Encounter by Flavor Sterlot
Chapter 1 - Around the Campfire
Morbid Ink is adding in the short stories you can discover in the upcoming issues.
The campfire flickered in the dusk as the small party gathered around it tried to make sense of their day. An acute uneasiness filled the air while one man smoked a cigar watching the two women sitting between two other men. The glow from the fire revealed glances of concern as they nibbled on high-energy bars from the emergency backpack. A splashing murmur from a nearby creek sounded over the snips and cracks of the campfire.
“A week, damn it! We’ve spent a week out here. So we’ve run into trouble. I don’t see what there was in a mere circular print on a rock-ledge to make your men behave like that,” said Doctor Bashar in a voice as dry as his entire personality.
“You might have noticed the condition of the bodies,” Andersen, the lead guide and hunter, replied sarcastically.
Bashar glared at him, then picked up a twig, then made a crude map on the ground.
“As I understand it, we only have about fifteen miles to go. Since I have thirty days to complete the contract with Mr. Yoo, I say we continue. Those men are your responsibility and we’ve got too much…”
“Quit your bitch’in,” Andersen’s anger grew. “You can draw a map, but it’s not telling you we’re in the middle of nowhere. My men stumbled into something that ain’t natural. We’re just damn lucky your wife wanted to hang around by the creek so her sister could take more photographs. Otherwise, we’d be in the same condition as those corpses.”
Bashar’s eyes narrowed.
“Yes, perhaps, but we don’t know, do we? We only have your assurances. Which reminds me, you shouldn’t have exposed the women to that scene,” he said.
“Next time, you can cover their eyes. Death comes to everyone. You can’t hide it just because you think they’re weaker.” Andersen glanced at the women. “Anyway, let’s get back to a plan. We lost three good men. Worse, our ATVs are now worthless hunks of metal. That means we’re walking out of here.”
“Are you sure we can’t fix those vehicles?” Bashar asked.
Laughter from Jones caused the two men to look at him. The young man, who called himself a cultural journalist, shook his head.
“Are you crazy? Mechanics in a shop couldn’t fix those ATVs and we’ve got no spare parts. Must have been a grizzly to rip off those gas tanks like that. That’s why our food is mostly gone.”
Jones nodded at Andersen, who nodded back at the sudden support. What Andersen didn’t point out was that fact no animals touched the food. Nothing on earth would turn MREs into blackened lumps of what looked like frozen coal.
“Everyone saw the supplies that were left in our backpacks. The way I figure it, we’ve got about a week’s worth of food. The good news is that we can hunt for game. Still, we — well, we’re at least twenty-five miles back to the nearest road. If we continue on to your destination. Your experiment at the mine will have to wait unless you want to die before you arrive.”
“I don’t see why you can’t call in for more supplies. Our contract stated you’d guide us to the Sink Creek experimental station. Also, the contract stipulates emergency protocols. We’ve trusted…”
“Christ, check your damn cell phone. Do you see any signal?” the hunter reached into his pocket, pulling out chewing tobacco. “Our emergency Sat phone was in the destroyed supplies, so we’re not getting any help here. Maybe we’ll find help…”
He pulled open the pouch and stuffed a wad of the black leaves into his mouth.
“I really hope it’s not what I think!” Andersen muttered, mostly to himself.
While ignoring the academic’s continued rant about the contract with his company, Eagle Nest Guides, Andersen rubbed the end of his long mustache in thought. He pushed back his wide-brimmed leather hat, which showed a normal sorrowful expression. Steven’s sunbaked face grew darker as he considered their options.
Feeling someone staring, he noticed Basher’s wife, Marie. She suddenly asked a question. Her model-like face expressed disgust as she recalled the scene from a few hours before.
“What really happened to our guides? I heard someone scream about red eyes. I’ve never heard of someone with wounds like that. Their brains — the screams and shots. What creature kills a human like that?”
Andersen glanced over, briefly wondering why she and her sister were there. For the last week, they traveled like fashionable hiking models in their attire, obviously designed for the suburbs. Their backpacks contained nothing designed for this deep in the wilderness over an extended time.
