Deep Fear

by Jethro Wegener

  “Billy!” Goldstein called.

  The head turned in their direction. “Doc Goldstein?”

  “Can you tell me how you feel?”

  Billy clutched at his head. “Like I have the worst hangover in history. Where the fuck am I?”

  “You’re in the med bay. Do you remember how you got here?”

  A shake of the head. “No. I remember being in the tunnels, hitting my head… Nothing else. Why the hell am I locked in here? Why is it dark?”

  “Just relax. I’ll explain everything to you soon. But for now, I just want you to lie down, okay?”

  “Don’t have to tell me twice, doc.”

  Goldstein started to slip into his hazmat suit. Ekkow placed an arm on his shoulder.

  “I wouldn’t do that, bruv.”

  “I have to,” Goldstein said, shrugged off the man’s hand. “You can cover me from out here. That man needs help. Now let me do my job. Maybe I can redeem myself somewhat.”

  Ekkow wondered about that last line, but decided it was best not to ask. “Okay. I’ll cover you from here. But at the first sign of trouble, I want you out of there, yeah?”

  “Oh don’t you worry. I’ll be out of there faster than a bullet.”

  15

  The suit was hot and cloying. It was like Goldstein had just sealed himself in a sauna. A claustrophobic hotbox that cut off his peripheral vision. He smelt stale sweat from when he’d last worn the thing. He jumped as the door behind him sealed shut.

  “Billy, I want you to stay on right there, alright?” Goldstein said.

  His heart was thudding hard in his chest. Frank had picked up George like he was nothing, snapped John’s neck like a twig. Whatever this was, it made people dangerous. And here he was trapped in a small room with what amounted to Patient Zero.

  Billy did as he was told, lying flat on the table. His eyes, wide and full of fear, were glued to the doctor, following him everywhere.

  “You’re scaring me, doc.”

  “It’s going to be alright, young man. Just let me examine you.”

  Goldstein set his bag down carefully next to Billy and went about a physical examination, using his small penlight as he did so. He struggled not to jump every time Billy moved.

  What struck him was that Billy was in great shape. The wound on his head was gone, there were no outward signs of any injuries, and his pupils reacted well. Apart from a light fever, the man was in the peak of health. A far cry from how he had been when they had first brought him into the med bay.

  “How do you feel?”

  “Um… My mouth feels like it’s stuffed with cotton wool, my head is pounding, and I’m really queasy, but otherwise I feel fine, doc.”

  “Okay. I’m just going to draw some blood.”

  He half expected the blood to come out pitch black, but no. It looked normal. Goldstein was as relieved as he was puzzled.

  “Okay, young man, I want you to take two of these, and drink as much water as you can manage. You seem pretty dehydrated, but other than that, all good.”

  “So I can come out?”

  “Not yet. Let me run a couple more tests.”

  “What’s your professional opinion?” Ekkow asked as the doctor clumsily got out of the suit.

  “He looks healthy. I need to check the blood, but I must admit something.”

  “What?”

  “I am way out of my depth. No pun intended.”

  ***

  “Calder, this is Smith, come in.”

  “Roger that, Smith, what you got?”

  “We’re in one of the corridors leading up to maintenance. We’ve got what looks like blood on the floor, ripped pieces of clothing, and…” There was a pause. “Jesus Christ.”

  “What is it?”

  “Pieces of flesh, boss. At least, that’s what we think it is.”

  “Think?”

  “Yeah. It’s like rubber almost. No blood, nothing. Wait, think I see something… Hands up where I can see them!”

  “Smith, what do you see?”

  “Not sure. Too dark to… Fuck! Contact!”

  The comms went dead. Calder spent a minute trying to get them back, but it was no use. He radioed their last position and sent two teams as backup.

  “What the fuck did we just walk into?”

  He looked up, took in the number of people, and did a quick calculation in his head. He had to get them out. Taking the stairs two at a time, he ran to the balcony. Thompson gave him a surprised look as he stood at the railing.

