Deep Fear

by Jethro Wegener

  “Your damn pet project means more to you than I do!” she’d screamed at him, tears and snot streaming down her once pretty face.

  All he could think was—how could I have loved something so ugly?

  Smudged running makeup, her surgically enhanced features contorted into a ghoulish mask of anger. There was something uncanny about her, as if she wasn’t really human at all, more of a shell, a doll moulded to look human and somehow given the ability to speak.

  Her anger didn’t do much except annoy him, because any time spent dealing with her was less time spent achieving what he needed to. For a brief moment, he had considered hitting her. It would have shut her up, sent her scurrying away to her hole.

  He’d been tempted. Oh, so tempted. One quick movement of the hand and she would have quieted, a look of shock spreading across her plastic face, almost human but not quite. Fortunately, he had stopped himself. Not because it was the right thing to do, not because of some misguided moral code, but because it would have delayed him further.

  “Take what you want and get out. I’ve got work to do.”

  But none of that mattered anymore. Because here it was, in front of him. The thing he had worked so hard to make a reality. And it was beautiful. True beauty, not some plastic imitation of it. Designed by experts at the top of their game. A marvel of engineering.

  He wasn’t even sure how they’d done it. He had just done what he did best—find the right people for the job and get them to do their thing. And it was looking like it had paid off, if the gasps from the guests with him were anything to go by.

  The smile that spread across Thompson’s face was his first genuine one in ages. He just hoped that he could trust Calder and his team to handle whatever was happening in the medical bay.

  12

  Calder watched the last sub surface in front of him, popping out of the water in a spray of water. It only had a couple of his security team in it. The guests had already been led to the dining area by Thompson, where canapés and champagne awaited them, although some would have probably been wise to lay off the latter.

  Priya, Anna, and Jones had all followed the guests. It seemed the young girl had taken a real liking to the journalists. Calder had also noticed a few sideways glances directed at the lovely photographer.

  “Come in, boss,” Ekkow came in through the comms. “Jackson and I are going to check out the med bay. Guests are squared away in the ballroom.”

  “Roger that.”

  The last of his crew climbed out of the sub, and Calder turned on his heel. He moved through the plush corridor, past the reception area, and down a grand, carpeted hallway toward the ballroom. Pushing his way through the double doors at the end brought a wave of laughter and chatter.

  The ballroom was a majestic space. Grand marble floors, impressive pillars reaching up to a domed glass ceiling that gave a view of the waters outside. The glass was something Thompson’s R&D team had cooked up, some revolutionary new substance that could hold back the pressures of the ocean.

  At the other end of the room was a grand staircase that led up to an over-hanging balcony. Thompson was there, with a full band playing behind him. He was beaming, a microphone gripped tight in his hand. It was time for his speech.

  As Thompson started to waffle, Calder noticed that Jones wasn’t paying attention. His eyes were fixated on the ocean above, his face deathly pale.

  “You okay, mate?”

  The journalist didn’t answer. He just kept staring. Calder followed his eyes, trying to see what he was looking at.

  “There’s something up there,” Jones whispered. “I saw it, crawling across the glass.”

  After a few moments squinting at the ceiling, Calder spoke. “I don’t see anything.”

  “It was there. I saw it move.”

  “Outside?”

  Jones nodded. A chill ran down Calder’s spine as he turned his eyes back to the dome above. He could barely hear Thompson droning on about vision and achievement. His hand drifted to the comforting heft of the pistol in its holster.

  Reason was telling him that Jones was overreacting. That it had been some sort of fish or deep-sea creature. But reason couldn’t explain the feeling that something was wrong down there. He’d felt it since stepping off the sub. There was something in the air, as if wrong had a taste and scent.

  It was there on the tip of his tongue. Tingling in his nostrils. Calder had smelled something like it before. Back in Afghanistan, he’d found a hospital where they’d been implanting IEDs in kids. One of their “patients” had died on the table, a young boy of ten or eleven. They’d left him to rot, a gaping wound in his stomach, surgical equipment stained with dried blood haphazardly strewn around.

