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Under Cover

Allan Onik

    Tab walked through the brush with soft footsteps. He scanned above—tendrils of light flowed through the thick, green leaves of the capironas. He sighed. The aura emanating from the vegetation was stimulating.
    In his camouflage breast pocket Tab felt for his .45 MK23. He removed it and flipped the catch. The specter he had sensed flowed up from the thick soil and formed a cold void that bent the light.
    “I can see you,” Tab said
    “Of course you can,” the being hissed, “I wouldn’t show myself to someone without proper sight.”
    “Then what do you want? I’m on a mission—and I don’t like interruptions.”
    “We are all on missions—some less glamorous than others. You know, The Creator loves you. Just as he loves all in the Cosmos—even the very evil. In your path you were meant to speak me. You see, now is not the time to leave your body. And without my help...”
    “I think I get your point,” Tab said.
    “Then let me give you your information. Close your eyes. Think before Hell Week, and back to when you were very young. Just relax, and hold your weapon tight. Fall into the Bliss that is at your very nature, in your core, and forms your energy.”
    Five shots rang out in the forest. When Tab opened his eyes it was dark and he was sitting cross-legged in the thick green roots of the Amazon floor. He lit a flare and noted the five slumped bodies surrounding him. He began to clean his gun.

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