by D. S. Ritter
The man grumbled something Sam didn’t quite catch and rolled up his window. She shrugged and walked back to her position at the gate. She rubbed an itch of doubt from her neck, wondering about the state of the epoxy seal. If it broke open now, all these people, the family in the minivan and everyone else, would be sitting ducks. Imagining them stuck, unable to drive to safety, panicking and crashing into each other, leaving their vehicles and getting cut down by dog-like tentacle monsters… Sam got on the radio.
“Seven-One to HQ.”
“HQ.”
“I need to take a quick bathroom break.”
“How’s your traffic, Seven-One?”
“Terrible,” she said, looking around.
“Think you could wait until we can get relief out to you?”
Sam sighed. “HQ, it’s so packed, I don’t think you'll be able to get anyone out here in time.”
“Ten-Four, Seven-One, go ahead, I guess.” She headed straight for the basement.
The epoxy seal was full of cracks. Carter had been right; it would probably go very soon. Even as she inspected it, it gave a little jolt, and she could hear claws on steel and concrete. Muttering curses to herself, she went back up to street level.
The traffic was still horrible, with Washington Street backed up from the outflow on Main, and nobody was letting the customers from the garage onto the street. Even though it was against the rules, and possibly illegal, Sam walked out and stood in the way of oncoming traffic. She held her hand out to stop the next car and waved one of the customers out. Despite her having no authority of any kind, both drivers followed her commands. It probably had to do with the uniform. There were two types of reactions to the uniform; customers either acted like she was gunk on the bottom of their shoe, or seemed to think she was a cop, with absolute ability to ruin their day. Human psychology is a funny thing. The outfit combined with a stern expression seemed to do the trick, and she began to clear the customers. Sam only hoped HQ didn’t notice what she was doing; one more write up would mean a suspension and now was not the time to be absent from work.
It took over an hour to get the garage running smoothly again, and every minute she worked on that, she thought she could hear the cistern being pried open. The echo of steel slamming against cement was unmistakable. Without even calling in a break, she left a woman in a beige sedan to deal with the machine, grabbed the golf club from the bathroom, and headed back down into the darkness.
What began climbing out of the hole when she got there was not dog-sized like the last one. This was something new.
It was so broad, it barely squeezed through the manhole-sized opening, and came out like cranberry jelly at Thanksgiving; can-shaped and gelatinous. It had a skeletal, horse-like head and a wide, bulging neck and shoulders. Its arms were something borrowed from a gorilla. From its back sprouted long, slick, noodle-like feelers, that lay limp on the concrete, except when they seemed to spring to life and whip sporadically, like skinny fire hoses. It had large, bulbous eyes set back into dark sockets. They weren’t white, but the brownish-yellow of old bones with four green pupils. Its long snout, a jagged mess of spiked teeth.
Sam stood frozen with shock, her knuckles clenched to white around the handle of the golf club. It was just a five-iron. God, what she wouldn’t have given for a heavy wedge. Or a sledgehammer. She saw it had almost pulled itself out of the cistern and sense returned. She raised the club and ran at the thing, swinging for its head. It connected with a dull thwack, like hitting a deflated volleyball, but didn’t sink in like it had with the smaller monsters. The jolt of hitting something so solid sent painful vibrations up Sam’s arms. For a moment, her brain just didn’t understand what had happened, and she stared stupidly as the monster reached out for her.
Stepping back, she almost fell over her own feet. “We’re gonna need a bigger boat,” she muttered, scrambling out of range. There was nothing around but a few cars, a trashcan chained to the floor, and bare concrete. The monster opened its jaws and howled, not like any animal she’d ever heard before. It was a deep, hoarse, rasping noise, like laryngitis, but at a hundred decibels.
Her mouth went dry as the monster continued to squeeze out of the hole, a horrendous birth. Then, a light came on in her mind, and she half-skittered, half-tripped back up the ramp. Running full-tilt, she slammed into the side of her crappy sedan, fumbling for the keys. She wrenched them out of her pocket and almost flew from her fingers. “Fuck,” she swore as she plucked them from the air and jammed one into the lock.
