The Misadventure of John "Buckshot" Rhodes, Part II

[Monoo]

PREVIOUSLY

The thing dragged him over the ground for what seemed like hours. All the while, John Rhodes huddled within the confines of his mind, regretting every choice he had ever made but most of all, regretting the series of decisions that had led him down into the caves in the first place. He had thought he was a soldier, but real soldiers followed orders. He had let his head get the best of him and deserted to charge north as soon as he could. What did that make him?

John had stopped struggling almost as soon as he had woken up. The thing - whatever it was, it wasn't human, but it also wasn't as large as the monster he had fought before - had a grip like iron. Its sharp claws pricked through his fatigues and cut deeply into the skin of his ankle. His other limbs dragged uselessly on the ground; his free leg felt swollen, his neck felt wet and sticky, and his back was on fire from the constant friction of the weed-covered floor.

Something had changed, he realized, and he stopped reflecting to listen. The wind had picked up, whistling gently over walls and lightly tousling his hair. Light seeped in around the edges of the thing on his face, and with it, the groans of dying men and women. Fueled by fear, John found his resolve once more. He reached out with his mouth and carefully shook the limp creature in his teeth. It felt... less than ideal, the smooth and slimy carapace clicking against his teeth and tongue. Nevertheless, he worked at it, increasingly urgent as the creature dragging him came to a halt. When he pulled the mask loose and it went tumbling from his face, he squinted and felt around for a weapon. With amazement, he realized that they had left him his sidearm.

Drawing the M4A3 and opening his eyes fully to take aim, John saw another monster holding onto his leg, smaller than the first but just as revolting. He fired every round he had point blank into the creature's ugly head. Works just as well as buckshot, sometimes. John watched it collapse with satisfaction, feeling some of his confidence return. He sat up and loaded another magazine, sweeping in all directions to make sure the room was clear... if it could be called a room. Towering globs of sticky black material rose up on all sides, covered in crude nests that contained - to John's horror - the bodies of dozens of marines. The markings on their body armor showed that most were from the missing Charlie Squad. Dividing the resin structures in two was a tunnel; one end ran down into some deeper cave system, impossibly dark and quiet, and the other sloped upward, presumably towards safety. The wind he had felt before was rushing in that direction, out of the darkness at the opposite end. It felt warm and oddly wet.

Another scan confirmed that several of the Charlies were still alive. John stood up to have a closer look and immediately sat back down, fighting off waves of dizziness and trying to keep his morning MREs down. His leg was throbbing. Gingerly, he pushed himself across the ground towards the nearest group of trapped marines, and noticed with horror that one was starting to fidget despite seeming unconscious. The fidgeting turned to full-fledged spasming, and John again had to focus on holding down his lunch.

From behind came a hiss, and then everything seemed to happen at once.

A clawed hand yanked him backwards, hard. He blinked as a loud scream of pain cut through the air, following by a meaty squelch and another threatening hiss. Finally, several loud gunshots sounded, echoing off the cave walls and adding to the ringing in John's ears. Deafening silence followed for a few seconds before he dared to open his eyes. One of the Charlies loomed over him, holding out a hand. "Come on," he said, panic shining clearly in his eyes, "we're gonna have to run. Fast."

(so these are still pretty short so far, expect them to get longer as the group of characters gets larger)