Deep Fear

by Jethro Wegener

  “You think we will? Survive it, I mean.”

  Jones was quiet for a moment, looking into the girl’s eyes. He could see the courage in them, but there was fear there too. It was to be expected. He was scared, and he’d been in the kind of situations most people only saw in movies. Whatever the fuck they were facing, it was unlike anything either of them had ever seen.

  “We’re going to try.”

  She smiled. “Thanks for being honest.”

  23

  “Fuck,” Priya said.

  They’d been heading down a random corridor, hoping that they’d end up heading toward the med bay, but when they finally came upon a map on the wall, it was obvious that they weren’t. They had been moving away from it.

  It didn’t help that progress was slow because of Thompson, who had now gone into an almost catatonic state. At least the man was willing to be led around, because there was no way she could bring herself to leave him behind.

  Another thing had been bugging her for a while—the fact that they hadn’t encountered any survivors. Nor had they come across any of the creatures. And yet she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being watched at every turn. There was a prickly feeling on the back of her neck, but every time she turned around, she saw nothing.

  It was all getting a bit much. This job was supposed to have been easy, and fun. But now it was just a horror show. She was tired, the adrenalin having worn off and left an unbelievable tiredness in its place. It felt like her bones were aching. All Priya wanted to do was sit down.

  She found herself doing it before she realised she was acting on the impulse. She shook her head and straightened. If they stopped, they’d die. She knew that as surely as she knew her name. And yet, the floor looked so inviting…

  “Jesus Christ, girl, pull it together,” she said out loud.

  Thompson didn’t react. He just stood there, staring off down the corridor.

  What was he looking at?

  Priya followed his gaze. About five metres ahead was a junction, shrouded in darkness. Which was weird, because she was sure that the emergency lighting had been on earlier…

  She took a hesitant step forward, squinting down into the dark. It looked like there was something moving, but she couldn’t be sure. Thompson had started whispering something under his breath, his words intelligible, but somehow they sent a chill down her spine.

  Every instinct was telling her to turn and run. Tear down the corridor and not look back until she was far away. But common sense told her that that might not be the best idea. Instead, she gripped Thompson’s hand and started slowly backing up, keeping her eye on the darkness.

  There definitely was something hiding within it, although whether it was man or beast, she couldn’t be sure. A coppery smell was emanating from the dark. Familiar, and somehow grotesque, it made her want to gag. And then, a voice.

  “Help me…”

  The words were strangely drawn out. They drifted through the empty space from out of the dark, reaching Priya’s ears and sending goose pimples down her arms. It wasn’t real, instead being as close to a voice as something that didn’t have one could manage to make.

  She continued to back up, her eyes locked on the thing she couldn’t quite see. It continued to plead, to beg. The words making sense sometimes, and at others being nothing but gibberish. Thompson’s eyes were locked on the same thing, his lips twisted into a strange, chilling smile.

  Priya wanted to let go of the man’s hand there and then. It took all her will power to keep it clamped around the rich man’s wrist. Something about that smile was more terrifying than the thing in the dark.

  A glance over her shoulder showed that the corridor wasn’t as short as she’d thought. It seemed to stretch on endlessly, a long expanse of featureless, lifeless grey. In front of her, the darkness seemed to be advancing, tendrils of it inching forward, devouring the light as it went.

  Terror more real than any she had ever felt gripped Priya’s heart just then, its claws worming through her blood. It felt as if ice was slowly spreading through her body. She stopped moving without meaning to. Her legs just wouldn’t obey.

  “Help me…”

  The voice that wasn’t a voice was getting closer. Whatever was making it wasn’t human. It wasn’t of this world. And it was hungry. She could hear the hunger in the voice. The words were pleading, but the meaning behind them was clear. The thing was going to devour her, rip her very soul to shreds while she screamed. It was going to be a fate worse than death, and there was nothing she could do about it—all she could do was stand and watch it come.

