FSE

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Hawthorne and her squad piled into the Caiman, breathless, bruised and caked in blood.

'What happened?' Eva asked, her eyes wide.

Hawthorne pointed a shaking finger at the white furred wolf sprinting from the house, charging towards the armoured eighteen-wheeler, 'Him. Hopefully.' She said, gulping air into her lungs. 'Down.'

Eva was dragged down into the footwell. A huge explosion rocked the armoured vehicles parked in the yard, the concussive shockwave of the grenade and overclocked C-4 scattering the body parts and entrails of the dead. Their ears popped painfully. Something purple, veiny and quivering slapped against the truck and slid down the windscreen armour, coming to rest on the stretch of chicken wire across the Caiman's front. An arm slammed into the side window and Eva yelped instinctively, her hand going over her head. Heat washed over them, the Caiman's structure groaning in protest. It was over in a matter of seconds. Flaming body parts rained down on them and numerous eyes peered through ob-slits and gun ports, nervously checking their surroundings for anymore movement.

There was a whoop delight over the radio from Cozy.

The house was now a pile of splinters sitting in a crater where the basement used to be. Flames crackled into the pale sky, burning the house's shattered carcass to ash, burying everything within. One of the small tool sheds had been blown apart.

'All vehicles check in.' Dove demanded over the radio.

Hawthorne keyed the mic and confirmed that herself and her crew were still alive. If a little shaken. The other vehicles followed suit. In total, they had only lost one vehicle and eleven people, most of them rookies. It had worked out much better than anyone had anticipated, all things considered. Now they just needed to find Ma and Pa. Hawthorne brought it up and Little Pat responded.

'She's still hanging out around there somewhere. She tried running across the bridge but lost an ear for her efforts.'

'So that's what you were shooting at.' Dove said. He didn't sound happy. Ma had tried crossing the bridge, something they had only expected her low IQ brood to do. 'What about Pa?'

'Took off towards the trees and got mowed down by the 'yala and Caiman.' A gruff voice drawled. It was the driver of the eighteen-wheeler and he sounded mildly amused, 'If you look at the treeline 'tween the two tool sheds, you'll see where bits of him landed.'

Hawthorne drew a pair of binoculars to her eyes and looked in that direction. True enough, scattered across a patch of scorched, shattered earth, was Pa. Or bits of him.

'You owe me and Sunny drinks for that one.' Jake said.

'If we make it back. We still have Ma to deal with.' Hawthorned said, lowering her binocs. She swore. 'We're going to have to go poking around in the barns and sheds for her...' She worried her lip, 'I want volunteers to come with me to flush her out.'

'Your plan?' Dove asked.

'We know she won't stand and fight. We destroyed her brats again, demo'd her house and Pat scared her off the rear exit. Pa's in pieces across their usual emergency exit, so I believe she's gone to ground on the property this time.'

'It'd be wise to burn everything else, too, just in case.' Lillith said from the back of the Caiman.

'Agreed.' Dove paused, 'If she's gone into hiding, we might be able drive her out into the open without having to go inside any of the other buildings if we set fire to it all now.' Dove sounded thoughtful. 'Winter, you got any more hi-ex stashed away?'

'One more, Sir. Same amount.'

'Out-fucking-standing, Private. Make more fireworks. We got two silos, the barns and what's left of the sheds needing to go. Use whatever you have to get it done.' Dove growled enthusiastically.

'Yessir. I'll need to spend some tracers, though...'

'Spend as many as you want. Ma and Pa've been a pain in our collective asses for too long and I want this place reduced to ashes and rubble. Just like the house.'

'Aye, Sir, just like the house.' Winter replied.

Eva gave Hawthorne an odd look.

'I'll fill you in later.' The lioness promised.

Jesse walked the old game trail, the butt of his walking staff tapping away at the cracked ground with each step he took. The old coyote strode purposefully across the blighted landscape, Taggart far behind him, a cluster of reclaimed buildings turning into a silohuette against the glare of the midday sun. He had set out for the Farm not long after the second convoy had left with Lieutenant Dove and Sergeant Hawthorne. Jesse had tried to persuade the commander to call the excursion off until they had more information as to why a vehicle foreign to the property had appeared so suddenly without their knowledge. Lopez had told him to go off and cool his heels about the place, but Jesse couldn't shake the profound feeling of wrongness he had felt when they had pulled up at the gate the previous day.

