1 Night

The night sky was dark and misty; the full moon lay hazily in a black cloud above it all, staring at the forest lying quiet and inanimate, too quiet for the smallest of creatures to be heard. Spasmodically, the wind went in a wift among the trees, rounding their bends. Stirring the yarrows bunched in a lump among the stumps, breathing life for a brief moment into the forest. All was still again and nothing moved, then it came, a howling cry, a dry bark reverberating among the mist sounding unearthly amidst the quiet background and bouncing off into silence. There was a rustling sound, a lone feet pounded. Running below the trees, unskillfully dodging the entangled climbers and chained ropes of spiky thorns, tripping and rolling among the mud and leaves, its breath came in quick gasps as it made a desperate escape in the dark, the howl rang out again, sounding more unnatural and closer, the cry breaking through the hairs on the skin, making it stand on end. The accompanying whoosh could be heard weaving its way below the forest canopy yapping furiously as it made closer to its quarry. Out of the thicket a battered figure of a man tumbled into the clearing, edged by grass, all around, his coat was torn at all places, his grey hair set at a very wild angle. The blood spattered and fiery look could not belie the fear coming out of every piece of him. On his face, a long scar, set from the side of his ear, ran down his cheek, only to be cut off by the ensuing bone, it laid fresh and sandy. He breathed painfully in and fell on his side the scrammy face barely illuminated by the moon light his upturned coat revealed a gnarled ugly gash on his ribs made by something that looked like a sharp pointy claw. He contracted stiffly with spasm pulling out a thorn that stuck to the gash, the wound drooped and caked with dark blood, his vacant eyes searched the night sky, peering at the moon, his mouth twitched into a curse as he waited patiently for them to come ,the whoosh drew nearer thumping and cracking as it crashed into tree branches, the wind brought a hellish smell that seemed to sail in the air, the man cringed into the darkness the scent in his nostrils, he pulled out his phone from his torn coat pocket and switched it on. It slowly booted….

Then...

"May I have your identity" the operator from the phone asked. The man shuffled back in fright on hearing the soft mechanic voice which was unaware of his plight that at first only a croak escaped from his lips…

"May I have your identity" the operator repeated…

"Ma…Mark" he croaked" Mark Otele"

"Mr. Mark Otele…. Identity accepted" the voice replied, the light from the phone screen, fell on his dilating pupils…his voice lolled out unfirmly, more like a plea… "Operator… c-call me" quite firmly "call me Mr.… father k"

"Father k… calling" the line buzzed for a while, then a manly voice answered…

"Mark ….do you know what time it is" He barked

"Am sorry sir…but they are after me…"

''They?" The man voice rose ''who''

"The creations'' Mark eyed the dark furtively…..

"How did they get out of the tube?"

"You see…"he stammered "I was only trying to…I…I…mutations need examination…I had no idea…"

"You let them out!!!" The voice roared

"I didn't mean to…I…"

"What have you done…?"

"I'm sorry"

"Not yet…not until your dead…"The line went stone silent for a minute…then…the voice replied in a gritty tone…

"K3 will be on their way…and Mark…after this is over, you'll have me to deal with ..."Then like an afterthought "If it's over with you alive…"the line banged dead; the jungle sat quietly again, Mark felt the fear clawing at his skin. He peered at the phone and saw the network bar drop discouragely, but in his panic his voice dialed home…..

"Operator..... Call me my wife"