by Jake Bible
“Shit!” she yells.
Dr. Probst turns and runs in the other direction, nearly slamming her face right into the wall as she forgets it’s right behind her. She pushes off of the wall and keeps running, heading for the only familiar place to her, the doors.
“Hey!” the woman yells from far behind her. “Hey, you! Stop!”
“Do I shoot her?” the man asks.
“No, you don’t shoot her!” the woman replies. “It’s a her?”
“Yeah, I saw her up close,” the man says. “Pretty dirty, and looks like she’s been through Hell.”
Dr. Probst can hear the two talking and shouting after her, but she shoves the voices from her mind, focusing on getting to the doors. The fatigue of the past few days hits her like a ton of bricks despite the adrenaline rush she rides, and Dr. Probst knows that if the doors won’t open, that if she has no way to escape, she doesn’t have it in her to fight.
The flashlights behind her cast impossible shadows all about her. Dr. Probst recoils from shapes of creatures that aren’t there, dodges the bulk of an imaginary attacker, screams when she swears a monstrous head is about to devour her. But she doesn’t stop, just keeps running, pushing her muscles far past a point she ever thought they could go.
She hits the wall at the end of the row and turns right, the faint outline of the doors only fifty yards or so away. The change of direction causes her feet to tangle and she goes down hard, her forehead slamming into the cold, unforgiving concrete. Only her willpower allows her to get back up, her mind overriding the pain in her head and the cramps developing in her sides and legs.
“Hey!” the woman yells. “Stop right there!”
“You can’t get out, you know!” the man shouts. “There’s no way out!”
Dr. Probst tries to push the voices out of her mind again, but she can’t. The continual shouts and yells for her to stop and give up begin to wear her down, even more than the physical exertion. The doors grow closer yet seem to pull back at the same time, giving Dr. Probst a wicked feeling of vertigo that nearly sends her falling again. She shakes it off and digs as deep as she can, using up the last reserves of her willpower and her strength.
Twenty yards, ten yards, five yards. There!
She slams her hands against the doors, each blow growing weaker and weaker.
“Goddammit! Stop that!” the man shouts, almost on Dr. Probst. “Jesus, look at your hands!”
Dr. Probst hesitates, her eyes drawn to her balled up fists. Blood drips from split skin and she recoils at the sight.
“Did I…? Did I do that?” she asks. “Why?”
“Hey, just chill, okay?” the woman says as she walks up to Dr. Probst. “We won’t hurt you unless you try to hurt us. Just be calm.”
“You be calm!” Dr. Probst screams as she turns and tries to throw a punch. The swing goes wild and the momentum takes her with it, sending her back down to the concrete.
“Listen, lady, we don’t know who you are, but you aren’t supposed to be here,” the man says. “You have to come with us now.”
“Lady?” the woman snaps. “Can you be more sexist, Clark?”
“What? How is that sexist?” the man replies. “I don’t know her damn name!”
“Ma’am or miss would be better,” the woman scolds. “You’d say mister if it was a man.”
“I’d probably say buddy if it was a man,” the man replies. “Or guy or evenman. You look for fights that aren’t there.”
Dr. Probst stares up at the bickering people, her eyes wide with fear and desperation. They are both dressed in coveralls, black with no insignias or name tags. They each hold a flashlight and some type of automatic weapon, but Dr. Probst doesn’t recognize what type. Her guesses at the people’s ages turn out to be correct, as she can tell the man is at least in his forties and the woman is probably in her sixties.
“Dr. Cheryl Probst,” Dr. Probst says. “My name is Dr. Cheryl Probst.”
“Doctor?” the woman asks as she kneels down. Dr. Probst scurries back. “Hey, don’t worry, I won’t let him hurt you.”
“Nice,” the man scowls. “Make me the bad guy.”
“Trying to set up a rapport here, Clark. Please do shut the hell up while I figure out why she is here.”
“Set up whatever you want,” the man says, “but it all ends with her coming with us.”
“Where?” Dr. Probst asks. “What’s down there? What are the labs?”
“Did you hear everything we said?” the woman asks. Dr. Probst doesn’t reply. “My name is Dr. Valerie McDaniels. I’m a molecular biologist. My colleague here is Dr. Clark Mannering. He’s just a cellular biologist.”