There was more to the Farm than people realised. He didn't know what it was, but whenever he went near it, he got the feeling of something big sleeping peacefully, blissfully unaware of its surroundings. Until yesterday, when that damned truck had appeared. The Farm had developed a fitful ambience about it, a feeling of restless energy ready to explode like a dormant volcano finally waking up.

He grumbled at the memory of the morning's argument with Lopez and tugged at the front of his wide brimmed hat, feeling along it, his fingers brushing against the brass tucked in his hat's braided leather band. His hand then slid into the folds of his duster and he ran his fingers across the tips of the large bullets stowed in his bandolier to soothe his nerves. A pair of heavy magazines sat in pouches hanging off his belt and a homemade bowie knife was sheathed at his lower back. A heavy revolver was holstered at his thigh and he grunted in satisfaction as he crossed the road and heard a distant explosion. The ground beneath his feet vibrated gently from the concussion of the blast.

'Figures...' He muttered, 'Always keep the fun for yerselves... Well, not today.' He pulled a canteen from his belt, took a gulp of cold water and picked up his pace, breaking into a steady jog, his staff resting against his shoulder.

He jogged down the dirt track at the rear of the Farm, waving to Little Pat as he slowed and padded carefully across the bridge.

'Hey, Jesse!' The wolf on Little Pat's turret called, 'What're you doing? You can't go in there!'

'S'alright, Toby, I'm just checking something out. I'll be back in a minute.' Jesse called over his shoulder. He spat into the dyke and sneered at the things squirming in the greasy water beneath him.

He looked up, his milky white eyes scanning the landscape, clicking his tongue and listening intently. The only things moving were the vehicle-mounted weapons further up the track. He scented the air and wrinkled his nose in distaste. The air was foul with death and decay, burning wood and hot metal. He clicked his tongue again and veered off the track, walking up a slight incline that quickly got steeper closer to its crest. He stopped beside the truck on the hill and placed his gloved palm flat against the armoured door, his naked fingers splayed across the warm metal. He felt a soft, rythmic vibration in the machine. He paused. He could feel it through the soles of his boots, too. He took a step back and lowered himself into a crouch, putting his hand against the earth and froze.

The hill was breathing the deep, slow purr of sleep.

The hairs on the back of his neck prickled and the space between his shoulder blades suddenly itched like mad. This was it. The source of his increasingly ill feeling about the place wasn't local to the truck. It was the hill itself.

'Bastard spawn of a she-devil... Bubba's still alive.' He muttered bitterly.

He carefully pulled himself upright again and surveyed the property, pulling his coat tight around him as ice raced up his spine. He needed to warn the others, but he couldn't get close to them without possibly getting caught in any crossfire that might happen. He looked over his shoulder, down the hill and across the dyke, to where Little Pat was sitting in the verge. Toby Was sitting behind his gun and was watching the old coyote intently. He made up his mind and trod lightly as he made his way back down the hill, towards the AVLB.

'You look a little pale, Old Man. What's up?' Toby asked. To his credit, he looked concerned. It was rare for anyone to see Jesse disturbed about anything and the moth-eaten coyote wore a particularly unhappy expression.

'Bubba lives.' Jesse said plainly, scratching his greying whiskers. He sucked at his silvered teeth, watching the wolf's reaction carefully. The tank hatch popped open and Paul stuck his head out as Toby started to squirm under Jesse's un-seeing stare.

'Wassat?' The squirrel asked, squinting at Jesse, 'You just say Bubba's alive? Impossible. He died from whatever those bastard Soviets dumped into the river years ago.'

'That may very well be what happened. But he's also currently taking a nice little nap under that hill.'

'The brood don't get that big.' Toby said, looking askance at Jesse. Part of his attention was now on the hill just on the otherside of the dyke. He was starting to look uncertain.

