The scream seemed to permeate the night air, chilling him to his very bones. Marty Guitierrez stepped away from the door, feeling his fingers trailing along the outside edge. He squinted in the darkness, trying to make out where the sound was coming from. However, there was no follow-up, just the cool wind of the night blowing against his face.
He wondered if he should go back in the bar, maybe have a drink. He was imagining things wasn't he? The only thing that stopped him was maybe Carter would be in there…
Instead, he walked slowly around the corner of the building, careful to step around the pile of leaves. Through the dim light of the bar, he could see the patrons leaving for the night, staggering on listlessly to their homes.
He thought maybe he should get around to checking the kid's progress on the station. Damn kid better not be slacking off, or Guitierrez was going to give him hell. Might give him hell anyway because of the crappy mood he was in.
He had almost crossed the way when he saw a man running in the darkness. Muldoon, and it looked like he wasn't going to stop. Marty tried calling out but the man just ignored him, ran right past without so much as a glance. Eyes
Marty shook his head, figuring he was probably drunk. Man would wake up in the morning, worst hangover of his life. He reached the tent; saw that at least some stuff had been set up in his absence.
Good, maybe he wouldn't dock his grade when it came time to assess the quality of the help. He went into the tent and grabbed a flashlight from a nearby chair. Flicking it on, he looked around to see what had been done.
Kid was fast asleep, in one of the hammocks they had already set up. Marty shook his head, and went over to his own cot. Setting his pack in, he fished his cell phone out, just needed to check on something.
He just had a tick about it, more nervous then anything really. Had to call the university every week of the expedition, just to check in. Joked that the insurance people made him do it. But it was just him.
With a look back at the kid, Marty stepped outside to make the call. He looked about at random rather bored and disinterested in everything around him. The number was already dialed and the phone was ringing, and he was just tapping his feet waiting for the line to connect.
Until he stopped, because his flashlight had picked up on something… he crouched down to make it out more. There… there it was. Muldoon's shoe print, but what was that in the heel…
The flashlight illuminated a speck of red, and Marty's fingers touched the dirt cautiously. It was still warm and wet, though he had no idea whether it was Human or not. Lifting the light up further, he could see the footprints trailing off into the distance, up a hill.
Taking a few tentative steps forward, Guitierrez could see each step had a bit of the same red drops in it. He shook his head, wondering what exactly he'd got into now. This wasn't exactly his concern, the last thing he wanted right now but…
Even as he heard the tinny voice on the other end of the phone, Marty slammed it shut. He stalked back to the tent, swearing under his breath. Stuffing the phone in his pants pocket, he gruffly awoke the kid.
"Wha?" Shawn muttered in the darkness, clearly at a loss to the urgency of anything in particular. "Do you have any idea of what time it is old man?"
Marty didn't even care, just grabbed his pack. He knew time might be running short, and he didn't want to have to go find Dr. Carter. Hell, even in a life or death situation, he didn't want to have to explain himself running into her tent at Eleven at night.
No, whatever he was going to have to do tonight was going to be just him, hundreds of miles away from anything. He didn't think that Muldoon had it in him to harm someone… but a drunk man was certainly unpredictable.
He didn't look back, but he could hear the kid stumbling out of the ten after him. Marty shone the flashlight on the ground, following the steps back in reverse at a brisk pace. He could feel the sweat beading off of his forehead, and he shook his head in anxiety.
The prints came down a hill, as Marty looked up. He remembered vaguely that there was some sort of recluse that lived here, or at least the barman had told him before. Was that who the blood belonged too?
Suddenly that scene in the bar seemed to take on a new meaning. What reason had Muldoon really followed the other man out? Marty wasn't going to ask him personally that was for sure. Could wait until morning when he had the rest of the village behind him.
As they climbed the hill, the first thing he saw was a large and imposing barn. Silhouetted against the black of night, it seemed to fill his whole world. The breeze at his back seemed to increase, and he could see the trees swaying with the sudden gust.
To his left he saw dimly what must have been the other man's house, but that did not interest him at the moment. The prints were coming from one place, he could see as he drew nearer. Two sets of prints going towards the barn, one going back.
