Blood Suckers

“Vacation my ass. That son-of-a-bitch Carl knew these damn things were out here.”

Tank dropped his armored vest outside the tent’s entrance. He belly flopped onto his sleeping bag and buried his face in the pillow. Something sticky and wet spread across his face. Tank leaned up and wipe his hand over the wet area. He say the green blood of those leech things on his hand.

“Damn it! Now I need a new pillow. What else could go wrong on this damn trip?”

Tank climbed out of the tent and went to his truck. From a bag in the bed he removed a towel and soap. He walked to the edge of the clearing he took as his camp. He removed the canteen from his belt pouch and splashed the lukewarm water on his face.

Rustling of leaves nearby drew Tank’s attention. He scanned the woods but saw nothing and no movement. The birds had grown quiet as did the insects. Tank backed away from the tree line continuing to scan the woods as he moved.

He bumped against the bed of his truck. He reached around and felt for his rifle. He continued to scan the woods. He pulled the gun from the truck. Tank used his fingers to check if it was sill loaded with a round chambered, ready to fire. He never took is eyes off of the trees.

The sound of something scraping against a rock caused Tank to spin around. One of the leech like creatures stood on the other side of his truck. It was huge, fifteen feet tall if not bigger. It sat on hundreds of skinny stick like legs. Tank knew from dealing with the two foot tall versions of this creature just how sharp those legs were.
The scrapes on his ribs ached.

The thing opened its mouth parts. A clear fluid dripped from the hook barbs at the edges of the opening. Tank raised the riffle and lined up the creatures open maw in his sights. He squeezed the trigger. The riffle clicked but did not fire. A few hours earlier he put more than a hundred rounds through the barrel without cleaning it.
He tossed the riffle into the bed of the truck and ran for the tent. He had to reach his back up pistols. A regular sized creature popped out of his tent. Tank was moving too fast to stop before reaching the tent. He dove over it, hit the ground, and rolled to his feet.

One of the smaller more agile creatures jumped at him. Tank raised his arm to block it. The creature attached its self to his arm digging is legs into his flesh. It bit into his wrist digging the hooked barbs in deep.

Burning pain crept down his arm. He remembered the bodies he found the day before. The venom from these creatures had desiccated two thirds of the bodies, killing skin, muscle and bone cells. 

Tank smashed his arm against a tree hoping to dislodge the thing. It dug its legs in more. The pain brought him to his knees. The large creature smashing his tent brought him back to his feet.

Tank reached into the pockets of his cargo pants and retrieved a grenade. He pulled the pin and tossed it into the large creature’s open mouth. It stopped chasing him and convulsed. It thrust its mouth forward and let out a coughing sound.

Tank smiled and ran to his truck. He jumped into the cab, started the truck, put it in gear and gunned it.

As the tires dug into the earth the grenade exploded. His side window shattered and something hot bit into his shoulder, the shoulder attached to the arm carrying the unwanted passenger.

Tank stopped the truck when he reached the highway. He checked his cell phone for a signal. Two bars, it would have to do. He shut off the truck and got out. The pain in his wrist took over his hand and moved up most of his forearm. He looked over his shoulder. It was bleeding profusely and looked to have been punctured. There was no burning like the bite on his wrist. It had to be shrapnel from the grenade, the creature was close to the truck when it blew up.

Tank opened the tool box on his truck and tossed the riffle inside. He pulled out a hatchet and locked the box. He went to the front of the truck and dialed nine, one, one.

“Nine, one, one, what is your emergency?”

“I’m on highway twelve just outside of the Lagrange National Forest. I’m bleeding badly, please send an ambulance.”

He hung up the phone and set it on the hood.

Tank pulled a small roll of cord from his left leg cargo pocket and tied it tight around his upper arm. He knelt on the pavement and laid his forearm on the ground.

“Okay Tank, on three,” he said to himself. “One… Two…”

Whack!

Pain exploded in his arm. Everything turned white. Tank dropped the hatchet and clutched his arm to his chest. A moment later his vision returned to normal. Moisture clouded everything. He looked at his arm and to his horror the hatchet had only cut through half of his fore arm.

“FUCK!” he shouted at the sky.

Tank set his arm back on the ground and picked up the hatchet. A sob burst from his lips. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. He had to wipe twice more as he fought for control of his crying.

He swung, pain exploded again. His vision whited out. He felt himself fall over. His head slammed onto the highway and everything went dark.