'Y'seen the size of Pa lately? He's as big as your precious little bridge-laying tank.' Jesse reminded them.

'Used to be. We got confirmation a few minutes ago that he's now in several bits. Someone mowed him down when he tried escaping into the forest.' Paul added.

'Then that just leaves Ma and Bubba, yeah?'

'They're working on flushing Ma out into the crossfire.' Paul paused, now uncertain himself. He eyed Jesse, who was now leaning casually against the hull, looking blindly out across the fields. Most people knew better than to underestimate Jesse's intuition. Paul and Toby were such people. He'd pulled their hides out the fire more than once by following one of his hunches. 'You sure that's Bubba under that hill?'

'Sure as the nose on my face.' Jesse turned his pale gaze on Paul, 'Tell the others. They need to be prepared.'

Paul disappeard back inside. Toby stared at the hill for a long moment and sighed in resignation.

'That's quite a hill.' He finally said.

'Yup.'

'Any idea what size Bubba'd be by this point?'

'Nope.'

'Shit...'

'I second that.'

The smaller of the barns withered under the pressure of tracers and grenades, and finally collapsed in a burst of dust, splinters and smoke. Tongues of flame licked at the shattered timbers and caught its neighbour. Flames crackled across the ruined barns and the black barked tree erupted in a shower of sparks, its sickly fruit popping like zits.

'The Hell did they do to those tracers?' Eva gawped as she watched the tennis ball sized balls of fire tear into the barns. They could hear Trash and Cozy's gunners over the radio. They were quite enjoying themselves.

'I have no idea. Never seen 'em burn that hot before.' Hawthorne replied.

The two were leaning forward, peering out of the windscreen, watching the barns burn with interest. The fire consumed the brittle wood in minutes and embers floating on the thermals landed in the wreckage of the house. The house started to burn and then the two small sheds caught, small explosions blowing their walls outward as stored fuel cans ignited. The remain's of Pa smouldered and then finally caught. It was a sight to behold. The Farm was burning under tracer fire, a roaring inferno that ate away the tangled patch of forest all the way to the old highway. The dry scrubland of the wastes acted as a natural firebreak, stopping the spread of the fire, starving it of fresh fuel and letting it burn down to a smoulder. They scanned the burning buildings, the smouldering corpses littered everywhere and finally saw what they had been hoping to see.

'Ten O'clock!' Someone snapped over the radio. 'It's Ma!'

Ma burst out of the flaming debris of the first barn, her threadbare, ragged dress scorched. The tip of her scruffy tail was alight and she howled angrily as she darted, wilde-eyed down the side of the house, frantically searching for a place to hide. Caught up in her panicked frenzy, she raced out into the middle of the yard, snarling, spinning around in tight circles as she looked for a way out. Her long, multi-jointed legs powered her through the air and she landed awkwardly atop the burned-out technical, screaming furiously at the armoured vehicles, milky saliva spitting in long strands from her mouth.

'Light her up!' Hawthorne snapped before Dove could.

Ma exploded in a gout of blood, flesh, fur and floral print dress under the overlapping fire from the vehicle's machine guns. She toppled backwards, twitching, her torso shredded to the spine, broken ribs snapped and twisted. She glared at the sky, her expression locked in an angry snarl.

Someone popped a grenade and she scattered in multiple directions.

'Just making, sure, Sarge. Can never be too careful with these guys.' Jake grunted.

'Little Pat to who ever's listening over there: Bubba's alive! I repeat, Bubba is alive!'

'Excuse me?' Dove growled.

'Jesse's here. He went and prodded the truck up on that hill and he says Bubba's down there, taking a nap.' Paul explained frantically.

'Bubba's dead.' Dove said, 'Water poisoning got him.'

'Not according to Jesse, he ain't. And the old coot's real certain of it, too.' Paul added. He sounded scared. No one could blame him. Bubba had been a seven foot tall slab of muscle in life and not too well-off in the brain cell department. He had been keen enough to be a farmhand and nothing else. A quick dip in the river after a long day's hard work in the fields had destroyed his health and he'd died within the week from a cruel fever that couldn't be cured.

