Torment of Tantalus

by Bard Constantine

  The ship had been torn in half.

  The bottom section was slowly pulled into the depths of the black sea waters, still encompassed by writhing tentacles. The segment she was in appeared to be suspended in midair, though Elena couldn’t comprehend what held it upward. She blinked water from her lashes, sure she was hallucinating.

  Lightning flashed, sizzling across the waters. For an instant she thought she saw a man out in the storm, levitating in the midst of towering waves. The waters receded as something dark and terrible breached from the depths as if to confront him.

  Darkness obscured her view as the ship lurched again. An unsummoned memory surfaced, a time when she was a child, screaming because the merry-go-round wouldn’t stop. She was there again, clutching a metallic rail with all her strength while the world span round about, blurs of indecipherable movement and shapes. Her stomach roiled, her consciousness teetered on the edge of blacking out.

  A sudden impact jolted her entire body. She had just enough time to register that the ship must have struck something solid before the resulting collision ripped her from her perch and sent her flying through empty space. She glimpsed flickers of grainy light and flashes of green before she struck something metallic and the lights went out.

  Chapter 12: Fregoli Delusion

  Michael hovered over the raging sea while monstrous tentacles pulled half of the ship to a watery grave. Angry black waves dashed against one another in liquescent warfare, lightning forked nearly nonstop, illuminating the perfect storm in dazzling flashes.

  Michael was not alarmed. He was the sea. He was the storm.

  The remains of the ship hung in the air above his head. He was the ship. He held it aloft easily, some bond connected he to it and it to him. He did not question the impossibility. Answers did not matter there, in the heart of the tempest.

  Abomination.

  The voice was thunder. It was the sound of the fathomless deep, booming in Michael’s head.

  The waters cowered back as a terrible visage surfaced from their depths. A head the size of a small island breached the surface, dark and primeval. The thick tentacles that had destroyed the ship hung from its face like a living beard. The rest of it was bulbous and scaled, with fiery eyes affixed above the wriggling appendages. Its gaze locked on Michael, filled with ancient intelligence and dark majesty.

  Abomination. You should not exist.

  Michael shook his head. Not real. He forced himself to take a closer look at the massive monstrosity. It seemed impossible that such a being could exist. Judging by the head alone, Michael guessed the thing would tower over skyscrapers if it emerged onto dry land. He answered in the same manner the monster spoke—within his mind.

  What are you?

  I am what remains. I am the worm that eats the core of your world.

  No. You are not real. You are just another manifestation of my madness.

  Madness is a label attached to what you do not understand. You are an abomination. Your metamorphosis was not anticipated. Now we comprehend a great many things.

  I don’t know what you’re talking about.

  You are no longer one of them. Nor are you one of us. You are an anomaly. You are the Herald.

  Of what?

  Of your world’s destruction.

  Michael trembled. For an instant everything teetered on the edge of collapse. The world spun around him before he centered himself. He was the sea. He was the storm.

  What do you want?

  The Cataclysm must not be reset.

  I don’t know what that means.

  The Cataclysm has already consumed your world. You simply have not witnessed it yet. It does not matter. Humanity is a withered corpse, rank and overrun by maggots. It is only a matter of time before you pass beyond the point of no return.

  The sea frothed as the monster slowly submerged. Its tentacles whipped around Michael, thrashing like trees in a tsunami. As the massive head sank into the roiling depths, the rumbling voice uttered its final words.

  You will kill them all.

  ∞Φ∞

  Michael blinked open his eyes.

  Invasive light flooded, causing him to wince and squeeze them shut again. He wondered if everything he’d experienced was some vivid dream, and he was back in the sterile isolation of his padded prison.

  The sound of water became gradually audible. It was soothing, gentle. Much like the beach in Miami when he had proposed to Cynthia. He turned in that direction and reopened his eyes. The shore was only yards away, the sunlight glinting off of glassy blue waters. The wind was light and the air salty.

  He sat up and examined himself. His clothes were half-dry and torn in several places. Blood was spattered across the collar of his shirt. He squeezed the bridge of his nose and snorted, not surprised to find it partially clogged. If all he had to worry about was a bloody nose, he had come out of the ordeal very fortunate.

