dusty.

Into the water he went, his cousin watching from shore.

“You see anything?”

Sully grimaced. Now the guy was practically a big fat version of Lewis.

“I’m not even at the boat, you dumbass.”

He continued on.

As he came within a couple of yards of the boat, he noticed the abundance of flies buzzing over its deck. A strange, unpleasant smell reached his face.

All of a sudden, he no longer blamed Dusty and Lewis for wanting to turn tail.

No, no. Keep doing what you’re doing. Like you told Dusty, you’re an ass. A horse’s ass. No question. But we draw the line at letting people die for our own convenience. If nothing else, it helps you sleep better at night. He smiled. That, and the cash.

That smile went away as he reached the vessel. He grabbed ahold of the gunnel and lifted his bulky physique over the side.

“Jesus!”

Laying before him was the disemboweled corpse of some dude. At least, Sully thought it was a dude. The face was gone, as was the scalp, and much of the flesh had been torn away from the torso.

At the transom was the person’s fishing partner, folded in half backwards, the back of his head touching his quads. Like the other guy, he had much of his meat flayed off as well.

“Oh, Jesus! Oh, Geez, oh, shit.”

He pushed himself off the boat.

“What is it?” Dusty asked.

Sully tried to speak, but couldn’t manage to form words. His mind was going a hundred miles an hour.

Only one thought took form. Let’s get the fuck out of here!

Before he could verbalize that thought and explain what he had just seen, Sully witnessed a look of utter horror on Dusty’s face. Right away, the robber knew that something was behind him.

He turned around.

There it stood, its height several inches above his, its mouth drenched in blood, its scales secreting slime. All at once, it was a fish and a man, with the ferocity of one and the ill-intent of the other.

The criminal sucked in a breath.

Lewis and Dusty were right; they should’ve just took off. But Sully, a lifelong lowlife, just had to stick to his one snippet of morality.

That one decent act was his downfall.

The beast came at him, burying three-inch claws into his hide. He went to yell, only to spit blood after those jaws closed over his throat. The beast pulled back, allowing its victim to see the inside of his own neck before passing out.

Dusty squealed. His cousin hit the water, arms to his side, blood gushing from his throat like water from a fountain.

The creature swallowed the mouthful of flesh and set its sights on the fat robber. A horrid growl conveyed its hellish intentions.

“Oh, geez!”

Dusty turned around and started to run. He was never the athletic type, and having his life on the line did not change that. Not only that, but the beer was not helping matters.

Right off the bat, he plowed face-first into a tree. His vision spinning, he stumbled about, barely keeping his balance.

Footsteps splashed the water, each one shallower than the last. The beast was coming, taking joy in the fear radiating off of its victim. Though that face was fish-like, Dusty sensed something in the way it tilted its head and slowly approached. It knew he was afraid. Not only that, it seemed to literally strengthen off of his fear.

“Get away from me!”

He weaved around the tree and sprinted for the truck. Just a few steps in, he made the mistake of looking back at his pursuer. It was quickening its pace, hot on his trail.

Dusty turned his eyes forward. He could see the truck and Lewis standing beside it.

He also saw the tree right in front of him, rapidly getting larger in the span of the next half-second, right up to his collision with it.

This time, there was no staying on his feet. The robber collapsed onto his back, his vision spiraling, arms and legs paddling to the side like a walrus’ flippers.

In the middle of that foggy vision was the beast, looking straight down at him.

“No! No! No!”

“Holy shit!” Lewis shouted from the truck.

The beast looked at him, then down at Dusty again. This time, the human side clearly took over in the way that it planned its kill. Desiring to go after the next guy, it chose to make Dusty’s fate quick. Relatively quick, at least.

It placed its grimy foot on his forehead and began pressing down.

Dusty shook in place and wailed. He could feel the pressure building up in his ears and eye sockets.

“Ehhhhh! Get it off!”

It was exactly the reaction the thing was looking for. It finished the job, connecting its foot to the soil, imploding Dusty’s head like a pumpkin.

Lewis screamed and picked up his phone. He was right all along. He should have turned himself in. He still desired to do so. He tried to make a call, but his frantic fingers literally misdialed 9-1-1 as 8-2-2.

“Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit!”

He looked up. The creature was coming his way, spilling saliva from its open mouth.

Help would not get here in time. Not even close.

Knowing this, he threw himself into the truck and went to start the ignition, only to find no key there. He cursed, remembering Sully had the keys in his pocket.

“Shit!”

The creature was near his window now.

Now in a corner, Lewis reverted to the state of mind that enabled him to perform heinous acts such as the brutal beating of the store owner. He chose to fight. Except, this time, he had nobody to stop him from discharging his shotgun.

Lewis pulled it from the backseat, pumped it, and extended it out the window. Its muzzle two feet from the beast, he squeezed the trigger.

BANG!

The creature stumbled backward, its chest smoking where it took the hit. It looked down at itself. Those scales had done their job wonderfully, barely even scratched by the pellets.

Its eyes returned to the human.

Lewis fired again. This time, the creature did not even step back.

It came at him, snatching the shotgun out of his grip and holding it high. It bent it into a U-shape, gladly showing off its superior strength before tossing the weapon aside.

Lewis raised his hands, having reverted back to being a coward in the blink of an eye.

“Please?”

The beast answered by ripping the door off, then lunging into the vehicle.

It rocked back and forth, its occupant screaming, grunting, and groaning, his insides coating the inside of the truck.

Once the deed was done, it moved out of the vehicle and relished in the fruits of its labor. Its victim was utterly destroyed, as were the others in its group. A sense of superiority flooded its sick brain, having proven impervious to one of humankind’s signature weapons at close range.

Satisfied with its recent kill, it moved into the water in search of more victims.

The large body of water surprisingly provided few targets. There were a few others on the opposite side of the lake, all in boats. All of them were in motion, as opposed to the one that was anchored, allowing for an easy ambush. With the boats in motion, they were hard to tail, even for a creature so well-bonded with the water. The creature knew it absolutely could track them, but at the moment, it wanted simpler targets.

It swam north, taking in all of the vibrations around it.

After a while, it entered a thin section of the lake. It followed the channel into a T-shaped body of water. There wasn’t much here aside from fish. It cared little for slaughtering them. Humans were the best victims. They felt emotion. Pain. Fear.

After a while, it detected sounds. Human sounds; laughter; banter.

Holding its head above water, it looked to the north.

There, it saw several wooden structures lining the distant shoreline. There were a group of people there, gathered near one of the larger buildings. They were seated, enjoying some refreshments and each other’s company.

A faint smell of burnt meat drifted over the lake into its nostrils. Once upon a time, the creature loved such an odor. Today, it found it repulsive. Meat was not meant to be turned black from fire. It was meant to be blood red and juicy, fresh off the bone, and oxygenated by the last breath of whatever it was stripped from.

Cooking meat was a sin in the creature’s eyes.

Sins required punishment.

Indeed, one at a time, the beast intended to deal out said punishment. It submerged, biding its time, waiting for the proper moment.

CHAPTER 9

Red slop spilled in a thick stream.

“Ah, shit!” Jay Bolling exclaimed, having finally unclogged the ketchup bottle at the expense of his hot dog.

“Damn, Jay,” Clifford said. “How about some meat with your ketchup?”

“We can call this a vegetarian hot dog,” Jay said. “Ketchup is made of tomatoes.”

“Tomatoes are a fruit,” Marilyne said.

“Oh, not this debate again,” Clifford said. He flipped the burgers on his grill. “Anyone want extra cheese?”

“Honestly, I wouldn’t go so far as to call that stuff made from tomatoes,” Bucky chimed in, mouth full of his own hot dog. “That brand is more corn syrup than anything else. Salt, sodium, maybe tomato extract.”

“Nobody asked you,” Jay replied.

Everyone chuckled.

“Last chance for extra cheese!” Clifford announced.

Marilyne tilted her head to the sound of a lawnmower behind Cabin One. “Maybe he could use it. He’s been your personal servant all day.”

“Yeah,” Jay said. “He’s even mowing your grass for you. I even said yesterday how it really needed to be done.”

“I don’t recall you offering,” Clifford said.

That shut his guest up real quick. Sensing judgement from all of the others, he turned to face Walter and Naomi. She had brought the gas can over to him after the mower had stalled out. Walter had gotten it restarted, believing it may have jammed.

Relenting to public pressure, he raised his voice. “Walter? Naomi? I’ve got food here!” He got no response. Shrugging, he went back to cooking. “I guess they’re not hungry.”

“Or, they can’t hear you over the mower,” Allison said.

Clifford lowered the spatula. “Okay, message received. Next time we come here, I’ll mow the grass first thing. Don’t forget, I let you all stay here rent-free.”

The mower stalled again.

“Ah, damn it,” Walter groaned.

Naomi walked over to him. “Does it need gas?”

“No, it’s half-full,” he said. He flipped the thing on its side. “I think there’s something wrong with the rotor. Geez, this thing’s older than I am.”

“Does anything around here get taken care of?” Naomi said.

Clifford, taking issue with that statement, plopped a burger on the plate, spattering the melted cheese.

“I didn’t ask for the grass to be mowed,” he said. “I appreciate it, but I’d rather you focus on the rec room.”

“I have been,” Walter said. “I’ve been on my knees for the better part of the afternoon. I’m cramped. Walking helps, and I thought I’d knock out two birds with one stone.”

“Oh, makes sense,” Clifford said. “Well… thanks.” He cleared his throat. “So, what’s the timeframe looking like for the rec building? Gonna get back at it after you’re done there, by any chance?”

“No, he’s done for the day,” Naomi said.

Clifford grinned. “What, you his wife or something? That’s actually very cute. Maybe you could cook him a nice, hot meal.”

“Actually, I was thinking of doing just that,” she said. “He hasn’t eaten since he got here.”

Clifford gestured at the grill. “I offered food.”

Bucky strained on his burger. “Yep. Tasty bricks.”

Clifford glared at him. “You suggesting they’re overcooked?”

“Overcooked? No. They’d still be edible at that point,” Bucky said, chuckling. “No, these go way past overcooked. I think we should invent a new word.”

“Fossilized?” Allison suggested.

Everyone laughed at their host’s expense.

“Oh, you’re all funny.” He looked at Naomi. “What are you gonna serve up? That pasta salad you mentioned yesterday?”

“Actually, yes!” Naomi said.

“That sounds rather good,” Walter said enthusiastically.

“Mmm!” Maryline waved a finger, fighting down her mouthful of food so she could make her point. “Yes! Her pasta salad is killer. Make some extra for me, will ya!”

“Okay,” Naomi said. “It’ll take me a little bit. I still gotta chop everything up and all that.”

“It’s already getting late,” Clifford said.

“Yeah? So what?” Allison replied. “Last night, we were up past one, and were still up and moving at seven this morning.”

Jay made sure to brush up against his girlfriend. “I know a way to pass the time and burn off the current meal.”

Marilyne pretended to be put off with a look of disgust. Everyone saw through it, of course.

“Oi!” Naomi cringed at the mental image, then looked at Walter. “Mind if we do the cooking in your cabin? I’d rather be as far away from… you get the idea.”

Walter sensed some wild activity involving the two couples. Being far from civilization, they were probably not very keen on modesty.

“Yeah, that sounds good.”

“Excellent. Want me to put the gas can away?”

“No, no,” he answered. “I’ll take a look at the mower tomorrow and see if I can get it working again. But thanks.”

“Okay,” she said, giddy as a schoolgirl. “I’ll head over to my cabin and collect my…”

A strange droning sound directed her attention skyward.

It was a helicopter, all black in color, flying at a low altitude to the ‘glass’ section of the lake.

“Interesting,” Irene said.

“It’s a helicopter,” Clifford said with a derisive laugh. “You guys never seen one before?”

“Not that low,” Walter said. “Damn, it almost looks like they’re looking for a place to set down.”

“Best of luck to them,” Bucky exclaimed. “Not many places for them to do that.”

“Maybe they’re just passing by,” Clifford suggested.

“No, I’m with Walter,” Jay said. “They look like they’re gonna set down somewhere.”

“In that case, I’m with Bucky,” Clifford replied. “There’s nowhere for them to set down. Unless they are doing it the commando way. What’s it called? Rafling? Repelling? No… fast-roping?” He laughed. “Ridiculous. Like anyone would do that here.”

***

“Let’s go! Move it out, ladies!” Moro barked.

Alverez and Gantman were the first to rappel into the woods. Next was Kilian and Swanson. The four men quickly secured a perimeter while Moro helped Lillian with her harness.

“You sure you got this?”

“Hopefully, since you obviously have a view of ‘ladies’,” she remarked.

Moro groaned and pushed her off the chopper. She gasped and roped down, managing to stop herself from touching down hard.

The captain followed her down and released his rope. “Looks like you did just fine.”

She sneered at him and removed her harness.

Kilian checked the smartphone-shaped tracking monitor. “Same location. Half a click that way.” He pointed north.

