by Eve Langlais
Oliver crouched down and doused his cloth before rubbing it with soap. He scrubbed himself. Chest. Arms. Even thrust that wet rag down his boxers for a quick clean that made him shrivel. Then he did it again with a rinsed cloth, wiping the soapy remains.
Feeling clean, if chilled, he hurriedly sluiced the cloth again, so it would be clean for drying. He swirled it through water, causing ripples, which might be why he never saw it coming.
The tentacle lashed out of the water and narrowly missed him.
“Jesus fucking Christ!” He landed on his ass on the pebbled beach, staring in disbelief at the waving appendage. Much like an octopus, it had mottled pinkish skin and suckers on the underside. Problem was it appeared way larger than an octopus arm had the right to be, not to mention it was hundreds of miles from the nearest ocean.
Expecting it to sink back into the water, he was stunned when it hovered in midair as if sniffing before it jabbed in his direction. He managed to roll out of its way, fingers scrabbling and missing the gun hidden under his clothes. He yelled as another appendage shot out of the lake and wrapped its slimy tip around his leg.
It immediately dragged him toward the water, despite the fingers he dug into the ground trying to halt his progress. With his free foot, he kicked at the tentacle. But while the one holding him loosened, the second one slapped at him, the suckers suctioning to skin, startling a pained cry from him.
“Shoo!” a feminine voice yelled. Not that the lake monster paid her any mind. It did, however, take issue with the rocks tossed at it. Huge hunks of concrete went flying overhead, some to hit the gelatinous arms, others to land precariously close to Oliver’s head. But it helped.
The tentacles sank back into the watery depths, and he spent a moment staring at the once again still surface.
“What the fuck was that?”
He kind of expected the woman to reply. After all, she’d saved his life. Only there was no answer, and when he hopped to his feet, moving away from the dangerous lake, he didn’t spot anyone at all.
She’d fled.
“Where did you go?” Yeah, he was talking aloud to himself again. A man who’d been alone in the world for a few days needed someone to chat with. He’d learned that truth a while ago when he’d gotten caught in a war-torn country and had to hide out in a cave for almost three months.
Between the lake and his campsite, there weren’t many places to hide. He took his time and checked them, including his tent, in case she’d chosen to surprise him.
But his tent was empty of bodies, and as for the devices he had sitting in the sun? His phone was gone, along with his laptop.
“Fucking freaking…” He ran out of words at that point. What to call her? He couldn’t resort to something nasty because she’d damned well saved his life. He had no doubt that thing would have dragged him in and drowned him.
He wasn’t even sure if it was the same woman he’d seen with that thing sticking out of her head. However, now she’d ensured he’d track her down. Stealing his shit.
“Not cool, lady,” he shouted out, in case she watched. “Stealing isn’t nice.”
Neither was the fact he’d see her put in a cage or put down just for existing. For a moment shame gripped him, but he hardened himself against it. Nothing personal, but humanity can’t afford to let monsters roam free.
Speaking of monsters, what the fuck was in that lake? Cerberus had once yelled something about a kraken, but he’d not taken him seriously. Only thing he was sure of? It definitely was not a mermaid.
Was the thing that attacked him a Chimera secret project, too? Or just a coincidence? After all, Canada had its version of the Loch Ness monster known as the Ogopogo. Wouldn’t it be ironic if he’d actually found a legend?
Whatever it was, it would make fetching water dangerous, and forget any full-body baths. At least forewarned meant being better prepared next time.
Oliver grabbed the machete slash axe he used to do a variety of shit—hack branches for firewood, whack long grass, defend against rabid ninja squirrels--and returned to the lake’s edge to snatch his clothes. The water remained still, and as if to mock him, the damned bird was back, floating atop the surface, not a care in the world.
