Another bullet flies by the eyeball-covered beast quivering in the swamp water. They had already found it near death in the middle of this putrid marsh, and he was taking the time to get in some target practice.
He cocks his rifle and adjusts the scope's elevation with a screwdriver. Rotate 30 degrees.
He takes another shot. It hits an eyeball on the creature's right side.
Not quite right yet.
He begins adjusting the elevation again as the other man appears behind him.
"They've been through here. Claw marks at the service tunnel entrance. Recently doused fire a little further in."
"Get the chopper ready," he says. "We'll resupply at the bunker and commence recon at 0600."
Now he knows where the dog is going. In the back of his mind, he knew it was a possibility. But he never could understand the suicidal impulses of the base creatures of this place. Not that he had to. Empathy was unprofessional.
And that was the dog's weakness. Like an idiot, he'd chase his tail and lead them right to what they wanted.
He returns his focus to the fallen creature caught in his scope. He steadies the rifle and squeezes the trigger.
The creature explodes in a black hail of eyes and mucus.
YOU ARE READING
Callisto
FantasyThe Deadlands - dry, arid, and merciless. A place where only the scent of death hangs loosely on the scorching winds. This is all that remains of a once bright world. This is the only world that Rain-Born has ever known. As a warrior of the Hanakh t...
