SNAFU: Hunters

“Taints are, without doubt, the biggest threat facing us today. As a result of our ignorance, our arrogance, and our misguided sense of scientific endeavour, we have created a serious threat to the safety and security of this country and its people. This committee therefore recommends the immediate formation of a specialist unit made up of elite members of Her Majesty’s Armed Forces with the expressed duty of combating this threat above all else. We also recommend that the unit include experts in the field of science, military tactics, and Vampirism.

May God help us all.” 

Professor Edward P. Glaston, Chairman, COBRA Emergency Committee Report, August 2015.

The trouble with night-vision goggles is that the slightest flash of any bright light and you’re effectively ‘blasted out’. And when you’ve got some dirty little bastard Taint intent on chowing down on any soft tissue it can find about three feet from your arse then being blind, even for a split second, is not an option.

“Jesus, Mary, Joseph and all the little saints, these sons of bitches are fast!” Robbie Moore, trying to find his bearings in the eerie green glow of a room seen through NVGs, aimed the adapted M4 Benelli pump action shotgun straight at the snarling face of the Taint. He fired. And missed. “Fuck!”

“Seriously? From six feet away? Who taught you to shoot? Your grandmother?” Terry Warner screamed abuse at his oppo and fumbled with his own M4. As inanimate objects are wont to do at the most inopportune moment, the damn thing stubbornly refused to co-operate. “Shit! Shit!”

“Okay, ladies. We all knew this was coming. Breathe.” The calm voice of Colby Flynn cut through the screaming and mayhem. “Terry, stop panicking. Safety off. Rob, prime and squeeze the damn trigger, don’t yank on it. You’re shooting a Taint, not giving yourself a hand job.”  Colby wanted the newbies to get their first kill for themselves this time, rather than having to step in for them yet again. And preferably before the rest of the pack of slathering, wild-eyed Taints came barrelling through the door and tore them all to pieces, if you don’t mind lads, thank you very much.

An M4 blasted out a cartridge filled with liquid, spraying a fluorescent pale-green mist into the air, like someone had shaken a can of soda and pulled the tab. Colby checked the two men. It was Robbie Moore who had finally got his shit together and managed to fire off a second shot. “Adda boy.” He melted back into the corner of the room and watched how the two men handled a close-quarters confrontation with one of mankind’s most terrifying creations, a second-generation Taint with an appetite and an attitude. After the initial god-awful fumbling and general fuck-uppery, the two men started to get themselves organised. Their training – if it was ever truly possible to ‘train’ for your first full-on Taint attack – finally kicked in.

The Taint recoiled as the fine mist drenched it from the top of its oozing scalp to the large hole the M4 projectile had punched through the middle of its chest. It took a few microseconds for it to realise it had been hit. The Taint looked down at its chest, and then back up at Robbie. “In three… two… one…” Colby counted down, ticking the seconds off on curled fingers. “And…”

The Taint went rigid and splayed its arms out. Orange lines snaked through its body, visible under the surface of the skin, like rivers of lava flowing through its veins. Its skin started to bulge and blister. The Taint threw its head back and let out a wail. The incensed creature started to convulse and dropped to the floor. The spasms grew increasingly violent, and there was a loud crack as it twisted so savagely its spine snapped. It thrashed on the floor, screaming like all the souls of Hell were crying out as one voice. The creature’s fists smashed into the concrete floor and its heels drummed violently. The orange rivers became a tsunami of fire roaring through its body.

The explosion, when it came, was a bit of a relief to be honest. All that thrashing and screaming always gave Colby a headache. The liquid-filled projectile finally did its job, but it was more of a wet fart rather than a proper ‘boom’, rather like a damp feather pillow splitting. A shower of sparks and ash mushroomed upwards and filled the room.