So far, there have been several missing pets and a number of dead animals found, as well as one missing student, plus the remains of two different humans uncovered in the recently discovered lair.
There was a briefing. It was conducted by a member of the Union, Bob Decker, a small wiry man, water maintenance worker with the city. He knows the sewers like the back of his hairy hand. There's a helpful powerpoint presentation. There's a map of the city, a number of coloured dots revealing sites of missing pets, strange sightings, and the latest incidents, overlaid over a messy grid of underground sewer and storm drainage lines. He circles out an area.
The sewer grid is particularly messy there. In some areas it's done in suspiciously uncertain dotted lines. Bob taps a finger on the map. "They gotta be down there somewhere. Good news is, we ain't going to have to crawl all the way, might be standing room in some of these old galleries. Or maybe they're hiding in the old prospector's tunnel. Folks say that's legendary, but I know a funny story about that. Why, back in 1929, my supervisor's supervisor..."
Eventually he stops. There's a signup sheet for volunteers, there is a meeting point and a meeting date set up, emails with maps (some looking very unofficial, as if scanned from a sewer worker's sketchy attempts at mapping an unknown area) are sent to the appropriate addresses, and so on.
This evening is that date. The entrance point is a manhole, east of campus, closer to the historical center of the city. The alleyway has been closed up, there are some helpful city sanitation work barriers set up. It's all very official. Bob is there, in his coveralls, rubber boots and gloves. There are various uniforms, and even hard hats, but he stresses they're optional, with a shrug. There are also flashlights for those without, ones which can be helpfully strapped onto the helmets. And rope. "You never know. My supervisor, back in 64, was trapped in a shaft for four days. He only wished he had some rope with him. Why, he had to drink his own pee..."
"If he was trapped in the sewer, couldn't he have drunk other people's pee?" offers Brigitte in a droll tone as she suits up. She'll take a hard hat and a uniform even - you never know who you might be down there - but will still put her leather jacket over it to hide her weapons. Tonight is a shotgun, a pistol and a combat knife in her boot. The shotgun will be carried openly - they're obviously hunting rats down here...or something. "Anyone have any idea how many there could be?"
Carla has a disgusted look on her face. She's got a flashlight and a large somewhat expensive rifle with a laser sight. Carla is wearing a form-fitting gray track suit. It was the kind of thing she's wear...last year. So last year's tracksuit to comb through these sewers. Just appearing here alone was grounds enough for a raise. Or a promotion. Carla puts on the hard hat and the top half of the uniform. "That's a horrible story. If I got trapped here for that long I'd probably eat a bullet. But you're likely more used to it." Carla says as she adjusts her boots. She snags a pair of rubber boots if they have them.
Jack limps up behind Brigitte and peers at the manhole. Looking to her aunt she mumbles, "you always take me the best places, don't you?" Her shotgun, the BIG one, is resting across her shoulders. Her total preperation for diving into the muck? hip high waders and a hard hat with a light attached to it. Still to Brigitte, "we could flood it with gas, light it off. No more anything."
Ludlow goes where the Boss Lady tells him, or volun-orders him to go. He's checking his gear over and mumbling evil things about sewers and dubious fluids in general. "Save they world, they said. It'll be fun, they said. Can't wait to tell Her Highness what a wonderful smell she made me discover." He's slipping on his pack and checking that his CamelBak tube is properly tucked away and covered. "I swear to god..." The SEAL rumbles at the rest. "I see one clown offering me balloons that float down there? I'm dropping explosives and taking him out with us. Or just taking us out I guess. Regardless. No Clowns." His helmet is resized twice before he settles it onto his skull.
"You don't want to do that, no ma'am. Your own urine is pretty sterile, but what's down there, well... did you know they found plague rats in the Bangor sewers, back in 92? The government kept it quiet, of course. Just like those ebola patients they put in that death camp in Wyoming." Bob is talkative, and has opinions on things. The bulges under his waterproof yellow suit may be guns. To the question regarding their numbers, he just shrugs, "A man from the University said he guessed there might be up to a dozen. Maybe less. Probably not more, though, because of ecology and food... I don't know, I think he's one of those null mystery types or something, I couldn't understand a fucking word."
The man approaches the manhole, already open, and looks back towards Jack, "Not enough gas for that, you'd have to... seal the right areas and, well, we don't really know what those are. No explosives either. Shooting in some places down there can be a fire hazard as it is!" he claps his gloved hands together, looks around. "We got masks, too, but they don't really -fix- the smell all the way. You'll get used to it. Might not be so bad when we get closer."
