Deep Fear

by Jethro Wegener

  It was about twenty feet to the body, and the journalist was counting every single one. Sweat beaded on his forehead, the cold confines of the undersea structure suddenly feeling as hot as the dusty towns of Afghanistan and Iraq.

  Eighteen…

  Nineteen…

  He stopped, took a breath, and slowly peeked around the corner. The doorway they had all come through was reduced to nothing more than a ragged hole. The steel frame was bent and twisted, reflecting the force with which the door had been wrenched away from it.

  The strength it would take… The thought flashed through Jones’ mind.

  He could see the plush carpet of the hall beyond, which had looked so grand and inviting when he had first walked it, but was now stained with blood and gore. Most importantly, however, the hallway was clear.

  Turning back to the body, Jones almost gagged. Eric had been reduced to a bloody stain on the floor. The formerly heavily muscled special operator looked as if he’d been put through a wood chipper. There wasn’t anything in the pile of gristle, blood, and cartilage that could be identified as human anymore.

  Hoping that the radio hadn’t been destroyed as well, Jones crouched down. With horrified fascination, he realised that the creature that had done this had cut through Eric’s clothes very precisely, almost like a surgeon would in the ER. It was as if it had realised that the clothes were not part of the man himself.

  This meant that there was more of a chance of the radio being intact, but it also meant that if it was, it was beneath the mess of gore. The sheer savageness of the butchery that had been done to the man was still working hard to make Jones lose his lunch, and the smell was much worse.

  The coppery smell of blood was mingled with the incredible stench of bile and whatever else had been contained within the stomach and intestines. The overpowering miasma of foul smells was forcing Jones to breathe through his mouth. His lips were parted only slightly, as if he feared he’d inhale any of the former security man’s body.

  Keeping his weapon in his dominant hand, Jones plunged his other into the mess of nastiness in front of him. There was a revolting squelching sound as he searched for the man’s body armour, making him gag. The sting of bile stayed at the bag of his throat, threatening to come up all over the dead man’s remains.

  Finding the edge of the almost surgically bisected clothes, Jones gripped it and flipped them over. The sickly wet slapping of soggy skin hitting the floor and the slopping of blood and whatever the fuck else was too much.

  Jones turned his head quickly and violently threw up. Bile spewed out onto the steel floor, mixing with the blood and forming a yellowish, red goo that slowly made its way across the smooth steel underneath it.

  He coughed and wretched a few times before throwing up again. This time, only a dribble of bile escaped his lips. Jones struggled to get his stomach under control, willing his body to stop. After a few shallow breaths, he turned back toward the mess. He was acutely aware of the feel of the gore on his hand as he did so.

  If Eric hadn’t have been wearing black clothes, Jones would not have been able to tell them apart from everything else by sight. He found the man’s jacket and started to scrabble for the radio device.

  Jones knew one of the creatures was coming. He could sense its presence.

  His neck prickled. It was like a small charge of electricity had just hit him, running down his spine. A headache started to form. Starting small and slowly building in intensity, it was as if someone was driving a very small needle into his brain.

  Tic…

  Tic…

  Tic…

  The sound of claws on steel. He hurried to work his way through the mess, his fingers scrabbling desperately for the radio. His other hand gripped the pistol so tightly that they turned white.

  Where the fuck is… THERE!

  His hand brushed against a hard plastic rectangle. He grabbed it, spinning around as he did so, raising his weapon, finger on the trigger and about to tighten.

  That’s when it hit him. It was like a bodybuilder had just hit him with a perfect swing from a baseball bat. He felt his ribs crack as the breath was forced out of him and he was lifted off the floor. As he flew down the corridor, the gun went clattering away, spinning as it went, but he held onto the radio.

  Jones hit the wall with a violent thump, his head banging into it. Stars formed in front of his eyes. His limbs refused to obey his commands, instead splaying out like those of a newborn giraffe. He fought for breath, his side sending waves of complete agony through his body. All he needed to do was reach the weapon.

