Kingdom of Monsters by John Schneider (microsoft ebook reader .TXT) 📗

Another surge launched the raft into the air. When it came down, the boat raced ahead, accelerating along with the breaker, rushing toward shore faster than the little motor could propel the small craft. The situation felt out of control. It appeared to be one of fate with nature rather than poor seamanship.

Dawson understood the boat could capsize at any moment. They might lose their weapons and then be mowed down by an entrenched enemy. Marines could easily drown and become noncombatant casualties. The boats were too small to handle the surf and the engines weren’t powerful enough to plow through the breakers unfettered.

As the boat chugged up a steep wave, a few marines pulled out paddles and gave the craft further assistance. They muscled the boat over the crest and it plunged downward, speeding ahead. Dawson held on for dear life and the island came into view. An ominous sight with dark vegetation sprouting from the atoll, draping a canopy over the sandbar, like the hood of the grim reaper, personifying death to all who approached.

He gulped for breath as dread consumed him. Mudhole cut toward the left of the landing zone, and the boat cruised over choppy waves, missing the greater part of the breakers. A moment later, they were close to touching down. Then, a Raider disembarked from the boat. Plunging into the water, he grabbed the line and waded toward shore. He pulled the boat along with him.

The rubber bottom scraped on sand, and other members of the unit piled out. Dawson stood and lost his balance as the boat slid onto a small beach. He fell on his rear and scrambled to get upright, while scanning for muzzle flashes from the tree line.

No hostile fire came from the jungle. A stealth approach, they’d come in surprise.

The boat slid further onto shore and whapped against some vegetation. A member of another rifle squad, Private Knight, rose to his feet and placed a boot onto shore.

Suddenly, the Raider cried out in agony and flailed wildly.

Knight was on the ground. He squirmed and kicked.

Dawson peered around Knight and saw a lizard the size of a turkey biting the marine’s arm. Stepping onto the beach, he trained his rifle at a menacing yellow eye and squeezed off a round at close range.

The creature squealed. It dropped to the sand, kicked, and hissed, and then rolled onto its side.

After a series of convulsions, the lizard gave a final kick, and defecated. A horrendous stench permeated the damp air.

Then, Dawson knelt by the fallen marine and inspected the wound. A large tear in Knight’s upper sleeve revealed an alarming injury. Teeth marks encircled the entire arm, leaving deep punctures in the flesh. Surprised at the thought of lizards with teeth, Dawson inhaled and reached for his first-aid kit. He cleaned the jagged cuts.

“Hurts like hell,” Knight complained.

“Just hold on while I wrap it up.”

“My right arm, too.”

Dawson tightened a bandage around the arm and tucked it off. “This should take care of it. Continue on with your squad, but if you can’t carry out your charge, fall back and support the command post.”

Knight nodded and rose from the ground and ran after the others.

Stepping away from the boat, Dawson peered at the dead lizard on the ground. It stood about a foot tall and measured over three feet from nose to the tip of its tail. The creature had stout rear legs and puny appendages on the front, appearing more like a set of hands with claws. The thing clearly walked on its hind legs, and had a long tail and jutting snout, filled with sharp teeth. Its greenish skin reflected in the pale moonlight as rain beaded off the creature’s thick hide. A yellow eye stared at him, gleaming in the night. Locked in a state of death, the eye seemed to cast a sense of anger and intelligence.

Dawson had never seen a lizard with sharp teeth before. He’d been warned that the islands were inhabited by strange giant lizards, but command reported they were all harmless. Striking the hide with the butt of his rifle, it felt solid, like protective armor.

He realized it had been unfortunate to fire a shot and announce their arrival. Dawson considered how long it would take the enemy to mobilize. And he wondered how many more strange lizards were on the atoll.

A sinking feeling grew in the pit of his stomach as he pondered the forthcoming battle with tropical elements. They would fight more than the enemy on this uncharted island. He patted the metal tin that housed his letter home, shoved into the breast pocket of his utilities. Writing to his fiancée had always comforted him during training. He hoped to write more letters, but he penned the most recent one as though it would be his last.

Rain pelted his steel helmet. Then, he turned and spotted a massive calamity washing up on the beachhead.

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