"Whenever you're ready." Bob nears the edge, and starts climbing down into the dark.
Brigitte smears some jelly under her nose to take care of the smell - the kind they give people who deal with rotting bodies a lot. "Yeah, probably not a good idea to blow things up" she nods before heading down into the darkness. "Stop complaining, Jack. If someone as classy as Carla can come down here, you can." A pause. "You really don't like clowns, do you, Ludlow." Her voice echoing in the tunnel as she hits the bottom.
Jack steals some of the jelly for her own nose, wrinking her brow at the smell of it. There's a few more grumbles from her but they are all under her breath and nothing that anyone needs to pay attention to. Her shotgun is slung around onto her back and she climbs downwards, minding her bum leg as she does.
Carla folds her arms. "Well I mean I'm down here. That doesn't mean I have to like it. Just hope it'll be worth it in the end. Honestly....I would take the clowns over this." Carla shrugs and turns on her laser sight. "Great, so no shooting either? Well what am I supposed to do? Wrestle them?" She sighs and shakes her head. "Well....that's good. Whatever. I'll follow your lead." Carla says to the man finally. She walks slowly, pointing that rifle to the ground.
Another mutter. "Brother if it goes that bad down there, I'm not gonna care what goes boom." Ludlow shifts his shoulders and starts to stretch to limber up. Then he's just staring at Brigitte like she has three heads. "How th' hell do you not get an It reference, especially when we're in Maine?" Ludlow takes out a tiny jar of Vicks vaporub considering... "No. Got a feeling whatever is down there will smell worse than... everything else. Not my first sewer jaunt." His is a Long Suffering Sigh. Another check of his Armory issued Battle Rifle and it's ammunition and he's dropping down the manhole. "Normally... I do the scout ahead thing. It's my thing, but ah. You know your way about better, Bob." Ludlows immediate thought is 'nice knowing ya'.
The sewers here are a circular section tunnel, smooth concrete walls with a layer of slime that glistens under the glow of the flashlights. The floor is damp and slightly slippery, of course, but thankfully there is only a thin layer of sludge running down the center of the drain. It might even be possible to walk without stepping in sewage, with legs sufficiently far part. It's just over 6 feet in diameter, which means it's not exactly a comfortable fit, particularly not for the SEAL. And it smells awfully.
"Mind your head." Bob offers as he leads the way, holding a bulky light in one hand to light up the path. "You can shoot. Worst case, everything goes up in flames, but here it's probably fine. I'll let you know if it gets gassy." he chortles when he says that. "You can scout ahead. Now my worry is they might hear or see us coming anyhow, lights or not. Thing lives in the sewers, you gotta expect it can hear you or see in the dark or something, right?"
Brigitte nods to Bob's summary about the creatures. "I agree...but hopefully that means they won't like a light shone in their eyes." There is a glare for Ludlow. "Do you not hear my outrageous French accent? I'm not from Maine and I don't read books." She's Union, reading isn't high on the agenda. "If you want to lead the way, Ludlow, you go for it. You got that night vision stuff?" Brigitte offers Carla her jelly. "You're good at wrestling, Carla" she winks.
Jack takes up the rear of the mess, mostly because she doesn't move as fast as others and if there's running she won't have as far to go backwards. Partly because of the big gun that she slings down into her arms once she is on the ground level. The sludge gets one look and she carefully steps into it, gets her footing and then starts walking. They're going to get their feet messy anyway, may as well start at the begining.
Carla purses her lips looking at Brigitte for a moment and takes the jelly in the end after all. "Maybe I have my moments." Carla clears her throat and rubs her hands together. She keeps in the back as she has probably the more long ranged weapon of the group. "I considered procuring some flash bangs but, I'd be afraid of my inexperience with explosives. Perhaps if we went through some drills or something. Carla dabs the jelly under her nose and moves with the rest at a brisk powerwalking pace.
"NVG yeah, cool toy that lets me see ah other things? Not so much tonight." Ludlow answers Brigittes last question, the addresses the first. "Sure I hear the cute accent, but I was told the french are civilized or some such. You know. Reading? Damn, I'm a military knuckle dragger and I read." He looks to the others. "Anyone? It Reference? No? Heathens." Ludlow scoots forwards in a nice hopefully ninja-silence like crouching stance. Not that he has a choice in the matter, he couldn't stand up here if he wanted to. "Bobs right though. It's gonna sense us before we sense it. Don't bother whispering, that actually carries farther, just stay low toned though in talking. I know two of ya have done this with me before, but a reminder for the group. Please do not illuminate me from behind with your lights. Keep them low and off to the side. This keeps me from being blinded, as well as doesn't make me this big-ass target, more than I already am." Ludlow gives what he hopes is an encouraging thumbs up, before scurrying a little more ahead of the group.
