Lab Gremlins

by Cedar Sanderson

  “You might not be so eager when we get there.” Septimus headed for the door. Steven scrambled to keep up with him. On the desk behind him, his forgotten cup of coffee cooled to room temperature.

  “Anything’s better than being slowly bored to death with web trainings.” Steven assured him as they walked through the now familiar bland beige halls. He’d been allowed to go home, at least, after a few days in a hospital bed recovering from pneumonia. That had been unpleasant, to say the least. His roommates had accepted his return with concern over his illness but hadn’t pried into his sudden schedule change after he was cleared to go back to work a week later. Steven wasn’t sure if he should be grateful for that, or wish they were more worried about him. Work... work had been feeling like prison, stuck in an office with a crappy laptop, no wifi or cell service, and the only internet access monitored out the wazoo.

  “You’ll jinx yourself, kid,” was all Septimus said until they were buckled into the undercover car. Steven had known it was an undercover car because really, who drives beige Crown Vic’s other than cops?

  “Is the Organization’s official color beige?” He asked idly as they pulled up to the security gate.

  Septimus shot a startled look at him and choked back what might have been a laugh as he showed his badge wallet to the security guard. This close to the outside world, it was a human. The guard leaned over and peered into the car’s open window.

  “And yours, sir?” she asked politely.

  Steven held his up. It was hanging around his neck on a lanyard. She studied it for a second, her eyes flicking from it to his face and back again. Finally, she straightened, and a second later the gate started to roll open.

  “Put that away now, kid.” Septimus didn’t look at him as they emerged into a dirty alley somewhere in Cincinnati. Steven knew approximately where the Organization was located, but he came in on a shuttle bus every morning after parking in a corner of the GE lot, as instructed in his orientation packet. He’d park, stand awkwardly by his car, and the van would roll up with tinted windows. Only when he was onboard would he see any of his colleagues - all human. Where the xenofaunas lived, was anybody’s guess. Now, Steven obediently tucked the badge and lanyard into his pocket.

  “So where are we going?” Steven looked out the window at the side of a building. It was tagged in colorful painted artwork. Probably some gang declaring their ownership of this area, but he had to admit it broke the monotony of the dirty gray concrete that was predominant in this part of Cincy.

  “You know a little of what we do, right?” Septimus stopped at a red light. He was looking straight ahead out the windshield, his right hand drumming the steering wheel lightly.

  “The Organization, or you and Decimus?” Steven asked for clarification. After all this time, he still wasn’t sure what the Organization did - or even it’s real name. His paystub read ‘Department of Defense’ which had been a surprise, but not terribly illuminating. He was still working his way through the PAA, which wasn’t required reading, but he’d been hoping to gain insight somewhere in the 987 pages. He was 300 pages in and mostly confused.

  “Us. We’re what you might call the pointy end of the stick.” Septimus hit the gas, and they surged forward. Steven resisted the urge to grab the Jesus bar. He was learning that how the man had been driving the ambulance wasn’t due to a sense of emergency, it was just how he drove all the time. “When something goes weird, they call us. And we walk into the situation with no intelligence, mostly, and not enough firepower. And they expect us to make it all like it never happened. While they sit in their offices sipping coffee.”

  “Might be enough punishment, if Ray made it,” Steven pointed out. He gave up and grabbed for the Jesus bar as the older man made a corner that left the heavy car feeling like it was going to start sliding.

  Septimus didn’t acknowledge the jab at their xenofauna coworker. It wasn’t speciesist if everyone said it, and it was true. Ray might be... well, Steven hadn’t gotten up the courage to ask. But his guess was that the odd little man was partly where troll paintings like the one on the restaurant near the singing bridge had gotten their genesis. Also, Ray had a gut lining of stainless steel. Had to, in order to enjoy coffee that acidic.

  Steven let it drop. He was more concerned about something else. “So, if we’re the stick... what exactly are we poking today?”

  “Exactly? Your guess is as good as mine. The mission brief?”

