After hanging up, I started searching for weapons. I could've headed straight for the gun cabinet in the living room, but I needed reliable steel to swing over and over without reloading.

  I found a machete hanging on a hook by the back door. Dad kept it there to deal with unwanted snakes coming in the back door. The fiberglass hatchet and a nice Case knife were up on the top shelf of Dad’s closet.

  Next came the firearms. Dad’s AK was one of my favorite weapons. Without hesitation, I removed it from the cabinet.

  I remember him unwrapping this one year for Christmas. He had three fully loaded magazines and three spare boxes of ammo. "Way to be prepared, Dad."

  In the bottom of the cabinet was an old backpack. I packed the ammo, a pair of binoculars, and a compass. Dad also had a GPS device, but as I was looking for it I remembered it was taken on the boat with us.

  I grabbed his Glock G23 40 caliber off the shelf.

  I tossed several boxes of .40 cal ammo into the backpack.

  Mentally checking the boxes, I needed food and water next.

  I went to the fridge and grabbed four bottles of water, seeing the banners identifying them as “life’s blessing”. At the pantry, I grabbed some light snacks like tuna, granola, and protein bars.

  Starla was very interested in the pantry.

  “Come on, girl. You’ll get dinner later.” I picked her up and plopped her into the top of the backpack. I really wanted her to stay at the house, but I needed her healing and whatever it was she did for my mental fortitude and confidence. All my worries literally felt like they were nothing when she was close to me. She somehow blew away my anxiety like blowing soap bubbles off her hand.

  I called Tony, “Hey, T. I’m ready to go when you are.”

  “I’ll be right deyah.”

  A few minutes later he pulled up, and I stepped on board pushing off our dock. Tony didn’t even need to stop all the way. His boat had a nice sized u-shaped dent in the front from hitting that gator, but it didn’t slow him down a bit.

  Two boats were loaded up and waiting for us at his house. Tony put that hammer down, and we took off from the small channel we were in. At the main channel by the Pierre Part bridge, four boats were waiting for us, and I couldn’t help but swell with pride and thankfulness at the turnout of Dad’s friends and neighbors; stopping what they were doing for the day to go on a rescue mission.

  We passed the part of the river Tony found me, and I motioned with my hand to steer to the right. Two boats went left, while the rest followed Tony. I adjusted in my seat leaning forward looking for Dad…and banners.

  A few minutes later we passed the bus. Still, no sign of any life. About ten minutes later I told Tony to slow down and stop. I was pretty sure we were there, where it all started.

  There were channels, cutoffs, small bayous and streams all throughout this area. Nothing was marked officially. The locals knew where they were, but a guy like me would never know where I was. Everything looked the same to me.

  It was quiet. No birds, frogs, or crickets.

  Two boats split off from us. Sheriff Crochet said he was going to turn back and check another slough he knew of. Tony and I pressed on upstream.

  “You gonna kick yourself, but if’n you woulda gone dataway,” Tony pointed to the west, “you’da made it choo da main channel. Always boats out deyah. Then if you’d missed dem, you’d have eventually made it to da 997!”

  “Yeah. I gotta get to know these waters better.”

  I heard a scream about 200 yards away. A splash. Gunfire. Another splash. Then… nothing.

  “What was that?” I croaked, spinning around quickly.

  “I donnu. Didn’t sound choo good doe. We should go check.”

  “Yeah!”

  He had to do a three- or four-point turn in the small waterway, but he managed to get us going back the other direction. We made a turn at a point and headed in the direction of the commotion.

  A rogue boat spun lazy donuts in the center of the channel, running on maybe 10% power and zero sense.

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  “Moron’s weren’t wearin’ dey kill switch!” Tony growled.

  “This is bad, Tony!”

  “Yeah, it is. Get dat gun ready!” He throttled down and cut us toward the spinning vessel. “I’mma get choo close, you jump on and stop dat boat, cha heeah?”

  “Are you nuts?!” I barked.

  “You gotta! I can’t do it due to my bum leg, Bart.”

  Then I saw them—in my peripheral at first, then everywhere. One banner. Two. Then more. In the water. In the trees. In the air.

  “They fly now?!” I gasped. “Get us outta here, T!”

  “We gotta—”

  “NOW!”

  “Okay—” Tony didn’t get to finish. Spikes hammered our boat like automatic gunfire. One buried itself in my arm. A few missed Tony by inches.

  “What the hell?!” he shouted.

  “GET DOWN!” I dropped low, yanked the spike out, and flung it into the water. No time to study it. Peeking over the edge, I spotted the attacker: its banner hanging just off the shoreline.

  A porcupine?! Shooting its quills like a gun?!

  I drew my Glock and fired two quick rounds, ducking back before another hailstorm of needles found me. A notification pinged.

  One down, too many more to go. Can't celebrate yet, Bart!

  I looked up in time to see another attacker flying down at us at lightning speed. I couldn’t see the enemy creature itself, just the banner.

  It swooped low blazing past Tony’s ear. He dodged, swung, missed, and the thing banked upward. I fired as it climbed, missing. I noticed a second one hovered near the first, wings humming.

  I grabbed an oar and waited for the thing to make its kamikaze dive. When it got close enough, I swung with everything I had going for yard like Babe Ruth. Crack! I made solid contact with the flat of the oar. Turning the oar over I noticed the bird was stuck squirming to get free. It was tiny, maybe a little bigger than a hummingbird. I spun the oar and slammed it into the deck of the boat bird first.