  He’d been there a few days. There was the metallic smell of blood hanging in the air. The putrid stench of flesh rotting in the desert heat. Cloying, overwhelming. Two of his men had puked immediately. But Calder had just stared, horror and anger welling up inside him. He’d never be able to forget that sight, or that smell.

  It was something like that was in the air now. Now that Jones had drawn his attention to it, he noticed that The Kingdom reeked of it. He looked around, trying to place it.

  The crowd had taken on an unearthly, fake quality. It was as if the beautiful people around him were nothing more than plastic flesh stretch over robot skeletons. Thompson’s voice seemed slurred and distorted, like he was speaking through a filter.

  Calder fought the urge to draw his pistol. His hand was shaking. He gripped his weapon, wanting desperately to draw and fire on the crowd of people. They didn’t seem like people, more like grotesque caricatures given life and voice by some unearthly force.

  “Calder,” came a voice, soft and smooth and full of care.

  The ex-soldier blinked. Priya stood in front of his, her hands cupping his face.

  “What happened?”

  He looked around. Thompson had stopped speaking. The crowd was going about their party. Jones was seated in a chair, Anna gripping his hand tightly.

  “You and Jones were acting odd. You were both pale, sweating. Can you take your hand off of your gun now, please?”

  Slowly, he released his pistol. “We need to get out of here.”

  Just then, the lights went out.

  ***

  “Come in, boss,” Ekkow said into his mic. “Jackson and I are going to check out the med bay. Guests are squared away in the ballroom.”

  “I feel like I’m carrying too much firepower to check on a sick man,” Jackson said, checking his shotgun.

  “Thought you Marines loved your guns?”

  “If you can believe it, I voted for gun control. I’ve seen too many accidental deaths in my time.”

  “Amen, bruv. But we follow orders, and the boss says bring the big guns to this thing.”

  “What does he expect us to find?”

  “I don’t know. Calder has a bad feeling. To tell you the truth, so do I.”

  “Fuck me, I’m glad I’m not the only one. Ever since we got down here, the air has been…”

  “Wrong,” Ekkow finished for him and shuddered. “This place ain’t right, bruv.”

  The two men walked down plush corridors, past numbered rooms and windows that the dark expanse of the ocean floor. Soon the carpet under their feet turned to steel, their combat boots clanging on the hard surface as they walked. The exquisitely wallpapered walls gave way to brushed steel.

  “Guess they have a very clear line between maintenance and guest areas,” Jackson said.

  “Yeah, man. You really think Thompson would waste the finer things on stuff the guests probably won’t see?”

  They continued down the grey, featureless corridors, past store rooms and staff quarters. In another five minutes, they were outside the med bay. The door was sealed, a sign above it flashing “Quarantine.” A small comms unit was set into the side of the door. Ekkow keyed it.

  “Doctor Goldstein? This is security, we’ve been sent to check on yo
ur situation. Do you have an update for us?”

  “It’s Goldstein here. We’re still supposed to be under quarantine. We have a possible biological threat here.”

  “So how do we proceed?”

  “Ideally, you get a hazmat team down here, and we go from there. I—”

  The speakers cut out. Ekkow caught the tail end of mumbled conversation before the comm went down.

  “Doc?”

  In response, a scream came through. It crackled and buzzed, the sound too loud for the cheap, tinny speakers.

  Ekkow looked to Jackson. The ex-marine’s eyes darted briefly to the flashing quarantine sign above the door. Red light gave his expression an unearthly quality.

  “Fuck it,” he said. “Who really wants to live forever?”

  13

  Ekkow and Jackson took up positions either side of the door, their shotguns held ready. Both men nodded, before Ekkow pushed the button next to the door. The metal door slid open with a whooshing sound.

  Ekkow went in weapon first, covering the left side. Jackson followed, covering right. The room was pitch black, the only light coming in from the hall. Glass crunched under their boots.

