Mortal Skies Omnibus

by Rebecca Fernfield

  “Oh, my God!” Ellie’s hand pats her chest. “That was terrifying.” She lets out a short laugh. She quiets as she catches Nate’s solemn face. He realises the laugh is the relief after fear, but he can’t raise a smile to join her; the poison has disappeared back inside his son. She takes a step forward and stares into Josh’s mouth. “It’s gone.”

  “It has.” Nate sinks into the chair beside the bed. A tight band of pain pulling across the back of his head. “And I have no idea how to get it out.”

  Ellie stares from him to Josh. “Can we capture it? When it comes out?”

  “With what?”

  “I don’t know ... a vacuum cleaner?”

  “If we had one, perhaps ...” It’s an idea that could work.

  Ellie turns to leave and strides to the door. “Give me a minute.”

  Ellie had returned within ten minutes, vacuum cleaner in hand. Her idea of hoovering up the fog had been a good one, in theory, but in practice it didn’t work. Nate had held the long tube at the fog as it had appeared from Josh’s mouth. Ellie had snapped the hoover on and the fog had disappeared, sucked immediately into the pipe and down into the dust bag of the machine. Nate had whooped and Ellie had shouted ‘yes!’ then switched off the power supply. The fog had reappeared and shot across the room to Josh, disappearing once more down his throat. They’d tried again, keeping the hoover going, but each time it had seeped out of the hoover and back to Josh. It was a cat and mouse game that Nate realised he couldn’t win.

  “If we had a secure container that it couldn’t get out of, then this would work,” Ellie had said with encouragement as Nate slumped back down into the chair.

  The sun has set, outside is dark, and the soft glow of a forty-watt bulb illuminates the small room. Ellie has returned to the children, wished him a good night, and left him with his son.

  Nate leans forward in the chair, head in hands. Josh has shown no sign of waking and he realises that if the boy doesn’t get medical attention soon, it won’t be the fog that kills him.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The dumpy professor sits opposite Taylor, pulls her jacket close, shivers then rubs her hands to warm them; the soft wind blowing across the open fields that surround the base having turned cold with the falling sun. An overhead light shines on them from beneath Block C’s drain pipe. Putting distance between herself, she had said, and Block D was something she needed. Su-Li, genius hottie who does something with rocks, stubs out her cigarette and joins them. The light throws shadows beneath her eyes, and she yawns before sitting down. There is something about her that Taylor finds fascinating; maybe the usual – but not tonight - aloofness, her hard-to-get disinterest, or the delicate way her eyes turn up at the corners, or the doll-like perfection of her pale skin against that black hair. He wonders for a second if it curls below, given how poker-straight it is on her head. “So, you were saying about the kondronite-”

  She laughs - definitely flirting – “No, it’s chondritic. We found evidence at the crash site of a chondritic meteor in the soil sample along with evidence of organic matter, some amino acids and pre-solar grains. It’s all very primitive material.”

  The plain, wiry-haired professor who knows about animal behaviour, speaks up. “Doctor Connaught also found a piece of what appears to be a very primitive, though robust, shell.”

  “The thing hatched!”

  “I can’t say. Doctor Connaught hasn’t shared the results of those tests yet, though given the shape and texture of the thing, he thinks that perhaps the creature did hatch from it.”

  “I still can’t believe that this ... ‘thing’ arrived with the meteor. It’s crazy.”

  “I think Connaught’s crazy,” Dr. Blaylock blurts and instantly looks regretful.

  Silence falls among them.

  “Well ... he’s certainly enthusiastic about his work.”

  The pudgy professor shifts on the bench. Taylor waits, realising she’s holding back, knowing that she won’t be able to stop.

  “He’s more than enthusiastic, Su-Li. He’s obsessed. Have you seen him around that creature?”

  “No!”

  “He’s mesmerised by it. There’s a gleam in his eye when he looks at it. Colonel Littleton wants it destroyed ASAP, but I think that’s the last thing Connaught will allow to happen.”

