There was always a teething period to figuring out something to do with my power: Be it actually regaining my sanity in the hospital when I'd gone a little crazy from the sensory input of being connected to my swarm, or figuring out how to speak through them.
Right now, though… right now, as I tried to head out, it was watching myself through the eyes of my monstrously enlarged Whiptail in real time. I watched myself turn away while pulling on my glittery golden poncho even as it wobbled dangerously and begin tipping on its small wheels. I watched as my one exposed eye widened in panic while trying to get the fabric to settle over my shoulders as I spun.
I listened to myself pleading for it to stop, begging— "Nononono!" —while lunging back to catch the handtruck against my chest to keep it upright and a hot flush crept up my neck as I watched myself all but hug the hand truck.
The enhanced vision allowed by the enlarging had saved me from having everything spill out across the lobby floor, but at the same time it was a little disorienting and watching myself flail about in real-time did a definite number to my self-esteem.
There were always downsides. Watching yourself look like an idiot just happened to be one of them in this case.
Still holding onto the hand truck— and holding it up —I looked sideways to the open front doors were letting in enough light to illuminate the room and where the now nearly Bastard sized arachnid sat. Watching. Judging me for not being ready while it patiently waited there like some demented pet.
Well, ok, that was a little silly, but that's what it felt like. Their brain hadn't really changed in spite of its exponential enlargement, it'd just gotten bigger with the Green filling in the gaps. However, there was still something about the Whiptail now that I couldn't quite put my finger on...
But regardless, what I did it know was that it had it easy. All it had to carry was the rolled up gurney pad, somewhat intact tablecloths and placemats I hadn't used for packing material, and a few lightweight bits and bobs lashed to its back. A few, maybe ten pounds, max.
Handy though, and I already had a laundry list of things I could use it for, but damn did 'detrimental' not properly convey the problems that came with it. And that's not even taking into account the near debilitating headache I'd gotten immediately after it'd started growing. Definitely not something to do often until I got a better handle on whatever this stuff was.
Oh, saturating it with the Green had worked. It had beyond any expectations I might've had— the Whiptail hadn't exploded for one thing. But the amount of Green wasted in the process meant I could have a dozen Whiptails the size of dinner plates for the price of a single Bastard sized one. Until I refined my control there was simply too much waste for it to be practical, especially as it's up-scaling hadn't done much for its carrying capacity.
A Hercules Beetle on the other hand… Yes, please.
But utility, or lack thereof aside, watching myself in real time while I was watching it was just a little unsettling… and distracting. With a thought, the Whiptail rose up and unfolded its spindly, six-foot legs and scuttled outside to clear debris from the wheelchair ramp.
And watching it awkwardly fit through the doors only emphasized its downsides. The just made the thing a little too awkward to be practical.
Returning to the hand truck at hand I tentatively stepped back and watched the stack of three large, opaque yellow-white plastic food tubs wobbled in place.
Because of course, as much as I'd've liked to simply grab my things and go, the actual act of leaving obviously had to be unnecessarily more complex than that.
My lips thinned into a line and I gave the wobbling stack the stink eye before grabbing the handle as it started leaning a hair too far. Still overbalanced then. The floor didn't help, but it was still overbalanced.
No other choice then.
Stepping close, I wrapped my arm around the top box and pulling it tight to my chest carefully lowered it to the floor. Then repeating the action with the second, I pulled the lids off all three and began shuffling things about.
Really, if it weren't for the fact that I was the one who'd packed the crates, I might have said something was conspiring against me. It was a stupid thing to get caught up on and one I'd overlooked by not taking into account how large a part having two hands would've played in keeping the hand truck stable.
Unfortunately, there were only so many things that could be moved around before the situation called for more drastic measures
More than a few minutes later I was rolling my judicially bound bounty down the cleaned up wheelchair ramp. Stopping at the bottom, the Whiptail and I briefly tugged at the cord wound about the tubs and hand truck, and pulling a few knots tighter I half dragged the hand truck through the leaves and loose dirt to the much smoother— if still rather leaf ridden due to the interlacing branches that had grown out overhead —hardpack drive and began the long walk back to the lonely mountain.
