gear—food, water, ammunition, communications array, tents, folding tables and chairs, plus much more—was organized and laid out by category and difficulty of set up.
Max started on the main tent, working hard at getting it set up by himself, moving from one corner to the next and back again until he had poles jammed into the sand and had stretched the canopy across it. He’d just gotten the synthetic material in place when a huge gust of wind tore it all away from him, sending the tent tumbling down the beach, parallel with the tree line.
“Son of a bitch!” Max snarled as he took off after the tent. “You have got to be kidding me!”
He was about fifty yards away from Darby and the pile of gear when he came to a sudden halt and nearly pissed himself. Several large tendrils of green shot out from the jungle and wrapped themselves around the escaping tent. They yanked it into the jungle and it was lost from Max’s sight.
“Darby?” he called over his shoulder, slowly backing up. “Hey, Darby, my love?”
“I saw it,” Darby called over to him. Then her voice was in the com. “Just a heads up that the plant life is active. I repeat. The plant life is active.”
The tent came flying out of the jungle. It tumbled through the air and hit the surf, its poles snapped in half and canopy torn to shreds. The small waves lapped at it, carrying it from the beach and out into the bay.
“Guys?” Max called over the com. “Give me a click if you heard what Darby said. The plant life is active, hungry, and picky about what it eats. Tents are not on the menu. Operators may be.”
There were five clicks in his ear as he hustled back to Darby, telling them both that the rest of the Team heard them and were warned about the new threats the jungle presented.
“Big, giant monster sharks and shit are one thing,” Max said. “But grabby plants that chew up tents and spit them out? Fuck that. Just fuck that.”
Darby nodded, but didn’t say a word, her carbine trained on the jungle, her arms and hands rock solid and steady.
Chapter Three- Can’t Stay On This Island At All
Thorne and the rest of Team Grendel moved slowly, cautiously through the dense undergrowth of the jungle. It took all of Thorne’s willpower not to jump whenever a low branch snagged against him or a short bush brushed his leg. He’d look over or glance down and take a deep breath, relieved that the encounter was a passive occurrence, not an active attack like Max had warned them about.
By his count, they were at about one klick into the jungle and had yet to see an end to it. Ballantine had said the island itself was at least one hundred square miles, but from what Thorne had seen as they sailed their way from the cliffs they had originally arrived at and around to the bay, the island was considerably larger than one hundred square miles. Unless, for some strange reason, the side he hadn’t observed yet was missing a large chunk.
They continued on, their eyes watching everything at once, their weapons up, an extension of those eyes, and their feet carefully finding step after step in the never ending verdant landscape. It didn’t take them long to discover an unofficial trail. Although, it was probably only unofficial to them. To the creatures of the island, small by the looks of the trail, it could have been a major superhighway.
The trail curved to the right and took them along a row of what looked to be banana trees, although the bunches of fruit that hung from the thin branches did not look like any bananas Thorne had ever encountered. In his former life in the Navy, he had traveled extensively across the globe and knew that plant species varied from region to region. Yet what he saw was not a variant, but a different thing all together.
Kinsey reached out and snapped off one of the fruits, grasping it in her palm like it was about to try to squirm and squiggle away in some desperate attempt to escape its sad fate. Without
Max started on the main tent, working hard at getting it set up by himself, moving from one corner to the next and back again until he had poles jammed into the sand and had stretched the canopy across it. He’d just gotten the synthetic material in place when a huge gust of wind tore it all away from him, sending the tent tumbling down the beach, parallel with the tree line.
“Son of a bitch!” Max snarled as he took off after the tent. “You have got to be kidding me!”
He was about fifty yards away from Darby and the pile of gear when he came to a sudden halt and nearly pissed himself. Several large tendrils of green shot out from the jungle and wrapped themselves around the escaping tent. They yanked it into the jungle and it was lost from Max’s sight.
“Darby?” he called over his shoulder, slowly backing up. “Hey, Darby, my love?”
“I saw it,” Darby called over to him. Then her voice was in the com. “Just a heads up that the plant life is active. I repeat. The plant life is active.”
The tent came flying out of the jungle. It tumbled through the air and hit the surf, its poles snapped in half and canopy torn to shreds. The small waves lapped at it, carrying it from the beach and out into the bay.
“Guys?” Max called over the com. “Give me a click if you heard what Darby said. The plant life is active, hungry, and picky about what it eats. Tents are not on the menu. Operators may be.”
There were five clicks in his ear as he hustled back to Darby, telling them both that the rest of the Team heard them and were warned about the new threats the jungle presented.
“Big, giant monster sharks and shit are one thing,” Max said. “But grabby plants that chew up tents and spit them out? Fuck that. Just fuck that.”
Darby nodded, but didn’t say a word, her carbine trained on the jungle, her arms and hands rock solid and steady.
Chapter Three- Can’t Stay On This Island At All
Thorne and the rest of Team Grendel moved slowly, cautiously through the dense undergrowth of the jungle. It took all of Thorne’s willpower not to jump whenever a low branch snagged against him or a short bush brushed his leg. He’d look over or glance down and take a deep breath, relieved that the encounter was a passive occurrence, not an active attack like Max had warned them about.
By his count, they were at about one klick into the jungle and had yet to see an end to it. Ballantine had said the island itself was at least one hundred square miles, but from what Thorne had seen as they sailed their way from the cliffs they had originally arrived at and around to the bay, the island was considerably larger than one hundred square miles. Unless, for some strange reason, the side he hadn’t observed yet was missing a large chunk.
They continued on, their eyes watching everything at once, their weapons up, an extension of those eyes, and their feet carefully finding step after step in the never ending verdant landscape. It didn’t take them long to discover an unofficial trail. Although, it was probably only unofficial to them. To the creatures of the island, small by the looks of the trail, it could have been a major superhighway.
The trail curved to the right and took them along a row of what looked to be banana trees, although the bunches of fruit that hung from the thin branches did not look like any bananas Thorne had ever encountered. In his former life in the Navy, he had traveled extensively across the globe and knew that plant species varied from region to region. Yet what he saw was not a variant, but a different thing all together.
Kinsey reached out and snapped off one of the fruits, grasping it in her palm like it was about to try to squirm and squiggle away in some desperate attempt to escape its sad fate. Without
Similar Books
