The Black: Outbreak

by Paul E. Cooley

  CRACKLE.

  She went rigid. Blood pounded in her ears. She fought to keep her breathing shallow and silent. Sarah waited for the sound to repeat, but it didn’t. The cone of light streaming from her rifle was just wide enough to show her another wrecked row of chairs, or at least their remains. The tiled floor reflected the light like a polished mirror.

  As fast as she dared, she turned in a semicircle, the light reaching for the back walls. The light seemed to disappear at the east wall. Swallowed. The word sent shivers down her spine. That was it. It was there. Right fucking there.

  She dropped one hand from the rifle, pulled a flare from her belt, took a deep breath, and struck its top. The cylinder flamed into strong red light. She threw it as far as she could at the east wall. And then she was screaming.

  The garish crimson glow illuminated a misshapen blob the size of a mac truck. Tentacles, more than she could count and of all sizes, wriggled from its surface. A crown of eyestalks craned toward her, their dead insectile orbs quivering with rage.

  She took a step back. And then another. One of the tentacles crackled and elongated. Several smaller tentacles disappeared back into the blob’s body. Another tentacle grew larger, longer. It swished across the floor. The crackling sound continued, crescendoing like fat in a heating fryer. Legs sprouted from the thing’s base.

  Step. Step. Step. She wanted to run. Christ, but she wanted to turn tail screaming. Gritting her teeth, she returned her free hand to the rifle.

  “Boss? You okay?” Perkins’ voice chattered in her ear.

  She tried to speak, but no words came out. She tried again and managed a dusky, “It’s here.”

  “Where?”

  “Surgery waiting room two.”

  The thing twitched, and then she heard the tell-tale click of taloned feet on the tile. It was coming.

  “Get ready!” she yelled and ran for her life.

  Her rifle bounced in her hands. The thump of her heart blocked out all sound save for the rapid clicking behind her. The urge to turn, to see just how close it was behind her, was almost too powerful to ignore. She focused instead on the LED lights shining at her from the other waiting room area. She could barely make out the wheelchair’s silhouette. Something smashed down on the floor beside her with a loud crunch. It was gaining. Its tentacles were too long. It was going to reach her before—

  The loud crack of a gunshot pierced the air. Another followed. And then another. The rapid muzzle flashes told her Alpha had opened up full auto, but everything seemed so slow, as though the lights and her team was moving further and further away while the creature behind closed the distance. One of the rifles stopped firing and a new LED light waved her to the left side. Sarah had never run so fast or hard in her life.

  “DROP!” Perkins shouted.

  Sarah’s body instantly obeyed. She swerved to the left and fell forward into a roll. Her knee pads and elbow pads caught the worst of the fall, and her helmet clipped the wall’s edge, but she slid past the wheelchair and the two men with a meter to spare.

  She flipped over and stared down the hallway. The creature hadn’t been as close as her mind told her. It was still at least ten meters away, but it thrust forward a tentacle nearly that long. The creature stopped its pursuit on short, awkward legs. The trash-can-wide appendage lashed out and slapped the tile just in front of Givens. He ran to the right.

  “Do it!” Givens shouted.

  Perkins hit something on the chair and then flipped the Zippo. A blue flame rose from the seat just near the oxygen tank. Givens opened up with his rifle, Perkins’ slung over his shoulder as a spare. In the myriad of LED lights and the bare glow created by the spotlights, Sarah saw black liquid dribbling from small perforations. The weapon was hurting it now. And then Perkins ran with the wheelchair beside the tentacle. After two meters, he let go of the wheelchair and skidded to a stop.

  As he turned to run, the tentacle moved side to side and smashed into his shins. The snap of his bones caught her ears in between the sound of Givens’ accurate shots. Perkins fell to the ground face first. The tentacle swished across the floor and knocked him into the wall.