The hand truck bumped along behind me as I made my way to the main road, its small wheels rolling over the uneven surface and giving off the occasional squeak that made an oddly comforting addition to the chorus of the jungle's wildlife.
It offset the sound of me just walking by myself… and wasn't that depressing.
But regardless, so long as I didn't dwell on it too deeply I should have a pleasant enough walk with the bird calls and cicadas to keep me... company…
I blinked. Not that being by myself wasn't anything new of course. But… Being alone, with no one around…
Well, not no one. Depending on how I defined 'company' the Whiptail could qualify as a pet of sorts and despite knowing it was there I checked back over my shoulder to visually confirm I was following along behind me. Damn quiet that thing was.
Also not really a pet if I was being honest. What was there though? A dinosaur? I snorted. Well, that would be a bit much. But what about a toad or a snake? There were plenty of those around and a terrarium wouldn't be too difficult all things considered. Although, the glass would be a bit problematic— or I could not make it overly complicated and use one of the tubs once I emptied them out or came back for more.
If not that though… one the opossums I occasionally felt lumbering around the mountain? I knew those could be kept as pets but like the snake, it would have to be found very young if I wanted it to be docile. They had certainly enjoyed eating the little dinosaur after I'd tossed it and the marsupials were scavengers.
Maybe a bird? Nests weren't exactly hard to find so that could work and I'd practically be certainly be spoiled for choice.
The corners of my lips turned up as all too easily I saw myself trying to teach a big red parrot how to speak.
It probably wouldn't even be that hard and having something simple to take care of something would be nice, not to mention having the companionship. Admittedly it'd be responsibility beyond having a goldfish, and one that might make things a bit more difficult depending on what it ate, but… I smiled as the idea gained traction and details came together and let off my flyers to hear the birds a little better.
Not long after I turned onto the main road, though, as the giant gate appeared in the distance, I heard something else among the noises of the jungle. Something other.
Stopping in place I listened and soon enough the sound became more pronounced and a faint, but distinctly rhythmic, "Whoomp-whoomp-whoomp" sound registered. Just barely there over the sounds of the jungle but unmissable now that I'd heard it. I landed my fliers to eliminate their white-noise buzz and listened while quickly readying to stash the hand truck into the jungle and if something big was coming.
However, as quickly as it came I dismissed it as being the footsteps of the giants that lived here; the rhythm of the sound was simply too steady, too... regular, and none of the worms in the ground felt it, even at the edge of my range. I narrowed my eyes. The flyers did feel it, though. It was in the air. Wings? Winged dinosaurs had existed and if those were on the island… I wasn't hard to imagine one dive bombing me from outside my range. That may be a problem, but… No, not wings, they'd have to be ridiculously big if that were the case.
Turning to face the jungle I cocked my head toward the sound as it grew louder, rising in pitch while the "Whoomp-whoomp-whoomp" became more pronounced— heavier, almost concussive, and the same… the exact same. Rhythmic, repetitive and something I'd realized had been noticeably missing since my sabbatical from civilization that made it stand out all the more. It was mechanical.
I blinked as I identified that sound. Definitely not wings then. Or rather, not wings in the conventional sense.
Less than a minute later the fliers at the outer edge of my range were buffeted and scattered about by localized gusts of wind, while at the same time a small number of ants a hundred feet in the air were added. The vibrations I could feel through them cinched it and looked up as the sound of chopper blades became a droning roar and a neon-orange helicopter tore past, flying just above the treetops.
My hair whipped about in the harsh downdraft, getting in my mouth and tousling into a birds nest of knots. I absently combed it back as I turned to track the helicopter, though quickly enough it was out of sight and tracked it through the position of the new additions to the swarm.
I watched as the helicopter's flight path took it directly over the Visitors Center before the ants briefly disappeared from range. Then it must have circled around as it re-appeared, this time going much slower and slowing even further until it was hovering above the overgrown building.
People. Though potentially more important, people not arriving in a tinker-tech craft. Although at the same time that didn't necessarily mean anything.
But still, people, and they went where I'd just come from… because of course.
I breathed in then let it out slowly as I weighed what to do. There were people, but… people.
