I've posted what I had written already and added more. I was forced to crystallize some nexus's. Nexusies. Nexusi? As I have time and inspiration, I'll continue to add more.

post a link? IANAL

Prologue

After 16 hour on patrol, Alex staggered through the front door.

"Haah honey, ahm home." he drawled out. His exhaustion causing the latent southern twang to slip out, despite his wife's best efforts to fix it.

His voluptuous wife was smiling as she attempted to sashay, bare foot, out of the kitchen, 8 months pregnant. As she shook her head, her beautiful red hair glistened in the light of the single lamp in the living room. "UPS showed up while you were at work, you know we are on a budget, right?"

Alex did a double take, noting her suddenly serious expression and the gleam in her eyes, broom in hand. He began to reflexively check for the nearest exit. Or at least a pillow to soften the blows of that broom she looked dangerously close to wielding like a staff.

"Um..." Stalling for time, he was cognizant that his mind seemed to be working slowly due to lack of sleep. Which didn't help his current predicament. He stalled for time by starting to unbuckle his gun belt. Looking down so she couldn't see his eye. "The department had our new uppers sent home, since I'm the de facto armorer" Oh please, oh please, let her buy it... thought Alex, trying his best to keep his composure. "You know we've had all these ferals running around, they felt like our Barbie rounds just weren't going to cut it.

A horse neighed in the distance.

What are you talking about?" Sally replied, her left eyebrow raising slightly.

"A feral cow. A China woman and her father in law got gored. I can show you the Boobtube video if you like?" Alex replied, he figured a little white lie on a $200 upper wouldn't hurt much as long as it preserved the peace.  "These farmers lose cows form time to time, and if they have a calf they can be down right dangerously protective. You remember that story my mom always tells about me almost getting killed when I was a little kid?"

"You know I don't like to see that stuff. Anyways dinner is almost done."

"What's for dinner?" He replied.

"Chili with beans." She seemed suddenly chipper.

"Poverty food, again?"

"Budget, remember? Try not to spend too much time in the shop, after you take a shower of course." She sniffed at him. "And don't forget to disinfect your handcuffs. For later."

"It won't take long" he replied as he staggered towards the bathroom.

"Not exactly the reply I was looking for." She replied, sticking her tongue out. Softening up a bit, she grabbed him  and gave him a hug, her belly making it a bit a awkward. "I know you're tired, but I had hoped you might be Up For Some Action, if you know what I mean?" The capitol letters were apparent. "Maybe help get this baby out a bit sooner?"

"For my crimes" Alex replied in a whisper. Then kissed her softly on her luscious lips. "I love you, I promise it won't take long."

"Once again, not exactly the reply I was hoping for." She laughed as he headed for the shower, dropping his gun belt on the couch as he passed by.

*******************

Finally in the garage Alex opened the box. "It's tape." he muttered as he used his Benchmade Auto to cut through all the bubble wrap.

A brand new "complete barreled upper receiver"  for his Sheriff Department issued M-16 was quickly revealed. He had paid for it out of pocket, eating sack lunches for weeks and skipping doughnut and coffee breaks as often as he could. He's even given up Saturday night at the bar with his Brothers in Blue to save up funds for this latest project.

Alex had already retrieved his patrol rifle from the car. He picked up his department issue M-16 and pulled out two pins, the entire gun split in half.

All the "naughty bits", that made it a "Machine Gun" were in the bottom half. By changing the upper half, Alex could change the gun to fire numerous different calibers, all in full auto. An Aimpont reflex sight was quickly mounted to the top, and an AAC silencer slipped right onto the combination "silencer quick mount / flash hider". A few twists of a hex wrench and some  Magpul BUIS and an AFG were in place, a TLR-1 tactical light, placed on the right side of the quad rail, completed the gun. No night vision (yet), but a Leopold IR scope was on the way, hopefully without being intercepted by the wife unit. Better to ask forgiveness than permission. At least it sounded like a good slogan at the time.  Tonight's encounter had him second guessing though.

In less than five minutes the gun was assembled and ready to sight in. Alex had changed his Sheriff Department M-16 from gun that shot a tiny little 22 bullet (only useful for shooting varmints and people, in his opinion) To a weapon capable of killing ANY land animal on Earth, A Real Beast of a Cartridge.

Quietly.

Looking over the gun again, Alex noted that not only did the barrel and left side of the receiver say 458 SOCOM, but also the dust cover, and forward assist also had 458 SOCOM laser etched. Classy touch, it also helped someone from loading the wrong ammo in the gun.

Alex looked around for several minutes, finally locating the ammo his "friend" the game ranger had given him. Some friend, giving him ammo for a gun he didn't even have. Yet. What a Jerk. He laughed out loud. Alex was pretty sure it was a trick. He was going to get him back by buying him a box of 50 BMG for Christmas. Serves him right.

Opening the the box Alex started loading his Flat Dark Earth Magpul magazine, he figured a different color magazine was a good way to keep from putting the wrong ammo in the wrong gun.

The ammo  was a heavy. Each cartridge weighed close to two ounces. And the rounds fit single stack in the normal 223 magazines, because they were so big. This was going to hurt to shoot on full auto. The cartridges looked almost like cylinders and were about as big as his index finger,  there was a very gradual taper from back to front, ending in a perfectly flat nose. Turning over the box the ammo came in,  Alex read aloud. "600 grains 1000 feet per second, subsonic".

The bullets would not be making sonic booms, making the gun even quieter, "Almost Hollyweird quiet" he muttered as he began to load the magazine. The 20 round mag seemed to only hold 7 rounds before getting tight.

"Don't need that many in a cannon like this."

A few rounds later, off the back porch, and the gun was sighted in. Good enough for government work anyways.

He walked into the kitchen and dinner was on the table. A big slice of buttered corn bread, "Corn Cake" he mentally corrected himself, complemented the steaming bowl of chili, with beans.

"Did the hospital complain about you taking maternity leave a bit early."

"Of course they did, the Director of Nurses may actually have to get off her butt and take care of some patients occasionally for the next couple months. And I don't care." Sally Smiled. "Not my problem. Were you shooting just now I could barely hear it."

"Smells great honey, did I mention how much I love you?"

"Now I KNOW you're up to no good!" She narrowed her eyes for a momment. "But, I'll let it slide, for now. As long as you let it slide IN after dinner."

Put it on a free blog site and link it here.

Holy shit.  Cherokee Rose is transgender John Ross.

...

Date: Wednesday, January 18, 2017, 12:04 AM

Pushmataha county, S.E. Oklahoma,

"911, this is Susan speaking, what's your emergency?"

"Mah husband Everet, he been up cookin’ meth fir 3 da-eys, an ahh thank he dun lost he-is mahnd!, Y'all needa come git'em!"  Came an almost illegible yell, through the earphone.

Susan rolled her eyes and smiled, the hillbilly accent was so thick, that she could barely understand it. However, the sound of distant but rapid gunfire brought her sitting straight up and wiped the smile off her face. The caller screamed something illegible and the call ended.

Susan had been working occasional weekend shifts at the Sheriff Department's Dispatch Unit for the last 3 months of high school, to help her save up enough money to go to accounting school at the local community college, beat being a waitress in any case. And there were a few young and handsome policemen to flirt with. She loved the way their uniforms looked just like Mel Gibson in Lethal Weapon 1, when he got busted to patrol. But now the real nature of her job really hit home. She shuddered at the thought of what was happening now.

Rural counties in Oklahoma rarely have more than handful of 911 calls on any given day, usually some old person having a heart attack or rarely a domestic dispute.

Gunfire during a call was almost unheard of.

She hit the callback function on her computer, then reached for the radio.

"87, Base." "Rodger, Base" Came Deputy #87, Alexander Schmee's almost immediate reply.

"Be Advised, we have a 10-33 and 10-71, shots fired. Location uploading now to you. Grid 4535-2375 Resident is 29 year old Rebecka O'Tool she states her husband Everet O’Tool has been manufacturing methamphetamine and has not had any sleep for three days, and that he had, and I quote "Lost his mind." Everet O'Tool is a 55 year old, white male, 5'2", 100 lbs. He has  a bench warrant for failure to appear to drug court last week. For the third time. Also suspect in 10-30, last month."

Alex hit a key and the file came up on the tac-computer

"10-4, I'm on my way."

Deputy Alexander Schmee accelerated to near redline on the valley straight-away. There was nobody on the road this time of night, so he didn't bother with sirens or lights. They might even scare a deer onto the road, but this car was pretty well armored for deer.

Alex knew these roads like the back of his hand, and being an unrepentant speed junky and dirt track racing "armature", he had discovered the only way to drive like he truly needed to, "balls to the wall", was to become a sheriff deputy in a rural S.E. Oklahoma county. He had tried out many different jobs in his life, but nothing beat the freedom of the open road and a license to speed. And getting to carry a gun. And getting to arrest the occasional methbilly was always a treat.

The long straight-away ended and a winding climb began.  The massive oak trees of the valley turning into stunted miniature versions the higher he went. Up the twisting mountain and then down a bit, the road followed the top of the mountain for a quarter mile. Then the road then dipped up and down and back and forth as the road followed the crest of the mountain. Alex was forced to slow down several times because of the increasingly tighter series of curves, forcing him to slow down gradually, shedding velocity as the tires squealed through the curves. Forced to slow down, he started taking the curve slower and slower and the road started to drop again for a while.

“Base 87"

"Go ahead 87"

"Can you see if Highway Patrol has a unit nearby?”

"None currently in this county, you're on your own for at least an hour, until a state unit can get there. They have someone on their way now."

"Thanks, I'll be careful."

Suddenly he slowed down as the road veered left and a dilapidated dirt road turned right, to his destination.

A trailer park.

.
I only read thru the first story post...
Did you mean sack lunch or pack lunch?
Cuz you called it a pack lunch.

The 911 call had come from a dilapidated "rural trailer park", on the side of the hill, just before the
infamous "T" in the road.

As he approached the "T" in the road there was a great billboard of signs, because it was 30 feet down when idiots ran thru the signs... almost yearly. Fortunately the trees below would catch them. By some miracle, people almost never died. Something about God protecting fools and drunks, Alex supposed. It also happened to be one of the most frequently replaced signs in the county. And it was riddled with more bullet holes than he'd ever seen in his stint as Deputy. Half the signs in the county had bullet holes in them, but this conglomeration was quite exceptional even by their standards. The locals considered it target practice since they were replaced regularly anyways, because of drunks hitting them. Alex figured it was Kind of like Crips and Bloods marking their territory. Only difference was more Meth and less Crack. But, THIS was a true masterpiece even by their standards, someone had spent a lot of money on ammo. Alex laughed and muttered out loud not for the first time, "Thank God Hillbillies aren't into drive by shootings." Oddly some of the signs were bent inwards towards the road. Almost like something had pushed them up from below.

Alex slowed down quickly, but almost missed the turn when one of his tires slipped, for a moment, on a dark spot in the road. "Freakin Oil Spill!" Alex exclaimed. Having an NES R.C. Pro-Am flash back.

It made his wheel lose traction for a brief moment, and he barely clipped the mailbox collection with his rear fender, before the wheels finally caught traction.

"Dagnabit." He muttered.

Then he was charging up a long gravel driveway at moderate speed. The "driveway" was about 200 yards long, winding up the hill to the small collection of run down travel trailers and mobile homes on the side of the mountain, overlooking the valley. Some of the trailers were rotting away in place, collapsing. The road had massive ruts, of course, and the car shook relentlessly. He had to carefully follow the crests to keep his patrol car from bottoming out in the ruts.

Soon, up ahead, standing in the driveway, Alex could see an extremely large person, waving their arms. As Alex pulled closer, he could see it was an enormous mountain of a woman, easily over 6'2" feet tall and at least 400 lbs. As Alex pulled to a stop, he checked to make sure his Glock 22 was secure in its Level 3 retention holster, and that his two spare magazines were secure. The department had recently modernized and gotten rid of their ancient wheel guns in exchange for these "new fangled autymatics" as the even more ancient sheriff liked to call them.

Alex had also just started carrying a BUG, or Back Up Gun, in his right rear pocket where it was accessible with either hand. A kel-tec-3AT in a pocket holster.  He reached for his pocket just to be sure his BUG was still there, it was so small and light weight it was hard to tell he was even carrying it, especially with all the other gear on his belt. Sometimes he forgot it was even there. As soon as his patrol car came to a stop he was out and walking quickly towards to woman, checking all around for any signs of danger.

The entire area was a mess. Tattered out buildings, and broken down vehicles were scattered randomly, and trash was everywhere. 12 ounce beer and soda cans, empty food cans, and random trash was in piles, randomly scattered in mounds and drifts all over the hill. The smell of rotting garbage and burnt, carcinogenic plastic drifted up from a half burnt pile of garbage that was still smoldering.

