Chad and Brandon entered the restaurant. They'd just checked into an inn while on a trip motorbiking the Ho Chi Minh Trail from Hanoi into Laos, with a stop at the Plain of Jars. They would end the night with a good meal while going over plans for the next day journey. As famished as they were, they were almost tempted to order everything on the menu. They decided on a three course meal and immediately began to go over their plans for the next day.

 

They went over the marked map of the trail, looking up original stopping points and staging areas. They'd heard a rumour about a long abandoned trail that they wanted to look into. The two travelers were so engrossed in their conversation that they didn't see a couple of Laotian men approach their table.

 

"Hello!" they greeted. "We couldn't help but hear that you are travelling the Ho Chi Minh Trail." said the one who introduced himself as Mr. Nouhak. The other, who introduced himself as Mr. Khai, added, "Maybe we can help. We've explored the trails for years and discovered new pathways."

 

Chad and Brandon invited the two to sit with them. The two Laotians pulled out their phones, showing images of their treks and  pointing to spots on the map. One image that roused the interest of the travelers was of a rusted, overgrown wreck of a two engine bomber, a jagged gaping hole where the nose should've been.

 

"For a small fee we could take you." offered Mr. Nouhak.

 

After some deliberation, Chad and Brandon agreed on condition that they pay tomorrow. The two Laotians agreed and the group continued with drinks, dining and war trivia. Mr. Khai suddenly blurted out, "You know many of your Special Forces groups vanished seeking the trail? Who knows? Maybe you could solve the mystery!" He began to laugh.

 

Mr. Nouhak grew serious and grabbing his friend to carry him out quickly excused themselves. The two travelers were stunned.

 

"What do you think he meant by that?" asked Brandon.

 

"Drunk. He's just drunk." answered Chad.   

 

The next morning, Chad and Brandon were greeted by Mr. Nouhak and Mr. Khai outside the inn. Chad and Brandon went to their bikes, giving them a quick checkover and packed their gear then joined their guides. As Chad paid Mr. Nouhak, Brandon noticed machetes sheathed to their guides' bikes. "What are those for?" he asked.

 

Mr. Khai's reply was fast and curt. "Pigs."

 

The foursome rode off. Miles of bomb cratered wastelands gave way to lush jungles and panoramic views of mist shrouded mountains. Occasionally the bikers would be greeted with shouts of "Xin Chao!" (Hello!) from passing Vietnamese bikers after seeing their Hanoi license plates. Miles of paved road surrendered to dirt trails. The surrounding jungle grew denser and more primeval. Trails were broken by a couple of dry creek beds.

 

The guides finally stopped near a swampy clearing. Chad and Brandon stopped and got off their bikes. They surveyed the marshland.

 

"Any bombs here?"

 

"Oh no! Perfectly safe!"

 

The two friends carefully treaded on the moist land and explored. The two Laotians said they would follow shortly. The swampland was peppered with rusted, overgrown war wreckage now blending in as part of the eerie landscape, looking less like military hardware and more like prehistoric creatures of a long lost era. Brandon started feeling apprehensive, nervous and didn't know why. If Chad felt the same way, he didn't show it.

 

Chad yelled, pointing, "There! There it is!"

 

The two picked up the pace, finally arriving at their wreck, an ancient, overgrown two engine bomber. 

 

"Must be a B-17," mused Chad.

 

"Possibly from the French Indochina war," answered Brandon.

 

As Brandon got closer, he gingerly touched the wing tip. Surprisingly, it didn't feel metallic but more organic. Soft. In fact, something seemed off about the bomber, with the way it blended with the jungle growth and marsh.

 

Brandon stepped back and took in  the whole wreck. The propellers looked like they could be claws. The cockpit windows resembled closed eyelids. It almost looked amphibious. Brandon wondered if the word 'Lovecraftian' would properly describe this curio. Chad didn't appear phased and was filming with his video camera. His face beaming. "Look at her! Isn't she beautiful?"

 

The hole in the craft's nose looked suspiciously like a gaping maw with sharp, jagged teeth. "I don't know...something doesn't seem right," Brandon hesitated. "I think we've seen enough."

 

"Oh, come on! This is what we came for and you wanna go back?! What's wrong with you?!

 

"I just have a bad feeling..."

 

"If we always followed your bad feelings we would've never had taken this trip." Chad shoved the video camera into Brandon's arms. "At least film me as I go explore inside!"

 

Brandon reluctantly agreed. After a little struggling, he motioned that he was ready and focused on Chad in front of the hole giving a thumbs up. Brandon thought he saw the cockpit windows flicker - a tongue lashed out from the hole wrapping around a shocked Chad, pulling him inside. The 'jaws' clamped shut and the cockpit windows rolled open to show big, bulging eyes.

 

Brandon screamed and ran.

 

The 'wreck' belched out a growing roar and the propellers, now claws, dug into the swampy soil. The roar was answered by a couple more growls before the creature gave a crawling, slithering pursuit. Brandon struggled in the marsh and saw two wreck creatures coming his way. Just when he thought he was close to freedom, the two guides rushed toward him with raised machetes.

 

Brandon's mind shrieked, "WE'RE THE PIGS?!" He turned to evade his attackers and the beasts, tripping and falling to see a pit viper slithering toward him. He rolled and grabbed the snake by the back of the head and tail then threw it at his would be assailants. Their cries brought the wreck beasts upon them.

 

Brandon made it to the bikes. Hearing the creatures' roars getting closer, he hopped on his bike and after a couple of failed attempts to start it, he finally roared away to freedom. The sounds of the beasts filled the jungle as he breathlessly raced away.

 

A month later, a small group of friends were at a bar going over their plans for biking the Ho Chi Minh Trail. A couple of Laotian girls approached them offering to be their guides. They showed them an image of an overgrown bomber wreck, a gaping maw where the nose should've been...