“Tease,” he muttered before heading back to his campsite and the now madly boiling pot of water. Digging in a tin, he pulled out a sealed baggie with his dwindling supply of coffee. Maybe a few more days left before he ran out. Which was fine. He only needed a few days to crack open this secret, find his fucking phone, and call for a ride. Because by then it wouldn’t matter who knew about the clinic. The more people who came looking for it, the better.
The acrid coffee went down like a burning trail of lava, but he didn’t dare sputter. He might have an audience. So he smacked his lips and made a show of enjoying it. If the woman had been living out here since the clinic blew up last fall, then how had she survived? What did she eat? Drink? She obviously knew of the danger in the lake. He’d be sure to ask when he hunted her down.
Setting the cup aside, he tore open the top of his breakfast pack. He poured some hot water into his dehydrated MRI. It went from strange, lumpy, colored bits to fluffy and moist, the fake smell of bacon wafting. Some kind of scrambled mash that resembled dog vomit. Tasted okay, though. Anyone who claimed to enjoy those foil-sealed meals lied. It was barely palatable, but when he couldn’t hunt or forage, it provided all the nutrients he needed and kept his belly from rebelling hungrily. It also weighed almost nothing and barely took up any room.
Given the MRIs were in limited supply, he couldn’t waste them. He had been supplementing his meals with the wildlife he caught—rabbit and a fish thus far. The dandelions the day before had made a decent salad once he dumped vinegar and salt on it.
Despite his urgency when it came to regaining his electronics, he spent a moment setting up a few snares. Hopefully he’d catch something that he could roast before night. He wasn’t looking forward to his choice between goulash and some kind of beef stew.
What the woman didn’t know was his waterproof watch was connected to his phone. So long as she didn’t destroy it, then he might be able to track it down.
He had a feeling she’d gone into the ruins, so he fully equipped himself, ensuring the pockets of his vest were filled with useful stuff. Compass. Lighter. Even a few glow sticks. He put on his tool belt replete with carabiner, a loop of rope, and a sheath with his smaller knife. He also made sure to strap on his holster, the magazine in the gun fully loaded. He wouldn’t be caught unaware again.
Heading to the mound of rubble, he glanced over at the forest, the only other place she could have fled, but that would have required a lot of speed to make it before he’d turned around. It seemed unlikely. Then again, that mega lake monster should have been impossible, too.
He cast a glance to the other side of the valley where the forest hadn’t been touched by fire. It loomed thick and ominous, the old kind of forest seen in fairy tales that hid all manner of magical creatures.
Monsters that the knights were sent in to slay.
I am the knight. Now he just needed to find the beast in the ruins. Yes, beast, because he couldn’t let her feminine appearance fool him. He wouldn’t be distracted or seduced.
Who is she? How long had she been using the clinic as a shelter? Was she alone?
After the harsh winter they’d just gone through, it was doubtful many of Chimera’s secrets had survived. He’d certainly not witnessed many signs of life. Not the large kind at any rate. Only the smaller animals you’d expect to see: squirrels, rabbits, birds. Which, in retrospect, was kind of odd. He’d not once seen any droppings of bear or deer, which he would have assumed to be plentiful in this area.
In his early twenties, he’d done a stint as a forest ranger—cracking a poaching ring—in a similar type of terrain in Colorado. His rebellion years, his mother called it. In a sense, that was accurate. He’d wanted to get away from his family and the noise of the cities.
In
the woods, there was no one to care if he grew out his beard or wore the same shirt two days in a row. Just man against nature. So why hadn’t he stayed in the woods?
Family. They had an evil way of sucking you back in.
The bright morning light put the ruins in stark relief. Oliver spent a moment studying the remains of the once two-story clinic. Shards of glass, those not yet buried by weather and vegetation, glinted in the sun like shattered jewels littering the ground. Throughout the broken chunks of concrete he could see the tendrils of wiring, the rusted remains of metal rebar, the inner guts you’d see of any building, including the projecting tip of a coat rack.