Before Ludlow can run off, just before, Bob pulls a map from a pocket, unrolls it, pins it to the wall and points, glancing back to the others. "We're here. We're going down this section, about twenty yards that way, then we take a left at the T junction, then go straight, take a right at the four-way, take another right at the next T junction after that. Here we go up a ladder, across this tunnel here, and then we're in the old overflow - there might be room for the big guy to stand there. Now, somewhere around there is where we think they might be holed up, but we should probably be on the lookout on the way, for bones or something."
Afterwards, he's content to keep just behind, and keep his light down, probably used to the dark, walking with an easy, comfortable footing through what is obviously a familiar section of the sewers. Now and then, more pipes feed into it, and the amount of sludge along the floor gradually increases. It's quiet, other than the footsteps of Hunters, the occasional drip-drip of water, a squeak, the pitter-patter of little feet.
Brigitte looks at the map, listens to the directions, and hopes somebody else got it all down too. "Okay. Let's see what we can see. Ludlow on point. Then me. Carla. Jack. Keep your eyes open and your guns ready. Make sure you ID any targets though. It's Halloween, we could have students pranking down here and we've already have one of the Vigil shoot a kid over this." A deep breath...which she immediately regrets...before she is following Ludlow - about three metres behind.
"Oh I know It. It's where the clown thing was under the storm drain. It gave all those people clown nightmares." She says chuckling quietly. "Yes he speaks to the boy and it is actually some horrible ancient thing or something if I recall. I don't remember how the story ends though." Carla looks back at Brigitte and laughs lightly. "Oh yes. That actually happened. Poor thing." She shakes her head. "I'll keep my eyes open though. Wouldn't want to shoot another one of those college kids. That could get messy....
Jack is following along, then freezes. At the T-junction she shifts her gun to the right, holding still and listening as carefully as she can. There's a moment given to Brigitte, one that she hopes her aunt will catch and motions down the other direction. Murmuring softly she says, "noises, this way."
Ahead of the rest, Ludlow freezes and cocks his head to one side, then the other. At the same moment Jack speaks, Ludlow points in the same direction. Adding only. "Kinda sounds like... nevermind you don't wanna know." The big man keeps low and turns left like he was supposed to. No more mutter and grumble from the Valkyrie, just business like scanning ahead and trying to move without attracting undue attention.
Bob stops too, hearing the others mention strange sounds, and peers down the right tunnel. "I don't know... there's not supposed to be anything down there." and shrugs slightly, but does draw a .45, just in case.
"The creatures aren't supposed to be down here either, Bob" Brigitte points out as she readies her shotgun while nodding to her niece. "Good ears" she winks before looking to the others. "We think these things are smart enough to distract us in one direction and ambush us in another?" A pause. "Why don't we go find out. Big Guy...wanna lead the way?" She indicates the direction of the noise.
For Ludlow, the trek along the left tunnel is uneventful, though the journey becomes more unpleasant past the second turn, as the tunnel appears to slope slightly, and more pipes feed into it, increasing the level of flow along the channel enough that boots are fully submerged in it without very careful acrobatics. The walls grow wetter, slime and mold thickening. At one point, faint fluorescent markings appear on the walls. One stripe. Two stripes. An X. But there are no sounds other than the sounds of the sewer itself. At one point, there's a faint humming and rhythmic rattling of machinery overhead. A pair of eyes shine from the darkness, but they're too tiny to belong to the humanoid creatures they're after, and vanish a moment later into a crevice.
Jack keeps watch over her shoulder for whatever it was that was down that tunnel to the right, her gun leveled and to the side. Whatever it is, should it decide to show up, will get a face full of not-fun. Her headlamp swings left and right behind as she follows along, cautious and a little concerned.
"These were put here by the mole people." Bob informs the rest of the party with a nod towards the fluorescent markings on the walls. He stops, squats, studies the flow of sewage, then continues, tagging a short distance behind Ludlow. As promised, the light is kept off the man, so he can see in the dark ahead.