Apparently, this academic and his two tag alongs expect a comfortable hotel at the end of the line.
Well, I promised them no issues to the mine if we took the ATVs! He thought ruefully.
“I can’t say for sure, ma’am,” he finally shrugged. “At first, you might think of a grizzly or wolves. But my men were only about a mile away, so we should have seen something. Whatever got them only ripped open the skull. I can guarantee you it wasn’t any pack of wolves that did that, nor grizzlies. Those animals would go for the belly first.”
“You appear confident in that assessment,” the woman replied. Her tone showed her skepticism about his answer.
“Well, I’ve grown up here. Been guiding hunters all my life, so I’ve seen what carnivores leave behind,” he explained. “Besides that, the prints only showed those circular holes. Those footprints we saw aren’t from anything living around here.”
“As you Americans say, that’s bullshit,” Bashor stated. “You will not scare me away from this gold mine that’s waiting for us. My maps and analysis are correct.”
“I don’t care about your damn analysis. I think we’ve got something hunting us.”
“Why would some creature want to hunt us?” Sandi Wyler suddenly asked.
“Seriously?” the academic rolled his eyes at the woman’s question. “Wild creatures will hunt humans. But we all know that they’re afraid of fire and we have guns to protect us.”
“I’m not talking about wild creatures. He already said they’re not from here.” The woman calmly replied while typing away on her phone.
Andersen gave her an incredulous stare. The girl remained mostly quiet during the entire trip; her attention focused on her smartphone. The guide did not know why she continued to type into her phone, since there was no cell service coming to this remote area of Montana.
She looked over at him.
“I overhear you mention you know what happened. Why don’t you tell us?” Her tone remained even.
After a deep breath, the guide fudged his reply.
“Well, I’ve heard about things like this happening when I was a kid. My dad warned me about the strange killings with broken skulls which happen along Gold Creek. It occurs every twelve years, if I recall correctly. I remember seeing remains of cattle with the same type of wound as my men. Whatever got them will come looking for us. We need to forget about going to that mine and head back.”
“Nonsense,” Bashar stated. “I remember reading about a tiger in India that hunted humans because it got smart enough to figure out patterns in the local tribe’s movements. I’m sure that’s what’s happened here. My hypothesis is a bear did the same thing. Probably thinks brains are a delicacy.”
“Dear, that’s gross!” Marie complained.
“I’m sorry, but it’s a fact that humans killed and ate the brains of other humans since we came out of the trees. Often, it’s obtaining the soul or the spirit of the individual.” He smiled at his wife. “However, I’m sure a wild animal like a bear doesn’t have a clue about a spirit.”
“Your hypothesis is missing the fact that there were no bear tracks,” Andersen replied.
“Then, are you suggesting something we’ve never seen before?” The drool way the academic stated the question made the hunter frown.
“Well, there are things we don’t know about in this world, or outside of it.” Andersen suppressed the urge to smack his employer.
“Ooh, so it’s monsters or E.T.!” Jones mocked him. “Except it only shows up every twelve years. Next, you’ll be telling us stories about the native legends. It’s so cliché.”
Andersen remained quiet, looking at the people around him.
“Come, Marie. We will set up our tent,” Bashar stated with a sigh.
“Before you do that, we need to set up a night watch,” Andersen warned. “We’ll need to keep a lookout unless you’re comfortable sleeping if that thing comes back.”
The academic looked back as he took his wife’s hand.
“Mr. Foo and I aren’t paying you, so I can stand watch,” he stated. “Despite your clumsy attempts to dissuade us, we will continue to Sink Creek.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Flavor Sterlot finds time to read and write despite being named Best Dressed Hermit over multiple years. After a robust three weeks in the military, Sterlot turned his attention to more dangerous pursuits such as blindfolded mountaineering and lone yachting. Finding a typewriter at a flea market, he decided anyone could write a story. Sterlot recently completed this short story after twelve years of steady progress.