David Golemon - Primeval

"Oh, god," Sarah said, "we can't leave him like that!"

Marla again restrained her from rising.

"Leave him, he's our only chance of getting out of here. They are in a blood frenzy, one of them must have been hurt by these murdering bastards!"

Sarah turned away as the first creature slowly ambled into the clearing. Ryan watched in amazement as the engines of the Sikorsky ramped up to idle power. The beast was almost invisible as it advanced with its long strides. The head was large and the torso long and powerfully built. The arms were long and massive, the muscles bristling under the coat of dark hair. The legs were not as short as a normal ape would have been, they were long and well proportioned. The muscles in the legs were that of a well-built man. The Sasquatch walked completely upright and had no slouch at all. The giant's hands and arms swung easily at its sides and the gait was tremendous. It covered the seventy yards in just twenty strides.

"Look at its hair," Sarah said, turning toward the scientist inside of her, more for protection against the fear she was feeling than because of her studies. "It shimmers, like it's taking on the contours of its surroundings."

Ryan was flabbergasted as he watched the beast approach. The hair was thicker in some places more than others. The hair was light in areas, dark in some, and with these natural colors, it took on light and shadow and made it difficult to see against any backdrop — a natural camouflage that any military would have been envious of. If it weren't for the growing light show in the sky, they would be hard-pressed to follow its progress toward them and the downed man.

"That's why they are never seen; they are masters at camouflaging themselves with their environment — the muscle movement below their fur, or hair, ripples at a simple suggestion from its brain, and the shadows created by those differing movements of muscles are able to increase and decrease, creating shadows and valleys, making their outline almost impossible to see."

"I hate to break up this National Geographic moment here, but that thing is coming right for us," Ryan said as he tried desperately to find the collective handle that allowed the helicopter to rise into the air.

"This model doesn't have a collective; the throttle is on the stick!" Marla said as she pointed. "The Mounties told me a little about them a long time ago."

Ryan found the throttle on the stick in front of him and twisted it. With no collective like older models, Ryan tried to apply power. The helicopter started to rise, but he pushed the stick forward too soon and the nose dipped, almost sending the spinning rotors into the hard ground in front of them.

"Oh, shit," he said as he pulled back just as the beast ducked and barely avoided the blades. "Sorry, I didn't try to do that!" Ryan said almost apologetically to the great beast now standing and looking through the glass at the three people in the helicopter.

The Sasquatch roared and then bent down and retrieved the Russian by the leg and lifted the bleeding man off the ground. The animal tossed it into the tree line as easily as a rag doll and then watched as the Sikorsky finally started gaining altitude, rising above the trees.

"Okay, I'm an asshole for not believing you. Later I'll hold still for you and you can kick my ass!" Ryan shouted, getting the cold chills from the closeness of their encounter.

"I'm so glad I could convince you," Marla said as she turned away from the cockpit and sat in the first row of seats.

Sarah looked over at Ryan and patted his arm, and then looked back through the opening and watched as the death of her grandmother finally caught up with the young girl. She was looking out of the window to her left at the retreating fishing camp below, crying into the glass.

Jack and the others watched the comings and goings of Sagli, Deonovich, and their newest partner in crime, Punchy Alexander, as they entered and exited the technician's tent. The Spetsnaz, while paying particular attention to the American captives, made ready their weapons and other equipment for their planned foray into the upper reaches of the Stikine Valley from their tents, while some of the more unseasoned regular army misfits walked the perimeter around the camp.

They were all still bound with their hands behind their backs, but at least the Russians had placed a tarp over them that kept all but their butts dry. Will Mendenhall had regained some of his senses, but was in a foul mood because of the refreshed memory of Doc Ellenshaw's meaningless death, and Jack could see it in the black man's eyes. That was the one failing of the young lieutenant — he found it hard at times to place his personal feelings aside and concentrate on what was at hand. Jack knew this trait because he had the same problem at times, as he had demonstrated earlier.

"Will, are you with us or someplace else?" Collins asked, trying to get Mendenhall awake and back to work mentally.

The lieutenant looked up from the fire that was only a few yards away, and fixed Jack with his eyes. Then he broke eye contact and looked at the falling rain.

"I'm here, Colonel," he said and then looked back down at the fire.

There was a tremendous bolt of lightning that struck the ground directly across the river. The flash lit up the entire area around them.

Jack finally decided he had had enough. He wanted to end the cat-and-mouse game that had been going on between himself and Henri Farbeaux, who was obviously dodging the truth behind why he was so adamant about coming along.

"Colonel, when are you going to let us in on why it is you chose to come with us on this little outing, and please don't tell me it's for the Twins of Peter the Great."

Farbeaux turned, the mud beneath him making the maneuver extremely uncomfortable. He smiled at Jack and then looked away.

"Colonel Collins, when have you known me to do anything other than for profit? I am still what you would call, 'the bad guy,' here."

"I have no doubt of that."

"As proof, I advance to you the small fact that I was afraid that when you confronted that rather large Spetsnaz gentleman, you would deprive me of the death I have planned for you when all of this is finished, a death that I have dreamed of for going on a full year. But alas, I should have known you would prevail. I am beginning to call it the 'Collins luck.' "

"Don't worry, Henri, I'll figure it out. You have another scheme going here and I will…"

Jack didn't finish his statement. Overhead, through the thick cloud cover they all heard it at the same time. It was the sound of a helicopter — a large one, much larger than the Bell Ranger that he had left Ryan behind at the fishing camp to repair. As they listened the sound grew louder. Lightning flashed again and they saw Russians running from their tents. Whoever was dropping in on them, it looked as if they wouldn't be welcomed all that warmly.

"Jesus," Everett said shaking his head. "Don't tell me…"

"Ryan and Sarah," Jack said as they heard the distress of the helicopter as it raised and lowered in the wind.

"Yeah, I can tell Ryan's flying anywhere," Mendenhall added.

As they watched in dawning knowledge and the horror of that fact, one of the Spetsnaz went to the center of the camp and while being assisted by another, raised a long tube into the air and aimed.

Pointed directly into the lightning-streaked sky and at the sound created by the misguided Sikorsky was a heat-seeking anti-aircraft missile.

The wind had picked up by thirty knots and Ryan, since sliding the Sikorsky down toward the river so he could follow the terrain, had a difficult time keeping the sharp nose of the helicopter trained in the right direction. The stiff wind was forcing the tail both right and left, which was a usual state for Ryan flying machines he hadn't formally trained in before.