Cuddles Read online

  Cuddles

  Master Hunter, Book 2

  Dennis Fueyo

  Cuddles © 2019 by Dennis Fueyo. All Rights Reserved.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  Cover modified from Image by Norbert Pietsch from Pixabay

  Chapter 16 Image by Stefan Keller from Pixabay

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Printing: September 2019

  Independently Published

  ISBN: 9781692819378

  Thank you to my family for being there when I needed you most.

  CONTENTS

  Part 5: The Battle of Wilmington

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Part 6: The Ballad of Clark Stone

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Part 7: Ochoa’s Last Words

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Part 8: Children of Apsu

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Part 9: Shadow of Rickettserax

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Conclusion

  Part 5: The Battle of Wilmington

  “Shaquan, can I confide in you?”

  “Sure, Sammy, what’s up?

  “Lately, I keep hearing a voice. This deep echo, a voice sounding far away, yet spoken with distinct clarity.”

  “Ok, you think you’re going crazy?”

  “Maybe. Thing is, it reacts to things before they happen. I ignored it, up until now.”

  “Huh. What made this time different?”

  “When we walked through the Britt’s gates back in Elizabethtown, it said Tom Mason is nearby, I think that.”

  Chapter 11

  The group pressed along the Cape Fear River’s edge heading towards the Atlantic Ocean. At first, eyes were wide and ears sharp. Adrenaline lingered in bloodstreams after the brief firefight left three jackers dead. As the sun left its apex, cicadas lulled restless minds. Sam Mason avoided conversation with his dad, Tom Mason. Abu Zaid and Sheila Briggs gabbed on as if their march was a first-date. Juan Delgado, in his element, led the travelers past traps, over dry ground and under canopies formed by toppled maples and oaks. Lou Frasier and Shaquan White shared laboratory bench stories vying to win credit for the most deadly substance handled.

  Over two days, Juan came upon a myriad of symbols left by Tom Mason’s companions, all forming “SSDD.” Some inscribed on rocks or bone-white tree trunks, others created by twigs or shells. Some painted on sandstone or beech bark with pokeweed berries. The acronym represented the unit commanded by Sergeant James Laramie: Swamp Stomper Division Delta. The second “D” disjointed from the other letters pointing in the direction traveled by the three remaining stompers; Emelia Stone, James Laramie, and Lou Frasier.

  Reaching Zara, the “D” pointed due south.

  Sam Mason found it strange the three had turned south, crossing the Cape Fear River and bypassing Armour to hike through Badger Gang territory. At dusk, having reached the abandoned ruins of once-thriving farms within view of East Arcadia’s half-flooded shops, he asked Shelia Briggs, Juan Delgado, and Abu Zaid to sweep the southern deadwood. After an hour, they returned bringing bitter news.

  The Armour homesteaders, who welcomed them days earlier on route to Elizabethtown, slaughtered. Juan found homesteader bodies blown to pieces. Tracks suggested some had become prisoners and taken to East Arcadia. Abu and Sheila explored the remains of walkways, barns, and raised dwellings burned down into the swamp’s festering mud.

  There was no hope to rescue them.

  Traditional jacker scarecrows surrounded East Arcadia’s center. Juan described sundried skins of the dead affixed on pikes and stretched to look like ghastly bears rearing upward. The jackers had military-grade weapons, taken from Tar Heel, and were coming for the Divers.

  In dawn’s approaching rays, the group situated themselves and made for Bolton. Once a quaint little town, until Lake Waccamaw engulfed it. Gators amassed on the lake’s shoreline sunning themselves, ignoring swarms of giant, fastidious dipteran insects. Clouds returned preparing their daily delivery of tormenting rain.

  Shaquan’s knee popped more than usual from East Arcadia to Lake Waccamaw. Concerned, he collected a handful of flat, bladed leaves from white-flowered tubers and crushed them in a metal cup, adding liquor donated by the homesteaders. Rubbing the paste over his patella, he arched his back and sighed.

  “White”—Juan frowned wafting his hand—“that nasty paste smells like pedos.”