  “Michael!”

  He turned around. Nathan strode toward him, followed by Elena. Both of them looked worse than Michael did, covered in cuts and bruises. The ruined wreckage of the ship was farther back, like some toy that had been torn apart and discarded. Massive pieces of debris littered the shoreline. Looking at it, Michael was surprised any of them had survived.

  Relief flashed across Nathan’s face. He looked as if to embrace Michael, but stopped short. “You’re…alive. I can’t believe it. I thought for sure you had—”

  You will kill them all.

  Michael winced and shook his head. “Not yet.” He nodded toward the ship. A few other people wandered around the wreckage, picking through the remains. “How many survived?”

  Nathan’s face turned grim. “Not enough.”

  Elena glanced up at the sky. “At least the storm has broken. Is that the end, then? Is the Aberration over?”

  Michael looked past the damaged ship, which had collapsed against the jutted roots of a tangled forest. It looked like some primordial jungle, some lost section of the world never discovered by man. Shadows and mist danced to dark music just beyond the range of hearing. Thousands of glimmering eyes gazed from the darkness, every one of them staring directly at him.

  Ravens.

  “No. We were just at the outskirts earlier. It will only get worse from here.”

  Elena cursed softly before taking a deep breath. “Well, we’d better join up with the others. We’ll see what our options are.”

  ∞Φ∞

  Alexander Blackwell laughed. “Options? Our options haven’t changed just because we had a little mishap. Our objectives remain the same: locate the laboratory and hopefully Dr. Stein himself, then find a way to get out of here.”

  Michael stared at him. Blackwell didn’t appear insane. In fact, he didn’t look at all worse for the wear, and neither did Sid Damon. They had been secured in Blackwell’s private emergency chamber, which was thick as a bank vault and came equipped with oxygen tanks that could last for up to two days if the bunker was ejected into the ocean. Once strapped in, they only suffered from the nauseating effects of an all-too-real roller coaster ride, but fortunately didn’t have to expel the pod from the ship. It gleamed like a silver bullet a few yards away, completely unscathed.

  The motley crew of survivors gathered under the shade of the wreckage, which hung over them like the corpse of a metallic whale. Michael recognized Sergeant Chen and Ariki, the hulking Maori soldier. Next to him was Charlie Foxtrot. She applied stitches to her leg, sewing up the wound as if it were a piece of fabric. Corporal Lurch Davies chomped on a cigar next to a decidedly nervous-looking Private Hayes, while Guy stood atop a hilltop a few yards away, surveying their surroundings.

  Michael gazed around in disbelief. “This is it? All who survived?”

  Lurch spat and squinted until his face contorted. “Looks like it.”

  “Damn.”

  Hayes chewed on his fingernails while eyeing the rest of the ragtag group. “So…anyone else think that was a little insane?”

  Cha
rlie Foxtrot smirked. “What, you gone belly-up on us, Hayes? Thought you was a fiend for action. That’s what you keep saying, anyway.”

  “Action, yeah.” He blinked rapidly. “I didn’t sign up for this, though. You saw what happened. What it was that attacked us. Monsters, man. Goddamned monsters.”

  She said nothing, turning her gaze back to her stitches. The uncomfortable silence spoke for all of them.

  “Some freakish, sick creatures I couldn’t even dream up in my nightmares. Anyone else get a memo on that? ‘Cause I sure didn’t.”

  Nathan folded his arms and glowered at Blackwell. “Mishap? Is that what you’re calling this? A ‘mishap’ is waking up late for work and stubbing your toe. What just happened to us is no mishap, it’s a disaster.”

  “I’m not kidding.” Hayes’ head swiveled as he tried to find a sympathetic face. “We got screwed, man. We’re out of our league. We need backup. Or better yet, a fast ride outta here.”

  Lurch fixed Hayes with a hard glare. “Shut your face, Hayes. ‘Fore I’m forced to shut it for you.”

  Nathan turned back to Blackwell. “Hayes is right. You just lost most of your crew in a freak storm that didn’t even register on the forecast.”

