Two snipers on a recon mission find themself hunted by something
I have the world’s best and sweetest girlfriend, Sussie, a well-paid job I truly enjoy, and I live in the dream house we bought together two years ago. I have good friends, time for my hobbies—motorcycling, diving, shooting, and skydiving, among others. My life is probably what many, including myself, would call perfect.
But… unfortunately, I sometimes struggle with impulse control, and when I get an idea into my head, it can be hard to get it out. This has landed me in several difficult situations during my 28 years of life, but those experiences have shaped me into the rather successful and accomplished person I’ve become.
The question now is whether my latest impulse will benefit me—or actually be my death.
Perhaps I should start by explaining what I’ve gotten myself into.
When Russia invaded Ukraine, I became so angry about what they were doing that I volunteered and flew to Kyiv to help Ukraine in the fight against the Russians—or “the orcs,” as we call them.
Now I’m lying on a rooftop in the city of Pripyat with my sniper rifle, scanning for enemies. The rain is pouring down, and I’m soaked through.
I’m holding a laminated picture of Sussie in my left hand. A raindrop runs down over her face, making it look like a tear sliding down her cheek. God, I miss her. The thought of coming home and holding her again is what’s keeping me warm right now.
Back to reality. Why on earth have the Russians decided to go through Chernobyl? How much radiation am I being exposed to under my camouflage? We had planned to start a family before I turned everything upside down and flew here. Will my swimmers even work after months in this place?
I push the thoughts away, raise the binoculars again, and scan the apartment complex across from me. The Russians are inside, apparently running some sort of base there.
I’m stationed here to observe, and if we launch an attack, to support our soldiers from my elevated position.
Lying on a rooftop doesn’t feel ideal, but if we stay at the windows of the top floor, the laundry room and community hall in the courtyard block the view of the ground floor.
If we lie in one of the side buildings, the laundry room wouldn’t be in the way—but then the angle would be too tight for any real line of sight.
I’m not alone here. About ten meters away lies Torvald from Norway—a quiet man in his upper middle age from the far north of the country. He looks like he’s lived on the mountains his whole life, with a bitter, stoic face. Yet he’s the kindest and most cheerful man I’ve ever met.
But when we’re here, we both take it dead seriously—no talking. We take turns sleeping, eating, or taking care of our needs.
We’re supposed to be here for a week, so sometimes we crawl off one by one to do a quick workout—sit-ups, push-ups, squats, that sort of thing—to keep our bodies active before crawling back under the camouflage net.
After a few days, we’ve started to get a good picture of life inside the base. Same patrol routes at exactly the same times every day. Someone passing out after drinking too much alcohol. Occasional fistfights.
On day four, Torvald and I are lying there as usual, watching. Nothing new for the day, so I’m filling in the logbook for the past 24 hours.
As I write, I think I see something moving in the bushes along the building we’re watching.
There are a lot of stray dogs here, but this is something else. I shoulder the sniper rifle and look through the scope.
Something’s definitely there, but I can’t quite make it out. It moves partly upright, then drops down on all fours. Looks like a long-limbed human, but not quite. It moves quietly and quickly.
I turn to get Torvald’s attention. Once I have it, I point at my eyes, then toward the movement, and mimic a running figure with my fingers.
Torvald nods slightly and begins scanning through his scope.
I see him jerk his head slightly in surprise, glance at me, and shrug with a confused expression.
I mirror his confusion, shake my head lightly, and make a questioning gesture with my left hand.
We both return to scanning.
Whatever it is, it’s fast, and none of the Russians seem to notice it.
After a moment, it slips through an open door at the far end of the building. I caught just a glimpse of it—a tall, thin humanoid running on all fours, completely naked. Its skin looked dark and leathery, and its face looked very strange.
We exchange a brief glance, but we’re just as puzzled as before.
We keep watching, and after a while, we hear a loud, panicked scream followed by a long burst of automatic gunfire, then silence.
The base erupts into frantic activity, soldiers running everywhere, apparently searching the building.
Suddenly I see the creature again, flickering past a window just a room away from some soldiers. In seconds, they’ll storm into that room—and they do.
What happens next is chaotic and shocking. The creature moves with incredible speed. The soldiers try to shoot it, but one ends up shooting his own comrade instead. Compared to the soldiers, it’s clearly massive—easily 2.5 meters tall.
It moves swiftly and gracefully, soon turning all four soldiers into mutilated, bloody corpses.
The one who was shot by his own men lies groaning on the floor as the creature approaches. He seems to call for help just before it grabs his head with one hand and his neck with the other and tears the head from the body.
I lie there in shock, struggling to grasp what I’ve witnessed.
I center the crosshairs on its head, ready to fire—when it turns and stares straight at me. I can feel its pale, almost glowing eyes burning into mine.
I hold my breath. It can’t have seen me, can it? I’m nearly 350 meters away, hidden under camouflage.
Seconds pass, feeling like minutes, hours. I’m paralyzed with fear, my trigger finger refusing to move.
Suddenly it turns and disappears back into the building.
I glance at Torvald, who meets my eyes. “What the hell was that?” I whisper.
He just shakes his head and shrugs.
“What do we do? Stay or pull back?”
“We stay,” Torvald replies tersely.
He’s in command, so we do as he says.
The soldiers are still frantically searching but seem to have secured the building now.
