Drake stood up and spat. He was a large man, his flannel shirt barely containing his plump belly. He took off his hat and wiped his forehead. He wondered what had spooked the deer as he lit up a cigarette. He only smoked on these camping trips where his wife couldn't bitch about it. God, was he glad to get away from her for a few days. He happened to glance up at the sky and glimpse what looked like a huge, spiraling, metal croissant. "My God..." Drake said limply just before the craft disappeared below the horizon where sky met tree. The cigarette fell from his mouth. With a deafening WHAM he was blown backward off his feet and hit his head on a low branch.
Drake came back to consciousness slowly. He saw three blurry shapes standing above him, talking excitedly. As Drake opened his mouth to speak, he felt the excruciating pain in his head and moaned.
"Hey, he's awake. Drake, bud, I think you've got a concussion. Did you see that thing?" Drake groggily stood up, the world still a haze. He could smell something though, smelled like smoke.
"We have to check it out, man. We have to."
Drake recognized his friend's voices. Chuck, Brady, and Chris were all looking in the direction of the crash, practically ignoring Drake.
"I'm fine, thanks. What the hell happened?"
Brady whooped excitedly. "Didn't you see it, Tubby? The fuckin' UFO! Like in Close Encounters! Holy Mother 'o God!"
Chuck clapped Chris on the back. "We have to go check it out, right?"
Chris nodded. "We sure do, Mulder. Come on, Scully! Get up!" He nudged Drake with his foot.
With much effort and sweat, Drake managed to get to his feet. His shirt had been torn open and his hat was gone. Christ, he'd sunburn for sure.
Minutes later he was struggling to keep up with his friends as they hurried through the woods to the where they presumed the strange craft to have crashed. His head was still in pain, but he was at least able to function without any help. It hurt to talk, so he just listened as his friends jabbered on about aliens and UFO's.
Through the trees directly ahead of the group they could see a fire burning and smoke billowing up into the air. All four gripped their guns a little tighter.
Chuck approached the wall of black smoke. He glanced back at the other three, grinned, and walked into the smoke.
"Holy…hey guys, you gotta see this! This is some fuckin' Twilight Zone shit! There's-" Chuck enthusiasm was cut off by his own muffled scream and three quick shots from his rifle. Then, silence. Brady and Chris charged through the trees and smoke, over small patches of fire. They screamed Chuck's name. Drake stood still, petrified. He heard his friends calling for Chuck and then their own terrified shrieks. Guns went off. He heard his best friends moaning for their mothers.
It was like a nightmare...in fact...yes! He must still be unconscious! This was just a hallucination. Of course.
Drake was trembling and on his way to his knees when something shaped like a huge spider shot out from the smoke and latched itself onto his face. A terrifying sense of claustrophobia set in. Drake was aware of being smothered and he felt something worming its way down his throat. He thrashed around wildly before he fell to ground, unconscious, victim to the same fate as his friends.