“Sergeant Buck Osgood, sir. Air Force.”
“You have any casualty reports, Buck?”
“Sir, this base was untouched until ‘bout a month ago. We all had the proper medicines when it first broke last year, late. I don’t know what happened; why the medicines stopped working. Maybe they wore off. I don’t know. What I do know is there ain’t
“All right, Buck. Here’s what I want you boys to do…”
After instructing Buck and his men where the Rebels were, and to come on, Ben walked out of the shack and toward a stand of very thick timber. He wanted to think; wanted to be alone for a time. More and more of late, since leaving Idaho, he had sought solitude.
A young woman’s screaming jerked his head up. Ben sprinted for the timber, toward the source of the frightened screaming.
He reached the edge of the timber and came to a sliding stop, his mouth open in shock.
It was a man. But like no man Ben had ever seen. It was huge, with mottled skin and huge clawed hands. The shoulders and arms were monstrously powerful-appearing. The eyes and nose were human, the jaw was animal. The ears were perfectly formed human. The teeth were fanged, the lips were human. The eyes were blue.
Ben was behind the hysterical young woman—about fourteen years old—the child of a Rebel couple. She was between Ben and the… whatever in the hell it was.
The creature towered over the girl. Ben guessed it to be about seven feet tall.
Ben clawed his .45 from leather just as the creature lunged for the girl. She was very quick, fear making her strong and agile. Ben got off one quick shot, the big slug hitting the mutant in the shoulder. It screamed in pain and spun around, facing Ben. Ben guessed the thing weighed around 300 pounds. All mad.
Ben emptied his pistol into the manlike creature, staggering it, but not downing it. The girl, now frightened mindless, ran into its path. Ben picked up a rock and hurled it, hitting the beast (Ben didn’t know what else to call it) in the head, again making it forget the girl. It spun and screamed at Ben. Its chest and belly were leaking blood. Blood poured from the wound in its shoulder.
Ben sidestepped the clumsy charge and pulled his Bowie knife from its sheath. With the creature’s back momentarily to him, Ben jumped up on a stump for leverage and brought the heavy blade down as hard as he could on the creature’s head. The blade ripped through skull bone and brain, driving the beast to its knees, dying. Ben worked the blade out and, using both hands, brought the blade down on the back of the creature’s head, decapitating it. The ugly, deformed head rolled on the grass, its eyes wide-open in shocked death.
Ben wiped the Bowie clean on the grass and replaced it in leather. He walked to the young woman and put his arms around her.
“It’s all over now, honey,” he said, calming her, patting her on the shoulder. “It’s all right, now. You go on and find your mother.”
A young boy stood a distance away, holding hands with his sister. Both of them were open-mouthed in awe. “Wow!” he said. “He is a god. He can’t be killed.”
“He fought a giant and beat it,” his sister said. “Just wait ‘til I tell Cindy over in Dog Company about this.”
By now, many Rebels had gathered around. They stood in silence, looking at the beast with some fear in their eyes; looking at Ben with a mixture of awe and fear and respect and reverence.
Ben looked at the silent gathering crowd. “You see,” he told them. “Your boogyman can be killed. Just be careful, travel in pairs, and go armed.” He smiled faintly. “Just like should have been ordered in New York’s Central Park thirty years ago.”
A few of the older Rebels laughed dutifully. The younger ones did not have any idea what Ben was talking about.
“Go on back to your duties,” Ben ordered.
The crowd slowly broke up, the men and women and kids talking quietly—all of them speaking in low hushed tones about Ben.
“…maybe it’s true.”
“…heard my kids talking the other day. Now I tend to agree with them.”
“…mortal could not have done that, you know?”
“…calm about it.”
“Gods don’t get scared.”
Ben heard none of it.
Ike stepped up to Ben, a funny look in his eyes. He had overheard some of the comments from the Rebels. “Are you all right, partner?”
“I’m fine, Ike.”
Ike looked at him. His breathing was steady, his hands were calm. Ike looked at the still-quivering man- beast. “I wouldn’t have fought that ugly son of a bitch with anything less than a fifty caliber.”
“It had to be done, Ike. Don’t make anymore out of it than that.”
Ike’s returning gaze was a curious mixture of humor and sadness. He wanted so badly to tell Ben the feelings about him were getting out of hand; something needed to be done about them.
But he was afraid Ben would pull out and leave for good if he did that.
Afraid? the word shocked Ike. Me? he thought. Afraid? Yes, he admitted. But it was not a physical fear—it was a fear of who would or could take Ben’s place.
Nobody, he admitted, his eyes searching Ben’s face. We’re all too tied to him.
“Don’t anybody touch that ugly bastard!” Doctor Chase elbowed and bulled and roared through the dissipating crowd. For a man seventy years of age, Chase was very spry on his feet. “You use that knife on that thing, Ben?” he pointed to Ben’s Bowie.
“Yes, I did. After shooting it seven times,” he added dryly.
Ike grinned and pointed to Ben. “I thought you were talkin’ about him when you said ‘ugly bastard.’”
Ben laughed, and the laughter felt good. He had not found much to laugh about lately.
Chase shook his head. “Boil that blade, Ben. It could be highly infectious.”
“Yes, sir,” Ben said with a grin.
Chase looked at Ike. “And you see that he does, you web-footed, aquatic redneck.”
“There you go again,” the Mississippi-born-and-reared ex-SEAL said. “Always puttin’ down my heritage.”
“Shut up and clear this area,” Chase said.
Ike walked off, muttering very uncomplimentary remarks about ex-Navy captains. But he cleared the area.
Ben and Ike remained, watching the doctor and his team of medics work on the mutant. “I want a look at that brain, too,” Chase said. “But God’s sake, be careful handling it.”
The next day, Chase dropped the news in Ben’s lap. “That human being—and it is more human than animal —is about six years old.”
Ben spilled his coffee all over his table. He rose to his feet. “You have got to be kidding!”
Ike’s eyes widened. He said nothing. Cecil sat and slowly shook his head.
“No more than eight,” the doctor said. “And that is positive.”
“How…?” Ben asked.
“I don’t know for sure,” Chase cut him off, anticipating the question. “But I was up most of the night conferring with my people—and I’ve got some good ones. Here is what we put together:
“They have intelligence—how much, I do not know. But they are more human than animal. You probably didn’t notice when you were fighting it, but the poor creature had covered its privates with a loincloth. That in itself signifies some degree of intelligence; not necessarily enlightenment.
“Cell tissue, brain, blood, all are more human than animal. It’s a mutant. It is not a monster. It is not The Creature from the Black Lagoon, or The Blob. It is a product of radiation.
“And it was also pregnant.”