Thankfully, the engine turned over and she threw her car into reverse. She nearly scraped the wall, turning it around and drove down the ramp with reckless abandon.
The monster, having extracted itself, had only a second to scent the air before she slammed into it. It sprawled over the hood of her car, the side of its hideous head pressed up against the windshield, giving her a front-row view of its mangled, deadly teeth.
She'd stunned it, but that wasn’t enough, she needed to kill the thing.
“I am so sorry,” she whispered to her beloved car, which had been steadfast and faithful, and had never broken down on the way to work. She pressed down the gas pedal as far as it would go. For a second, the tires squealed, she smelled burned rubber, and then lurched forward faster than she expected. The monster slammed into the wall next to the stairwell, and the front of the car crumpled around it, pinning the thing.
When Sam came back to herself, the first thing she noticed was the smoke, which scared the hell out of her. Her vision was blurry, but she found the key in the ignition and turned it to off, even though the engine didn’t seem to be running. The airbag had deployed and her face had hit it hard. She assumed that was why she’d blacked out for a moment.
Carefully, awkwardly, she opened the car door and climbed out to inspect the damage. It seemed like she would walk away with some aches and bruises. The car though...
The car had to be totaled. The front was completely destroyed, now covered in disgusting green goop as the dead monster melted away. “How am I going to explain this to my insurance?” She laughed at the ridiculous thought, and then that laughter turned to tears.
"It had a skeletal, horse-like head and a wide, bulging neck and shoulders."
Chapter Eleven
“They made you pee in the damn cup?”
Sam snorted into her glass of beer. “Of course.You think they’d pass up a chance to fire somebody?”
Everyone at their usual Sunday table was riveted. “Man, they’d probably make you take a drug test if you were hemorrhaging…” said Heather, popping a fried mushroom in her mouth. “Like, ‘Hey, I know you might die in twenty minutes, but we can’t take a chance you might detox before we get a urine sample!’ Fuck those guys.”
“So,” said Franklin, “you pass?”
“Well, I’m not fired.”
Drew sighed. “Why the hell are we worrying about drug tests though? I mean, you slammed your car into a huge monster. The seal is broken. This is probably some bad shit, guys.”
“I think there are some limits though,” said Sam, nodding. “Like, these guys don’t seem to spawn very quickly. I think it takes a lot of energy to get them going, and that’s why we’re seeing them get bigger, but not seeing more of them.”
Everyone stared at her. “You’re making that shit up,” said Franklin, with a smug grin.
She shrugged. “Yeah. It's going to get worse though. That’s pretty obvious.”
“How big are these things going to get?” asked Jesus, “’Cause I’ve got a chainsaw at home and--”
“Like you know what to do with that chainsaw,” said Yolanda. “You’ve never used it. It’s been sitting in your damn garage since you bought it, after you watched that stupid lumberjack show.”
Jesus looked a little hurt. “Hey man, competitive woodcarving is an art, one which I will devote more time to… once I have more time.”
Thinking about the size of the last monster, and the fact it
wasn’t made of disgusting jelly like the others, Sam said, “No, bring it next time. We’re going to need everything we can get our hands on.”
“Isn’t it about time to get going?” asked Heather, looking at her phone.
Everyone nodded and drained their last beers.
***
It was after midnight on Sunday, so the garage was deserted. They all parked next to each other in the basement, a half level up from the cistern. There was an air of tension as Sam climbed out of Franklin’s old truck. In the back was an old rusty shovel, a heavy section of pipe, and a blade on a long stick, used for tree-trimming.
Trunks were popped and their meager arsenal revealed. Heather was armed with her crossbow and the envy of pretty much everybody. Carter brought an aluminum bat and Kim had a professional-grade taser. “For self defense,” she said.
“Nobody’s going to fuck with you if you wave that at them,” said Yolanda, eyeing the device. She had a huge butcher knife and her little brother’s illegal slingshot.
Jesus’ stash was the most unusual. Sam counted the fake samurai sword, some ninja stars, a couple of what looked like throwing knives, and… “Is that a flare gun?”