  “Yeah, um, I guess that’s what I want to know.” Steven wished the other man would look at him. It was positively unsettling the way he was driving like a maniac without any expression on his face.

  “You follow me like a puppy dog, keep your eyes wide open and your mouth shut tight. Also,” Septimus actually looked over, briefly. “Your mission name is Nonus.”

  “Nonus? Why not Nondecimus?” Steven had looked up his colleague's names to confirm that they were Latin for numbers - seven, and ten, respectively. If he was next, then he’d be eleven.

  “First of all, that’s a sucky name. No one wants that name. Secondly, there are only ever ten agents in a region, and right now the Nonus position is open. So, you’re it.” He stepped on the brakes and barely missed a delivery van making an illegal turn across two lanes.

  When Steven had unclenched from that near miss, he asked, “What happened to Nonus?”

  Septimus sighed loudly. “Don’t ask, kid. Just... don’t ask.”

  Steven shut up. He still had no idea what the mission parameters were, but he knew what was expected of him. He’d just fly by the seat of his pants - it couldn’t be too bad, could it? Septimus wasn’t carrying a weapon that he could see, and Steven knew for a fact the most lethal thing on him was the multitool in his pocket. Then again, the two agents had showed up on the scene for him and a dangerous chemical leak (or at least what seemed that way) with nothing more than the badges in their pockets and a lot of bravado. Even the ambulance had been commandeered. Their stock in trade, it seemed, was bluffing.

  Septimus turned into a parking lot and brought the car to a stop near the furthest edge of the lot, between the tall building where the ballet was housed, and a low one that seemed to hold a factory of some kind.

  “We won’t get ticketed?” Steven asked as he got out of the car.

  Septimus smirked. “Not with these plates.”

  Steven noted the other agent did lock the doors, though, before walking in the direction of the ballet building. He rounded the corner where the lot met the road and ground level, then turned into the alley that paralleled the lot. The lot was, oddly, elevated. The alley ran along a mixed stone and cinderblock wall supporting the lot, with mostly level land on the other side. Septimus stopped at one square of cinderblocks, and Steven didn’t catch what he did, only that the blocks swung out of the way, revealing a steel access door. Septimus reached forward now, wiggling the handle. Satisfied with how it felt, it seemed, Septimus pushed and the door swung open with a squeal of rusty hinges. Yellow light, dim and tinged with green, spilled out of a doorway down a long, dark hallway. Steven gulped as he stepped through the doorway from the sunlit day into this musty old hall. He had a bad feeling about this place.

  “Not that way,” Septimus said as Steven started to head towards the light. “Down here.”

  There was a staircase leading into the basement to the left of the door they’d just entered. Septimus handed Steven a small flashlight. “Watch your step.”

  Now Steven was beginning to seriously reconsider this ‘field trip’ as he slowly descended the expanded metal steps, hearing their footsteps echo in the bare concrete shaft, and the light glimmer off dampness on the walls every so often. This close to the Ohio River, they were nearing water level, if not below it. Sitting at his desk reviewing stale training videos seemed suddenly so much safer than meeting... something, in the dark dank cellar of a crumbling building.

  Lime Jello with Chunks

  The stairs went down nine steps to a landing, took a qu
arter turn, went down another nine steps... but what Steven didn’t see was a door. They went down eight sets of these steps, each set further than a single floor deep, and stepped off the stairs onto wet, rough concrete. Steven started to lift his flashlight, but Septimus, standing beside him, put his hand out and stopped the motion.

  “Bad enough we don’t have night-vision without drawing more attention to us.” He said. His voice was calm, even, and Steven noted, it didn’t echo.

  They were standing in a narrow hall, Steven deduced. As he trailed the older man, he moved his light enough from side to side to detect walls. They walked through wet debris, their shoes squelching slightly. Steven couldn’t tell what all of it was - rotten wood, wires, and a scrap of what looked suspiciously like crime scene tape.

  “Is this a basement?” He asked after they had walked in silence for what felt like ten minutes.

