by Jason Luthor
Another thing I failed to consider is that the Tower itself might have backup generators. It’s not as if we know much about how this place functions.
Nguyen started the morning by coughing up blood. It wasn’t much, so I told him to keep it cool. There are a number of things that can make you cough up like that, some more serious than others. It might just be inflammation from the air and smoke we sucked in during the explosion, or it could be that he just took a heavy impact. At this point I’m not too concerned, at least as long as he doesn’t start coughing it up frequently. If he does . . . I don’t know. One more reason for us to get back.
The tablets are at this point useless, at least as far as determining where we should be heading. They’re mapping where we walk and that helps give us a sense of orientation, but they’re no good as far as finding our way upward. We’re in uncharted territory here. Even Mike’s famous sense of direction doesn’t seem to be helping much.
Speaking of him, it seems a Scavenger’s always a Scavenger, even when the chips are down. This afternoon we heard a loud rattling in the vents off of the main hallway we were exploring. I didn’t want to investigate, since at this point I consider everything a threat. Mike, though, he went for it. Before I could protest, he was prying off the grate from that vent. My eyes were on him for just a split second as I waited for Creep to explode out and take him.
Fortunately I was wrong.
Turns out Mike found some sort of voice recorder. It’s a bit busted up from the fall, with its edges chipped a bit. I’m not sure how far up this vent goes, but it looks like someone tossed this thing from pretty high up. The Creep isn’t exactly known for just chunking things through the grates, so it had to have been a person. Why? I don’t know. It’s intriguing, though. We all assume that, since it’s a recorder, we’ll get some clues if we listen to it. I told Mike to stuff it into his satchel for now instead of putting it into Pocket Space. I think he’s going to listen to it later.
Another thing about that recorder, though. I’m thinking about the fact that it came down a vent. That vent must have pretty clear access to the top of the Tower. I’m not sure how high and we’d never be able to fit inside of it, but if it goes straight up to the upper levels, then there has to be an elevator shaft or stairwell around here that follows its path upward. One thing we do know about the architecture of the Tower is that it’s symmetrical, and these long winding vents usually follow the direction of other passages we can use.
I could be wrong, but I’m fairly sure we’ll be able to find some way upward soon. At least, I’m hopeful. And you know how I feel about hope. For the first time in a long time, we have a lead. We have a chance of getting home.
Commander Vick’s Report Number Nineteen
I wake up in the middle of the night to the sound of crying. The room’s filled with a rust-colored haze, something we haven’t seen since we entered the power core. I’m confused at first and look around, and it’s like the haze is getting thick even as I’m trying to see through it. The crying starts getting louder, too, so I pitch onto my side, trying to find out where it’s coming from. Then I see Mike standing there, over in the corner. I get off the mattress I’ve been using and head his way. He’s shaking badly, and I recall that I’ve been worried about his mental state. Too many smiles, not enough confessions.
“Mike,” I tell him. “Mike, get a hold of yourself.”
“They got to her,” he says, his voice quivering. I don’t know what he’s talking about. “They got to her, and I couldn’t help this time.”
“Who, Mike? Who’re you talking about?”
He turns to me, and his body is just in a full quake. The tears coming from his face are pooling on the floor as he holds up his hands, burying his face in them. “Authority, Vick! They got Jackie. They put her in Reinforcement . . .”
I shake my head, putting a hand on his shoulder, but he rips himself away from me. I take a step to him, trying to bridge the distance. “What are you talking about, Mike? How do you know they got her? Why?”
He doubles over, like someone’s hit him in the gut. “She went up there . . . she went to Floor 1. They found out . . . put her on trial. They sentenced her . . . guilty for a Violation of Thought.” He pauses just long enough to reach into his pocket and pull out the recorder we found yesterday. “It’s hers, Vick! It’s all on here!”
