hob'bled Survey=Launch

Yards ahead Dallas shrieked, “IT’S HERE, I SEE IT!”

My heart surged as I located him in a panic, where he lurched to the right and began to blink in and out of sight behind a particularly dense ring of trees. Sanctuary lay just within that cluster. Unfortunately the aggressive critter was still incognito somewhere, possibly regrouping for another strike, while we had a victim on our hands. Dudley still needed to be assessed and aided the nearly hundred yards left to Gutterson's Gun Hideout.

I spun back around to the place where everyone (apart from our retreating warrior Caca'Phony) were congregating. Buck became the host of attention, distraught and trembling on one leg.

The team had swooped to the rescue, assessing if he was alright, Rovone & Siggy stabilizing him beneath the armpits, as they most appropriately matched his height. Swamp gunk dampened Buck's pink-n-blue shirt, as it tried to advertise his elder brother Leo's soccer fanfare. The Embossed letters upon it: my family Kicks Grass, were no longer legible. A smear of blood was ballooning out around his groin, and the next reason for his inhibited balance became clear a moment later.

“Holy shit guys, my foot! It wouldn’t leggo! Summin's jus' awful with my foooot,” Duds repeated. His irises buzzed like a swarm through the hysteria... feverishly jittering into my soul. My vision narrowed and Zoomed instantly, crystal-close, with the impression of my head getting caught in a vice. His lips were involuntarily wobbling. A subconscious grimace aged his face a good fifteen years in horror, and misty eyelashes returned from endless space to billow around me with insight.

The guy wasn’t someone that people gave much thought for, except to tell him to get lost when he made a ruckus, like a dog seldom shown attention. His main company was Leonard, a brother who was more of a simple, stabilized personality; couldn’t have been much comfort for a carefree goof like himself.

Shuddering, Buck pinched his eyes shut, and dangled his foot higher for us to examine: “How is it?!” he asked

A barrage of muffled exclamatory remarks spiked into the atmosphere. OH boy; my Lord... The front of his boots were mangled, and at least three of his toes were sushi. “Just stay calm, dude,” I heard Trent protest through a sinking chest. None of us could form real speech to deliver the news to him, but after a moment Buck cracked his eye to peek... and emitted a weak chain of moans.

I tried to assume some order. “Ok y’all, the shack is up ahead in the cluster of Trees to the right. We can fix ourselves up there. But we need to move ASAP from this danger zone to Dry ground, since that critter may well be lurking.”

“That’s right, let’s go!” Pheo said urgently. “Rovo, you lift one leg, Pyram or Sigg get the other.” We hauled him right off the ground and whisked him onward, all while scouting the green expanse for any extra disturbances in the water. But everything in my sight was balling into a big blur, mostly a sick green hue with humanoid shapes moving around in it. I was sick of green. And I was haunted from what I had witnessed below the surface -- which my comrades likely had not. I carried Dudley’s gashed leg-side, while struggling back an urge to vomit.

My insides rearranged and slipped through queasy knots. Somewhere in my forehead thrived an Acute pain, but upon trying to pin the area, it throbbingly dispersed and resettled. Nothing of this sort was to have been expected until negotiations with the vagabond Marshals. This was getting off on the wrong foot, all too literally.

The ground started to gradually slope upwards on soggy land, which meant we were basically there. The badass shack was piled high like a castle on this big old mound in the middle of nowhere. The bog acted as a naturally-functioning moat. Everything about it was discreet. It sat within a thick curtain of timber, virtually hidden from every angle. The most obvious entrance being two wee slits curving into the ring of trees; an impression of not leading back very far, when peered at from a distance. Near impossible to happen upon if not walking within 5 paces of the spot.

The incline began to flatten out, and the scraping of dry land could be heard under our heavy feet. It was still a little mushy, but arid in respect to a half hour voyage through endless Sea. My jagged thoughts continued to savage, and abruptly the nausea spiked.

My tongue labored to lift my voice, pulling through a rough slur ~ “Guysch…I need a break.”

“Huh? what? why?” I heard collectively. All they understood right now was getting holed up inside. Crap. Ready or knot, here it comes. Thrashing images splattered within me, inflaming a stream of hot barf, as I was forced to release the leg right before I was overcome by my throat pulverizing itself into the ground.