  Givens snapped off several shots at the appendage, clouds of black particles flying into the air. Then he ran into the hall. Sarah realized what was about to happen. She fell prone, rifle in her hands, and aimed down the hall at the wheelchair still rolling on the tentacle’s other side. In her peripheral vision, she watched Givens reach his partner, scoop him up in a single pull, and flip him onto his back in a fireman’s carry. Givens started to run.

  The tentacle tried to trip him, but he managed to sidestep it and slide against the opposite wall. “Move,” she said softly. He jumped another swish, his face a mask of pain and effort. Perkins stared blankly up at the ceiling, blood dripping down his forehead.

  “Move,” she said louder. Givens managed another two meters. The tentacle clipped the side of his leg and he stumbled. A rage-filled yell roared from Givens’ mouth. Sarah huffed in a deep breath and then shouted louder than she ever had in her life. “DOWN!”

  Just as she’d reacted to Perkins’ yell, Givens did the same when he heard her voice. He fell forward and curled himself around his partner. Perkins’ broken legs flailed in the air, but she hardly noticed. Givens faced them both to the wall. Rifle pointed at the cylinder in the wheelchair, she slowly squeezed the trigger.

  The rifle barked once. An instant later, the steel-jacketed round pierced the oxygen cylinder’s thick shell. The bullet caused a spark. It was gone before the gas started to pour out. But there was plenty of fire for it to combust.

  The wheelchair had gone directly up against the monster’s squat body. The shockwave from the explosion disintegrated much of the creature’s outer shell. A nanosecond later, the explosion’s fireball fell across exposed liquid.

  A second shockwave shook floor five sending ceiling tiles flying and clouds of dust into the air. Sarah squeezed her eyes shut and fell to her back. With the sprinkler systems offline, there was no water to put out the blaze. She raised her head from the tile feeling as though she’d been punched in the face. Despite the cold air streaming through the broken waiting room windows, her skin prickled from the heat of the explosions. There was no sign of the creature, but the hallway was still burning.

  “Moore! Cancel the fucking strike,” she screamed into her mic.

  “Lieutenant, are you absolutely certain you’ve destroyed it?”

  “Yes, goddammit! Cancel the strike!”

  For what seemed like a million years, there was no response. Givens twitched in the hallway and then slowly unwrapped himself from his partner. Perkins was little more than a breathing rag doll with two broken legs. And her fucking head hurt. In a way, a hellfire missile would be the perfect way to end the evening.

  “Lieutenant. The strike has been called off. Where is your team?”

  She exhaled a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. “West wing,” she panted. “Waiting room one.”

  “Good. Stay there. Don’t move. We are sending medical personnel with a fire team. They should be there shortly.”

  “Are you finally evacuating the building?”

  “Yes,” Moore said. “Other teams will handle that. Right now you’re our top priority.”

  Sarah smiled. “That’s the first time I’ve heard that,” she said. “We’re going to need a stretcher. One of my men is down with broken limbs. Another has a severe concussion and possibly a fractured skull.”

  “Understood,” Moore said. “They will be there as fast as they can.”

  “Good.” She lay her head back on the tile. Every muscle, every nerve in her body ached. Even her mind actually hurt. She tapped her mic. Her throat tightened and she realized she was on the verge of tears. She fought off the sensation and reasserted control. There would be time for that later. “Givens? Status?”

  When the Kentuckian finally answered, he sounded as exhausted as she was. “Still breathing, Boss
. So is Perkins.” Through her headset, she heard him clear his throat. Her ears were so battered from the explosions, she barely heard anything besides ringing. “Since we’re still alive, I’m guessing it’s gone?”

  “Fucking better be.”

  “Well,” he drawled, “if not, tell them to just go ahead and fire that hellfire. I’m fucking tired.”

  Sarah chuckled. “They’re coming for us, soldier. Take a nap.”

  “Might just do that,” Givens said.

  She waited for him to say something else, but he didn’t. The hours of stress and adrenaline finally caught up with her. There was no threat now. Help was coming. She slowly, reluctantly, closed her eyes. And then she passed out.

