Infernal: Emergence

by Ricky Fleet

  “What are those awful things?” Claire asked, pressing herself against her father.

  “I don’t know what they are, honey, but we need something to block this doorway. The glass won’t hold for long!”

  “I have a table in my flat. It’s heavy and if we can prop it up it may hold,” offered Paul.

  “Paul, wait,” Malachi called out, “Do you have a set of keys for this whole place?”

  Skidding to a halt, he replied, “Yeah, did you want me to get them.”

  “Yes. We need to be able to get in the other downstairs flats and try and block their windows up too.”

  “What are we going to do?” screamed an elderly lady, making them all cringe.

  “I know you are scared, but if we all work together I’m sure we can get through this,” Malachi said, trying to calm the situation.

  “You’re on your own, we are going to the roof to get away from those things!” shouted another man and half of the group hurried after him, including the old woman.

  “But we need your help!” Malachi shouted as they retreated.

  “Forget them,” Anton snarled, “Let’s help Paul get that table.”

  The change in demeanour was remarkable, but his parental instincts had finally kicked in and he was going to do all he could to protect his family. Paul was already at the door with another man, trying to force it through, but the legs were preventing it going through.

  “Anton, help break the legs off,” Malachi ordered,” I’m going to try and shift the counter.”

  The unit itself was very sturdy, with rows of shelves topped with various pamphlets and paperwork. The weight would buy them some time, and with the table top pressed to the glass the monsters would have to tear their way through. It was securely bolted to the floor and wall, and Malachi could feel how difficult it was going to be to move. Gritting his teeth, he let out a growl and wrestled with the desk. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the swarm slowly surround the building, but they weren’t making a headlong dash to get inside. Why? He thought to himself. To savour your fear, gurgled the dark entity with an evil chuckle.

  “Nearly done, Mal,” huffed Anton. The legs were proving to be a bit more difficult to pull off, which was encouraging from a strength point of view. They were just lucky their dinner guests didn’t seem to be in any great rush to breach the building.

  “Great work,” Malachi replied, getting a firmer grip on the counter, “Now if I could just move this fucking thing!”

  Summoning all the hatred and terror, Malachi used it the way he had in the flat. The energy pulsed through his veins and with a rending crash, the fixings broke away, leaving large lumps of brick and plaster all over the floor.

  “Jesus Christ, I knew you were strong, but that was amazing,” Anton gasped, twisting the table top into place against the glass.

  “Help me move this against it!” Malachi ordered.

  With more grunting and swearing, they wedged the heavy desk against the wooden top. It was a passable barrier, but wouldn’t last long against the weight and viciousness of their enemy’s claws. He had seen the ease in which they had hacked through poor Zelda and knew they were as sharp as any axe.

  “What now?” Anton asked. His transformation was welcome and Malachi patted him on the shoulder, a gesture which wasn’t met with anger this time.

  “We seal up each room one by one. The only good thing about living here is there are only two windows in each flat.”

  They all made for Pauls apartment, and blocked the openings with whatever came to hand. A bedframe, reinforced by a wardrobe and then stacked with the contents of his kitchen sealed one, while the other just had a leather sofa leaned against it. Malachi knew it wasn’t good enough, and so did the rest of the group.

  “It isn’t going to hold, Mal,” Paul said, shoulders slumping in defeat.

  “What else can we do?” Anton argued.

  “Why aren’t they doing anything?” Claire asked quietly.

  Malachi looked over at her, despairing at the impossible task. He wouldn’t explain that they were simply enjoying the hunt; it would leech even more of their scant hope to know that such things could think on such a malicious level.

  “I don’t know, sweetheart. I think they might be scared of us, just like all those normal creepy crawlies,” Malachi lied.

  “Do we carry on blocking the other flats?” Paul was desperate for an order and Malachi felt renewed pressure at being cast in the role of leader.

  “I don’t fucking know, Paul. Stuff like this doesn’t happen to me every day,” Malachi shouted.