As Alex got close to the woman, she immediately started blathering "He dun lost his mahnd deputy!" She spoke rapidly and excitedly. "He thanks ale-e-uns have come to eat us, an he been out in the woods all day shootin' at 'em. He said he needed more bullets, and a bigger gun, so he left his thurty-thurty an took his aught six with him this time. An a bunch of tanney-right, an a big ass bucket o' nails.

"Tanney-right?, You mean Binary explosives?" Alex interrupted.

"Don't play dumb with me, pip squeek." she rapid fired back, seeming to be come indignant that Alex had corrected  her grammar, "that shit that blows up, an you git at the gun store in town!" she continued, barely stopping to catch her breath "For blowin' up stumps and cars an stuff? He almost blowd himself up last week. I ain't heard no shots since he left. He went that way though. Said he wus gonna set up an ell shaped ambush lahk in Nam."

Rebecka O'Tool had rattled the whole thing off, in rapid fire staccato, one long ejaculation of information.

She finished by waving her hands vaguely down hill towards the highway.

Her eyes were darting back and forth and she was fidgeting badly, shifting back and forth and seeming to move every muscle in her body continuously without stopping. An amazing feat for such a large woman.

"Oh, an he got them exploding bullets for his aught six."

Deputy Schmee's heart dropped in his stomach. A hillybilly with a 30-06, exploding bullets, a bucket of nails and explosives. Running around the woods shooting at "Alien" meth monster shadows. And he was all alone tonight for the next hour.

Alex could tell she was scared out of her mind and high as a kite on Meth, "Whats your name, Ma'am?" He continued to look around, still seeing no sign of Everet O'Tool.

"Ahm Rebecka, ah called y'all, he's mah husband an ahm scared he's gonna git himself kilt!"

"Has he hurt anybody?"

"No."

"Has he threatened to hurt anybody?"

"No, just the Aliens." Her hillbilly drawl almost pronounced it correctly that time.

"Has he hurt himself or threatened to hurt himself?" Deputy Schmee continued.

"Um.... No." she replied after a moment. "But there ain't no such thang as Ale-E-Uns, she spoke it like she was spelling it out. "An he's gonna blow himself up! Again! He Mah-t git him self kilt this tah-m!"

Schmee Restrained himself from laughing out loud, too bad the department didn't have those body cameras yet, this would play great on COPS.

"Well, Ma'am, I have a bench warrant for Mr. O'Tool, it appears he missed his court date again.  And I see he is distilling alcohol, too."  Alex said, pointing to a nearby table covered in glassware and bottles, "And the distillation of alcohol is a violation of his parole. So is having a gun."

Without missing a beat, Rebecka O'Tool replied. "What, that? He swore off the al-key-hol, that's just his meth lab. So you gonna go out in the woods tonight an look for 'im or wut?"

"Um... Ma'am, I don't think..." Deputy Schmee Stammered for a moment.

Just then the sound of a high power rifle shot shattered the night.

A distant yell echoed through the creek bottom, "Come on you bastards, come an git me!" echoed through the night.

"That's him Ociffer, He's rah-t down there!" Rebecka pointed and started lumbering down the hill.

Another gun shot rang out, followed by an almost immediate, chest thumping, earth shattering, low pitch "BOOOOOM!"

Hundreds of objects could be heard zinging overhead, some hitting nearby. Others could be heard raining down for several seconds.

Then what sounded like a tree falling down, far bellow, ending an abruptly cut off scream.

In and subscribed....

IDK. I hadn't really thought it thru. Sort of making this up as I go.

Continue at your own risk.

"Oh no. No! No, no, no!" Screamed Rebecka O'Tool,

"He done kilt himself, blowed himself up, lahk i warned him about. He just cooked him up his best batch ever, and he dun lost his everlivin' mahnd, an now he's dead!" Rebecka collapsed to the ground, tears were streaming from her eyes. "Ah loved you, you stupid sum-bitch!" She yelled into the night. And promptly passed out.

Alex grabbed his mike, "Base, 87."

"Go Ahead 87"

"There was a 10-80, explosion with a possible 10-39, casualty. Send an ambulance and search and rescue." Alex spoke calmly and clearly, a hint of exasperation in his voice.

A red light appeared down in the valley. "Oh no." said Alex, looking down the mountain through the trees, in the direction of the explosion.  Forest fires every few years normally kept the fallen leaves and underbrush from
getting too thick and deep. Unfortunately this bone dry forest had not seen a fire in 10 or 15 years at least. And 6 months of drought had it ready to burst into flames. Despite the cold weather, it had only taken a single spark. And the light from the fire was slowly growing.

Schmee shook her roughly. She seemed to slowly wake up, and he helped her stand. "Ma'am you need to wake everybody up and warn them about the fire, can you do that?"

"Go wake everybody up." She repeated, almost in a trance, her voice flat. She staggered off up the hill towards some trailer houses with lights on, starting to yell "Fire!".

Officer Shmee Grabbed his medical bag out of the trunk and got in the car, turned it around and drove down the hill to get closer. Alex got to the bottom of the driveway quickly, and turned on the flashers. He got out and locked the door, and put the key fob in his pocket. Now, closer to the fire, he could see it was quickly getting bigger and spreading.

"Base, 87"

"Go ahead 87."

"Call the volunteer fire department also, we have a brush fire about a 200 yards from the highway. I'm headed down the hill to check for casualties." Alex said, checking his sidearm. "Tell EMS they'll need a stretcher they can carry easily."

Flashlight in hand, he slung his first responded backpack on his shoulder, and Alex started down the hill as rapidly as he could, safely. Wouldn't do to sprain an ankle right now, or worse, break a leg. The brush was thick and the terrain was littered with boulders and frequent steep places. Occasionally, he felt like he could go faster jumping, but he restrained himself.

The undergrowth was very thick, and impassible in places, requiring a snaking, circuitous route. The brush and briars got thicker as Alex continued down the hill, making navigation more and more difficult, he was already
going to have some cuts and bruises before this night was over. If it wasn't for the light of the fire to guide him, he would have become lost several times, trying to navigate the thick underbrush.

Thinking about finding the way back up, a quick glance back showed the flashing lights of his patrol car were making a pretty good beacon. Briars and thorns repeatedly tangled around his legs as he tried to make it through the more direct routes, and he could feel numerous small cuts starting to burn on his lower legs now, from fighting his way through the briars.

Up ahead, through the trees, about 30 yards away, Deputy Schmee suddenly saw a small, skinny man, laying partially behind a massive boulder. Alex yelled "Hey! Mr. O'Tool!" but the man appeared to be unresponsive. Apparently he hadn't been crushed by a tree, but he was not moving.  Even though Alex could see the man easily from this angle, he would have to circle around a bit and lose sight of him, because a small gully with slick red clay walls blocked a direct path. It was only about 6 feet deep, but impossible to climb in the soft red clay. The fire was still about 50 yards away, so there was still some time.

Quickly Alex moved down the hill to where the small gully could be crossed, and back up. Everything was now faintly illuminated by the approaching, and still growing, brush fire. The flames were now 5 or 6 feet tall in places. Every time the fire would find a deep pile of dead leaves, or thick briars, the fire would roar, casting flames high into the sky for several minutes. The still night air was full of crackling and popping. A cedar tree suddenly caught fire and illuminated the entire scene with brilliant light, but only for a minute. The roaring flames cracked and popped, and if Alex wasn't beginning to be afraid for his own safety. He would have thought it was a beautiful sight, the entire forest backlit by the roaring fires. if it wasn't for the thick smoke starting the swirl all around him.

A massive, hollow oak tree with hole in the bottom was burning on the inside. Roaring flames were shooting out of a hole halfway up the tree. Even in the extreme circumstanced Alex took note for a moment of how amazing it was to see such a thing.

Thankfully there was almost no wind to help carry the fire, at least for now, but this was getting increasingly dangerous. The smoke occasionally swirled up and choked Alex. He tried to hold his breath as long as he could when the smoke swirled his way.

Alex looked around carefully, he was sure he was close to the right spot, despite the detour. Suddenly, on the ground, he saw a rifle, partially covered in forest litter.

He picked it up, immediately recognizing it as a 30-06, M1 Garand, a quick check revealed a loaded chamber and at least a few rounds in the en-block clip, they had red tips with a little silver circle. Probably APIT ammo or something, mused Alex, which is what probably started the fire.

Alex put it on safe by moving the little lever in front of the trigger guard backwards, partially blocking the trigger guard, then slung the Garand's sling onto his shoulder along with his pack. With Maglight in his left hand he continued to search for Everet.

No way he was going to let this Garand burn up in a forest fire. His great grand father had carried a gun just like this in the war, bringing freedom to the world. Alex would not to see it burn up in a forest fire, besides it was evidence. This could even be the very gun his great grandfather had carried.  An reflexive whisper of "Merica!" escaped his lips. Alex had long believed the M1 Garand, chambered in 30'06, was one of the finest weapons John Browning had ever created. . Originally chambered in the superior .276 caliber cartridge , the silly War Department had millions of rounds of 30'06 just "laying around" after WW1. It would take almost a century before modern military commanders realized the benefits of intermediate cartridges for war fighting. After all, not every bullet has to go through a tree to find the enemy.

The sound of leaves rustling came from just ahead. Because of the undergrowth, Alex had been forced to circle around to the back side of the massive boulder where he has seen Everet laying.

"Everet O'Tool, your are under arrest. Any thing you say..." Deputy Schmee announced, as he came around a 6 foot tall cedar tree, on the side of a mountain, in the wilds of S.E. Oklahoma.

And stopped dead in his tracks. The ground was covered in blood spray and the only sign of Everet was a severed hand, laying on the ground. Every hair on Alex's body stood on end, and he felt dreadful fear passing through every nerve in his body. His entire body burned like it was on fire. Adrenaline was suddenly surging through his veins. As Alex looked around quickly he noticed what looked like a disturbance in the leaves, like something had been dragged through the dense brush, a bloody trail disappeared through the brush. He reached down, instinctively for his Glock 22.

A sudden movement and sound came from behind as a massive, dark shape, backlit by the fire, came speeding around the boulder. It was surprisingly quiet for something so big. Alex barely heard it in time to turn and leap away.

Time seemed to slow down to a crawl as he flew backwards. Acting on pure instinct, Alex dropped the flashlight from his left hand, letting the heavy backpack and rifle slip from his shoulder as he drew his Glock 22. He fired 3 rounds before his feet hit the ground, certain that at least one or two had hit their intended mark. But the massive beast spun and came at him again. He could tell it was massive but in the dark and uncertain light of the forest fire, it was unclear exactly what it was.  It's low pitched screamed was full of rage as it came at Alex again.

Alex leapt behind the nearest oak tree. He peaked around quickly and took aim as best he could in the uncertain fire light. Unable to aim precisely, he simply fired into the massive bulk, using his Tritium night sights to keep the gun pointed at the center of the bulk. The bright flashes from the muzzle partially obscured his vision as he pumped rounds into it. He had only moments until it reached him. One, Two, Three, shots in the darkness. On the third shot, Alex felt the 40 S&W caliber Glock 22 explode in his hand.

Shocked by the gun's explosion in his hand, he tried to retreat backwards as he reached for his BUG, but briars grabbed a hold of his feet.  As he fell his head hit a rock and the world went away.

Your first sentence tells me you're not a very good proofreader.

"After sixteen hours on patrol, Alex staggered through the front door."

@CherokeeRose

Anything new?  Good read, regardless of proofreading issues.

Proof read and made some changes to the flow of the story. More posts to follow as soon as possible.

Uhh, I'm just gonna leave this here....

"Alex had long believed the M1 Garand, chambered in 30'06, was one of the finest weapons Saint John Moses Browning had ever created. "

Go to your room and think about what you've done.

Was that wrong, should I have not done that?

Alex came back to consciousness slowly, lightning bolts and stars dancing before his eyes. Maybe that was a real lighting bolt? His head was still spinning. A few seconds later he had his answer as a BOOM shook him fully awake. Sitting straight up, he looked around. The fire was roaring everywhere. His right hand hurt, but did not appear to be bleeding or broken. He flexed his hand a couple times. It was a still working, then he felt the back of his head, his hand came back wet.  A massive headache was the least of his problems. He rolled to his feet, still a little unsteady. The wind was starting to pick up. Occasional gusts whipped the flames and sent sparks flying, some of which started new fires. Alex would have to retreat immediately or risk death from smoke inhalation. Brush fires in Oklahoma weren't anything like what they had in California, where generations of burn bans created massive fire storms when it all finally went up. But it still wasn't very safe.

