The warehouse was dark, the power having been severed months before. It was cold, as was the water around the island. Ice floated up on the beach sometimes this time of year. The nearby town had closed up some six similar buildings in the past ten months, having discovered drug shipments hidden among the legitimate merchandise.
The investigation first hit the shipping company. Then, the warehouse workers. Then, the foreman. Eventually, the police had run such a ragged circle that the case was dropped and the buildings shut down.
A man in a dark brown leather jacket and jeans entered. A big red plastic keyfob swings from his jacket pocket, likely keys to a boat. He was a white man, foreign to this area. His hair was long, unkempt, as was his beard. He held in his hands a rifle of the M16 class. On his back was a large hiker's backpack, apparently packed to the seams. His eyes flitted back and forth. A nervous sweat formed on his forehead. A click echoed through the building as he hit the safety and raised his weapon.
CLANG! Something in the darkness! Footsteps!
CLACKCLACKCLACKCLACKCLACKCLACK! In the gunfire he can see it. It looks like a person.
"RAAAAUGH!"
CLACKCLACKCLACKCLACKCLACK! Shell casings flew. One hit his cheek. It burned. He didn't flinch.
CLACKCLACKCLACKCLACKclick- click "RAAAUGH!" It still charged. He responded,
"DIE!" and slung a savage kick forward into the dark, seemingly using the weight of his bag for extra momentum.
CRUNCH. He screamed, and it gasped at him, still trying to roar. Its fingers wiggled feebly. His foot had gone right through its rotting chest, severing its spine. He raised his weapon, stock down, and dropped it onto his crippled assailant's head over and over and over.
Finally, the skull broke, and the jaw stopped moving. He pulled his leg out with a sickening sucking sound, and fought down vomit.
He managed to cough out three words: "They're here, too?"