  The creature hissed, a wet, sticky, unnatural sound, like it was gurgling some viscous liquid. Its claws tic tic tic’d their way toward him, moving slowly, taking its time.

  Jones fought to crawl away, but the floor offered no purchase for his scrabbling fingers. His heart thumped in his chest, the constant thudding combined with the roaring of his blood almost drowning out all external sounds.

  He wanted to call out, to tell Anna to run, to do something other than just lay there waiting to die, but he couldn’t. His body wouldn’t cooperate, it wouldn’t listen to the commands from his brain. All he could do was grip the radio, almost as if he wanted to die having accomplished one last good thing.

  Thoughts of his brother flashed into his head. Was this how he had felt when he was dying? Had he thought of his sibling as well as he died in the sand, his lifeblood staining it red?

  His thoughts were abruptly interrupted by gunshots, the explosions of cordite unbearably loud in the cramped steel corridor. At the same time, someone was screaming, a primal war cry of terror, fear, and anger. It was soon joined by another scream, but this one was wet, unearthly, and one of pain and surprise.

  Jones became dimly aware of his arm being pulled. The gunfire continued as he was dragged along the corridor. A woman was shouting at him, the words indistinguishable, but the meaning clear.

  Move!

  He forced his legs to move, using every ounce of his strength to get them underneath himself. The gunfire had stopped, replaced by the dry click of an empty chamber. Jones gave one last push, getting himself up with the help of the person who had his arm.

  The scream continued behind him, driving him forward. He stumbled on, being dragged along, and suddenly he was through the door. It was slammed shut behind him and they continued on, Anna desperately trying to get them to move faster, fear giving her a strength she had never experienced before.

  Pain stabbed into Jones’ side with each step, threatening to force the breath from his lungs, but he kept going. To stop would mean death. He did not want to die. Not now. Not miles beneath the ocean, torn up and turned into pulp like a frog in a blender.

  There came an almighty crash from behind them, and Anna tried to move faster, gripping Jones’ wrist tightly and dragging him along. The crash was followed by a scream that echoed down toward them, its meaning unmistakable.

  The creature was hungry.

  It was pissed off.

  And it had its prey in its sights.

  21

  The gunfire made Priya stop. She tried to pinpoint their source, but The Kingdom was just a maze of corridors that made it next to impossible. Beside her, Thompson continued to talk to himself. The words were unintelligible, a bunch of gibberish that it seemed only he could understand.

  It was surprising how small the big man looked. His white suit was stained with sweat, his hair askew. The polished veneer had fallen away, revealing a broken man underneath.

  Although it would have been easier, and probably safer for her, to leave the man somewhere, Priya couldn’t bring herself to do it. He was a person, and she had always believed that people deserved to be treated with kindness.

  The gunshots faded, leaving her and Thompson standing alone in a quiet corridor. She had no idea where she was, and the myriad signs on the ceilings and walls didn’t seem to be pointing her in the right directions. Some halls were even missing signs entirely.<
br />
  Not for the first time she wondered just how close to completion the hotel actually was. It seemed that in his haste to get more investors, Thompson had cut several corners. Had he compromised on safety as well?

  She shook the thoughts out of her head. Right now, she had one job—link up with Calder and Ekkow. Whatever was roaming the halls was a serious threat, and she doubted that it would be deterred without firepower.

  “Thompson?” she asked gently. “Look at me, please. I need to know where I can find a map of this place.”

  He didn’t respond. She sighed. There was no one home, although she did wonder briefly what was happening in his head.

  ***

  His wife was snarling at him, her words nothing more than vicious, guttural growls. He could do nothing but cower from her twisted, plastic pastiche of a face. His child was there too, right beside her mother, a smug smile on her face. She was enjoying this, enjoying seeing him emasculated by this woman who had only married him for his money.

  Little shit, he wanted to say. I fucking gave you everything, you ungrateful fucking cunts!