  Just then, the boat jolted violently, lifting clean out of the water for a breathless second before slamming back down. Tony’s arms pinwheeled, his body slamming against the console as he lost his grip on the throttle. The motor made a loud grinding noise and then shut off.

  “I tink I hit an ole’ stump!” he wheezed.

  “That wasn’t a stump!” I yelled, scanning the water. “Restart it! NOW!"

  I looked back up and found the first bullet bird hovering like an attack helicopter. When it finally dove, I lunged, swung—missed—and landed hard on my shoulder, the thing grazing my chest.

  Banners lit up. More creatures inbound. Another round of quills ping across the side of the boat.

  “Come on, T!” I yelled. He had difficulty getting the boat started, turning the key over and over with negative results. As if he'd never driven a boat before, he fumbled with the keys, body shaking. “Take the motor out of gear and try again!”

  “Manome…dat was dumb,” he muttered, shaking his head. He got the boat started, and then he dropped face-first. Two spikes stuck out of his neck like antennae. I rushed to him, eyes hunting. The porcupine on the bank leered. I fired. Bang, bang. Both shots hit.

  Another AR-pine dead. I yanked the spikes out of Tony’s neck. Blood was flowing, but the punctures appeared shallow.

  He groaned, “What the hell, Bart?”

  “Starla, help him!” I scooped her tiny body and placed her on his back. She went straight to work, licking gently like she’d done before for me.

  “Wooooooooooaaaaaaaahhhhhhh!!!!”

  That sound. That gut-churning scream-howl. The wail echoed through the trees sounding too close for comfort.

  The boat rocked hard. Then rocked again, but thankfully it didn’t capsize.

  The wail, the boat, the porcupines, all the distractions, everything happening all at once. I realized too late I forgot about the birds as the remaining bullet bird slammed into the back of my left shoulder. I howled, reached back, and tore it out. Blood sprayed from the fresh wound like Old Faithful..

  I got a notification I hadn’t seen before.

  Instinct kicked in fueled by rage. I crushed the bullet bird with my bare hands, its body breaking with a sickening crunch.

  My health bar was plummeting. Fast. Stupid constitution!

  “Tony! I need something, anything to plug this wound!”

  “Der’s a first aid kit in da console deyah,” he shouted, voice rattled, stress getting to him.

  I lunged, flipped the console lid, and saw salvation: gauze, bandages, and ointments all neatly packed in a blue bin. I tore into a gauze packet with my teeth and jammed the wad into my shoulder, biting down hard against the pain.

  Another packet. Opened and shoved it deep.

  Blood soaked through, but the health bar finally stopped nosediving, hovering just below a quarter full.

  I looked up and saw one of the other boats heading toward us at full speed.

  Before I could shout a warning, a dark figure leapt from the riverbank to their deck. Something straight from a nightmare.

  It towered over the men like a beast pulled from Grimm’s darkest page. Covered head to toe in coarse gray hair. Arms too long, joints bent like broken marionettes at way too many joints. It had no lips, just jagged unorganized teeth across a mouth that stretched way too wide. Blood-red eyes gleamed beneath a crown of twisted antlers. Its legs bent the wrong way, giving it a hunched, spring-loaded stance. It was eight feet tall, at least.

  I watched it swinging, thrashing, tearing at the passengers. Blood sprayed against the boat’s windshield in slick bursts. One of the men bailed overboard clutching his mangled arm. I couldn’t see who it was.

  The creature leapt off the boat, vanishing into the opposite tree line with a blur of motion. No identification banner.

  The boat had slowed, but it wasn’t stopping, and it was headed straight for us.

  “Tony!” I shouted.

  He yanked the wheel just in time, and we jumped the boat's wake.

  Behind us, the boat barreled ahead like a ghost ship and collided headlong with the one doing slow, cursed circles. The metal-on-metal screech echoed off the trees amplifying the horrific sound.

  “Let’s grab him!” I said pointing just ahead of us at who I now recognized as Sheriff Crochet flailing against the water; panic keeping him from making progress.

  Tony was already slowing.

  I reached out, “Grab my hand!”

  He reached, causing his head to dip beneath the surface. I latched on to his hand and hauled him halfway into the boat—legs trailing in the water like bait. I grabbed his belt for leverage, but before I could pull him the rest of the way…

  Chomp.

  A gator exploded upward, jaws clamping onto the sheriff’s ankle. I didn’t see the gator’s banner until it was too late!

  Crochet screamed, panicking. The monster began tugging, trying to pull him under or rip his leg clean off…whichever came first.

  Gunshot.

  Tony fired at the gator’s skull. The beast thrashed. A snake’s body whipped up from where the gator’s tail should have been and whipped at Tony.

  “Again, T! Shoot it! Shoot it!”

  Two more gunshots.

  The gator stopped thrashing, but its grip remained locked on the sheriff’s foot like a vise.

  “Get it off me!” Crochet yelled, his voice ragged and broken.

  “Tony, we gotta drag the whole damn thing in!” I yelled.

  Tony grabbed a strap, looped it tight around the gator’s hind leg, and together we pulled, arms shaking with effort, and drug the beast and the sheriff onto the deck.

  I tore the machete from my pack, wedged it into the gator’s mouth, and pried with everything I had. The jaw opened just enough. Crochet pulled free, blood flooding the floor like a red tide.

  Tony clutched his chest suddenly, eyes wide.

  “I tink it got me, mai,” he whispered.

  Then he fell splashing headfirst into the river.

  “TONYYY!”