  “Everything smells like farts to you, Juan. This shit’s alleviating my knee pain, so cállate.” Shaquan inspected the cup, sniffed it, and said, “Wild ginseng, man. You’re crazy, this smells wonderful. Must have been a farm nearby, stuff’s growing all over the place.”

  Juan stared at the congregation of gators by the lake through his riflescope. “Hope those things stay lazy.”

  “No Badger Gang members all the way from Zara,” Shaquan said, “that’s weird, don’t you think, Juan? Look at these gators all laying out like their belly’s full with grub. You think they ate the Badger Gang?”

  “I doubt it.” Juan wiped the lens and continued reading the resting congregation. “Sammy, I think we’re clear of jackers.”

  Sam analyzed the sky. Clouds clumped together, deepening to a battleship grey color. “We speed south to the swamp preserve, then cut east to Wilmington.”

  “The jackers will be gathering around Topsail,” Abu speculated. “Jackers have three different routes into the city”—he ticked off his fingers—“Hampstead Coast down the beaches, inland using old I210, and a backdoor using the Cape Fear River.”

  “The backdoor will thin their ranks,” said Juan, pausing for an ammo check.

  “Why Juan?” asked Sheila.

  “The river’s shores are secured by hundreds of traps. Most local tribes and gangs know this. If the jackers are stupid enough to try, good riddance to those chingasos.”

  “I don’t think it will matter.” Sheila cupped a palm over her eyes to survey the forest. “Their leaders throw them at the target to create a bridge. A bridge of the dead. They tried to do that in Fayetteville. Saw the aftermath on a scouting mission.”

  “Why were you at the depot?” asked Tom.

  “Barry Trenton guessed it might be worthwhile trying to negotiate with the swamp stompers. A few Britts hiked in, south of I87, and tripped off a dozen landmines. Nobody came from the depot to help. Left them there to die.”

  “I am so sorry, Sheila.” Commander Andy Ochoa and Jonathon Stone coerced Tom into the Navy, but he knew many swamp stompers and considered them friends. They gave their lives to protect him. Too many died helping him collect samples in North Carolina bogs. Too many.

  “No reason to be sorry,” she said. “Besides, the depot probably was still on alert. Looked like they had seen action for the last week. Stacks of jacker bodies only a couple days old were everywhere.”

  “World War Z,” Tom reflected, rolling his sleeves back. “You know, Brad Pitt? Never mind.”

  “If you noticed”—Sam chuckl
ed—“my dad is an avid movie fanatic.” He zeroed in on Tom’s forearms and asked, “Dad, what the hell are those lines on your arms?”

  “Oh, those.” He straightened them out with a lugubrious sigh. “Work accident.”

  “Show me,” Sheila said, picking at his shirt cuff.

  Tom did not pull away. Instead, he plucked her fingers and studied their tips. They had black stains on them. “What are these, pokeweed berry stains?” Tom asked.

  “Huh?” She marveled at her hand, “Weird.”

  “Ha!” Tom slapped his hands and performed a small shuffle. “Wonderful! Juan, have you actually seen tracks left behind by my friends?”

  “No, now you mention it.”

  “Has anyone?” Blank stares rested on Tom. “I should have known better!” he slapped again and hollered into the forest, “Emelia, come on out!”

  Leaves trembled on their branches and reeds prostrated under a stiff offshore breeze. Crackling twigs and shuffling sand concentrated the group’s attention to a nearby drumlin.

  “Come out”—Tom waved—“they will not harm you, I promise.”

  Three figures stepped into the open.

  “Lou! Emelia, James!” Tom bolted, arms wide open, to give Lou Frasier a bear hug, followed by Emelia Stone. “My God, it felt like this day would never come!”

  “I wasn’t sure it would,” James Laramie said and shook Tom’s hand wildly. “Are you sure this will be ok, Dr. Mason?”

  “Yes! Why the rouse?”

  Emelia answered, “We had more freedom to help you by keeping our distance.”

