SNAFU: Hunters

Several police and paramedics charged in that direction as others ordered the crowd to disperse. It didn’t take much to persuade them, and then the police ran after their companions. One stopped, just beyond the far barrier, his back to the bodies and ear to his radio.

“Clear,” I said. “Still one nearby.”

“Keep an eye on him,” Colin said. He slipped out from between a pair of emergency vehicles and hurried to the bagged bodies, his copper hair hidden beneath a dark ball cap.

Licking my lips, I watched the lone policeman. I stole a glance to Colin to see him peel open the first bag, recoil at the unleashed sight or stench, then lift his camera.

Shouts continued down the street as the thickening white cloud spread. What the hell had Nick done? Was anyone hurt?

“One.” Colin zipped the bag and moved to the next.

The lone officer shifted back and forth on his feet but hadn’t turned. One by one the shrieking car alarms began to silence.

“Two.” Colin said. “These things are weird.”

“No commentary,” Nick ordered. “Mal, how we look?”

“Some of the officers are headed back,” I said. “Block away.”

The lone officer started toward the trio jogging out from the smoke.

“Colin, be quick,” Nick said.

“Just a few more seconds.”

The policeman slowed as he met his companions. They spoke with wild-moving arms, pointing toward some unseen thing down the street. Two of them broke off and headed toward the vehicles.

“Get out of there,” I said, my voice a whispered yell.

Colin looked up from his camera. Quickly he zipped the bag and hurried away before the police noticed him.

I blew a long breath, a wash of relief pouring down my body. “He’s out.”

“All right,” Nick said. “Extract. Meet at the hotel.”

* * *

I sat on the bed, laptop before me. Scouring a map of the catacombs, I marked where the bodies were discovered and the best places we might gain access. Colin sat at the small table across the room working on his own computer. He hadn’t spoken much since he arrived, only transferring his photographs over and giving the occasional grunt as he scrolled through the images.

The room door clicked and Nikoghos Tavitian stepped inside, his trimmed black beard framing his ear-to-ear smile. His olive knapsack rattled as he dropped it beside the door. He nodded to Colin. “Doctor,” and then to me, “Doctor.” With a flourish, he set a paper bag on the bed between us and withdrew a brown bundle. “Dinner is served.”

Colin, who isn’t actually a doctor, having joined the Order before completing med school, never liked being called that. Nevertheless, Nick always addressed us that way when he was in good spirits, and terrifying an entire city appeared to have pleased the Armenian immensely.

Nick underhand-tossed a bundle to me. “Good work, Malcolm.”

I caught the crinkly roll, feeling the warm bread inside. “What the hell did you do?”

“Distraction.” Nick removed his own sandwich. “Needed something big enough to get everyone out of there. Just a pair of flash bangs and a smoke grenade in an alley. No one was hurt. Though…” He chuckled. “I think one woman did shit herself.”

“You realize this could wind up on world news?”

He shrugged, his smile dimming. “Back page stuff. They’ll write it off as a bad prank.”

Colin nodded to his monitor. “It’ll make the front page if police see what did this.”

I stood and peered down at Colin’s screen. The image of a mottled purple corpse; its teeth and cheekbones gleamed out through ragged holes. Blood-caked lashes framed the pits where its eyes should have been.

The image flipped to another – a girl with curly blonde hair. Her throat was torn out and grimy bite wounds covered her bare shoulders. Blue eye shadow crested the black pits of her empty sockets. I no longer wanted my sandwich.

Nick took a bite of his. “So what do you think?” he asked around a mouthful.

Colin unwrapped his own sandwich, unleashing the smell of fresh bread and meat, completely inappropriate for the horrible images. “Look to be cataphiles.”

“Cataphiles?” Nick asked.

“People who explore the catacombs,” I answered. “The old mines are strictly off limits, but people still go down there to explore, or party. Several even live down there. Three hundred kilometers of tunnels and chambers. Plenty of room for everyone.”

Nick shrugged. “Not for them it seems. So, Mal, you’re the Librarian. What do you think got ‘em?”

I looked back at the screen, this time a young black man with his face mostly chewed off, his grisly skull framed in jagged skin. “Ghouls. Archives show they’ve made their home down there several times before. Last known infestation was during the war.”

Colin nodded. “I agree. Blood wasn’t drunk. Bite marks correspond.”

“What else does it tell you?” Nick asked me.

“There’s at least four of them, either ghouls or ghouls and their undead familiars.” I answered, resenting this thinly veiled pop quiz.

“Why?”