"Base, 87" he spoke into his mic. No response. And no time to waste.

Alex looked around quickly. There was no sign of the.... whatever that was. His head continued to clear slowly. Alex looked around for several seconds, getting his bearings. Time was short. There was no sign of whatever it was, but he knew he had shot it several times. It must be off in the woods dead or dying, or scared off by the fire. The hand was still laying there, visible in the growing fire light. Alex retrieved his flashlight and opened up his pack, retrieving a clear plastic "evidence" bag. He quickly flipped it inside out and stuck his hand inside, grabbing the severed hand, then pulled the hand inside and zipped it back up. He quickly tossed  it into his backpack.  "Herpagonasyphilaids" kept going through his head.

He could see pieces of his Glock laying all over the ground. Leaving the pieces of the Glock where they lay, he grabbed his bag and the Garand. His head had cleared enough that he could stand up straight and walk without falling over. The fire was out of control, and Alex was going to be in danger of smoke inhalation if he didn't get out fast.

A sudden wave of dizzyness made him sit back down before he fell down.  He could feel blood dripping down his neck and into the space between his skin and the kevlar vest. He took a moment to open up his bag and grab a triangle bandage. "Never apply tourniquet to neck to stop head bleeding." he slurred slowly as he wrapped it tightly around his head. An M95 filter mask wasn't much help, but it beat nothing, he pulled it over his head and squeezed the nose bridge. It would keep out most of the particulates at least.

Using the flashing lights of his car as a beacon, he stumbled up the hill as fast as he could, briars be damned, but he was going to be hurting tomorrow. His lower legs were already cut to hell anyways. Might as well get the rest of his body too. Beat dying in any case.

By the time he got back to his patrol car Mrs. O'Tool was waiting there anxiously,

Did you fahnd 'im?"

Alex stopped for a second to catch his breath, put his hands on his knees and took several deep breaths, trying to not pass out.

He opened up his back pack and showed her, "This look like his?"

She saw the severed hand and promptly fainted.

Again.

"Son of a Bitch. If she don't wake back up it's gonna take the whole fire department to lift her." he muttered.

"..opy, over?" barked the car radio as he staggered up to it. Checking his portable, he discovered the cord had gotten snagged and had come unplugged in all the hustle and bustle. He plugged it back in.

"87, Base." His portable radio suddenly blared.

"Go ahead base." He replied.

"We lost contact for a bit, you ok?"

"Mr. O'Tool appears to be dead. I have his hand. I hit my head pretty good, but I'll be OK. Any word on the fire department, I don't hear them coming."

"They'll be there in about 15 minutes. Joe Bob was on another bender, we had to call the game ranger, since he's the only one reachable that was sober enough to drive the truck, and he knows where the keys are kept. He's on his way to pick up the fire truck. Did you say you have a hand?"

"Rodger, base"

The wail of the ambulance siren was drawing closer, but still a mile away, at least.

"I might need stitched up. And this woman passed out. Again. They won't be able to move her though, she's too big. We'll have to wait for the fire department."

"Mrs. O'Tool?" came the all too rapid response.

"What is she famous or something?"

"Yes, and No. I have her rap sheet right here. 6'2" 450lbs? Are you sure you're ok? You're talking slow. And you're not using Ten Codes."

"I'll be ok, just a little bump on the head" His head was still pounding and he could tell he was a bit loopy. "I hope so anyways." He muttered to himself.

Even over the wind he could hear the sound of the roaring engine and sirens, still over a mile away. Sound sure traveled out here. In the deep woods, with no background noise, sometimes you could hear drunks "talking" to each from half a mile away, on a calm night. You could almost tell what they were saying at times.

The fire was still spreading quickly and the gusts weren't helping. Lighting flashed overhead, cloud to cloud. He suddenly noticed the stars had all disappeared. And the temperature was dropping rapidly.

"That gust front better hurry up and get here." Alex muttered. It was already getting close to freezing, but the rain hadn't started yet.

"Base, 87. This gonna be an Ice storm or Snow storm? Any 'naders predicted?"

"Latest weather report said flash flood turning to freezing rain. And either you're slurring your words, or you got hit so hard on the head it gave you a hillbilly accent."

"Perfect." He muttered, to himself.

"Affirmative, base." he replied.

He looked over at Mr's O'Tool and noticed she was starting to move again.

"Oh thank goodness" he sighed. He was dreading trying to move her.

Alex tossed the bag with the severed hand in the trunk, along with the Garand. The forest bellow was now engulfed and the smoke was starting to choke him again. Alex walked over and helped her to her feet. "Ma'am, you need to go back up the hill and get inside your house. I mean double wide." Alex could tell she was still in a daze, hell he was halfway in a daze himself.

Alex directed her back up the rutted path that passed for a driveway.  She stumbled up the path.

The notoriously slow volunteer fire department was still a no-show.

Alex opened his door and almost fell into his seat, closing the door behind him. He pondered the situation. "Base, 87."

"Go ahead 87."

"Can you tell Chris I shot a bear. Ask him to make sure he has a big gun when he gets here."

"Rodger, 87. A bear?"

Right as the ambulance pulled up, the radio chirped.

"87, Base. Chris said you better not have shot any of his bears, and he is on his way, just a few minutes out."

The fire was never in danger of getting to the trailer park, sadly, as it would have been an improvement.  Just before what passed for a fire truck got there,  a freezing cold torrential rainstorm hit.

13 inches of rain in a little less than one hour. Broke the record books.

The game ranger showed up, in the middle of the torrential  downpour, driving a moderately sized, bright red, antique fire truck. I was not much more than a small tanker truck with a big hose rolled up on the back.

Christopher Johnson had been the Pushmataha County Game Ranger for 35 years. Getting on towards retirement, there wasn't much he didn't know about the local wildlife. He flashed the overhead lights, and stuck his hand out the window waving to Alex, who was still sitting inside the back of the ambulance getting patched up by the EMTs.

After several more minutes of getting looked over, Alex hopped out, ran through the freezing rain and jumped in the passenger side of the fire truck.

"Hey Chris, can you turn that heat up a bit?"

Chris reached down and adjusted a knob on the dash. "Howdy Alex, sorry it took me a bit to get here.  You doing OK?"

"Just a flesh wound, I've had worse. You should see the other guy."

Chris rolled his eyes at the bad pun, looked over at Alex for several second. His eyes scanning Alex head to toe. "Yeah I heard you needed a hand earlier, but you got one now." Chris drawled out in a deadpan.

Chris continued, "I hit a deer back on the hair pin curve, had to stop for a second and throw it in the back. Looks like the fire department is going to having a venison cook out tomorrow. You think you're up to helping me fillet a deer tonight, soon as this rain stops?"

"Honestly? I don't know." replied Alex, after a moment's hesitation. "I don't know. I hurt everywhere right now. And I'm dead tiered."

"I didn't think so. I'll holler at these methbillies up the hill here in a bit, I know they'll take it. I'm to old for processing a deer on a night like this anyways. You look like hell, but are you up for showing me where you shot my bear, as soon as this rain stops? Where is your Glock?"

Alex slowly recounted the whole story, the heater in the old truck didn't blow very hard, but it finally warmed up enough to knock the chill off.

"Odd." Was all Chris had to say, then he just sat there looking up at the windshield.

"What do you mean?" Asked Alex, after a minute.

Chris looked over at him for several seconds before continuing "Well, first of all, black bears are  ALMOST always non-aggressive to human, in fact, they usually run at the first sign of human presence.  Are you sure it was a
bear?"

Alex thought for a minute, before replying "Well, it was blackish, maybe. Hard to tell in the dark. But it was shaped like a bear, about 4 feet tall. It ate a man. Or at least bit off a hand and drug the rest off. What else could it be? Remember last year in the newspaper? That cute little 15 year old girl, blue eyes and blond hair, killed an 800 lbs black bear, with a bow and arrow. Not two miles from here." Alex could barely be heard over the rain which was still pouring down.

"You mean the B.O.U.S.?  Chris stated in a deadpan.

"What's a B.O.U.S.?" Alex asked while shaking his head.

"The Bear of Unusual Size." Answered Chris in all capitols.

"You better keep your day job, old man." Alex started to chuckle, as the joke sank in, then he started to laugh harder but the sudden pain in his head put an instant stop to that. "Dammit Chris, my head is killing me, don't make me laugh".

"You aren't my supervisor. Besides, I've got a few years left before my pension maxes out. I heard her daddy was very upset that she went out there alone, and with only a 9mm pistol for backup." Chris replied. "Are you sure it wasn't a Bigfoot?"

Alex started to retort, but noticed Chris didn't seem to be joking.

"It was on four legs". Alex replied.

"Just checking."

They sat there for another minute without talking. Chris was apparently deep in thought.

The rain continued to hammer down.

Chris finally spoke up again. "I talked to dispatch while you were getting patched up. OSBI will be here in a little while to help check out the meth lab you found. Highway patrol got called off on a bad wreck so they aren't coming. Besides, I'm here. You're saved! Search and rescue won't be here till morning. They aren't about to get out there looking for a dead body on a night like this. We aren't going to be getting any good tracks when this is over, either. The ground was too hard to leave tracks before the rain, and after this down pour any signs will be washed away most likely. How's your hand feeling?"

"My hand just hurts a little now, it'll be OK. My head hurts only if I laugh or move to fast." Alex replied, flexing his hand again. And I'm down to my Back Up Gun, a 380, and my patrol rifle. But I have that 458 socom upper with me, just got it set up the other day. Can I ask you something? I've never heard of a Glock blowing up before."

Chris's eyes narrowed. "I warned your boss about this. It's exceedingly rare, but they CAN grenade from time. It can happen to any gun, an over-pressure round isn't the fault of the gun, but those new plastic guns shatter, where in the old days maybe just the magazine bottom plate would fly off and all your bullets would dump on the ground. That's why I carry a 1911, invented Saint John Moses Browning, and one of his finest creations I might add."

Chris reached down and pulled out his pistol. "Check it out, I just swapped out the firing pin stop and put in a heavier recoil spring, swapped out the barrel for one with a slightly longer chamber and a threaded barrel for a brake. Lets me shoot 45 Rowland or 45ACP out of the same gun by just swapping out a few parts. It's like a semi-auto 44 mag now.

Alex took the gun and looked it over carefully. "That's pretty slick, Chris. How much did the conversion cost? Never mind. My wife will kill me if I get started on another project right now. Or at least if I get caught. She's gone full Gestapo on my gun spending lately. That baby on the way has her acting crazy. Well, crazier than usual. She almost hit me with a broom when that 458 upper came in."

Chris laughed, "You got busted putting together that 458?"

"Not really busted, per se, but it was a close one."

"And then we all laughed, high five!" Chris chortled. They slapped hands and laughed.

"I've got one Saint John Moses Browning's inventions in the trunk of my car, that methbilly had it on him."

"What's that?" Chris

"An M1 Garand, finest battle implement ever invented, at least before the M16."

Chris slowly raised his hand to his face, covering his eye.

"What's wrong?" Alex asked, concerned by Chris's sudden expression.

"I'll tell you later" Chris replied.

After that, they sat silent for a while. The rain continued to pound down. Ice was starting to form on some of the branches that were visible in the truck lights.

"I've been thinking about somehting Alex, can you give me a hand?"

"With what?"

"I. Want. To. Take. A. Look. At. The. Hand."

Alex held up his injured hand.

"Not that one, ya dope."

"Sure, Grampa. I'll just get out in the torrential rain and grab it for you."

"Would you be a dear?"

"Watch it Old Man, I AM armed you know, even if it's just a 380."

"Mines Bigger!"

"Is that what SHE said?"

Alex got half drenched in the 15 seconds it took to retrieve the hand. He grabbed his jacket out of the trunk while he was at it.

Back in the fire truck. "I just want to see the end where it was severed." Chris leaned in with a small flashlight. The rain started having hail in it, and it was pounding so hard on the truck roof and windows that they had to speak loudly to hear each other. The flashlight revealed that the hand was severed clean. "A bear could not have eaten everything but a hand, not in the amount of time it had." A look of consternation passed over the  Game Ranger.  "We are going to have to track down the rest of the body. And considering it was shot with a fo-tay Short & Weak, it is probably a wounded and pissed off bear. And there are about to be searchers out in these woods. So how about it, deputy?"

"How about what, Ranger Chris?"

"It's Ranger Johnson, to you, young pup."

"I don't know. After what I just went though, I don't know. You ever get that feeling where every hair stands on end, all over your entire body?" Alex asked. "Like you are in the presence of a vortex great of evil?"

"Every time I see my  ex-wife."

Alex just rolled his eyes, sighed,  and shook his head. It was going to be a long night.