  Sam’s mind unhinged into a fog. He never noticed anyone tracking them. It was the first time caught unaware. Like being in a lucid dream, he watched Lou draw him in tight and kiss his cheek. Sam stood in place, rag doll-like arms flopping. “Lou? Lou Frasier?”

  “Good to see you again, Sammy!” Lou marveled and gave a final, manly slap on Sam’s shoulder.

  Pulling himself from dumbfounded numbness, Sam asked, “Dad, how did you know they were nearby?”

  “The ink on Sheila’s fingers! Sheila drew the symbols for us to follow.”

  “How is this possible,” blurted Sheila. “Why the hell wouldn’t I remember that?”

  Emelia smiled and replied, “I’m sorry, Sheila, it’s my fault. My name is Emelia Stone.”

  Sheila’s limp arm shook Emelia’s hand. “Sh-Sheila Briggs.”

  Emelia revealed, “I used your somatic system to ink out ‘SSDD.’ Didn’t probe further, I swear.” She then smiled and said, “Had not planned on meeting so soon, Tom. Guess it’s time to lay everything out.”

  Confusion saturated Sam. He stammered, avoiding eye contact with Emelia, “What is…how is this…”

  Tom said, “Please, Sammy, everyone, allow me to explain.”

  The group hunched around Tom under drizzling rain as he described the green pill. He professed the trip to Malibu, Eva Stone’s malicious endeavors, and the creation of lateral lines on his forearms. Audible awe crept out as he conveyed descriptions of the green pill’s effects: Lou’s influence over animal behavior, Emelia’s ability to play puppet master, the other wavelengths of light visible to them. The uncanny side effect of reading the minds of others and the inability to harness reflections from a green pill recipient. He illustrated encounters with things hidden from the natural world.

  He did not discuss Cuddles by name, though Sam suspected that was the “entity” his dad referenced back in Elizabethtown. The time was not right, Sam reflected on his dad’s words in the Britt holding cell, what trouble has he gotten into now?

  When finished, Tom asked, “Questions?”

  Hands rose.

  “You don’t need to raise…ok, Shaquan.”

  “When did you guys find us?”

  Emelia answered, “We heard you snuff out the jacker patrol. Had we joined up then, I feared our meeting might limit the use of our abilities. There were still many obstacles between Elizabethtown and Wilmington. A long walk. Describing why my father sent us and not a swamp stomper battalion could have created distrust—and I was right.”

  “Why?” Shaquan enthusiastically lifted his palm. “Are you reading my thoughts now? Because that’s not what I’m thinking, I swear.”

  “No, but I can read faces,” she said, eyes focused on Sam’s glower. Sam stubbornly continued to avoid Emelia—no eye contact, acknowledgment, or recognition of where she stood.

  “You followed us,” Abu asked, “scared off aggressors and carnivores, and guided Sheila’s subconscious to write the ‘SSDD’ symbols?”

  Emelia replied, “Correct.”

  “And the gators at the lake,” Juan asked, “Lou’s magic?”

  Lou clarified, “Yes, I made them think they ate a sizable meal, but it’s not magic, Juan. We all have an innate ability stemming from our ancestral bloodline.” He pointed at Juan: “You, for example, are skilled at finding clues and marksmanship. The pill would enhance that, making you a type of super sleuth. This snot-colored pill hits specific gene sequences, ramping up inherited traits while suppressing mutagenic side effects. But don’t even think about asking for one. Pondering the long-term effects keeps me awake at night.”

  Tom lamented, saying, “And you would be in debt to the Stone family. There are many Stone family opportunities, I suppose, but you do not want this, uh, gift. Trust me, Juan, not ever.”

  Sam asked, “Does Mom know about this?”

  “She does. Would not let me leave the base otherwise.”

  “Great. So, Dad, what is your special ability?”

  “Like father, like son—heightened reflexes.” Tom winked.

  “Unbelievable, man,” Sam said and stepped back, letting his inner thoughts untangle. Although used to change, able to tolerate occasional life-changing surprises, this was too much. Drowned in an informational tsunami, Sam closed his eyes and stared blankly at his mental writing board.

