Issue 4
The Hunt Begins
Deathstroke leaps nimbly over a fallen log in his path; moments later, a snarling, thick-skinned mass of tusks and teeth rips right through the timber.
This is the foremost creature of the pack. Lean, yet heavy with muscle, thick brutal shoulders, and an array of sharp bone spikes framing the skull, lining the back, and protruding from either side of its powerful jaws. Deathstroke and the others take these features in at a glance, over their shoulders as they run for their lives through the jungle. This is the only creature they can see, but a chorus of howls and bellows combined with the steady thudding of monstrous, alien paws indicate at least a half-dozen more – behind them, to their left, and to the right.
The oppressive closeness of the thick jungle trees slows them down, while vines and roots snatch at their ankles. The creatures are unbelievably fast despite their monstrous size, their muscled bulk carried on four powerful limbs. Whenever one appears through an opening in the trees, it seems like nothing more than a dark blur, growling ominously as it gallops along.
Vaulting over a mid-sized boulder in his path, Deathstroke flips through the air. As he turns, he aims his rifle at the oncoming beast. The automatic weapon fires as he hits the ground, releasing a seven-shot burst toward the creature's chest.
It staggers for a moment, but still lumbers on. Now it's less than two strides from Deathstroke. He clambers quickly to his feet and continues running, panting heavily with the exertion. How can the beast possibly take that kind of damage? What the hell are these things?
The trees begin to thin out, and three more of the hellhounds become visible. Their snapping jaws salivate with anticipation. Their enormous tusks slice the air mere steps behind their prey. Feet tearing through the moss-carpeted earth, lips pulled back over razor-sharp teeth, giant muscles heaving.
Bane grunts, swatting low branches out of his path. As he charges forward, he hears the snarls of the beasts behind him. They're like dogs in a way, moving as a pack and hounding at their heels. Ten minutes of hard running had brought the group to a thinner portion of the jungle. Noticing that their path was almost the same as the one they had followed to reach the red parachute, Bane couldn't help wondering if the hellhounds were herding them toward a specific place.
With his cowl pushed back, Batman drinks in great gulps of air, filling his lungs as his feet fly across the rugged terrain. He alternates between watching the ground and glancing over at Robin. Jason Todd is one tough kid, Batman has no doubt of that. Behind his mask, Robin's face is set, determined. There's no trace of fear in his features; his mind is focused solely on each successive step. Satisfied that his protégé is keeping pace with the rest of the group, Batman darts a glance back at the hellhounds pursuing them.
Yellow eyes set in a leathery face ringed with tusks meet his gaze. The hellhounds are slowly closing the gap. Beneath the yellow eyes, the beast's fangs almost seem to be leering at him. Turning his eyes forward, Batman charges onward.
The group breaks through the tree line and into the open savannah. Lighter and younger than everyone in the group except Robin, Katana leads the race. Her long legs slice through the waist-high grass with the power and grace of her signature weapon. They're on the eastern edge of the savannah; she estimates their current position to be just over a mile from where Cain, Deathstroke, Green Arrow, Robin, and herself had met up with Batman and Bane in the early morning. With the hellhounds close behind, the group keeps running, angling toward the center of the grassy plain.
They had faced the sunrise as they had set out for the red parachute. Now it's midafternoon, and their flight follows the sun as it makes its way for the western tree line, far in the distance. The sky is still light, but a full moon is just barely visible over their shoulders.
They pull up short as they reach the river. A mere stream where Batman encountered Bane, here it is a crashing torrent. Slippery, jagged rocks line the steep bank. A raging current carves the boulders lining the riverbed, and sweeps random bits of jungle driftwood downstream.
Crossing here is out of the question. And behind them, the hellhounds are still coming.
Cain lets out an exasperated sigh and starts running again, this time following the river southward. The others quickly fall in step behind him. The hellhounds are ominously quiet.
