Exodus: Tales of The Empire: Book 2: Beasts of the Frontier. by Doug Dandridge Page A

heavy pad that came
down on him.
    “Get off the
path,” yelled Jack to Chiun, waving as he ran off into the brush himself.
    Chiun ran off
the path, just ahead of the beast, which rumbled by.  After they had passed
Jack ran across the path to see what had happened to Chiun.
    “Christ,” he
hissed as he looked down at the headless body of the man.  He quested about,
the skin crawling over his spine as he realized that now he truly was the
hunted.  I’m getting the hell out of here , he thought, looking into the
brush and taking a random path.  He moved smoothly, quietly, as he had been
trained, his ears questing for any noises that might be following him.
    The jungle was
quiet at first, most of the inhabitants still frightened by whatever had caused
the loud noise minutes before.  Soon they started to make their presence known,
and Jack found himself starting at every noise, jumping at shadows.  The
hell with this , he thought, stopping for a moment to get his breathing
under control.  I’m a Marine.  I’m the baddest dude in these woods.  If
anything comes after me, that’s its tough luck.
    Something moved
in the brush to his left.  Jack dropped into a crouch, his rifle pointed that
way.  The rustling grew louder, until some small furry creatures came running
into sight, saw him, and took off.  Jack let out a short laugh, straightened
up, and made to turn back the way he was heading.  That is, until he felt the
keen edge of a knife at the back his neck.
    “So,” said a
cold voice.  “What branch were you in?”
    “Marines,” said
Jack, tensing, getting ready to do something, anything, to turn the tables on
this guy.  “Force Recon.  You?”
    “Rangers.  Let
me ask you a question, from one former warrior to another.  What does it feel
like to sell your soul to the darkness?”
    Jack made his
move at that moment, twisting, bringing his right elbow back in a strike.  The
strike never landed, and the monomolecular blade cut through his neck.  The
last thing he saw was his headless body, spurting blood, as the man who had
killed him brought the blade around in return from the killing stroke.  His
vision blurred as his head hit the ground and rolled.  Vision turned to the
darkness the Ranger had asked him about, and he knew no more.
    *     *     *
    “We’ve got
everyone but the two still following you, Matthew.  You just hold tight.”
    “That may not be
possible, Uncle Timothy,” whispered Matthew into the com.  “The bastards aren’t
more than fifty meters from me, heading my way.”
    Matthew thought
it would be a good idea to close up with the two survivors so he could watch
them and keep track of them in order to vector his uncle to them.  And then
they had turned in his direction, seemingly at random.  Now he was trapped with
his back against the open water.  The only way out was a small bridge that
crossed the creek to the west.  The bridge had been built by a Swamper who
wanted to live on an island, but still wanted a low tech connection to the
land.
    The bridge was
the problem.  Giant carnotropes had made that bridge their nest, holing up
under it.  The Swamper who had made his home there had been one of the first
victims of his construction, taken by one of the largest tropes anyone had
seen.  Gigantor still lived under the bridge, along with the females that were
his mates.  Crossing the bridge could be dangerous, even with the stinkweed
covering up his own scent.
    The two kept
stumbling his way, making enough noise to spook every small animal for thirty
meters.  And they were still heading straight for him, obviously unaware that
there was water blocking their path.
    Matthew knew he
had to move, and move fast, if he wanted to get out of the path before they
spotted him.  And the only way was the bridge, since the cove to the east also
cut him off.  Like most who had been raised in the Swamp the open water
terrified him.  He knew how to swim, but didn’t like