The being stopped, and there was an almost imperceptible lifting of his head, as though checking on his whereabouts. He was now over the river and only a half mile from the direct center of the Zone.

“Identification papers.” Zaid came forward, feeling his heart race in his chest. There was a strange smell surrounding the figure, like old meat left out in the sun. Zaid kept his hand on his gun. Even though the person’s head had lifted slightly, he still had no hope of seeing the face underneath the folds of the long cowl.

The man suddenly shrugged off the large pack, and let it slide to the ground. Chips of road pavement flicked out, and Zaid felt the thump of the impact through the soles of his feet. Whatever it is, it must have enormous weight, he thought.

The huge hands came around to the pack, and Zaid saw they were ripped and scored with raw scars in the shape of some sort of unintelligible Arabic script. The fingers worked slowly and methodically to unstrap the pack, and flip the top open. Zaid leaned forward, his eyes suddenly going wide.

“Bomb!”

The single shout seemed to freeze time and space for a fraction of a second. In a city once wracked with shootings, kidnappings, and sectarian tension, this one word was the most feared. It was like yelling shark at a crowded beach.

People screamed and ran, cars sped away or tried to futilely back up. Zaid and Hajii raised their weapons, screaming orders, their training taking over, and the ASV machine gun turrets swung around.

With the pack now open, the man straightened, flipped back his cowl, and looked skyward, revealing his dead gaze, and a patchwork of scars and differing hued flesh, as though the huge, monstrous being was a human quilt sewn together. On his carved face, his lips opened, as if the thing wanted to speak, but could not.

Zaid fired first, immediately followed by Hajii. Their M16A4s each had thirty round clips, and both were set to full automatic. Two streams of 62-grain rounds smacked into the massive body at close range. The giant being’s clothing dappled and jumped from the strikes, but the man didn’t go down. Instead, he simply bent back to the drum-sized package.

The two Guardian Armored Security Vehicles opened up with their turret mounted M2HB Browning machine guns. The heavy caliber weapons chewed up the road surface as they traced a line toward the figure, at last belting into him. One of his trunk-like arms was nearly blown from his shoulder, and fist-sized chunks of flesh exploded from his neck and trunk. But if the thing felt pain, if he heard or sensed anything, he didn’t show it.

Finally, he reached into the pack with his remaining good arm, and then pressed down hard on something. The world turned white-hot.

*