I have more written, but not proofread.

Won't have time post for a while, so hang in there. I don't have a title either. Mostly cause I wasn't sure which way to turn the plot. I came to a nexus and there were so many different ways to go, I had to pause for about a year.

I've debated it back and forth, because I know some stuff might turn some people off...

Sci Fi with some mild horror, and no lurid sex scenes.

Sorry, @JohnRingo

It's got to be teenager safe, because I want my kids to be able to read this.

I've already got the plot in my head.

Short story version will fit into a MHI compilation.

Long story is multi novel and will not fit into anything that I can think of, at least without a full blending of worlds, because I intend to introduce "super powers". FML, there it is, I said it.

Working title.

Nothing comes without a price.

Cool story so far. Keep writing please.

I am hooked.

Nice job.

Status?

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pushmataha_County,_Oklahoma

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Honobia,_Oklahoma

Honobia is an unincorporated community on the border between western LeFlore County and eastern Pushmataha County, Oklahoma, United States, 15 miles southeast of Talihina.[1]

Most of the areas to the North and South of Honobia are vast tree plantations owned by timber companies. As such these areas remain wildernesses covering many square miles. Logging provides an important source of jobs for residents. Additionally, locals promote an annual Bigfoot Festival and Conference dedicated to the cryptozoological creature, as popularized locally by an alleged 2000 sighting known as "The Siege of Honobia." This is one of the only mainstay economical boosts to the Honobia area.

I'm supposed to be doing something rather important right now, but my back is hurting, and I need to take a break, or is it brake?

"Stay classy. And I'm serious. Honestly, I'm a little freaked out right now, Chris."

"These things happen, kid. Ever walked up on a skunk accidentally, and starred at it's butt hole from 5 feet away? And YOU want to talk about Freaked Out?" Chris replied, the capitols were apparent. "But first you need to get patched up. I saw your polyester pants had some tears, from briars?

Alex Nodded.

Chris continued. "I'll bet you have some nice cuts on your legs. Good thing your wife's a nurse. She's gonna be pissed at you. Out there risking your life and limb, especially with that baby on the way. Go home and put on some geans or BDU pants, after you clean your wounds and liberally apply superglue. Then, when we are ready, we'll go grab that body before it gets eaten all the way. I have a spare set of chaps for you. While you get patched up, I'll go grab my gear and you get your best Big Gun. I'll see you back here at sunrise. Sound like a plan? Are you up to it, or do I have to call Jed? I know he won't mind, those Amish love hunting, and he has a nice collection of Big Guns that he rarely gets to use on what they are capable of killing. These miniature Oklahoma Whitetail almost don't count as game.

Chris thought about it for a minute.

"Twas merely a flesh wound, see you back here at sunrise."

The ice storm had moved on, and a deep fog had moved in by sunrise. Every twig and blade of grass was coated with half an inch of ice. Every few minutes a distant cracking sound could be hear as a tree finally gave way to the massive weight and a limb fell off, or the tree split in half, or even fell down entirely. Occasionally a closer one fell louder.

The entire sky seemed to be on fire as the sun crested the mountain, and tried to burn it's way through the fog.

Alex was reluctant to go. The thought of fighting all those briars, now coated in ice, again, made him a bit nervous. But the brown cotton canvas chaps he was wearing seemed like they would do the trick, they weren't too heavy either. "You think the rest Mr. O'Tool is probably nearby?"

"We'll see." Chris reached up and pulled a rifle down out of the overhead rack.

"What is that? Looks kind of like an AK47, but... longer, and yet shorter." Alex looked over at the exotic, or was it erotic, rifle.

Silver accents highlighted several components.

"Well, as the County Game Ranger." Chris stopped to smile, then continued "I have authorized myself to carry the best and finest for big game wildlife control purposes. This right here is my baby. A Saiga 308, re-barreled to 358 Winchester. John, the gunsmith on six-mile-lane, turned the barrel for me, but I did the rest of the work. 17 inch light weight stainless barrel, 26.5 inch long OAL when folded, this plastic Bulgarian side folder stock is light weight too. The gas tube and piston are from a longer Romanian PSL,  you know the Dragunov clone?"

Chris waited for Alex to nod, then continued. "I wanted to move the gas port farther forward than on a normal Saiga, gives it a bit more velocity and less sensitivity to gas port size, to help it cycle reliably with different loads. Putting the gas port close to the muzzle let us drill a bigger gas port hole safely, so it runs like a top. Still waiting for the 15 round Surefire mags. All I have are plastic factory 8 round magazines, I'm still waiting on some all metal ones to come out. All the 308 factory mags seem to cycle fine with 358, just like with 243. They are all based on the same cartridge, so it's easy to swap.

"What do you shoot out of it?" Alex ask.

"Custom loads, I have 250 Grain bronze solids, at 2,300 feet per second. They are custom big game bullets with a large Metplat. The army developed hypercavitating bullets to penetrate deep underwater, for at shooting submarines and torpedoes, supposedly. Turns out they do equally well on big game. They penetrate far deeper than any equivalent loading, and the bullets can be loaded with more powder without excess pressure, because of rings cut in the base of the bullet. The rings reduce friction as the bullet is swagged into the rifling.  Despite the open sights, and the fact that it is an AK, you might be surprised how well it shoots.  The 250 grain bronze solids do quite a number on anything. Even body armor. It'll got clean through a bear, lengthwise."

"Why do you have a gun like that?" Alex asked.

"Because I can, padawan, because I can." Chris said, winking.

"But it only holds only 8 rounds though" quipped Alex.

"Well I have only SIX words for YOU."

"What's that?"

"Shot Placement."

"That's two words"

"Shot Placement."

"Please. Stop."

"Shot placement. Six words."

"This is going to be a long day too." Alex said, holding his head, he still had a slight headache, probably from the stress of listening to his wife while she cleaned his wounds and applied medical grad superglue. "Your attempts at humor are making my head hurt even worse."

"Don't chicken out on my now, besides I could use some back-up." Chris said as he removed a Tac-light from the foregrip rail of the Saiga. He then pulled out a couple of spare 8 round magazines and put them in his coat pocket. "It's gonna be hours till search and rescue get here, dead bodies aren't a high priority. Besides, we need to make sure whatever was eating on Everet is dead. I don't need local wildlife developing a taste for human flesh, am I right? Ready to go hunt down a potentially wounded and very dangerous Animal?"

"Sure you don't want a bigger gun?" said Alex, smiling.

"I've got the trusty hand cannon. My dedicated bear killer." Chris lifted his coat to expose a 4 inch barrel 500 S&W revolver in a skeleton holster, matt Stainless finish, full underlug barrel, wood grips. "But trust me, if anything is still coming after 8 rounds of 358, ain't nuthin gonna stop it."

"What are you packing?" Chris raised an eyebrow. "If you are going to be backing me up, I have a right to know. I do this for a living you know?"

"Well, my department issue M16 is out, because they make us carry 45 grain varmint bullets, just in case we have to shoot some poodles I guess. I thought about my Department issue 870 with 00 buck shot"

"Anything besides buckshot?"

"Yeah, I have some Brenneke Slugs. but I haven't sighted them in yet."

"What about the Garand?"

"Not an approved weapon and it's evidence, you want me to get fired?" Alex shook his head.

"I won't tell if you don't."

"Yeah, right, I do have my 458 Socom upper though. I can swap it to my m-16 lower real quick. It's set up with an IR scope, and back up 45 degree irons. The 550 grain hardcast subsonics run well.

"Yes!" Chris replied excitedly. "When were you planning on telling me? Next week? I've been waiting to see it assembled!"

Alex smiled, "It's very quiet too, unlike what you are carrying."

"You bring a backup pistol"

"Are you crazy? After that ordeal? I brought a big knife too." Alex reached into his car and began to tie a short sword to his back pack. "A Qama, national knife of Georgia, Russia. Based on the Roman Gladius."

"Alright, you pass the test, lets do this, you ready?"

"I'm ready"

"Got food and water?"

"Yes Sir."

A loud crash made them both look up suddenly.  A tall oak tree was next to them, it's branches seemed to be on fire, gleaming in the red glow of sunrise. It had suddenly split in half, one half narrowly missing the both of them and their vehicles. Alex and Chris had both dove to the side as it fell. The picked themselves up off the ground.

"Watch for falling trees!" Chris almost shouted.

Alex felt his carotid artery, at his neck, it was pounding. "Yep, still alive, adrenalin flowing."

"I suggest we pick our path carefully and watch for falling branches." Chris replied

A loud crash made them both turned suddenly in a panic, the sound of a branch or maybe even a tree breaking and falling, reverberated through the hollow. It was just out of sight, in the ice coated forest. A magical looking scene, but they both suddenly realized it was very dangerous. "I passed a cow on the way here, there were ice cycles hanging from it."

"Here toy go." Replied Alex.

Despite the ice coating everywhere, even the little seasonal streams and creeks were now raging. They had found a freshly fallen tree to cross the water swollen gully.

"And here is where I found him." Alex pointed at the ground. It had taken longer to get down to the scene this time, without the source of fire to guide them.  Alex had to make several U-Turns and just when he was feeling ready to give up, he had found the small gully and the place where he had crossed last time. The giant rock was a dead giveaway. The fire, rain, and now ice had destroyed all traces of the attack, and because of the high clay content in the soil, under the rapidly melting ice, the ground was all slick and muddy and blackened, making their footing treacherous.

"These woods are so thick, the rest of Mr. O'Tool could be right around the corner, and we'd never know it." Chris stooped to look for tracks or any signs at all. Nothing was apparent except for some odd semi circular scrapes on the ground, in places. But it was hard to tell what made them. The fire had burned to ash all the leaves in the general area, making looking for sign that way useless.

Alex was using the IR scope to check for any heat signatures.

Chris shook his head, "I don't see any signs, we are going to have to do this the hard way."

Spreading out from the massive sandstone boulder moving in ever expanding circles, they searched for the body for several hours,  then in a zig zag back and forth in an ever expanding pattern.

They had occasionally spread out a bit to cover more ground, but still maintained visual contact as best as possible in the thick brush.

Alex finished another sweep with the IR scope. "No heat signatures, and I lost contact with base earlier, if we need to call out for help, we are going to be in big trouble. And there aren't any houses down this valley here."

Alex was standing watch, gun held at low ready, while Chris was inspecting the ground again, carefully. "Still no tracks but that's not surprising, the clay was rock hard before the rain hit. But with all the rain, we should find some mud
where we can pick up a trail."

The fog had finally burned away and the trees were all dripping, as the sun beat down. Even the smallest twig on every tree still glistened in the sunlight. The whole forest was made of brilliant crystal.

Suddenly Alex found something. He waved at Chris the next time he saw him look up. Chris walked over slowly, as quietly as possible, the ice had mostly melted off of the ground by then, and the wet leaves combined with the dripping trees made it easy to sneak through the forest.

When Chris got there Alex whispered "I found some tracks leading away from the attack, see these divots?" Unfortunately the ground wasn't soft enough yet at this spot, it was hard to even see the shape of the print through the deep leaves. They continued following the trail for another 200 yards, Alex leading the way, then he stopped suddenly."This is a false trail, it's just a big cow!" Alex pointed. "See?" He had found a near perfect print, in some sandy clay, "But look at the size of it!" Alex reached down and put his hand down on it, spreading his fingers. His spread fingers almost touched the sides of the track "It's as big as my hand!"

"That's no cow, see how it looks more like a deer track? A giant deer track?" Chris looked up at Alex. "Trust me kiddo, I've been tracking my whole life. Cow prints are blunter. But that's the biggest pig I've ever heard of, including the Hogzilla that was killed in Arkansas last year."

"Ok, I see it now, but um... I didn't know pigs attacked humans." Alex said dubiously.

"Didn't you say he was laying down, unconcious or dead?" replied Chris.

"Yeah."

" Well, Alex, let me tell you. The movies are true, about pigs eating humans, even domesticated pigs will eat humans, but the human generally has to be dead already, or elderly and falls down. Generally. Mostly."

"No way" Said Alex, shaking his head. "That's just in the movies!"

"I assure you, it's not. Come on, lets keep going." Chris whispered, "And try to use hand signals from here on out, and only whisper. I think we may have found your beast. These feral hybrid pigs have been taking over in the southern states. The Oklahoma wildlife department is even starting to consider offering a bounty on feral pigs, like in Texas. But that's not what has me worried."

"What are you talking about?" Chris asked.

"Old alpha male's are very territorial. You would not think an 800 pound  animal could creep up behind someone, like a Ninja. But hey have been known to circle around and sneak up behind hunters who were stalking them. They are highly intelligent for an animal. Hell, even for some people, compared to some of the locals anyways. Smarter than dogs for sure, and have a keener sense of smell too.” Chris stopped to scratch his head under the stocking cap, then continued. "We have a problem though, I don't recall the exact formula offhand, but based on the size of these prints..."