According to Cerberus’s testimony, the top floors belonged to management. No surprise there. The big, shiny offices went to the evil doctors. It was below ground, out of sight of electronic eyes in the sky, that the true science happened. Employee and supply levels first then several laboratory and patient ones. So much evidence waiting for him to find if any of it survived the blast.
Fucking Chimera. Knowing he was about to be exposed, he had done his best to destroy the clinic.
According to Cerberus, Chimera—paranoid that he’d one day be discovered—had implemented a self-destruct option, seeding his clinic with explosive charges. What Cerberus didn’t know was if all those bombs had gone off. “He installed those close to a decade ago and, as far as I know, never upgraded them again. Could be they didn’t all explode. Or maybe he only demolished the top portion and the basement remained intact.”
“How do you even know all this? I thought you were gone by the time he evacuated.”
Cerberus smiled. “I have my sources.”
What Cerberus never revealed was why he turned on his partner. Almost two decades they’d worked together, and yet something changed. Enough that Cerberus decided to risk it all and go public.
A good thing or the world might have never known the monsters were living among them.
“Let’s see if Chimera’s plan failed.” Could Oliver gain entry underground?
The ruin itself appeared to have points of access. The trampled grass and spots worn clean gave the access points away. Someone obviously travelled in and out. He was going to wager that there were cave-like pockets inside. A hidey-hole for the woman.
Could also be something else. Hell, there could be a whole bunch of mutants hiding in the ruins. The grim reminder had him checking his holster. The feel of his gun reassured. If he ran into something dangerous, he’d handle it. Not much could rise from a bullet to the head.
Wishing he had his phone to do a video, Oliver made a circuit of the rubble, paying close attention to the areas that seemed to have the most traffic. Dropping to one knee, he eyed an impression left in the soft spongy ground, still wet from the spring melt, in the shape of a foot. A small foot. Just the right size to match that of a petite woman, he’d bet.
The footprint emerged from a spot where the concrete chunks leaned against one another, forming a triangle of shadow. He tapped the button on his headband, and the lamp at his forehead shone brightly.
He stepped into the rubble-strewn cave, only it was more like a maze than a cave he soon realized. There was a slit at the back, and he entered to find himself in a narrow passage. He made it a few paces before he came to a fork in the debris.
Follow the passage straight or take the hole to his left? He crouched and took a peek inside. It went a short way then appeared to open up somewhere bright with sunlight. It was the charging cord caught in a crack, one he’d wager had ripped free of his phone as someone passed through with it, that decided him.
He popped into a tiny pocket open to the sky with the remnants of drywall on the ground. Threading through it, he found cleared paths, going two ways into new tunnels. Left and right.
Which way to go?
He chose left mostly because he was left-handed. He ran into a dead end soon after, the fall of concrete appearing fresh, showing just how unstable this ruin was.
How stupid he probably was for wandering around in it, and to do what?
I am going to prove the existence of monsters. Make the world realize there is a serious crisis at hand.
I could have done that back home.
Maybe. He’d lost his access to the monster files and Cerberus. However, just because his initial source of information had dried up didn’t mean he couldn’t have pursued other avenues of research. The problem was avoiding scrutiny. He was supposed to be writing a book. A book meant words saved in a file. A file they could probably access and read.
Hence why he pretended to go on vacation. Hopped a plane then switched at an airport. Then switched again. Hoping to lose anyone who might have followed and praying they wouldn’t realize he’d used a fake ID. He picked up a new phone. New number. Created new social media accounts that wouldn’t lead back to him. He was ready to create the next viral sensation.
But, for that, he had to find some evidence. Proof of the things he’d learned. The danger humans were in.
If only he could get his hands on a living specimen…
“Where are you hiding, Horn Girl?” he muttered aloud as he backtracked and took the other route. It quickly grew tricky to maneuver, the spots between the debris getting tighter, and yet he ignored the voice that urged caution and kept pressing forward. Going deeper until all the light was gone and only his headlamp illuminated the way. But he knew he was on the right track. He found a strand of hair caught on a rough edge of rock.