  Beside her, Thompson started to laugh. It started as a chuckle, before rising to a full-on belly-laugh. Tears streamed down his ashen face. His lips were pulled back in a dreadful mockery of a smile, flawless white teeth shining in the dim glow of the emergency lights.

  But as suddenly as it began, the laughter stopped. The man stood upright and looked at what was coming, as if for the first time. His posture changed, from a man defeated to one that stood tall. Priya realised that whatever madness had gripped him was lifting, and she knew that this was their only chance.

  “Run!” she screamed, yanking the man’s arm and sprinting away.

  As she’d hoped, the man followed suit, his dress shoes banging hard against the floor as they sprinted away. Behind them, the darkness continued to plead for help, drawing out the words as it did so, before it all became an unintelligible blur of nonsense.

  ***

  There was a sudden wet, slurping sound, as if someone had just put their hand into a jar of slime. Calder spun round, his weapon up and ready. The black slime was working its way through the seams of the medical bay door, slowly oozing through the tiny crack it was making. The stuff was forcing itself through the door, eager to get to them.

  “Oh fuck no,” Billy said, backing away.

  The stuff was moving faster than it had been, advancing upon them. Ekkow grabbed Billy by the shoulder and the three men backed slowly out of the room. Once they were clear, Calder sealed the door behind them.

  “This stuff is everywhere,” he said. “It was all over one of the corridors I took to get here. It calls to you.”

  Billy shivered. “And fucking attacks you, man. It got under my skin.”

  “So we stay away from it then,” Ekkow said. He was tense, his shoulders tight. He rolled them a bit, working his muscles. “Bruv, I never thought I’d wish we were back in Afghanistan.”

  “Ekkow, we need to go. The sooner we round up the others, the sooner we get the fuck out of this place.”

  The big man nodded, but Calder noticed him barely supressing a shiver. With one last check of his shotgun, they started off. Billy fell in line behind him, obviously terrified. Sweat poured off his forehead, his pupils looked like big black saucers, and his movement was jerky, like a panicked rabbit. Calder made a note to keep an eye on him—that kind of terror made people unpredictable and irrational.

  Calder had seen it too many times, watched good guys crack under pressure, and almost get themselves killed. Billy was just a civvie; he wasn’t cut out for this kind of thing. Hell, if Calder was being honest, neither was he.

  What the fuck were they even dealing with? An alien? Something from the depths of hell? It was absurd.

  Calder shook his head. He had to keep his mind clear. People who got distracted in combat got dead.

  He took a breath, centred himself. Whatever they were fighting, all that mattered was that it was trying to kill them. They didn’t want to die. The rules were that simple. He had to compartmentalise. Same as he’d done in a hundred other dirty conflicts over the years. Us versus them—that was all that mattered.

  24

  “This look right to you?” Ekkow asked, stopping.

  Billy and Calder stopped as well. Calder scanned the corridor in front of them. It was empty, featureless. The same as every other. Except…

  “We should have been there by now,” Calder said. “How l
ong have we been walking?”

  No one knew. Time had seemed to stretch on forever, and yet it had also seemed to pass in an instant. A paradox—like a car going backward and forward at the same time.

  Billy was wringing his hands, his eyes darting nervously around. Sweat beaded his brow. Calder shared a look with Ekkow, who nodded. If he panicked, then they were fucked. Both men knew the risks of that a non-combatant posed in this type of situation.

  “So, what do we do, bruv?”

  Calder considered their options. Backward or forward. Two choices. Yet they had a mission, so there was only really one choice.

  “We keep on. But we count steps, keep track of time. Make sure we’re making progress.”

  Before going forward again, both Calder and Ekkow checked their watches and called out the time. Each man counted their steps as they moved. One pace, two, three, and on they went toward their destination.

  Ten minutes later, they stopped. Time had passed, they had moved, and yet—it felt as if no progress had been made.

  “It’s playing with us,” Billy whispered.

  “What is?” Calder asked, but he knew the answer.

