Lurk

Chapter One

Stopping himself dead, he realized just what he’d set out to do. He wasn’t tracking Drew at all: with a spade in his hand, and the intent of heading into Lurker territory, this was just a convenient suicide. They’d finish him quickly, quietly and best of all he wouldn’t feel a thing.

“Not today,” he exhaled, loosening his grasp on the spade, and turning back the way he’d come from. “Hold up little bro, I’m coming.”

His naivety had almost leaded him to death, and at a potentially catastrophic cost. Heading back to camp, the decision felt right. In his gut, he knew that a promise was a promise.

Snap.

Scott froze. “Holy mother of shit...”

A howl, loud and pain-driven shook the camp dry. Harry jolted up from his doze, alerted and sharp despite the afternoon booze-session. He looked straight to his watch: 14: 34.

The howl could have come from anything, and anyone. In the dense woodlands, it was impossible to track the origin to a fixed location. Which way had Scott headed out? Where did he say he was going?

He longed to continue sleep, but it was impossible to when Scott was somewhere out there. He’d left with a memorable scorn upon his face – could he have done something stupid? More importantly, would he?

Too many shitty questions, Harry concluded, searching the area for a reliable weapon. There was only one way to put his mind at ease, and if it meant risking everything, so be it. We’ve been taught by the best, he told himself. There’s nothing out there that we can’t handle.

Finally, he retrieved what had been left over by the hero himself: a black-handle baseball bat. The man in the mask had been adamant that “no-one touch it”, but this was an exception.

“You’d better not be dead, bro.”

“Get off me!” Scott yelled, helpless as the assailant tackled him side-on.

The two collided with a tree, the spade clattering noisily to the ground as a fight for control took full swing. Blinded by rage, Scott kicked out, his foot making contact with the attacker’s crotch area. What are you thinking? If they don’t even have stomachs, do you really think the slimy bastards have balls?

But to much prevail, the “Lurker” collapsed into a writhing ball on the ground. But with closer observation, Scott realized that this wasn’t the sort of monster that Lurk had talked of. There were no scales, red eyes or a single row of dagger teeth to speak of! Instead, what lay pathetically in the dirt was a barely clothed black man, bruised and scratched beyond belief.

“Jesus Drew, what the hell are you playing at?”

“Ah, Christ...” Andrew rolled onto his back in agony, flustered more than the person he’d intended to ambush. “You didn’t have to kick me in the balls, mate...”

With resignation, Scott helped his wounded companion up onto his feet. Andrew – or Drew, as liked to be known – looked like he’d been trekking for months, and it was only yesterday that he’d disappeared.

His hoody was in tatters, stained by mud and covered in bite marks – much like everyone else’s clothes, except a few stages ahead in the degeneration process. That’s what a day in the wilderness did to a person, aside from wounding or killing them.

“I’m surprised you’re alive,” Scott admitted, making a short examination of Drew’s physical state. His diagnosis was short. “You look like shit.”

“Thanks, I hadn’t noticed.” Drew joined his friend on the walk back to camp, and the two proceeded without another word.

Snap. Snap. Snap.

Heart pounding and lungs heaving, Harry bounded through the bushes and debris - sure that he was following the right direction. The scream had definitely come from this direction... or had it? He cursed his lack of awareness, blaming it primarily on one too many cans of Fosters.

How long had he been running for now? It was impossible to verify his location; everywhere looked the same in these dark, haunting forests. Due to numerous stumbles and trips along the way, he couldn’t even remember how to work his way back to camp.

“Damn!” he cried out as the tip of his foot caught a rogue branch, throwing him face-first into the long grass. It swallowed him whole as his consciousness just slipped away...

“Harry...? Harry!”

Scott was thrown into a state of panic, looking under every nook and cranny as he staggered back into the camp. His tipsy little brother should’ve been laying right there, either in a hammock or on the crate he’d been earlier.

He clawed at the makeshift drapes around the hammocks, hoping to find that his little brother was playing one of his classic pranks. He thought that they’d grown out of such things, but Harry occasionally liked to fool his brother every now and then.

Drew made a short effort to help look, but was the first to say the words: “He’s gone.”

Falling to his knees, Scott revealed what was his one weakness. “He can’t be...” he sobbed, punching a fist into the ground. He repeated what he’d said, but this time as a plea to the heavens. “He can’t be!”

Drew’s hand came into contact with his shoulder, trying to comfort him. “The lad’s strong, Scott – I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

“Well, that’s not good enough,” Scott sniffled, straightening up and once again raising the defensive “tough” shield. Holding back the tears, he tried to think logically about what could have happened. “There’s no blood – not new anyway – and he didn’t take anything with him...”

“Except for the bat, that is.” Scott looked round to Drew, who was stood by the large crate where Lurk’s bat had been resting. On his face was a vague smile, which was passed across to the worried older brother.

“Lurk’s gonna kill him,” Scott chuckled, shaking his head with disbelief. “Alright, let’s put together a rescue operation. When that masked prick realizes his pride and joy’s been snatched, Harry won’t be worrying about the Lurkers...”