  It was Anton’s turn to offer support and he squeezed Malachi’s shoulder, “We know, mate. But we have no idea what is going on and need your guidance.”

  Sighing, Malachi closed his eyes and thought, “We have two choices. Either we go down into the basement which will be easier to defend, or we go up as high as possible and try and hold them off.”

  “We could end up trapping ourselves in the basement,” Paul replied, entirely missing the fact that they were trapped anyway. The added claustrophobia could be their undoing, though.

  “We go upstairs then. Gather whatever weapons you can find, knives and stuff.”

  “What about the table legs?” Anton asked, hefting one and swinging it in an arc.

  “Good idea, they should crush a few bugs,” Malachi replied.

  His stomach fluttered at the prospect of fighting the scuttling beasts, the way their twisted child faces would shatter under the blows. He was driven to near paralysis by the thought, and none of the others had really seen what they faced, except for Paul. When the time came to do battle, there was no way the rest of the tenants would be able to put up an effective resistance, but what other choice did they have? After collecting anything which could be useful, they gathered by the broken lift.

  “Do you think Zelda might have some flammable spirits?” Anton asked, staring at the open doorway.

  The stench of neglect wafted out and up the stairs on the currents of air. The carpet was rank and the walls were smeared with unspeakable stains which only filled Malachi with more desolation. The woman had nothing in life, and died a death so awful it was beyond description. The universe was just one big cosmic fuckup, he thought.

  “Nothing with alcohol would survive in that place,” Paul answered, “Besides, we would probably just end up setting the building on fire with us on top of the bloody thing like a Guy Fawkes doll.”

  “Good point,” Anton conceded.

  “Should we block the fire escape, just in case?” asked a young man in a tracksuit. He was one of the sources of constant loud music, but it wasn’t the time to pick him up on the antisocial behaviour.

  “I think it is pretty solid,” Paul replied, banging a hand against the heavy wood.

  In reply, a terrible rending came from the other side. The sound of splintering wood was accompanied by a bulge in the door from the pressure which was being brought to bear. A hole appeared, punched through by the tip of a claw which then clamped down, trying to make the opening bigger. With a yell of fear and disgust, Anton slammed the table leg down and the black chitin was shattered. An oozing yellow ichor dribbled down the inside of the door and with a childlike shriek of pain, the injured claw was pulled back. An eye appeared at the gouged wood, staring at them all with hatred.

  “Holy Mary, mother of God,” whispered an old man before crossing himself.

  “We have to go,” Malachi ordered, pushing them clear and up the stairs.

  “What was that thing?” Anton asked.

  “I have no idea,” he answered, stopping at the first landing, “I’m going to knock them all and tell them we need to head up to the roof.”

  “I’ll come with you,” Paul offered.

  “No, get them to safety. I will join you as soon as I can.”

  “They are demons, here to take me to Hell for what I have done,” sobbed the old man, falling to his knees. Everyone looked on with bemuseme
nt as he started to pray.

  “What the fuck are you talking about?” growled Anton, dragging him to his feet, “We don’t have time for this.”

  “I couldn’t help myself. I have a sickness that made me hurt those children!” he shouted at Anton, trying to justify his actions.

  “What the fuck did you say?”

  The man fell to his knees again and started praying with more urgency, the words pouring out, “God, if you see fit to spare me, I will show the authorities where they are buried and take my punishment. I deserve it.”

  “You vile bastard!” Anton snarled and kicked out.

  The prostrate man was sent flying down the concrete stairs, bones breaking in the tumble. At the bottom he landed awkwardly, his neck twisting with an awful crunch. The bloodied face stared up at the group, a mixture of pain and the terrifying recognition of where his soul was going.

  “Why did you do that, daddy?” whimpered Claire, hiding behind her mother.

  “I… I… I… didn’t mean to,” he stuttered, “I was just filled with rage when he said about the poor children.”