  Epilogue

  She stood at the window looking out over the concrete runways beyond the high barbed-wire fence. The bandages on her face covering burns and glass cuts itched. It took a bit of control to keep her hand from ripping them off and going to town with her nails. Maybe she was allergic to the goddamned things. Regardless, she needed to tell the doc next time she saw him. Which would no doubt be in a few hours.

  The thick windows made it impossible to hear them, but she saw several drones flying their runs across obstacle courses. Ellington field was their training ground, after all. Out there in one of the main hangars, several soldiers sat in front of computers controlling them. At least you fuckers will never have to fight an oil monster, she thought. Or go knock down doors in Iraq.

  Another drone, looking like a strangely shaped bird, rolled down the runway and flew into the air. She grinned despite herself. Maybe she should look into doing that. Especially now that the Feds had her ass again.

  She frowned and closed the drapes. Her eyes adjusted to the muted twilight. The room was barely four meters wide as well as long. Tiniest hotel room she’d ever stayed in. Or a large cell. Yeah, cell. That was more like it.

  The door was locked from the outside and she knew damned well there was a soldier out there guarding the door. Whenever they came to get her for debriefing, she saw him standing against the wall, rifle in his hands. She wondered if he ever retired to his bunk or just slept standing up.

  Her stomach growled. There was no clock in the room, but it felt like lunch time. Maybe a bit after. She sighed and sat on the twin bed. A twinge of pain stabbed her in the chest. She ground her teeth, but didn’t cry out. Her floating rib was cracked and, as with all rib injuries, they hadn’t been able to do jackshit apart from wrapping her torso and giving her drugs. And the drugs weren’t much. Apparently, the doctors were afraid of aggravating the concussion she’d suffered.

  Not for the first time, she wondered where Givens, Perkins, and Kilfoil were. When Moore’s team had finally reached them, she was barely awake enough to know she was being placed on a stretcher. At first, she’d thought the creature was back, lifting her with its tentacles toward a black hole filled with sharp teeth. She shivered at the memory. Once she realized what was happening, she’d raised her head off the stretcher and saw the team of medical people gathered around Givens and Perkins. Then she’d lost consciousness again.

  And woke up here. In this place. The unknown building at Ellington field, surrounded by razor wire, at least one machine gun nest, and a constant sortie of drones overhead. Might as well be Gitmo. Except the interrogations were nicer.

  A group of white coats interviewed her every day for two-hour sessions followed by a thirty-minute break, only to resume again. The only way she knew time was by stealing glances at the watches the white coats wore. She didn’t know their names. No one in the place seemed to carry a badge. This was a black site, or something resembling one. Maybe this is where the CIA illegally held domestically captured criminals. Boy, the FBI is going to be pissed if that’s the case.

  But the white coats weren’t CIA. They were scientists. At least they talked like eggheads. They asked questions about how the creature reacted to different stimuli. What did it do when faced with fire? What happened to it during the shockwaves? How had it eaten O’Malley? How did Schneck die? How had she stopped the creature at the nursery? How did it react to water? How did it damage the building? What didn’t it eat? What did it eat? What did it—

  Question after question. The only indications she had of the days were the periods of sleep after a meal and the occasional sign of the sun before it disappeared beneath the horizon. Their voices rattled in her dreams. At least the ones where she wasn’t forever running down a darkened hallway while something behind her slowly cut pieces of flesh from her retreating body.

  And they didn’t understand when she didn’t want to answer a question. All she’d been told about her men was that they were fine and she would see them soon. Somehow she doubted that.

  A knock broke her reminiscence. She stared at the heavy steel door. After loosing a sigh, she said, “Come in.”

  Something beeped on the other side of the door followed by the sound of the lock sliding back. The door opened silently on well-oiled hinges. The ambient sound of people talking in low voices flooded into her cell. And then a white-coated woman walked into the room. “Lieutenant,” a familiar voice said. “May I have a moment?”

  Sarah blinked at her. “Dr. Moore?”