Did I want to risk exposing myself? Were they aware of the alternate Earths? Did they have parahumans? Had this been one of the thousand world's touched by the fighting or were they spared? Did they know of me? Did they know what I did and what I had to do?
I grimaced and scratched my neck while watching as they continued to hover, albeit while slowly moving around an increasingly large area.
Announce myself to whoever was aboard, hide and watch, or be frozen by indecision until they leave and be left wondering...
"To hell with it," My eyes snapped up to the jungle, seeing through the trees to where the helicopter was hovering. "Nothing ventured, nothing gained."
Dragging the hand truck into the scrub encroaching on the road I propped it against a tree and dove into the jungle.
—————
I practically tore through the jungle, my legs pumping as I wove through the underbrush. Various things I'd been wondering about popped up as I ran, but forcing them aside I concentrated on the here and began slowing to a walk as I neared the Visitor Centers drive.
Through the ants' relative position to the rest of the swarm, I put the helicopter as roughly halfway up the drive to the Visitors Center and moved through the jungle to put myself parallel to where they were hovering. I wanted to get close, but not so close that I might be running head-on into someone or someone's hostile to me.
Stopping at the point parallel to the helicopter, I crept from the thickest part of the jungle and knelt beside a thick tree; overgrown by vines with high reaching clumps of light green ferns growing up around its base that could keep me hidden from sight. Making a few deft adjustments to the fronds, I was able to get eyes on the helicopter and I watched as it hovered in place above an opening in the canopy of interlacing branches, the rotors blowing off the all the loose leaves to create a gentle green rain.
It hung there for maybe a minute and I used that time to settle in, half leaning against the tree trunk and directing elements of my swarm into position while it did nothing but hover; its roar drowned out everything except the noise of a sliding side door suddenly slamming open. I stilled as a hooded, bandana masked figure in beige-green BDU's, knee pads, & tactical vest strapped down with various pouches appearing in the portal. A Cape?
Scrutinizing them, I moved more elements into place as they stepped out onto the skids and leaned out to look down through the opening. My stomach turned over, the action making me think for an instant that they were going to jump down and I shifted as much of my swarm as I could while keeping it discrete; just in case they were a Brute or Mover.
Then they threw out a blue bundle and stepped off the skid, the bundle unraveling into a long length of rope while the excess coiled into a loose pile among the falling leaves as they rappelled through the opening. Black boots came first as the slid down the rope, their fatigues flapping in the wind where it wasn't held down by the vest and what I thought may have been an outfit I realized was likely an actual uniform. If given a pallet swap and some different gear they would've been the picture of the mercenaries under Coil's, then subsequently Lisa's, employ.
But just as quickly as they'd appeared, they stopped. A green arm pulled as they were just a few feet below the canopy, the rope jerked, sending the figure swinging until their momentum bled out and they hung there.
My eyes narrowed as they wound a leg around the rope— or the rope around their leg —and began looking around, peering over their shoulders and twisting about to get a look at everything they could. The image of them up there tripped something; not necessarily how he was hanging there, but the position and looking around as they were…
After a few seconds, the figure settled back, 'sitting', and touched something on their harness. An absent motion, but a moment later another bundle of rope unraveled as it fell through the air and another— much larger —figure in identical green dress but laden down with a bulging rucksack and green duffel rappelled down.
But I didn't look too closely at them, only looking long enough to notice a black stocked Kalashnikov style rifle hanging at their side as out of the corner of my eye the hanging figure brought up an odd rifle from their side and began scanning over the area through a dull, silver-toned scope. It had a wood stock, but the barrel was a thick thing, almost as if an extra long mag-light had been stuck over it. Far wider than it should reasonably be… It might be nothing, the armorer for the Chicago PRT certainly hadn't had everything when working with me on how to use my swarm for ID'ing— and breaking —guns, but I couldn't shake it.
I sent a number of flyers carrying ants and other small crawlers toward them to investigate before turning my attention back to the large figure as they touched down. A man, it seemed, if the buzzed head the rough shape of a brick and standing height of fucking huge was anything to go by. And shrugging off dumping his cargo brought up was looked like a decidedly non-standard and oversized Kalashnikov and look into the jungle.