  “Littleton will get his way. If Littleton wants it dead, then that’s what will happen.” Taylor adds with certainty. “I’m hoping he gives me the order to terminate.” The last thing Taylor wants to see up close is that thing again; the weight of its body, the way its muscles had slid against what he presumed must be bones as they’d lifted it, can still be felt on his hands. Strike that. He does want to come up close to it, with a rifle that would obliterate the damned thing. “They had to de-contaminated every inch of the helicopter, and equipment, once we got back to base,” Taylor reminisces, staring at his outstretched hands. The weight of the creature seems to be on them again. “... and me. But I tell you, it’s the one time I was happy to be scrubbed down.”

  “He calls it Beryl.” A hint of hysteria sits at the edge of Helen’s words despite the effort to seem amused.

  “Beryl!” Su-Li laughs.

  “I said it was more of a Myra.”

  Taylor nods. Su-Li fingers her packet of cigarettes. “Myra suits it better. I swear, it is the ugliest thing I have ever seen in my life, and I tell you this, if you’d seen what it did to those people in the basement ... you wouldn’t sleep for a week.”

  “We have seen, earlier, on the video.”

  “Then you know exactly what I mean.”

  The two women nod.

  “Connaught has it in a large Perspex box.” Helen adds. “He’s feeding it rats.”

  A sensation of dread creeps over Taylor as Helen describes the laboratory and the creature’s behaviour; she explains how it feeds, its need to devour brain matter at regular intervals, how it has learned to request food, and Dr. Connaught’s slavish, excited, response, and about his desire to learn how to communicate with it.

  “Connaught thinks that it requires a particular Omega-3 fatty acid that is especially rich in human brains. It devoured hundreds in that basement.”

  Sweat trickles down Taylor’s back.

  A frown creases Su-Li’s smooth brow. “If he’s right, then the creature is being starved. If it gorged on hundreds of human brains, being fed a rat’s brain won’t satisfy its needs, no matter how often it gets them.”

  “Good! Maybe it’ll just starve to death then.”

  “I wouldn’t put it past Connaught to feed it human brains.”

  A sharp intake of breath from Su-Li. Helen checks the surrounding area for eavesdroppers realising she’s gone too far.

  “I’m sure he wouldn’t!”

  “No! No, of course he wouldn’t. It all makes me very nervous. That’s all. I shouldn’t have said that.”

  Taylor laughs at the woman’s discomfort, and takes a sip of his beer. The sweat trickles to his lower back. D-Block feels oppressively close.

  “What really bothers me,” Helen continues, “is the rats.”

  “I hate rats!” Su-Li states with the emphasis on ‘hate’.

  “Me too, but what I mean is, Doctor Connaught’s use of them.”

  “Perhaps he could try some other type of food?”

  “It’s not the feeding, well, it is, but rather it’s the consequence of feeding any animal to the creature.”

  Su-Li sits up, her sharp eyes locked on Helen.

  “We all saw the video footage near the tower blocks and the numerous smaller, spiny creatures. We’re assuming that the creature laid its eggs inside the rat with the exploded abdomen and the people that were killed and dragged to the basement. We’ve seen the exit wounds.”

  “You mean that the rats Connaught has fed to it in his laboratory may be carrying embryonic aliens?”

  “Yes! It’s possible. Maybe certain. We know so little about the creature. Who’s to say that it doesn’t
lay an egg, or implant a foetus, every time it feeds?”

  Taylor listens to the women’s conversation with increasing unease and images of John Hurt’s ruptured chest playing in his mind. He shudders and gives D-Block a quick glance.

  “But if it’s feeding on the rats, then there won’t be much left to incinerate. I mean, rats aren’t exactly huge, and if it has been used to eating larger amounts ...”

  “It only eats the brains. The rest of the rat is intact.”

  “Oh.”

  Helen continues at a rapid pace, glancing from Su-Li to Taylor to D-Block. “The risks he’s taking are huge, and this is why I think he’s crazy, or rather, obsessed: he’s feeding it rats, then storing the corpses in a cool box in the laboratory. I suggested that he dispose of them and he told me that they’d be incinerated. He even suggested I take the box to Bartlett myself and watch them be incinerated if I felt that uncomfortable about it.”

