Cannibal Reign by Thomas Koloniar

Author:Thomas Koloniar
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Thrillers, Fiction, General
ISBN: 9780062136435
Publisher: Harper
Published: 2012-06-26T00:00:00+00:00

Thirty-Seven

It was pitch-black by eight o’clock that night, and Emory sat against a rock with one of the sleeping bags wrapped around her shoulders, unable to even see her hand in front of her face. They had pulled the SUV away from the fissure so they could see the trench unobstructed, and every ten minutes or so she would scan 360 degrees around the encampment through the NVD looking for movement or heat signatures.

A woman’s scream split the night, and Sullivan came instantly awake, grabbing the carbine resting across his belly. “Shannon!”

“Here!” she said to the darkness. “It wasn’t me.” She turned on her night vision device and got to her feet, scanning the trench line.

Sullivan pulled on his helmet and scanned through his own NVD. “How far? Could you tell?”

“Hundred yards maybe.”

“What’s going on?” Marty said in the inky blackness.

“Ruck up!” Emory told him. “A woman screamed out there.”

“Probably a trap,” Sullivan said, shrugging into his harness. He could see Marty fumbling around in the dark looking for his equipment, pulling a flashlight from his pocket. “If you turn that fucking thing on, I’ll stick it so far up your ass you’ll have light comin’ out your ears.”

“Well, how the hell else am I supposed to find my shit?”

“Try remembering where you put it!” Sullivan said, walking over and picking up Marty’s gear from behind him and shoving it into his arms. Then he grabbed Marty’s helmet from a rock and jammed it down on his head. “Try not to forget your dick.”

Emory smiled to herself. “He remembered his weapon, John. That’s the important thing.”

“Hark, his guardian angel speaks.”

She laughed. “We’ll walk the trench line above ground. Me and Marty on the right, you on the left.”

“I say Marty walks down in the trench.”

“Sully, fuck off . . . anybody seen my goddamn gloves?”

They covered roughly a hundred yards before Sullivan spotted anything telling down in the trench. His fist went up and the other two stopped in their tracks, crouching low to the ground. He peered carefully over the edge of the fissure for a better look, to see what appeared to be a human being lying on the bottom, zipped up in a mummy sleeping bag. Switching to infrared, he saw that it was indeed a trap.

The person in the mummy bag gave off a strong heat signature, so was alive, and there were additional heat signatures as well . . . two sets of footprints glowing eerily in his viewfinder even as they cooled away to nothing, leading away from the bag into a split in the wall of the trench.

“You two in the cave,” he called out, not knowing what else to call the little hidey-hole. “Come out with your hands up.”

No one answered and no one came out.

“What is it?” Emory asked.

“A goddamn ambush,” Sullivan answered. “I think it’s the girl from the video down there in the bag . . . Come out, for the last time!” he shouted.

He heard what sounded like

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