  “Doc?” Ekkow called.

  A piercing, inhuman shriek came from the darkness, the sound assaulting Ekkow’s ears like sharp needles were being jammed into his eardrums. He swung his shotgun toward the sound, only to see the darkness coming at him.

  Before he knew it, something had slammed into him. He flew backward, hitting the wall with a hard thump, his shotgun sailing off into the darkness. There was a thunderous boom and a blinding flash of light as Jackson fired, the shot aimed out the door.

  Ekkow was struggling to breathe and get to his feet at the same time, but failing to do either. His legs were jelly, his vision blurred. Someone was screaming something about killing it. There was another shotgun blast as he struggled to get up. And suddenly, deafening silence.

  “What the fuck was that?” Jackson breathed.

  There was someone at Ekkow’s side, holding him down, shining a pen light into his eye, checking his vitals. Dimly, he realised it had to be the doctor. He pushed the hands away from him and stood, drawing his pistol.

  “Where did it go?” he asked, leaning heavily against the doorframe.

  “Down there. Fuck it was fast. I couldn’t get a bead. What the fuck was it?”

  “It was Frank,” Goldstein said. “He came out of the quarantine area and went crazy. Tried to kill… Oh God.”

  Goldstein raced back into the lab. He was calling a name, searching for the other man that had been in the room. Ekkow pulled a torch out of his pocket and clicked it on.

  “This may help,” he said, handing it to the doctor. “Jackson, I need you to get on comms. Get Calder on the line, report what just happened. He needs to get the guests out of here now. Doc, we need a description of Frank.”

  And that’s when the lights went out.

  ***

  Frank was running, his arms pumping, his strides long. If anybody had been timing, they’d have seen him breaking records as he sped through the corridors. But he wasn’t the one in control.

  The man was trying to scream. To shriek, or cry. To make any sound. But he couldn’t. Whatever had control wouldn’t let him. His skin felt wrong, like it wasn’t his anymore. The pounding in his head was worse than any migraine he’d ever felt, as if his brain was banging itself against his skull over and over.

  All he could feel was the pounding of his head. And heat. Intense, unbearable heat, like he was being cooked from the inside-out.

  There was something inside his skull. It was moving through his mind, probing his memories. It was learning. A black, shapeless presence moved through the inner corridors of his subconscious, shifting through memories like a researcher going through textbooks.

  Memories of his childhood in New York, of working with his father at the docks, of his mother’s face, his ex-wife, his kids. It looked at them and tossed them aside, deciding for itself what was important and what wasn’t. Family, friends, images, feelings, none of it mattered to this thing, so it deleted them.

  Frank could feel himself getting erased. Slowly, deliberately, the thing was deleting him. He was terrified. A sheer, uncontrollable terror that surged through him. He tried to beg for mercy, or death, but the thing did not care.

  As his mind slipped away, Frank came to the terrible realisation that whatever was inside him was more than he could ever know, and he was nothing. Just a tool to be used and discarded. A toy. And this thing had plans for everyone else in The Kingdom.

  14

  “Everybody remain calm!” Thompson shouted from the balcony. “It’s a minor technical glitch! I’m sure my engineers are on it as I speak!”

  The rich and very drunk were getting restless. They weren’t accustomed to things going wrong, and they were not about to take this particular slight lightly. Some were muttering amongst themselves, others were talking to their security. The waiters and waitresses were doing their best to keep everyone in high spirits, and had even started rolling out the chairs and tables.

  “Calder, come in,” came Jackson’s voice in Calder’s ear.

  “Go for Calder.” He listened intently as Jackson relayed what had just happened, plus a brief description of Frank. “Roger that. I’ll radio all units. We do this by the book. Sweep the facility, find the target, and neutralise the threat.”

  Calder keyed his comm unit and put the word out to all his men. People in the ballroom were getting restless, their chatter becoming louder. He could feel the tension in the room.

  “Stay here,” he said to Jones, Priya, and Anna, before jogging up the stairs to Thompson. “We have a situation.”

