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When the fog had lifted and he’d swung his flashlight in the direction of the mountains, it was only too clear to the commander and his quaking men that that was no ordinary moose blocking their path

The first giveaway was the blue cap bearing an embroidered image of a bulldog. The fit was surprisingly good for such a large moose, whose antlers emerged from two seemly deliberate holes either side of the cap.

The moose also had, hanging around its thick furry neck, a book with a blue cover and a red motif on the front. The book was secured around its neck by a bright red lanyard attached to the book’s spine.

“What the-“

“Shut up, Jones.” said Darmian, sharply.

Jones blinked hard, and snapped his rifle back onto the moose, but took an involuntary half-step backwards.

“Darmian. What do we do?” whispered Prince, not taking his eyes off the moose.

“I’m thinking.” he replied, irritated. Realising this wasn’t helpful, he added “Stay sharp and quiet.”

The moose had slowed to a stop and regarded the 7 men with some apprehension. The mercenaries had formed a shallow semi-circle in front of the creature, automatic weapons raised. The moose’s head was illuminated by Darmian’s flashlight, a clear nine feet from the ground. It swung slowly around the arc, moving slightly as the moose shifted its weight between its legs. It let out a low, anxious groan.

Darmian began to move forward, slowly. He kept the flashlight trained on the moose, aware that his field of vision was narrowing as he approached. He tried to see what his men were doing out of the corner of his eyes. None of them moved, except Prince who now anxiously watched the approach and made small, interrupted noises of protest which were not heard by the commander.

When he was within 6 ft, he stopped. By now, the moose had relaxed enough to take in more of its surroundings, and wasn’t looking directly at Darmian. It had started to look beyond the men, almost as if it was trying to understand where it was, and how it had got here. Darmian craned his neck forward, trying to get a better view of the book around the moose’s neck.

“Tremblay,” said Darmian, slightly too loudly. He silently cursed himself as the moose was briefly startled and swung its head back towards him, narrowly missing his head with its antlers. The moose took a step backwards, now intently staring at Darmian again.

“Sir?”

With Tremblay’s attention, Darmian lowered his voice. “You’re a canuck, right?”

“Yessir.”

Tremblay waited for the follow-up question, but it didn't immediately come. Darmian had lowered and angled his head further, shuffling forward. The moose raised its head proudly, and the front of the book swung round into a clear view.

Around the moose's neck, hung a 1961 original copy of Joseph Heller’s Catch-22, the blue cover clashing with the bright orange of the lanyard, the red outline of a man clearly visible above the author’s name.

“What’s that book you’ve got?”

“Sorry, sir?”

“What book are you reading?”

“Uh, it’s a book about war-“

“What’s it called?”

“Catch-22, sir.”

Darmian straightened up and relaxed slightly. “This one’s yours, Tremblay.” he said as he turned back to his men. Tremblay looked down at a keychain hanging from his belt. On the keychain was a small metal disc which bore the mascot of his Quebec hockey team, the Bulldogs. He raised his own flashlight to the cap on the moose, which bore the same image.

“Fuck.”

The other men lowered their guns. “Fuck,” echoed Prince. “So this shit is real?”

Tremblay was still staring at his keychain. “Fuck.” he repeated.

“It’s too late to go on. There’s a little clearing here, let’s set up here until light.” commanded Darmian, and apart from Tremblay, the other men began to shed themselves of their large back-packs. “Robbin, get a fire going, will ya?”

The small clearing became busy with activity, as tents were put up, bushes and small trees were cut back, and equipment was stowed away. The moose watched on with indifference, occasionally stooping to chew on some long grass.

Jones carried some wood up to the still-frozen Tremblay. “You just going to stand there?” he asked.

“I mean... fuck.” muttered Tremblay in response, as he shouldered his rifle and took the wood.

Calm had settled on the makeshift camp, and the only sound for a long time was the occasional spit from the crackling camp fire. Tremblay had suspended a hammock between two trees and recovered the book from around the moose’s neck, and was reading it. Jones and Prince were warming some rations over the fire. Robbin was fixing a large tarp that he’d secured over a clearing, beneath which were six rollout mats and the majority of the back packs. Only Stevens and DaCosta looked outward, keeping watch along the makeshift road that had brought them up. The moose wandered aimlessly, occasionally grazing on grass, and sometimes being shooed when it tried to chew on a backpack. Darmian took a sip of coffee from his tin cup.

Jones looked up from the fire towards Darmian. “What do you think’s going on?” he asked.

“Well, you heard the rumours back in town.”

“Yes, but they were nothing like this. I mean, mind-reading is one thing, but a real fucking moose-”

Prince put a hand on Jones’ arm. “That’s enough.” he interrupted. Jones shot him a glance.

Darmian stood, and raised his hand. “It’s ok, it’s ok.” he said, and looked around the other mercenaries.

“Here’s what I know. The rumours we heard, it’s likely they’re all true.”

This caused an uncomfortable shift in the men around the fire. Several cleared their throats, but Darmian continued over the distraction.

“We pretty much had it confirmed by Tremblay’s moose.”

“Hey!” Tremblay said, raising his head from the hammock.

“It’s ok, you couldn’t help it. It seems that the closer we get to the crater, the more elaborate the effects. As you know, people back in town had reported seeing things, like ghosts or something. Other things started appearing, but they were small. Distant.”

Robbins agreed. “Yeah, this one woman I was talking to in the bar-“

“Quelle surprise...” interrupted Tremblay, with a wide cheeky grin. Robbins ignored him.

“-in the bar said she’d lost an old radio for weeks or something. Then it showed up, looking good as new. Then she found the old one. Now she’s got two radios.”

“Oh yes. Two radios. Spooky twilight-zone stuff, that.” said Jones. “Let me guess, she wanted you to buy one of them.”

“Yeah, but that’s not the point.”

“The point is,” said Darmian, loudly. “All this started happening after that meteor hit the mountain, and the effect is stronger the closer we get.”

Robbins was agitated. “How do you know so much about it?”

Prince looked up from his rations. “Because he\’s been up there before.”