Marty's felt his mouth crease into a hard line, as he continued walking. Looking back briefly, he could see the kid staring at the barn. Couldn't blame him, really, he was unnerved by the presence of the large structure.
He almost missed it in the dark, because the footprints were becoming harder to see in this dirt. He held his breath, as the flashlight swung back, to the side of the barn.
He could barely see it; it was well hidden against a bale of hay. There was a rickety ladder, which seemed to go up. Maybe to a loft, Marty wasn't sure. He turned to Baxter, handing him the backpack.
"Stay right here," he said wondering just how his voice could be so calm. "If you hear me call for help, don't go in. Just run into the village. Find Dr. Carter, and tell her to get some of the villagers here."
Baxter took the pack, putting it on his back. He looked doubtfully up at the loft, and shook his head. "It's crazy, going up there by yourself." The kid paused, and took a breath. "At least can you wait until I can get someone from the village down here?"
Something inside Marty told him not to let the kid do that. There must be a reason why this guy was a recluse in the first place. "Just stay right here," he said, "see anything, hear anything, go knock on the door of the house."
He turned back to the ladder, and put his foot on the first rung. Grunting, he put the flashlight in his mouth, as he climbed up. If he were only five years younger… he could have done this much easier… The ladder was rather poorly constructed as well, considering the crappy resources that must be available here.
He wanted to wipe the sweat off his brow while he was climbing, but found it was impossible to do that but still maintain his grip. He gripped the top rung, and pulled himself over the side.
Spitting the flashlight out of his mouth, Marty quickly grabbed it and switched it on. The high beams reflected the loft around him, illuminating the small space, revealing the cramped space.
Immediately he saw the edge of the loft, with another ladder leading down to the barn door. He cautiously crawled over to the edge, careful not to get to close. Scanning with his flashlight, he stopped again as he saw a pool of blood right on the edge of the loft. It was dripping off of the edge, a bucket lolling slightly to the side.
Slowly Marty peered over the edge, trying to get a glance. He leaned forward on his elbow, angling for a better view. However, his elbow slipped, and he involuntarily let go of the flashlight. It fell to the floor below with a soft thud.
"Damn," Marty muttered under his breath, as he held tight to the edge in the darkness. He took a look back, and could barely see the entrance to the loft in this night. Scrambling to his knees, he felt around, clutching his hand on something small and metallic.
Click. A small flicker of flame brought the darkness alive again, although its range was very small. He could see it was old and beat up, meaning it probably had very little light left in it.
He held it in front of him, as he very cautiously scrambled over to the ladder. It was a rope ladder this time, swaying unevenly in the night breeze. Marty shook his head as he began his slow descent.
The bottom of the barn was about ten feet or so from the loft, and he could discern a very rank smell. It hadn't been evident from up there, for reasons he didn't fully understand. Maybe it was the way the hay was structured or something.
He exhaled sharply, pulling his shirt over his mouth with his free hand. Halfway down he jumped, landing hard on the ground. The smell was worse then ever, and even in this dim light, he could tell where it was coming from.
It was a large bale of hay, and even from here, Marty could tell it was directly below where he had been leaning. Frowning, he cautiously walked over to it, keeping the light in front of him. It seemed there was some object on the pile, covered partly with hay…
He moved to brush them aside with his free hand. He soon wished he hadn't, as he pulled his shirt down and gasped in horror. His throat was immediately dry in an instant, and he felt for a terrible instant of how alone he was.
It was the man from the bar… he grimaced. Torres lay with his mouth opened, and his chest disemboweled at the gut. The intestines were dripping down the sides of the bale, now that he could see in the light. Flies obscured the actual wound, but he could tell the point of entry must have been deep.
There were a few other wounds, such as the right arm was torn off right at the joint. Bone sticking upward, as if the man had been trying to stave off the inevitable in those final moments.
Marty closed his eyes and looked away. There was nothing to be done here. He took a few steps back, and almost stumbled. Looking down, he could see it was a shallow depression looking like…
Marty's breath was once again taken away, almost distracting him from the body. He took out his cell phone in a second, flipping it open and scrolling down the functions. He couldn't get a very good picture in this light…but he wasn't about to go scrawling through the mud to try and find the flashlight.
