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Radley had his crew now, working the back of the helicopter as they untangled massive rope and fixed heavy-grade carabiners to the frame of the chopper. He'd picked up four of his most trusted employees, guys who had handled extractions for him all over the world. By comparison, this one would be almost child’s play. They wouldn’t have to transport the corpse across borders, evading customs and the law. They just had to airlift it to the estate. Easy.
Radley brought the chopper down into a hover over the lake, scanning the lake for his prize. The helicopter moved forward the same instant that he spotted it, gracefully coming back to a hover squarely over the lump of fur floating limply on the surface. Abby was true to her word. Good girl.
“All right. Here we go. Do your thing.”
The team lead answered into the radio, “Roger that. Move out.”
Two of the men rappelled out of the side of the helicopter with the grace of gymnasts, lowering themselves evenly until they touched down in the water. Both unclipped and the team lead pulled up their lines. Radley turned the controls over to the fourth man, his copilot, and made his way to the cargo area to be closer to the action. Expertly, the copilot held the chopper steady, hardly any wobbling at all. Radley was impressed.
Radley helped the team-lead hoist the large net out of the copter, then quickly steadied himself as they rose ever so slightly when the net hit the water. The men below went straight to work, unfurling the net, swimming it out to the length of the devil, then slowly but surely spreading it underneath the carcass. Next, the team lead tossed out a large tarp. It hit the water hard enough that Radley heard the slap against the surface.
The tarp was essential to extraction. His flight path would take him out over the suburbs of Seattle, and he couldn’t very well have a giant otter on display. Indeed, even with it covered, he ran the risk of turning too many heads and inviting too many questions. But people had short attention spans. They would stop, look up, go “huh?”, then move about their day shuttling their kids about or picking up their dinners. No one cared about anyone but themselves in the grand scheme of things.
Down below, one of the divers gave a thumbs up, his arm held high above his head. The team leader watched intently until the other diver did the same.
Go time.
Radley jumped back into the cockpit and assumed control of the chopper. Slowly, he pulled on the flight stick, easily feeling when the weight of the thing started to counteract the lift of the rotors. He was ready for it, adjusting appropriately until it started to lift out of the water. The divers would stay behind for a later pickup. Priority number one was to get the carcass out of the area before anyone else happened upon it.
Little by little, the tarp-covered mound rose above the water until Misty Lake supported it no more. Now to get above the trees. Radley moved up faster now, the weight of his load decided and fully accounted for.
Steady.
Steady.
Below, the surface of the lake rippled, wide enough to catch his eye and curious enough to halt his ascent. The other devil. It had to be.
The team lead’s voice echoed into Radley’s ears: “We need to evac our guys. They’re sitting ducks out there.”
Radley continued his ascent without a reply.
“Sir. Seriously. Another one of those things is down there. I can see it.”
The copilot glanced towards Radley, “He’s right, sir. We should lower back down. Let them climb onto the haul.”
Radley shot a chiding look at the pilot. He flipped the switch on his headset, muting the voices of his team. This was the job. He paid them so much for two reasons—the risk and their silence. If they wouldn’t offer the latter right now, he’d force it on them.
Moving up. Faster now. Radley eyed the tree line, guessing they had at least ten feet to go.
Without his headset on, he didn’t hear the screams of his copilot as much as he felt them. Radley looked down just in time to see a devil vault from the surface of the lake and hurtle through the air, mouth wide, teeth bared. Surely, it couldn’t jump high enough to...
The chopper jolted downward, tipping sideways. Radley fought with the stick, but the shock of the extra weight gripping his haul made it impossible to right the trajectory. Lights blinded him. Alarms sounded, barely audible through his powered off headset. Radley focused. Fought.
The weight abated, he started to regain control. His copilot lurched forward, frantically looking out the windows. It was only then that Radley realized they’d lost the team lead, who’d no doubt plummeted into the lake below. Likely fine, assuming he didn’t get eaten by the creature beneath the surface.
The devil jumped again, and Radley knew he hadn’t gained enough altitude to outpace it. He hadn’t recovered fast enough. In fact, he hadn’t fully recovered at all.
“Brace!” he yelled.
The copilot held tightly to the arms of his seat. The chopper jolted again. Radley knew he wouldn’t win the fight this time. He no longer fought to gain control of the chopper. Now he fought to guide the landing—or crash—into something survivable.
He acquiesced, lowering the copter as best he could, but the weight had become unbalanced, tipping the chopper until he lost all control. They were in free fall.
Radley unbuckled.
The copilot looked at him in confusion, but Radley wasted no time saving a guy whose name he couldn’t even bother to remember. Instead, he jolted to the cargo area of the helicopter, holding onto his seat, then the canvas straps attached to the side, desperate not to fall out prematurely. Everything a blur. The chopper spun faster and faster. His eyes lost focus as their altitude dropped. Though he would have preferred time to slow down, instead it felt like it was speeding up. As if he had no time to think or act or save himself.
He had a radio attached to his belt, but no weapon. He grabbed the nearest gun he saw—a tranquilizer gun—and steeled himself for impact. He saw water below and wasted no time, diving deep into the freezing waters of Misty Lake until he could feel the bottom. Until his ears ached from the pressure. The water reverberated around him when the copter hit, but he managed to escape the debris, swimming away from the wreckage as best he could.
Along the way, in his travels, Radley had spent a fair amount of time learning to free dive. He knew he could hold his breath for minutes yet. By then he could be far enough away from the wreckage and the devil that it’d lose track of him. Though, if it cared about catching him, it already would have. His paltry swimming would be no match for an animal very much in its element.
He pushed forward. The pressure on his lungs built. The cold of the water numbed his skin. He ignored it. He’d survived worse than this.
After what he guessed to be about two minutes beneath the surface, he knew he’d reached the edge of his limits. He pushed up, quickly kicking his legs, his lungs burning. He breached the surface and hungrily sucked in air. He turned his head in every direction, looking for any sign of the devil. Of his men. The chopper. He saw what remained in the distance, but found no evidence that he’d been followed. Or that his men had survived.
He quickly swam to the nearest bank, hoisted himself onto land and leaned over, hands on his knees, to continue searching for his breath. Radley was fit for his age, but he couldn’t ignore the fact that he’d been on the earth long enough that his body couldn’t always recover as quickly as he’d like.
The tranquil sounds of the forest were replaced by splashing, screaming, clanging, and the moaning of sinking metal. His crew weren’t all dead—yet. But it sounded like they were well on their way. Radley spent no time worrying about how to save them. He knew when to cut his losses.
And he’d lost them for sure.
He wasn’t ready to give up on his prize, though. He’d need a new plan if he was going to recover the carcass. Or maybe, just maybe, he’d hunt himself a new one.