  “I have a question for you, Lou,” asked Tom, “what happened to the Mud Hopper?”

  Abu shouted, “You guys had an airboat? An actual HP109?”

  The question’s force launched Abu into a string of coughs and dragged Sam’s mind back into the conversation.

  “I agree,” said Sam, furious they could have reached Wilmington a day earlier. “How the hell could you superheroes lose a Mud Hopper?”

  James explained, “When we were in Tar Heel, events pressured us to retreat. There were, well, things blocking the craft. I would describe them, but I’m not sure I know how at present. We escaped on foot. Right when we caught our breath, the jackers split our team apart. By the time we found you, Dr. Mason, the Britts had you. Returning to the river, we plotted how to break you out.”

  James wiped rainwater off his face and continued, “While resting by the river, I see our Mud Hopper float by, right? Stacked with jackers carrying substantially large weapons. I called in a strike.”

  Lou reflected, “I don’t know how they picked through the mass of bloated green cadavers in the Tar Heels courtyard without stirring up the dead. Doc, if it weren’t for Cuddles, we never would have made it out of Tar Heel alive.”

  This pricked Sam’s ear closer. “Cuddles? Dad, I swore you were delirious when I found you in that Britt cell. That entity you mentioned, its name is Cuddles?”

  “Sammy, you inched me back from the precipice of insanity. I regret you saw me in that state but thank God that Barry Trenton told you where I was.”

  Sam felt his heartbeat in his neck. Since his dad mentioned the name, he decided to press: “Who, or what, is Cuddles?”

  “Not now, ok Son? I can explain later.”

  Emelia looked at Tom visibly befuddled but remained quiet. Lou drummed fingers around his pockets and listed his eyes eastward.

  Sam fumed. Dad should have known better, the worst Mason family insult was to wrench uncertainty into a situation. “When, Dad? When shall I be enlightened by His holy compendium?”

  “Not now, Son!”

&nbs
p; “This is fucking bullshit!” Sam flung his backpack to the ground and left a trail of curse words as he paced around in a circle. After a few minutes, he collapsed by a white stump gripping handfuls of his hair, leaned back, and started flicking black beetles off the bark.

  “You can call in an airstrike, James,” Abu asked, “how?”

  “Emelia got into the mind of one of the jackers and had him radio in the craft’s ID before the others gutted him. See, each HP109 has a beacon affixed to the hull. Their crew navigated it to White Lake—I know because I saw the explosion from the river. It was massive. I think the bomb took out the surrounding terrain.”

  “Wow…explains what we heard in Armour a while back,” said Abu in awe.

  Shaquan nodded. “Fortunately, we were all too buzzed to care about it.”

  Sam stopped and ran his fingers through his moistening hair, then whipped rainwater off towards the woods. He calmed his mind. I need to think. What is the plan, Sam? He could not quash the idea they followed him and none in his team knew. Nor could he supplant fear knowing Emelia Stone manipulated Sheila to carry out actions she could not remember. Emelia Stone was dangerous.

  Turning to reign verbal hellfire down on her, Sam saw Emelia for the first time. He saw her not as a stranger, but as his dad’s friend. She had Audrey Hepburn eyes and a sophisticated, bobbed haircut. Her slender neck accentuated her cheeks and chin. She glanced at him, lifting half a smile through a perky, intelligent face. It enchanted him.

  “I understand,” said Emelia.

  Sam became flustered. “What? Are you reading my thoughts right now?”

  “You were about to yell at me. I noticed your pupils narrow and skin flush. Doesn’t take a mind reader, Sam. My family’s misdeeds and questionable tactics undoubtedly formed a sour taste in your mouth. Their means may not always conform to societal expectations, but the end game is always advancing humanity. They are not the boogeymen some, like your father, describe.”

  “How does twisting a human mind fulfill this goal?” Sam’s anger swelled to smack her argument and ebbed as her eyes pulsed. Towed back by her beauty.