We see them carrying out the dead on stretchers. Even from a distance, we can see how mangled their bodies are.
One soldier vomits and collapses to his knees. Another cries. The rest look grim.
What can kill half a dozen soldiers and avoid being hit by such intense gunfire?
We keep watching when we hear another scream. We both turn to look. A soldier is lying on his back on the ground, flailing in panic with the creature over him.
It bends forward, and the lower part of its face splits into several tentacle-like appendages that wrap around the soldier’s head. He kicks in panic for a moment before going completely limp.
To hell with this. Whatever it is, it’s just as much a threat to us as to them. I ask Torvald:
“Request permission to open fire.”
“Granted,” he answers quickly.
I take aim at the creature’s head, flick the safety off, and squeeze the trigger. The rifle makes a muffled cough through the suppressor. I cycle another round and take aim again—only to see just the dead soldier. Where did it go?
Torvald and I both scan the area. Suddenly I see it.
It’s climbing rapidly up the wall of the building next to us, its eyes locked on us the entire time.
We both open fire, but it’s far too fast and agile.
“To hell with this, we’re leaving.”
“Then run, for God’s sake, Swede,” Torvald says with a nervous smirk.
We grab only our backpacks and sprint toward the fire escape on the far side.
The Russians have noticed us after our gunfire and are shooting at the roof. We can hear the bullets whizzing over our heads as we run for our lives.
I reach the ladder first and scramble down as fast as I can. I look up and see Torvald coming after me.
To my horror, a long, muscular arm reaches over the edge and hauls him up.
I hear Torvald scream in panic, then wet, cracking sounds—and then silence.
I stand frozen at the bottom of the ladder, listening. Then Torvald’s shredded body comes flying over the edge. First the torso with one leg still attached. Then the other leg, both arms, and finally the head—helmet still on.
The soft thuds of his remains hitting the ground make my stomach clench.
I look up and meet the creature’s gaze as it stares down at me. I raise my rifle quickly and fire, but it’s already moved before the shot rings out.
I throw off my backpack and sprint toward the tree line a few hundred meters away. I glance back to see it descending from the roof with terrifying speed, chasing me.
It’s like trying to outrun a dog. For every meter I gain, it gains two or three. I realize I’m about to become its next victim.
I yank a grenade from my vest, pull the pin, and throw it behind me as I run. Maybe it’ll buy me time.
Three seconds later, I hear the detonation, and moments after that I’m slammed to the ground as if hit by a truck.
The air is knocked from my lungs, my rifle tumbling out of reach. Something grips my foot, holding me down. I roll onto my back and try to kick it off, but it’s useless. In an instant, it’s over me.
It’s monstrously strong. I have no chance. I draw my knife and try to stab my way free, but it easily grabs my arm and pins me to the ground.
I’m completely helpless, thrashing like the Russian soldier moments earlier, thoughts racing through my head.
The tentacles spread out, burrowing into my chest. The pain is unbearable at first but soon numbs. My arms fall limp to my sides, and a tear rolls down my cheek.
My right hand catches on something at my thigh. My pistol. With one last burst of strength, I draw it, aim at the creature, and empty all 15 rounds into it.
Darkness closes in. My body feels light as a feather. I’m floating through a tunnel toward a distant light. Peace washes over me, and I see Sussie’s face before everything goes black.
I try to open my eyes, but it’s so bright it stings. My whole head aches. Where am I?
I hear voices nearby but can’t make out words or even the language.
My vision clears a little. I’m in a hospital—a Swedish hospital.
It goes black for a moment again, but when my sight returns, I turn toward the voices. A doctor and a short, slim, brown-haired woman. Sussie.
I try to call out, but my voice only gurgles. I try again. “Suss… cough cough … Sussie! Sussie!”
She hears me and turns. First surprise, then relief, then joy. Tears stream down her cheeks as she rushes to my bedside and embraces me.
With a great effort, I lift my arms and hold her as tightly as I can. Tears spill from my eyes too.
The doctor clears his throat. “You’re lucky to be alive. I don’t know what’s been eating at you, but your friends found you just in time. If you hadn’t been sent here so quickly, you wouldn’t have survived.” He nods and leaves.
Sussie and I hold each other for a long time, and I feel how grateful I am to be alive. No more adventures like this for me.
This one is much better written. Fast paced and with little Side description that is distracting like instructions to the director in a script.
But again, a fanciful monster that tends to be quite common in movies these days. Why Torvald and you decided to shoot at it didn't seem to be a wise thing to do.
In the end if you were so badly injured, were you in a hospital in Ukraine or in Sweden? And was it just a dream you had while being injured at something else.
Assistant County Attorney Ken Anderson spends his weekends drinking and running around. After waking up with another hangover, Ken decides not to drink so much anymore. Ken and his buddy, Tony, go out to eat and see Mia Correa and Faye Kincaid at the
Crowley County Series, Novels 4-6
An uplifting series with romance, mystery and suspense.
Join the people of Crowleyville as they face the challenges of small town life while struggling to welcome an influx of newcomers.
I have the world’s best and sweetest girlfriend, Sussie, a well-paid job I truly enjoy, and I live in the dream house we bought together two years ago. I have good friends, time for my hobbies—motorcycling, diving, shooting, and skydiving, among others. My life is probably what many, including myself, would call perfect.