He was looking ahead and stepping over a hump of broken ceiling tile and drywall when he almost fell in the hole. The middle of his foot hit the edge, and he teetered on the lip of a chasm. He swallowed hard as he stared down at the bottomless pit ready to swallow him whole.
I refuse to die because I fell in a pit. If he was going to end up a blurb in a paper, then it better be for something good.
Stepping back, he knelt down and shone the light below, the beam bouncing over more broken shit, illuminating the particles of dust that had yet to settle. But best of all, he saw a way down. There were no stairs or rope to rappel with, but the wreckage formed a convenient sloping pile that he gingerly stepped on, expecting at any moment it would shift and send him sliding.
He made it to the floor and had to tamp down his excitement as he realized he had found access to the first basement level. Not the most important one. This was where Cerberus claimed the employees congregated for meals, entertainment, and had their living quarters.
There were more signs of usage here, the area cleared, the sloping pile comprised of a variety of junk from chairs and tables and drywall to hunks of the floor that had fallen through.
But no sign of the woman or any kind of life yet. Shining his light around, he saw at least three points of exit.
Rather than play eenie, meenie, miny, moe, he went about it logically. Left opening first. Quickly ended, given it led to a mostly collapsed room full of electrical boxes, now dead. The next archway didn’t fare much better, and while he could have shifted stuff to move farther inside, he doubted the woman had come through here recently. Which left one last door.
Upon entering, he noticed the difference. The hallway was clear of junk but, most fascinating of all, another hole in the floor. This one actually had a ladder of sorts created from wiring tied and braided together. It was tethered top and bottom, nice and taut, so it didn’t wobble too much as he climbed down.
It showed thought, which was more than he’d ever seen from the monsters in that lab. Perhaps the woman hiding was more like Cerberus. Still cognitive, and yet losing her humanity daily.
Tracking her progression might make an even better story. But first he had to find her and his stuff!
It finally occurred to him to load the app on his watch called Find your phone, dumbass. It literally had him as an ass on the screen, a tiny bare one. The phone was a flashing beacon.
When it worked.
He frowned at his watch. It didn’t show a single blinking thing. That didn�
�t bode well. Either she’d destroyed it or the phone was hidden too deep for a signal to make its way out.
The level he’d just entered appeared oddly intact. A few ceiling tiles on the floor and furniture turned over, yet the massive room still stood. The light on his forehead danced around showing him the giant screens bolted to the wall, the couches. The trestle table and benches. Which meant beyond this room, according to Cerberus, was the personal quarters for staff. Which put the elevator—he whirled—behind him. The doors were wedged open, providing an ominous portal to the lower levels.
But should he go there before he’d explored this one first?
It wouldn’t hurt to do a quick search.
Especially since he was a little confused. The way Cerberus spoke, the first level underground should have been the habitat one. So which floor had he just left? Could it be there was a utility level between the main building and the basement itself? Could that level have been the buffer that protected what hid underneath?
It certainly seemed that way given how intact this section appeared to be. Still he treaded carefully from the middle of the room, glancing from time to time overhead, conscious of the precariously piled weight pushing down. He made it to the far side without getting crushed and found himself at an intersection. Straight ahead, a cave-in. But to his left and right, more hallways, each projecting an ominous aura with their dangling wires and dead lights.
Cerberus said the women were housed in the west wing. It seemed only logical he start there first. Most of the doors were open, and a glance inside showed rooms quickly emptied. Drawers left open, a few with scraps of fabric hanging out. The beds unmade. So many places for someone—or something—to hide.
After the third room, he realized it would take him forever to search every single room, nook, and cranny. Yet what else could he do? He kept moving, his steps faster and faster as he weaved in and out, quickly getting a sense for the places to peek. All the rooms followed the same layout. There were too many of them. So many people working with those sick doctors.