We run trough the bushes, jumping over irregularities and ducking under low branches, moving so fast the forest feels like a tunnel around us. The screaming has stopped, so we're really just running in a straight line, hoping we'll find something.

Laurie swaps a branch away and it slaps me in the face, blinding me long enough for my feet to get caught in something on the floor.

I try to yell watch out, what the fuck and shit at the same time, resulting in something close to "Shwatch the fout!"

I crash in the wet carpet of fallen leafs and moss, mud covering the whole front of my camouflage jacket before I can even catch my breath.

Looking up, I see Laurie disappear trough a pair of thick fen leafs, both the size of a man.

I roll on my back and look down; I tripped on some sort of thick gray-green vine.

Cool, it's like those you see in jungle movies! I didn't know there were things like that in Canada… Doesn't matter, the girl with the gun just left and I'm just lying there on my stomach watching plants and grinning like a moron!

Something moves in the fog to my right, just a dark shape in the blur of blue, quickly passing trough a spot of sunlight. If I had been blinking, I would have missed it.

Getting up is harder than it should be; my movement impeded by fear and a desire to keep really very quiet. I feel like I'm stuck in a cube of ice melting along my back and burning around my face.

My mouth open to call for help, but I strangle the sound before it gets out and drop to a knee.

First, let's check out what I've got:

Diving knife. Low quality, sturdy but dull. I use it for everything, from chopping wood to tightening loose screws on my gun.

Tippmann 98 Custom. Paintball marker with a foldable, AK-styled stock and flatline cannon. All in all, it's bulky and sturdy.

Low quality Zippo lighter. Not much to say, half full…. Or maybe it's half empty, I dunno.

Counter-Strike paintball vest. The Cadpat camo scheme is quite adapted to most situations, although right now, it's so muddied, it would be better for desert operations. Normally it matches the reservist uniform I'm wearing underneat, but now… Well, it still does, as the uniform is just as dirty as the rest. Most of the protection plates in the thing are plastic, but at least it's light and protects my neck and chest… A bit.

And that's all I have, if I get attacked, I can scratch the bear or whatever with my knife before shooting it with paint balls, set it on fire and maybe cause it an indigestion, thanks to my plastic padding.

Something moves behind me and I turn my head, slowly, to see what it is. A bit bigger than a dog, brownish and fast. That's all I can tell.

Might be a wolf, but it's not sneaky enough. Maybe afraid of something, something worst than me.

I look back ahead and my heart skips a beat.

It's white, with sharp, irregular fangs, its eyes black and empty, looking straight at me.

"Fuck! Damnit, Laurie, don't…" Her thin but strong fingers cover my mouth, digging in my cheek painfully.

When she speaks, it's so low I could easily mistake it for the wind, yet the forest is so quiet, it feels like she's screaming.

"Quiet, it's hunting."

Laurie is kneeling in the bushes barely a meter ahead to me, blending in perfectly with her Ghillie suit. I try to answer in the same tone, but it comes out hoarse and choked:

"What is?"

She aims her .22 behind me and I slowly turn my head back that way.

I see only shadows and trees, but I'll trust the veteran sniper and shut the fuck up.

The sun, to my left, is piercing trough the canopy and fog, shining on my position in such way that if something looks this way, it's bound to see my silhouette. My brains tell me to duck down in the mud, but instinct, that part of the human mind that feels more than it talks, says 'stay real fucking still', and common sense says to always trust instinct, so I go with the majority and don't move a fucking muscle.

There is a distinct smell of rotten meat in the air, a predator's smell and a good sign, as it means whatever stands behind me is under the wind and I'm not, meaning it can't smell me.

My heartbeat is so loud, I'm afraid it will give away my position, but I can't quite go and rip it out of my chest…

I feel like my brain is pulsing too, trying to beat its way out of my skull. Guess that would be called scared brainless…

Then, movement ahead scares the shit out of me and I feel my legs go weak. It's just Laurie, lowering her rifle.

"It's clear," She whispers, getting up, slowly, "Let's head back to camp."

I get up as well and step aside as she walks by me, heading straight in the direction the thing was, "What about…"

"Whoever was calling for help, he doesn't need it anymore, let's go."

Never seen her so cold before, she's usually the happy go lucky kind of person.

I'm a reservist, I should know what to do in this situation, yet all I can recall from two years of military education is how to spit shine my boots, navigate the land and shoot immobile, highly visible targets with some carbine that was phased out somewhere before Vietnam.

This time, I don't let Laurie out of my sight and stay a few steps back, to avoid getting slapped again.

"You see what it was?" I ask her while climbing over a half fallen tree. She ducked under it, but I'm a good head taller and it would be a tight fit for me.

"Yeah; tall, more than a bear," She begins, slipping between two parallel trunks while I must go around; too much bushes and too much spines in them… When I get back behind her, she continues her description, "Seemed to walk on its hind legs…" She sounds dubious on that last part, "…and I didn't see any forelimbs."