Left turn, right turn, another right turn. It's still a long walk, maybe a trek around a couple of block's worth. There's increasingly more flow, but fortunately they come to the ladder Bob informed them would be there, leading up to a small doorway. That's an even more cramped tunnel, but it is thankfully short, and the only sewage on the floor is what the Hunters track into it. There are odd scratches on the walls, and that -might- be a weird partial handprint, in dried blood.
Beyond a service door, the tunnel opens up into an older area, with damp brick walls, and a deep channel down the center. It doesn't smell as bad here. There's stagnant water, and a constant dripping sound, and there are traces of sewage, but at least the Hunters don't have to walk in sludge.
"This area doesn't get a lot of maintenance... it connects to a lot of places, but - we figure they're here somewhere." Bob explains.
The tight tunnel causes Brigitte some pause. It's not the kind of thing that you want to be trapped in if you need to move in a hurry. Thankfully they aren't attacked and rach a more open area. "So why no maintenance?" she asks Bob, "If it's so important a junction? I'm just wondering if there's been a legend about these creatures for longer than we think." Her eyes attempt to peer into the darkness for any more signs of them - that bloody hand print one clue.
"Good, we finally seem like we're getting somewhere. Seems like whatever it is, it would love to stay in under maintained areas like this one." Carla fidgets with her rifle. "It's nearly absurdly spacious at points. A whole disgusting smelly world underground. It would make sense for some kind of monsters to dwell in this place...."
"Mole people? Wonderful." The lack of excitement in Jack's voice drips with sarcasm. She takes a quick glance at both markings and the maybe handprint. "The markings have got to have some meeting if they put them up, any idea what they said? Maybe 'horrible monster this way'?"
Having taken a moment to fiddle with his NVG's Ludlow has just gone silent for way too long other than moving about. Once in the bigger area he rolls his shoulders to ease the tension from being hunched over so much. Finally looking back at Bob with a dry. "Mole People... really?" Sarcasm is a language he too is able to speak. Sighing he ventures to ask. "Why the guess they are around here somewhere? Just the connections, or something else?"
Bob rises, and shines the powerful beam of his flashlight down the tunnel, illuminating another junction up ahead. "Well, -someone- painted those there, and you'll find places where someone's made themselves a little place to sleep, even furniture, so we call them mole people. Who knows?" he shrugs, then nods ahead, "No, see, this is an older area. It's just a storm drain, hooks up to the old historical district system. Here we're fine, but there are parts of it that aren't too safe and we don't have any good maps. There's all sorts of smuggler tunnels dating back to Prohibition and so on. Sometimes some of the guys come down here, even come back with old bottles or something, but, well, sometimes they don't come back."
Bob starts walking up ahead, slowly, then looks back over, "It's right in the middle of the locations we've mapped, it doesn't see a lot of traffic and - I don't know, the rest was some shit about habitats and some statistical thing, I didn't really get that either. Guy says they should be here, though, like, 90% sure, he says. Somewhere."
The flashlight illuminates the area further, pointing out another T-junction in the main line, and a smaller branch off to the side.
A faint squeaking sound can be heard up ahead. A rat, probably. Followed by a hiss. That's no rat.
"The print may be a sign that they live here" Brigitte nods to Jack. "A symbol to others that this is safe...or to stay away." Her flashlight sweeps the area, "Don't stray too far, Bob" she warns him before that hiss catches her attention. "Okay...time to meet our hosts. I suggest a circle. If you have a shotgun, might be better than the rifle." She hooks the flashlight to the top of her shotgun barrel before raising the weapon.
Carla sighs. "Of course, the rifle is always the wrong tool for this sort of work. Oh well." Carla raises her rifle. "Let's get this over with. I'll try not to die and stuff...." Carla murmurs as she tries to look for these so-called 'mole people'. "Let's hope what we have to work with will do in a pinch for our sakes...."
Jack is still covering the rear, though she glances from time to time over her shoulder to catch whatever glimpses she can. There's the real danger in small area's like this to get ambushed from behind and pinned. "Don't get between me," she slings her AA12 down and levels it down the tunnel, "and if anything comes behind us." That beauty can level a tree if she needed to.
"Ok Mole People then, fair enough." Ludlow rumbles in response to Bob's explanation. Then bob's venturing ahead a little, and shining light everywhere which isn't the smartest option. The long hiss that isn't a rat confirms that. "Yeah lets all kinda stick together a little again." No shotgun for the big man, he snorts at the suggestion with a grin. Civilians. He crouches, cradling the borrowed SMG up to his shoulder. No need for the NVG's with all the muzzle flare from the others he's about to see.