“Let’s take a look,” Moro said. “Dr. Helmer, stay with me. Everyone, keep your eyes peeled. Remember, this guy could be anywhere, and he’s armed and dangerous.”

It was a statement he would have to take back once they located the deceased homeowner’s truck. After crossing the half-kilometer of distance, the strike team came across the Chevy Chase, its white paint standing out like a sore thumb against its brown and green background.

They formed a firing line, looking for any movement in and around the truck. Once they determined there was no immediate threat, they moved in.

“Kilian, scout fifty meters north. See if you can find anything. Keep your eyes peeled.”

“Aye-aye.” The mercenary kept low and disappeared into the trees.

The engine was cold, the ignition switched off, keys still inside, as were the guns and ammo.

“What the hell?” Gantman said. “I don’t claim to be an expert on fugitives, but I tend to believe many of them would rather hang on to their weapons. Especially if they’re wanted for mass murder.”

“Maybe he wants to live on the wild side,” Alverez remarked. “I heard how he tore that one guy’s throat out. Cap thinks he did it with his teeth.”

“Nobody cares what you think,” Moro hissed.

Alverez shut up, a lesson that would probably stick for another thirty seconds.

“As true as that is…” Swanson said. He picked up a prisoner’s jumpsuit off the ground twenty feet from the vehicle, “…he might not be too far off.”

Moro approached him. Sure enough, Gale Frye had stripped off and disappeared.

“What the hell is going on with this guy?”

“Maybe he found another set of clothes,” Lillian suggested.

“From where?” Moro looked around. “I don’t see any signs of anyone else being in this area at the same time as our guy.”

“How can you tell?” Lillian asked in a combative tone.

Moro looked to the heavens, summoning the strength to not curse at her. “Doc, do you expect me to understand your science mumbo jumbo?”

Lillian stared him in the eye. “No.”

“That’s how I feel when it comes to explaining tactics and tracking to you. Understood?”

She stepped back. “Fine with me.”

After a minute, Kilian returned to the group.

Moro approached him, sensing more clues having been discovered. “What have you got?”

“He’s been busy,” Kilian said. “Follow me.”

It was a little more than fifty meters, but all the same, Kilian had found a new sign of Gale Frye’s activities. Granted, they were pretty sure this was his work. It was hard to tell, given the nature and brutality of the crime.

There was an unoccupied tent staked thirty feet from the shoreline. In the water were two mutilated bodies; a man and a woman. There was just enough left of both of them to identify their genders. Barely.

“Son of a bitch,” Moro groaned.

“Are we sure this was him?” Lillian said. “I mean, this looks a little extreme, even for Frye.”

“Are there bears or mountain lions that could do this?” Swanson asked.

“Five feet in the water?” Moro said. “That’d be the first I’ve heard of it.”

“Get a look at these footprints!” Alverez was kneeling at the shoreline near the female body. “Ever see anything like this before?”

The rest of the team took a look for themselves.

“Odd,” Swanson said. “I don’t know what to make of it. Doesn’t look like a shoe, but it definitely doesn’t look like a human foot.”

“Maybe my ex-wife’s,” Gantman remarked.

Moro studied the prints with his eyes. Swanson was right; they didn’t look human, but at the same time, they did not resemble any animal’s either.

“What do you make of it?” Lillian asked.

“I was going to ask you,” Moro replied. “Is there something in that serum of yours that we should know about?”

“It’s experimental,” she said defensively. “Even I’m still studying the long-term effects.”

“Long-term?” Moro snorted. “It’s been a day.”

“Look, we don’t even know if this is Gale’s work?” she argued.

“Right,” Alverez said. “People get mauled out here all the time! The fact a serial killer got loose close to this camp is pure coincidence.”

“Could he have used a knife?” Swanson asked.

Moro shook his head. “He left it in the truck with the guns.”

“That would suggest he did this with his bare hands,” Lillian said.

“And teeth,” Alverez quipped. He licked his lips and made a ‘yum-yum’ sound.

Gantman tucked his chin down and swallowed, his face briefly going pale. Blood and guts, he could handle. The idea of a person eating another person alive? Not something he wanted to envision.

“We do know one thing.” Moro took a few steps to the north. “He went this way. The victims’ car is still here, so he did not flee. He’s hunting in these woods. Probably having some sort of reaction to the doctor’s science experiment that’s making him extra crazy.” He removed his sling and properly gripped his rifle. “Only one way to find out.”

The team continued north, their shadows stretching far into the woods as the sun initiated its descent.

CHAPTER 10

“I thought it took only ten minutes to make pasta salad.”

“Oh, you’re so cute,” Naomi said. “That’s the Betty Crocker stuff you get from the grocery store. I’m making real pasta salad. My pasta salad. Here, we make it from scratch. You who lives on takeout could learn a lesson or two from me.”

“Well, I’m eager to discover your secrets.”

“We’ve got three main things: chop the veggies, boil the pasta, and make the dressing. I’ve got the blender here for that. Oh, and we’ll need a second pot of boiling water, you know, for Jay’s mac and cheese.”

Walter laughed. “You mean to tell me you don’t have your own macaroni and cheese recipe?”

“I do! But it requires an Instant Pot, and I didn’t bring mine. So, we’re stuck with the Velveeta brand. I can assure you Jay will be perfectly happy. He’s a twelve-year-old at heart.”

Jay smiled, listening in from one of Cabin Two’s windows. “Damn right I am.”

A tap on the shoulder made him jump. “Whoa!” He turned around to see Marilyne standing right there. “Oh, hey babe. What are you up to?”

“What are you up to?” she replied.

“Oh, I was just curious if, um, you know, Naomi was gonna make my mac and cheese.”

Marilyne carefully peered through the window, then looked at her boyfriend with judgmental eyes.

“You pig!”

“What’d I do?” he exclaimed, keeping his voice down.

“You wanted to see if they were going to fuck.”

“I was not! How dare you speak of them in such a degrading manner! Why, I’m deeply offended.”

Marilyne stared at him, gradually breaking him with hypnotic eyes.

He broke eye contact. “I was curious to see if they’d kiss.”

“Oh, kiss. Sure.”

“It’s true. Let’s be real,” Jay said. “Those two have some sparks going on, and we’ve got to witness it in real time. It’s been a while since we’ve seen Naomi this happy with someone. You know how much it crushed her when her fiancé dumped her for… her sister. Then there’s Clifford, who’s been trying to get her in the sack with him and Irene. Bottom line, she’s happy with Walter. He seems to be a nice, easy-going guy. They make a nice match. It’s a beautiful thing, wouldn’t you say?”

Marilyne took in his words, then gave another look at Naomi and Walter. She was showing him the precise way she liked to cut up her vegetables. Everything was organized, from the meats to the oils. It truly had been a while since she was so animated with another person. For whatever reason, she just clicked with Walter, and that was perfectly fine. Sometimes, two people were right for each other. All Marilyne could hope for was a happy ending for the two of them.

“You’re right,” she said. “It is a beautiful thing.”

Jay smiled. “I’m glad you see it too.”

She looked at him, smirking. “But that’s not why you’re watching them.”

“Pardon?”

“You wanna see if they’ll fuck there on the couch.”

Jay raised a finger as though in court. “I object!”

“Overruled, you perv.”

Jay cracked a guilty smile. “Well, I wouldn’t want them to injure themselves on that flimsy thing. One of the legs could break…”

“Oh! So, it’s a selfless act?”

“Absolutely!”
She tapped the side of his head. “Come on, creep. Leave them alone. I doubt their first romp will be in the kitchen.”

Jay followed her past the rec building. “You never know. They’ll have to kill time while the water’s boiling.”

“Oh, gee! As if there isn’t several other things to do. Especially the way Naomi makes her pasta salad.” She smiled. “Not that that’s a bad thing. Yum!”

“Yum’s the word, alright.”

Marilyne spun on her heel, her nose almost touching his. “Holy shit, Jay. You think about anything else other than sex?”

He raised his eyebrows innocently. “Mac and cheese?”

She rolled her eyes and laughed. Taking him by the hand, she led him eastward in the direction of their cabin.

“Maybe I can convince you to get your rocks off in another way?”

“Oh yeah?” He leaned to her ear. “What do you have in mind?”

“I’ll show you.”

They made their way to Cabin Five, Jay getting more giddy the closer they got. Naturally, he enjoyed the form of Marilyne’s skin and muscle tone. He always took the joy of looking at it, but when action was on the horizon, it was all the more exciting.

They arrived at Cabin Five.

Marilyne put her hand on the knob and twisted. “What the…”

It wouldn’t turn.

“We’re locked out?” Jay said.

“Yeah, but I didn’t lock it,” Marilyne said. “I left the door wide open.”

“Evidently not.”

“I’m not lying,” she said.

“Where’s the key?”

She thought about it. “On the… on the shelf above the fireplace. Where I always keep it.”

“Well, unless you have another explanation…” Jay stopped. “Wait a minute…”

Marilyne heard it too. There were two sounds.

The first was similar to a mattress spring creaking repeatedly. The other was human. Moaning.

Both of them put their eyes to the front window. They could see the open bedroom door inside and the edge of the bed. Looking back at them were two faces, the only visible parts of Allison and Bucky—not that they were complaining about that, as neither Jay nor Marilyne wanted to see the rest of their naked bodies.

What they did complain about were the two freaks getting it on in their bed.

“Holy Jesus!” Jay exclaimed. “They’re under our fleece blanket! Bucky’s bare ass and… everything else… is touching our blanket!”

Marilyne’s face twisted with disgust. “And they’re on top of our mattress topper. With no covering on it.”

Allison and Bucky looked at them. Sporting devious smiles, they both held up middle fingers, then proceeded about their business.

Jay and Marilyne returned the gesture with some ‘ha-ha’ noises for good measure.

“Yeah, enjoy yourselves, you freaks,” Jay said.

“Talk about a power move,” his girlfriend remarked.

“No shit.” Jay looked to her. “This means war.”

“It does. But how?”

Jay shrugged. “Fuck in their bed?”

Marilyne shook her head. “No. I guarantee they’ve planned for that. Their door is probably locked.” She glanced around. “It goes beyond them getting it on in our bed, with all our stuff there with them. They knew we’d wanna get busy, so they thought it’d be funny to lock us out, all while doing what we ought to.”

Jay blew raspberries. “Those two are straight out of a sitcom. Wanting to prove they’re the hottest couple. Like anyone cares.”

Marilyne pursed her lips and tilted her head. “Well, we care.”

“Hmm.” It took a moment, but Jay accepted the truth. “Yeah, I guess we do.”

“Fortunately, we already know we’re hotter than them.”

Jay perked up, intrigued by her tone and choice of words. She clearly had something in mind.

“Absolutely, we are. If only there was a way to prove it right now.”

She smiled, placed a kiss on his lips, and strutted to the water. “Who says there isn’t?”

Her shirt and jean shorts came off, uncovering her tan body and yellow bikini. She entered the water and stroked towards the floating platform.

Jay approached the shore, stripping off his shirt. He looked down at the sweatpants he wore.

“Crap. Not exactly swimming attire…”

“You won’t need ‘em!” Marilyne shouted.

He looked up. “Hmm?”

Her bikini top hurtled through the air and struck his face, followed moments later by her bottoms.

The message was received loud and clear.

Jay brushed his hands together, then tucked his thumbs under the waist of his pants. “Let’s get aquatic.”

Marilyne gave him a come hither look. “Hurry up and show me what you’re made of.”

He began to lower his pants, only to bring them right back up. “I will! In just a sec!”

Marilyne squinted. “What?”

“All that beer does not stay in the human body, sweetie,” he said. “Unless you wanted me to let it out in the lake.”

She recoiled. “Ew!”

“Case and point.” He started trotting off to the woods. “Give me one minute. I’ll be right there with you.”

Marilyne, exhaling sharply, backstroked deeper into the lake.

“So much for the hot moment. Hurry up. I already crossed the point of no return. Might as well see this thing through.”

Jay went as fast as he could. Not wanting to risk worsening his girlfriend’s mood, he made sure he was well out of sight. The last thing Marilyne needed was to see his manhood performing its other function.

After a while, he determined he had gone far enough. It was not the distance, but the broken branch he tripped over that made him decide this. After tumbling like the buffoon he was, he pushed himself to his feet.

“Shit. Alright then.”

He initiated the task of emptying his bladder. Right away, his lower body felt as though it was deflating. It was a satisfying sensation, allowing him to enjoy another, even more satisfying one in the coming minutes.

With the deed done and the plants watered, he pulled up his pants.

“Okey dokey.”

Snap!

He stiffened, hearing the obvious sound of a snapping twig behind him. More rustling sounds followed, each one nearer. Footsteps.

Jay smiled and licked his lips. It had to be Marilyne. Bucky and Allison were still getting it on, Walter and Naomi were cooking, and Clifford and Irene were in Cabin One, probably getting it on as well.

“Oh, sweetie,” he said with a giggle. “You keep coming up with new ideas. Well, I was up for your party in the water. But if you want to get wild…” He slipped his pants and sandals off. “…Let’s get wild.”