  “No.” Septimus’ voice echoed eerily. “Watch your step.”

  Steven saw it then, the narrow ledge that ended the hallway. He cautiously moved the light, keeping it pointed mostly down. The ledge led off to each side, but directly in front of them was a drop off. Septimus pointed with his light and Steven saw a metal ladder bolted to the concrete that went down into the dark.

  “What...?” Steven swallowed and tried again without the squeak. “What is this?”

  “About a hundred years ago, someone got the bright idea Cincinnati ought to have a subway. They had the perfect place to put it - in the bottom of the old canal, just put a road on top like a roof. Only after about two miles, they ran out of money. Put a stop to that dream.”

  “Oh, uh, yeah. I’ve heard of it. I thought there were tours?” Steven watched the other man put the flashlight between his teeth and start climbing down the ladder.

  Septimus didn’t try to talk, he just grunted. Steven took his cue and when Septimus stepped away from the ladder - it was only about eight feet down, as it turned out - Steven followed him cautiously.

  “Rarely.” Septimus said when they were both standing in the massive tunnel. “And they haven’t had any in two-three years. For... reasons.”

  “Reasons that we’re here about now,” Steven flatly guessed.

  “Yep. Keep the light down.” Septimus scanned the floor with his light. Steven could see the parallel marks of what would have been rail anchors, but either there had never been rails, or they were long gone. It wasn’t as wet down here, dusty in places and puddles in others. The air felt chill, damp, and there was an oddly sweet smell lingering.

  “Septimus.” Steven spoke softly.

  The other agent swept his light back toward Steven, “What is it?”

  “I don’t know what you’re looking for, but, um, the smell is coming from this direction.” Steven pointed.

  “Good catch. Let’s go.” Septimus started moving down the tunnel, walking on top of one of the rail beds to stay out of the occasional puddles. Steven imitated him, but opted to stay on the other bed, spreading their light across more area.

  The first clue he had that they might have reached a destination to this creepy trip through the dark dampness was the faint green glow ahead of them. He stopped.

  “What...” He started to ask.

  “You’ll see. Come on. We’re just here to look.” Septimus hadn’t even missed a step.

  Steven followed reluctantly. The glow remained dim, elusive, neither brighter at their closeness, nor dimmer as if it were retreating. Finally, the light of his flashlight picked up...something strange. Ropes of translucent yellow stuff were running along the tunnel floor, fanning out from the green bulk of what was emitting the faint light.

  “Try not to step on it.” Septimus said. “It doesn’t feel pain, we think, but it does sense something.”

  “Oh. Um. What is it?”

  Septimus raised his flashlight for the first time and shone it ahead of them. Steven felt his jaw drop as he took in what they were standing at the edge of. Mounds of nearly-clear lime green jello? No.... The pulsing mass was filled with inclusions of different shapes; some seemed clear, others deep and cloudy. The ropes of pseudopods that were fringing the main mass were extending not only toward them, but up and onto the ceiling and in some cases hanging down into, or just above, the main body of whatever-it-was.

  “Slime mold.” Septimus was scanning the light across the thing. He stepped carefully closer, shifting the light downward to see where he was putting his feet.

  “Septimus, it’s moving.” Steven kept his light aimed at the lower edge of it, and a rippling sheet was extruding there.

  “It does move, just not...”

  As a tendril reached Septimus, it wrapped around his ankle. Septimus seemed to become fully aware of it only then, and later Steven would swear the man had levitated. Steven lost track of him for a moment, being busy with lighting his own retreat from the gelatinous mass. When he felt he was far enough, he discovered that Septimus was next to him, pulling another flashlight out of his pocket.

  The beam cut through the dark tunnel like a laser. Septimus aimed it at the mass of the mold. “Follow in my footsteps, kid,” he ordered.

  Steven obediently fell in step, asking questions as they moved. “Why didn’t you use that to begin with instead of the crappy lights we started with?”

  “Down here? This is a weapon. I was trying to be subtle and unobtrusive.”