'At least we know where they buried him.' Hawthorne commented blandly. She checked the wing mirror, looking at the hill behind them, grimacing. 'You think he's become like Ma and Pa?' She asked.

'Very much so. If not worse, judging by what I felt.' It was Jesse. Apparently Paul had handed over his radio to him.

'Any idea on how to flush him out?' Dove asked.

'Explosives.' Jesse grunted simply.

'Winter, get on it.'

'Right away, Sir.'

'Suggested target?'

'The truck.'

There was a long pause as they all digested what Jesse had said.

'All right,' Dove said, barely keeping the sigh out of his voice. 'Everyone, re-position yourselves. Caiman, head back round the hill anti-clockwise towards the bridge. Cozy, you follow. We'll be right behind you. The semi can stay put, protected by Trash. All troops save for the turret gunners dismount and spread out. We have no idea how big he's gotten over the years or how he's mutated. I want Bubba brought low hard and fast. Move out!' Dove ordered.

The armoured vehicles roared back to life and trundled across the fields, settling around the foot of the hill in a semi-circle, guns targeting the truck at its peak. Their armoured trailer emptied out once more and those that remained broke off into twos and threes, taking up position between the armoured vehicles. The hill and the truck atop it was surrounded by guns.

'Little Pat, you ready?' Hawthorne asked.

'We're ready to rumble, Sarge. Just waiting on the word.' Paul said. Above him, Toby's expression had turned grim, his knuckles creaking as his grip tightened on his gun.

Jesse gave the armoured hull of the AVLB a friendly pat, tossed a salute and started climbing the verge behind them.

'You're not staying for the after party?' Toby asked.

'Course I am. I just need a better view of the dance floor.'

There was an overhang behind them, ten feet above the tank. A small, circular concrete structure had been built atop it. It was a pillbox, built to keep watch over the highway and tangle of back roads between the local farmsteads. Long since disused, it was full of detritus of all sorts; litter, dried leaves blown in through the narrow door and gun slits. Dirt and the skeleton of a small bird were scattered across the sunken floor. Jesse pulled himself onto the flat roof instead and knelt. He started unravelling the long strips of stained cloth from around the lower portion of his staff and then pulled the wad of cloth from the opposite end. Another strip of cloth came free around its lower-middle and he lay his walking staff down. He pocketed the cloth and ran his hands across the exposed parts of the rifle, inspecting it for damage and blockages, grinning when he found none.

The Anzio 20mm rifle was painted up to look like a length of gnarled wood. Up close, it was easy to tell that it was a gun; the scent, the weight and the flat appearance of the painted on knots gave it away if the overall shape didn't. Hence why he kept it wrapped up in strips of cloth. Those that didn't know him, took one look at him and his staff, and thought him a little mad.

Those that had known him for longer than a month knew better.

He pulled a large mag from his pouch, slammed it home and flicked the bipod into position. He settled the 20mm rifle on its little feet, lowered himself carefully behind it and looked down the length of the gun. There was no scope. He had no vision anymore, so why did he need a scope? He had his nose, ears, the ability to feel the world around him. He had explained this many times over the years and had simply given up trying to explain how he saw the world. It was easier to let people speculate.

He removed the safety, ran the bolt and felt the satisfying clunk of one of the HEIAPs he had custom made for the gun pop into place and waited for Bubba to appear.

He felt the air vibrate first, tickling his nose and whiskers. Then the sounds of grenades exploding against the hillside reached his ears a split-second later. Below him, Little Pat's own grenade launcher spat it owns explosives into the hill. The concrete beneath him vibrated. He could feel the hill start to move, even from his vantage point. The air rippled. The truck on the hill shuddered, then shifted sideways a few feet with a metallic groan. The earth undulated under the force of a small earthquake and then the ground around the 6x6 split, sloughing away as a mass of black spikes, boils and greasy fur rose from the mound. The gunfire from around the hill increased frantically and shouts went up from the troopers.