"So it simply found Everet? Already dead/dieing, and just started munching away?" Alex interrupted. “Not sure that's much comfort.”

"You say you shot it about 3 times with that forty?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, based on the size of these tracks, that thing has to weigh close to a ton. And we've been following these tracks for several hundred yards. I'm not seeing any blood, it's probably not wounded bad enough to kill it. We're probably catching up with it, because I keep getting a faint whiff of something funky. And remember what i said about them circling around to sneaking up from behind?" Chris turned around to look where they had just came from, just as a massive black form crashed through the tall brush right next to them, shards of ice flying as it came hurtling at them.

Alex dove to the side, narrowly avoiding the charge. Chris took the full brunt. As the giant porcine made contact, it lowered it's head and thrust upwards, 10 inch long razor sharp tusks slashing upwards into Chris's legs. He was sent flying through the air. Alex rolled to his feet and was up and firing his 458 M-16, as fast as he could on semi auto, not even bothering to aim with the sights, Adrenalin and instinct had taken over. The massive bullets each weighed nearly an ounce, they hammered into the massive beast, one after the other as it crashed through the icy brush, circling for another charge. Alex could see it clearly now, it was a massive black boar almost 6 feet tall at the shoulder, covered in long, coarse, thick black hair. No wonder it had looked like a bear in the fire light. And they hadn't even heard it coming.

The boar spun around to face Alex and charged right at him, it's eyes were blood shot red and had a wild look of madness. Alex continued to fire as the massive black shape, sped closer. The slugs seemed to have little effect on the massive beast, other than to enrage it
further.  Again, Alex was forced to dive to the side to avoid a charge. His gun was suddenly empty, but the massive Boar had spun towards Chris who was still struggling to get up.

Chris had landed in a heap, his body screaming in pain. One of the razor sharp tusk had cut deep into his lower leg. He struggled to get up, as the sound of Alex's gun hammered away, relatively quietly, and had almost reached his feet when he heard the firing stop.

Chris had finally gotten to his knees, and as his vision cleared a bit from the flash bang, he could see the boar spinning in a circle and threshing. Every time it would hit a tree, the ice would shatter, and fall all around the boar, occasionally already overloaded limbs would break. With 2000 lbs of force, at break neck speed, it was shattering the ice off of every tree it hit, which seemed to drive it even madder.

Finally it stopped to breath, and in the sudden relative quiet, it could hear the humans reloading their guns. It could smell them. And as it regained it's senses it could see them too. They must die. This was it's territory, and it was in pain, and hungry. So hungry. Always so hungry. Always growing. Always getting bigger.  And it could smell the one who liked to trespass. The grey hair. And the one who had hurt it earlier, when it was eating the one who had hurt it before that.

Chris looked up, just as the boar began to charge him. Suddenly a blinding flash erupted just underneath and in front of the boar's path, accompanied by an earth shattering boom. Alex had thrown a flash bang, and Chris was now half deaf and mostly blind.

"What the hell. Alex?" Chris yelled. Now half blind, half deaf, and somewhat disoriented.

"Flashbang! Fire in the hole! Sorry!" Yelled Alex, his own ears ringing a bit, but he had at least closed his eyes and turned his head before it when off.

Chris gave up trying to stand and slumped to his knees, Chris raising his rifle and firing in the general direction of the last place he knew the pig had been. His ears were ringing even worse now but his vision slowly continued to clear.

Chris could faintly hear more thumping, Alex had apparently reloaded. "The neck, shoot it in the neck, right behind the jaw!" Chris yelled, barely able to hear himself. The combination of flash bang and his own rifle fire had his ears ringing so bad he could barely hear himself yell. The middle of his vision was still just a big blob of purple, from seeing the flash bang go off. He still couldn't see his sights, and he could only see the boar out of the corner of his eye, if he looked to the side. Aiming was useless.

Alex tried tried using the IR scope to hit the Boar in the neck, as it circled around. It seemed like every time he had good shot placement a tree would get in the way, he was doing more damage to the forest than to the boar. The boar shrieked in madness as is charged Chris once again.

Chris could tell the boar was coming at him, and aiming as best he could as he squeezed off more rounds, but he still couldn't see his sights or the boar if he looked directly at it.

Alex rotated his gun 45 degrees counterclockwise, using his backup iron sights, because they gave a wider field of view for close range shooting, and because the IR scope just showed a big blob with the Boar this close. Alex held his fire for a moment as he lined up his sights, aiming for where Chris had yelled for him to aim and shot the massive boar right behind the jaw.

The .458 caliber big game bullet, going 1000 feet per second tore through the thick hide, and kept going, poking a hole all the way through the Beast.

The beast finally stumbled, and then fell to the ground, just as it crashed into Chris, smashing Chris back to the ground repeatedly as it began to thrash. Alex lined up the sights again and squeezed the trigger. Nothing happened. His gun was empty. Because of the size of the bullets, the magazines only held ten rounds, compared to the normal 30.

Dropping his empty and now useless gun, Alex ran up to Chris, the Boar was still thrashing, threatening to smash Chris into the ground again. Alex grabbed his arm, dragging him away. As he did so, blood from the massive boar shot out of the neck wound, and hit Alex in his right eye and mouth.

Chris had been hit by the boar several times in all the thrashing. Blood was everywhere and it was hard to tell who's blood it was.

As Alex dragged Chris away, suddenly the boar quit thrashing and struggled to it's feet. It stood there breathing raggedly. It's entire body shuddered and it seemed to be confused for a moment.

"Sorry about that, no time to warn you." Alex yell, his own ears still ringing from the gun shots and the flash bang.

"What?" Chris yelled back.

"I said you are welcome!"

Chris was a mess, but he finally managed to get his last magazine into his Saiga which was thankfully attached to him with a one point sling. Using just his left hand, his right arm was useless.

"I'm out of bullets!" Yelled Alex.

Chris unclipped it and lifted the Saiga up to Alex, "Shoot it with this!".

As Alex tried to line up the sights, Chris pulled his cross draw holstered 500S&W with his left hand, twisting his hand clockwise to draw it, just like the old style military revolvers from the civil war. Most people don't understand how to draw one. Old school ambidextrous before it was cool.

Chris could barely hold the gun up, much less line up the sights, but he fired it anyways, every round sending the gun two feet into the air from the recoil, he could barely hold onto it under the severe recoil with just his left hand and yet he barely felt the slap of the gun against his hand, because the rest of his body was screaming in so much pain.

Alex wiped the blood off his face with his arm, but was still half blinded by the boar's blood, still stinging his right eye.

Fortunately for his marksmanship the target was suddenly getting closer, and closer.

At this point, you might be thinking, "It's just a pig hunting story" but I promise, things are going to get out of hand, and they will be lucky to live through it. And yes, I know I put an is where an it should be, but I'm too tired to find it again.

"What do you mean problem?" asked Colonel Jackson.

"The nanites are evolving, just like I warned the committee they might do." Dr. Berlin replied.

"How can a computer program evolve, I thought we had controls in place to prevent that?" The Colonel scratched his head. "You mind explaining in non-techno-geek?"

"They behave just like a virus or a bacteria, the controls only work on the ones susceptible to it. Just like antibiotic resistant bacteria. It only takes one flaw in the data transcription, admittedly it has to be a perfect flaw, but occasionally these errors have to happen, and it was only a matter of time. I warned you people about the possibility that this would occur. And you didn't listen, as usual." Dr. Berlin replied, sternly.

"But I thought we had controls in place, to verify the correct data transfers, ensuring the program remained intact, the hash tag, right?"

Dr. Berlin rolled his eyes. "Something like that. But even that is only a numerical summery of the data. And in theory it is also susceptible to flaws, admittedly it has to be a perfect flaw to get by the controls, but like I said... it was inevitable. You people are always so worried about if you can, you never stop to wonder if you should. And now they are loose in the wild."

"Hold on, Doctor, there is no evidence of that."

"Doesn't matter. We have a pig here with nanites that can reproduce without the limiting reagent. And they don't die when they leave it's body. It has, in essence, evolved into a communicable disease, Colonel."

"But why do you say it is in the wild, there hasn't been a security breach."

"Rain."

"What?"

Dr. Berlin sighed. "Rain, it washes the feces down hill, yes? And they no longer die when they are out of the pig's body. So they will travel down stream. Any water runoff from the base will carry them with it. They are approximately the same density as water, so they will flow easily. And we have no idea how long this pig has had these rogue nanites in it's system, as they were ignored by the safeguards for who knows how long. We were lucky to even find them."

"But they can only live in a pig, not many pigs in water." Replied to Colonel, still apparently sure of himself.

"It only takes one." Dr. Berlin replied. "Because of the way we designed them they can hibernate for decades. It only takes one. And they are now in the water system, because the water flows off the base. I'll admit we have no way of knowing if one has actually infected a porcine, or God Forbid a human, but we have to assume they are in the wild, and we should act accordingly. I recommend the Omega Option. We just can't take the risk."

"Well I don't agree, and it's my choice. Do you realize the shit storm that would cause? Even a small EMP detonated over the USA would wreck a good part of the electrical grid, and could kill thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands. Especially in the middle of winter. A few nanites escaping doesn't warrant that, most likely they will never come into contact with a host."

"Well, Colonel, I agree it is unlikely. But can we really take the risk? If even one did find a host, especially a human host, the results would be disastrous. If they did find a host, once they reached critical mass they could begin to be excreted and cause even further contamination."

"Well, Doctor, like I said, It's my decision. We'll just keep an eye out for any reports from the local hospitals and pray I'm right."

Doctor Berlin shook his head, "Colonel, if you thought HIV was bad, this is on an entirely different level of bad. Think STD on steroids. If this gets out, if this wasn't top secret, we would go down in history as the biggest idiots since the people who made the atom bomb and gave it to politicians to play Global Russian roulette with. No offense to the trigger pullers"

"None taken. but like I said, there is no way I am authorizing the Omega option at this time" Colonel Jackson stated firmly. "Without any evidence of infection in the wild we just can't do that."

Besides, Colonel Jackson thought to himself, it would need presidential approval, and our current President might just yank our funding if we brought our program to his attention. If this program works it would be a real game changer. If it failed his career would be wrecked.

"Pork, it's what's for dinner." Chris muttered, and promptly fell down.

"How the heck are we going to get this thing back to town to do that?" Alex said, shaking his head. "I'm not carrying it, old man. Maybe we could get it to the choppa." He his accent suddenly shifting to imitate a famous governor as he stumbled over to where Chris was laying, suddenly noticing he was unconscious.

Blood was gushing out of deep gash in Chris's leg.

Immediately Alex dug into his day pack, and found a tourniquet. The department had just started issuing them to everybody. Turns out after years of wars in the middle east, the US military had finally proven tourniquets were safe and effective and able to safe lives. As long as they were used properly. The Sheriff's Department had a training class on these last year, and this year, and well there was another one scheduled, right after the CPR class. And class on Methadone, or was it Narcan? He'd have to ask his wife.

The tourniquet took a few seconds to apply. And as long as he could get Chris to a hospital within about 8 hours, the leg would be fine. He would loosen it occasionally, to see if it still bled, and to let blood flow to damaged and oxygen deprived tissue.

Chris slowly came to, and grabbed the wounded leg. "That hurts like hell." he groaned. "And I think it broke my right arm."

Chris grabbed an inflatable cast out of the pack and pumped it up over Chris's right forearm. It would hold it in place while they moved. Chris was in obvious pain, but didn't cry out. He just grunted and started breathing slowly and deeply.

"I tried to call in a medivac chopper." Alex reached down and turned his radio back on, "No signal." He turned it off, and walked around the boar. "No eating this thing. It's a male. Come on, Chris, lets get you the heck out of here. Can you walk?"

"You're joking right, you're not leaving me here."

Alex picked up both rifles and slung his 458 M16, then used a piece of paracord to quickly tie Chris's 358 Saiga to his own day pack. Alex then helped Chris reload the 500 S&W handgun and put it back in the holster for Chris.

"Come on, lets get out of here, Old Man."

Chris put his left arm over Alex's shoulder, but they only made it 100 yards before Chris gave out. "I lost too much blood, give me a moment to catch my breath." They waited for a minute, then continued on.

The radios still did not have a signal, and it was another several hundred yards to the crest of the hill, where they might get a signal."

They stopped again to rest and Alex tried to loosen the tourniquet, blood immediately started to gush. So he tightened it again untill it stopped.

Alex tried and failed to help Chris to stand up several times.

