Chapter 7: Mahn

With Shepard leading the way, Bower ran as fast as he could towards the housing containers and storage bays. Despite his best effort, Shepard was leaving him behind. Didn't hanging from that trap for God-knows-how-long weaken the other man at all? He wondered if his own lack of strength was yet another side effect to his awakening from cryogenic sleep. First the woman had left him behind in a foot race and now Shepard. He was obviously the weak link and unfortunately in nature, the weak were always segregated from the rest of the herd and preyed upon foremost.

The snarls and guttural moans echoed around him. The reverberation of the cries and his hammering footfalls left him in a jumble of sounds as is he was running through a carnival madhouse.

Bower strained to hear how close his pursuers were behind him, but was having trouble judging the distance. Still, he could tell that the hunters were barreling down on him faster than he hoped. Being caught and devoured seemed inevitable.

There was a high-pitched squeaking noise that was following him as he ran. It sounded strange to him, until he realized that it was his own panicked breathing. Scared out of his mind, Bower was letting small sounds of terror escape him.

If he couldn't outrun the hunters, maybe he could lose them and hide. He knew that in the massive storage bays there would plenty of places to ditch the hunters. It was his only chance.

Shepard disappeared through the towering bay doors and as Bower passed through them and into the dim warehouse, his spirits were raised at the site of the huge open space and clustered stacks of full-sized storage containers that stretched nearly four stories below him and three stories above. There were indeed countless hiding spots here, provided he could put a short distance between himself and the hunters.

The open bay was crisscrossed with suspended narrow grated walkways and stairwells that provided accessibility to the container doors on each level. Shepard dashed down the walkway that ran parallel to the length of the room. He leaped over a wide opening and continued on at full speed.

Bower's footfalls each sounded like a sledgehammer crushing tin cans. As he neared the opening, he saw that it was much wider than it looked. Not wanting to lose the time to try and climb down the ladder, Bower attempted to jump clear to the other side, like Shepard had, but failed miserably. His jump was short, he sailed down to the level below, his leg twisted and his shoulder jammed painfully as he tried to break his fall. He rolled onto his back and found that although sore he was not seriously injured.

Bower felt like an idiot. Breaking his leg right now would have spelled certain death. He also felt like a fucking loser. Before this mission, he had prided himself on physical training and had been in the best condition in his life. He was like an iron bar, hard, unbreakable and strong. Now he felt like a slug: soft, gooey and slow.

Several hunters suddenly vaulted the opening overhead and continued in the direction Shepard had gone. Their roars were loud enough to drown out Bower's surprised gasp of fear. They had been closer in pursuit than he thought. By luck alone, they had not seen him fall and had passed right over him. For the second time since he had awakened, Bower felt that he had dodged a bullet.

On the level he had fallen, the shadows were deep so he was easily hidden. The hunters had quieted down some but he could still hear soft growls and muffled sounds of excitement further in the bay. He could see into the openness of the bay but decided to find a dark corner behind a couple of steel barrels, sit quietly and wait. If the hunters were intelligent, they might double back and begin searching more thoroughly so Bower found himself praying that his pursuers were utter buffoons.

From his hiding spot, he could see rows and rows of storage containers of various sizes, stacked neatly and evenly on the reinforced steel levels. Each level had attached catwalks, ladders, stairs and widen areas. Bower wondered how many tons of equipment were being held up by the framework.

As fast as the hunters had moved and as easily as they had cleared the jump, the weapon strapped to his arm now seemed fearfully inadequate. Thank God he had retreated instead of opting to stand his ground only minutes before. He might have incapacitated one with the first shot but would never have had time to reload. They would have swarmed him and he would have certainly been killed.

A ruckus broke out from the darkness; someone was screaming and there were sounds of struggle. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness so Bower chanced moving from his hiding spot to see what was going on.

On a platform below him but all the way across the room from him, Shepard had been cornered by a hunter. The hunter was bleeding having been wounded several times by Shepard's blade. Relentless, it still pressed forward with its makeshift club. Shepard continued to fight, screaming for help. He managed to drive a good final thrust into the creature's throat but as he did, the thing smashed the club viciously against his elbow. The hunter's dark blood poured over Shepard's ruined arm as it fell forward, mortally stricken.

Even at the distance he was watching, Bower could see that Shepard's arm looked disfigured, bent at impossible angles in several places. He thought about climbing out of his hiding space and trying to help.

Howling in pain, Shepard desperately tried to untie the secured knife from his useless limb so that he could protect himself but his attempt was in vain. The rest of the hunters, four or five of them, leaped onto the platform and fell upon Shepard screaming and shrieking in triumph. Biting, clawing, stabbing, cutting and bashing, Shepard was dead in seconds and his body collapsed. Bower could hear the tearing of flesh and the wet chewing of meat. He meant to avert his eyes but was astonished to see the hunters feasting on their felled companion as well.

Oh God, cannibalism? For fuck's sake!

It was bad enough that they were eating humans, but eating their own kind, to him, was even more despicable and intolerable. He tasted bile. The super snack he had eaten earlier was threatening to rebel against his stomach.

Like wolves at a caribou kill, the hunters ate like wild beasts, tearing into the meat with their awful sharp teeth, scooping out stringy fluids with their claws and shoving every bit into their gaping mouths. Bower was transfixed by the terrible display of gruesome violence.

