Thump! Thump! Earth shattering footsteps traveled across darkness.

“Hurry,” said a gruff voice.

Heavy breathing echoed off a cluster of wide tree trunks as a crowded mass of bodies weaved in between them.

“What are those things?” a high squeal pierced through the empty void.

“Hell!” a distressed scowl replied.

“Follow me!” the gruff voice called with slight relief.

A faint glow emerged from a distance, starting as an unfocused blob. As the crowd drew closer, the flat green grass of a wide clearing was revealed within a circular gap in between a pair of trees.

Within the partly blocked sunlight, it was clear that the gruff voice came from none other than Captain Grout. He was running at an incredible speed for one who must have been at least sixty years old. He led the group of officers through the high rooted forest floor that quaked and tremored. The trees rattled with the tremendous force that stampeded behind him.

A slender figure slunk and ducked around a few mangled branches, leapt up into the air and landed a few yards to Grout’s right. Grout recognized his partner, Detective Brooks, through the ankle length trench coat that swayed along with his smooth movements. At that moment, Grout could have sworn he remembered seeing three years on a high school gymnastics team in Brooks’ resume.

A terrifying howl filled the forest with a horrific echo. It was then followed by two equally gut-wrenching noises.

There was three of them.

Grout was within ten yards of the clearing, stopped, and turned around to see his crew arrive into the light. Brooks was first. The tail of his coat flapping in the air as if it was attacked by a hurricane wind. Next was the frightened face and blond hair of Scales followed closely by his partner, Longfire. Rotmyre’s hulking frame dashed through the trees next. He tripped on a root and stumbled into the clearing head first, but quickly got up and stood by the others. Lash and a wheezing Gobb followed and slowly entered the clearing. Gobb’s face was a strawberry red.

Grout stood there, staring out into the forest. His droopy lip slightly trembled. Come on, Brightsun, Leafshot. Where the hell are you?

The pebbles by his feet rattled and nearly hovered when two crimson eyes broke through in between the trees.

What the hell is that thing? Grout without question unholstered his pistol and pointed it straight at the eyes. Nothing else was noticeable except for the two irises staring him down. A gigantic, hairy fist emerged into the light followed by equally large shoulders and a hog like head coated by a light brown, waist length, mohawk.

Pak! A distraught wail filled the narrow, empty spaces of the forest. The gigantic beast retreated into the darkness a hovering smoke cloud remained where its two eyes had once been.
Grout was frozen with his pistol aimed straight ahead. His grip was firm and determined. His breathing slightly strained as his joints ached madly when the adrenaline subsided. With his free hand, he reached for his neck and pulled out a silver chain, attached to the middle link was an oval locket. He grasped onto the cool metal edges of the locket tightly as if it was the last possession he ever cared about. In his other hand, a pistol seeking a target in the darkness.

A red shimmer came from his left.
Pop!

Pop!

Pop!

The bullets sailed through the darkness with incredible speed with only a few glowing orbs the size of golf balls as a target. It would be an unbelievable shot for most untrained shooters, but Grout was certainly no rookie.

A piercing wail shook his eardrums as the ground trembled once more, but this was coming from his right. There must be more of these things.

“Captain Grout!” called Brooks.

He spun around at the calling of his name and saw Brooks standing on the edge of the clearing, pointing above his head.
“Not now,” Grout gruffly replied.

“Sir, …. Run!”

Grout turned back around to face the darkness and saw red eyes from the left, right, and straight ahead, bobbing up and down. The entire ground shook like a table about to tip over. Grout’s body shifted with a sudden quake until his shoulder landed onto a tree to his right. He held up his pistol, using the tree to steady his aim, and fired at the incoming beasts. The eyes made it easy to aim and after a few shots fired a pair of red lights were extinguished. The oval locket still secured tightly in his other hand. He continued to fire until three more pairs of lights were put out.

“Sir!”

