SNAFU: Hunters

“What do you mean you don’t know, Rook?” Mouth growled. “Everyone watches the man to his front and back. Always.”

“I’m sorry–”

“Quiet,” Boss said. He listened closely. The stairwell seemed to rumble gleefully at him. The air felt heavy, different. Almost leaden. His head was buzzing, and the gentle hum behind his eyes that shook his teeth told him he was being watched. “What’s that sound?”

“No signatures still, but PK-EM is off the charts, Boss.” Cypher said. “Could be auditory distortion as a result of the waves.”

“Could that also be blocking heat signatures?”

“It’s possible. The radiation is definitely strong enough. It’s unbelievable, Boss. There’s only one thing strong enough to produce this.”

“A Sink Hole.” The words fell heavy from his mouth.

“Seriously? Oh, that’s good. We got a party on our hands and he lost D. Fan-fucking-tastic,” Mouth said with a mocking chuckle.

Rook winced, but the kid had the good sense to stay silent.

Boss placed his foot on the first step and watched closely, expecting a Rorschach test named Deacon to spill from the black, backing down the stairs with his AA12 Automatic Shotgun poised and ready.

Waiting for it.

Hoping for it.

Come on, Deek.

Nothing but the steady thrumming that bounced through the stairwell. And it sounded louder. Hungrier. No more time to wait.

Boss stepped back from the darkness and pressed himself to the wall once more. Then he signaled for them to stack on the doorway.

It was time to move.

* * *

The team slid through the door effortlessly, fanning out, flashlights flicking every which way, casting their disfigured shadows over the walls and doors like prowling hunchbacked creatures.

The hallway was long and untended, dirt and painted scribbles similar to those in the stairwell leading like breadcrumbs to a central lobby where the desiccated bodies of wilted plants draped over a stained and torn sitting area.

Rook watched as Boss flashed a light down each corridor then signaled empty. Cypher shook her head – no signatures. Then Boss pointed down a hallway and they were moving in.

A Sink Hole. Rook couldn’t believe it – no, he didn’t want to believe it. First field drop and he might have to deal with a Sink Hole. His anxiety welled up again.

It could have been anything else. Why that? Why couldn’t it be something simple? Ghouls would be fine or goblins; yeah, goblins would be perfect! Doppelgangers, vampires, a poltergeist or two. Anything but a goddamned Sink Hole.

Rook stayed close behind Boss, checking his front and his back constantly. He wouldn’t make that mistake again. One brief lapse may have already cost someone their life. He hoped that one time he would look back and see Deacon rushing down the hallway to catch up. It didn’t happen.

Cypher was behind him, Mouth following her. As they moved down the hall, the sound from the stairwell swelled in volume, pumping its thick tones through the halls into the very heart of the building.  Only now it had changed. This was no longer the inarticulate clearing of a throat but a deep growl that streaked discordant high-pitched squeals throughout its roaring bass. The screeching was fast and long, then short and slow and all the while it was pained, bleeding agony in the air that shot through Rook in electrified spears and brought them straight to room 613 – Leak’s room.

The door was covered in scratch marks, embedded with fingernails and painted with streaks of blood. Black muck oozed from the door frame with every agonized pulse that emanated from within.

“Ectoplasm,” Cypher said. “Someone is angry.”

Boss signaled and they formed an arc around the door, all arms shouldered and ready. Boss tried the knob. Locked. Mouth stepped forward, pulled his Mossberg 590 and waited for the signal.

Rook dug his weapon into his shoulder, heart racing as he started rifling through his training.

Ghouls: flesh eating hell beast. Cut out the heart.

Cypher sat machine still.

Poltergeist: nasty ghost-human attachment. Exorcism.

Boss was trained on the door, his eyes locked and ready.

Revenant: already went over that one. Shit.

Mouth aimed at the lock.

Sink Hole–

Mouth fired.

* * *

The lock splintered into shrapnel and Boss booted the door, leading the charge into the dark room. He wanted this procedure to go by the numbers, even envisioned it all. He kicks in the door, the team files in behind, splits off into the adjacent rooms in a flurry of feet and reflex, all uneven gallops and sudden squeaking stops as corners were checked and rooms called “clear” until they found whatever had taken Leak – whatever ghost or goblin or ghoul – and they would blast it straight back to whatever hellhole it had clawed its way out of and Leak would be fine and they would pull out. That was the plan. It was a good plan. Solid. Perfect.