"Stop Alex, I can't go any farther, I've lost feeling in my leg, and I'm too weak to stand up." Chris's breathing was rapid and shallow. "There is no way you can carry me up a mountain, I weight 50 lbs more than you do."

Chris looked around, then he looked at his compass, "The road is just a few hundred yards up the hill. You should hear cars driving by occasionally. You'll need to climb up there, get a signal and make the call. Then you better get your ass back here."

Alex reached into his pack and pulled out an orange package. Opening it up he unfurled a space blanket. Silvery mylar on one side and orange on the other with "survival instructions for dummies" printed in black on the orange side. Alex wrapped it around Chris, like a blanket. Chris had lost his hat somewhere so Alex took off his own and put it on Chris's head. "This will keep you warm. I'll be right back." Alex checked to make sure the leg wasn't bleeding. Then dumped out his own day pack and got it under Chris to insulate him from the cold ground, propping Chris against a tree.

Alex was unable to get a signal until he was almost up to the highway, just as he could hear an occasional car drive by. Finally he made the call, but just as he finish a single shot rang out in the distance. Alex, despite his exhaustion, turned and ran back down the mountain.

It took an hour for the ambulance to get there from Le Flore County, since the Pushmataha County ambulance was already in use and on it's way to Tulsa. Search and rescue finally arrived just after the Le Flore ambulance.

Thanks for the story update. Got anymore of those updates?

"Zombies, dimensional portals, demons, and shamanistic magic? You're joking, right?"

"No"

"Yes"

"No"

"Yes"

"No"

"Yes"

"Yes"

"No... Dammit, you got me! But what about Bigfoot?"

@LoneWolf545

@tomkratman

At least it's not in crayon.

I feel sorry for the people who have to read all the stuff sent into Baen.

Should I keep going?

Intellectual property rights are the writer's.

As he sat there, his head began to clear.

Deep, slow breaths.

Again, and again.

Deep, slow breaths.

Eventually he felt like he could maybe stand on his own. Maybe. With a crutch. If someone could help him up.

His body was wracked with pain, he was pretty sure there was a broken rib too, or two. The sharp pain on every full, deep breath confirmed it. Best not to move too much.

"It hurts when I do this doctor.", he whispered, "Well then don't do that." he chuckled, then regretted it. It hurt to laugh.

"Fuck my life." he though.

Chris looked up, the ice was slowly melting from the trees.

The sun was still beating down overhead. As he sat there, despite the pain, and the predicament, he noticed the beauty of the forest, it seemed to be made of brilliant crystal and fire. The sound of the "rain" gently melting off the trees was musical, and somnia.

"Still enough ice on them to last till tomorrow." He mused softly.

His arm was on fire. His leg was dead. He could see a sapling nearby that might make a good crutch. He was beginning to feel for his folding pocket saw, then he heard sound of an ice covered twig cracking in the distance.

After looking around, nothing was visible. He pulled out the 500 S&W revolver and opened it up with one hand, not an easy feat in his current condition.

Seeing it loaded, he closed it as slowly and quietly as possible, and placed it back in its holster. Feeling for the extra bullets, on the gun belt, he felt about 10 rounds. Good enough.

A mild wind started to blow, gently moving through the trees. The droplets falling off the trees made Chris begin to fall asleep again, despite the pain. Sleepy, so sleepy. A musical, random pattern, like gentle static, or white noise. The polar opposite of insomnia. Almost forcing him to sleep.

He bolted awake.

Something had made a sound.

His mind was still reeling a bit from the pain, exhaustion and blood loss. His half-dream, half-hallucination was still fading. He'd become a unicorn dancing through crystal trees, like pure, flawless diamonds.  He'd been looking up at a circular rainbow in the sky, surrounded by and even bigger one.

The sun still beat down overhead.

Something had made a sound.

Right behind him.

He was sure of it. He could feel it. Directly behind him. Every hair on his body suddenly stood on end, in a wave of fire passing from the base of his skull to his entire body, then into his gut. His entire body was suddenly on fire with Adrenalin. And he was deathly afraid. He turned his head left and right, but he could not see what was behind the tree he was laying against without moving. Unnoticed, his breathing began to quicken. The wind shifted for a brief moment, just a swirling vortex through the trees and he caught the faintest wisp of stench. And death.

Dreadful fear coursed through his body, his heart, his mind. It wasn't dead. They had left it still alive, in all the panic. But how could that be? It hadn't been breathing. He was sure. He had been watching for any movement as the had gotten ready to go. It was dead. Wasn't it? He'd seen the wounds, the pig was covered in bloody holes, all of them slowly oozing blood. Even in the panic, they were both good shots.

He gently lifted his coat, placing his hand hand upon his revolver, he began to slowly pull it out with his left hand. He was thankful for all the times he had practiced this. Never believing he would actually have to use it some day, to save his own life. Everybody was doing it at the time, just the latest tacti-cool fad.

He suddenly felt it coming around from behind, then on his right hand side the sound of faint hoof sounds in the soft ground and wet leaves suddenly came to him. It was charging. The faint, splashing patter became louder.

He swung the revolver around as fast as he could. The massive form hurtled around the tree, and Alex could almost reach out and touch it with the tip of his barrel. It was spinning as it leapt past, aiming to land facing him, mere feet away. Right behind the jaw. He pulled the trigger . The massive explosion and flash of light deafened him, again. He felt the thump in his chest. The muzzle brake had directed the blast almost into his face, almost. As he watched the pig suddenly crumbling onto the ground, he thought to himself. "Stop using muzzle brakes on hunting firearms!" The massive pig was in a heap, quivering on the ground. Occasionally a leg would kick.

Chris lined up his sights, slowly firing two more rounds into it's chest,muttering "Right in the kill zone." He pictured the skeleton of the creature in his mind, then added two more bullets to where thought the spine would be, based on how the pig was laying.

He was deaf again. All he could hear was a high pitch ringing.

After about a minute he had his gun reloaded. He'd never practiced reloading with only one hand. Just shooting.

"Stupid" he knew he muttered it, and could feel his throat vibrate, but he couldn't hear himself talk.

The pig wasn't moving. Thank god. He could see water vapor was rising off of it's body, slowly, catching the sunlight. As time passed he could see it still wasn't moving, and eventually the steam stopped. The body was cooling down. He began to hear occasional sounds, like cursing, in the distance.  He reached down and grabbed his combo survival whistle/firestarter/mirror/compass,  and blew the whistle as loud as he could.

Until he saw Alex stumbling up to him.

"H, h, holy Shit" Alex stammered, as he came to a halt, bent down, put his hands on his knees and began to gasp for air. "What the fuck!"

"I'm eating this motherfucker." Chris grunted. "Help me up I think I can make it the rest of the way."

"He's dead, Jim. Give me a minute, ok? I just ran up and down a mountain."

"Pussy!"

"Are you ok?"

"Yeah, well, you should see the other guy!" Chris retorted.

More clouds could be seen in the distance, headed their way.

"More rain or more ice?" Alex asked.

"I wondered whether you were going to check the weather before you left." Chris squinted up at him. "How is your wether doing?"

"The goat's fine, and I did, I just can't remember." Alex put his hand on his face, and closed his eyes.  "Something, something, maybe, something. Oh yeah, maybe ice, maybe rain. They don't know, yet!

"Fair enough. Can we go please, This pig is fucking with me. Are you sure it's dead?"

Alex stopped to look over at the pig again. "It's not moving"

"That's what SHE said, last night!" Chris said, as he lifted the 500 S&W up to Alex, but Alex stopped him with his hand held up. "It's OK, I got my own. And you need to work on your delivery and timing."

Alex opened his coat and pulled out a tiger striped, gold plated, Desert Eagle, chambered in 50ae, a cartridge based on the 44 Magnum, with steroids. It was one of the most powerful handguns ever made. Alex walked up to the massive form. A red laser from the right hand grip panel suddenly same on, showing approximately where the bullets would hit.

"Oh no, you didn't." Chris groaned, shaking his head. "A Desert Eagle, with beams?"

Alex began to line up a shot, "Spine and heart!" yelled Chris, as loud as he could, before putting a finger in the ear closest to the gun, while turning his head away. Best to save what little hearing he had left.

After a few seconds of no booms, he looked back. Alex was putting in ear plugs.

"Fire in the hole!" Chris yelled, just he saw Alex was ready to shoot, and stuck his finger back in there.

Walking around the boar, Alex placed bullets carefully, base of the jaw, the chest, the spine. On the last two shots Alex imagined an X between the ears and eyes and put two bullets there too. Supposed to be where the brain was, he'd read it in a book somewhere about sphinxes in tarot cards, or something. Pigs should be about the same anyways.

It was D-E-A-D

Shortly afterwards Alex could hear the sirens. After digging through the pile of discarded gear from his day pack, he found his Orion 12 gauge flare launcher. Light weight and plastic, it still worked. He tried to keep his pack as light as possible, yet still have everything he might need. The recoil was harsh, but the light of the flare carried far and high.

They would see it. He grabbed the lifeboat ration pack off of the ground. After opening up the mylar outer layer, 9 bricks made of starch, sugar, and coconut oil awaited. Alex and Chris ground away silently on the hard bricks.  Sipping some Scotch-Water Alex had brought.

"The alcohol helps keep it liquid in freezing temps" was Alex's only response, after Chris took his first sip and looked over.

"Whatever you say, kid." Then Chris took a  bigger one.

Every 5 minutes Alex fired one flare into the air. He was almost out of flares when the stretcher got there.

"I think I need a vacation" Chris groaned, as they rolled him onto the stretcher.

"You aren't the only one" Alex responded, as he picked up one corner of the stretcher. "I have one coming too. How does 6 weeks sound?"

They moved so Chris's head was up hill, then began the long trek, back up the mountain.

As they began to march, Chris thought to himself "If we don't hurry it will be night time before we get back, which will make it a Star Trek, if the rain doesn't get here first." Recognizing he was becoming loopy again, he closed his eyes. and laid his head back.

Clouds loomed in the distance. Dark, and foreboding.

Just before the party passed out of sight, the boar's leg gave a twitch.

None of them noticed.

Rad did not even notice the chorus of gunfire, as the 10 speed mountain bike slowly came together under the guidance of his experienced hands.

His customer base was loyal, they had to be to put up with his long winded rants about the evils of industry and especially the "Made in China" bicycle tire industry. But his work was second to none in the tri-county area, cheaper too, so he still maintained a good customer base despite his long winded, incessant rantings.

Most people seemed to not care where their tires were made, but  for anyone willing to listen Rad would rant for hours about poor substitutes in materials and a throw away culture. Most people who first met him tended to assume he was a crazy, paranoid hillbilly, but anyone who got to know him soon discovered that behind the sometimes wild look in his dark brown eyes, and his excited and occasionally stuttering country drawl, resided a mind that was sharp as a tack.

Most of the bicycles he built were from scavenged parts, sometimes putting together 4 or 5 different bikes to make a single "new" one. Rad only replaced parts with new ones as needed. He felt like it was his own way of personally sticking a finger in the eye of corporate greed. His own form of recycling. So he only replaced the occasional bearing, the cables and chains. Just the parts that people rarely took good care of got replaced. A quick sand blasting and painting had most frames looking like new in a jiffy. And his cnc vinyl sticker cutter made any design he could imagine, giving a custom flare to each bike. And it was way faster than masking and painting. And much easier.

The gun fire had finally quit just as Jodi came staggering down the hallway, rubbing sleep out of her beautiful green eyes, her shoulder length black hair falling in disarray. "What the hell is going on out there? Tell them to knock it off, I'm trying to sleep and I've got work tonight!" She drowsily exclaimed. She stared at Rad for a moment, his white, bald head reflecting the single Florescent bulb overhead. He seemed to have not hear her. His eyes had not even shifted over to her. Rad was in a state of total Zen, his tools moved as an extension of his body, never wavering for too long in any one spot.

She slowly walked around behind him and softly blew in his ear. He jumped several inches in his chair, his concentration suddenly broken. "Ah!" he yelled, finally noticing his wife.

"I said can you tell them to knock it off, I'm trying to sleep."

"Knock what off, honey?"

"It sounds like  war zone outside, someone up the road is blasting like it's 4th of July. Did you not hear that?"

The blank look on Rad's face was all she needed to see. "You didn't hear a thing did you?" She shook her head. "Never mind it sounds like they stopped, but if they keep that up, will you please go tell them to quit that shit, people are sleeping."

Rad seemed to suddenly become aware of his surroundings. He noted the sun was up, he'd been at it all night again. "Ok honey, if I hear gunfire I'll peddle down the road, find out who is shooting, and ask them to stop."