The brick tunnel continues up ahead, though it's obvious why Bob mentioned it was unsafe. There are cracks on the wall here and there, and dislodged bricks, and an unmarked hole leading into darkness. Bob points it out, so the others can circle around it before they come to the junction. The hiss came from the left this time, though nothing immediately sets this tunnel apart from any others.
Other than the skull impaled on a pole, that is. It's mostly a skull by now, little teeth marks hinting at the sewer-dwelling fauna that cleared most of the flesh away. To the anthropologist, this object might suggest these creatures have a culture of their own. To the Hunters, who knows?
"They're coming" whispers Brigitte to the others, steadying herself. "Might even be under ground" she offers, though not entirely sure of that bit. "As in under our feet. More than one. Get ready." A deep breath before she yells out. "FPD!! Make yourselves known." That's to fighten off any university students.
"That's my line." Ludlow grumbles at Brigette's Bluff. "Mole people was a nickname, folks. Come on..." It's not like he's thrilled at the thought of something that can burrow under him. He's just not going to think about it until he detects some sort of evidence. Anything but a face-hugger. He's ok, and trying to get back into a professional mindset. Time to calmly think about nice boobs until something needs shooting in the face.
There's more hissing. Then a scraping sound. Then silence. Then the bright glow of a pair of oversized eyes peeking around the corner, glowing as they reflect the flashlights, like a cat's eyes. Its damp, pale face twists into a grimace, mouth peeling back to flash exaggeratedly carnivorous teeth.
Being the cautious sort from time to time means Ludlow only sends one shot down range. Maybe the bang will be enough to startled the little critters into getting the hell out of here. Maybe not. At least his round is on-target, and he keeps his sights lined up ready to tap his select fire into go-loud mode.
Jack grumbles as she sees the eyes, faces and then teeth. "Once again," speaking to her aunt, "you always take me to the most interesting places and meet the most interesting," she braces, levels her shotgun, "people." Then unholy death bursts from the muzzle of the gun, fragments of metal filling the tunnel and smashing into two of the most forward out of three of the monsters. The sound for the shotgun in close quarters is deafening.
The things are springing into the tunnel, four of them, launching themselves in an awkward loping gait towards the Hunters, moving partly on all fours. All three in the lead take fire, one scraped by Ludlow's shot, the others grazed and torn by Jack's fire. They show teeth, hiss, and let out an unholy screech that rings down the cramped tunnels, drowned out by the deafening sound of Jack's weapon.
In the distance, another screech calls back.
They are humanoids, as the images collected before revealed. Skinny things, all bone and muscle and wrinkled, shiny wet, colourless skin. Big eyes. Big teeth. Claws.
"You love this, Jack" Brigitte sighs to her whining niece before firing her shotgun at the closest of the ceatures. "Damn ugly sons of bitches" she notes, "Like your last boyfriend, Jack." She loads up another shell. They're getting damn close damn quick...and not looking very hurt.
Bob gets a shot off with his .45 too, grazing the thing in the lead. "What I tell you!? Mole people! Mole people!" The on the in the lead's taken a big shot from Brigitte, straight to its sunken broken chest and face, and now collapses and crawls on the floor the last few yards. Not much of a threat there.
Everyone else went loud! The SEAL sort of briefly feels like a pussy for being cautious amonst the civilians. He shrugs it off and re-evaluates, especially given the sweet impressive music of the AA-12. "That'll put some chest on your chest, damn." But then there is screech and answering screen. No more time to be polite nor cautious. Just effective. The muzzle shifts slightly to a new target and he puts a quick burst into it.
Jack was going to give Brig a snappy reply but the ugly bastards are coming forward fast. She lifts the gun again to give a blast of fire at the nearest of the bunch, coughing up another load of blades and fire. And, in the middle of that round of fire, the gun clicks. Drum empty. Swearing under her breath she scrambles to drop that drum and slam another into place.
One of the scrawny flesh-eaters charges straight into the hail of fire, taking a couple of hits, enough to bloody it but not enough to stop its charge and final leap, sharp claws outstretched, toothy maw wide open, screeching as lands on Brigitte.
Behind them, squeezing itself up through a hole no human above the age of 5 should fit in, another of the things appears, the first they hear of it is when Bob yelps, "Ahhhhhh! Get your goddamned mole hands off me!"