Dr. Mannering snorts.
“Something to say, Clark?” Dr. McDaniels snaps.
“Justa cellular biologist?” Dr. Mannering replies. “Why the dig, Valerie? I have two more PhDs than you do.”
“And they have done absolutely zero for us,” Dr. McDaniels says. “Yet my PhD in molecular biology has given us the foundations for understanding the Substance.”
“The first time,” Dr. Mannering scoffs. “Your PhD has meant shit since the Substance changed the first time.”
“I’ve still accomplished more with-.”
“I’m a geologist,” Dr. Probst interrupts. “A volcanologist by specialty.”
“A geologist?” Dr. Mannering asks, his voice almost hopeful.
“A volcanologist by specialty.” Dr. McDaniels smiles, then turns and looks up at Dr. Mannering. “This could be a good thing.”
“I know, I know,” Dr. Mannering replies; then the hope is gone, and he frowns. “But it’s not up to us. Burkhorst has to make the call.”
“I don’t think Burkhorst has much of a choice,” Dr. McDaniels says. “We need a geologist. And a volcanologist? It’s like our prayers have been answered.”
“Were you sent by VanderVoort?” Dr. Mannering asks.
“By whom?” Dr. Probst responds.
“God, Clark, you are an idiot,” Dr. McDaniels says. “Why the hell would you bring her name into this?”
“I don’t know any VanderVoort,” Dr. Probst replies. “I don’t know anything. What is going on? Who are you people? What’s the substance?”
“TheSubstance,” Dr. Mannering says, emphasizing the capitol S.
“My God, Clark! Shut up!” Dr. McDaniels yells, making Dr. Probst flinch and scoot back a couple more feet. “Sorry, Doctor. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Too late for that,” Dr. Probst says. She hesitates then clears her throat. “What are you going to do to me? Are you going to kill me?”
“Kill you?” Dr. McDaniels says. “No, no, no. Well…”
“It’s not up to us,” Dr. Mannering says. “It’s up to Dr. Burkhorst. She makes all the decisions in the facility. We’re just support.”
“So you might kill me?” Dr. Probst gasps.
“No, we won’t kill you,” Dr. McDaniels says as she stands and slings her weapon then offers her hand to Dr. Probst. “Worst that will happen is you’re lobotomized and put outside.”
Dr. Probst tries to respond, but nothing comes out of her mouth.
“Burkhorst isn’t going to lobotomize a geologist,” Dr. Mannering says. “We need one too badly.”
“Let’s hope so,” Dr. McDaniels says.
Dr. Probst lets herself be helped to her feet. She barely notices the two Doctors taking her by the arms and helping her down the center row until they come to a stack of crates that obviously is not a stack of crates.
“In you go,” Dr. McDaniels says as she walks Dr. Probst into the elevator. “Hang on to me, the ride can be bumpy.”
Dr. Probst just nods as the doors close, and the elevator starts to descend. Lights come on above and slow, monotonous music begins to play over small, tinny speakers set into the ceiling.
“Is this the ride to Hell?” Dr. Probst asks.
Dr. Mannering laughs. “Probably.”
“No probably about it,” Dr. McD
aniels says.
***
The cracks and breaks in the bunker walls look infinite and ominous in the flickering candlelight as Kyle leads the way down the corridor, followed closely by Taylor and his Team, as well as Bolton and Lowell carrying Lu in a rigged up stretcher.
“Left then right,” Taylor says, moving up on Kyle’s left. “Once we get to the entrance, I want you to hang back with your folks and Lowell. We’ll make sure the area is secure.”
“Secure? Secure from what?” Lowell asks.
“From the weird shit out there,” Taylor replies. “We aren’t just talking Godzillas anymore. Whatever is in those egg things changes the wildlife.”
“Wildlife?” Lowell asks. “There’s still wildlife around here? It’s their own damn fault.”
“Bambi,” Lu says from the stretcher, her hands holding two more candles, adding to the surreal ambiance of the space.
“What?” Bolton asks. “Did you say Bambi?”
“Yeah,” Lu replies. “Holt said something about Bambi earlier.”