The pop and crackle of weaponsfire filled the air as Bubba stood, uncurling and stretching to his full height. A series of loud cracks rang out as the massive creature's spine popped. A huge paw, heavy with claws went up to shield compound eyes from the onslaught and sunlight.

'Goddess...' Jesse breathed. He knew Bubba had to be big, but he hadn't realised the hill had just been a thin skin of soil and scrub laying across his hunched back.

Below him, Little Pat's M6 Vulcan purred. Tracers lanced into Bubba's hip in bursts of five. A cluster of boils burst, freeing a cascade of noxious bottle green fluid that splashed to the ground, hissing in the open air. Bubba roared, a thunderous sound that set their teeth on edge. He turned awkwardly, looking towards the farm house, the place he had been born, raised and ultimately died. His dull gaze swept across the carnage that had been wrought by Taggart's militia. He saw Ma, or what was left of her. He snarled, doubled over onto all fours and swung his tail as blood and flesh splashed from his bloated body in fist-sized chunks.

The truck had somehow, at some point, become attached to his tail. Bubba's diseased flesh had grown around the metal, fusing the vehicle to himself. He now used it like a club, sweeping it around in a low arc, driving deep furrows into the ground and slamming it into a group of scattering troopers, launching their pummelled bodies across the field. Another swing of his tail and Bubba smashed the armoured semi into a mangled mess, rolling it over, its turret falling silent. He squealed as the Vulcan stitched across his back and grenades from the Caiman, Cozy, Trash and 'yala slammed into his shoulder, opening the flesh to the bone. More boils popped and Bubba swung his tail again with all his strength. The 'yala bounced into the yard, kicking up mutilated corpses as it rolled. Bubba swiped at the retreating troopers with his massive claws, slashing them into pieces.

'Damn, he's quick!' Toby snarled as he paused for his gun to cool down. He used the opportunity to fight a fresh belt into it, cursing everytime he burned his fingers.

Jesse continued to stare down the length of his rifle, his finger grazing the trigger, waiting for Bubba to turn and face him.

The Anzio roared, kicking hard against Jesse's shoulder, the recoil forcing him back a few inches on his stomach. Bubba screamed, his left eye a bloody crater, thick fluids oozing down his cheek. The Caiman, Trash and Cozy opened up on him again as he staggered, disoriented. The remaining troopers, emboldened by the lurching behemoth's agony opened fire on him from behind the armoured vehicles. The Vulcan roared back into life and Bubba, confused and seething with rage, turned around in circles, trailing the dented and scarred truck behind him, swatting at anyone who dared get too close. Jesse waited patiently again. The Anzio roared once more and Bubba's scream turned into an agonized howl as a chunk of meat exploded from his tail.

Jesse ran the bolt again and pulled the trigger, then grinned in satisfaction when Toby exclaimed the truck had fallen free of Bubba's tail. Another spent cartridge clattered from the big sniper rifle and Bubba lost a knee cap in a burst of shattered bone and cartilage. The huge creature collapsed and those down on the Farm finished him off. Tracers burned brightly as they streaked across the fields, a Feral white wolf stalking purposefully towards the writhing form of Bubba, a large belt-fed gripped in his hands. Bubba whined and flailed as he was torn apart and gave one last scream as his fur ignited. Jesse sighed and sighted in on where he presumed Bubba's head to be as the monster clawed desperately at the earth.

The back of Bubba's head exploded and pale yellow brain matter slopped out onto the ground. Bubba twitched and then stopped moving. Silence descended a moment later. The air was thick with death, cooked meat and disbelief. There was a new crater in the area, the hole under the hill where Bubba had been buried. Whatever poison had killed Bubba way back when, had seemingly ressurrected him and mutated him beyond recognition. Twenty-two foot tall with an armoured 6x6 fused to his tail, he had gone from being a wolf to looking more like a boil-coated echidna with gigantism. Jesse clucked in distaste.

'You can move on now, boy. 's over.' He murmured to himself as he started clearing up. He pulled the mag and pocketed it, and then started dressing up his gun again. It wouldn't do to invite more trouble.