Heroic Measures (continued)

Where the hell was Westin?

The behemoth roared and Walter knew that his time was up. He leapt, using the fallen barrel for additional leverage, and prayed that he had the strength to make the distance.

It was a near thing. He had hoped to land atop of its shoulders, giving him a chance to lock his arms in what would have been a chokehold in someone of normal size. Instead, his palms slapped against the creature’s shoulder blades. He dug in with his fingers, trying to hold on before he slid back to the pavement. If he fell, he doubted that he would be able to gain enough purchase against the slick asphalt to try again before it grabbed Osprey.

The material beneath his fingers gave, but bunched up enough beneath them that he was able to eventually manage a tenuous hold. While he had it, he attempted to send a surge across the creature’s back, hoping to at least distract it for a moment, even if he did not real damage.

His effort was rewarded only by his fingers beginning to slip again and Walter realized that the creature was clad in a made from some kind of slick and yielding material, something like a diving wet suit. It would also serve as excellent insulation for the creature, making Walter’s task all the more difficult.

He heard Osprey scream. From where he clung, sliding against the creature’s back, he could not tell whether it was in challenge or terror. Walter dug his fingers in again, trying to gather enough of the slick material in his hands to maintain even a precarious hold.

Managing to grab a handful in his left hand, he reached around awkwardly with his right, searching for even a few scant millimeters of exposed skin. The behemoth was aware of him now, twisting its torso to either see or dislodge him. Walter dug his fingers hard into the material, but it was too thick and gave as he tore at it.

Walter swore as he tried to both find something exposed and to hang on. The creature’s roars of rage and frustration were loud in his ear, making it difficult for him to hear whether Osprey was still all right. With his face pressed against the creature’s back, he could see nothing else.

Where the HELL was Westin?

If he had returned to the fray, Walter could not tell. For the moment, he assumed that it was up to him alone to try to keep Osprey from being turned into poultry pâté, if not keep the behemoth at bay until more help could arrive. He suffered no illusions of machismo that he could manage it alone.