“Damn. Mike, man, I’m sorry. I’m real sorry, but you got to control yourself.” I say this as the haze deepens until I feel as if I’m staring at Mike through a crimson lens. My eyes shoot around the room, and I see . . . strangers. All along the wall, there are men lining up, standing there and staring at us. All black. All shadow. They’re watching us. “Mike, I need you to get it together right now! Do you know what you’re doing?”
He doesn’t. He hits the floor and starts wailing. I shoot a look back, watching as the team’s starting to wake up. They’re sluggish for just a moment. Then, they see the men. Instantly everyone’s off their beds or off the ground, grabbing at their weapons. The entire room’s starting to surge red, and more and more of those shadow figures are lining up along the walls. Above me I feel a dripping as liquid streams from the rooftop. Nobody has to tell me what it is as I glance up and watch the Creep forcing its way through the cracks and seams of the ceiling, breaking off pieces and chunks of the roof and tossing them to the ground.
“Mike, you jackass,” I shout, grabbing him by the shoulder and yanking him to his feet. We don’t have time to argue this, so I cock back my arm and put a solid right cross across his jaw. He slams back against the wall, but it’s enough to wake him up. He looks around, and as if for the first time, he sees what’s happening.
“We’ve got to get out of here,” he mumbles.
“Hell yeah, we do,” I agree, hauling him hard by the shoulder. We dash into the center of the room just as the wall behind us collapses, a surge of flesh and muscle covering the space we’d been standing in just moments before. It hits with such impact that it slams through the floor, splintering the ground beneath us. “Everyone out!” I scream. “We’re not going through this again!”
Everyone is moving almost in slow motion. Their bodies are catapulting toward the doorway, legs propelling them past the line of beds, when I see something I’ve never seen in my life. The shadow men. They step away from the walls, reaching out for us as we dash away, their hands passing inches from our shoulders. For a long moment, my eyes blaze alive as I see one reaching out toward me, a dead whisper I can’t understand filling my ears. A cold chill arcs through my body and I stumble as one of their fingers brushes my skin, my breath sucked out from my lungs for a moment. Then, as soon as I’ve moved past its grasp, it’s like the whole world shifts gear into full speed again. Then I’m moving with everyone as we stream into the halls and into a full sprint, even as the thunderous noise of the splintering doorframe fills the air behind us. I glance back to see flesh-covered muscle surging out of the doorway, breaking the frame wide open as it floods into the hall. This is it. This is what we knew we’d be risking. A full-on Category 2 Creep Incident.
It’s alive, it’s angry, and it’s not stopping. It grows so fast that it’s filling up the hall from floor to ceiling, tumbling and surging over itself in a wave of disgusting biomass. We hit the corner and peel off to the right. Still, that wave is right behind us, building and growing in waves that surge over themselves. It’s screeching and wailing, almost like it’s crying, and I can feel the shiver in my bones as its scream reverberates in my bones. One thing I know, though, is that we’re not getting away. Even as we streak toward the far end of the hall, I toss a look over my shoulder and see it flying at us, gaining ground with every second.
I don’t say a word to anyone when I stop. I just let them keep running. Then, I haul the chunk of plastic explosives I’ve been carrying with me out and slam it to the floor. Quickly glancing up I can see the wave of that pink and splotchy tissue as it rushes forward, seconds from consuming us. I jam
the timer into the explosives, hit the trigger, and then run the few steps away that I can.
When the explosion goes off, it packs so much force that I don’t even feel the pain. I just see black, and then I’m out.
That brings me to now.
So, here I am, in the darkness. Nothing around me but charred Creep. I can feel it, the mix of ash and muscle. I must have blown a hole clear through the floor. Well, at least my plan worked. I knew the only way to save the team was to divert the infestation.
Though honestly, I expected to be dead. I’m not. Instead, I’m just . . . trapped. My legs are pinned beneath something . . . not enough to crush me . . . but too heavy to get out from.
But I’m . . . okay. This is it, but I’m okay with going out this way. I’ve got no regrets about what I did. I saved the team. That was my responsibility. After all, I’m their commander. Vicious Vick.
