“Russell,” the same female voice from the helicopter’s loudspeaker says. This time, however, it’s not modulated or amplified. And it’s coming from directly behind the armed men. “Get off Dr. Barrows, please.”

I feel my abductor’s weight ease from my back, and I look up to see the soldiers parting like a pitch black, Red Sea to make room for an attractive blonde woman wearing a similar black ensemble as her male counterparts. She, however, is not masked and from what I can see, she’s not armed.

She steps past the men and turns to the P90 guy. “Landers, we’ll discuss this later. You know as well as I do that Dr. Barrows is not being arrested.” She turns and looks down at me with a smile. “We only wanted to subdue you,” she explains. “For your own protection, really.”

Russell. Landers. I find it interesting that these men have no apparent rank. In my experience, only two types of military forces forego the use of rank designations as a matter of practice. The first is typically soldiers of fortune. The other is U.S. government Delta operators. And these guys don’t carry themselves like any mercenaries I’ve ever run into.

“Look, lady,” I say, still on the ground looking up at her. “There are two kids out here. From the look of a bloody piece of cloth back there, at least one of them is injured. We’ve got to find them.”

She crouches down to look me in the eyes. Her smile is still there, and I can’t tell whether its genuine or predatory. Her hair is pulled back tight and bound in a severe ponytail. Her face is attractive but hardened by what I assume are years of living and working in the outdoors. Unlike her men, she’s wearing a black tank top, which reveals a well-defined upper body and muscular arms. This is someone who takes care of herself. She gives off an air of someone who’s seen real action, but something about the way she carries herself makes me think it has nothing to do with military. Her eyes are too bright. Questioning. She’s giving off a definite ‘Thinker’ vibe. A scientist of some kind, maybe?

“Landers, help our guest to his feet,” she says, standing up once more and stepping aside for the P90 man to let his weapon hang from its strap before he bends over to help lift me from the mud-caked earth.

Once I’m up on solid ground, I notice the chopper has moved off to the south a way, but it’s still hovering close enough to give chase if I decide to make another run of it. I’m sorely tempted.

My stubborn streak again.

“Now, Dr. Barrows,” the woman says. “We’re fully apprised of the situation regarding the missing children and have several teams scouring the state park for them even as we speak. Rest assured, they’re in good hands.”

“They’re in nobody’s hands until they’re found. And I, for one, ain’t going to be able to rest until I see them safe and sound with my own eyes.”

The man named Landers leans in, his muscles tensing as if he’s about to throw me to the ground again, but he’s stopped with the woman’s upraised hand.

“Look,” she says. That smile of hers refuses to falter. “Here’s our situation. You and Officer Rausch stumbled onto a rather embarrassing matter for the government.”

“A couple of missing kids? That’s embarrassing to Uncle Sam?”

She shakes her head, offering the slightest of giggles. “Hardly.” The woman glances over at her men, as if trying to decide something. Then, she gives me a shrug. Her body seems to relax a bit. “Let me spell it out for you. Two nights ago, one of our transports carrying a very volatile component for a weapon’s system crashed near State Road 40. By the time our team arrived, that component was missing. Satellite footage revealed it was stolen from the back of the truck and the thieves made their way here. We’re searching for them now, but the situation is dangerous. We can’t have any unauthorized personnel wandering around here while we’re conducting our investigation. That’s why we need you to come with us.”

I look the woman up and down, trying desperately to hide the smirk threatening to cut across my face. Her story’s full of crap. I know it. She must know I know it. And yet, she’s staring at me with such sincerity that it just seems rude to laugh. A stolen weapons component? And the thieves would bring it here? To a Florida state park with regular park ranger patrols and a buttload of tourists coming and going every day? And mixed all together with a pair of eviscerated organ blocks and three missing kids?

Yeah, I don’t buy a single word of it either. But I struggle with whether I should call her on it or not. I’m dealing with black ops here. Constitutional jurisprudence isn’t exactly a guarantee in these situations. For all I know, these goons might be as likely to shoot me as arrest me and just let the gators have their way with my decomposing corpse. I’d probably be better off to play along. At least, until I know more about what’s really going on here.

I smack the back of my neck, where a particularly large mosquitosaurus has just tried to suck my blood dry and look down at my mud-crusted boots in thought.

“Will you come with us, Dr. Barrows?” the woman asks.

I let the question hang in the air for a few seconds, then offer a slight nod. “I don’t see as I have much…”

Something rustles in the vegetation to my left, reminding me that Arnold was still out here somewhere. Probably hiding from the big scary men with guns.

“Don’t shoot!” I shout, waving my arms at them. “It’s just my raccoon!”