  “Did you?”

  “No, because part of his work is taking details of the rats after Beryl has consumed their brains, and he still hasn’t done that. I’ve been back twice to ask if I can take the box, well, arrange to have it collected, but he’s made an excuse each time.”

  “And you’re worried that the box of rats contains embryonic monsters too?” Su-Li puts a cigarette to her mouth. Her hand trembles. “And that they’ll hatch out?”

  “Exactly!”

  Su-Li pulls her arms tight to her side, staring out to the dark field, a cloud of smoke billowing from her mouth as she exhales. “I bloody hate rats!”

  D-Block seems to be pressing down on Taylor’s back. It’s a feeling he won’t tolerate. “I want to see this cool box.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  At the door leading into the laboratory, Taylor peers through the window. The lights are on, and Dr. Connaught sits at his desk, typing with two quick fingers on his keyboard, immersed in his work. The thing sits, black and festering, in the centre of a large, tall table. It doesn’t move. Beside the table are two cool boxes, both light blue with white tops. Connaught stands and Taylor pulls back from the window.

  “There are two boxes in there,” he reports back to the women.

  “I bet they’re both full.”

  “Then we’ll have to take them both.”

  “He won’t let us take them.”

  Footsteps sound from inside the laboratory, and the light dims.

  “I think we’re in luck! He’s leaving.”

  Taylor ushers the women to the end of the corridor. Within a few minutes Connaught appears, coat hooked over his arm, car keys jangling from his finger, whistling as he strides from the building.

  “Someone’s happy!”

  “I told you. He’s loving this. He won’t give up that monster without a fight.”

  How anyone can be happy when the creature had caused so much pain and devastation, enrages Taylor. “I should go in there now and blast it out of existence.”

  “He’s a classic psychopath; absolutely determined to further his own interests no matter what the detriment to other people.”

  “He’s desperate for recognition in the scientific community, and after a university tenure. He’ll live off of this for years.”

  “He has mentioned an article he’s started. He wants it publishing in the Journal of Animal Science.”

  “Already?”

  “Academic life is very pressurised, and competitive.”

  “He should try real life!” Taylor scoffs. The man plummets even more in his estimation; that he can put them all at risk for the sake of a research paper in some obscure publication to impress his friends and colleagues is despicable. A car door slams in the distance and an engine starts. Taylor checks his watch; 20:47. “If he’s feeding it every hour then my guess is that he’ll be back soon.”

  “I’m surprised he’s even left.”

  “Maybe he left a few rats for it?”

  They return to the laboratory and Helen flicks the light to on. They flicker overhead then fill the room with stark light. The thing in the box shifts. With one eye on the monster, Taylor steps to the cool boxes. He picks up the closest one. It is far lighter than he expected. He shakes it. “This one’s empty.” Placing it back on the floor, he removes the lid. “Yep. Empty.” He grasps the handles of the second box and lifts. The box, which stretches across the width of his chest, is heavier than he expected. “This one is full.”

  INSIDE THE BOX, THE bellies of seven rats have extended to the size of tennis balls. Within their abdominal cavities, squashing against liver, intestines, heart, and kidneys, black and spiny foetuses twist in their embryonic sacs.

  THE BOX SEEMS HEAVIER with each step Taylor takes to the building housing the incinerator. Concrete steps lead down to the basement that houses the main boiler for this section of the base. The large space is muggy and carries an odour of mould and oil. The industrial incinerator sits in the opposite corner to the boiler room. As he descends, he realises his heartbeat has increased and knows why. The faint stench of faeces wafting from the box, combined with the concrete steps, and overwhelming mugginess, has taken him back to the basement at the tower blocks in a flash. He takes a breath, grits his teeth, and steps onto the concrete floor.

  The incinerator is a large metal box that reaches to Taylor’s chest with a top-loading facility and a wide chimney that extends to a duct in the ceiling. Placing the box on the floor, he opens the door, relieved that it is wide enough to throw the dead rats, locked into their plastic coffin, straight inside. “Damn!” he exclaims as he looks into the cold space. “It’s out!” Ash sits beneath a grille, but the incinerator is stone cold. “This hasn’t been used for days.”

