CHAPTER 15
In the very minimal early morning moonlight, Blane, Tracy, and Gavin watched in horror as three bulky bipedal silhouettes with blocky frames ran across the observation deck above the kitchen and observing the den. They were each carrying sacks slung over their shoulders like a cartoon bank robber and his money sack.
If Gavin could remember right, according to the map of the half million-dollar cabin and it's grounds he had demanded from Sara before her departure. He cringed a bit at the thought of Sara, who he was worried for her. He knew that there was a good chance Sara and the rest of the group wasn't here. The silhouettes ran from the upstairs social area and were heading towards the residential quarters. They were running towards the sound of baby's cry. The distant cry emanated through the cabin, the ears of the shadowy figures perked up as they looked in the direction.
Gavin began to move his lips to order their pursuit buy before he could say anything, Tracy and Blane had already began to climb the stairs that led to the observation deck near the from door. Perhaps they weren't so hair-brained after all. They had their guns drawn as they slowly closed in, like they were dealing with a hostage situation.
The silhouettes paused in the middle of the deck and looked down at Gavin with no visible concern for the pair of armed police officers in hot pursuit for them. They made a series of spaced out clicking noises while turning their heads at each other, as if they were communicating. To Gavin it sounded vaguely like Morse code, taking away from that summer when he and his best friend spent weeks learning the communication method. However, time and the motor important events of adulthood rendered his use of Morse code nonexistent.
Gavin often sat down and recollected on his life. He, more often than not, came to the conclusion that he had grown up too fast. He studied his summers away, obsessively studying all things medicine related. The terminology had always come easy to him; it was always the memorization of symptoms and procedures that always screwed him up. Nowadays, he would often let panic get in the way of his procedures, always relying on constant visits to the computer to help remedy his patients. Gavin laughed how people would be surprised when he told them he had six children, he guessed it wasn't that odd for a Mormon to have more than three children. Maybe he liked children, or maybe he like something else about it, he couldn't tell.
The silhouettes were very odd. They continued clicking and chirping as they turned away from Gavin. As they gestured, they seemed to have an odd mannerism where they'd constituently clasp and tap their fingers together. They did this as they methodically conversed with one another in that same strange tongue. The shadowy figures were very expressive with their gestures and movements as they talked, the moved and gestured in kind of a flashy or showy way.
Gavin stopped nibbling at his fingernails, a tick of his, and walked closer to the observation deck with his shotgun aimed upwards at the railing. "Who are you?" interrogated Gavin as he trembled; his voice was shaky as was his body, he could barely hold the shotgun steady. Tracy and Blane flanked the figures with their matte black pistols trained on the figures, they're golden badges of authority gleamed in the filtered moonlight. The beams of their flashlights seemed to reflect off the figures, they remained pitch black, texture less figures. Two of the figures turned and purred a series of defensive click at the police officers that were concentrating the barrels of their guns at the figures. The shadowy figures didn't stand up straight. To show off and exaggerate their defensive attitude, they were hunched over slightly like a jungle cat ready to pounce with their hands forming definitive figures for first time, sprawled out to their sides. They showed them like how a warrior would display his weapons to intimidate the enemy. Tracy and Blane seemed to keep their cool and stared, steely eyed, ahead at their enemies.
The other figure let out a similar series of inhuman clicks before it ran behind the other two and curved into the living quarters portion of the cabin. That figure seemed to move faster than the others; it also had a taller and slimmer build. It contrasted against it's counterparts' bulky and more muscular looking frames. Gavin fired his shotgun at the rail a second too late, completely taking out that portion of the railing. The shotgun blast rendered it nothing but splinters of laminated redwood.
The two silhouettes that were engaged in a firefight with Tracy and Blane brandished handguns as well. The shadowy pair dropped their handguns, preferring a more offensive approach as they charged the Tracy and Blane simultaneously, like they shared a single mind between them. One tackled Tracy and sent both of them tumbling down the stairs, the silhouette pinned Tracy to the now closed front door. The other silhouette shoved Blane violently against right beside the doorway that led to the living quarters, it wailed on Blane viciously with obvious intent to kill by means of pummeling. Despite being lit by pale moonlight, the figures maintained their smooth and texture less pitch black color.
Gavin ran over to the dual front doors and opened the one opposite to the door where the inky figure and Tracy were exchanging blow after blow with one another. Gavin grabbed the black figure by what could've been it's shoulders and pulled it back. It's skin felt like a coarse plastic tarp designed to protect goods from the spoiling elements. He pushed the oddity out onto the front doorstep, the falling snow stuck to its skin like stars on the fabric of space. For a brief moment, the horrid creature seemed beautiful. The creature stood dazed at Gavin's mercy. Gavin felt the slight breeze of cold winter air hit his face, the wind wafted towards him the slight scent of strong cologne, the type that he would've worn if he had a business meeting to go to. It was strong and hard to bare at first. The kind of cologne that suited macho men and probably had a name that was French and had "Calvin Klein" written across the top in white letters.
Without a second thought, Gavin fired a single buckshot through the midsection of the creature. An immediate sense of grief swept over him like a tsunami of tremendous proportions.
The shot rocked him backwards. It was something about that particular payload that staggered Gavin and made him feel weak to the core. He had this overwhelming feeling of wrongness overcame him. The shadowy figure staggered backwards, revealing something of true horror. A pit formed in his stomach, a gaping hole that seemed to consume everything about him that made him seem human inside. Something that greatly surpassed the horrors of the ER and made him sick to his stomach...
ns 15.158.61.42da2