The Canadian north isn't Amazonia, it has seen many visitors over the years, yet none ever really bothered to search the whole forest for new specimens, as we all guess if there was anything else in here, someone would have seen it before. Guess that was wrong.

So, maybe we just had an encounter with some giant bird, like the Titan, who lived in the time of cavemen, or a completely new species of flightless bird of prey, I don't know, I'm no Zoologist.

Although, if I was to let my imagination take over, I'd say that thing might have been some sort of Theropod, a small one. Utahraptor, maybe, Dwarf Allosaurus, Nanotyrannus or Ceratosaurus. But that would be quite stupid, as these animals have been extinct for, oh, somewhere around sixty five million years.

When we reach the camp, there's a dozen people there already, most holding only paintball markers, but two are packing actual rifle. Everyone is scattered, some packing their stuff, other already prepared to leave and just waiting for the group to get moving. Thing is, when we arrived, there was about thirty of us.

We slide into the stream and walk into camp with our hands raised, so no one shoots us.

Once we're amongst the nervous crowd, I go see François and Laurie heads straight to her tent and begins packing. The guys with guns are watching the forest on the north and southern edges of camp, scrutinizing the thick fog with wide, terrorized eyes.

I guess I look like that too, but one of these guys was in Congo and the other is an experienced hunter, so I got to wonder what could scare them like that.

Or not, they're just human after all.

Even Frank, a guy I suspect to have worked for the CANSOFCOM long before Joint Task Force two came to be, looks shaken.

The man's rust colored beard and long hairs, coupled with his arms the size of my legs and big, thick nose, make him look just like those depictions of cavemen you see in books at school.

"Hey, le jeune," he greets me, in French, "tu devrais paqueter ton stock, on s'en va bientôt… "

I tilt my head to the side and try to smile, although it must be more of a grimace. My whole face feels like it's made out of wax.

"Qu'est-ce qui…" He shushes me and whistles twice, the signal we normally use to warn the others we've made contact. Everyone knows that it means to duck and shut the fuck up. So do I, but I'm a little slow on the uptake because I try to look around and find out what made Frank so nervous.

The fog forms a thick blue barrier around the camp only pierced by the slowly dwindling sun and camp fire.

If anything, the illumination of this place will attract every predator in a ten kilometers radius.

I kneel next to François and almost laugh when he pulls my knife out of its sheathe.

What's he gonna do? Engage the huge unknown predators in a knife fight? That blade is barely the length on my hand!

Changing his mind, he puts the weapon back in place and raises his marker, a speed ball gun with dual trigger.

There is no sound in the clearing, no wind, nothing. Even insects keep quiet. The blood pumping in my ears is the only sound, and it's deafening.

No wind. Then why is that bush ahead… Walking down the slope?

I raise my marker and slap Frank's shoulder. For some reason, that dumbass is looking the other way. He also has his gun aimed at something, I realize after a second, meaning…

Yup, there's another 'bush' walking down behind me, and another just a bit to this one's right, and two more near the one I'm aiming at. Whatever these things are, they're sneaking up on us and most likely aren't intent on pulling a prank.

"Everyone!" Somebody yells, the confidence in his voice making it obvious he intends to fight, "Run for it!"…I never was such a good judge of character.

Unfortunately, half the group listens to him and the other half, me included, hesitates.

Paintball and hunting has taught me one very important truth: There is no such thing as bad decision, there is only bad reaction to them and lack of adaptability. I just had a premium example of it, since the 'bushes', sprung into action by the sudden movements, decide to attack the six or seven of us that didn't get running.

My only reaction is to shoot them with a non-lethal, low impact weapon.

Oddly, this actually works; painting the predators a bright orange and causing the dog sized creatures to become completely confused as to what the hell is attacking them.

Once the three hunters ahead are practically glowing and the two behind start hissing at us in a threatening fashion, I decide to get out of there.

Of course, I can't abandon Frank and the guy's way too trained to disengage from a fight without attaining satisfying results, so I whack the man behind the head and scream, "Tu veux jouer au hero? C'est correct, mais moi je décalisse!"

The guy looks angry for a second, but then something clicks in his brain and his eyes widen in panic.

Never saw a man that big run so fast and being so agile. He reaches the edge of the clearing by the time most peoples are halfway trough.

My pack is right in my path. The boiler is still on the fire and the tent is out, but the sleeping bad, auto-inflatable mattress and all my supplies are still packed and ready to go, so I sweep the thing off the floor and stumble under its weight.

Something is running behind me, its tiny feet pounding the leafs and mud with discreet, wet sounds.

"Don't look back!" Laurie yells, "Keep the pace!" the sniper is ahead and to my right, aiming her gun straight in my direction.

I really don't like this… She pulls the bolt back and peek down the scope.

*Bam!* The bullet whizzes past my right ear, stinging and burning my cheek along the way, and… Well, I don't know, I guess she got whatever was after me, because the pounding stops and the sniper turns to leave just when I leap over the stream.