  “Why is it so big? I remember looking at them when we were in the field on my Invertebrate Zoology class and they were no bigger than my hand.”

  “Heh,” Septimus pointed his light at a large dark mass inside the slime. “It’s not a mutant or anything. It’s just unusually sized, and….”

  He fell silent. Steven caught his breath with a gulp. As they had been advancing using the beam of light to repel the mold, the shadowy oblong had become clearer, and now it was obvious what the mold was consuming. A white blob in the center was what had been a face, now mostly skeletal. The shoulders to each side were still covered in some dark material, and the rest of the body projected backward into the chartreuse slime and out of their sight line.

  “It ate him.” Steven heard his voice whisper. There were no echoes.

  “It is consuming his body.” Septimus corrected. He moved the light slightly, and Steven caught the glint of metal.

  There were cans of spray paint in the mold, too. The body was a tagger, perhaps the one whose work Steven had admired in the alley above. Where there was sunlight instead of this unending darkness and horror. “Do we pull him out?” Steven found that he was still whispering. He couldn’t manage to raise his voice above a croak. “Can we?”

  “Not safe.” Septimus took a step closer, still probing with the light. “Ah.”

  Steven followed the pointing finger of illumination and could see the syringe. It made sense, but it... “Can we come back with equipment and do something?”

  “Do what?” Septimus, finally, started to back out of the depression they’d made in the slime mold’s bulk, using the light to force it back. “By the time we could get in here with lights and blast it, there’s not going to be much left. And we’d risk getting bits of it into the wide world. So far, this is the only place it’s found. That we know of.”

  Steven edged back with the other agent. “It’s obscene.”

  Septimus switched off the powerful flashlight and tucked it in his pocket. “It’s not even xenofauna. Just an oddity, like you and me. Mold’s gotta eat too.”

  “But if it’s killing people?” Steven protested.

  Septimus started walking along the railbed again, using the dim light. Steven followed on his heels. “It’s not killing anyone. It’s a cleaner. Stuff comes down here and dies. The mold, it comes along and cleans it up.”

  Steven gulped and shuddered. He kept imagining the cool, clammy touch engulfing him, the sting of digestive juices on his skin...

  “Don’t throw up.” Septimus warned. “You’ll attract attention.”

  “I thought you said the mold
didn’t move that fast?” Steven swiveled around and pointed the flashlight behind him.

  “There are other things down here besides the mold.” Septimus stopped and pointed his light at Steven’s chest. “These tunnels didn’t become a no-go because of that. We’re down here because that guy was reported missing, and his buddy actually came forward and talked, which is rare, and the Organization is the only agency with clearance for this place currently. The cops don’t come down here.”

  “So, what? We just report that he died, and no, there’s no body?”

  “This is not a conversation to have here and now.” Septimus wasn’t looking at Steven, now. His eyes were trained past him, over his right shoulder. “Of what chooses to call the tunnel home, the mold is the least of them.”

  “Keep walking, talk later?” It took everything Steven had not to turn around and look.

  “Walk fast.” Septimus was already turning and striding into the darkness from where they had come.

  Yugos Have a Certain Reputation

  Steven was slow to realize that his flashlight was dying. Walking in the dark, only able to see where he was putting his feet, the flashlight had never seemed like enough light even at its brightest. But when he stepped off the railbed and into an ankle-deep puddle, he realized that his light was no longer reaching the ground well enough for depth perception. Septimus, a few steps ahead, turned and aimed his light at the ground for Steven.

  “Hold onto my shoulder,” the older agent ordered. “Keep moving.”

  Steven got in step with him and followed as closely on his heels as possible without kicking his leader. The silence of the tunnel closed in around them, almost palpable with only the scuffs of their steps damaging it. Steven resisted the urge to pant, feeling like he couldn’t get enough air in his lungs. Everything narrowed to a small pool of light that flickered elusively ahead of them, always moving, never letting them catch it. All around the dark pressed in closer and closer.