  Thompson listened to Calder’s hurried description of events. “Fuck.”

  “I’ve instructed my men to seal off this area. Until we find Frank, no one leaves this room.”

  “Can’t they go to their rooms?”

  Calder shook his head. “They stay here, Thompson. No arguments. I’m in charge now, yeah?”

  “What the hell is going on?” Jones asked, once Calder came downstairs again.

  “It sounds like one of the employees went rogue. I’m waiting on a report from Ekkow and Jackson, but for now, I need you guys to stay here with the guests.”

  As he spoke, members of his security team were going to the exits. Each man closed a door and took up position beside it, with their hands on their weapons. Other members of staff were getting everyone a table and a seat. Red emergency lights gave the area a hellish glow.

  Jones looked worried. “Any chance I can have a weapon?”

  Calder eyed him. “You get the feeling you’ll need it?”

  “The way our day is going so far, I’d love a bazooka, but I’ll settle for a handgun if I have to.”

  Calder chuckled. He signalled to one of his men.

  “Can’t give you a gun, but I’ll give you the next best thing, mate. Eric,” he said to his man, “you look after these three, yeah? They’re more important than any of these other knobs in here, alright?”

  ***

  “I need some help in here!” Goldstein called.

  Ekkow went into the med bay to find it in ruins. Shelves were smashed, medical supplies were strewn about the floor, chairs had been tossed about. The doctor was kneeling in the corner of the room next to George. The man was propped up, his face a mask of intense pain. Sweat ran down his forehead.

  “What do you need, doc?” Ekkow asked, rushing to his aid.

  “Hold his leg still.”

  Ekkow did as he was told. Goldstein rushed off to the corner of the room and came back seconds later with a splint.

  “Now you need to listen to me very carefully, big man—I’m going to need to splint his leg.”

  The big soldier had seen a lot in his time in the SAS, but the next few seconds still turned his stomach. As he held the splint, the doctor found where the man’s leg had snapped. Without any preamble, h
e snapped the two halves of the bone back into place.

  The man screamed in agony as Goldstein went to work splinting the leg. He was rough, but precise, and soon the job was done. The broken leg was splinted and wrapped tight. Goldstein stood and rushed off again.

  “This will help with the pain, George,” he said as he came back. He jabbed a needle into the man’s arm. It didn’t take long for the morphine to do its work.

  “Jesus, bruv,” Ekkow said. “That was rough.”

  Goldstein said nothing. He went over to a body that Ekkow hadn’t noticed. After a quick check for a pulse, he sighed heavily.

  “Frank do that?”

  The doctor nodded. “We were talking to you, then Frank came back into the room. His eyes were like black pools. Sent chills down my spine. He just went crazy. Picked up my orderly and snapped his neck. George tried to get out the way, and Frank swatted him aside like he weighed nothing. Then you came in.”

  “You’re telling me he’s already killed someone?” Goldstein nodded. “Fuck. Jackson, you get that?”

  “Yeah. Relaying it to the boss now.”

  “Where’s Billy, doc?” Ekkow asked.

  Goldstein stood and led the way to where Billy was. Ekkow peered through the small window into the room. He could just make out a man lying on a gurney in the dim light.

  “Frank went in there, I’m guessing,” the doctor remarked.

  “What are we dealing with here?”

  “Something biological. Although its structure is unlike anything else I’ve ever seen. I studied a sample under the microscope. My best guess is that this black goop got into Billy in the maintenance tunnels.”

  “Goop?”

  “I know it sounds strange, but that’s the best description I have. In fact, Frank…”

  Goldstein noticed something. He studied the pants legs of one of the hazmat suits on the wall.

  “Fuck. Frank’s infected.”

  “How do you know?”

  To answer the question, the doctor stuck his finger through the rip in the suit.

  “This day just keeps getting better and better.”

  Just then, the body on the gurney moved, sitting upright. Ekkow heard the man inside groan.