fence break.
Damn this mist , he thought angrily and roared again for the flares.
A soldier came running with a small case and a fat single-barreled gun. He stopped, broke open the stock, loaded a huge pellet into the pipe and snapped it shut, before handing the gun to his commanding officer.
Atalay nodded. ‘Now, let us see what we will see.’
He pointed the gun upwards and pulled the trigger, then immediately handed it to the soldier to reload.
Explosive gases thumped the cigar-shaped silver pellet hundreds of feet into the air, where it exploded into a glaring red ball of light dangling on a small parachute. The flare floated to the ground, a miniature sun of heat and light that illuminated the terrain for hundreds of feet in every direction.
Atalay grabbed the loaded flare gun again, and fired off another round. This followed the first’s trajectory, and a few seconds later added its light to the scene.
His men had fanned out in a line at the fence break. The flare had colored the mist a boiling red, and within it, just inside the fence, a figure was visible – tall, large, and wearing something on its head. It stood stock still, but also seemed to be in constant motion, like a film dubbed over itself with all versions playing at once. The storm-fencing wire behind it looked torn apart rather than cut.
‘What in God’s name …?’ Atalay lifted his phone to his ear. ‘Onbaşi, what do you have on ground radar for our position … approximately 500 feet to our direct east?’
There was the sound of confusion, then, ‘I only have you, sir, and the squads. There is nothing else.’
Atalay swore. ‘There is something here – I can see it with my own eyes. It tore a hole in our fence. It’s too big to not show up on ground radar – check again.’
More silence, then, ‘Nothing … no physical signature at all. Are you sure it’s not a shadow, sir?’
Atalay swore even louder and hung up. He pointed to his closest squad leader. ‘Bylak, see to the intruder.’
The soldier saluted, then waved his men forward. Atalay fired another flare as the squad approached the figure. It remained standing as still as a post, and as Bylak and his men circled it, Atalay could see that it was at least seven feet tall, and had either a strange helmet on its head, or …
The new flare descended. In its red light, Atalay saw Bylak stop just a dozen feet in front of the towering figure, raise his gun and yell instructions. There was no response for several seconds, then the huge head seemed to slowly lift and, though Atalay couldn’t be sure due to the swirling mist, crane forward to stare into his man’s face. Bylak dropped his gun and staggered back a step. He went down to his knees, raking at his eyes, then froze in place.
Atalay’s eyes went wide. He dropped the flare gun and drew his own revolver, then roared a single instruction: ‘Fire.’
Automatic gunfire shattered the dawn air, and muzzle flashes dotted the small hillside, as hundreds of rounds sped toward the figure. It seemed to writhe and shake at their impact, but didn’t fall. The head swiveled slowly, seeming to take in the men on the hill. At each sweep, the sound of gunfire lessened.
When the huge head finally swung toward Mehmet Atalay, he had the fleeting impression of a ghastly white face streaked red by the flare, and slitted reptilian eyes that could only be hell-born. Images of snakes, fiery pits, roaring giants, and monstrous many-headed hounds crowded his brain, and it seemed to slow, like a clock winding down. A tiny dot of pain in his forehead grew and bloomed, and he saw the figure was gliding toward him. He wanted to fire his gun, or stab at it, or throw a punch, but his muscles refused to obey. The thing went past him without a glance, and he realized he was as inconsequential to it as an insect that just happened to be in the way.
A veil of gray started to pull over his vision. He turned his head on a creaking neck to glance at
Damn this mist , he thought angrily and roared again for the flares.
A soldier came running with a small case and a fat single-barreled gun. He stopped, broke open the stock, loaded a huge pellet into the pipe and snapped it shut, before handing the gun to his commanding officer.
Atalay nodded. ‘Now, let us see what we will see.’
He pointed the gun upwards and pulled the trigger, then immediately handed it to the soldier to reload.
Explosive gases thumped the cigar-shaped silver pellet hundreds of feet into the air, where it exploded into a glaring red ball of light dangling on a small parachute. The flare floated to the ground, a miniature sun of heat and light that illuminated the terrain for hundreds of feet in every direction.
Atalay grabbed the loaded flare gun again, and fired off another round. This followed the first’s trajectory, and a few seconds later added its light to the scene.
His men had fanned out in a line at the fence break. The flare had colored the mist a boiling red, and within it, just inside the fence, a figure was visible – tall, large, and wearing something on its head. It stood stock still, but also seemed to be in constant motion, like a film dubbed over itself with all versions playing at once. The storm-fencing wire behind it looked torn apart rather than cut.
‘What in God’s name …?’ Atalay lifted his phone to his ear. ‘Onbaşi, what do you have on ground radar for our position … approximately 500 feet to our direct east?’
There was the sound of confusion, then, ‘I only have you, sir, and the squads. There is nothing else.’
Atalay swore. ‘There is something here – I can see it with my own eyes. It tore a hole in our fence. It’s too big to not show up on ground radar – check again.’
More silence, then, ‘Nothing … no physical signature at all. Are you sure it’s not a shadow, sir?’
Atalay swore even louder and hung up. He pointed to his closest squad leader. ‘Bylak, see to the intruder.’
The soldier saluted, then waved his men forward. Atalay fired another flare as the squad approached the figure. It remained standing as still as a post, and as Bylak and his men circled it, Atalay could see that it was at least seven feet tall, and had either a strange helmet on its head, or …
The new flare descended. In its red light, Atalay saw Bylak stop just a dozen feet in front of the towering figure, raise his gun and yell instructions. There was no response for several seconds, then the huge head seemed to slowly lift and, though Atalay couldn’t be sure due to the swirling mist, crane forward to stare into his man’s face. Bylak dropped his gun and staggered back a step. He went down to his knees, raking at his eyes, then froze in place.
Atalay’s eyes went wide. He dropped the flare gun and drew his own revolver, then roared a single instruction: ‘Fire.’
Automatic gunfire shattered the dawn air, and muzzle flashes dotted the small hillside, as hundreds of rounds sped toward the figure. It seemed to writhe and shake at their impact, but didn’t fall. The head swiveled slowly, seeming to take in the men on the hill. At each sweep, the sound of gunfire lessened.
When the huge head finally swung toward Mehmet Atalay, he had the fleeting impression of a ghastly white face streaked red by the flare, and slitted reptilian eyes that could only be hell-born. Images of snakes, fiery pits, roaring giants, and monstrous many-headed hounds crowded his brain, and it seemed to slow, like a clock winding down. A tiny dot of pain in his forehead grew and bloomed, and he saw the figure was gliding toward him. He wanted to fire his gun, or stab at it, or throw a punch, but his muscles refused to obey. The thing went past him without a glance, and he realized he was as inconsequential to it as an insect that just happened to be in the way.
A veil of gray started to pull over his vision. He turned his head on a creaking neck to glance at
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