My assistants skipped back like children touching a scalding pot for the first time, & Buck yelled like acid splashed over him. I heard grunts of distaste and compassion from beside me, then some sarcastic birdy saying, “Nice one broOo.”

A sizeable fortune of yellowish vomit dotted with reds-and-greens, wretched out again and again into a pile, until subsiding in a dry heave. I spit the last bitter mush from my lip, & wiped the chin driblets against my arm, from there smearing it down across my navy blue, waterproof pants. Although my entire body quivered, I felt relieved (aside from scalding aroma at the back of my tonsil cavity). I stood up on wobbly cells, as Buck's support staff sagged awkwardly along with his hobbling motion, and poor foothold. “Sorry man,” I told Duds. “I didn’t wanna spray into your bloodstream or anything.”

Trent scooted behind me, further inspecting the puke behind us. The Prowleys stared at the lumber Fortress Balcony, pondering how exactly to shamble Buck up the ladder. Built on stilts in endeavors of preventing flood damage, the owner decided to make a monument of it. The whole structure towered three times larger than the shop itself (well, I tended to view it as three stories) with the shop sitting about two-thirds of the way up.

To give it an impressive, sturdy appearance, the owner had overlain the stilts with a hollow scaffold, cammo in most areas, except one region of the faded tarp was painted with a surreal looking Panther, curled around some fish bones it was finishing.

Sigmund Rain, with Crossbow over his shoulder, plugged a concerned pair of murky eyes into me. His normally suave hair peeled erratically down around his eyelids, while certain tufts at the back appeared in attempt to eject from his scalp. I could currently feel my longer blonde hair plastered along my neck and cheek stubble. “I’ll be fine,” I assured him.

Solemnly, Siggy answered, “Would you take a Lie Detector to back that up?”

This remark inhibited the Recovery process: I was trying to subtly communicate composure to the whole group. This would be more than a transient stopover now. This would be a rendezvous Recapping of serious News. Right now, people who cared about us were going on about their daily lives, unaware there was a wonky chance something else would come home for dinner in our places. We were both barely 18.

“Just as long as we can get Buck up that Ladder,” I amended, scanning the 3 dozen rungs that ascended.

Dudley chimed in for himself at this point. “I think i kin manage to waddle up, fellas.” He leaned into a weary grin. “I still got 3 quarters spread Uh feet.”

“Alright,” Pheo began. “Rove, you go up first, and Buck you’ll go second so that he can help pull you up and balance you when you reach the Balcony. I’ll be behind Buck myself, since I don’t necessarily trust anyone to catch him if he slips.”

Nobody put up an argument against the Decision, and the rest of us waited, nervously watching our surroundings as we waited for the Prowley-Buck Sandwich to organize their unit and start climbing. As the final trio of us still on the ground, collected around the ladder, I firmly insisted I would be the next one of us to crawl up (as I wanted to have a perky view of Pheo from below). Even though she was wearing pants that didn’t reveal any skin, those pants were fairly tight.

My wish was granted seamlessly, and I swung up onto the rungs, harboring the first pleasant emotions of any time in the last half hour. I accelerated AFAP, until my face was not two feet from Pheo’s rump & her natural smell of motor oil, leather, and peppermint. As I meditated more intensely, the waist of my own pants began growing tighter and itchy.

But quick as my fascination flourished, I became distracted by chatter wafting up below me. The other dudes were starting to orally filter what we had encountered back there.

Trent’s voice arose hushed & timid: “That thing was nasty fast man, and I couldn’t even tell if it was swimming or had legs. I thought it was a snapping turtle until i got right up next to it."

“Just be glad it didn't have big jaws,” Siggy’s bolder voice injected.

“Let’s hear some applauzzze…” flatly tumbled back, “For that Uh-Maayzing observation.”

“That’s not what we came out here to face,” Siggy sizzled. “If I’d'a known we’d be…” he trailed off as raw sorrow plugged his rant. He came back more hostile. “Eh, forget it. Just one of those anomalies in life. We can’t control it, we just gotta be on our toes since we’re in its turf. We still have 2 more hours scheduled out in that swamp.”

At this point, I decided I should share some of my hope with them.

“Guys I realize we’ve had a surprise visitor,” I stepped in. “But when we wade back out in those waters, trust me, I’m sure Gutter’s got some Equipment plenty stronger than that bastard.”