At least not now, definitely not now. He took a quick snapshot of what he saw, making sure to save it. Silently, he put it back in his pants pocket to look back at the body. Something struck him as not quite right…
Some detail he was overlooking possibly? It was way too quiet in here, and he didn't like it. He thought maybe he should go back; get some other people down here as well. Slowly, he began backing up towards the rope.
He could hear the sound of his breath in the barn. The sound of his sweat hitting the floor. He knew in that instant, that Muldoon was not involved. At least not responsible for that level of damage to the body.
Taking one look back, Guitierrez's nerve failed him. He dashed over to the rope ladder, and started climbing.
The silence broke over him like a wave as he set the first foot down on the rung. He froze again as he heard the unmistakable sound of something shifting in the darkness. He could hear whatever it was sniffing the air, as it woke from whatever ungodly bed it lay.
Marty bit his lip, as he slowly and carefully as he took hold of the next rung. A loud coughs, hacking like a mad dog near the bale of hay. He closed his eyes as he heard the unmistakable sound of bones cracking.
That was absolutely it, if he continued like this; he would be a nervous wreck. Marty grabbed the rungs with both hands, letting the lighter fall to the floor. He winced as it made a very obvious clanging sound on the floor.
As soon as he felt the thing stirring at the sound, Marty started going faster. It was terror born of the unknown, of whatever might be lurking down in the darkness.
He was almost at the top now, almost at the top. He let himself relax, as he slowly reached for the edge.
And nearly fell. Only his strong grip on the rope with his other hand saved him from falling. Looking down he could not see what was wrong, only that the rope was twisting and turning. Something was tugging at it, trying to make the rope snap.
Trying to get at him. In horror, Marty saw the rope beginning to snap as more strain was put on it. He felt his grip slipping, gasping as he saw the fibers beginning to fray. He only had one hand free now, and he could feel his grip slipping.
No… he imagined he felt hot breath against his legs, as they struggled to keep their foothold. He flailed wildly with his other hand, reaching for something, anything to hold on to.
The rope snapped just then, and Marty was now dangling off of the edge with only one hand. But he felt that one slipping too. He felt a presence at the bottom, just waiting for him to slip and fall.
He struggled to get up, just as he felt something brush against his legs. Looking up, he was certain that he would fall. The dark shadow rose, surging up from the blackness, and he kicked out in vain.
Suddenly out of the darkness, he felt a hand wrap around his grasping arm. It was pulling him, but he couldn't quite get over the edge, no matter how he tried.
Somewhere outside the moon was coming out of the clouds, and the light shone briefly through the loft entrance. Baxter's face was visible out of the gloom, grunting with perspiration.
Marty had no time to think, for suddenly something hard and uneven brushed his feet. He kicked roughly against it, found brief footing. It surged up again, and he used that momentum to propel himself upwards.
Quickly, he rolled away from the loft edge, and stood panting in the gloom. He saw the kid breathing heavily as well, shaking his head. Marty gave him a nod, "thanks," he muttered under his breath. Maybe the kid had some use after all.
He realized that he had come this close to dying, but from what he still could not tell. It had been too dark in there to see anything really, but what mattered was that he had seen something.
The kid went down the ladder to outside first, and Marty followed. Even though he knew he was safe, he had never gone down a ladder so fast before. His heart was still pounding a million miles an hour, as if he couldn't believe it was real.
Leaning against the side of the barn, Marty took the cell phone out of his pocket. He wiped perspiration with his free hand as he took a good look at the picture he had taken in the light.
He took a deep breath, as the image was revealed. A deep impression in the mud, looked like tracks he had seen so long ago…on a beach so far away. But bigger, much bigger. Too large even to be from an animal such as that behind the bar.
He knew this represented trouble, though he was not sure how deep he was in it yet. If any word of this got out to the Costa Ricans… he knew they would not take a chance with this shit.
No, Marty had to call someone he could trust, someone who wouldn't hang up the phone immediately. He dialed the number, mentally waiting for it to pick up. "C'mon, c'mon," he said to himself. No answer, well…
He thought about the picture, well maybe that would be a better option, maybe just write a little note about where it was taken. That sounded like a better plan, at least to him.
With his mind made up, Marty sent the message to Richard Levine.