  But he couldn’t, not this time. His wife knew what to say, and it was hurting him. Each snarled word cutting straight to the bone. He felt tears running down his cheeks, heard himself whimper. Like some wounded dog, kicked into submission. All the fight had been stolen from him.

  These women had ruined his life. Ripped away his manhood and torn it up in front of him as he begged and pleaded for mercy. But they had no mercy, just like his mother hadn’t when she’d taken the belt to his cheeks, or slammed his head into a wall.

  He was nothing. Neither man nor boy. Just a vessel to be used by whoever saw fit to do so. There wasn’t a thing he could do about, because no matter how much money he had, or how good he looked, he was still that same little boy who couldn’t assert his dominance.

  What if you weren’t?

  It came from the blackness, eradicating the image of his twisted ex. His mother came into view, looking the same as he remembered, from when he was a child, years of rotting in a box having taken away nothing. Her long dark hair, perfect skin, loose-fitting summer dress.

  The perfect wife, the perfect mother, how lucky he was to have her in his life, they would all say. His teachers, his friends, all believing the lies she put forward.

  What if you weren’t that little boy? she purred through her soft, ruby-red lips. What if you were a man? Big and strong.

  She stepped forward, ran her fingers gently down his cheek. He’d never felt such a soft touch from her. Her soft hands had usually brought nothing but hurt.

  I’m going to make you my big man. Her hands ran down his chest. All you have to do is want it, as I have always wanted it. You will finally be the man I knew you could always be.

  He felt it then. It reared its head, worming up through the hate and disgust, a feeling for her he had not felt in a very long time. Love. A love for his mother, so pure and bright. But best of all, he felt it coming from her.

  It feels good, doesn’t it, big man? She smiled, perfect white teeth shining.

  Thompson nodded. It did feel good. Better than his money. Or the sex he always paid for, where he couldn’t feel powerful, no matter how rough he was. For the first time in a very long time, Bernard Thompson felt empowered. There was only one question that came to his mind.

  His mother read his thoughts.

  What will you do with this power, my big man?

  22

  They could hear it right behind them. Its claws skittered across the floor, the sound erratic. The bullets that Anna had pumped into the creature had hurt it, Jones thought. That was the only reason that they weren’t already dead.

  He’d regained his senses since the attack, but his arm was in pain. He could feel blood, warm and sticky, running down it. Anna was dragging him by his uninjured one, the gun gripped tightly in her other hand.

  Adrenaline was driving her forward, just as it was with him. The corridor had a T-junction up ahead, and she dragged them left. Jones barely had time to register where they were before he was yanked to the right.

  The young woman dragged them through an open door, closing it behind them as quickly and quietly as she could. She put her finger to her lips, eyes wide with fear, sweat pouring down her forehead and plastering her hair to her scalp.

  Jones tried to steady his breathing, wincing as the full pain of his injury started to work its way through the adrenaline hit he’d just been given. He noticed Anna pointing frantically, and it took him a moment to remember the radio that was still gripped in his hand.

  He nodded and raised it. Anna put her ear to the door, holding her finger up.

  Wait.

  Tic, tic, tic…

  The sound stopped. An unnatural, guttural growl was heard on the other side of the door. Jones held his breath. Anna stood stock still.

  Tic, tic, tic…

  It stopped and growled again. Jones hoped he hadn’t left a blood trail that would lead the thing right to them. If it burst through the door, he’d try and throw himself at it, give Anna a chance to get away.

  His heartbeat sounded like a drumbeat in his ears. The rush of blood resembled a raging river. Jones was sure the creature could hear him, was convinced it was on the other side of the door, just waiting for the right moment to come in. It wasn’t like doors could stop it—it had proved that when it had killed Eric.

  After what seemed like an eternity, the creature growled again, and they heard its claws skittering across the floor away from them. Jones raised the radio to his lips. Anna nodded.