He turned himself around, proudly sporting a smile over his naked form.

Standing before him was not Marilyne.

Jay’s eyes bulged. He tried to remember how many beers he had drunk during dinner. This thing could not exist. It was unlike anything he had ever heard of, let alone seen.

Big ugly eyes watched him intently, the creature’s shoulders rising and falling as it took its breaths.

A long, human tongue protruded from its teeth. But it was anything but human.

Jay backed up and began to yell.

The beast came forward like a football player, plowing directly into him. Jay was knocked on his back, the sharp edges of broken twigs and bark digging into his back and ass.

He flailed, having lost all coordination.

The creature stood over him, held its claws up for him to see, then proceeded to slash.

Jay shuddered with each swipe, feeling his insides unraveling and spilling down his sides.

The beast looked at its work, satisfied in letting the human spend his last moments whirling in an ocean of fear and blood. It turned around and moved towards the lake.

Jay remained in the dirt, twitching as his brain gradually began to shut down. Until then, he felt a new sense of his body deflating. This time, it was from his blood exiting his body.

Marilyne backstroked, enjoying the liberating feeling of freestyling it in the lake. As satisfying as it was, it did not erase the frustration brought about by Jay’s bathroom break.

She counted down the seconds in her head, estimating he was gone for five minutes at minimum.

“Holy shit, Jay. You taking a dump out there?” She regretted asking the question. “You know what? Don’t answer that. Some things need to remain a mystery.”

She continued swimming in large laps, watching the sun make its fall over the west part of the lake. Night was well on its way. The moon was full, making their little adventure all the more enticing. Then again, it would be, if a certain someone would hurry up.

“Jay?”

Splash!

She spun around and faced the east, barely catching a glimpse of the water rolling from a heavy impact. Given the fact there was nothing there to make such a splash, she knew it had to be her boyfriend.

There were a few other small waves parting in opposite directions as an object moved through the water towards her.

“Wow!” For once in her life, she found herself genuinely impressed with Jay. She never thought him as a great swimmer. He was okay, but he was not one to hold his breath for more than a few seconds.

Counting down in her head, Marilyne concluded he had been submerged for at least a minute. Not only that, but he was making his way over to her at a pretty fast rate.

She clicked her tongue. “Well, well, well, big guy. I guess, since you blew the ballast tank, you learned to run silent and deep.” She wheeled her arms, putting her body flat on the water’s top. “Up periscope. Target’s on the surface.”

She giggled and waited for the ‘assault’.

Her attacker emerged.

Marilyne took in the sight of the fish-man, its jaws opened wide and moving close. It dug into her abdomen, all the while digging its fingers into her back before submerging.

She was dragged down chin-deep, then thrashed about.

Her cries were brief and sporadic, each one quickly drowned out by waves of bloody water.

Each movement widened the tears in her body and quickened the outflow of blood. Bones cracked and hands wrapped around her thin arms, pulling them clean off her body.

Even as she fell apart, she tried lifting her head to get a breath. Even that became futile, not because of the water, but from the claw literally reaching inside her chest and lacerating both lungs. Drowning in both blood and water, Marilyne’s mind drifted off.

***

“Oh, yes. Oh, yeah… uh…” Allison lifted her head. “Why’d you stop?”

Bucky, still mounting her, had turned his eyes to the cabin’s front window. “I thought I heard something.”

Allison tapped his face. “For real? We literally just broadcast to Jay and Marilyne that we were going to be doing it on their bed. Hell, they actually witnessed it for a moment. And all of a sudden, now you’re uncomfortable?”

“It’s not that,” Bucky said. “I thought I heard Marilyne screaming.”

Allison laid her head back and laughed. “Oh, really?”

“Yes, really.”

“You know what they’re doing, right? They’re getting it on outside.” She put her hands over her eyes, her laughter intensifying. “And here we were thinking we had no shame.”

“That didn’t sound like screaming from that,” Bucky said.

“Like you would know,” she said.

That directed his attention back to her. “Ow!”

She remained still, still pinned down by him, waiting for the joyous act to continue. “Wanna prove me wrong?”

Accepting the challenge, Bucky pressed his lips to hers and began to shift his body. She closed her eyes and gave him complete control. Once again, she was lost in bliss. Maybe it was the scandalous act of using their friends’ bed, but there was something extra exciting about this particular round with Bucky.

Again, as quickly as it began, he stopped.

Her eyes opened and saw him looking at the door. “Holy fucking shit, dude. She’s fine.”

“No, I saw something by the window.”

“Something? Like a bird?”

Bucky shook his head. “No. I thought it was a person, but… I don’t know.”

Allison sighed. “This can’t be happening.”

“I’m serious,” he said.

“Then go check it out.”

Bucky leaned away from her. “Damn! Why are you so pissed?”

“Um… hello?” She pulled the sheets off, fully revealing the two of them entangled in their coupling. “Yeah, I’m about to pass you up for a little device. Sucks to be you, too. Because you were actually on the way to achieving that goal we were talking about.”

“Huh?”

Allison tightened her lips. “Just go.”

Realizing the mood was over, he pulled away from her and threw a thin pair of sweats on. “Give me just a sec.”

“Uh-huh.” She was already opening her drawer.

Groaning, he went to the door. As he grabbed the handle, he found a human-shaped shadow stretching to the east.

“Oh, you want a front row seat, Jay? Come on in and we’ll show you how it’s done.”

He opened the door and immediately froze.

It stood before him, shoulders hunched. Leaning slightly to the side, the humanoid looked past him at the female in the isolated room.

Bucky backed away. “Allison!”

The beast entered the cabin, closing the door behind it. A slash of its claw flayed his left cheek wide open.

Bucky dropped to one knee, the side of his face literally hanging off of him. Blood trickled into a thick puddle.

Allison shrieked, seeing her boyfriend at the mercy of this thing.

It slashed his back, causing him to lurch.

Another strike to the jaw shattered it. Then came concentrated grabs of his arms. A garbled yell left his throat as he felt both limbs snap. Next, it stomped on his knees, crushing each one with ease.

Standing over him, the beast gazed into the bedroom. Allison was pressed against the back corner, hands covering her chest.

Peeling its lips, the thing grabbed the impotent Bucky and dragged him into the bedroom, propping him against the wall facing the bed. Unable to move or make a substantial sound, he could do nothing but watch as the creature closed in on Allison.

She leaned away, as if that would somehow give her any safety. No words could come out. She was as vulnerable as she could ever be, up against the worst thing to walk on God’s green earth.

With superior strength, it pinned her down.

Her mouth parted, first in a pained grunt, then in a scream.

CHAPTER 11

The blender spun its blades, uniting its contents into one thick mixture. Naomi removed the cap and sniffed her freshly-created dressing.

“Oh, that’s heavenly. Take a look at this.” She allowed Walter to take her place.

“That does smell good,” he said.

“Here!” She tore off a piece of bread and handed it to him. “Dip it in and see how it tastes.”

“Bread with dressing?” he said.

“Of course!” she said between giggles. “Don’t be silly. Dressing can go with everything.”

“Everything? Even those burgers Clifford was cooking up?”

Naomi flinched at the thought. “Okay, not literally everything. But go on! Try it.”

Walter dipped the bread into the mixture and delivered it to its destination. “Mm!” He gave a wholehearted thumbs up. “That is very nice.”

Naomi looked over the rest of the ingredients. “Okay, everything’s set up on the table. How’s the pasta?”

Walter leaned over the stove. “The spiral noodles are looking good. The other pot’s not boiling yet, though.”

Naomi came over to check, only to burst out laughing. “Probably because you forgot to turn the burner on.” She twisted the knob and started the flame.

“Oh!” Walter smiled nervously. “I guess it would heat up faster had I done that.”

“That’s alright,” Naomi said. “This stuff cooks fast. Jay will just have to wait a little longer for his mac and cheese.”

She drained the pasta in the sink and brought the strainer to the table, emptying the noodles into a bowl. Next came the meat and veggies.

Walter, reading her mind, delivered the dressing.

“Ah, perfect.” She took it from him and carefully mixed it into the bowl. “And there it is. My famous pasta salad. It needs to cool a bit; most people agree it’s best served cold. Personally, I can eat it either way.”

“Should we wait for your famous mac and cheese to cook before we bring everyone over?”

Naomi looked at the clock. “Nah. I honestly don’t feel like heading all the way over there if it gets any darker than this. I’ll go get them. The pot will be fine by itself. That is, if you were gonna tag along.”

He dropped his serving spoon and followed her to the door. “Absolutely. I could use the exercise.”

“Oh, don’t beat yourself up,” she said. “You look just fine.”

“Aw, why thank you. Nice to hear that opinion for a change.”

She stopped at the door. “What? People actually call you fat?”

“My siblings and a couple of work buddies,” he said. “And I’m not talking about harmless banter. There’s plenty of other people I work with who make joking remarks, but I can fire right back. It’s a bit self-deprecating on some of their ends, since they’re way fatter than I am. But there’s a few who seem to believe it’s their duty to make me genuinely feel like crap about it.”

“Siblings.” She made an exasperated sigh.

“Got some of your own?”

“Technically, yes,” she answered.

Walter tilted his head. “Technically?”

“Yeah.” She cleared her throat, prepping to spill the beans. It was the first time she had talked to anyone about this in a few years. “I was engaged once.”

Walter raised his chin. “Oh!”

“A few years ago. You probably know how it is; young, thinking you’re in love, blah blah blah.”

“At our age, we all know it,” he joked.

“I know, right? Anyway, I come home from class early one day because I caught a stomach flu. I come into the apartment, and there’s the asshole, with her, clothes off… you get the idea.”

“He cheated on you with your sister?”

“Yeah. Younger sister,” Naomi emphasized. “She was eighteen. He was twenty-six at the time. Usually, I’m not put off by age differences as long as everyone’s legal, but something about him and her…” She shuddered. “Ugh!”

“Ugh!”

They looked to the door as an irritated Irene stepped into their cabin.

“Um, hi?” Naomi said.

“I’m two seconds away from killing Jay and Marilyne,” she replied. Naomi stood quietly, waiting for the ‘why’. Irene slapped her hands against her legs. “We were supposed to have a fire in Clifford’s cabin while we played board games and ate your delicious pasta salad. Jay’s job was to get the wood. The log pile is over by their cabin. There’s a wheelbarrow and everything. All he had to do was stack it and wheel it over. But did he?”

“I’m guessing no,” Walter said.

“No!” she confirmed. “Sorry, I know it’s a little thing. But all the guy needed to do was get wood. Wood!”

Naomi snorted. “He probably got wood alright. Probably why he forgot the kind you requested of him.”

“Yeah, probably,” Irene said. “Mind helping me get it? I know I said we’d use a wheelbarrow, but it still gets heavy.”

“Yeah, absolutely,” Walter said. “We were heading that way anyway.”

“Thanks.” Irene held the door open for them as they went outside.

Under the late evening air, they took in the sounds of frogs and loons livening up the lake. Its surface was flat and had a silvery tint to it, thanks to the full moon.

On their way to Cabin Five, Irene’s attitude shifted to a lighter tone. For several steps, she wore a big smile on her face, watching Walter and Naomi walking side by side.

Of course, Naomi took notice of this.

“What?”

“Noth’n.”

“Uh-huh.”

Irene tucked her chin down in a failed effort to suppress a giggle. “I guess I have to accept failure.”

“Failure…” All of a sudden, Naomi understood what she was getting at. “Oh, that failure. Yeah, that was never going to happen. I’d say ‘sorry to disappoint ya’, except I’m not.”

“Well, let’s see how you two work out. Who knows?” Irene shifted left and right in a weird dance. “Maybe if this ends up like it did with Johnny, maybe you’ll come around.”

Naomi almost felt nauseous from that idea.

“What is it about this summer heat that gets everyone’s brains in the gutter? And no, I’m pretty sure Walter’s not the type to cheat on me with my sister. Geez, this night is weird.”

“That it is,” Walter replied. He stopped, his eyes on the water up ahead. Something was disturbing the flat surface. “What is that?”

“Hmm?” Naomi followed his finger with her eyes. “The floating platform?”

“No. Shallower,” he said.

“I don’t… wait…” Naomi’s face wrinkled as she struggled to make out the shape. “What is that?”

“I reckon that wasn’t there before?” Walter asked.

“No,” Irene said, having finally sighted the thing.

The three of them broke into a sprint.

As they got closer, the item took on more definite form in their view. For a moment, Walter believed it to be a log. After a few more steps, it began to look like part of a raft, deflated.

Then he saw the legs.

It couldn’t be a human. There were no arms.

There may not have been arms, but there certainly were guts.

Naomi stopped and cupped her hands over her mouth. “Oh!”

Irene made a couple more steps before stopping with the exact same reaction. She coughed and dry-heaved.

“Who is that?”

“It’s a woman,” Walter said. Unlike the other two, he had seen a couple of deceased bodies in his time. In his line of work, accidents were a thing, and they were very ugly.