He grinned. “Yeah. Took it off my stepdad’s boat.”
“You snuck onto Jeff’s boat just for this?” asked Yolanda, her hands on her hips.
“Naw man, I’ve had it for a while.”
“Why?”
“It’s cool,” he said, shrugging. “Why not?”
Aside from the sounds of preparation, the garage was quiet. No sounds of scratching at the cistern lid, no alien howls. “What if nothing shows up?” asked Drew, putting his arm around Heather. “We’re all dressed up with nowhere to go.”
Sam shrugged. “I’m still figuring this out myself. I know it has something to do with the stars aligning, or whatever, but it’s not exactly like this thing is scheduled.” She picked up the tree trimming blade. “Can I borrow this?”
Franklin shrugged. “Sure. I like the shovel better, anyway.”
Armed, Sam walked down the ramp. The others waited at the top full of nervous energy. There was only darkness at the bottom. She almost sighed with relief; no movement. Edging beyond the safety of the light, she waited for the motion sensor to activate. Despite the lack of activity, she didn’t want to go too far in blind.
With a buzzing pop, the lights began to come on. Sam’s breath caught in her throat. The cistern was wide open, but there was no sign of monsters. “Something’s here, guys,” she called as she turned to go back up the ramp. Then she looked up.
Wedged between the concrete cross beam and the ceiling was something brown and huge. Sam watched in horror as the thing uncurled itself, like a lichen-covered octopus with a horrific number of extra tentacles and a multitude of eyes. Its countless appendages spread like the rays of an art déco sun and it sprang down. She tried to get out of the way, but the thing moved too fast and was heavier than it looked. It caught her side and pulled her down to the ground like a sack of wet clay, sending the tree trimmer clattering. The thing was cold like wet clay too, and its tendrils slipped over the bare skin of her arms. Its eyes, huge and reddish-orange, locked onto hers as it revealed its mouth, like a horrific stage behind a curtain of slick, fatty skin. It had no lips, but flaps concealing teeth that were as skinny and sharp as steak knives.
The worst though, was the tongue. It was long and black, covered in bony barbs.
“Oh, fuck no!” Sam tried to dump the monster off of her, but it coiled around onto itself over her back.
She thought she heard footsteps coming down the ramp. There was a satisfying metallic thunk as Carter smashed the thing with the bat, knocking it hard across the face, but not off of Sam. Then came Franklin with the shovel. “This might hurt a little!”
“Just get it the hell off!” Sam tried to push the face away without touching the mouth, but the creature was slippery, and she nearly sent her fist right into its gaping maw. The tongue snaked out and wrapped around her left wrist, its barbs digging into her flesh.
Franklin hacked at it with the sharp edge of the shovel, trying to maneuver it between the monster and her stomach. The blade caught the thing in the side and green goo began to ooze out of the wound, but it held on, digging its barbed tongue into Sam’s arm. Carter hit it with the bat again and again, but it barely seemed to notice, its red eyes rolling and full of murder.
“Hit the deck!” Sam's vision filled with a blinding light, and everyone paused as a ball of fire whizzed through the air. The effect was like getting caught in the flash of a camera until the flare buried itself in the thing’s face. The monsters reeked, but the smell of burning monster flesh was a hundred times worse. If not for the adrenaline pounding through her veins, Sam would have been overwhelmed, but she kept her wits about her, and as the creature started to flail, she slipped out from under and tried to crawl away. The tongue though...
The sickening, spiny black tongue still gripped her arm, even as the horrible thing ignited inside, trying to draw her back to its mouth. her arm open. She screamed in pain as the barbs ripped through her skin. “Cut it,” she howled. “Cut the fucking thing!”
Franklin severed the tongue with a stroke of the shovel, and they watched as the monster blackened and charred from the inside out. Green slime seeped from it like a popped blister, turning the concrete green.
Carter whooped, his voice echoing through the garage. “That was intense,” he said, hefting the bat.