My eyes returned to the sitting figure as the image clicked. With them up there they could keep a lookout while others deployed. An overwatch position then. They were simply hanging rather than sitting in the helicopter… Smart, especially considering the things that lurked in these woods. Something of a moot point at the moment, but still, prudent of them.
My eyes drifted back to his gun as my investigatory crawlers began gathering, but the other rope swaying drew my eyes away to another figure rappelling down. More average sized, if a bit on the slim side, slight. They carried another duffel— tan —in one hand, a large backpack in the other, and had a disquietingly long rifle barrel sticking out over their shoulder— his shoulder, I noted, making out a thin beard as he touched down.
Another man. That was two confirmed out of three so far, odds that the one up high would make it three?
I moved flyers and crawlers into place to land on the new guy as the descended and touched down.
Moving quickly, he shrugged off the backpack and taking a knee— on the knee that only had one knee pad curiously enough —to dig into the duffel I was able to see the barrel as belonging to an elongated Kalashnikov. Repositioning a few swarm elements I was able to get a look at a long rifle with a large scope, half wrapped in rags and a tangle of belts wrapped around the skeletonized stock. A marksman then, presumably. A bit on the small side though, and almost dwarfed by the big-guy as he pulled a seemingly cut down Kalashnikov out of the duffel and handing it off before pulling out another of the odd barreled rifles for himself.
I glanced between the three for a moment, looking over their gear and noting little details I'd overlooked while my fliers for a more in-depth look. Like, each having the same sidearm holstered on their right thighs, so they were likely right-handed, or a small, square-headed spade shovel of all things strapped to their opposite hip.
A commonality of equipment and uniform then, and likely training for that matter. Though each seemed to have their own specialized role.
My attention returned to the one above as a mental outline of the gun began forming, albeit slowly. Signs were showing that it was a normal gun going by its internals as well as the skeletonized wood stock pressed against his shoulder, but the barrel looking as it did make me a little leery. It may not have been much to go on, but that was more than enough space for a Tinker to build in something ugly.
Thus far there weren't any covert or overt no signs of any tinker-tech among the gear they had on display, yet, if they even had any at all, but until my crawlers fleshed out the mental picture I was going to be leery. Guns were definitely something that didn't necessarily need to look like anything special had been done to them. Tinker tendencies to add LEDs and flashy bits or no.
The lasers that Coil provided his men being one, and going up against Bakuda as my first introduction to that aspect of cape-life had certainly left a lasting impression. Though brain damage tended to have that effect.
Fortunately, it seemed they were all too regimented to pay notice to the jungle's many insects, though to keep up appearances they still made a nuisance of themselves. But because of that, I was able to quickly amass a large enough number of crawlers and a weight was lifted off my shoulders as they found access into the various weapons and discovered nothing out of the ordinary.
Though that still left the… ah, the odd barrel wasn't even anything special it seemed, just a largely hollow space with a series of angled baffles mounted around a short barrel. Something I wasn't entirely familiar with and an interesting design wrapped up in one package: a silencer. Although, the ammunition in the magazine seemed a bit on the small side; no larger than 9mm if I what the crawlers felt was right.
But at any rate, it was nothing my Darwin's Bark costume or armor shouldn't be able to handle. Let alone with the additional layer of protection in the form of my poncho regardless of the Orb Weavers less capable silk. Not that it wouldn't hurt like hell to be shot, but best to avoid that as there was still the matter of the other guns.
My eyes snapped to the big-guy as he turned his back to me and scanned the jungle that'd overgrown the pond with his oversized Kalashnikov at low ready.
For one thing, the crawlers in his weapon were giving me the rather disconcerting impression that there were twelve gauge shotgun shells in the magazine. Good as my armor was in an ounce to ounce comparison against conventional or even tinker-tech body armor, there was little that my silk could do against a slug if that was what the shells were loaded with. And though the marksman was holding the suppressed rifle, the long rifle was another matter.
I was still working on getting feelers on that, though I'd split the contingent to check the tan duffel to see what else may be in there.
Overall, it was an unsettling amount of hardware and I had little in the way of my normal swarm to sure deal with them. If it came to a fight, the untested alternatives would have to suffice.
