Wally sat in the sand with the boys for a long time, staring out at the empty sailboat. Once the tears had started to flow, they wouldn’t stop. He had put on his bravest face in front of the boys for as long as he could, but he was sure Maynard and Abby would both die. And Ellis. Poor Ellis. Such a nice kid. What the hell had happened?
He took a deep breath, held it, and let it out slowly. “Come on, boys. We’ve got a long sail ahead.” To find out the inevitable, he thought.
Wally stood and walked back to the surf, the boys walking silently behind. They were ankle deep, pulling the small dingy behind them, when Wally froze. A few dozen of those little creatures moved through the water like bugs, swimming erratically, as if looking for their next meal.
“Oh my God,” he said out loud. “Out of the water! Run! Go!” he screamed, grabbed the boys and pushing them ahead of him as he pulled the dinghy behind him with one hand. They raced back up the beach and pulled the dinghy all the way out of the surf before stopping to catch their breath. Wally stared at the ocean and shook his head.
Forty miles to the north, the corpsmen continued to monitor the two very sick passengers in the helicopter. Abby was convulsing on and off, and Maynard was nothing short of alien looking. His color was so dark he was almost purple, and his tongue was so swollen it protruded out of his mouth. His belly was completely distended—so large it looked like it would explode. If not for occasional groans, they all would have sworn he had been dead for a few days.
One of the corpsmen leaned over him to check his pulse. Maynard sprayed the man in the face with what the corpsman thought was vomit, until the pain started. His eyes and skin immediately began to melt, and he started screaming so loud the pilot and co-pilot could hear him from the cockpit.
The other crewmen grabbed their comrade and pulled him away from Maynard. One of them grabbed a bag of saline and began spraying it in his face to dilute it, but the effects of the enzymes were already horrific. Maynard sat up and grabbed the second man by the back of his flight suit, his grip so strong his fingers tore through the tough fabric. Razor sharp hooks inside tiny suction cups popped through the skin on his fingers and tore all the way to the man’s flesh. Karen, the crew chief, moved over to help and was caught off guard when Abby rolled over and grabbed her ankle. Abby bit into Karen’s lower leg, vomiting up the same digestive enzymes that now coursed through her internal organs. Karen screamed and turned around, punching and kicking as hard as she could.
The fourth crewman in the back, another female corpsman, jumped across the gurney and grabbed Abby by the hair to pull her off Karen’s leg. The hair came off in her hands, exposing dark, lizard-like hide. The crewman was horrified and drew her sidearm, a Glock 19, firing two shots into Abby’s back. Abby released Karen’s leg and rolled over to face the woman with the pistol. She spit a long stream at the woman, who jumped to her right, out of the way. Karen pulled her own Glock 19 and began firing into Abby at point blank range. Maynard roared behind her and slashed her head with his tentacled hand. Her blood sprayed across the inside of the helicopter, and Karen screamed and fell forward. The co-pilot ran into the back of the helicopter, his own weapon out.
“What’s going on back here?” he screamed, and then stopped in his tracks as he watched two alien-looking creatures attacking his crew. He fired his weapon at Abby, who was closer, but she leapt at him and sprayed her digestive fluids at his face. His helmet and visor shielded his eyes, but the exposed skin sizzled, and he screamed and fell backwards. Abby leapt on top of him and shredded him with her own razor sharp hooks. Karen emptied her pistol, and was changing magazines when Maynard attacked her again, this time slashing her throat. Her blood sprayed across the inside walls and ceiling of the helicopter, and she gurgled up foamy blood before rolling over dead. The pilot slowed the helicopter and began yelling back at his crew.
“What the hell’s going on back there? Matt?”
Matt, his co-pilot, was bleeding out all over the floor, his face melting into goo. The pilot was still screaming at him when Abby and Maynard attacked him in his seat. The Sea Hawk plummeted into the ocean from five thousand feet and disintegrated on impact, scattering parts of the helicopter, people and hideous creatures all over the Pacific.