An unexpected shadow fell upon Grout’s face. He froze for a moment and only a moment as a shaggy, heavily-padded hand opened a few feet above his head. Grout stepped backward and was pulled a few more feet by a pair of steady hands on his shoulders. The tire sized paw grabbed onto the bark just a few inches above Grout’s head. It grinded and snapped the skin of the tree with the force of a descending axe. Grout kept his gun steady in front of him. His target shown in the indirect light of the sun. He pulled the trigger, but all he heard was an empty click, telling him that he had depleted his magazine. He looked at the forest floor as he maneuvered over to the clearing. Once he reached the lit green grass, his old joints locked up, paralyzing him as another large sweeping hand reached for his head.

Pop!

Pop!

Grout’s heart jumped as spatters of hot blood cascaded over his snout. The flaretom howled in pain as it staggered out into the clearing, grasping onto its wounded arm. Hand sized blobs of thick red, hot blood plopped onto the short grass of the clearing. Its pain didn’t last for long as its tear-filled eyes incinerated into ash along with the rest of its mammoth body.

“What the hell?” shouted one of the officers in the clearing.

“Holy Kolsnout!” cried another.

Smoke wisped away from the hot barrel of a revolver a few yards away from Grout. Wiry red fingers looped around the handle and trigger.

Grout stared at Detective Brooks. Almost in astonishment that the young, quiet officer was so destructive. The focused and concentrated aim to fire at a moving object toward another is no easy feat, especially with Grout’s snout being possibly within the crossfire. He had no words prepared to say and was stuck in a hunched over position until he was able to stretch out some of his muscles and take a good swig of water - some of it dripping back out of his drooping snarl.

“Are you alright, Captain?” Longfire called out.

The rest of the party tried to assemble and take a look at their fearless leader. They were all mostly shaken up and almost out of breath. Scales snapped his anxious head like an owl and was biting his nails. Longfire nudged Scales, nearly toppling over the thin crocodile, to make him stop. Brightsun and Leafshot quietly conversed with each other as the former gave hateful glares toward Rotmyre, who with an almost professional training in dealing with hateful glares, ignored Brightsun’s irritated eyes. He kept his focus on Brooks and Grout who both seemed to be the only hope for the search party.

“This forest is cursed and trying to kill us,” Gobb stuttered, while grabbing for a muffin that was meant for the next day’s breakfast.

Lash sneered with disgust as Gobb ate it whole in one gluttonous gulp. “Gross.”

Brightsun stomped hard on the ground with his wide, chubby toes. “So where did you learn to run so fast, Rotmyre?”

Rotmyre was catching his breath and looked up at the sun. The warmth and light was entrancing, and he was drawn to it like a moth to the flame.

“You hear me, Rotmyre?” growled Brightsun.

He spun around to face the angry, red toad, who was carefully leaning on Leafshot’s side and elevating his right foot. “You left me back there … with those things chasing after us!” His voice boomed like a megaphone.

Small groups of Flaretoms inched back and forth between the light and dark border of the clearing and the forest. Eager hunters excited to pounce on their prey. Deep snorts and congested breathing came from the front rows of trees.
Rotmyre furrowed his brow. He didn’t like being called out in front of a group. He didn’t even remember seeing or hearing anyone calling for help. Brightsun was surely making this up to wear down his appearance. Make him look like the word Rotmyre hated most in the world, besides bankrupt and friend.

Longfire sighed and spit off to the side like a cowboy and adjusted her belt. She seemed slightly annoyed like when someone just said the same old joke for the two hundredth time. “What now, Brightsun?”

A firm scowl was displayed on Brightsun’s face as he focused on Longfire. “I didn’t ask you to get involved in my issues, Habertha.”

Longfire curled her upper lip and licked her top row of short teeth. Scales looked away not too eager to defend his partner, but she was usually strong enough to protect the both of them. Her first name was something of a touchy subject especially if it was as distinguishable and comedic sounding as Habertha.