Nevertheless, in the jungle and throughout the scrub wild orb weavers were hard at work spinning out lengths of webbing to be picked up by flyers ready to go at a moment's notice while select crawlers gathered. If anything the Leaf Cutter ants were a welcome addition and expected them to do quite well if push came to shove.
Though that said it would still take a little more time for everything to be in place, only so many effective bugs could be moved around without garnering undue attention. But preferably, none of that would be necessary and I perked up a little as a fourth man began descending from the helicopter... And then there was one that was unlike the others. A civilian, or the employer of this bunch, rather.
Genteel, in a word. Rather than the mono-colored beige-green BDU's everyone else wore, he was in a decidedly higher quality outfit with a dark green canvas vest with a number of pockets and— what looked like —leather padding on the shoulders over a cream, long sleeve shirt and khaki cargo pants stuffed into brown leather boots. Same sidearm holstered at his hip though. But was that more in keeping with the equipment commonality or something else?
Slowly rappelling down in a full body harness rather than whatever the soldiers had been using, he touched down and the vigil of the one up above ended as they finally descended the rest of the way. Disconnecting from their rope they moved to their employers' side and helped him strip out of a tangle of straps and buckles while the other two took up the watch.
I attempted to listen in as they exchanged words, however, whatever was said between them the helicopter blew away. Glancing up the older man said something else as he stepped free of the harness and my assessment went up a notch as he turned and said something that had sun-kissed skin with deep laugh lines pulling tight as he smiled. A 'gentleman adventurer' if there ever was one.
A little vain perhaps, but it was the impression I got and there was an almost aristocratic air to him.
However, just as the comparison was made I was forced to revise it as the hooded mercenary pulled down the bandana and pushed his hood back to reveal a pale, gaunt-faced man beneath. Stuffing the harness into the tan duffel he pulled out and handed off two halves of a heavy, big barreled shotgun with glossy wood furniture and gleaning silver engravings.
Quickly putting the two pieces together the older man cracked the breech and cradled it over an arm while reaching into a vest pocket. My prior hopefulness soured as the shoulder padding suddenly made sense: A hunter, and the mercenaries were no doubt here as security to keep him alive while he went after whatever trophy he was here for. Though with what was on this island it wasn't hard to guess, and if anything that made the distaste even worse.
Not that I'd have much of a problem if he brought down the giant chicken, of course, that would be one problem I'd rather not deal with again. But it reminded me just a little too strongly of the too-wealthy-for-their-own-good 'trophy' hunters that went to Africa so they could bag one of the few elephants left on that war-torn continent. That half of them died in the process was of no small amount of schadenfreude, though.
Finally finding what he was searching for the hunter pulled out a pair of gleaming gold— or brass —casings and dropped them into the shotgun... no, rifle, and snapped the breech shut.
Something that could take down the local wildlife no doubt, and another thing my silk definitely wasn't rated to stop.
Exchanging a few words with the first mercenary, they stepped clear of the ropes and after pressing a hand to his harness the ropes went slack and fell to the earth with the helicopter taking off a moment later. Grabbing two more of the cut down Kalashnikovs out of the tan duffel, he passed one to the hunter while keeping one for himself and began shoving the rope into the bag while occasionally glancing up to eye the surrounding jungle.
Meanwhile, the other two moved closer, facing out as they stood guard with their legs spread in a wide stance and respective weapons held close at the low ready. Not exactly relaxed, but patiently waiting in case anything with too many teeth popped out.
The hunter and the first mercenary (who I was beginning to think was the one in charge, the commander of the squad) moved together to converse in something eastern-european sounding while looking over a clipboard the hunter had pulled out of the duffel. Watching them, looking them over and getting an in-depth feel for the things they were kitted out with— things that would admittedly solve a number of my problems, problems that could be solved if I wanted to get my fingers sticky —I began re-evaluating my decision to get as close as I had.
But nothing I could do about that now, I'd just have to wait for them to move along and get moving. Much as I wanted to get my questions answered, I wouldn't be doing something like introducing myself to these people without thinking about it a bit and weighing the consequences. But not the options, because I really didn't have any of those. In thinking that though, I could almost hear Lisa raise an eyebrow. Going into things without thinking things through? Me?