But the soldiers, if they even hear me, aren’t looking toward the source of the sound. Instead, acting as one, each man points their weapons up into the tree canopy, and scans their surroundings with their low-light visors. Their fingers hover millimeters from their triggers.

I glance up into the nearby branches, wondering what they might be searching for, but see nothing of particular interest.

Weird, I think while squatting down and clicking my tongue a few times. A moment later, Arnold bolts from the undergrowth and scurries up my chest. With him safe, I manage to let out the breath I’ve been holding, and my muscles relax.

“Okay,” I say with a nod. “I guess we can go n…”

Something bursts through the trees with an ear-splitting shriek and an explosion of leaves and falling branches. A dark mass stretches out into the sky and with long powerful wings, swoops down toward us before pulling up at the last moment to soar through the canopy above. Four sets of automatic weapons bark out in the reply, filling the darkness with a blaze of gunfire and the acrid stench of cordite. Several seconds later, the gunfire ceases and the men heave excitedly for breath as each of them pivot in place, keeping their eyes trained dead ahead of them.

My legs wobble in place and I struggle to keep standing. I let out a deep breath. “What the…”

There’s another screech and the winged thing materializes once more from the trees before swooping down at one of the military men. Automatic rifle fire erupts all around me. Muzzle flashes lighting up the dark clearing and casting the world in a strobe light cavalcade.

But the gunfire isn’t enough. The creature makes it past the deluge of bullets and with long clawed hands, grabs hold of one of the men, and lifts him in the air. With their comrade in harm’s way, the men cease fire. The aerial beast cries out again before disappearing in the darkness with its captive still clutched in its talons.

“…the heck was that?” I scream, stroking Arnold’s trembling back as he presses tight against my chest.

The monster had been huge. Birdlike, but unlike any bird I’ve ever seen before. It had been far too big to be any living species I’d ever heard of. Its wingspan had easily been sixteen feet wide—maybe wider—and its body, while very thin and spindly, was easily larger than an average man. Plus, it had human-like arms in front of its wings, which is what it had used to grab the soldier.

The thing had moved so fast, and with the near total darkness of the swampland, the rest of its anatomy had just been near impossible to make out.

Another bird like screech bellows in the distance, and I’m struck by another wave of nausea. My legs seem to congeal underneath me, weakening my knees, which buckle and send me to the soft earth with Arnold still in my arms. I can’t seem to catch my breath, and my head is pounding inexplicably as I struggle to suppress the rising bile in my throat.

“Dr. Barrows? Are you all right?”

The woman bends down and places a hand on my shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. I look at her, my eyes wide, and for the first time, I see two tiny foam plugs inserted into her ears. My arms are trembling and I struggle to keep Arnold aloft against my chest.

“No,” I say, but my voice sounds more like a wounded growl. “No, I’m not okay.” I turn in the direction the creature has flown and let out a deep breath. “I repeat my question. What the heck was that?”

“The effects of its cry will wear off momentarily,” she says before turning to Landers. “Get a detail on Russell. Find him. Before it…” She pauses, glancing back at me. “…before it does what it always does to him.”

Landers nods his understanding, brings a radio up to his lips, and whispers a string of unintelligible commands into it. A moment later, the helicopter is back, hovering directly over us again. I watch as several lines are dropped down to us.

“Dr. Barrows, I’ll explain what I can when we get back to camp,” she says, taking a harness at the end of one of the ropes and handing it to me. “For now, please.” She nods to the repelling gear.

The fight knocked out of me, I don’t argue. I simply step into one leg of the harness, then the other, and fasten the carabiner through a loop in the rope. Once secure, I feel myself being lifted into the air with a steady pull from the other end. As I rise, my eyes drift down to the trees below. To the unforgiving forest where two scared kids might be struggling for their very survival. A forest with unimaginable dangers…and a winged beast like nothing I’ve ever encountered before.

When I’m pulled into the chopper and feel it turn back toward base camp, I slip my phone from my pockets, open Google maps, and mark our location. I want to be sure to come back to the exact spot I saw the creature, and this is the best way to ensure it.

I’ve just closed the app, when a gloved hand snatches the phone from my grasp and tosses it out of the chopper. I glare back into Landers’ cold, dead eyes. He’s already pulled off the balaclava to reveal a close-cropped flat top, chiseled jawline, and about as much personality as a red brick. The only distinguishing features I can see of the man is a vine-like black tattoo on his neck that weaves its way underneath his flak vest and out of sight.

“Sorry, pal,” he says. “No phones or flash photography allowed.”

I hold his gaze for a few more seconds, making sure he knows I have no intention of backing down. When I’m confident he’s gotten the message, I lean back in my seat, close my eyes, and send up a silent, desperate prayer for the Givens children.