  Su-Li squats beside the incinerator. “It’s got an on-off button.” She reaches underneath and presses. Flames shoot upwards from beneath the grille.

  Startled, Taylor pulls back. “Jesus! You could have waited until I had my head out!”

  “Sorry!” Su-Li steps back as the flames burn.

  Scuffling sounds from behind Taylor’s back and Helen draws in a gasp of breath. “It moved! The box moved.”

  Ignoring the pain as Su-Li pinches his arm, Taylor turns to the box. A light thud comes from within. The pinch on his arm becomes intense.

  “Don’t let them out!” Su-Li has gone from tense to hysterical in a single second.

  Thud!

  The box shifts again and rocks.

  An instant sweat across his forehead, the vibration of movement travels through his hands as he lifts the box and carries it to the incinerator.

  Thud!

  “I think it’s only one.”

  “Only one.” Su-Li gasps.

  “Stay calm.” Why the hell doesn’t the cool box have clips at the side to secure the lid? When he drops it into the incinerator the lid will fly off and whatever is inside will fly out. Hell!

  Su-Li sways.

  “Doctor Blaylock, I’m going to drop the whole box inside. Close the door and shut it as soon as I let go.”

  “Got it.” She steps beside the incinerator, holding the door half-closed as he rests it against the opening. The thing inside thuds again, the vibrations tainting his palms. He turns the box to slide the narrow end in first. “Ready?”

  “Ready.”

  With a hard push, the box disappears below the flames. Helen slams the door. A high-pitched squeal erupts.

  “Jesus!”

  Su-Li sways once more and Taylor catches her just as her knees buckle. “I hate rats,” she whispers and her eyes close.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Soft light fills the room, shining from the bedside lamps at either side of the bed. As Nate’s chin nods to his chest, he jerks from sleep. The fog still hovers above Josh’s mouth. The boy’s chest still rises and falls, a soft ruttle in his throat. Nate swallows down intense emotion as his waking mind remembers the mortal danger Josh is in. The boy’s skin is pallid and the blush of his lips has faded. His breaths are quick and shallow. The parasite is slowly k
illing him. He’s considered dialling 999 several times during the day, but each time he has dismissed it. Even if the emergency services could get to them, then what? They’d take Josh away from him, and if the authorities were prepared to kill tens of thousands to stop the spread of the infection, what would one boy mean to them? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

  He picks up his mobile and removes the power cable. The signal is good and the battery is fully charged. He scrolls through his contacts, stopping at M. Melanie. He taps on her name. His thumb hovers over ‘CALL’. What would he say to her? Lie that Josh is fine? Tell her the truth? I tried to keep him safe, but I failed! He presses ‘CANCEL’. The conversation would be too hard. He scrolls through the contact list again; ‘Smaller, Gareth’. Perhaps he can help? Nate decides that he should at least let the man know they are safely out of the city. He calls. The phone rings, but goes directly to the answer phone. Nate leaves his message: ‘Gareth. It’s Nate. We got out. I found Josh. He’s not well, but we’re safe. Thanks for the heads up, mate.” It is short, inadequate, all Nate is capable of. He clicks ‘END CALL’, thankful that he hadn’t had to speak to Gareth, then berates himself. Gareth owes him, and if anyone can help it will be him. He swallows his pride, and calls again, leaving his second, stilted, message, ‘Hi. Gareth. It’s me again. Listen. We got out, but Josh is sick. It’s not the Novichok, it - Put the phone down. Don’t tell him – it’s the fog. I think Josh is a carrier. He’s not infected. We’re not infected. I think we’re immune.” Aware that he’s rambling he finishes in a hurry. “Listen. Gareth. Please! Send someone to get us. I think he’s going to die if he doesn’t get any help. I don’t trust anyone else. Please, mate, send a team in for us – no man left behind. Right?” The fog rises, falls, disappears. “We’re at the Little Chef off the M18 northbound.” He clicks the phone to off and sags back in the chair. His heart thuds hard and he’s overwhelmed with remorse, unsure whether the call will save Josh’s life, or end it.