A hundred yards further, and they'll be back under the trees. Cain breathes deeply, renewing his pace as he gets a desperate second wind. They're no longer howling, but he can still hear the heavy breathing of the hellhounds.
Still running, Deathstroke fires behind him, a wild burst from a Scorpion automatic pistol. A short howl of pain is music to his ears, but the beast refuses to slacken its pursuit. With a disappointed grunt, he discards the empty magazine and rams a fresh one into the weapon. And still, the hellhounds chase after them.
David Cain and Katana are the first ones to enter the trees, zig-zagging and leaping over fallen branches, rocks, and the trunks of dead trees. Batman vaults quickly over one of the fallen trees, turns and rest his rifle on the log. The lead hellhound charges straight toward him. He takes careful aim.
CRACK!
The .308 caliber projectile slices the air and plows into the beast's skull. It drops onto its front knees, a low moan slipping through its teeth.
Then, shaking its head, it comes back to its feet and lets out a resounding roar.
A burst from Deathstroke's rifle strikes the hellhound's exposed throat. With a soft gurgle, the beast slumps over onto the ground. One beast down. Out of at least a dozen.
Batman is already stumbling onward, and Deathstroke quickly follows suit. The rest of the pack is undeterred by the fall of their compatriot. The terrain once again gives the hellhounds the advantage, as they leap effortlessly over obstacles that their quarry is forced to circle around. And by now, in spite of their incredible conditioning, the entire group is nearly exhausted.
Robin's lungs are heaving, every breath rattling in his throat. Batman can barely lift his feet, and he doubts he can hold his hands steady enough to aim his rifle again. In all his adventures, David Cain has never encountered an animal that followed its prey so relentlessly.
Bane – built more for strength than speed – is dragging himself onward through sheer force of will, forcing his legs to keep pumping. The greenery is a haze around him. He staggers a little from side to side, feeling as if he may throw up at any moment.
Glancing over his shoulder, Green Arrow notices the giant starting to lag behind the rest of the group. Flight won't be an option for any of them much longer.
"Bruce!"
Batman pulls up short when the archer calls his name. Bane has stopped five yards behind the group – eyes glazed over, chest heaving. Green Arrow stands beside him, unleashing arrow after arrow into the oncoming pack.
"Goddamn it!"
It's Cain, coming to a sudden halt in front of the group. He stands on the edge of a precipice: the trees end and the ground drops away. Next to him, the river roars in a mighty waterfall, cascading down almost 50 feet to a large pool below.
The hellhounds have stopped running, moving in slowly now. They can afford to take their time. The river is to the right, the cliff directly ahead. The pack hems the group in completely on the other sides. They slowly move in, tightening the circle. Green Arrow pulls the last arrow from his quiver.
Batman seizes Bane by his web gear. "Let's go!" He drags him forward, right to the edge of the cliff.
Deathstroke stares at him incredulously. "Are you insane?"
Batman stops just long enough to catch his breath. "I run around in advanced riot gear and a cape. What to do you think?"
Then, prodding Bane onward, he jumps over the edge and disappears from sight.
A moment of silence, then two splashes. The remaining members of the group look over the edge in time to see the Dark Knight and Bane resurface and start swimming. Katana drops silently after them. Still shaking his head, Deathstroke is the next to leap over the edge. The hellhounds, sensing their prey escaping, growl and pick up their pace again.
"Holy maelstroms, Batman!"
Robin's half-sarcastic exclamation trails off as he takes a running jump off the cliff.
Cain laughs. Perhaps his students are worth something after all. Still laughing, and holding up a finger to the oncoming pack, he throws himself off the edge and into freefall.
The archer still clutches his last arrow. He darts this way, then that, zig-zagging to avoid the snapping jaws and wildly tearing tusks. He leaps over one of the hellhounds and races for the cliff. He keeps running even as the edge gets closer and closer, still sprinting as the ground disappears from under him. There's a waiting moment, sailing through the open sky. The foremost hellhound – more courageous than the rest – leaps into the air after him.