  Hayes nodded. “Don’t forget about the monsters. Those disgusting, mutated freaks.” He looked to say more, but took a second look at Lurch and closed his mouth.

  Blackwell waved a dismissive hand. “I get your point, Nathan. Their families will be well compensated for the tragic loss. I’m sure Hollywood will make a heroic movie about it one day. But I think our current situation requires our immediate focus for now.”

  “That’s right, Nate.” Damon’s mouth twisted. “Time to man up. Not that you know anything about that. I still don’t see how out of everyone on that ship, you civilians managed to survive. Just dumb luck, I guess.”

  “This wasn’t supposed to happen.” Elena’s face was deadly pale. “We were supposed to have a full squad and support from the command center. We’re just bare bones. No one has our backs.”

  Damon gave her a skeletal grin. “Thought you’d be sitting pretty while the rest of us took the risks? Things change quickly in a storm, sweetheart.”

  “That’s not the only change.” Blackwell took a look around and grimaced. “Sad to say, I have no idea where we are. Or the direction of Stein’s lab.”

  “Why not?” Nathan asked. “You shipped them here.”

  “Yes, but none of this was here then.” Blackwell gestured to the thick, ominous rain forest. “The lab is somewhere in all of that, but the exact location is beyond me.”

  Elena’s eyes widened. “You mean to tell us this entire jungle grew in just a few months?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m telling you. It’s unexpected, but we’re dealing with the unknown here. aberrant energy apparently forces reality takes a back seat, so what can we do?”

  Michael cleared his throat. “We can wait here on the beach until backup arrives. That’s the sane option.”

  “I’m sorry—didn’t you just survive a storm of godlike magnitude? One in which our ship was not only decimated by mutated crustacean creatures, but also by a monster squid that ripped through a military vessel like rotted cheese? You think it’s possible to get cellular or satellite signals out from this place?” Blackwell’s laugh was bitter. “We already tried. And you think we have backup coming? Some savior to rescue us? Granted, Nathan’s untimely message has undoubtedly reached my father, but I wouldn’t count on some miraculous rescue anytime soon. It wouldn’t surprise me if krakens and deadly squalls were a regular occurrence for anyone trying to get here.”

  “In other words, we’re on our own.” Damon dropped an assortment of military gear on top of a varied stack of firearms. “The goal is to find the facility and get a direct signal out, or better yet locate the sub that was docked there. It’s our best option for getting out of this hell hole. So forget about camping out and strap on your hiking boots. While you were busy napping, we did some salvaging. Managed to secure enough guns, but not enough ammo. What you got is all you have, so don’t waste it.”

  Michael picked up a tactical vest and tried it on. The straps were more difficult to adjust than they appeared.

  “Let me help you, crazy man.” Ariki nearly pulled Michael off his feet when he secured the harness straps. His dark eyes stared at Michael in an almost wary manner.

  “I saw you get pulled out into the storm. One minute you’re walking like a man dreaming, then boom.” Ariki clapped his heavy hands together. “Tentacles everywhere and you get swept out in a rush of water.”

  Michael shrugged. “I don’t remember any of it. Got lucky, I guess.”

  Ariki laughed. “You stay by me, then. I think I’ll need some of your luck.” He looked on as Michael pulled a M9 pistol from its holster and peered down the sights. “You look like you know how to use one of those.”

  “I do.” Michael ejected the cartridge and examined it carefully before reloading it. “I spent a lot of hours in firearms training after my experience last time.”

  “Last time?”

  “Last time I was in this kind of situation. In an Aberration.”

  Ariki gave him an appraising glance. “Yeah, I think you’ll do fine, bud. Maybe you’ll help me survive this like you did.”

  “We’ll help each other out.”

  Elena had quickly donned a helmet and vest, and armed herself with several handguns and a MK8 rifle. She assisted Nathan, who appeared even more helpless than Michael with the gear.

  Damon’s mouth twisted. “Why bother? I don’t see any abusive dads around here. Seems to be the only thing Nathan can hit with a bullet.”

