The moon was low in the dark early-morning sky, casting long shadows across the uneven terrain. The deep shadows made it easy for the Homothals to approach the flank and rear of the defenders position without being seen. The gunfire amply covered any incidental noise of their approach.
Fighters on both sides had become engrossed in the rapidly unfolding events. The group of six Homothals approaching from the rear were so focused on coordinating their attack on the enemy position that they failed to see Peter and his friends huddled beside two large boulders.
As the Homothals broke cover and sprinted toward the crest of the ridge, Hamaad opened up, firing his rifle on full auto until the magazine was empty. In the darkness it was impossible to determine if he hit any of his targets. The attackers continued charging up the slope—only now they knew where the defenders were.
Todd leveled the Barrett at the shadowy figures running toward him. At the same time, Peter drew his Colt .45 pistol and began firing into the dark mass.
The muzzle flash from the discharge of weapons was like a strobe light briefly illuminating the darkness and rendering the subjects momentarily frozen in time and space.
Gary drew his Python and began firing, the smooth action of the revolver functioning as quickly as a semiautomatic pistol. Gary emptied the cylinder in two seconds and was sure he had dropped at least one, possibly two, assailants.
Ethan joined the fight with his Barrett rifle. He fired all ten rounds in the magazine in four seconds in a near panic. Then the rifle was empty. Neither Ethan nor Todd had brought extra ammunition when they hastily ran up the slope to join their friends. Now, without any ammunition, Ethan had a very heavy and expensive bludgeon.
Todd continued to fire deliberately as Gary and Peter reloaded. Hamaad had no spare ammunition, but he did have his machete.
The Homothals progressed relentlessly, returning fire with their rifles. The boulders were providing good shelter for Peter and his team, leaving the Homothals at a disadvantage. Since they were constantly climbing, they had no ready cover.
“I’m hitting them, but they aren’t staying down!” Peter exclaimed.
“Maybe they’re amped up on drugs?” Todd suggested, still believing these were ordinary soldiers. Then he poked his head and rifle around the edge of the boulder and fired, striking a Homothal in the chest. He watched for a brief moment as the figure fell backwards and struggled to its feet, slowly regaining momentum.
“Their bodies must be full of adrenaline!”
As Todd pulled back, Peter ventured to look through the gap between the boulders and saw two Homothals, one limping, trying to work around the boulders. They were only fifteen feet away, and Peter had a full magazine of seven rounds. He aimed and fired—the bullet clearly struck home, yet the Homothal barely registered being hit. Peter fired again at the same figure, and still the Homothal hardly showed any physical response from the impact of the bullet.
The two figures remained on track to flank the boulder and their position. Peter raised his sights and fired a third time, this time striking the Homothal in the head. It fell, dead. Quickly, Peter fired at the head of the second Homothal—the bullet struck low, in the neck. It howled in pain, sounding more like a wild animal than a man.
Peter shivered involuntarily. The howl caught Gary’s attention, and he aimed for the wounded figure and placed a round through its forehead.
“That’s four down,” he said.
But there were still two Homothals charging up the hill, and they were quickly upon Peter’s position. They rounded the boulder and faced Gary. At this angle, Todd was now at the rear of their position with Peter, Ethan, and Hamaad in between. Todd couldn’t get a clear shot with his friends in the line of fire.
When the first Homothal emerged from behind the boulder, it was immediately upon Gary. Staring directly into the yellow-orange eyes of the creature, Gary reflexively pushed the muzzle of his pistol into the creature’s belly and pulled the trigger.
The .357 magnum revolver roared and kicked back, raising Gary’s hand. Yet the Homothal remained standing. Gary pulled the trigger again and there was nothing but a soft metallic click—the sound of the hammer falling on an empty cylinder.
The Homothal raised its rifle and struck Gary across the face with the butt, knocking him to the ground. His body lay motionless as blood flowed from his nose and mouth.
Rushing to Gary’s defense, Hamaad pulled the machete from its sheath and lunged toward the Homothal that had struck his American friend. But the second Homothal, anticipating an attack, had moved to the side and fired a short burst. The rounds hit Hamaad in the chest; he was dead before his body hit the ground.
“No!” screamed Peter, a wave of rage washing over him as he watched Hamaad’s chest shredded by the rifle fire. He raised his Colt pistol and fired rapidly, not really needing to aim at this close distance. There were only three rounds left in the magazine and all three hit the Homothal that had shot Hamaad. The creature stumbled backwards but stayed on its feet.
Peter drew his arm back in frustration and anger and threw the heavy pistol at the Homothal. The gun bounced off its chest.
Now it was the Homothal’s turn. Sneering, it moved the barrel of the assault rifle toward Peter.
BOOM! The explosion was deafening, and Peter felt the muzzle blast from the Barrett rifle Todd had just fired from behind. The massive rifle bullet, traveling at almost 3,000 feet per second, shattered the Homothal’s chest and propelled it backwards with its lifeless arms splayed out.
