“McLeod, this is Berger and Duck. We found our boys. They’re gone.”
Silence from other end.
“Believe subject has continued south. We are moving to engage,” continued Berger.
“Take it slow. Me and Landry are close behind, don’t do anything stupid.”
“Who do you think you’re talking to?” Williamson added.
“I know who I’m talking to, Duck. Easy. Take it fucking easy. My life is too busy to get to five funerals. Three will be bad enough.” It was an attempt at levity, but it didn’t feel very funny.
“I’m coming up on North Meadow, just north of the reservoir,” continued Williamson. “Things are clear, there’s no place to hide—” the words were barely uttered in McLeod’s headset before they were choked off into a gasp and muffled curse.
“Williamson?”
“Fucker’s huge,” Williamson responded. He didn’t sound afraid necessarily, just surprised.
McLeod closed his eyes. “Stand down, Williamson! Stand down! We are close behind you, do not engage!” He broke into a sprint, and Landry followed at pace. They were in the thick trees north of the 102nd Street crossing, and had to dodge and weave while moving forward.
“Williamson!” he shouted into the earpiece.
“Fuck! Shit! Goddamned thing is fast!”
McLeod could hear the panting, a swift burst of silenced gunfire and the pounding of feet on thin grass.
“Berger, fall back!” Williamson shouted from too far away, but an abrupt, choked yell signaled that Berger hadn’t reacted quite fast enough.
“Godammit!” Williamson shouted and this time it was his screams that could be heard all around them.
“C’mon, Landry, let’s fucking move!” As his lungs burned, his British accent was coughed away, evaporated in a blast of good, old-fashioned American profanity.
Silenced gunshots came from the earpiece. “Die you asshole!” More gunshots. A rapid-fire series of footsteps running, some panting, then some deeper, hoarser panting close behind. Suddenly there was a scream, an inhuman yowl, but Williamson didn’t have time to respond, he only made a gagging chortle, then the earpiece was clunking, clattering, and finally silent.
“No, no, no, no!” McLeod shouted, and moments later they burst through the trees out into North Meadow, a closely mowed expanse that encompassed the nearly entire width of Central Park, offering baseball diamonds and recreation to whomever might come. On the pitcher’s mound of one of those diamonds lay the crumpled heap of Craig ‘Duck’ Williamson, the once brown dirt now a darker, deeper crimson.
McLeod dropped his head, his chin tucked to the top of his chest, his eyes closing underneath the night vision apparatus.
What felt like worlds away, the hustle and bustle of New York nightlife drummed along, a single horn blaring abruptly followed by annoyed shouts.
“Sorry, boss,” Landry said quietly, placing a hand on McLeod’s shoulder. The Shadows team lead lifted his head and looked toward the edge of the North Meadow where the trees grew, all along the south side. He could see a path where something had pushed through those trees, spreading them apart and cracking a few trunks.
“That way,” McLeod said, gesturing. “Rack ‘em up. Berger had some grenades on him, I’ll grab those, you strip Duck and let’s go take this thing down.”
“Is that a good idea? We could end up just as dead as the rest. I’m thinking we need a fucking air strike.”
McLeod turned and looked at the man. “We’re all that’s left. All that stands between that thing and the rest of this city. It’s us or nothing.”
Landry drew in a breath and pushed it out through pursed lips.
McLeod took a step closer “Look. You sit this one out. Leave it to me. This thing left a trail anyone could follow.”
Landry cocked his head slightly. “You think you’re leaving me behind on this? With all due respect, fuck you, Chuck.”
McLeod nodded. “All right then.”
Landry headed on ahead, pulling out his magazine, checked it, then slammed it home, almost out of habit. McLeod lingered, pulling the tattered photograph of his kids from his tactical vest once more and looking down at it. He rubbed his thumb over their two young faces, folded the picture then returned it to its spot.
They pushed south, brushing past the North Meadow Recreational Center, then continued on through the thick forest. Up ahead, the trees spread then fell away, revealing a section of grass outside the Jacqueline Onassis Reservoir, large and wide, leaving only small sections of pathways either side. Through the trees, McLeod and Landry had seen scrapes, scratches, and busted trunks, but now they were out in a clearing, it was tough to tell where the creature had gone.
“Nothing,” said McLeod softly, looking around their immediate area.
“Thing like that doesn’t just disappear,” replied Landry. “How fast do you think it can run?” Landry continued, walking down towards the reservoir.
“I don’t know,” McLeod replied. “We don’t know shit about it.” McLeod knelt, running a gloved hand over the soft grass. He was looking for some kind of paw prints. The creature they’d killed outside New Haven had huge dog-like paws, but he saw no sign of those unique prints here.
“And how the fuck did it get here so quick? One minute it’s busting from a train in southern Connecticut, the next minute it shows up in New York City. No direct path from there to here,” McLeod said, but his eyes closed slowly. He was remembering something. Something strange about that smaller creature they had killed. A unique smell…
McLeod’s eyes burst open, a sudden spark of realization.
“Landry! Move!” he turned toward his teammate, raising his weapon. Landry jerked at the mention of his name, but stood there, frozen, his eyes whipping back and forth, searching for the threat.
It was too late.
The water of the reservoir exploded upward in a wall, arcing left and right as the massive shape burst through the surface. Sprays of liquid flew in wild blankets, drenching Landry and scattering sideways rain across McLeod’s face and chest. He stumbled backward as the large, awkward shape ejected itself from the manmade body of water, a gray, slimy, twisting thing, its four legs folded up against it’s slick body, still matted by mold-patches of fur. Landry had barely turned when the creature hit the arc of its jump, then barreled down on top of the man, slamming him to the ground in one massive crunch.
McLeod’s weapon was up in firing position, and even as the hunched creature lunged its head forward, sinking massive rows of teeth into Landry’s face and chest, he let out a barrage of silenced gunfire. Bullets stitched up along the back of the creature as it struck, sending spurts of dark ichor up in splashing puddles of mottled blood. Still the creature continued to strike at the fallen Landry, muffling his screams with bites and tears.
“Come get me, you big bitch!” McLeod shouted, as he dashed back from where they’d come, and he could have sworn he heard a growling reply to that insult from the beast, then the thudding footsteps of a lumbering charge.
McLeod burst through the short cropping of trees out into North Meadow again. Crossing the empty area in less than a minute he was approaching the far row of trees when he heard the blistering cracks. Casting a swift backward glance as he ran, he saw the creature burst free from the trees to his south, and in the low moonlight got his first good look at the beast in action. Thrusting muscles were clearly visible underneath thin sinewy skin, connected to strange flaps between its legs and torso, what could have been some sort of natural aquatic appendage. Muscular legs and the thick tail all moved in unison, seeming to work together to throw it forward into an impossibly fast gait, galloping across the empty expanse of grass, growling and narrowing its dark eyes.