“It ain’t Bambi no more,” Holt says. “That’s for fucking sure.”
“Lieutenant? What’s going on? What’s up with the wildlife?” Bolton asks.
“The ooze is controlling them or has taken them over,” Taylor replies. “Right, Kyle. Go right.”
“Sorry,” Kyle says. He coughs, and the sound is wet and raspy.
“You alright, son?” Taylor asks.
“Just the gas,” Kyle nods. “I’ll be fine.”
“We get over to the other side, and we’ll find you all suits,” Taylor says. “For now, just try not to breathe the gas in too much.”
“Taken them over like how?” Lowell asks, getting back to the subject of the ooze creatures. “What do you mean the ooze is taking them over?”
“You’ll see,” Taylor says as they turn right and make their way down the cracked corridor that leads to the destroyed front entrance. “Or, with any luck, you won’t. They were acting a bit suicidal when we last saw them.”
The group keeps moving forward and reaches the entrance. None of them expected to see what they see.
“Holy fucking giant creepy crawlies,” Lowell says as he almost lets go of his end of Lu’s stretcher. “Those are new.”
“Fucking dog spiders,” Toloski grumbles.
“Yeah, that sums them up,” Lowell nods as they all watch several of the giant monsters lumber past the entrance, their eight legged forms blocking out all view of the landscape and sky beyond. “Fucking dog spiders.”
One of the beasts stops and raises its middle head, barfs out a stingray and a cloud of yellow gas, then just keeps going as the flying monster undulates itself up and away from its progenitor.
“Can’t unsee that,” Lowell says.
“LT?” Kreigel asks, turning to Taylor. “They’ll see us if we try to go out there.”
“How were we going to get out anyway?” Lowell asks. “I was already here with Bolton. There’s nothing past that ledge. I know you guys are super soldiers and shit, but I’m not, and neither is the kid. I probably don’t have to mention the marshal in the barely sound stretcher, do I?”
“We’ve dealt with worse and had to evac more than just a marshal on a stretcher using rope and pullies,” Taylor replies. “That was going to be the easy part.”
“Those must be the hard part,” Bolton says as he nods towards the dog spiders.
“Nope,” Holt says, dropping to a knee, his finger moving to the trigger of his carbine. “Those are.”
“What the fuck are those?” Kyle asks, almost dropping the candle.
“Your guess is as good as mine,” Taylor says, taking up the same position as Kreigel.
“Chipmunks,” Toloski says. “Look at them. They’re fucking chipmunks.”
No one argues with his assessment as dozens of the ooze covered things climb up over the ledge of the entrance and scurry towards the group. Close to a hundred are up and in the bunker before Taylor opens fire, the rest of the Team following instantly. The ooze chipmunks explode this way and that as they are torn apart by the carbines’ bullets.
“Fall back!” Taylor yells. “There are too many of the things!”
Bolton and Lowell backpedal, their eyes locked onto the oncoming horde of ooze chipmunks while their hands stay gripped on the stretcher’s handles.
“Kyle!” Lu shouts, then grunts at the pain it causes. “Kyle, come on!”
“They aren’t stopping!” Kyle yells over the gunfire at the Team.
“No shit, kid!” Holt yells. “But we’re slowing them down! Get with your mom! Go back to the break room and barricade it!”
“We’ll be close behind!” Taylor shouts as he ejects his magazine and slaps in a fresh one. He racks the slide and opens fire again. “GO!”
Kyle starts to turn, but slips and drops his candle. There’s enough light from the other candles for him to see where it rolls to, and he scrambles on his hands and knees across the cracked floor after it. The candle keeps rolling, rolling, rolling and is lost down a large crack as Kyle’s hand reaches the empty air it had just occupied.
“Shit!” he shouts.
“Forget it!” Lu yells. “I have more! Come on!”
“Kyle! We have to go!” Bolton yells.
“Holy fuck!” Lowell shouts.
A skull splitting roar fills the bunker entrance, and Kyle clamps his hands over his ears. The sound is so loud that Bolton and Lowell are brought to their knees, both refusing to let go of the stretcher and drop Lu. Lu’s eyes roll up in her head, and she passes out from the concussive force of the roar, her two candles dropping into her lap and snuffing out.