Hah. What a kick. I’ll always remember that kid’s face.
Anyway, I can tell by the red light that’s blinking on the side of my recorder that it’s about to die.
It’s kind of sad. I guess nobody’s going to hear this after all. So, what was the point of recording any of it?
But you know . . . I’ve changed my mind a bit about that. Deathbed confession, I suppose. Because even if nobody ever hears this, I’ll still have existed.
Because my friends will remember me.
Maybe the team will sit around one day, telling some heroic stories about how I saved them. Maybe they’ll just tell tales about their commander, the best dang poker player in the Scavengers. Or maybe they’ll just say I was a good friend.
Yeah. That’d be nice.
Whoa. I feel a little light-headed. I think I’m hallucinating, because I could swear I hear voices calling my name.
Maybe they’re calling me home.
THE BATTER’S STORY
Recording Thirty-Eight
My name is Jackie, and damn, does it feel good to be alive.
Sidenote? Everything is going to hell.
I guess I should, like, at least start from when all this happened.
Well, first of all, they left me overnight. Maybe they were just trying to grill me and get my anxiety up. I don’t know. All I know is that they left me sitting in my cell until I passed out on the floor.
It sucked. Try imagining sleeping on a block of ice. Yeah.
When Security does come for me, they don’t even bother being polite. Instead, they yank me off the ground like a toothpick and toss me out the door. These guys are lining the outside like I’m a violent convict, and they’re not playing around. I get that they’re not supposed to exactly treat me nicely, since I’m a prisoner and all, but dang. Doesn’t mean they have to rough me up the way they do. I’m on my way to get a shot to the brain, so the least these jerks can do is treat me like a lady.
Which is apparently too hard to ask. Whatevs.
Anyway, so, we get to the room. I recognize it because this is where I saw that prisoner get his injection. This time, though, I actually get a chance to see the whole lab. I mean, nobody’s there, but I do get to see lots of tubes filled with pulsing growths. Obviously Creep.
I don’t have a lot of time to think about this, since my “escorts” take about a minute to get me locked in. Wrists, ankles. I don’t care that they’re strapping me into the chair so much except that they put that strap around my mouth. God. It puts a chill in my spine. I can’t talk, which is like my number one quality, and pretty soon I won’t even be able to think for myself. It’s like an entire life of questioning everything around me has led to this.
Which, like I’ve said, curiosity really does kill the cat.
Anyway, I’m not sure if it’s a good thing or a bad thing that they don’t cover my eyes, because the last thing I’d like to see before they mess with my head is the sight of some jerk injecting me full of Creep gunk. Speaking of which, it takes about five seconds before the doctor follows behind Security. They’ve literally just finished taping down my mouth when he gets here. Want to know the worst part? Dude’s acting like it’s just another day at the office. Okay, whatever, man, just get over here and finish the job.
He stops to chat with the Security guy, like he enjoys stretching this out. I almost want him to hurry just so I can stop hearing him yap. Anyway, he whips out a recorder from his pocket, only it’s way nicer than the one I had. Makes me kinda jealous, actually. He sets it on the table and starts talking.
“Begin recording. Doctor Rivera, Tower Date 515.14.22,” he says. “I am currently receiving a patient into custody to begin Reinforcement. The patient is from Floor 4 and has been tried and found guilty of violations of the Thought Code. Recording pause.” He turns around and looks at me, picking up a massive needle from the table. You could practically puncture armor with it. “Young woman, your actions are a travesty. You have to be mildly insane to get thrown into Reinforcement when you’re from a floor as high as four. Do you know the kind of privilege you’ve thrown away?”
What does he want me to do? Answer from behind this mouth strap? Anyway, he keeps yapping. “I’m aware of who you are. Doctor Coleman’s daughter.” That gets my ears perking, but there’s really nothing much else I can do. Still, he’s got my attention. “Doctor Coleman’s a genius, you know. I suppose that it’s not entirely surprising that his daughter would be inquisitive. Still, he should have taught you some discipline. Now we’re going to have to put some Creep in you, and after that, well, I don’t think you’ll be quite as curious as you are now.”