  “What’s done is done,” Malachi finished, ignoring the gloating whisper. It was thriving on the fear and hatred, like a psychic vampire.

  “He’s right. Let’s go.” Paul took charge and led them upwards.

  Malachi went door to door without success. People were either fortunate to be out, or they were scared and ignoring the knocks. He shouted through the letterboxes just in case and moved floor to floor doing the same. By the time he reached the roof access, only six more had joined him.

  “No one else?” Paul enquired with disappointment.

  “No.”

  “Hopefully they aren’t home.”

  “Some were out,” Malachi replied, “But others I could hear moving around. I think they are just scared.”

  “I don’t fucking blame them,” said Anton.

  “Shall I go and open their doors? We could talk them into joining us,” Paul offered.

  “No, you could get hurt if they think you are a threat. We have to worry about everyone up here first.”

  Dozens of eyes stared, looking for leadership and salvation. The burden was heavy and Malachi would have given anything to go back to his old, simpler existence. He had to think of a plan, an angle which he hadn’t seen which could spare all their lives. The mocking laughter on the periphery of his mind didn’t help, and he drove it away.

  “What shall we do?”

  The roof was square, with a low parapet wall surrounding it. Three structures sat atop it; the small access door for the staircase, a larger building which housed the communal water cisterns, and finally the lift machinery housing. Walking to the edge, he leaned over and shivered. The creatures were hundreds strong, with a small group working at the entrance doorway. They thrust and worried, tearing at the timber barricade and tossing the pieces aside. Hurrying across the flat roof, the fire exit to the rear had already been breached and the monsters were slowly entering. They didn’t need to rush as there was nowhere for the potential victims to go.

  “We are going to die, aren’t we?” Paul asked, leaning against the wall to look over.

  “Be careful!” Malachi yelled, grabbing and pulling him back just as the deteriorating brickwork fell away.

  “Holy shit, thank you,” Paul gasped. The next few hours would judge if Malachi had been right to save him from a quick plunge and the painless oblivion it promised.

  The rubble tumbled end over end, bricks and coping stones coming apart as the cement crumbled. Crashing to the ground the debris crushed nearly twenty of the insectoid abominations, their yellow blood spraying the walls. Inhuman cries of pain pealed from the horrors and Malachi allowed himself a wry smile. How’d you like that, you rancid bastard? He asked the darkness. It laughed darkly, my friends are legion, for every one you kill a thousand wait to take their place.

  “Let’s put that to the test,” Malachi answered.

  “Put what to the test?” Paul asked.

  “Half of you, start hitting and kicking the walls. As much as you can safely break loose to squash these bloody things!” Malachi growled, “The rest of you, if you would please pile as much stuff as you can find by the staircase. We won’t block it until we are sure no one else is coming.”

  There was such finality in those words, but he couldn’t bring himself to say ‘when everyone below is dead’. He had heard children and it tore at his conscience. Thankfully they were all grateful for the distraction and spread out around the perimeter, beating against the weak surface or collecting flower pots and other discarded junk. Chunks of the wall broke free piece by piece and rained down, scoring dozens of kills on the hellish monsters. The gatherers proved industrious, tearing up any loose slabs that had been laid on the roof. In minutes a sizeable pile waited to block the staircase and the edge of the roof was too dangerous to approach.

  “What now?” Anton asked, red faced and sweating.

  Malachi didn’t know; they had done everything they possibly could within the constraints of the spherical prison. He walked over to the shattered wall and knelt, before crawling forward slowly and peering over the edge. Thousands of eyes stared up, twinkling with malevolence. The bodies of their fallen were being dragged back towards the hole, showing a kinship that baffled him. No, wait. This was the wrong side of the building which meant that they had risen from more than one tunnel. How was any of this possible when the orb surrounded them?

  “Because they come from somewhere else,” Malachi answered himself. He could sense the entities slow nod. They dwelled in the underworld, where nightmares didn’t just exist in the realms of slumber.

