From out of the jungle, 75 feet away, the Hunter's weapon streaks toward him like a missile, it enters Blain's back, erupting from his chest in an explosion of blood. Mac hears the commotion. He moves fast through the brush. He hears a rustling in the bushes. A wet sucking sound. Mac charges into the clearing.
Mac sees his friend, lying on the ground, his chest open, the powerful man, dead. In the instant before the Hunter disappears into the forest, Mac sees a vision so brief and fantastic that it seems like a hallucination. The Hunter's eyes flare momentarily from the green before they vanish.
He opens fire with his gun, expending it in one long burst. The other team members are flying through the jungle, weapons ready, eyes searching for movement.
A piece of shrapnel cuts the Hunter's leg. A splash of green blood spatters across the leaves of a nearby tree, bullet holes ripping through the surrounding foliage. Mac throws down the weapon and with a cry of rage, lunges forward, grabbing the Mini-gun.
As he stands, the cartridge belt, attached to Blain, strings out between them. He opens fire and the foliage before him explodes with the fury of the terrible weapon. Mac sweeps the Mini-gun from left to right, like a man possessed, mowing down the jungle. The other team members race into sight and begin firing with Mac.
Ramirez opens fire with the six-shooter grenade launcher . . . explosions rock the jungle. More firing. Mac, his weapon expended, continues to thrust the Mini-gun forward, still squeezing the trigger. Suddenly, as quickly as it started, the firing stops.
The men move catlike into the jungle, reloading, searching, their nerves taut, stretched to the limit, ready to fire again at any second. Mac is frozen, eyes wide, unblinking, his breath coming in rapid gasps as he stares into the jungle. Gun smoke is wafting from the chamber and barrel. Schaefer turns to Mac, still staring into the jungle. Mac says he saw it. He turns back, wanting to know what Mac saw, who is still dazed.
Schaefer turns to Blain's body and kneels. Schaefer is at Blain's side, shocked at the sight of the mutilated body. He is joined by Dillon. They see Blain's body is just like the others . . .
Dutch: No powder burns. No shrapnel.
Dillon: The wound's all fused, cauterized. What the hell could have done this to a man?
Schaefer looking at the body, questions Mac again. Mac stares ahead, dumbly, not hearing. He shouts at Mac to regain his awareness. Mac turn to face Schaefer, a shocked expression on his face. Mac is suddenly angry and frustrated, he has no explanation.
Ramirez runs from the jungle, breathing hard, shaking his head.
Poncho: Not a thing. Not a fucking trace. No blood, no bodies. . . We hit nothing!
Schaefer orders a defensive position above the ridge, mined with everything they got. The man is again the hardened professional, Mac complies. Schaefer looks down at Blain's body. He turns to Ramirez and orders him to put Blain in his poncho, but Mac insists he will take care of his friend.
As they leave, Anna's attention focused on something clinging to the leaves, well off to the side of where Mac saw the Hunter. She draws closer, reaching out, hesitant, as if drawn magnetically to the leaves. Clinging to the leaves, thick, viscous, bright green, almost like the sap of an exotic plant. Her fingers hover above it, hesitantly, and then touch it. Anna examines the blood, transfixed. She turns, wiping the blood onto her pants leg.
Dutch has the team make camp for the night. Nearby, Mac is stringing a trip wire, low to the ground, covering it with leaves and grass. He moves into camp and reports to Schaefer he's got most of the flares, frags, and claymores just outside. Nothing's coming close without tripping on something.
Schaefer consuls Mac about the loss of his friend.
Blaine's body is wrapped in his poncho. Mac kneels beside the poncho pulling back the zipper revealing Blain's face, looking peaceful in death, as if lying in state. Mac removes the small whisky flask from his pocket, holding it in his hand, studying it.
Mac takes a sip from the flask. He replaces the cap and gently lays it on Blain's chest. He lingers on the face and then closes the zipper. He offers his farewell.
Anna, her hands still tied, looks down at her pants leg. The Hunter's blood stain glows with a faint luminosity. She places her fingers near the stain. A momentary hush falls over the symphony of night sounds.
In another part of the jungle, the distorted humanoid sits down on a tree branch. The distortion turns out to be a high-tech camouflaging device that can bend light, creating the illusion of invisibility. The enemy has been wounded in the thigh, dripping the same sort of fluid Anna had found; it is the creature's blood.
It uses a bizarre first-aid kit to dress its' wound. The hunter applies a sharp clamp to the green-bloody wound, his scream echoes through the jungle, a sound heard by Anna.
She turns to Billy, he heard it also. Anna and Billy turn towards the trees with a growing look of wariness. The others, setting up the radio, show no response.
At the team's encampment, Ramirez is tuning in the compact field radio, equipped with a crypto-phone device. Dillon holds the handset, calling for support. A cackle of static over the radio.
Blazer 1: Request for extraction denied. The area is still compromised. Proceed to Sector 3,000 for prisoner extraction. Priority, out. Next contact: 0930.
He puts down the phone, turning to the group, huddled together in a tight circle, Ramirez and Billy facing outward in defensive positions, Anna, silent, watching. Schaefer is looking at him, Dillon delivers the bad news.
Dutch: We're assets, Dillon. Expendable assets.
Dillon: [glares back] It comes with the job. I can accept it.
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