  “Calder, Ekkow, anyone, come in. We need someone with a very big gun right fucking now.”

  “This is Calder, copy that. Where are you and how many of you are there?”

  “It’s just Anna and me. We encountered something. Eric is dead. We’re in…” he looked around, “it looks like a room, but not for the guests. I’m guessing staff quarters? I don’t know. We just took off running.”

  “Can you find anything in the room that might give us a clue?”

  Anna nodded and began to search the small room. It was very utilitarian, just a bed set into the wall, a small table, wardrobe, and a door that presumably led to a bathroom. She went to the drawers first, pulling them open as quietly as she could. After a moment, she held up a book.

  “There’s a book in here. We got it from the drawer. Looks like a Terry Pratchett novel.”

  “Is there any…” Calder stopped. “Okay, we know where you are. Hang tight, we’re coming.”

  “Axel, one more thing. Anna emptied an entire magazine into one of them. It didn’t kill it, but it slowed it down.”

  “Good. If it gets injured, we can kill it.”

  ***

  “Is there any…” Calder started, about to ask if there was anything else that could identify the room, when Ekkow interrupted.

  “That’s my room, bruv.”

  “You read Pratchett?” Calder asked once he’d signed off.

  “Hell yeah. That is some good writing.”

  Calder chuckled. “You’re full of surprises.”

  “Um, guys,” Billy said, “I don’t mean to alarm you, but the slime stuff is getting closer.”

  The two soldiers got serious. “Okay, this is what we’re gonna do. We know where Jones and Anna are, so we get them first. Then Ekkow, you and I are going to try to get them into a sub before we find Priya and Thompson. We clear?” The other two men nodded. “Good. Ekkow, you’re on point, mate. Billy, you’re in the middle. You do what we say, when we say. And if any fire fights break out, you get down, clear?”

  Billy nodded. “I really don’t want to die, man.”

  “You and me both, bruv,” Ekkow said, readying his weapon.

  ***

  “Never thought I’d actually miss home,” Anna said as she pulled the torn bit of shirt tight around Jones’ wound.

  “Shit home life, huh?”

  “Oh man, you have no idea. My dad’s a
n ass.”

  “Aren’t they all?”

  Anna chuckled, sitting down on the floor and pulling her knees to her chest. “Asian kid problems. He doesn’t show any affection, ships me off to events or parties or whatever. Guy only needs me around to show face. I mean, yeah, I get it, rich kid, tough life, all that shit. But still, man, sometimes I wonder, why the fuck did you have a kid if you didn’t want to?”

  “I don’t know. My home life was pretty standard, I guess. My brother and I were close all our lives. None of that bullying stuff you get on TV. We just kind of got along from day one, never looked back.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “He died,” Jones said after a pause. “We both became journalists. He was embedded with a unit in Afghanistan. The official story is that an IED went off. You wanna know something funny? I always thought I’d be the one to bite it first. I mean, I was always taking the risks. He never did.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that, man. I have never had any siblings. My mother died when I was little, and my dad raised me with a collection of helpers and boarding schools. I guess I don’t understand what it’s really like to be close to someone like that.”

  “It’s a good feeling. And since you saved my life back there, I guess we’re going to get pretty tight. Although I realise you’d rather get close to Priya.”

  Anna’s cheeks flushed. “How did you know?”

  “It’s pretty obvious, my dear.”

  “Fuck. Yeah, well, that’s just another thing on my list of issues. Being gay in Singapore isn’t exactly something that the society celebrates.”

  “Does your dad know?”

  The young woman stifled a laugh. “Hell no. Not that he would care anyway, the cheebai.”

  “I guess we all have our secrets.”

  “Yeah. Fuck me, man, what the fuck are those things?”

  “Don’t think about them, we need to keep calm.”

  “How?”

  “Do what we’ve been doing. Small talk, get to know each other. Something I learned being in military units the world over. You have to keep your mind off the shit to survive it.”