Oliver looks over his shoulder, sees the gaping jaws flying toward him, sees the outstretched claws. They're starting to fall, he and the beast together. He fits the last arrow to his bowstring, pulls it back. He hears no other sound, until the soft twang of the bowstring, the whoosh of the arrow. The teeth snap down on the fletching, the arrowhead protruding from the back of the hellhound's throat. Then, they're just falling.
He hits the water.
It feels like concrete. Concrete that snaps like a bowstring as he slaps the surface, concrete that recoils to drag him under. He's still falling, the pain of impact deadening his reflexes. Still falling, only now he can't breathe. Everything is dark. He fights to move, fights to find the difference between up and down. His lungs are pounding like a drum, the echo reverberating throughout his skull.
A shape tumbles past him. A rag-doll mass of legs and tusks. It's the hellhound, arrow still pinned though its head. The jaw hangs open, making the hideous face seem more like a gaping mannequin as it floats past. His hands push the tusks away almost subconsciously, his thoughts still on that ghastly, staring face. Then his hands break the surface, his head following their lead.
He gulps the air in, suddenly grateful just to be alive. He almost laughs, but the rising chuckle hurts his throat. Feet pedaling to keep him above the water, he reaches out to grab his bow, floating on the waves next to him.
"Oliver! Over here!"
Its Batman, head bobbing above the water less than fifteen yards away. If the Green Arrow couldn't laugh before, he does now. Looking at the disembodied head with the pointy ears, and the black cape flowing out behind it. Fortunately Batman can't see himself right now, or even the Dark Knight might crack a smile.
The rest of the group are a little further away, swimming toward the shore. A couple minutes swimming, and then the entire group is on solid ground, catching their breath and shaking the water from their hair. They're in a small valley, hemmed in on three sides by the cliffs. The pool narrows into a river again, flowing toward the mouth of the valley. Clumps of trees here and there break up the terrain. And less than a hundred feet away, nestled into the base of the western cliff, are the ruins of a stone city.
Except for a few goat-like creatures (that may or may not be related to the hellhounds), the valley seems empty of life. Still, the group sloshes the water from their weapons and carry them at the ready as they advance toward the city's dilapidated gatehouse. Cain and Deathstroke take point, Katana and Robin directly behind them. Green Arrow guards the rear, while Batman scans the cliffs above, sniper rifle at his shoulder.
They pass through the open gateway and into the first ward of the city. Dilapidated stone walls mark the outlines of the homes and what looks like a few shops. A pen for livestock stands off to one side. Both corral and houses are empty, the wooden fence posts and the few remaining rafters petrified with age. No one has lived here for a long time, and the buildings – in this neighborhood at least – are completely empty.
Bane trails along behind the group. His arms hang like deadweight at his sides, his shoulders slumped. His complexion, irrevocably pale from a childhood without light, has a greenish hue now, and sweat stands out on his skin. His breathing comes in shallow gasps.
Batman looks back just in time to see the giant drop to his knees, then fall flat on his face on the cobblestone pavement. "Hold up!"
The others immediately take up defensive positions on either side of the street. Batman, joined quickly by Robin, kneel over Bane and roll him over onto his back. There are no wounds visible. Batman listens for a heartbeat. Its there, and still fairly strong, but irregular. It seems as if the giant's system is failing. But why?
Cain scowls. "What's wrong with him?"
"I don't know yet. I –" Batman stops suddenly, looking down at a cluster of needle-marks on Bane's forearm. "Bane!" He slaps his face to get his attention. "Bane, when was the last time you had Venom?"
"Ran out…" Bane wheezes. "Yesterday afternoon."
"Stay with me," Batman orders. The giant's eyes start to roll back in his head. "Damn it, stay with me. Stay awake."
There's the sound of movement within one of the larger houses ahead. All weapons follow the sound. As Bane's wheezing turns into a rasping cough, the team hears a footstep on the cobblestone.