Each hunter was unique, armed with a variety of weapons, spears, clubs, blades and axes. Their armor was also unique, most of it made from salvaged metal parts but also some constructed from plastic, wood and even leather. Bower wondered if the hunters fashioned the equipment themselves.

Within a few minutes, both kills were only partially eaten and as if by some unspoken rule, the hunters stopped eating and began to section the rest of the corpses. They gathered up the leftover pieces of the bodies, slung the cut slabs of meat and bone over their shoulders and began to move away out of Bower's line of sight. Their movements were organized.

The fact that the hunters were showing signs of intelligence was very disconcerting. They were probably carrying the rest of the meat to their lair for their mates and offspring. Why couldn't they be mindless beasts that he could easily outsmart? Why did they have to show coordinated maneuvers and have the mindset to care for the rest of their kin?

The only pieces of the two victims left behind were the heads. Bower guessed they were inedible so the hunters had discarded them. Poor Shepard.

Just then, there was a furtive noise behind him. Bower slowly turned and realized that a large hunter had joined him on the platform. He remained as still as possible praying the shadows were enough to conceal him but realized that the beast was looking right at him.

Oh God, help me.

It was hunkered down and Bower could see how powerfully it was built. It had a vicious scar that ran from between its eyes down across its nose, or at least where its nose should have been. All that was left was a twin set of glistening, exposed nostrils. The musculature was heavy, its tusk-like teeth were horrendous.

At any moment, Bower expected the beast to attack. Seconds ticked by. Bower didn't want to make any sudden movements. He slowly faced it, sweat streaming from every pour on his body.

Scarface dropped the heavy wicked spear that it had been carrying onto the grate between them.

Up close, Bower marveled at how the thing simultaneously looked so human but yet it was so inhuman as well. It was bald with scars decorating its hairless scalp. The skin was white, not pale like a Caucasian, but true white like bleached bone. The lifeless eyes were deep set with brick red irises and yellow sclera. It wore armor made up of thin plates of dark leather spaced across its chest and over its arms and legs. Its jaw was much larger than a humans and its teeth were jagged and sharp. On the shoulders it had heavier plates with fashioned spikes jutting out.

Slowly the creature rose to its full height. It was half a foot taller than he was.

Oh Shit.

Inexplicably, Bower considered trying to speak to it. Maybe he could reason with it and talk his way out of being slaughtered like a lamb. Although bestial, maybe a small portion of these creatures could be befriended. Scarface had made no threatening moves yet. Maybe a peaceful outcome was possible between the two species.

Scarface's arms were at its sides. It was watching him as though it was expecting something. It slowly raised its arms outward at shoulder level thrusting out its chest.

Bower felt the urge to urinate on the spot. He was trembling from head to toe.

Studying Scarface, he realized it was daring him to fire the weapon at it. Through body language the hunter was saying, 'Give me your best shot.'

Scarface snorted as it saw Bower was starting to understand. It struck its chest with a massive fist and showed its teeth. 'Come on,' it gestured, 'Hit me.'

The last thing Bower wanted to do was hit the beast. A peaceful resolution seemed impossible now.

He knew that one shrill cry from Scarface would bring more hunters. It was deliberately keeping quiet, seeming to savor the possibility of a fight. It was challenging him, daring him to fight.

The vicious spear was still laying on the floor between them.

He thought crazily, if I can stun it, I might be able to kill it with its own spear.

Bower raised his arm, aiming the anti-riot weapon at it.

Scarface got excited. Was it nodding?

Son of a bitch.

These hunters were smart, that was undeniable now. Bower wondered if they had a language. "I come in peace," he murmured to it and immediately regretted saying something so patently idiotic.

Scarface wasn't impressed.

Bower's voice seemed to agitate it. It showed more teeth, the excessively sharp incisors meant for tearing flesh and it furrowed its brow, growling. It struck its chest again, harder this time. 'Come on, fight!' is what Bower deciphered.

He shot it in the face.

The powerful pulse of energy struck Scarface and threw it backwards against the wall. It convulsed, twitching and jerking as the electricity surged through its body then fell face-first to the grating. Bower was going to retrieve it's spear and stab it in the heart while it was incapacitated but as he stepped closer, Scarface's hand shot out and easily tore the spear from his grip. Slowly, it rose to its knees.

Sweet Jesus!

With the open bay behind him and the ladder beyond the creature, Bower was trapped.

If it was possible for the hunters to smile, Scarface was succeeding. In fact, it sounded like it was chuckling as well.

"Wait," Bower pleaded, "Give me another shot."

It leveled the spear at him, still grinning. Apparently, it was Scarface's turn to hit Bower with its best shot.

"At least let me have a weapon too," Bower's voice sounded strong even though he was nearly scared stiff. "At least let me fight back fairly, you fuck."

Scarface was ready. Bower could already feel the anguish of being skewered by the ugly spear.

Suddenly a shadow swooped down from above and kicked the beast's head from the side. Scarface cried out, lost its balance and tumbled over the railing down to the grated walkway below them.

Bower stared at his savior in surprise. The newcomer was a short and stocky Asian who wielding twin sword-like weapons and was wearing a hooded, black cloak. Bower could still make out the name tag on the dark green jump suit underneath the cloak: Mahn.

Bower had never wanted to hug another man so badly in his life.