  Screams resounded up from below, shaking him from the unearthly thoughts. They couldn’t see what was happening, only judge the fate of the victims by their madly dancing shadows on the wall. The fighting was short lived and soon replaced by the wet sounds of flesh being ripped from bones.

  “Those poor people,” whispered Claire.

  “Shall we try and reach the others again?” Paul asked in desperation.

  Malachi thought for a second. He wanted to protect those on the roof, but couldn’t ignore the plight of the other occupants any longer.

  “You all wait here, I can get down and back faster if I don’t have anyone to worry about,” he stated and started to descend.

  “Malachi!” Anton called, stopping him, “Look.”

  The noises had obviously confirmed the insane ramblings which had poured through the letter boxes. Men, women and children were filing up the stairs, shielding their children from the sights below. Malachi did a quick calculation of the doors he had knocked which he suspected still had people inside. The numbers tallied, minus the two lowest floors which had already been overrun. He said a silent prayer and smiled with relief at each terrified face that passed.

  “Paul, Anton, I think we should block it now. What do you think?” Malachi asked.

  The two men were hesitant to make a decision which could cost lives. In the circumstances, the chance to shut off at least one avenue for the skittering beasts seemed a good call and they both nodded. More activity commenced as everything which could be lifted was thrown down into the concrete staircase. In less than two minutes it was choked with debris, but there were still voids and small passages where it was thrown haphazardly instead of placed properly.

  “They will still be able to get through!” Anton shouted, looking around for anything to plug the gaps.

  “It’s hopeless,” said Paul, sitting on the cold roof, head in hands.

  “Maybe not. Would everyone mind standing back?” Malachi asked.

  The brick structure was around eight-foot square, topped with a flat concrete slab acting as a roof. Looking at his filthy hands, he wiggled the fingers and felt the strange tingle emanating from them. It was similar to pins and needles, just without the discomfort. Using the tip of his forefinger he traced a line across the cement joint and it didn’t feel different, the
nerve impulses were exactly the same. Clenching a fist, he pulled his arm back and punched the supporting wall.

  “Shit, that hurt,” he hissed, cradling the bloody knuckles. Now he knew how Anton felt.

  “What are you doing, you bloody fool?” A voice from the crowd asked.

  “Shut up and let him do his thing,” Paul barked. He knew what Malachi was trying to replicate and didn’t want any interruptions.

  What am I doing wrong? He asked himself, clenching and unclenching the painful fist. The power was there, waiting to be released, but for now it was like a gun with no trigger. The kitchen played through his mind, mixed with guilt at being unable to save her. And he had forgotten her body!

  “Fuck!” Malachi screamed into the purple night, startling the onlookers.

  Even now the monsters would be feasting on her meagre flesh. Dirty, filthy, fucking bastards. The rage flared brightly, like a blacksmith’s forge being driven by powerful bellows. Using the blind hatred, he drove another punch at the wall and it exploded inwards, taking a sizeable amount of brickwork with it.

  “What on earth?” gasped an elderly lady.

  “Everyone, get back,” Malachi shouted, his teeth bared in a snarl.

  Driving more and more punches around the wall, the brickwork crumbled and with one final blow the roof collapsed into the void. The added weight compressed the rubble and debris to provide an impenetrable barrier.

  “Way to go,” Paul patted him on the back. The rest of the crowd were either watching cautiously or backing away, regretting they had sealed themselves on a roof with this freak.

  “I think it’s only delaying the inevitable,” Malachi whispered sullenly, feeling the same sense of hopelessness which Paul had recently displayed.

  “I don’t know what the heck is going on, but you can use the power to protect us all,” Paul said, nodding eagerly as if he had just solved the whole crisis.

  “Paul, I can’t punch them all to death,” Malachi threw his hands up in frustration, “There are hundreds, maybe thousands now.”

  “There has to be a way,” Paul replied meekly.