  Nathan gave him a cool glance. “Guess you better hope things don’t come down to me having to save your life by my aim.”

  “Worry about saving your own life, Nathan. It’s worthless to everyone else.”

  “Enough talk.” Guy’s hard stare took in everyone in the makeshift camp. “We’re leaving. Don’t weigh yourself down, because we’ll be running.”

  “We’re leaving now?” Blackwell stood quickly and adjusted the bulky pack on his back. “Do you know where we’re going?”

  Guy pointed toward the shore. “Away from that.”

  They all turned. Michael felt his chest tighten in response.

  Jellyfish emerged from the still, calm surface of the bay and floated across the air as though still underwater. The gelatinous, umbrella-shaped bells were pale and translucent, trailed by strings of tentacles. Each bell was at least the size of a man’s head, with tentacles the length of an average human body. Hundreds of the luminous creatures lifted from the waters, ornamented by tiny dots of light that flickered across their viscous surfaces. They drifted with ghost-like silence toward the shore.

  Hayes leaped to his feet, holding his M16 rifle with trembling hands. “What the hell are those?”

  Michael narrowed his eyes. The bulbous bells of the jellyfish appeared delicate as rice paper, and glowed as though illuminated by LED lights. But something else was inside of the near-transparent surfaces, vaguely familiar shapes that became clearer as the jellies drew closer. As they pulsed with ghostly light, it became ominously clear what the silhouettes were.

  Human heads.

  They were barely decipherable, but they were there. In various stages of decay from fully formed to nearly skeletal, they floated in their cloudy cocoons, faces staring outward as though still alive. Their expressions were frozen in assorted stages of terror and agony.

  Thunder erupted right beside Michael’s face. He jerked and threw himself to the ground before realizing it was Hayes, firing continuous rounds at the oncoming jellies. His mouth was open in a wild roar, his widened eyes illuminated by muzzle flashes. The retorts sounded too loud, too booming. Michael placed both hands over his ears and craned his neck to see the damage.

  Jellies exploded in viscous spatters, but what fell to the ground were rotting human heads. They struck the shore
with sounds like overripe fruit splattering, as Hayes fired round after round into the hovering mass. Guy and Damon shouted and angrily gestured, but their voices were drowned out by the blazing gunfire.

  Hayes’ chest heaved when his magazine went empty. His mouth worked, but no words escaped.

  Lurch reached over and seized him by the collar. His cigar fell from his lips when he bellowed in Hayes’ sweat-soaked face.

  “Weren’t you just told to save your rounds, you worthless prick?”

  Hayes didn’t seem to hear. His eyes swam in his face, staring past Lurch at the oncoming cloud of ethereal jellies.

  Their approach quickened.

  Though still silent, their pale surfaces glimmered with angry red blushes as though agitated. Hundreds of whip-like tentacles fanned out, stretching toward the apprehensive group like accusing fingers.

  Lurch shoved Hayes forward. “Move your sorry ass!”

  The rest of them didn’t need further admonition. Lurch’s gravelly shout snapped them out of their initial paralyzed state, prodding them into sudden and panicky action. They ran the only direction they could—into the waiting embrace of the thick, tangled green of the jungle.

  Humidity leaped on Michael’s shoulders as soon as he entered. His pores responded by saturating him with sweat. The rainforest appeared ancient, as if the towering trees and tangled vines had an eternity to grow and spread into a massive ecosystem. Large, damp leaves slapped him in the face, vines tried to ensnare his arms, hidden roots and stones turned his run into more of a stumbling jog as he attempted to keep his balance. The air was stifling, thick and heavy with the scent of dank, moldy earth. The only sounds were tramp of booted feet, the group’s heavy breathing, and Lurch’s mumbled curses.

  They ran forever, following in one another’s footsteps. Guy took point, leading them deeper into the snarled foliage, never bothering to check who followed him. The light dimmed the further they went on, smothered by the heavy blanket of intertwined limbs and crawling vines above. Every shadow was a potential threat, every massive tree suspect for what might be lurking behind. Michael’s lungs burned, his mouth went dry, his legs felt made of stone, each step heavier than the last.