That did not make this situation any less disturbing. It was not as though this was a person who got in the way of a crane swinging a beam or someone getting their arm caught in the gears of a factory machine. This was a woman who was torn apart out in the open, with nothing but the water around her.

“A woman?” Naomi braved a closer look, getting a proper view of the woman’s face. With a bounding leap, she sprang backward, hands to her face. “Oh my God! It’s Marilyne!”

Irene turned around and screamed.

Walter bared his teeth, the shock quickly setting in. “These wounds—it almost looks like she’s been bitten.”

“By what?” Irene said. “A crocodile?”

“There are no crocodiles in this lake,” Naomi said.

“Oh, excuse me!” Irene snapped. “I guess I’ll go over all the other local animals that usually eat my friends.”

Naomi raised her hands to signal piece. “Sorry, sorry.”

“This doesn’t look like the work of a crocodile,” Walter said. “They’ve got long jaws, and I think they like to twist and turn. These are like something took big chunks out of her. Like a shark.”

“Oh, a shark?” Irene said. “But I’m the crazy one for suggesting it was a crocodile?”
Naomi put her hands on her friend’s shoulders. “Irene, please! Try and calm yourself.”

“I didn’t say it was a shark,” Walter said. “But whatever it is, it had a jaw structure similar to that.” He backed away from the body. “We need to get the cops here.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Naomi said. “Let’s go.”

“Wait, hold on,” Irene said. “Where are the others?”

“Allison and Bucky are probably in their cabin,” Naomi said. “Odd that they didn’t hear anything. And Jay… I don’t know.”

Irene stood on her tiptoes. “Jay?” She called his name several more times, then began to spiral into panic for a second time.

Walter was looking at Cabin Four. “Odd that Bucky and Allison haven’t poked their heads out.”

Irene wasn’t concerned about them at this instant. Still calling Jay’s name, she ran to Cabin Five.

“Jay? Are you in here?”

She went inside and screamed.

Walter and Naomi rushed to her aid, hands clenched into fists, ready to take on whatever it was she saw.

They each gasped after laying eyes on the horrific aftermath. As though the subjects of some demonic ritual, the corpses of Bucky and Allison were propped up in different parts of the room. Bucky had all four limbs broken and had suffered numerous lacerations. He was seated upright, head slumped to the side, having bled to death.

It appeared that, in his final moments, he was forced to witness Allison’s fate, which was way worse. She had died during the act, her eyes and mouth wide open.

Walter and Naomi did not go into the room. The brief glance they got from the doorway was more than enough.

Shock and confusion had them both feeling dizzy. It was something one could barely dream up on one of those murder/mystery documentaries. Furthermore, it was hard to tell if this was the act of an animal or a human.

Irene inched into the bedroom. “Oh, Allison.”

“No, leave her be,” Walter said. It took all of his energy to keep himself from stammering. “She’s dead. We need the police to investigate, and to do that, they need to examine the area exactly how we found it.”

“No!” Irene shouted. “You didn’t check for a pulse!”

“Look, Irene…”

She ignored him and went into the room. “Allison! Allison! Wake up…OH MY GOD!”

She backpedaled into view, away from something that had been hiding just out of sight by the far wall. Her hands clawed at her own face, the nerves electrified by unparalleled terror.

Walter and Naomi went to help her, but stopped short when they saw the monstrous fiend.

Huge teeth clicked together as the humanoid neared Irene. Large arms, armed with deadly claws, lifted from its sides. Round red eyes fixated on her, studying her from top to bottom.

It was a predator. A monster. Something that was not of this world. And it was eyeing Irene with specific interest.

“Get out of there, Irene!” Walter shouted, omitting the next part. Or you’ll suffer a fate worse than death!

Glancing at the deceased Allison, Irene shrieked and attempted to make a run for it. The beast caught her, howling its displeasure at her two companions. No longer interested in forceful copulation, it straightened its fingers and plowed its hand into her back.

Irene juddered, blood jetting from her chest. Her eyes looked down at the five fingers extending from her breastbone, retracting as the creature freed its limb.

Letting her freshly slain corpse hit the ground, it strutted after Walter and Naomi.

“Go!” Walter shouted, taking her by the hand.

They sprinted faster than either of them had ever run in their lives. Twenty feet behind them, the creature emerged outside. With its many teeth on full display, it ran after them.

“Oh, my God! Oh, my God!” Naomi shouted. They could hear its heavy footsteps pounding the earth behind them.

Walter used his free hand to feel his pockets.

Shit. My truck keys are in the cabin.

They had to drive out of here, for there was no chance in hell they could possibly overpower the man-fish behind them.

“Get to my cabin!” he shouted. “Let’s go! We’ll get my keys and make a break for my truck.” With that in mind, he put all of his energy into his lungs. “Clifford! Get to my truck!”

He wasn’t sure if the guy heard him or not.

“Clifford!” Naomi joined in.

They passed the recreation building, the beast gradually closing in behind them, its screeches as sharp to the ears as its teeth were to flesh.

Walter and Naomi veered right and went for his door.

“Get inside!” he shouted. Naomi went in first and stood by the door. As soon as Walter entered the cabin, she slammed it shut and slid the lock home.

The beast struck the door on the outside, immediately forming a crack in its center. Its claws went to work, splintering the insignificant barrier between itself and the meat bags hiding from it.

“Crap!” Realizing he did not have as much time as he anticipated, Walter turned around and began fumbling with the kitchen table in search of his keys. “Crap! Crap! Where did I put them?”

“What do you mean you don’t know?” Naomi said.

“If I knew I was going to be attacked by a killer fish-man, I would’ve kept better track,” he replied. His hand swept over a booklet, uncovering the wallet. “Ah! Here it is.”

The door broke apart. In its place stood the flesh-eating monstrosity.

Watching the two people trapped in the cabin, it took its time approaching, relishing in the fear permeating the room.

Walter held his hand away from the back door’s knob, watching the way the beast moved. It knew what he was thinking, and was clearly waiting for him to make a break for it.

What? Are you giving us a chance? Giving us a sprinkle of hope?

Its face moved a few degrees to its left, studying Naomi. A long, pink, horrid tongue extended from its mouth.

Naomi recoiled. That thing was not a fish feature, but distinctly human. Just longer and more off-putting, especially contrasting against its greenish-color and the piranha-jaws.

“Walter?” The way she spoke, she knew what the thing was up to.

“I know.”

“What do we do?”

He inhaled deeply. “We’re gonna go for it.”

“I don’t think that’ll work,” she whispered, her face wet with sweat.

“It will.”

His hand inched toward the knob.

The creature bent its knees slightly, its body tense with anticipation.

Walter counted down from three, asked the Big Guy upstairs for a little help, and made his move.

The creature came at him.

Walter’s hand moved from the knob to the pot handle. Lifting it overhead like a tennis racket, he brought it off the red-hot burner where it had been sitting, catapulting the boiling hot water onto the creature’s face and neck.

High pitched screeches rang in their ears. The creature stumbled backwards, its hands whipping out in a frenzy, breaking windows, smashing the table, and cracking the small television set. Steam lifted off of its body like an angry spirit, the flesh under those armor scales blistering.

Walter opened the door. “Naomi!”

She ran past him. He slammed the door shut, knowing it was futile, but figured the few moments of time it would buy them was worth it.

“Clifford!” he shouted.

He looked to his right where the vehicles were parked. Near his truck was an SUV and a van in which the others had traveled together.

As tempting as running away felt, he could not bring himself to abandon Clifford.

“Clifford! Get your ass out here!” Naomi shouted.

Clifford marched out of his cabin and made a straight line to them. He was in his pajamas, holding his pants up with one hand, his face red.

“Excuse me? What the hell’s going on out here? You know you could just knock on my door…” He stopped, hearing the sounds of thrashing inside Cabin Two. “What the shit’s going on in there? Who’s doing that? Is that Bucky?”

“No! Dude! We’ve gotta go!” Walter said. “Get in my truck.”

“They’re all dead!” Naomi shouted. “Everyone, they’re dead! There’s this thing, this—”

“Crazy serial killer!” Walter interrupted. There was no sense in sounding like lunatics by telling him about a fish-man.

Not that it mattered. Clifford looked at them like they were nutjobs anyway.

“You guys have lost the plot, you know that?” He raised his hand and made a spooky face. “Oooo! There’s a killer in the woods. Yeah, that joke’s been done so much to death, it’s beyond a stereotype. And it’s not like the movies where it’s the one time it turns out to be real, and the guy who doesn’t believe it is the unlucky person to get butchered.”

SMASH!

Pieces of debris exploded from the cabin. They wheeled horizontally across the air like shot spread from a shotgun, clipping the three people standing outside.

The largest of the pieces struck Walter’s brow, knocking him to the ground. The keys skidded from his grasp, settling in the grass.

Clifford’s hands flapped as if he were a bird attempting to take flight. The visual of the monster triggered a frenzied reaction from him that initiated with two seconds of incoherent panic, followed by a strong desire for self-preservation.

He went into a sprint, knocking Naomi over as she attempted to pick up Walter’s keys.

Snatching them up for himself, he made a beeline for his truck, not even giving two thoughts to his last surviving guests.

He reached the driver’s side door of Walter’s truck and pulled himself inside.

The beast neared the two humans on the ground in front of it, ready to seek vengeance for the scalding hot trick they had pulled on it. It delayed their punishment after seeing the headlights come alive and an engine roar.

Clifford put the truck in reverse and moved in a semi-circle to put himself in position to speed out through the trail.

In his clumsiness, he rear-ended Bucky’s van. Even after collision, he kept his foot on the accelerator. There was the sound of one of the van tires spewing air as the tailgate opened, spilling nails and screws Walter had intended to use for the repairs.

Only when the creature rushed the vehicle did Clifford finally put it in drive. He gunned the accelerator again, but not before the thing rammed its arm through the driver’s side window.

“JESUS! MARY H. GOD!”

He floored the pedal, taking the truck directly into the SUV, imploding the engines of both vehicles.

With the getaway truck out of order, Clifford was doomed to suffer a fate intended for Walter.

He was pulled through the window, kicking and screaming. The humanoid lifted him over its head like a wrestler displaying his dominance to the audience before making the finishing move.

“No! Don’t kill me!” Clifford shouted.

It was a request that only spurred the monster on.

Hollering at the top of his lungs, Clifford was thrown to the ground feet-first. He landed on his heels with a force comparable to dropping from a ski lift. His shin bones came up through his knees like daggers.

Mouth agape, he fell forward.

Relishing in his pain and fear, the monster stood over him, watching Clifford claw at the dirt in a pitiful attempt to escape.

“Help me!” he pleaded in a raspy voice.

The beast reached down and picked him up again like a parent with a toddler, hands under his armpits. It held him high, lining his stomach up with its face. Those jaws extended and took in a large mouthful of flesh.

Clifford quivered, tongue sticking out of his mouth, feeling every tooth, every twist, every extraction of flesh from that region. His insides spilled freely, wetting the creature’s front and the ground at its feet.

“Oh…” Naomi felt herself getting lightheaded. She used to make many remarks of how she hated how women fainted in old black and white horror movies. Yet, here she was, on the verge of doing the same thing.

Walter was not too far behind.

“Come on,” he said, his throat tight. “Get into Clifford’s cabin.”

The two of them made a sprint for the building, all the while attempting to block out the sounds of Clifford’s dying gasps.

They reached the cabin’s side door. As luck would have it, it was locked.

“Great!”

“It’s coming!” she said.

Walter looked back.

Discarding Clifford’s mangled body, the flesh eater came at them, ready to finish what it had set out to do.

“Get to the front door,” Walter said to her.

“No.” Naomi took a deep inhale and took control of her nerves. “It wants me.”

“It wants…” Walter shook his head, understanding what she was implying. “Yeah, I know! And it wants me to watch—just like it did with Bucky and Allison. What kind of sick freak is this thing?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “But we can’t outrun it.”

“Not really a plan,” Walter said.

The thing was a few meters away, closing fast.

“Yeah, but I can get it all hot and steamy,” Naomi said in a seductive voice. Walter was disgusted. The woman was serious.

She moved to the side, getting the thing’s attention.

“Hey! You!”

It stopped and locked on to her with its eyes, responding with a snarl.

“That’s right.” She slowly rubbed her hands over her midsection. Her fingers went under her shirt, slowly lifting it.

The beast cocked its head with interest and curiosity. It wasn’t used to having someone volunteer herself before.

Walter kept perfectly still. One wrong move, and the thing might bust his arms and legs.

Naomi’s midriff was entirely exposed now. Keeping her shirt lifted with one hand, she tucked a thumb under the waist of her shorts, peeling them down just enough to tease her pelvic region.

The thing was facing her now. It was hunched forward, its knees bent slightly, responding to her signals.

“Yeah? That what you want?” She kept her skin exposed. “Or is that not what you like? You want me to fight? To call for help?”

The thing stepped forward, growling.