  The woman smiled. “Yes, Lieutenant. That’s me.”

  “About time,” Sarah said.

  The woman raised an eyebrow. “I’d like to talk, if you’re in the mood?”

  “Sure. I’m not doing anything else at the moment besides staring at the wall.”

  Moore pulled a metal chair into the room, put it near the bed, and then the door closed behind her. “May I?” Sarah didn’t answer, but nodded. “Thank you,” Moore said. She moved to the chair and sat down.

  “You didn’t bring your friends with you?”

  “Friends?” Moore asked.

  “The three jerks I’ve been talking to for God knows how long.”

  “No,” Moore said. “I think they’ve asked enough questions for now, don’t you?”

  Sarah grunted. “You have no idea.”

  “Of course I do,” Moore said. “I’m the one that helped come up with the list of things to ask. And I’ve seen the tapes, of course.”

  Of course you have, Sarah thought. The interrogation room had had cameras in each of its four corners, and all of them had been pointed at her. “So you have something to ask you didn’t want them to know about?” She gestured to the camera in the corner of her room. “I’m sure that thing gets hi-fi and HD.”

  Moore smiled. “It does. And better quality than HD. And yes, they are watching and listening to this conversation. But I want you to speak freely and candidly. But mostly, I want you to listen. Afterwards, of course, I’ll answer some questions.”

  “You’re going to answer questions?” Moore nodded. “Anything I want to know?”

  “Everything I can tell you.”

  Everything I can tell you, she thought. That wasn’t the same thing as saying “everything I know.” Sarah opened her mouth to fire off a barrage of questions, and then stopped. For days, weeks, who knew how long, she’d been formulating the list of everything she wanted to know. And now that she could get answers, the questions were nowhere to be found.

  Moore’s grin widened. “Why don’t I start by telling you a few things. Your men are battered, but okay. Mr. Givens is convalescing nicely. He has many of the same injuries as you along with some burns on his back. I guess he was too close to the entity when you blew up the oxygen tank.”

  “Could have been a lot worse,” Sarah said.

  “Too right.” Moore folder her hands in her lap. “Kilfoil’s subdural hematoma was handled surgically and he’s expected to make a full recovery. And Bradfisch’s ankle should heal fine. Epp is a bit of a different story. He’s going to require several surgeries to repair the burn damage to his hands. And he may still lose them. But we’re hopeful and I assure you he’s receiving the best care on the planet.”

  “What about Perkins?”

 
“He’s had one surgery to repair one of the shattered shins. The other will be fine, but he’ll need more medical care before he’s ready to stand up and walk on his own.”

  Sarah licked her lips. “Is he going to be able to rejoin the SWAT Team?”

  “Unknown,” Moore said. “We’ll have to see how he progresses. If they managed to put him back together again, I’m sure he’ll work hard in rehab to make that happen.”

  “He will,” Sarah said.

  “And that begs the question.”

  Confused, Sarah said, “Begs what question?”

  “Your career in SWAT,” Moore said, her expression flat and serious.

  Sarah’s skin prickled. Here was where the penny dropped. They were going to tell her she was never leaving this place. Or that they were relocating her, or reactivating her for military service. Whatever it was, it wasn’t going to—

  “Lieutenant?”

  “Yes?”

  Moore sighed. “You look very concerned. So hear me out, okay? Calmly?”

  Fists clenched, Sarah managed a nod.

  “Good. I think you understand we have a serious national security issue here.”

  “You mean that there are goddamned oil monsters on this planet?”

  Moore nodded. “We can’t have the public knowing about this. There would be worldwide panic. You understand that, don’t you?”

  Over the past several days, Sarah had come to the same conclusion. Which is why she half-expected the soldier guarding her room to open the door and put a round in her head. “A little difficult not to,” she said.

  Moore’s smile returned. “Good. That said, do you agree that you and your men will have to sign non-disclosure agreements?”

  “Givens, Perkins, and I are still in the reserves. We already have one in place with our security clearances.”