  “Ladies and gentlemen!” Calder yelled. Gradually, the conversation died down. “I need your attention, please! I want everyone to get in groups of three and form a line. We’re going to be heading back to the subs so that we can get to the surface.”

  “Axel, what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Thompson snarled.

  Calder turned and was about to rip into the man when he heard the shots. His radio crackled to life.

  “Boss, we’ve got contact. Smith is down, I repeat, Smith—” the signal cut off.

  Booming shotgun blasts could be heard echoing down the corridors. The staccato sound of a pistol being fired. Panic started to spread through the crowd.

  “Security teams! Get them ready to move!” Calder called, unhooking the latch on his holstered Sig.

  “What’s happening?” Anna asked.

  “Gunfire,” Jones said. “Something bad is going down. Anna, Priya, I want you two to stay close.”

  Eric unshouldered his shotgun and nodded reassuringly to the group. Calder was coming down the stairs, Thompson hot on his heels.

  “Eric,” Calder said, “get these three to the subs. Now.”

  “Axel!” Thompson said. “Listen to me, you fucker. I pay your fucking salary!”

  Calder whirled around and grabbed the man by his lapels. “Listen to me, fucker! I’m getting these people out of here now. You can stay if you want, but if not, follow Eric and get to the fucking surface!”

  Thompson’s face was a mask of surprise. He couldn’t reply, just opened and closed his mouth silently, like a fish out of water. The look in Calder’s eyes had robbed him of his anger.

  “Ekkow, come in.”

  “Yes, boss?”

  “We’re evacuating. I’m going to head to the control room first. I need to get the power on. Send Jackson to rendezvous with me. I want you to get the doc and the other two to safety.”

  “Boss, there’s a slight issue. Billy is still under quarantine.”

  “Fuck.” He didn’t want to bring whatever this was back to the surface. Neither did he want to leave Billy down there with the hostile around.

  “Boss?”

  “I’m thinking.”

  A moment of silence passed before Ekkow spoke. “Get them to the surface, Axel. I’ll stay with Billy. This is a good defensible position. Jackson can get the doc and George to the subs.”

  “Roger that. Keep yourself safe, mate.”

  “Always, bruv.”

  Calder looked around again. Half his team were efficiently organising the crowd into groups while the other half watched the doors. He tried hailing the men who’d called contact, but was getting nothing. There was a good chance they were dead. He had no idea how one man could take out six trained soldiers, but it wasn’t the time to speculate. It was time to compartmentalise and get shit done.

  Pushing his way through the crowd, Calder found what he was looking for on the opposite wall. He’d insisted Thompson install and emergency warning system in case anything went wrong. Hidden in an innocuous wall panel was a big red button. He smacked his palm against it.

  An alarm started to sound. It was the signal for everyone inside The Kingdom to get to the submarine bay as fast as they could.

  “This is Calder,” he said into his throat mike. “I’m heading to the control room. I’ll relay a sitrep ASAP. I want a team to keep an eye on the section where the last team was sighted. Do not engage until I have further information. I repeat, do not en
gage.”

  The control room was at the heart of The Kingdom. Almost everything could be managed from there. But Calder needed access to the CCTV. He and his men were blind, and he needed eyes on the threat.

  There wasn’t much time as his team were already starting to lead the guests out the ballroom. He took off at a run.

  16

  The panic really set in once the alarm started to sound. Some people kept their heads, some started yelling. Intermittent screams broke out. Priya did what she could to document it all. Snapping pictures of the panicking crowd, painted a ghostly red by the emergency lighting, of Thompson’s desperate attempts to calm everyone, and of the clinical efficiency of Calder’s security team as they started the evacuation.

  “Miss, I’m going to need you to stick close,” Eric said, grabbing Priya’s arm.

  She resisted the urge to fight her way out of his grip. He was doing his job and didn’t need someone to lose their head. She could feel her anxiety rising, like a tide within her chest.