Brightsun returned his attention to Rotmyre. His anger fueled even further. “I know you saw me out there.”

Leafshot lightly touched Brightsun’s shoulder. His voice was far calmer than his partner’s. “Norm, come on. I’m sure Mr. Rotmyre was just frightened.”

Brightsun took a few deep breaths and curled his lip like a crescent moon into a mocking and self-satisfied smile. “You know what Yvon, you are right. Mr. Rotmyre was too frightened like a little girl to see me on the ground. Who would be able to if their eyes were filled with tears and their pants were wet.”

Rotmyre chuckled and patted down his dress shirt. Its sleeves stretched to fit his arms that were the size of tree trunks. He straightened out his back so he was at his tallest about a foot or so above Brightsun’s head.

“Why are you laughing?” Brightsun was stunned by the response and started to lash out with a bunch of epithets and swears. After a few moments he sounded mad and Leafshot had to intervene once more to calm him down.
Rotmyre was familiar with a jaw dropping stare or a feared silence whenever he would stand up tall, but Brightsun didn’t seem fazed. Same could be said of the other officers except Scales and Lash. He callously shook his head and sighed. “Nothing.” He knew he was aggravating Brightsun and he started to like it. Brightsun was the hothead of the crew and toying with him seemed to be child’s play. Even Longfire seemed to be enjoying the reddening of Brightsun’s face, but then everything went quiet.

Grout walked over to the two of them and growled. He didn’t even need to speak. They both knew what he was going to say. “Shut up. We don’t need this right now.” He remained quiet with a furrowed brow for a few more moments and then took a deep breath. “We need to camp here for the night. Gobb.”

The tubby green head of the second oldest officer in the group rose to attention. “Yes, captain?”

“I want you to create a roster of those that can go on night watch. Three-hour shifts. One stationed at the north and one at the south.” Grout was economical with his words.

“Yes, sir.” Gobb walked off pulling Lash over to help him fill out a piece of paper.

“Longfire. Scales.” He said next. “Firewood duty.”

“Brightsun, Leafshot.” The red and yellow frogs turned their thick necks. “I want you two to check the perimeter. Report and Signal dangers.”

Rotmyre couldn’t explain what took over him that made him still and silent and wound his stomach into a hundred knots. He walked over to Gobb, taking deep breaths along the way. He needed to show the disbelieving police officers he had something to offer them. He smiled as he neared the wide frog who was nearly out of breath, lazily holding onto a clipboard.

“Officer Gobb,” Rotmyre said, “I would like to volunteer for a shift.”

Gobb sighed in between his heavy breaths and scrutinized the massive real estate agent. “I don’t think I …”

“I know I’m not your first choice and that it seems like the rest of the crew isn’t taking to me, but at this point I think we need as many eyes as possible, don’t you think?” Rotmyre pointed over toward the eager and excited pack of flaretoms on the border of the forest, bumping and pushing each other in competition for the largest meal, which was mostly Gobb himself. “Or those things will have an easy dinner. I’m sure Captain Grout would want all eyes available. Heck, he chose you to create the list.”

“Yes, he chose me and I think he would want all available shifts to be taken by his own men and not some rich boy who doesn’t know how to use a gun.”

Again Rotmyre was being challenged. This isn’t going to be easy. He tried to retain a pleasant look about him instead of bitter disappointment. He continue to plot and plan a contingency at that moment. “Okay, Officer Gobb I will wait until you tell me about any open spots and if not, then I will stand watch either way. You may not trust me now, Officer Gobb, but you will … you will.” He left stoically to the middle of the clearing. His pack feeling far lighter as he let his words ferment in Gobb’s mind.