"Thank you, dear." She gave him a peck on the cheek and staggered back up the hallway. She knew it bothered Rad to no end, that she would work at a place that was selling the very gasoline he hated so much. But it was a good paying job, for the area, and there weren't many jobs that didn't drug test around these parts. Even though they could live well enough off of what Rad made, Jodi enjoyed the work. It was good exercise and kept her figure in great shape. And the money didn't hurt. She still hadn't gotten around to getting a Medical Marijuana card, if she could even qualify for one. Which wasn't likely, except maybe if she claimed it was for mental issues. And Jodi wasn't sure she ever would as long as it was still federally illegal. The last thing she wanted was "The Man" in her life, she'd just as soon stay off the radar as much as possible. The "No Cell Phones" sign and Faraday cage box outside the shop made it clear that even customers were expected to abide by their paranoia.

As Jodi headed back to bed, Rad got back to work, this one was a real beauty. And it was almost finished. Rad stopped to stuff some marijuana in the bowl, and take a big hit off of his water bong, then blowing it out through a big plastic tube that was stuffed with dryer sheets. It kept the smell from permeating the shop, never know who might come in looking to buy something. He had chosen to paint this bicycle white, with red and blue vinyl stickers, in a Celtic tribal pattern wrapping around the bike. It was almost ready for the last touch, a tiny Sasquatch sticker, with the legendary creature holding two AR-15s as it walked, it was his maker's mark, placed carefully in a discrete location on every bike he built.

Soon enough, by his own reckoning, it was finished. As he stood there admiring it's beauty, he suddenly heard a shot in the near distance. Then four more. Giving a sigh, he grabbed the bike and wheeled it to the door. Now was as good a time as any for a test drive. He stopped for a few moments to slip on a brown leather shoulder holster with his prized 357 Colt Python. It was loaded with 155 grain bullets from antique "Metal Piercing" 38 special +p rounds. He had pulled each one by hand, and reloaded them in 357 magnum casings, over a maximum powder charge. All done by hand using a Lee Loader, a plastic mallet, and a wood board. Rad Felt this setup was perfect protection from 2 and 4 legged creatures, and especially useful for taking out the occasional evil engine block. He pulled on a feather down coat, donned some gloves and a stocking cap, grabbed his sun glasses, and headed out the door.

As he peddled down the road, he noted the day seemed to be warming up. He stopped for a moment to unzip his coat, to keep himself from sweating.  A series of shots rang out in the distance. After a little while longer he took his hat off too. He started to hear a wailing siren getting closer to him, and catch an occasional glimpse of red and blue lights, in the distance, through the trees. On he peddled, curious to find out what was going on and to see if he could help with whatever it was.  His time with the US Army in "The Stan" had taught him to never leave home unarmed, and never hesitate to give aid to those in need. As he peddled closer, he began to feel a bad vibe. The ambulance had stopped somewhere ahead.

"This feels like some heavy shit, Man." he muttered. He felt the shoulder holster, to make sure his gun and extra bullets were still secure, then felt for the Bowie knife that he always kept on his left hip, it was still secured with a leather snap. He felt his shirt pocket, to make sure his lucky Garbage Pail Kids card was in his pocket, as always. Ass Stand Dan sounded so close to Afghanistan, and the the picture was...hilarious.

P.S. Thanks for the inspiration, y'all. You know who you are.

It had thought it knew what pain was. When it awoke its entire body was throbbing with fire. And worse, its head was hurting so bad it could not think for a time, it only lay there, too dizzy to even try to stand up, even if it could try. But it found, once again, it could not move. All that existed, for a time, was the pain. Carbon nano tubes, woven through it's thickened skull had stopped the bullets from penetrating all the way through the skull and into the brain. The bullets did, however, almost penetrated the skull. Almost.

Instead of killing it, they simply stunned it and gave it a splitting headache.

Some of the bullets had found a lucky spot. Major nerves took the longest to repair and reconstruct.

But even though the pain continued and even worsened into blinding madness, its body healed. Nanites, microscopic robots coursed though it's body, fueling themselves using the same ATP that its own body used, The nanite's own special enzymes burning though its fat and muscle stores rapidly and painfully, to facilitate healing the wounds.  As the microscopic machines worked feverishly to repair the damage done to its body, its core temperature rose. As the massive Porcine got warmer and warmer, due to the temperature differential between the boar and the air, the fainest steam was visible once again in the sunlight, making it appear like its body was faintly smoking in the sunlight. Its breathing, through it all, was deep. But so slow that one would have to watch it very closely, for a long, time to see it. Except for the first twitch, it didn't move a muscle besides its diaphragm during the entire process, the nanites made sure of it by blocking the nerve impulses from its cerebellum to its body. Nothing existed but madness and pain, for an immeasurable time.

As the excess heat evaporated slowly and its body returned to normal temperature its mind finally began to clear, and its head began to stop hurting. It was SO hungry. The hunger was all consuming. It felt like it must eat, and soon, or die. Healing the massive wounds had burned through incredible amounts of energy in a short time. The nanites were quiescent unless needed, but when fully active they used enormous amounts of energy from the body, severely taxing the body's ability to even survive the incredibly painful process of massive wound healing. Suddenly it felt itself able to move again. The nanites in it's cerebellum had released control, allowing it to move it's body again.

It could easily smell which way the men, and woman went. The woman smelled so sweet. Like strawberries.

It couldn't remember strawberries.

But now it could.

And the men who had hurt it. The older one, the gray beard, was still leaking slowly. Just an occasional drop of blood on the ground, but it was sweet ambrosia, as it followed their trail up the mountain. The meal of the small, old man from earlier was a long distant memory, long ago digested. Gut nanites had greatly accelerated the process to something more akin to what water does to starch based foam, or something from a science fiction movie about aliens with acid for blood.

It.

Must.

Eat.

"Put him down, Sergeant."

Originally from and Irish family in Pennsylvania, now stationed in bum fucked Oklahoma, 1st Sergent Tommy Gaelicher flicked the safety to "Fire" on the Carl Gustav.

"This is for every one of the pbullies that made my life hell, in middle school, over my name. But thanks for teaching me how the fight." He muttered.

The triple ear protection, and special helmet totally muffled the sound. But the electronics carried even that slightest whisper, if a bit unclear.

"What was that, Top?"

"I'll tell you about it tonight, sir!" Tom had the escapee in his sights. "Back Blast Clear!" Tom yelled.

2nd Lieutenant Dan rapped Tom on the helmet, twice. He was a good lieutenant and knew to listen to his Sergeants. And knew when to ignore their jokes, or at least wait until they were drunk enough to tell them properly.

Again.

And Again.

"Clear!" Yelled Lt. Dan.

The Carl Gustav "Recoilless Rifle" felt like getting slapped in the face by the Hand of God.

The special shell they were firing was, basically, a pound of C4 high explosive in a metal tube, behind several pounds of 3/4" explosive ball bearings.

After a moment of timelessness, where their entire mind and body went deaf, dumb, and blind, they felt like they were awakening from a dream.

As they regained conscious thought, they could see a red mist settling to the ground, which was all that was left of the prisoner.

"Are you sure this is necessary?" Lt. Dan asked as the bloody mist finally finished settling.

Sergeant Gaelicher looked over at the Lt. "Before this we were using the Ma Deuce with APIT, then two more almost escaped. We had to send in the Apaches. It was a mess. Lots of scalping. I'm not joking, they'll show you the AAR after you get back. These days we just clear fields of fire, and use the canister rounds with proximity release, explosive core grapeshot. DARPA developed it just for this project, and even they don't know what we are really using it for. That's why we have to put our AIDS, sorry... Blackberries, in the box. As you saw, it pretty much turns them to mist." Top laughed as he picked up another shell and began to load the Recoilless Rifle. "But Fuck'em, we only use convicted pedophiles for our voluntary human experimentation project. If they can't handle it, they can quit any time they want and go to a Supermax. Of course some of them like the power and think they can use it to escape. Some have almost succeeded. Some only make a poor try, as you just saw. And then there are the freaks, we keep them in the basement."

"Freaks?"

"They didn't tell you about that yet?"

"Oh my god, I see why they said I just had to see it to believe it. Why did the last LT quit?"

"He didn't, medical retirement from traumatic brain injury. The last one was so close the grapeshot round literally blew up in our face, I was protected by the blast shield, he wasn't. It was coming right for us."

Lt. Dan thought about for a moment. "I think I should have taken the 45 they offered instead of my M9."

"Doesn't matter that much Sir. Either one mostly just stuns them for a little bit, if you are lucky. Then they wake up pissed and hungry. We used ninja swords at first. Brass had some choice words when they found out. We'd stun them with our side arms, then run up and chop their heads off. Good times. But then a couple of soldiers got killed. Brass found out about the swords. It was a mess. JAG ruled that Katana's were not approved for military use."

"And now we carry these ridiculous machetes?"

Top shook his head, "They are called Barongs, Sir, and they're almost as good at chopping off heads as the Katanas. Almost. I guess the bonus is you can dual wield."

"Duel who, Sergeant?"

"You didn't get the combat course yet, Sir?"

"There's a combat course? Why didn't they..." Lt. Dan stopped as he saw Sergeant Gaelicher was turning beat red.

"Whoop their ass, mother fu..." was all Dan could catch as Tom stormed off.

@DK-Prof did I get it right, "Slapped in the face by the Hand of God"?

Thanks for the updates. Got anymore done, yet?

Rad could smell it before he could see it. The gentle breeze carried the smell, wafting up the tiny, shallow ravine. On the side of a mountain in South Eastern Oklahoma. Something foul and musty.

Rad had been following the haphazard trail of skid marks and broken ice for several minutes, at least. Even though he was high as a kite on weed, he figured the time distortion wasn't that far off. He was pretty sure, anyways. At least the sun hadn't moved that much. He tried to recall exactly how high the sun had been. Obviously not as high as he was feeling right now, he laughed at himself. A smile crossed his face for a moment. It wasn't even close to beer thirty, and then his smile faded. He suddenly remembered he hadn't brought anything to drink.  And his mouth was getting dry. Cotton Mouth, the bane of pot heads. He cursed himself, silently.

"Dumbass" he barely whispered.

Occasionally he heard something while he was hurrying down the mountain, but every time he stopped to listen it was gone. He wasn't even sure what it was. He had stopped several times to pick up the trail, it wasn't always obvious.

He stared grabbing chunks of ice and sucking on them. Clean enough, he figured.

Suddenly a whiff of that same foul stench, but just a little stronger. He looked around. Nothing.

He was going to tell them why the amublance should not leave it's engine running, he was going to give them a savage "what for", as soon as he found who was driving it. Even though they weren't paying for the gas themselves, it was still polluting the environment. And wasting tax dollars. The rant was a constant companion as he walked in near silence.

Dripping ice trees had been a transcendental experience. Every time Rad stopped to look around and listen, he could almost imagine elves frolicking, or was it the other eff word, between crystal trees. Could it be just the weed? He kept seeing things out of the corners of his eyes. The heavy layer of ice had broken many trees, every time Rad saw a broken tree his heart ached. But he also noted that there would be a lot of free fire wood in the coming years. Only the strong survive? It's not just a good idea, it's the law, of nature. He could occasionally see miniature rainbows, refracted in the ice and hundreds of droplets, constantly falling from the trees in the bright sun light. The entire forest was alive with movement. And sound. Fortunately the leaves were wet, and the occasional ice patch was easy to avoid. He rationalized that must be what he was seeing. Not elves and fairy creature, but hallucination produced by some bad ass weed. And some real ass physics.

"Yeah man" his mouth moved but no sound came out, other than that of his breathing.

Then a suddenly stronger, and fouler, stench erased all that from his head. Not good.

The smell. It was horrible. And getting stronger.

It smelled like... shit.

"Fuck, man" he barely whispered and then almost gagged. Then realizing he had said it out loud, he stopped and held his breath. He checked his gun in its holster, again. Then his knife. As he stood there, looking around, breathing slowly, he noticed a slight movement. Just a flash of black, not far down the hill.

Rad looked down, swiftly. Looking down the mountain, and then at his feet, memorizing a silent path down the mountain. Looking for a way to get a good angle on whatever he had just seen, and without it hearing or seeing him. He slowly slid his gun out. Then began to move even faster than before. Yet quieter than ever. He was expending massive amounts of energy, in a ninja like sprint, downhill.

The soft, wet leaves and constant patter of droplets made it almost easy to move unnoticed. He almost ran on the balls of his feet, when he wasn't springing from place to place. Most steps he landed on the ball of his foot and then eased down, but sometimes he would slow down and roll his foot from outside heal to pinky toe to big toe, in order to not make a sound while stalking. Nobody would hear the sound of foot steps anyways, although he did occasionally make a noise, it was random in nature and blended in with the general forest noise. The gentle breeze kept his own smell away from whatever it was he had seen.