  Taking a step back, she continued to take pictures. The security teams had started to lead people out the doors toward the submarine bay. Priya could hear chatter coming through Eric’s radio as the teams communicated with each other. It looked like Calder had trained them well.

  “Okay, guys, Mr. Thompson, I’m going to need you all to follow me. We have a sub ready and waiting for us. We just have to get there.”

  Thompson looked defeated, like all the air had been let out of him. His shoulders slumped, his white teeth hidden behind slack lips. He’d stopped shouting. Even his suit looked the worse for wear in the ghastly red light. He just nodded and fell in line behind Jones.

  Priya felt sorry for Calder’s men. They were struggling to hold people from surging through the doors toward the subs. A couple of the crowd were having to be helped forward they were so drunk. The noise was deafening. Priya was starting to sweat, the temperature of the room rising as the crowd got more agitated.

  “It’s like a slaughterhouse,” she heard Eric mutter.

  She saw what he meant. If whatever was out there decided to attack them now, a lot of people were going to die.

  Soon it was their turn to move and Eric was hustling them forward. Each team was in constant contact with the others. A constant stream of reports was being filtered in. Eric responded every now and then, calling in their position as they moved.

  Priya tried to focus on her job, on the pictures, but she could feel the panic rising. Her hands were starting to shake.

  Not now, please not now.

  She tried to slow her breathing. In through her nose, and out through her mouth. Slow and steady. Slow and steady. But it was coming, she could feel it. Rising like bile in her throat, threatening to take over. She put her hand on the wall to steady herself.

  “You okay?” Jones asked, holding her to steady her.

  She shook her head, continuing to focus on her breathing. Jones had to hold her up.

  “Eric, hold up!”

  The security man stopped. “She okay?”

  Priya tried to wave them off, to breathe normally, but her chest was constricted. Her breathing was coming in short, sharp gasps.

  “Come on, Priya, it’s okay. You’re alright.”

  Jones’ tone was soothing, his words cutting through the chaos and noise around them.

  “Fuck. This,” Priya said.

  She sank to the floor and closed her eyes. Shifted her focus to her breathing. In through her mouth, feeling the air slowly fill her lungs and belly, then leave as she exhaled. She pictured her happy place. Her room as a child, sat at her desk, tapping away on the old typewriter that had once belonged to her grandmother.

  “This too shall pass,” she said, repeating it over and over, the very same words her grandmother had said to her every time she’d had an attack as a child.

  Eric looked over his shoulder. They were almost the last in line. Another security man was waving them over. He shook his head. He had to wait; if the journalist had a full-blown panic attack, there was a good chance she’d get seriously injured.

  It took a minute, but finally Priya opened her eyes again. Jones offered his hand.

  “Good to have you back,” he said, hoisting her up.

  “Let’s get the fuck out of here,” she said, slinging her camera over her shoulder.

  Eric nodded and set off after the retreating group. Jones gave Priya a smile, following Eric, Anna by his side. Thompson brought up the rear, seemingly in his own world.

  “Everyone hold. I see something up ahead,” came a voice through Eric’s comms.

  Eric held up his hand in a fist, and the group stopped. Priya could just hear the security teams trying to shush the crowd. The silence fell down the corridor like a wave, coming from the front and moving backward.

  “I’m going to check it out,” came the voice from the radio.

  The silence was somehow worse than the chatter. Priya struggled to keep her breathing steady. Sweat rolled down her forehead.

  “Contact!”

  Gunshots boomed down the corridor. Shotguns and small arms fire going off simultaneously. The crowd panicked. The ones at the front struggled to flee, stopped by those behind them. It wasn’t long before Priya’s group saw a stampede of panicked people heading straight for them.

  “Fuck me,” she said as she turned to run.

  ***

  “Contact!”

  Ekkow heard the call come over the radio and gripped his shotgun. Jackson had already taken the others off, leaving Ekkow to barricade himself in the med bay. The waiting was the worst part, and now, instead of engaging the enemy, he had to stay put.

  “What’s going on?” Billy asked, face pressed up against the glass.