“I can fight, if that’s what you find hot.” She knelt down and tucked both thumbs in her waist, undoing the button. “Come and get me. Don’t worry about Walter. I command him to watch every move.”

Crazed, the beast came at her.

“That’s my baby.”

Her hands moved from her shorts to the gas can right behind her. Unscrewing the cap in one fluid motion, she doused the beast in liquid fuel.

It recoiled, the gasoline stinging its eyes.

Walter, watching her every move, took the hint. He sprinted past her to Clifford’s grill, grabbing the box of extra-large matches. Pulling five of them out, he struck a flame. Together, they lit up like a small torch.

“You did promise something hot and steamy.”

He moved to the creature and threw the bundle of matches at it.

In the blink of an eye, its entire body was encased in yellow flame. The beast spun on its feet, roaring like a crocodile, arms slashing at its own body to rip the fire off of itself.

In its rage, it tried to make a go at Walter. But with pain and heat came clumsiness, and it stumbled past him, landing on the lawnmower. Its claws breached the gas tank, spilling its contents.

BAM!

It was a small explosion, but enough to launch the humanoid backward. Rolling on the ground, it failed to put out the agonizing fire. For once, its scales provided little protection. A few of them flaked off, revealing dark skin underneath, and boiling red blood.

Like many of its enemies had done in its presence, it crawled on its hands and knees.

Walter regrouped with Naomi and stood near the cabin’s front door, watching the bloodthirsty flesh eater gradually make its way to the lake.

Part of him wanted to find something to finish it off. A spear, a knife, anything. At the same time, he had no desire to go anywhere near that thing, even in its current condition.

“Die,” Naomi said. Her seductive act was long gone, and her natural state of terror and exhaustion was on full display. “Die, bastard.”

It hissed in pain, the water stinging its wounds. Though painful, it was necessary, as the flames still ate away at its body. It summoned the strength and pulled itself completely into the water, extinguishing the fire and retreating to the sanctuary of the calm black lake.

After a minute, all the ripples were gone, and the ecosystem surrounding the lake went back about its business. Loons called out, frogs and crickets made their racket, and flies darted over the shallow water.

“You think it’ll die?” Naomi asked.

“God, I hope so,” Walter said. “But I’m not taking any chances.” He looked at the vehicles. There was no way they would be driving out of here. None of them had their phones to hand. All they had was Clifford’s cabin and some lumber in the bed of Walter’s truck.

“We have no choice. We have to hide out here tonight.”

“Can’t we run?” she asked.

Walter gave the idea some consideration, but shook his head. “No. How do we know there aren’t more of those things?”

“Hmm. Good point,” she replied. “Besides, I don’t think I could make it anyway.”

“I know.” He kissed her on the forehead. “Hey, that was good work there. You even had me fooled for a minute.”

“I’m just glad it worked out, because I don’t want to… what Allison…” Her voice trailed off.

“It won’t happen,” Walter said. “I know you’re super tired. I need you to keep your strength up just a little longer. We’re going to barricade the cabin as best we can. Okay?”

She nodded. “Okay.”

Gathering their strength, mental and physical, they went to work.

CHAPTER 12

By dawn’s early light, Moro had his team on the move. After failing to locate the prisoner, they set up camp, with one man on watch at all times. The previous evening was not without its clues. During their search, they located a fishing boat with two corpses inside it, and three other bodies belonging to a separate group. In the case of the latter, the subject may have done society a favor, based on the duffle bag full of money in their truck.

What Moro still didn’t understand was the state of the bodies. They looked as though they had been mauled by an animal. Though it was common to refer to the scumbag Gale Frye as an animal, Moro didn’t literally think of him as one.

Many of them had been disemboweled in a way that started to make the captain question if they truly were on Frye’s trail. The only thing, other than the stolen vehicle, that convinced him Frye was involved was the way one of the robbers was killed. The guy’s head had been stomped into the earth. That was definitely not something an animal would do. But Gale Frye? Absolutely.

They proceeded north, passing the narrow portion of the lake to its T-shaped end.

Lillian groaned in frustration, having stepped in a large puddle of mud.

“What’s the matter, Doc?” Alverez asked. “Life in the outdoors too much for you?”

“Cap did suggest you wait at the fancy, air-conditioned office,” Gantman muttered.

“You’re not paid to talk. You’re paid to find the subject,” she snapped. “Which you’re not very good at, by the way.”

“Didn’t realize you were a specialist in manhunts,” Moro said under his breath.

“Maybe I’m not, but I can make basic points,” she said. “We’ve allowed him the entire night to gain distance. I don’t think a key factor in manhunts is allowing them to gain distance.”

“Yeah, let’s pursue the crazy, naked, mass murdering criminal in the dead of night, in the middle of the woods of all places,” Moro said. “Yeah, we’re good at our job, lady. Even Alverez.”

“Why thank you, boss.”

“Unless he speaks.” Moro waited, delighted in the temporary effect of shutting the merc up. “Anyway, my point is: part of being good at our job is knowing when not to pursue. It’s all about judgement. You know; the thing you should’ve exercised before choosing to run your test on a death row psycho.”

“Here we go again,” Lillian said. “As I’ve said a million times; they would not allow human trials. It would take years before we could get the approval. The only way we could circumvent the issue was running a test on someone who was as good as dead already.”

“Yes, yes.” Moro tried not to laugh. “I’ve heard your pitch every one of those million times. I love how you think, every single time, that it’s going to affect my way of thinking.”

“Maybe I’m trying to appeal to any sense of compassion,” she replied. “You don’t know what it’s like to hold someone in your arms and tell them it’s going to be okay, when it really won’t. Have you ever seen someone malformed because of an accident? Something that left them in agonizing pain?”

All five team members exchanged glances, all in shock that this lady was for real.

“You do know you’re speaking with a bunch of combat vets, right?” Alverez said. It was one of the rare times the others were actually glad to hear what came out of his mouth.

Lillian’s eyes stayed fixed on Moro.

“To answer your question: yes,” he said. “I’ve seen men with limbs blown off, men with bones exposed, guys with their faces disfigured from bullet hits. I’ve seen the aftermath of IED explosions, raging fires, artillery blasts, napalm… it was a busy career.”

“I know,” she replied. “That’s why you were able to get away with collapsing a building with civilians inside.”

Moro did not take the bait. He had no regrets for what he did. A bomber and sniper, responsible for over a hundred U.S. casualties between them, were holed up in that building. Moro was done playing by the book. He took some charges, rigged the structure at its base, and brought it down on itself.

“Your point?”

She smiled. “You’re just as bad as I am. But you did what you did to save lives, right? Even though there was collateral damage in the process.” For once, Moro did not respond. “That’s exactly what I’m doing.”

A moment of silence passed over the group.

“I’m still getting over the whole piranha connection,” Alverez said.

Moro shut his eyes and envisioned taking the idiot’s jaw off. Before his imagination got to the good part, Kilian called over to him.

“We’ve got something, Cap.”

Moro moved to the shore and looked to the northernmost part of the lake. There, a bunch of cabins were spread out.

He remembered seeing on the map that this area was privately owned by somebody. And through his binoculars, it appeared that ‘somebody’ had an issue with Mr. Frye. There were a bunch of wrecked vehicles behind the middle building. One of the cabins had a door busted in, and the big one on the end looked as though it had been boarded up.

“Straight out of Night of the Living Dead,” Alverez exclaimed, looking through his own set of glasses.

“Keep in mind how it worked out for all of the people in that movie,” Moro warned.

“The original or the remake?” Alverez asked. “Because, in the remake, the chick actually lives…”

“Let’s move,” Moro said, unable to take the sound of his voice any longer.

Quickening their pace, the group moved north around the bend of the lake, and closed in on the property.

***

Walter was surprised how well Naomi slept. After all of the hard work barricading the house, she conked out on the sofa.

It was around seven when she stirred.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” he said. “Feeling okay? I mean, you know, considering?”

Naomi shriveled in her seat. “I was hoping it was all a bad dream.”

“Me too,” he said.

“Oh!” She sat up, looking troubled. “I’m sorry. I didn’t help keep watch.”

“Ah.” He dismissed the apology with a wave. “I couldn’t sleep anyway. I’m just glad you were able to get some rest.”

She made a weak smile. “Couldn’t sleep, huh? I guess you are even more freaked out by that thing than I am.”

“There might be some truth to that,” Walter said. “Also, you snore.”

She sat up, feigning offense. “I do not!”

“Oh, you sure do!”

Laughing, she stood up. The cloud of fear returned after she took a glance through the window at the lake.

“I wonder if it died.”

“It never came back. I know that much,” Walter said. “I’ve been thinking about making a run for it. We were worried there were more of them. But since no others showed up, I’m thinking it was just the one.”

“And we torched his ass,” Naomi said proudly.

“That we did.” He gave the lake one more thorough look. “I was hoping to see a boat, but no such luck. So, if you’re up for it, we’re hitchhiking out of here.”

“Suits me,” she said.

“Good.” He directed her attention to the kitchen. “I took the liberty of brewing up something extra-strong. Don’t know about you, but I could use it.”

She put a hand on his arm. “You’re always thinking.”

Naomi started preparing for the trip, collecting water and snack items into a pouch. They each used the restroom, took some ibuprofen for some muscle pain resulting from the strain of last night’s events, and grabbed a pair of knives from the kitchen. They knew the knives would do no good against the thing, but it made them feel better all the same.

“Okay, I’m all set,” Naomi said.

Walter went to the window to grab a lighter and a quart of lighter fuel he had found during the night. He held them up for Naomi to see.

“In case our friend wants another cookout.”

She gave a thumbs up. Her sense of confidence dropped in a heartbeat, her finger going to a gap in the window. A shape had passed on the other side.

“Walter!” Her voice was a shrill whisper. “I think it’s here.”

Walter put his eyes to the window. He saw nothing but the lake, the beach, and the grass between it and the cabin… and a blur of motion of something moving out of sight. It was near the front door.

His timing in picking up the lighter fluid couldn’t have been better. He moved to the door, holding the bottle in one hand and the lighter in the other.

“Let’s do this.”

Naomi, reading his mind, went to the door. “You sure this is how we should do it?”

He nodded. “The barricades were just meant to buy us time in case it tried to break in. Let’s face it; those things weren’t going to keep it out entirely. We’ve got the element of surprise.”

She nodded and used a hammer to remove some nails that kept a pair of boards placed over the door. Once finished, she grabbed the knob, then looked at Walter.

“It’s right outside.”

“Okay, on three,” he said. “One…two…three!”

Naomi opened the door.

Walter lit a flame and squeezed the bottle as hard as he could, releasing a stream of lighter fluid over the lighter. A small river of flame gushed through the doorway.

On the other side, two men in black military outfits yelped and moved to the side.

“WHOA!” one of them exclaimed.

Walter stopped. This was not the creature, but human beings.

“Holy shit!”

The group of men looked at the fire eating away at the front porch, one of which was quick to crack a joke.

“That’s a good way to burn your toast.”

“Everyone alright?” the leader of the group said.

“All things considered,” another of the men said, rubbing his boot into the dirt to extinguish a small flame that had landed on it.

Walter and Naomi stood perplexed. There were five men, all of whom were real black ops in their attire and gear. They held military-grade assault rifles and had a few other items that almost appeared medical in nature.

There was one woman in the group, dressed in standard hiking clothes, but the medical supplies protruding from her pockets and first aid bag were anything but outdoors related.

“Thanks for the greeting,” the tall leader said.

“Who the hell are you people?” Naomi said.

“Your new best friends,” the jokester replied. “Oh, and by the way, there’s easier ways to fry eggs.” He continued stomping out the fire as he spoke.

“Alverez…” the leader tightened his jaw, visibly fed up with the guy. “Stop talking.” He looked out the door at the other four men. “Secure the area. The son of a bitch is close.”

“Hey, is that coffee I smell?” Alverez said.

He pushed past the two friendlies and went into the kitchen, opening cabinets until he located the mugs.

“Help yourself,” Walter said in a flat tone.

“Who the hell are you people?” Naomi said. “You’re not the cops, obviously. But you’re definitely here for that thing, aren’t you?”

The leader smiled and decided to join Alverez for some coffee. “Yeah, he’s a real monster, isn’t he? I reckon you’ve seen him.”

Walter’s brow furrowed. “Him?”

The man took Alverez’s mug, sparking protest.

“Oh, come on, Moro!”

“Mmhmm,” the leader said, returning to the living room, sipping from the cup. “Want any, Doc?”

The woman in the group shook her head. “Shouldn’t we be continuing our search?”

“We are,” Moro said. “Just getting some fuel.”

“What the hell is going on?” Naomi said. “Who are you looking for?”

“The same guy who did a number on your place here,” Moro said. “I thought that would be obvious.”

“How nice of you to humanize it,” Walter remarked.

Moro chuckled. “Well, I guess it’s fair to think of him as anything other than human, considering all he’s done. But pardon me if I stick with the pronoun.”