I sighed, the almost wistful sound hidden by the sounds of the jungle returning with the noise of the helicopter fading into the distance. Really, one would've thought I'd have learned by now. Lung, The Undersiders, Leviathan, Alexandria, Khepri… Thinking things through… that was one lesson that didn't quite stick no matter how often I got bit.
And this bunch… Termites finished chewing through a dead branch and sent it crashing to the earth, snapping and crashing into all sorts of things on the way down. I watched as the young marksman twitched, his head snapping to the source of the sound and his gun come up. Were a mite twitchy.
I watched as he focused on that point for a few moments longer before moving on to standing watch, his head panning back and forth. With a reaction like that, I was likely to get myself shot more than anything else. Though maybe if I could orchestrate an encounter?
Biting my lip I shook my head, discarding the idea for the time being. That could wait until when I thought about things a bit more. These people were mercenaries, speaking a language I didn't know, on an island where dinosaurs existed, and were by all appearances led by a man who by all appearances was a big game hunter. And if I had anything of value, I'd have bet that they weren't supposed to be here.
So, me just introducing myself… no, if anything that might just get me shot. Best to just head back to the mountain and figure things out from there. And they had sent the helicopter off after all and had their bags. Odd's were they'd be staying a bit.
Be nice if they got a move on though. I grimaced as an ache began building deep in my thigh and shifted moving from one knee to the other— I met the marksman's eyes and froze, seeing him staring back for a long, tense moment that drew on. Then cocking his head he stepped away from the group, his focus still zeroed, though his eyes wandering over the fern hiding me as if looking for something. Or as if he was looking for me.
That couldn't be possible, though. I hadn't done anything to give myself away.
But he kept searching, and if anything he seemed to be holding his rifle a little higher, a little tighter.
This couldn't be happening.
Looking up from the clipboard the commander tracked the marksman as he stepped away, then followed where he was looking. He cleared his throat. "Artur, chto zametil?"
Looking up from the clipboard the commander mercenary leader tracked the marksman as he stepped away, then followed where he was looking. He cleared his throat. "Artur, what do you see?"
There was no. Fucking. Way. But the marksman's, continued focus, said otherwise. My crawlers began moving into position and the fliers took the air, just in case. My own prudence. It would have been nice for it to not have been necessary.
Not looking away the marksman pointed to my fern, "Chto-to v kustakh. Von tam."
Not looking away the marksman pointed to my fern, "I saw something, in the bush. There."
This wasn't fair.
Shifting his grip to cradle the rifle in his arms the hunter glanced back and forth between the two men. "Chto?"
Shifting his grip to cradle the rifle in his arms the hunter glanced back and forth between the two men. "What?"
"Blesk kakoy-to," the marksman grunted while keeping his eyes fixed on my position.
"A glint," the marksman grunted while keeping his eyes fixed on my position.
This was bullshit.
Frowning, he turned back to the hunter and nodded in the direction of the Visitors Center. "Navernoye pokazalos', komandir. Nam nado obustroit'sya, potom my mozhem vydvinut'sya na dorogu."
Frowning, he turned back to the hunter and nodded in the direction of the Visitors Center. "Probably nothing. We must get settled, then we can go on the road."
Quiet for a moment, the hunter nodded sharply but immediately after he looked hard at where I was hidden and his lips pursed. "Blesk, kak v zerkale?"
Quiet for a moment, the hunter nodded sharply but immediately after he looked hard at where I was hidden and his lips pursed. "A glint you said? As in a reflection?"
"Da, komandir, blesk" I looked back to the younger man to saw the tip of his tongue peek out as he licked his lips. "Mozhet pokazalos', no posle moyego poslednego tura ya vse yeshche naostorozhe."
"Da, komandir, blesk" I looked back to the younger man to saw the tip of his tongue peek out as he licked his lips. "Yes Sir, a glint. May be nothing but my last tour is still a little fresh and it doesn't feel like nothing."