  “Security has it in hand, bruv.”

  He lowered the volume on his radio. The reports were scattered and disjointed, making his comrades sound more like panicked amateurs than the trained soldiers that they all were. Whatever was out there, it was scary enough to override years of training and combat experience. He could hear the fear in their voices, the utter senseless terror.

  Ekkow wanted to be out there with them, facing the enemy head-on. If he could see it, know what it was, then he wouldn’t have been as scared as he was. Fear of the unknown is the worst thing, ever. Always had been.

  The man was almost tempted. All he had to do was lock the door behind him and get into the fight. It wouldn’t take long to get there. But he had his orders. He wasn’t going to disobey them without a very good reason to do so.

  “Help me!” Billy screamed.

  Ekkow spun around. Billy had his back pressed up tight against the door, his fists banging on it. And what could be seen just over his shoulder made Ekkow’s blood run cold.

  17

  Jackson, Goldstein, and George were making their way to the submarine bay when the screaming started. Jackson was on point, Goldstein supporting George as they walked behind him. The screams and gunshots stopped all three dead in their tracks.

  “Doc, I want you to stay here with George. If anything starts coming, I’ll hold them off and you get back to Ekkow. Understood?”

  Goldstein nodded. He couldn’t speak, his mouth dry, his throat constricted with fear. It wasn’t the gunshots. It was the inhuman screams, some of which were being cut short.

  “Fuck this job,” George said through clenched teeth. “I could have been sitting in a cosy office, but no, Jackie said I needed the fucking money…”

  Jackson ignored George’s muttered complaints and started forward. The chatter coming through the radio was useless. Panicked reports of contact with an unknown enemy and men being taken down. This could only mean one thing—whatever was attacking them had efficiently dismantled Calder’s specially selected team of operators.

  The ex-marine shook his head to clear it. Now wasn’t the time for speculation. He had to deal with what was in front of him. What was happening elsewhere didn’t matter.

  Blocking out the s
creams, gunfire, and panicked radio chatter, he moved forward. He made no sound, taking each step carefully. Wherever his eyes went, so did the barrel of his shotgun. The corridor took a meandering left turn up ahead, which would lead to the path to the submarine bay—and whatever was attacking his comrades.

  Breathing steady, heartrate somehow calmed, Jackson advanced. He was almost at the turn when a shadow moved. Something was heading toward him. He stopped, shotgun ready.

  There was a sound, like claws skittering on steel. It was getting closer. Jackson didn’t have time to signal to Goldstein, so he kept his attention focused.

  Whatever was making the inhuman skittering was almost in sight. A weird shadow was cast on the wall, just visible in Jackson’s peripheral vision. He couldn’t focus on it, but had a vague impression of elongated limbs and a skinny form. He figured he maybe had a few seconds before it came into view.

  As the creature came around the corner, Jackson’s training took over. He was opening fire before he could comprehend was he was seeing. The monstrosity jerked as the rounds tore into it, spraying black, gelatinous fluids onto the walls.

  Jackson pumped the shotgun and fired again. He’d shut down his mind, unable to deal with what he was seeing in front of him. He had one job—protect the civilians.

  “Get to Ekkow!” Jackson heard himself screaming, firing again as another creature came into view.

  Goldstein’s response was drowned out by another shotgun blast—Jackson’s last shell. He didn’t have time to reload, so he dropped the long weapon, drawing his pistol from his holster and opening fire in one smooth motion.

  More things were coming round the corner and Jackson kept firing, his rounds tearing globules of flesh out of his targets. He heard the dry click of an empty magazine, ejected it, and slid in a fresh one before the empty had even hit the floor.

  As he fired, he moved back, retreating down the corridor, knowing he didn’t have many magazines left. For a brief second, he considered calling for backup, but if these things were here, then there was no backup to call for.

  They were getting closer, climbing over their wounded, their movements unlike any living creature Jackson had ever seen. Somewhere in the back of his mind, the ex-marine knew he was going to die.