Free Mega 4: Behemoth Island by Jake Bible Page B

loose.
    “Well, fuck me,” he muttered. “Super fuck me.”
    The shape came at him so fast he didn’t have time to get his arms up to ward it off. But he didn’t have to. It was Darby. She was in his face and she looked terrified. There were streaks of black blood across her face and neck, darkening her suit, but Max had the distinct impression that the blood wasn’t hers.
    “Skull is fine,” Max said before Darby could ask. “It’s all just skin damage. A little dizziness, but I didn’t lose consciousness.”
    “We need to stitch you up now,” Darby barked, helping him to his feet and over to the main tent.
    “You get the others?” Max asked. “Were there others?”
    “There were,” Darby said. “Not anymore.”
    “How many?” Max asked.
    “Four,” Darby said. “They were fast, but couldn’t fight worth a fuck.”
    “Yeah, I know,” Max said. “If I hadn’t gotten sucker clocked, I would have handled mine a lot easier.”
    “They had these,” Darby said, holding up a small dart. “Blowguns over there.”
    “You get hit?” Max asked.
    “No,” Darby said. “Almost. I got in close before they could get a bead on me.”
    “Poison?” Max asked.
    “No way to know,” Darby said. “The tip doesn’t smell like anything I recognize. May have just been to knock us out.”
    “Fuck that,” Max said.
    Darby sat Max down by a small table and cracked two glow sticks. Max didn’t ask why so little light, he knew she was being cautious in case more showed up. The glow sticks wouldn’t ruin her night vision and still gave her enough illumination to work by.
    Max sat as still as he could. It took her a long time, probably a full hour, to stitch his scalp back together. He didn’t cry out once, but he would have been lying if he said he didn’t piss himself a little at one point in the procedure. Scalp reconstruction by glow stick on a Land Of The Lost beach was not a gentle event.
    “Done,” Darby said finally.
    “We need to gear up and go after the fuckers, wherever they went,” Max said.
    “We’re as geared up as we can get,” Darby said. “Take a look around.”
    Not occupied by having his head sewn back together, Max was able to take the time and assess the FOB’s situation. It could be classified as fucked.
    “Where’s the gear? The weapons? Ammo?” Max cried. “Where the fuck is my rifle?”
    Darby hooked a thumb over her shoulder at the surf. “They dumped everything in the bay.”
    She looked at him for a moment then turned her full attention back to the jungle, which she had been facing the whole time, one eye on the procedure, one eye on a possible second attack.
    Max looked out where she had indicated and saw crates floating and bobbing in the small waves. He focused further out, towards the bay and the far off shape of the B3 out in the water. The moon had risen enough that the bay was a twinkly light show of wave tips and currents. The fins and flippers still roamed the waters, ever active, ever present.
    Something about the scene grabbed his attention, spoke to him, said that things were more fucked up than just their equipment trashed. It took a couple minutes before he figured out what it was. Then he stood up so quickly that he almost knocked Darby over. Despite the brutally painful head rush he received, Max stayed on his feet and pointed out of the tent at the beach.
    “One of the fucking rafts is gone,” he exclaimed.
    Darby stood and whirled about.
    “Fuck,” she said.
    Only one of the Zodiacs was left on the beach. The other was nowhere to be seen.
    “Call it in,” Darby ordered as she walked slowly from the tent, turning this way and that, looking for more trouble. “Let them know that hostiles may be en route.”
    “It’s been an hour, Darby,” Max said. “If hostiles were en route then they have already showed up on the B3.”
    “Call it in!” Darby yelled.
    Max called it in.
     
    ***
     
    Mike stirred as the com came to life in his ear. He was