It smells. It drools. And it just cut her bad. Brigitte twists and contorts to get her shotgun in a place she can shoot the creature and pulls the trigger. This close can't be good for its health and she sighs in relief as it falls to the ground...but there are still others to deal with!
Another of the things leaps through the air, lands on all fours, and springs forward, meat-rending claws managing to rake through some unprotected flesh somewhere on the huge man. He probably looks like the tastiest prize.
Bob, yelling frantically behind the other Hunters, manages to squeeze off one shot from his pistol into the foot of the thing biting at him. That's about as high as he could raise his pistol as they struggle around.
One is down, one is almost down, and one is now running down the tunnel, pausing to screech again before closing into claw range.
Jack was about to turn to assist Bob, then she spies yet another one of these monsters coming down the tunnel to join the party. Growling under her breath she says, "Nope, not this time," and takes a knee, sighting down the barrel. The shot is a little off but she still fills the thing full of steel.
"Hey y'all ok back there?" Shots rings out and sounds of people being alive are useful to him. But the distraction costs, and then theres a sharp toothed furry clawed bastard. It's like a bad comic, Ludlow briefly thinks. Reaction to the pain and deep slashing claws are death are purely instinctual from training. Shift step and a quick brust into the critters brainpan. What else can go wrong?!
The crawler inches forward, then manages to push itself onto its claws and jump, trying to bite at Ludlow, but it lands on the ground nearby instead, with a hiss.
Bob's in trouble, "God! Get this thing off me! Get it off me!" he yells, as the monster backs him into a wall, claws and teeth tearing big gouges across his uniform. There's blood everywhere.
Bob's in trouble. Hell...they all are but the Union fight for the common man. Brigitte spins around and does her best to line up the creature attacking the sewer worker. "Four!" she yells out before firing and filling the creature with a few more holes. Everything counts!
With that, the last of the group of things joins the combat, filling the air with more screeches, more raking claws and slavering teeth trying to find purchase in flesh, throwing its hole-riddled self at Brigitte with a blood-curdling scream. By now, there's blood everywhere. There's more of theirs than the Hunters', but they all bleed red, so it mingles in the stagnant water below.
Bob manages to squeeze off one more shot, but it ricochets harmlessly off the brick wall as the man-eating fiend tries to disembowel him. At least it staggers back slightly from the shot it took froom Brigitte.
Jack drops a spent drum from her gun into the water below and scrambles to load the next in. She calls over her shoulder, "We need to get to a defensable position!" The drum snaps into place and she levels her gun, searching for the next target to turn into hamburger.
Poor Bob. The hungry fiend slashes him open again and again with those sharp, deadly claws, while the sewer worker screams, pinned to the wall, before pain and shock cause him to collapse into a badly battered, bleeding pile on the filthy ground.
This is what happens when you try to help someone. Brigitte just manages to twist in time to defend herself but the creature still rips her flesh open. "Fuck this. Someone help Bob!!" The shotgun in her hands manages to make its way under the creature's jaw before she fires again - splattering its brains on the roof.
Jack turns in time to see that Bob is crumbled on the ground bleeding. Snarling she brings her reloaded gun around, aims and blasts the thing that was just hittin him into a splatter of meat and blood. "fuck... need a medic!" Quickly she glances around to see what's left.
Brigitte rushes over to Bob, tearing at her uniform to make bandages. She looks at his wounds, winces and then tries her best but it's beyond her skill. "Somebody help" she calls out to the others, making a bad situation worse. Open wounds in a sewer can't be good.
There are five things on the ground. One of them's still twitching. Then there's also Bob, collapsed against the wall, breathing in with shallow wheezes and gasps, clutching his badly injured abdomen, though there are gouges across his shoulder, across his neck as well. He might make it, if carried out of here in a hurry.
But are these five creatures all that there was? There was a screech in the distance, not long ago, when the things attacked.
Jack has her shotgun at the ready but... swearing under her breath she says, "We've got to get him out of here." To the others she says, "cover us!" and then moves to help Brigitte to get Bob up and going. Muttering under her breath she says to the shadows they are leaving behind, "Next time-"
No way is Brigitte going to leave a soldier behind...and she's proud that Jack feels the same way. Even Ludlow should be able to understand that. "We'll get them" she confirms before it is time they left.
There are no more screeches, no sounds in the darkness other than the pitter-patter of little rat feet, and the difficult footsteps of the Hunters lugging their injured companion back the way they came. It feels much longer this time around.