The rest of the day flew by as six tents were set in a circle with a wide stone fire pit in the center. The sun was setting, and the men took out their favorite dinner meals and were cooking them over a warm fire. Grout was off on the edge of the camp reloading his pistol. The anxious grunts and howls from the excited predators only feet away from him. His gray scaled hand tremored with age, but when he outstretched it to aim into the forest it was incredibly still. A swarm of ruby jewels stared back at him. He locked on a pair about twenty yards away. They didn’t jerk back and forth as much as the rest and were rather still. Grout stared back and fired. The jewels were gone and another pair stole Grout’s attention. He fired six more times and four more pairs of jewels disappeared to the darkness. He reloaded and stretched out his hand again. His ears ringing from the loud shots from the gun. There was one final pair creeping in and out from behind a large tree. He tried to time its next movement into clear sight, but something happened that he didn’t expect. The eyes disappeared along with the sound of heavy hooves, but they went softer over time. It was running away. So these things do feel fear.

“Officer Grout,” called a man from the clearing.

He turned around and saw Officer Gobb, holding a clipboard and chewing on, what Grout could assume, was a fine fly stew. “I finished the watch assignments. I thought maybe two hours each. Four shifts.”

Grout nodded.

Gobb assumed that meant he was happy with his job and walked away, but something stopped him. “Another thing.”

Grout perked up his head.

“Mr. Rotmyre asked to do a round … I told him that you wouldn’t want him to, but he insisted and said he would be up anyways to ensure the camp was safe himself.”

Grout smirked. “He did, did he?”

Gobb nodded. “Of course, I said no.”

“Good, put me on the first and last shift.”

“Sir …. Um, yes sir.”

Gobb left and crossed out and scribbled in some edits.

The sun was getting low and soon the clearing would be entirely under the darkness of night. This truly didn’t bode well for the crew as the safety and security of the clearing shrank with each passing moment. He looked over at the campfire and the camaderie shared amongst the crew of officers. Gobb was sharing his famous fly stew with the rest of the crew. Its bitter yet intoxicating aroma wafted across the clearing, making Grout salivate as his stomach rumbled with hunger. The forest seemed to be safe from invaders and the campfire gave off a warm feeling of security. He looked back into the darkness of the forest that extended out a few feet into the clearing. It was devoid of any flaretoms, but he had a feeling that it wouldn’t be the last time he would see them. At least at this point, he could take a break. Nearly every part of his body ached when he traveled down to the campfire. He noticed Rotmyre sitting alone on a log that he concluded was dragged over from the edge of the forest, leaving track marks in the dirt. The herculean real estate agent was biting into a sandwich, observing the crew only five yards away. He looked up at Grout and took a break between bites. “Everything look okay?”

Grout nodded. No need for words although he probably wouldn’t be able to say anything with the throbbing pain that entered his side. He reached a hand to hold where it hurt like a knife drawn into him. He just kept moving to the fire, leaving Rotmyre with his sandwich, and found a seat on a boulder that positioned him a little higher than everyone else.

“Here Captain,” squeaked Lash, handing him a metal tin filled with Gobb’s stew.

Grout nodded. Again without words.
Lash understood and returned to his seat.

It felt good to sit down and have a hot meal course through him, healing his aching joints. He pulled out a water bottle from his pack, took a swig, and relaxed. He didn’t say an entire word near the campfire. He just listened.

The men had good spirits after seeing their captain kill about six of the flaretoms singlehandedly. Even Brightsun seemed excited. A wave of safety descended across the camp, filled with laughter and funny stories. Longfire shared an embarrassing story about Scales, screaming like, according to Longfire, a little girl when he bumped into a medicine cabinet in her bathroom. Grout snickered to himself, unaware by the rest of the crew. After he finished his meal, he stood back up and walked over toward the northern section of the forest. Stars twinkled in the night sky above and a cool breeze rolled through in between the trees. A calm quiet put him at ease as he reached the border of the forest.

Grout sat on a large rock and stared out into the dark black. Haunting him in the back of his mind were floating orbs of red. His tired eyes snapped to alert, twitching their focus on one section of the forest to another. The first shift had begun.

Next Chapter: 7 - Mysteries of the Fog