“Wait, hold on,” Naomi said. She analyzed Moro’s particular phrasing. It did not add up. “It sounds like you’re hunting a… person?”

Moro and the doctor looked at each other.

“Yes?” he said. He aimed his coffee cup in the direction of the wrecks and other cabins. “What he did to a couple of your buddies is kind of his calling card. He’s real sick. And going by the way he’s mutilating people, he’s getting real creative with his killings.”

By now, it was clear they were not talking about the same thing Walter and Naomi had encountered last night.

“What are you guys talking about? That was not a person we saw! It was this… huge… creature!” Walter reflected on the beast’s appearance and characteristics. “It had scales, huge claws, a mouth and teeth like a shark. Or a piranha!”

“It was humanoid in shape,” Naomi said. “Not only does it enjoy heinous murder, but it has uncanny sexual desires as well.”

Alverez sniggered. “That last part is definitely Gale Frye.”

The doctor’s face came alive as though she had seen a ghost. “Shh!”

Alverez stood still, coffee mug held an inch from his mouth as he realized his slipup. “Oops.”

Both Naomi and Walter took a step backwards to put a little extra distance between them and Moro. This situation was getting uglier and stranger by the second.

They knew that name, Gale Frye. The headlines were national, putting to light the many horrific crimes of that serial killer and rapist.

“Hold on,” Naomi said. “Gale Frye is dead. They executed him.” Her eyes went to the doctor’s bag, particularly the logo, which read Starfish Corporation. “Oh, my God.”

“What is it?” Walter asked.

“These people are with that company,” she said. “Starfish.”

“What about it?” Walter asked.

“I’m training to be a vet, remember? One of my professors had spent some time with the company. He said they were up to some real wicked experiments. Genetic research, cell regrowth, etcetera. He said they were trying to get human trials, but couldn’t, because of some bad side effects.”

“What side effects?” Walter asked.

“Heart palpitations, a few instances of tumors…” the doctor quickly said in an obvious half-truth to cover up the real issue.

“Mutation,” Naomi said. “The subjects’ genetic structure was realigned, causing them to take on whole new characteristics. He said it practically turned them into new animals. Not good ones, either.”

Moro was looking at the doctor with inquisitive eyes. “Well, Lillian…” Going by his tone, he gave zero shits about the fact he was using her name in front of witnesses. “…When were you going to tell me this?”

“That was an old formula,” she said in defense. “The one given to the subject was the perfected version.”

“The ‘subject’,” Walter said. “You mean Gale Frye? The guy who butchered two nuns after…” He decided it was not worth mentioning the things he did to them prior to murder. “What happened? The company take custody of the guy? Make an agreement with the state to convince the public the moron was dead?”

“The detective who arrested Frye had made a statement about not being able to attend the execution,” Naomi said in realization. “Oh, my God. You guys really did it, didn’t you?”

Lillian could not take it anymore. “I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again. I’ve created a medical breakthrough and I wanted to cut through some of the red tape in order to get it to the public. In order to do that, I needed a disposable subject to run my tests on! Who cares if it was Gale Frye? The guy’s a scumbag, we all agree on this. It worked to our advantage, because if the shit fucked him up, nobody would care.”

“I wouldn’t call it an advantage,” Alverez quipped.

“He was fucked up to begin with,” Moro commented. “I’m more concerned with what he’s become since he escaped.” He looked at the two friendlies, his laid-back demeanor gone. “You said he had scales?”

“That, and claws, teeth, gills…” Naomi tried to think of anything else worth mentioning. “We managed to set him on fire with gasoline. Roasted him pretty good, too.”

“Yeah,” Walter said. “It crawled back into the lake. Seemed pretty weak by the time it got there. It got burnt pretty bad. Might be dead by now.”

Moro rolled his shoulder and fixed his grip on his weapon. “I don’t think so…”

Gantman and Swanson walked together near a patch of trees on the west end of the property. The area was silent, the water shimmering in the direction of the breeze.

“What are these?” Swanson said. He moved to the shoreline where a few oval-shaped discs were located. They were rigid, their texture similar to metal, with some sort of element like calcium comprising it.

He picked one up. “Almost looks like a shield.”

“There’s a few of them,” Gantman said. He looked to the water, where several more of the items glinted in the sunlight underwater. “Damn! There’s a bunch of them.”

“Look like beer tabs,” Swanson said.

“More like fish scales, to me,” Gantman said.

Swanson held the scale to the sun, forming a large shadow over his face. “Would have to be one big-ass fish.”

“All units, return to the cabin. I have an update on the target.”

Gantman turned around. “I’m not used to Captain Moro sounding unnerved.”

“He’s just tired of this stupid mission,” Swanson said. “I think he might call it off… What the—”
SPLASH!

Gantman stopped, feeling water hit the back of his ankles. “Did you seriously just fall into the water?” He hesitated before turning around, savoring the anticipation.

SPLASH!

He felt a splatter of liquid against his elbow and wrist. It was warm… and red.

Blood.

Gantman turned around.

Swanson was not in the water, but on the ground, his body twitching, his middle ripped wide open like an old mattress, revealing organs, bones, and rivers of blood.

Crouched over him was something he thought he would only see in movies and nightmares.

The creature yanked its head from Swanson’s body, stretching wet pieces of flesh as it turned its attention to the flabbergasted mercenary. Those carnivorous jaws stretched open, its pink tongue licking the blood around its mouth, enjoying the taste while simultaneously taunting the man watching it.

Gantman lifted his gun. “AGH!”

The beast made its move before he could squeeze the trigger. A single swipe of its claw took his head off his shoulders. The last thing Gantman saw was a glimpse of his own headless body, mixed with a haze of the sky and water and he hurtled into the water like a golf ball.

PLOP!

Kilian heard the yell and the splash. The men may have been getting sloppy in this uneventful hunt, but no way would any of them make unnecessary sounds to that degree.

He ran from the recreational building westward, stopping in his tracks after seeing Gantman and Swanson lying near the shore, an ocean of blood leaking into the lake.

In that puddle of blood were huge footprints leading into the lake. A small trail of blood zigzagged from the main red cloud that was forming, hooking around the dock back to shore… concluding where a large, armor-plated man-beast emerged.

Like everyone before him, it took Kilian a moment to get over the initial shock of what he was looking at. He was anticipating a crazy naked convict, not an abomination straight from the depths of hell.

Snarling, the beast came at him.

Kilian, shouting in panic, pointed his gun and let loose a river of bullets. The creature waded through them, the bullets sparking and breaking apart against its freshly generated scales.

“AGH!!!”
The flesh eater closed in and slapped both claws over Kilian’s face.

“What the fuck?”

Hearing the gunfire, Moro and Alverez rushed out of the cabin. A few feet from the front porch, they beheld the sight of Kilian being picked up by his head. He kicked his legs and flailed his arms, his combat training degraded into mindless movements of panic.

He wailed as the beast pressed its thumbs through his eyes. It did not stop with blinding him. Its huge fingers began to bend, ripping into his scalp…then his skull.

Like a sheet of crumpled newspaper balled around a tomato, his head imploded, spewing large streams of red stuff.

“Son of a bitch,” Moro gasped. That stuff the civilian lady had said about mutations on previous test subjects was not bullshit. It appeared the same side effect was present in Lillian’s newest formula. Only this time, it was worse, for the subject who was mutated was already a monster long before his alteration.

Spotting the two remaining mercs, the beast dropped Kilian’s body and came at them.

“Damn!” Alverez said, aiming his rifle. “Let’s invite Gale Frye to a ‘fish fry’!”

He started blazing away.

Right away, his sense of humor depleted at the lack of damage his weapon was having.

Moro joined the fight, hitting it in the upper torso and neck. He may as well have been shooting at the side of an M1 Abrams tank. The bullets hit the shell and broke apart, barely leaving a scratch.

It waded through their gunfire, deliberately demonstrating the uselessness of their weapons. Seeing Moro lift his muzzle a few inches, it put its hands over its vulnerable eyes. Bullets slammed against its wrists, cracking the thinner, weaker scales covering them.

Now, it felt a sense of urgency. The savoring was over. It was ready to finish the job.

Moro ejected his empty magazine and ran east, shouting to Alverez. “MOVE!”
“What’s the plan, boss?” he replied, also in the midst of reloading. “Our guns don’t seem to be much good! That doctor sure she didn’t use the DNA of a tortoise?”

“The cabin folk said they used gasoline and fire…” Moro said. He went for the rec building, seeing the gas meter outside. “Draw it in there, pull the gas lines, and set it ablaze.”

“Excellent!” Alverez replied. “And have that Fish Frye.”

Moro clenched his teeth. Even now, the idiot was still on a roll.

They reached the building and pulled the door open. Moro stepped inside and looked at all of the lumber tossed about. Clearly, a little renovation of some kind was being done.

Alverez stood by the door and fired a few more shots at the oncoming creature. With no signs of stopping, he slammed it shut and locked it.

Moro went to the kitchen and pulled some gas lines, hearing the hiss of their valves filling the building with the flammable contents.

The creature cracked the door open with a single blow.

Alverez backed up into the middle of the room. “Okay, question: how are we gonna keep it in after we escape?”

“Bait,” Moro said bluntly.

Alverez didn’t like the sound of that. “Hold on…”

BANG!

“AGH!” The merc fell to the floor, blood pumping from his left knee. He rolled to and fro, grabbing his injured leg. “You son of a bitch, Moro!”

The captain didn’t bother with any response. He was simply concerned with the big picture. As he had demonstrated in the past, he had no qualms about making small sacrifices for the greater good.

Moro made sure to move to the back of the room, avoiding any return fire, as well as granting himself a wide view to make sure his plan would work.

After another impact, the door broke into pieces.

In came the creature, immediately laying eyes on the injured mercenary on the floor.

Alverez squeaked, his gun pointed in Moro’s direction to exact vengeance. He swung its barrel to engage the more pressing threat. A few shots bounced off its abdomen as the beast made its way over to him. A swing of its claw knocked the rifle out of his hand.

Alverez floundered. “Get away from me, you overgrown perch! You guppy! You worm-eating sunfish!”

The beast took another swipe.

Blood splattered the floor and nearby wall.

Alverez rolled to his stomach, his tongue hanging freely below his upper jaw. Dangling alongside it were strands of red tissue, the last remnant of his severed lower jaw.

The beast had successfully shut him up.

Moro seized the opportunity and went for the door. He opened it, and ran headfirst into several sheets of plywood leaning against it.

“What the—”

He tried to push them over. They budged a little bit, but showed no signs of going anywhere.

Peeking as far as he could, he spotted the corners of a few large bags that had been piled on the other side of the plywood.

Cement bags.

The smell of gas filled his nose.

Time was not on Moro’s side. The sheets were wedged between the cement mix bags and the top of the awning. Muscling his way through would not work in the few moments that he had.

He looked to the front of the room, hoping to find a way past the creature while it was focused on Alverez.

The jawless merc’s attempt to crawl away lasted precisely five seconds. The beast had its gaze level with Moro’s, clearly hellbent on getting to the leader of the group.

It steadied its breathing, shoulders rising and falling, watching Captain Moro.

“Yeah, that’s right.” He kicked away some lumber that was blocking his path to the exit. “You remember me, don’t you? Freak.” He pointed at his injured shoulder. “Surprise, surprise. You didn’t kill me.”

Frye made a move towards him, deliberately stepping on Alverez’s neck, crushing it, and leaving the guy to twitch and squirm in his final moments.

Indeed, it did recognize Moro. There was no real history between the two; he was just the guy who was going to lock the door and throw away the keys after the procedure.

To Frye, that was enough to hold a grudge.

Moro looked to a window on his right. It was his only chance. He could not shoot—at this point, the muzzle flash may ignite the gas in the building. He would require pure, brute force.

He went for the window.

The pressing situation, rising adrenaline, and general rustiness from being out of service for several years made him miss the hole in the subflooring.

Down he went, impaling himself on a piece of pipe.

He sat upright on the concrete foundation, looking at the piece of metal sticking out of his pelvis.

“Fuck…”

Of all the ways he was going to meet his end, after everything he had been through, this was it.

The beast stood over the gap, watching him with bemusement. A shaky growl came out of its mouth.

Moro sneered.

Is it laughing at me?

Feeling his blood draining from his body, he chose to go out by getting a laugh of his own. He pointed his gun at the beast.

It didn’t move, unafraid, since those bullets were no good against its hide.

“Joke’s on you.”

BANG! BANG! BANG!

The shots struck its scales. One of them landed at an angle, creating enough friction to create a spark and ignite the room full of gas.

BOOM!

Walter and Naomi fell to the floor of Cabin One’s living room, the windows and barricades falling off the wall as though a rocket had come down nearby.

A wave of intense heat swept into the cabin with the air current, bringing with it a plume of black smoke.

“What happened?” Naomi said.

“I don’t know,” Walter said. “I think the guy used the gas lines.”

Naomi stood up. “I don’t see the doctor.”

“Don’t worry about her. Worry about us,” Walter said.

