Rescue Mission
Steven was the first to die. But not the last. They found him in the middle of the island. His wounds serious. They carried him on a homemade stretcher. Just two saplings and grapevines put together, but it worked. He was still conscious. He had come alone to explore this uninhabited island. Even now, his one-man boat bobbed in the waves offshore. One day, two days, still no word from him. They tried to raise him on the radio. Nothing. Steven worked alone at the Plamen Institute as a research scientist.
“Looks like it was a big cat,” France said, examining his wounds. He straightened up, his eyes darting at the surrounding jungle
“Come on, guys, let’s hurry. He’s still alive.” Mantooth said. They thought they saw them. Just two shadows, then they were gone.
“Just barely. That big cat hit him fast.” Dalton said, looking at the trees. Their recovery mission had turned into a rescue mission.
They were halfway to the helicopter when he became still. They thought he had died. Then his chest rose and fell. They heard the big cats in the brush following them. Steven’s wounds were deep, seeping blood. They tried to stop the bleeding and finally gave up. Speed was more important. Coming in sight of the chopper on the beach, they breathed a sigh. They were almost home free. Invigorated, they jogged toward the aircraft. Coming to the beach, they found the chopper but not the pilot. They dared not call, fearing the big cats. They found the pilot’s body a hundred yards down the beach, near the water.
“Looks like he tried to make a run for it.” Dalton said. His heart pounding. “Keep alert, guys. They’re still out there.”
“Come on, let’s get him to the chopper and get out of here.” Mantooth said. His eyes searched the undergrowth. France slung his rifle over his shoulder and picked up one end of the stretcher. Mantooth did the same. The jungle became still, as if holding its breath. France thought of his wife and young son. Last night he played games with his little boy. Later, he and his wife planned their vacation.
Dalton and France walked beside the stretcher, cold sweat coating their faces. Cautiously, they moved slowly toward their goal. They thought of this mission as a walk in the park. Just go to the island, pick up Steven and be on their way. They almost scoffed at carrying weapons. Now they wished they had brought a cannon.
They set down the makeshift stretcher beside the chopper. Racing up behind them, the black cat hit Steven, tearing open his chest. His screams dying with him.France and Dalton fired their bullets, hitting the trees where the cat had been seconds before. While their eyes were searching the brush, the second cat took out Mantooth, biting him in the back of the neck. He died still on his feet. Then the cat was gone back into the jungle. Grasping the bodies, the remaining crew threw them into the chopper.
“You know how to run this thing?” Dalton asked, climbing into the right-hand seat.
“I’m gonna learn real quick.” France said, starting the motor, his hands shaking. As it caught, he engaged the rotor. The cats came out of the trees and stared at the helicopter. It dipped its landing skids into the ocean three times, then it rose into the sky.
Watching the helicopter disappear into the sunset, Cusus turned to his brother. “You think they will be back?”
Krita grinned. “Not if they have any sense. If they do, then we will have to kill the others to keep them off the island.”
“I hope it doesn’t come to that,” Cusus said
“Me too.” Krita said, his black coat shining in the setting sun. The two cats turned stepping back into the jungle.