Sam nodded, then looked at her arm. The tongue was still wrapped around it like a python, exerting pressure, though not the crushing force it had. She pulled at it, wincing and unhooking the barbs one by one. As she did, it too melted away to green goop. The skin on her arm was mangled, but only felt wet. Shock, probably. She knew it would hurt soon. Blood had welled up in each of the wounds and dripped down the side of her arm. “Anyone bring a first aid kit?”
The group at the top of the ramp looked utterly stunned. Jesus still had the flair gun raised. Yolanda snapped out of her stupor first. “Oh, yeah. It’s in my trunk.”
***
They stood around Yolanda’s tiny Honda while Sam wrapped her arm with gauze and medical tape. “So, the monsters are real...” said Jesus, still looking surprised.
“Yeah, man,” said Franklin. “And you killed one. One point for Jesus.”
Jesus frowned. “I didn’t think they were really real. I mean, not really.”
“What the hell did you think we were talking about, then?” asked Sam.
He shrugged. “I don’t know, I guess I sort of thought you guys were playing around or something.”
She held up her arm, which luckily, was not bleeding through the dressing or anything. “Nope. This shit’s legit.”
“I don’t know if anyone got how real this is,” said Heather, looking grim. “I mean, monsters aren’t supposed to be a real thing.”
“I didn’t want to believe it either,” said Franklin. “It really messed me up at first, but they discover new animals and stuff sometimes, right?”
“In the ocean, or the jungle,” said Drew. “Not in a parking garage in the middle of a city. And not one that turns into goo and then melts away.”
“Plus,” said Heather, “this shit isn’t normal. This is magic. I mean, magic is a thing now. Wrap your head around that for a second.”
“Well, whatever these things are, we need to wipe them out,” said Yolanda, crossing her arms. “And we’re gonna need something better than that old shovel.”
“They don’t seem to like fire much,” said Carter.
“You get that chainsaw out of the garage, Jesus,” Yolanda had her game face on. “It’s time we try that bad boy out.”
Jesus nodded, though he didn’t look half as excited about the prospect of monster hunting as he had at the bar. Sam felt for him. Felt for all of them. Sometimes, fantasizing about something was way more fun than actually doing it. Killing slime-filled monsters definitely seemed to fall u
nder that category.
“Why aren’t we calling the cops about this?” Of the group, Drew seemed the most pissed off, and Sam wondered if maybe it was because he’d appeared scared in front of the others by not doing anything.
“And tell them what? That monsters are coming out of the sewer down here?” said Franklin. “Nobody’s gonna believe this shit. Even you guys didn’t. You think we’re gonna get a cop to stake this shit out until another one of these comes up?”
“Why is this our problem, though?” Drew looked like he was ready to take his ball and go home.
The answer was simple and clear in Sam’s mind though. She shrugged. “Because we’re the only ones who know about it. You can’t pretend this isn't real now.”
Heather, Yolanda, Drew and Jesus looked pretty exasperated by this, but Carter and Franklin seemed almost excited. Sam wasn't sure how she felt, aside from put upon. She hadn’t asked for this either. She just happened to work where the end of the world would take place. This shit was way above her pay grade. “You guys can go home if you want, but I figure, the more of us there are, the less likely someone’s going to get hurt. I mean,” she said, motioning to her bandaged arm, “this isn’t a video game, right?”
This was an understatement. Already, pain worked its way up from her forearm into her shoulder, and she couldn’t help but think about what a crap week she’d been having; car totaled, arm messed up, and still in charge of saving the world. It was almost enough to make her wish she’d ordered another beer.
When Carter and Kim dropped her off at her apartment, she went straight into the bathroom, and stripped off her goo-covered clothes. Luckily, she hadn’t been wearing her favorite T-shirt or anything; getting monster blood out of clothing still presented a mystery she’d need to figure out sooner rather than later. She turned on the shower and let it heat up a little, then looked at her arm, not sure if she was brave enough to get it wet. For a second, she flashed back to the tongue, wrapped around and squeezing, and shuddered. “What the fuck am I doing?” she asked the mirror. Getting myself killed.