  “Whatever we let in here. Whatever we woke up on the ocean floor.”

  “Why?”

  “Because…because it can. It was in my head. I felt it learning, reading my thoughts, figuring me out. It felt as if it was laughing the whole time I cowered, the whole time I felt pain. The thing laughed.”

  Ekkow caught Calder’s eye and shook his head. But Calder knew the man wasn’t losing it. At least, not entirely. He could feel it all around them. A presence, alien, yes, but also intelligent. And he knew from long years of experience when he was being played with. How did the song go?

  Despite all my rage, I am still just a rat in a cage…

  “I don’t think we can fight it, man. We just need to run. Get the fuck out of here and don’t look back.”

  Billy started to babble, talking about escape, about leaving the others behind, finding a way out, destroying the place. Only half of it made sense, the rest was all desperate plans scratched out of an earth too dry to yield any fruit at all.

  Calder tried to calm him. He spoke softly, earnestly, like he’d been trained. He knew how to deal with shock. After the man had finally calmed, Ekkow help up a hand, requesting silence.

  Drip… Drip… Drip…

  Calder nodded, spinning and aiming down the way they’d come. It sounded like someone had left a faucet on over a sink full of dishes. At regular intervals, a water droplet would fall onto a pot in the sink, making a metallic clink. And it was coming closer.

  Drip… Drip… Drip…

  Soon, it was joined by something else. A wet, slapping sound. It reminded Calder of when he went to the butcher as a kid, and the bloke would slap a steak down on the board after slicing it off.

  Drip… Drip… Slap… Drip… Drip… Slap…

  Billy was quiet, too scared to talk. His eyes bugged, his gaze switching from one end of the corridor to the other. Calder’s hand tightened on his weapon, but he kept steady. He trusted Ekkow to do the same behind him. The two of them had been through hell together, working together as a unit. They trusted each other implicitly.

  The sounds continued coming closer, the slapping picking up speed. Calder steadied his breathing, willing his heart to stop threatening to burst through his ribs. Whatever was coming would be greeted with lead.

  “Eyes on!” Ekkow said, and then a second later, “Hold fire! Friendly contact.”

  Calder spun around, bringing his weapon to bear just in case, to find a sight he had never expected. At the end of the corridor stood Jackson, soaked in blood.

  “Hello, boss.”

  25

  “What the fuck?” Billy breathed.

  Calder stared, his mind racing, his weapon pointed at a 45-degree angle toward the floor. It was Jackson. It just wasn’t all of him.

  The steady dripping continued, and the source was the ex-marine’s left arm. It had been sheared off just above the elbow. The wound was jagged—a red mess of meat with a shiny white bone sticking out. Blood dripped from the wound in small, steady drops.

  Jackson took a step forward, and Calder saw what the slapping sound had been. Because the step was more of a limp. The man’s right foot had been ripped off at some point, leaving a messy stump of flesh behind, like he’d put his foot into a paper shredder.

  The man was covered in dried blood, staining his combat uniform a dark crimson. A cut ran from just under his left eye to his jawline. His teeth seemed to be impossibly white in his smiling face.

  “Hello, boss,” Jackson said again.

  There was something wrong about his smile. It was a grotesque parody of one, as if a puppet master had just pulled his skin into the best approximation of one. There was no humour in it. Calder’s weapon rose another few degrees.

  Jackson stepped forward.

  Drip… Slap…

  “I… think I need some help, boss.”

  “Stay there, bruv,” Ekkow said, his shotgun aimed centre mass.

  Calder’s mind was blank. He had no idea what to do. His training was telling him to help. To rush forward and administer first aid. But his instincts were screaming at him.

  Danger!

  He brought his weapon up.

  “Boss…” Jackson examined the stump of his arm, as if seeing it for the first time. “I should be in pain, shouldn’t I?”

  The man laughed—an empty sound that echoed through the silent hallway. He waved his bloody stump at them, taking another limping step forward.