They went outside and gazed upon the burning rec building. Much of Cabin Two, being the closest, had been caught in the blast, catching fire on its left wall. The rec building itself was in shambles. Its basic structure was intact, but aside from the bones, everything was completely destroyed.

Dancing from its center was a tall, orange fire, stretching far above where the roof had been.

The two of them approached Cabin Two, not daring to get any closer to the flame.

“You think it’s dead?” Naomi asked.

“Please, God, let it be,” Walter replied. He began glancing at his surroundings. Now that they had figured out what had happened, he was curious where Lillian had disappeared to.

Turns out, she was standing outside in broad daylight, pointing the sidearm of one of the dead mercenaries at him.

“Run!”

BANG!

The bullet whizzed past his head.

Cursing, Lillian ran after them.

Walter and Naomi ran behind Cabin Two, hearing another bullet zip by their heads. In front of them was a thick section of forest with heavy undergrowth between each tree. Retreat this way would only work to the insane doctor’s advantage.

Another shot missed.

“Go!” Walter pushed Naomi to the right. As much as they didn’t want to, they ran in the direction of the burning recreation building.

“Why is she shooting at us?” Naomi shouted. “She butthurt about her pet, or something?”

“We know who she works for, know her name, seen her face, and witnessed what her creation has done,” Walter replied. “She’s now out to save her own skin.”

BANG!

“AGH!”

He dropped to the ground, hands on the bleeding wound in his left quadricep.

“Walter!” Naomi stopped and dropped to his side.

Pleased with herself for finally landing a shot, Lillian approached, gun still pointed. “I’m sorry…”

Naomi, hands on Walter, looked at the woman with a look of horror.

“Sorry?”

Lillian closed in, hand and gun twitching. It was no small thing to kill a person, especially face to face. But, as Walter had suggested, she was out to save her own skin.

“I don’t like doing this,” she said. “I didn’t set out to have all of this happen! I wanted to make a positive difference. I’m on the cusp of something great!”

Walter made a sound that was a cross between a laugh and a groan. Even moments away from murdering them, Lillian still felt the need to justify what she had done. As if it would make any difference at all.

“Oh, yeah,” he said. “True greatness. You wanted to heal the world. The fact that you took one of the country’s worst criminals and turned him into a flesh eater with healing powers is just a small inconvenience. Right?”

Lillian’s face tensed, her lips quivering. “You don’t know what it’s like! You… you don’t know what it’s like to see someone you love endure so much agony, with no hope of it getting better, until literally they die from stress!”

Naomi looked at the scientist, envisioning every possible way she could disarm her and pound her face in.

“We don’t know what it’s like?” She pointed behind her in the direction of Cabin Five. “How ‘bout you tell that to the family of my friend, Allison? You know what it did to her? What you allowed to happen to her, by using Gale Frye of all people for your experiment?”

Lillian stood quietly, still determined to justify her position. After a few more moments did she grasp the fact it did her no good.

“I’m sorry. But I can’t go to jail. I’m so close. Everything here, as terrible as it is, is just a setback. I’ll make up for it once I have perfected my compound.” Her hand shook, the muzzle aimed at Naomi’s forehead, her finger applying pressure to the trigger. “I’m sorry.”

CRASH!

From the wreckage that was the recreational building, the beast that was Gale Frye retreated out into the open. Its body was billowing smoke. Though not as badly burned as when it had liquid gas ignited directly on its body, it was still in considerable pain and confusion.

The scales were mostly still intact, with a few coming off of its abdomen and upper left shoulder.

Its eyes were blood red and crusted in some places where they had been scorched. But, by the way it was looking at the scientist, it could still see.

Lillian gasped, seeing the unintended consequence of her work stomping towards her. She redirected her pistol and fired.

Snarling, it grabbed one of the concrete bags and hurtled it in retaliation. Lillian was airborne for several feet, crashing hard on her back.

“No! I’m on the verge…” she said, gasping.

The beast moved over to her, recognizing her voice. Standing over her, it now recognized her facial features. Without the lab coat, she looked different from the scientist who injected a huge needle into its abdomen two days ago.

She looked up, panting, the wind knocked out of her.

Still billowing smoke, it watched her, reflecting on how it had been displayed in front of a crowd as though it was a prize.

It did not bite. It did not screech.

It simply held its hands out and extended all of its fingers, making sure she could see the huge black nails.

Having lost the ability to speak, it was its only way of conveying the message that she was wrong.

Lillian’s jaw dropped.

“…In essence, I present to you the near-healing abilities of Wolverine. But sorry, folks, no cool claws.”

Knowing what was in store for her, Lillian screamed.

Those claws came down in wide sweeping motions, rearranging her body and face. Each slash lifted a tidal wave of blood and a dull, pained groan.

By the time it was done, it once again failed to recognize her.

Naomi lifted Walter to his feet, put an arm around her shoulders, and ran with him. In spite of the flaring pain in his leg, he moved with long strides.

“It won’t die!” she said.

“Everything dies,” Walter replied. “She didn’t make it immortal. It’s hurt. We can kill it.”

Accepting the challenge it had overheard, the creature began coming after them. It moved with a limp, its leg having taken some sort of damage in the blast. But everything that made it a killing machine was still intact, as demonstrated by Lillian’s fate.

Walter groaned, the pain quickly worsening. He nearly dropped, with Naomi keeping him upright.

She took a breath. “We can’t outrun it.” She looked to the shed. “We’ll have to fight it.”

Walter looked at the open doors and the mess of stuff inside. He knew what she was thinking.

“Get in there!” he said. “Hurry! Hurry!”

The beast was closing in, taking its time, relishing in the fear it sensed from the two victims. Having left their gas can at Cabin One, there was no chance they could burn it in the same manner. At worst, it assumed they had nothing worse than weedkiller in there.

Naomi reached the shed and lowered Walter to the floor.

“Hurry,” he said.

She ran inside and began shuffling through the mess.

Walter rested on his hands, watching the convicted killer turned hybrid strutting up to him.

Its teeth were intertwined, part of the lips burnt away. Fluid dripped over its mouth from its fish eyes, now scabbed over in several places.

Just like last night, it was moving with a specific intent. It did not just want to kill him; it wanted to make him watch.

He did not move. Knowing how it planned to achieve its goal, he let the monster approach.

The thing closed the distance and reached down, pulling him up by the left arm, intent on breaking it.

Walter reached back with his free hand, lifting his shirt and drawing the kitchen knife he had taken from Clifford’s cabin. Yelling, he thrust it forward, driving it through the open space where one of the scales had come off.

The creature howled and dropped him. Staggering back, it clutched its injured abdomen where the knife had dug five inches deep.

Walter leaned on his elbows, relishing in its pain.

“Does that hurt?”

The creature ripped the knife out of its body and threw it. Dripping blood from its wound, it made eye contact with him. At the moment, nothing else in the world mattered. It wanted to tear him apart, piece by piece, slowly.

It stepped up to him, its arms pulled back, ready to do its work.

Naomi stepped out of the shed, holding a two-gallon jug with its top cut off, thanks to the use of a serrated saw dropped at her feet.

“You want him to watch someone’s misery?”

The beast looked at her, just in time to see the liquid leave the jug. It touched over its eyes, mouth, and gills.

There was no burn, not even a sting as it would expect from any other chemicals. What it did feel was, in fact, worse.

Frye had choked plenty of individuals in the past. Suffocation was not a foreign concept. That’s what it felt like right now; the victim of one of its many assaults. But there was no hand around its throat.

Its lungs protested and its gills flared. The physical reaction was immediate.

Clutching its own neck, Frye staggered backwards. It shrieked, gasped, and spun in place while trying to remember where the lake was.

It went one way, but like one of the fat victims it had encountered in the woods yesterday, it walked clumsily into a tree. Stepping back, it leaned forward. Its jaws were wide open, that ugly tongue flapping like a flag in high wind. The eyes, lidless and charred, looked as though they would spring from its face.

Naomi dropped the jug of rotenone and knelt by Walter, wrapping her hands around his shoulders and head.

As she had promised, they watched the monster’s struggle, taking satisfaction in the pain, confusion, and fear it endured.

It fell to its hands and knees and began crawling away.

After ten feet, it lost the strength to even do that. Its fingers bent, marking the dirt. A dry “Dreeeech!” sound spewed from its mouth, the so-called human being inside gasping for breath.

It rolled on its back and reached for the sky, pleading for help, as many its victims had done.

All it saw was Naomi and Walter taking satisfaction in its final moments. With that final image in its brain, Gale Frye dropped its arms and went stiff.

The criminal… the monster… was dead.

Walter breathed a sigh of relief. It was over.

“We did it,” Naomi said, hugging him tight.

“Yes we did,” he said. “Great job.”

“Thanks.” She bumped the jug of poison with her foot. “I never thought I’d be happy to see that stuff put to use.”

“No kidding.” He groaned as Naomi helped him up. He tested his leg, wincing from flares of pain. “I guess it’s good I’m technically using my sick time right now.”

Naomi went into the shed and came out with a dry towel. She tied a bandage around his leg, slowing the bleeding.

“You’ll be okay. I may be a vet, but I know enough about human anatomy to know if something’s fatal.”

“Good to know,” Walter quipped. He gave one last look at the lake. “Now, all we have to do is find a way to get out of here.”

Naomi put a finger to his chin, redirecting it so his lips lined up with hers.

“There’s one other thing.”

With that said, she pressed her lips against his. The two of them embraced, hugging each other closely.

Uplifted by their connection, Naomi put his arm around her shoulders to help him hike away.

“Now, let’s get out of here before another one of those things shows up.”

Walter chuckled. “Lucky for us, it sounded like they had only made just the one. Unless the thing found a girlfriend and got lucky…”

His voice trailed off.

Naomi stood quiet as well.

Both of them were thinking the same thing.

What if it wasn’t just going after women for sadistic pleasure? What if it was also a biological drive from its altered genetic state? Was it trying to breed? If so, did it successfully plant its seed in anyone?

Allison had died in the act, so they knew nothing would happen with her. But it had been running loose before it found the group.

They looked at each other, unable to speak the question.

Was it successful with anyone else until now?

CHAPTER 13

“Just breathe, Carol. Just breathe. I’ll increase your medicine and help you feel better.”

Carol Darcy yelled. Feeling better was not on the agenda, especially with Dr. Dennis Oberman as her attending physician. He was as insane as Dr. Helmer, but lacking the overall moral ambition that drove her projects. He just liked experimenting, whether it was on people or animals. Of course, he was the perfect assisting doctor for Dr. Helmer.

Now, it was clear why Lillian wanted her in the company hospital. The evidence was right there in Carol’s belly, shifting, scratching, tearing her apart from the inside out.

She threw her head back. “Oh, GOD! Make it stop!”

Dr. Oberman returned to the room with several nurses, their faces concealed with surgical masks. He held a scalpel and a long syringe. He lowered both tools to her body, only to withdraw.

“What are you doing?” one of the nurses asked.

“I don’t think I’ll be needing this,” he replied.

“No! NO!” Carol screamed. Her stomach rose farther, a handprint taking form near the top. Like wet tissue paper, her abdomen split apart, unleashing her insides.

Sprouting like a weed from fertile soil, the tiny newborn rose, green in color—aside from the red of its mother’s blood—covered in scales, grinning with a mouthful of triangular teeth, sporting equally sharp claws while watching the humans with those red round eyes.

“Look at that,” Oberman said with fascination. He nodded at one of the nurses. “Get him, please. Let’s take him to observation.”

She hesitated, lost in the shock of seeing such a horrible little creature. Sensing Oberman’s impatience, she picked up a crate.

The male nurse next to her took the liberty of grabbing ahold of the thing. It looked down at his fingers, and with a burst of speed, dug its teeth into him.

The nurse jumped back, blood spewing from where his thumb had been. “AGH! Help me!!!”

Dr. Oberman smiled, watching the thing gnawing on the severed digit.

“Well, look at you,” he said.

The beast looked away from him, focused on the nurses, relishing in the fear exuding from their very souls.

Like father, like son.

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Prologue

Bright Spring Lab, Staten Island, New York, 8:19 PM EST, present day

The night sky glowed with flames, and the acrid scent of burning chemicals filled the air. Thick clouds billowed across the complex, a relentless wind driving the smoke east.

At the center of the thriving scientific campus, the state-of-the-art biological laboratory stands as a bastion of innovation and discovery, and even as the structure burned, its majestic beauty of glass and dull metal remained. The facility hosted groundbreaking research that promised to revolutionize cellular biology and genomics via DNA and RNA splicing, cell-renewal, and deep gene sequencing. It was well known that the researchers who worked at the center created unique life and then killed it as part of their experiments.

The once-pristine corridors flickered with red and white flames, and panic and chaos reigned as researchers and staff burning the midnight oil fought to escape the blaze. In the distance, sirens wailed, and campus emergency services were doing their best, but it was like trying to take the salt out of the sea.