“LT!” Holt yells. “We have to go too!”
“Fall back!” Taylor orders. “Everyone! We need to get deeper into the bunker!”
“Then we’ll just be trapped again!” Bolton yells.
“Better than getting eaten!” Lowell shouts as another insane roar shakes the bunker.
One of the dog spiders has turned and is lumbering straight for the bunker, all three heads pointed at the entrance. Their mouths open wide and another roar nearly sends Bolton and Lowell to the ground. Both men fight off the pain and stay upright as they shift positions and turn Lu about, heading back inside the bunker.
“Kyle! Move ass!” Bolton shouts. “Get up and move!”
Kyle stands and starts to run, but is thrown off his feet by two more roars, each louder than the previous. He hits the ground with a thud, shakes his head, and then looks back as almost all light from the outside is eclipsed by the approaching monster.
“Shit,” Kyle says as he sees the middle head open its mouth wide.
The mouth spews thick yellow gas, and a stingray comes flying out. It splats right at the ledge of the entrance, then flops itself up inside the bunker. The Team unload everything they have on the thing, tearing it to shreds with their bullets. Pieces of the stingray keep flopping, independent of the rest, then triple in size. The Team keeps firing, trying to cut the new pieces down, but they only multiply and multiply.
“LT!” Holt yells as he unzips his suit and pulls out a grenade.
“Do it!” Taylor yells. “Everyone! Frags out!”
The Team let their carbines fall away and unzip their suits so they can get to their grenades. One after the other they pull the pins and toss the explosive devices at the flopping bits of stingray.
“Back!” Taylor yells as he turns, runs, and grabs Kyle by the upper arm. “Move, move, move!”
They get to the corridor leading off from the entrance, and Taylor shoves Kyle down to the ground as the first grenade explodes. One by one the rest go off; the bunker shakes and shudders from the concussions.
“Kyle!” Bolton yells from deeper in the bunker. “Talk to me!”
“I’m good,” Kyle coughs, his lungs full of dust and ammonia gas. He keeps coughing and starts to gasp when Taylor jams his helmet over the boy’s head. “Thanks.”
“Take some br
eaths until you can get up,” Taylor says. “We can’t stay here long.”
The corridor is nearly pitch black, and Holt stands and cracks a few glow sticks then tosses them down towards Bolton and Lowell.
“You guys alright?” he calls out.
“Fine,” Bolton says, barely visible in the greenish glow.
“Peachy,” Lowell adds.
“LT,” Toloski says as he kneels next to Kreigel who hasn’t moved since they dove into the corridor. “I think we have a problem.”
Taylor looks over as Toloski rolls Kreigel over. The entire front of his suit is nothing but tatters. There’s no sign of blood, but that doesn’t make anyone feel better as they see the patches of ooze affixed to the unconscious man’s chest.
“Fuck,” Taylor says.
“What’s the call, LT?” Toloski asks. “Do we bring him with?”
“What the fuck, Toloski?” Holt snaps. “We don’t leave brothers behind!”
“No, he’s right,” Taylor says, his eyes studying the ooze as it smokes and shivers, eating its way into Kreigel’s chest. “We don’t know what that stuff does, for sure. It may just kill him, or it may take him over, and he turns on us.”
“LT, we can’t leave him,” Holt says.
“LT, we’re in the unknown here,” Toloski counters. “If we bring him with, we put everyone at risk.”
“I know,” Taylor says. “You’re both right.”
Taylor looks towards the bunker entrance. He walks a few feet, and then cautiously peers from the corridor at the carnage beyond.
“We collapsed it,” he says as he looks back. “That thing can’t get through. This is what we’re going to….”
He screams as a mass of ooze chipmunks leap onto his back and legs, having squeezed through the tons of concrete that block the front entrance. They climb up his body and engulf his head. A head that no longer has a helmet on it. The man keeps screaming as his flesh, then skull, is dissolved under the oozing critters.
“Oh, fuck!” Toloski shouts, then reaches out and takes one of Kreigel’s arms and helps Holt drag the stricken man down the corridor.
Kyle is already sprinting away towards Bolton and Lowell and doesn’t look back as Taylor’s screams are cut off and replaced by a thick, pitiful gurgling noise.