  “Stay put,” Ekkow said, shotgun at the ready.

  “There’s something wrong with him, man,” Billy said, trying to back away.

  “Wrong?” Jackson stopped loping forward. “Nothing’s wrong with me, boss.”

  “What happened?” Calder asked.

  “I died.” The man laughed. “I guess there is something wrong with me after all! I died in pain and alone, boss. Where were you?”

  Calder said nothing.

  Jackson smiled his parody smile. “There’s something down here with us, boss. It chose you—all of you.”

  “Chose us for what?”

  “I…don’t know…”

  Fluid started to leak from Jackson’s eyes. The black goo flowed down his cheeks like viscous tears. His smile faded.

  “It’s in my head,” he said. “Using me. It wants you all to know that you’re going to die. Just like the others—the meat.”

  “Is that what it calls everyone else who died?”

  “They were uninteresting.” His speech was distorted now, the words stammering out of his mouth. “No. Not…like the others. Worse. They…were the lucky ones…”

  More black liquid flowed out of Jackson, from his eyes, his ears, his mouth, his wounds. It pooled on the floor in front of him, a big sticky puddle as thick and black as fresh tar. The stench was unbelievable, a raw, stinging assault on the group’s senses.

  The black stuff finally stopped coming out of Jackson and shot backward, sliding across the floor away from the group. It disappeared around the corner, leaving Jackson standing, the steady dripping of blood from his ragged stump continuing.

  The man’s face went slack, and his good leg buckled. He hit the floor face first with a wet slap. Calder and Ekkow stood stunned, their weapons trained on nothing. Billy whimpered.

  “This ain’t normal, bruv. This shit just ain’t fucking normal.”

  That’s when they heard it. It was coming from behind them, a steady ticking, as if a dog’s claws were skittering across tiles.

  Ekkow and Calder spun round, Calder grabbing Billy and forcing him down, out of the line of fire. They started to back up, careful not to trip over Jackson’s limp form. Billy continued to whimper, tears and snot running down his face.

  “Whatever comes around that corner, take it out.”

  Ekkow nodded, focusing his sights on the empty corridor as the ticking conti
nued. There was more than one thing coming. Calder could tell from the skittering.

  “Multiple hostiles,” he breathed, gripping Billy tightly, dragging the man back with him.

  They were close now, almost in their line of sight. Calder steadied his breathing, gripped his weapon tight, preparing his arm for the recoil of the weapon. Ekkow did the same, getting the stock of the shotgun in the crook of his shoulder, ready to take the recoil.

  The first creature came around the corner slowly. It had long, animal-like limbs, vicious claws, and razor-sharp teeth. Its body was pieced together from human flesh. Great chunks of it, torn into ragged strips and stitched onto itself. Calder noticed an ear on its chest, and what looked like the flesh of a face that had been flayed off the skull, the eye holes and mouth revealing pulsating black flesh underneath it.

  All of this occurred to him in seconds, but he forced his brain not to think. He didn’t have time to think, and if he could have comprehended what was in front of him, he’d have gone mad. So, he fired.

  Two shots flew straight and true. The rounds hit the creature in what Calder assumed was its chest. It howled in pain and anger, its eyes locking onto the three men. Then there was the deafening boom of the shotgun as Ekkow pulled his trigger.

  Half of the creature’s head disappeared in a mess of red and black blood, and it was flung backward. Calder turned his attention to the second one, aiming for the head, his rounds hitting their mark.

  Ekkow fired again, this shot taking a limb off of a second creature. But it kept coming, crawling over the floor, its movements graceful and grotesque all at once. Calder shoved Billy behind him and took up a two-handed stance, emptying the rest of his magazine into the on-coming threat.

  “Reloading,” he said, dropping the spent mag and sliding a fresh one home.

  A third creature appeared, ragged flesh stretched and stitched over its awful form. It paid no mind to its twitching brethren, instead advancing forward. Calder put his rounds into its head, squeezing off shot after shot.