Rapidly he reached a low row of rocks, sticking up like a short, miniature wall along the mountain. Must be a hard sandstone layer, turned on it's side, he thought to himself, as he approached it. That geology class had been good for something after all. He had started to daydream about fossils when the smell hit him again, and then he saw it fully, sneaking across the ravine, seemingly intent on something ahead.

Even as Rad began to line up the sites, he was starting to ponder how he would get all the meat back up the mountain, it was a lot of meat.  He paused to cock the hammer back. The faintest click of the mechanism was all it took. Metal on metal seemed to travel in the forest, something foreign and alien. It stood out like a sore thumb.

The massive pig turned it's head to look, just as Rad pulled the trigger. The last thing Rad saw before the sharp recoil and massive muzzle flash obscured his vision was the giant pig looking right right at him with one eye, its head turned towards him as much as its thick neck would allow in that brief moment.  His sights were massive in his imagination, and the eye was so close. All that Zen training had become almost reflex at this point, he allowed the bullet to go to it's target, where it wanted to go. Into the eye. It was like staring into the eye of a demon. Somehow, even at that distance of about 40 yards Rad could feel the hatred radiating from it's soul, if animals even had such a thing.

As his gun came down out of recoil he suddenly noted the pain in his head and especially his ears. He hadn't thought to put in ear protection. But as some small concession, the massive pig was twitching on the ground. The massive pig continued to have occasional full body spasms. These continued until Rad had finished chopping the head off. It was a process which took almost a minute, even with the massive, razor sharp Bowie knife.  His grandfather had taught him to always bleed an animal before you eat it. And that a Bowie knife should be sharp as a razor, and able to stab like a dagger, yet have enough heft to cut like a meat cleaver. Just as he finished beheading it, despite the ringing in his ears, he noted the sound of people coming up the mountain.

"Howdy, yall!" Rad waved as the group came into view. "BBQ at my place, tonight!"

He began to  gut it. His knife seemed to be a bit dull already. He was trying to remember the last time he had sharpened it.  This was one tough pig. As they got closer he heard some foul language, and some words he hadn't herd since his army days.

"What's up, y'all?" he stopped cutting to look up at them. They all had the same shocked expression. "What's wrong with you people, never seen a dead pig before?"

He finally notice it was a man on a stretcher they were carrying, and one of the porters was a rather banged up looking deputy. "What happened to y'all?" The bloody man on the stretcher moaned and brought his well rehearsed 20 questions to an abrupt halt.

"Evidence? No Sir, I won't touch it." He temporized, trying to keep a straight face. Yeah right, Rad didn't care what that pig said about the pig. He was going to get that pig in a freezer even if he had to get someone to use an internal combustion engine to do it!

No way all this meat was going to go to waste in an evidence locker, or morgue, or whatever, man. He walked back up the mountain with the group, and even intervened to tighten the tourniquet on the wounded man's leg. A little cursing had followed, but the obvious new blood leaking out had driven his point home.

As soon as they were all out of what little hair he had left, he was going to be getting some help to get this pig processed. Principles or not, wasted meat was wasted meat. And no way was he packing this much home on a bicycle, at least not all by himself. He was going to have to host a BBQ just to get it all processed.

Besides, free food was always great for business. His smoker hadn't been fired up in months. Nothing better than a nice slow smoking at low heat, to get the meat "fall off the bone" tender.

Thanks for the update. Looking forward to more reading.

"Government regulations prohibit smaller companies from existing, 'cause you have to pay a team of expensive lawyers in order to navigate through the mine field of government regulation! Ergo only large multinational corporations thrive. Because they have the capitol to pay all those lawyers, and play the wall street shell game, ran by computer algorithms that always favor THE HOUSE! Government regulations have been used, in the past and currently, to prohibit new businesses. You know why there aren't any flying cars? That's why! Big Brother Companies! BBC, you know what that stands for right? They pay senators to change laws/regulations to benefit themselves, and to weed out competition! That's what campaign donations really are, bribes to make changes in the law to benefit whoever is making the donation, man!"

Rad had to stop, gasping for several seconds.

"If the Fed didn't wield so much power, said campaign donations couldn't be used against The Little People. Food is so cheap, and high power electronics are too, that we pay international corporations to spy on us with. The average person doesn't even need to work that much to actually survive and thrive. We pay farmers to NOT grow food for goodness sake! With a minimum of effort, any semi motivated person can make enough money to live in style. Make or grow a product that people want to buy, whatever you love, someone else loves it too. Make it, do it, sell it, and try to be the best at it. Someone WILL buy it.  If they don't find a better store front, and/or pay google money to put you at the top of the list, butt fuck those assholes."

Rad stop talking, finally, gasping for air as they lugged Chris up the mountain.

"Jesus, Rad, all I asked was if you had gotten an LLC yet, so someone can't sue you when they fall off one of your bikes! Calm down. I'm too tired to listen to one or your tirades." Alex was starting to feel like he was going to pass out himself.

"Next we have test subject one nineteen, an illegal immigrant from Mexico."  Sergent Tommy Gaelicher continued, "Don't let the red hair and pale skin fool you, there is an entire valley of them in northern Mexico. Descended from escaped Irish indentured servant, apparently, and DNA tests confirmed this. This fellow here goes by the moniker Poncho, as in Poncho Villa. As you can see he appears normal, but don't let that fool you. His powers are quite disturbing. He can causes guns to malfunction, somehow. The doctors think he manipulates electromagnetic fields, magnetizing parts, and causing them to stick to each other and slowing down certain parts, causing jams. Or something like that. He's tried to escape several times, and every time he does, everybody's guns start to malfunction when he gets close. Failures to feed, eject, misfires, we have no idea how he actually does it. They are still working on theories. He also plays hell with locking mechanisms too. Note the cell is welded shut? It's not one hundred percent either, because he would have escaped otherwise, well that and he stops to have sex with everybody he kills. Three dead, and two seriously injured, as he hadn't gotten to them yet, to finish them off. Death by Bo Bo, or Muerto por Bo Bo, as he calls it."

Lt. Dan noted the big iron ring, welded in place where a pad lock would be, and took a careful look at the test subject.

The cell held an older looking man, balding with wrinkles, with bright red hair and bright blue eyes. He appeared to have no teeth, as he sat there sucking on a banana, staring into Dan's eyes, not blinking. Dan felt a chill move up his spine, from his stomach.

"He also causes electronics to go crazy, almost like our next subject. This way sir."

Poncho continued to suck on the banana as the two soldiers walked away, winking just as Daniel looked back for the final time.

Lt. Dan looked into the next cell. He couldn't see anybody in it. "I think he's escaped, Sergent!" Dan exclaimed, reaching for his sidearm.

"He's still there, sir, see the IR camera feed up there?" Tommy pointed up and to the right of the cage, where there was an old fashion cathode ray tube television.

"Haven't seen one of those in a while" Dan looked up at it, and noted it showed an infrared image of the cell. A person was sitting cross legged on top of the table in the middle of the cell. By moving his head back and forth, Dan finally located it with his eyes. Optical camouflage. Quite good too.

"As you can see, or rather can't see, sir, subject two forty three has the ability to blend in, almost perfectly, to his environment. It even works underwater. He also disrupts modern flat screens which is why we are using the cathode ray tube. Something about sensitivity to EMF and turnings, or tuning or something, you'll have to ask the egg heads to explain it better. As for the invisibility, it's one of the features built into the nanites, but most subjects simply can't control it consciously. That's not the weird part. This guy is able to direct electricity and hit things. But only at close range. Sort of like an electric eel. The only thing keeping him from zapping us right now is the threat of us zapping him back, and some rather innovative grounding and insulation. Notice we are walking on rubber?"

Dan had noted the rubber flooring as they approached, then noted the large diameter copper wire that was braised to the cell bars and running down into the concrete floor, hopefully deep underground..

"How are you doing there, Ernest?" Tommy spoke at the apparently empty table.

"I told you, my name is Electron." Came a soft, lisping voice from the cell. "Training a new victim for us, Sugarbear?"

"I hate it when he calls me that, and he knows it." Tommy shook his head as he looked at Dan's worried expression. "Sorry sir."

Tommy looked back at Electron, "I've got a special gun just for you, Electron, you go ahead and try again. Anytime."

A ripple in the air over the table, and the sound of soft giggling was all the response Tommy got.

"Moving on, sir."

They walked on down the hallway, deep underground, a ventilation fan, far ahead, was the only sound besides their footprints.  They approached the next cell.

"Subject one, this was our first test subject and it almost halted the program." Tommy waved at it. "Hi Albert!"

When Dan looked into the cell he note what appeared to be the actual Creature From the Black Lagoon. Apparently a human, but covered in large, thick, grey scales.

"Just last week the scientists finally figured out how he does it, sort of, or maybe just what happened. The hair cells in his skin have rearranged themselves to grow plates, mostly bullet proof themselves. We don't know if he is consciously doing it, as he refused to speak, or has become unable. We aren't sure about that either. As with all of our subjects he was a rather nasty person before, and he continues to be so now. He becomes violent with staff any chance he gets, so he is on complete lock down now. We aren't even sure if he is rational, for values of rational, since he won't or can't talk, and seems to be totally uninterested in communicating. At this point we are just tossing him food to keep him alive. And too see what happens."

As Lt. Dan watched, the creature lumbered over and started to grip the bars and jerk on them. Then it reached down and started to rub its groin.

Sergent Tommy walked over to a small freezer standing in the passage, and reached in. He pulled out a large chunk of frozen meat, then tossed it neatly between the bars of the cage. The creature caught it, and began to gnaw on it. "That's the only thing we've found to stop him from doing that. At lest for a little while. You don't want to see him finish, it smells awful.

Lt. Dan felt a wave of nausea pass over him. "Alright, Sergent, lets keep going, I don't wan to see the happy ending."

"Oh, well sir, you're going to love this next one then."A woman this time." Tommy saw the perplexed look in Dan's eyes. "Not all pedos are men, sir."

As they approached the cell Dan could smell a musky, fishy odor emanating from it.

"Believe it or not, this subject was once a presidential candidate, subject 16".

Peering into the cell, Dan noted a massive mound of flesh, fully one thousand pounds of fat, sprawled out on a king size bed.

"She is apparently able to obtain enough energy from ambient light and stray radiation that she doesn't even need to eat to maintain her weight. She also rarely moves on her own. Someone has to direct her at all of her activities of daily live, which she appears to not be interested in as you can smell, I mean tell from the smell. And you are probably asking why she is such a threat?"

Daniel nodded. "She doesn't look very mobile, Sergent."

"She has the ability to influence the will of weak minded people. Getting them to do her will, she even drove several guards to quote unquote suicide. It, sadly, took several death before we realized they didn't actually kill themselves. If you listen to her talk long enough she will either subvert your will or drive you insane listening to her yammering. Some on sir, I'll fill you in more when she isn't listening. It's best to not talk in front of her or she will use whatever information she gains against you. We'll you later, madam president!" Sergent Gaelicher called over his shoulder as they walked off. "She likes to be called that."

As the two soldiers walked off, they could hear her murmuring "It was my turn, it was my turn..." over and over again.

"What did you say her name was?" Lt. Dan asked, as they passed out of earshot.

The sun was blinding, pain excruciating, far overhead vultures circled, suddenly one of them grew closer, and Chris beheld a man riding a Pegasus. No, an Alicorn! As the apparition grew closer, Chris noted the man's hair was golden, and he held an American Flag in one hand, and a mini gun in the other. A voice boomed across the expanse.

"Everything is going to be OK!"

Chris snapped awake. The pain was still there. And for a moment he could still see the rainbow sky of his hallucination. Looking around he could see the refractions all around, red and blue sparkles, all around, refracted in millions of facets of ice, flashing constantly.

Everything was going to be OK. They had made it back to the ambulance, and Chris saw Alex, strong as ever, still carrying the stretcher...

A single tear rolled down Chris's cheek. "'Merica." He whispers, as he laid his head back down he thought to himself. "Everything is going to be OK." He could feel his leg again, despite the tourniquet. It almost felt like he could walk again. He felt an itchy sensation traveling up his leg. Seemed to be tingling too. He looked upagain and saw Alex scratching his own eye. It looked like it had come crusted blood around it. Chris could see Alex's eye was red, inflamed.

"You OK there buddy?" Chris whispered up.

Alex looked down again. "Yeah, we got this, I'm gonna ride to the hospital with you. Chopper will meet us just up the road."

In the distance Chris could hear the sound of a helicopter, slowing down, gently descending.

Rad looked back at the trail they had just made. Still memorizing it, in his mind, he was going to get him some of that meat. One way or the other.