The Homothal that Gary had shot leapt forward despite its wounds, knocking Peter to the ground. Todd, who was eight feet behind Peter, tried to maneuver the long and heavy sniper rifle to get a shot into the attacking creature. But he couldn’t move the muzzle of the rifle quickly enough. He fired, but he immediately knew the round had missed. Adjusting, Todd pulled the trigger again, only now the magazine was empty.
The Homothal barreled into Todd, knocking the rifle from his grip. Todd remained on his feet and swung his right arm, planting a solid blow into the Homothal’s face. It merely shook its head lightly. The Homothal, still gripping its own rifle, swung the butt up to catch Todd in the chin. The blow lifted him off his feet and sent him sprawling to the ground. The Homothal raised its rifle, intending to bash in Todd’s skull.
Ethan hadn’t attracted any attention since he wasn’t shooting—his rifle was empty. He was behind the Homothal as it stood over Todd’s prone body. Using the only weapon he had, Ethan gripped his rifle by the barrel and swung it like a bat with all his might, striking the Homothal across the shoulder, causing it to drop the Chinese-made assault rifle. The scope on the Barrett shattered from the impact, but the Homothal remained upright. Slowly the creature turned to face Ethan—the yellow-orange eyes boring into him.
Ethan recognized those eyes. He had glimpsed them back at the aid camp when they were under attack. Driven by an instinctive fear more powerful than the urge to fight, Ethan slowly moved one foot back, wanting to distance himself from this demonic creature.
The Homothal took one step toward Ethan and swatted away the rifle-club. Ethan backed up slowly, fear replaced by panic. He stumbled and fell. The Homothal reached down placing a large hairy hand around Ethan’s throat. The fingers squeezed, digging into his neck and threatening to rupture his trachea.
The Homothal lifted Ethan by the throat using only one hand—squeezing the life from his young body. Ethan couldn’t breathe. He was desperately trying to break the grip and free himself. Tugging and clawing at the iron hand wrapped around his neck, feet dangling off the ground, he couldn’t loosen the vise-like grip. His vision began to fade, growing dim around the edge—he knew he was passing out and would soon die. The Homothal pulled Ethan closer—they were almost touching, face to face. Ethan thought his last sensation in life would be the creature’s foul, dank breath.
Only yards away, Peter shook the cobwebs from his head and saw the Homothal strangling his son. Grabbing his hunting knife from the sheath at his hip, he pushed himself to his feet and lunged for the Homothal. The blade plunged deep into the Homothal’s lower back. This time it screamed in pain and dropped Ethan.
Peter retracted the knife and drew his arm back to thrust the blade into the creature again. It twisted and swung back with its elbow, catching Peter in the jaw.
The blow knocked Peter to the ground, but the knife was still firmly in his grip. He got up and charged the Homothal only to have the blow deflected. Peter recovered his balance and stood facing the beast. He noticed the eyes and dense hair on the exposed arms and face. He also noticed the relatively large head with shallow sloping forehead. The limbs were extremely muscular, giving it an overall appearance of being rather short and heavy, even though Peter estimated it must have been six feet tall—as tall as himself.
Peter lunged forward again and attempted to stab the Homothal. But he wasn’t trained in hand-to-hand combat and his adversary was. The Homothal parried the thrust and grabbed Peter’s arm, twisting and bending the limb until Peter was forced to drop the knife. Then the creature wrapped a huge arm around Peter’s throat, squeezing and threatening to crush his windpipe. He found it impossible to breath.
Ethan had regained his awareness in time to see his father in a strangle hold. He picked up a grapefruit-sized rock and slammed it into the Homothal’s head from behind. The creature dropped Peter and turned to face the new threat. It slammed a fist into Ethan’s face, spraying blood and saliva. In rapid succession, the Homothal swung again and again, each blow landing hard on Ethan’s face. The tissue around his eyes was cut and bruised from the hammering. Rather than kill cleanly, the Homothal was playing with this victim—trying to slowly crush the skull using only its own brute strength.
Ethan staggered. He could hardly see—his eyes were so badly swollen—and his head felt like someone was hammering a steel wedge into it; every blow another strike to the wedge as excruciating, sharp pain blasted his skull.
Peter was trying to regain his breath. He was on the verge of blacking out, but he was sure he could see Ethan being pummeled by the Homothal. Gary and Todd were lying motionless, either dead or unconscious—he had no way of knowing.
Seeing his son suffering at the hands of the Homothal, fired a final dose of adrenaline through Peter. He slowly struggled to his feet, barely able to hold his balance. He took two steps toward the Homothal and as much fell into the beast as tackled it. The attack was weak and without effect. The creature brushed Peter off like an insect and viciously kicked him in the head and chest until Peter no longer moved.
“Dad!” cried Ethan as he struck the Homothal in the back, trying to make it stop.
It worked, and the Homothal turned its attention back to Ethan.
The Homothal considered its prey and took a moment to savor the pleasure of killing. Yes, one more blow and the skull would crack like an egg. The creature drew back its right arm and rammed it forward, landing firmly on Ethan’s cheek bone. The Homothal smiled at the sound of breaking bone. The boy’s limp body fell to the ground.