As the flames grew hotter the laboratory’s safety protocols were compromised, and hazardous substances were released into the air. Contaminated smoke filled the sky and was carried east with the gusting wind. Sparks shot into the darkness like fireworks, and black specks of ash twisted and eddied like ethereal snow.

Despite the firefighters’ best efforts and the laboratory’s advanced emergency protection system, the building burned through the night, and when the sun rose over Long Island the Gene Katz Center for Molecular Biology and Genomics was nothing but a smoking skeleton of steel and blackened bricks.

Firefighters poured water, sprayed foam, and spread dry powder on the remnants of the building, but it would take days to fully douse the smoldering remains. Smoke twisted and swirled in a mesmerizing ballet, ghostly tendrils caressing the air, and in this dance, the smoke and wind became one.

The Atlantic Ocean to the east and south, and the Long Island Sound to the north, created a maritime climate, and as the sun heated the island, the temperature rose faster over the land than over the water. This difference caused cooler air from the ocean to flow inland, and this resulted in easterly winds that could carry a candy wrapper from the top of the Empire State Building to the Montauk Lighthouse.

As Long Islanders went to work, many noticed nothing more than the faint scent of smoke and the astringent smell of burning plastic. Newscasters did stories about the Canadian wildfires and preached safety and lectured about the Air Quality Index, a numerical scale used to communicate the quality of the air in a specific location at a given time. The AQI formula measures various air pollutants, including ground-level ozone, particulate matter, carbon monoxide, sulfur dioxide, and nitrogen dioxide, but it was the unknowns that kept the conspiracy theorists and the employees of the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention awake at night.

The smoke plume carried over Long Island and dispersed, and the AQI maxed out at a hundred and seventy-nine on a scale of zero to five hundred. The government urged Long Islanders to stay indoors and avoid outdoor activities, especially sensitive groups like children, the elderly, and those with respiratory conditions. If one had to go out, an N-95 mask or equivalent was recommended.

There was a pile-up on the expressway, a shooting at the Davis Park Casino, and a famous pop star was found passed out on a beach in the Hamptons. The hot sun burned away the morning mist, and by evening rush the smoke plume had passed the lighthouse, where it was scattered on the ocean and within its swirling mists and thick spray.

Saltwater possesses unique properties, and it is often hazardous to tender biological organisms. The toxic smoke was neutralized as it dispersed, the seawater and its briny wind transforming its composition.

What was for a brief time was no more, but the ecology of Long Island was forever altered.

1

Stones Throw, Long Island, New York, 12:27 AM EST, six days later

Scott Ward couldn’t sleep, and he stared at his bedroom ceiling, trying to piece together his life and figure out what had gone wrong and when.

Jenni ripped a snore, and Ward looked over at his new wife. It wasn’t so much that things had gone wrong as much as things hadn’t gone as he’d expected. At thirty-one, he’d just enjoyed what he liked to refer to as his second shot at being a teenager. One with some cheese. College graduation led to his job at the firm, and after he passed the bar and got his license he was promoted and was making good money. The problem was that he hated family law, but when he met Jenni, everything had been fresh and new, and the job receded into the background.

A spider crawled across the ceiling and Ward fixed his gaze on it.

The chaos of the engagement, the challenges of COVID-19, then the wedding planning, the event, and the honeymoon period that followed all masked the fact that Jenni and Ward didn’t know each other very well and lately, he felt their relationship floundering. He loved her. That he knew, but depression constantly gnawed at the edges of his happiness, and he couldn’t seem to shake it.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Ward’s hand shot out and he silenced his phone before it woke his wife. The last thing he needed at two in the morning was a series of questions he didn’t have the answers to yet. He couldn’t recall hearing the foreign beep before, but the phone showed an alarm from the water sensor in the basement.

Ward sighed as he leaned off the bed, lifted a window shade, and peered outside.

The streetlight cast wavering light over the dark road, but he saw no rain. He’d installed the sensor because the basement leaked sometimes, and pain knifed down his spine as he tried to think of another reason why the sensor was triggered. A malfunction? Then he remembered the old water heater and vaulted from bed.

Jenni stirred and said, “What is it?”

“Nothing.” Ward closed the door behind him.

As he padded downstairs, he heard Muffin mewing and crying. When he reached the bottom of the steps he peered through the windows at the top of the front door. No rain.

Ward found the orange and white tabby house cat pressed to the carpet staring under the basement door. Muffin’s coat shimmered in the darkness, silvery white whorls and stripes glowing in the half-light.

“Everything alright, Buddy?”

The cat clawed at the carpet as if trying to squeeze under the basement door, then looked up at Ward and meowed.

He bent and stroked the animal. “Easy, sweetie. Easy.”

As if Ward hadn’t believed her explicit warning, Muffin arched her back, turned, and lifted her tail to give Ward a view of her undercarriage. The cat meowed once more, then sprang away into the darkness.

The house went still. A clock ticked in the kitchen, a fan whirred in the living room, the refrigerator hummed, and he caught the faint scent of garbage. Pale moonlight leaked through the windows, shadows frolicking with the darkness.

An unease crawled just beneath his skin that he couldn’t explain. An itch he couldn’t scratch, and a warning light flashed on his mental dashboard. Ward considered grabbing one of his guns. The pistol, the Benelli M2 tactical, and the double barrel were secured in the gun locker mounted to the wall in his bedroom’s walk-in closet, but he kept a single-shot crack barrel shotgun loaded in the downstairs closet secured with a combination trigger lock.

He rolled his shoulders and shook off the anxiety. What he probably needed was a mop and bucket.

The basement door creaked open, and Ward flicked on the light. An LED dome at the bottom of the steps came to life, illuminating the stairwell. An odd smell wafted up and tickled his nose, and it wasn’t the stale odor of soaked carpet. Ward sniffed. The air was oily and musty, and he didn’t think he’d ever smelled anything like it.

Ward rubbed sleep from his eyes as he descended the steps, the wall to his right giving way to a half-wall. Moonlight streamed through two egress windows and painted the basement ghostly black and white. He turned on the lights, and old fluorescent fixtures tinkled and snapped as they came to life.

The newlyweds had done nothing to the basement since they’d purchased the house, and green and orange carpet circa 1960 covered the concrete slab floor. There was a series of shelves holding household items, exercise equipment, and a stack of boxes that contained items that hadn’t made the cut when he and Jenni had combined their lives. Most of the boxes had his name on them. An old bumper pool table that he and Jenni had never used sat at the center of the space, a rack holding pool cues mounted to the wall by the staircase.

In the far corner was the washer and dryer, and an old wooden table that held supplies and a mound of dirty clothes. On the opposite wall, a door led to the unfinished section of the basement that housed the boiler, the water heater, and an old workbench he hadn’t touched.

The musky scent grew stronger, but still Ward saw no signs of water.

He threaded through the basement and inched open the boiler room door. Nothing moved in the pale light leaking in through the egress windows, and he wandered into darkness until he found the chain hanging from the light fixture. He pulled the cord and the space filled with light.

Everything was exactly where he’d left it. There was no water on the floor, and the boiler and water heater looked fine. He breathed a sigh of relief. The sensor was malfunctioning, and that was a hell of a lot cheaper than bringing in a plumber. Not that he had to worry about money, but nobody liked paying for home repairs. There were uneven decks, leaky roofs, puddle-ridden walkways, and ugly paint jobs all over the world that proved this.

The sensor was in the far corner of the room under the workbench, because that was where the water usually found its way in. Stones Throw was just north of Montauk Highway, which meant the Ward Casa was only a couple of miles from the Great South Bay. If Ward dug a hole in his backyard, which he had yet to do, he would hit water at around eight feet. That meant the house’s basement floor was only a foot or so above the water table.

Ward got down on his hands and knees, the concrete digging into his kneecaps because there was no carpet in the utility room. He reached under the workbench, his hand searching for the sensor, but he couldn’t find it. He got low and used his cellphone light, and he jumped when a camelback cricket caught on a glue trap bucked and heaved as it fought to escape. The fat spider-like beasts gave him the willies, even though they were harmless, and he avoided touching the traps as he grabbed the sensor.

He wasn’t a tech genius, but he knew his way around a cellphone, and it only took a couple of minutes for Ward to determine that the sensor was functioning properly. With a sigh of frustration, he reset the device, put it back in its place, and made a mental note to hire the kid across the street to replace the glue traps.

With a potential problem averted, Ward straightened and cracked his back.

The sound of a box hitting the floor carried into the boiler room.

His thoughts went to the shotgun. Ward pulled the light cord and killed the lights as he went to investigate, all the bugs in his stomach that had just nodded off to sleep fully awake and stirring the spaghetti and meatballs he’d had for dinner.

At first, he saw nothing unusual, the fluorescent light pushing away the darkness, deep shadows filling every hollow and gap.

Ward’s breath caught in his throat, cold terror rooting his feet to the floor.

Beneath the bumper pool table sat a creature that looked like a camelback cricket, better known as a spider-cric, but this was no ordinary house pest. The thing was black and larger than a cat, the upper portion of its hind legs the size of turkey drumsticks, its forelegs arced well above its humped back, which was crisscrossed with white stripes. The vicious thing looked to be half mouth, its jaws lined with transparent icicle-like teeth. Two long antennas wavered above its bulbous eyes, but it was the pinchers at the ends of its front legs that drew Ward’s eye.

He stepped back and the Cric inched out from under the pool table, its bulbous eyes locked on Ward. The Cric hopped forward, and Ward pressed himself to the wall and felt the rack holding the pool cues.

The Cric hopped again, this time three feet in the air, and it landed five feet away.

Ward grabbed a pool cue, flipped it so he was holding the thin end, and brandished it like a bat. Sweat trickled down his back, his head pounding as he struggled to wrap his noodle around what he was seeing.

The thing hissed as it pressed itself to the carpet and hopped forward.

Ward swung away with the pool cue but missed.

With a deftness and speed that made Ward’s vision go blurry, the Cric sprang at him, jaws flexed open, pinchers snapping and out front in attack position.

He swung again, and this time he made contact.

The thick end of the cue stick smacked the Cric’s humped back, and the sound of the cracking carapace and the beast’s squeal echoed through the basement. Black blood-like fluid leaked from the cracked shell, and the creature’s legs cycled wildly as it tried to right itself.

Ward swung again, and again. He was lost in his fear as he pounded the Cric. When the cue snapped there was nothing but a broken pile of thin bones and black ooze.

He looked around, certain there must be more of the beasts because he felt them, but he didn’t see any. With his heart pounding so hard his chest hurt, Ward knelt and examined the Cric’s remains.

Without a doubt the creature was some type of camel cricket. A freak of nature, a crossbreed monstrosity that shouldn’t be. Crics shouldn’t have teeth, and he’d never seen any with pinchers, but what did he know? He’d only had a damp basement for a year. What he did know was the things his mom had called sprickets weren’t supposed to be bigger than cats. His thoughts shifted to Jenni.

“Shit,” he said to the dead Cric. If Jenni saw this she would want to move, and not just to another house. But what she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. And what did it matter? This mutant was surely one of a kind, an anomaly, and until he saw another one, he saw no reason to worry his wife.

Ward searched the basement and saw no signs of more super Crics. Nor did he see any openings big enough that the monster Cric could’ve gotten through, even though he knew normal Crics could squeeze through very small cracks, and their eggs were almost microscopic. He used a piece of cardboard to shovel the remains of the dead Cric into a laundry bag and buried the evidence under a pile of empty detergent and fabric softener bottles in the trash can.

With that done, he hid the broken cue stick and did his best to clean the carpet of the Cric’s spilled guts with a dirty towel before heading upstairs.

The house was quiet, as if the events in the basement had occurred on another plane of existence. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly before he set out to search the first floor.

Shadows danced in the moonlight that slanted through the windows, and the hum of the house soothed Ward’s nerves. The kitchen was clear, the den, his office, the dining room, the living room.

The bathroom door flew open and crashed back against the wall.

Ward no longer had his pool cue, so he threw up his arms to shield his face, his mind’s eye painting a picture of bulbous eyes sitting above a mouth full of crystal teeth.

Muffin bolted from the bathroom with a scream of frustration.

Ward fell back and yelled at the cat as it scampered away. “Thanks, Muffin. I really needed that.”

With his nerves still tap-dancing on his spine, Ward went up to bed.

“Are you O.K.?” Jenni asked as Ward slipped under the sheets. “You were gone a long time.”

“Everything is fine. Go back to sleep.” That was what Ward tried to do, but every time he closed his eyes, he saw the Cric, its claws and teeth. Couldn’t be, he told himself. Not possible. But his mind just couldn’t deny what he’d seen, and he lay still for over two hours staring at the ceiling before he finally fell into a fitful sleep.

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Table of Contents

- FLESH EATER
- CHAPTER 1
- CHAPTER 2
- CHAPTER 3
- CHAPTER 4
- CHAPTER 5
- CHAPTER 6
- CHAPTER 7
- CHAPTER 8
- CHAPTER 9
- CHAPTER 10
- CHAPTER 11
- CHAPTER 12
- CHAPTER 13