So, I might not be able to talk, but one thing I know without a doubt: I utterly despise this guy.
Rivera walks toward the wall, and I know what’s coming next. With the tap of a button, a panel shifts away, and a tray of the Creep slides out. He hovers over it with the needle in his hand for a second, and then, right before he jabs it in, the Security agent interrupts him.
“Doctor,” the big guy says, earning what can only be deemed a diabolic scowl from Rivera, “does it look agitated to you?”
“What could possibly agitate it? It’s too small of a sample to respond significantly to emotional stimuli.”
“Have you ever actually been in the Creep?”
The doctor takes a step back and glares at him, like just his eyes could laser cut through the guy. “Of course not. I wasn’t born for that line of work. That’s your job.”
“Right, and I’m just saying that I’ve been in the Creep enough to know when it’s agitated. Maybe we should get another sample.”
Rivera looks like he’s about to blow the top of the agent’s head off as he slams the panel, sending that gross piece of muscle vanishing back into the wall. He taps at the buttons again, and for a second you hear something like a loud sucking sound. In a second more Creep slides out. The doctor takes a step back, gesturing at the tray. “Is this good enough for you?”
The Security guard shakes his head as he steps away from the door. “I’m telling you, doctor, there’s something wrong with these samples. This one looks agitated, too.”
“Well, I can’t very well go through every sample in the entire facility! Maybe you’d like me to play some music and make it happy? Would you like to sing for it? Or what do you think is going to satisfy the samples?”
As a matter of fact, I’ll tell you what will satisfy the sample.
The Creep lashes out from the tray, grabbing the doctor like a moist tongue whipping around his wrist and yanking him toward the tray. Rivera screams as it happens, and Security doesn’t waste any time. He whips out a knife, but believe me—this is the most amazing knife of all time. He flicks a button on the side, and suddenly it lights up orange, like it’s burning, and he jabs downward into the Creep. The stuff screams as he does this, thrashing and quivering like melting jelly before it suddenly deflates into this ashy black heap. Doctor Rivera collapses to the ground, panting like a tired dog, while the Security guard reaches down to help him.
He does this just as the room bec
omes bathed in red light. It flashes over and over, like it’s trying to induce a seizure. The worst part is the siren. It wails like an angry animal until it’s so loud that my teeth clench the strap in front of my mouth, my head splitting as I try to brace against the pain. I can feel the noise bouncing around between my ears and rattling my brain. Rivera looks outside, then back at the guard, and asks, “What’s going on?”
Security hesitates a second as he looks toward the window, then yanks the doctor to his feet. “Creep Incident. Must be.”
“Here?” the doctor asks, the color in his face shriveling away. “On Floor 1?”
“We need to get you somewhere safe,” Security replies as he shoves the doctor by the shoulder, ushering him outside. They’re like panicked animals as they rush to the far exit of the laboratory and vanish into the outside hall. There’s just one problem, though. The entire time I’m the one left sitting there, and all I can wonder is: What about me?
Through the windows I watch as the Creep floating around in those tanks start to bubble and stretch, their tendrils gluing to the surface of the glass. They begin to “breathe,” expanding and contracting every few seconds, then quivering as they push against the inside of the tanks they’re trapped in. I watch as one of the containers bursts open, flesh and muscle spilling out and down the side of the tank. My eyes zip around my wrists, trying to figure out some way to get myself free. The straps are built into the chair, though, and no matter how much I struggle, I can’t slip free. I rock back and forth, trying to do whatever the hell I can possibly do to just get out. But the whole time my face is frozen to the outside, watching as the Creep starts spreading along the wall and inching toward the window. Somehow it knows I’m in here. It’s coming for me.
The door to the lab flies open, and a Security member steps in, and he’s rocking this huge tank across his back. The rifle in his hand is dripping fire, and the only thing I can think of?