Snapping back to the hunter I saw his expression inexplicably soften, and looking to the marksman he nodded. "Ponimayu. Skoreye vsego kaplya rosy poymala luch sveta, no day odin vystrel, na vsyakiy sluchay."
Snapping back to the hunter I saw his expression inexplicably soften, and looking to the marksman he nodded. "Understandable. Likely some dew left that caught the light but why don't you take one shot, just in case."
The muzzle snapping up was all the warning I received and before any of my crawlers could bite down the marksman's finger squeezed. Within the gun, where my crawlers had infiltrated I felt a wire pull, a mechanism trip, and a mass of metal slam forward before enough crawlers could put themselves on the primer.
I dove, half pushing off the tree and half jumping to the right as the investigatory crawlers within the suppressor were incinerated as the gun coughed. The sound was nothing like what a gunshot should've, and there was a dull clack that immediately followed. But the impact of it negligible beside the sound of the bullet tearing through the fern not a foot behind me before tumbling into the jungle as the ground came rushing up and I reached out to catch myself.
Automatically I reached out, instinctively trying to catch myself as I had hundreds of times before in school hallways as the ground came rushing up.
One hand wasn't enough. My fingers sank into the damp soil then I continued forward and the bone… flesh, veins, muscle or whatever Amy had made at the end of my stump slammed into the ground.
My vision swam and my heart thundered in my ears. Whatever she had done, she'd left in the pain receptors. The spiteful bitch.
Nearly as one the mini-swarms present on the mercenaries and the hunter turned in my direction with their various weapons coming up. This time my crawlers massed into the receiver. No silk, not yet, but it would keep the chambered rounds from firing.
Enough to give me a second, maybe, hopefully, but my swarm grew thicker behind them and among their feet as I pushed myself up—
"-op! Ne strelyat'!" The hunter. Muzzles lowered and save the marksman the mini-swarms shifted into less aggressive stances.
"-d Fire! Hold your fire!" The hunter. Muzzles lowered and save the marksman the mini-swarms shifted into less aggressive stances.
My heart was still thundering pounding from the close call, but I forced myself to take a deep breath and exhaled as I tilted my head to face the four, a curtain of my hair falling around my face.
From what I could see the mercenaries were all sharing the same general look of befuddlement, or confusion, but the hunter… His fingers tightened around his rifles glossy wood stock and I slowly pushed myself up and settled into a crouch, my muscles tightened. "Uh… hello."
No one responded or spoke up, though the commander looked to the hunter who in turn looked like he'd bitten into something sour with his lips pinching into a thin line. "Neveroyatno."
No one responded or spoke up, though the commander looked to the hunter who in turn looked like he'd bitten into something sour with his lips pinching into a thin line. "Unbelievable."
The word came out as almost a snarl and I thought he might have spat as his face twisted. "Ya znal, chto eto bylo slishkom khorosho, chtoby byt' pravdoy. Dolbannyye karteli ne smogli by zaklyuchit' chestnuyu sdelku dazhe s zhizn'yu ikh materey na konu." Dismissively waving at me he turned back to the mercenaries leader. "Izbav'tes' ot neye, i prinesite mne lyuboye zapisyvayushcheye ustroystvo, kotoroye smozhete nayti."
The word came out as almost a snarl and I thought he might have spat as his face twisted. "I should have known that it was too good to be true. You can not trust damned cartels to make an honest bargain, even if their mother's life was on line." Dismissively waving at me he turned back to the mercenaries leader. "Dispose of her and bring me any recording device that you will find."
I didn't have the faintest clue what he'd just said, but the big-guys grimace followed by fractional widening of the marksman's eyes and the muzzle dipping was a proverbial life raft that I latched onto for dear life and jumped at it. Literally.
Throwing up the back of my poncho to hide my body I lunged forward, flinging myself through the barbed lower fronds of a tall palm and felt the suppressed rifle snap up and clacked importantly. I ducked and contorted, moving at oblique angles as the chamber was cleared and the marksman tracked my movement, just barely moving aside in time as a series of cough-clack's sent a spread of bullets whizzing through the underbrush around me and I sprinted into the dinosaur infested jungle.
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Well, I did say 'a bit' didn't I?
Oh, and as always thanks go to Darkarma for halping.