by D. S. Ritter
The buzzing florescent exploded over her head, showering her in glass and sparks. Another fizzled and burst, and another, like they were chain-reacting. A huge, electrical noise, fizzing, buzzing, terrible filled the air and the whole street went dark with a pop.
Silence fell over the angry crowd, followed by cheering and more honking. “Fuck,” said Sam. The radio was blowing up now; the entire city was out and none of her coworkers knew what to do about it. She knew it would come down one of two ways; either management would raise the gates and let everyone out for free, or they were going to be assholes and make the garages do manual collections, positioning maintenance guys to raise the gates by hand. They’d done this a few times when the systems had gone down, but it was always a cluster, and the traffic had never been this heavy, or this outraged.
The driver of the sedan right in front of her laid on their horn, fixing her with a death glare. Whatever management decided, they would have to decide soon. She didn’t have much control over these people. All it would take would be one gate break and they’d be driving over the curb to get out, assuming they could get anywhere once they hit the street, which was more of a mess; all the street lights in the city were down, and there hadn’t been enough cops to direct the game traffic. She didn’t think there would be looting or anything, but people, especially people from out of town, got some incredibly stupid ideas sometimes.
“Seven-One to HQ,” she held the radio close to her mouth, hoping to speak over the blaring horns.
There was a long wait before she heard, “Go ahead, Seven-One.”
“I’m going to need some chemical melt over here.”
“What, Seven-One? Did you say you needed chemical melt?”
“Oh, sorry,” she said, not sorry, “I meant saw dust, I need more saw dust over here, we just had a customer throw up near the stairwell.”
“We’re a little busy right now Seven-One. We’ll send someone when we can.”
“Ten-Four.”
Sam hoped the others had gotten the message. The rest of the company probably thought she was stoned. But, that was the least of her worries...
There was a feeling in the air, like lighting might strike. Sam wasn't the only one who felt it; the entire structure seemed to fall silent as the sensation crept over them like a thick fog.
She’d never heard concrete cracking before, but the noise filled her ears and sent that primal fear into overdrive. The customers must have had a similar reaction because the honking hit a whole new level with a full accompaniment of screams and yells. The minivan at the front of the line floored it, slamming through the gate and into a sedan stuck in the street traffic. Nobody was seriously hurt, but panic was rising. In another minute, the garage would become a meat grinder. The sound of rending concrete and metal was louder, the ghastly moan of what felt like an earthquake filling the street.
There was no more time to wait for backup. Sam threw open the bathroom and grabbed her bag. She winced a little as the glass bottles inside clinked together.
“Where the hell are you going?!” yelled a customer.
She ignored him and jogged down to the basement. Once out of sight, she fished the eighteen-inch machete out of the bag. She’d spent a lot of time sharpening it, since the hardware store sold them dull. Now, it’s time to try it out, she thought manically.
“Hey, wait up!” Franklin and Kim came down behind her. Kim had her taser and a kitchen knife strapped to what looked like a utility belt and Franklin held the tree trimmer like a spear.
“Everyone else is on their way, but traffic is insane,” explained Kim, pulling out the taser.
When they reached the subbasement, they stopped at the bottom of the ramp, just out of sight. “Oh, fuck,” whispered Sam.
The concrete floor had huge cracks running through it, all stemming from the cistern which lay in pieces around the hole. An arm as wide as a tree trunk, with a triple-claw at the end reached up out of the tear. It embedded those talons into the concrete and pulled. The cracks grew and spread as the monster forced itself through the opening, its neck, incredibly long, bent at impossible angles. It seemed like all muscle and sinew and cartilage, with no bones to hinder its movement, but thick, like a bull’s.
Sam heard Kim swallow a scream as the head emerged. It was flat, with a bone-like carapace where the face should have been. Nestled in this shell-like countenance were two black, beady eyes. The creature had no mouth, but razor sharp mandibles, ancient and crustacean.
The floor split all the way to the ramp as the thing lurched its way to the surface, revealing its broad, ursine chest. “Bottleneck,” muttered Franklin. “We gotta bottleneck ‘em.”
Jamming a strip of T-shirt into one of the fifths of everclear was the work of seconds. Sam only waited for the fabric to soak up a bit of the alcohol before she lit it. “God, I hope this works.” She tossed the bottle underhand, in a high arc.
The bottle hit the ground and shattered, splashing the thing with flaming alcohol. Its porous skin caught immediately, engulfing it in fire. Its screech was so loud and high pitched, Sam felt her eardrums threaten to rupture.
A crossbow bolt shot from out of nowhere and punctured its bulging python neck, silencing it. “Wow, looks like I missed some stuff!” said Heather, half-way up the ramp. “What’s the plan?”
“Keep shooting it. We use this thing’s fat ass to plug up the hole,” said Sam, rubbing her fingers in her ears to get rid of the ringing. “If there’s anything else in there, it won’t be getting past something that size...”
It was impressive how quickly Heather could reload the crossbow. Sam guessed she was at the archery range a lot more than she’d let on. The small group watched with horror as the monster burned, still trapped in the hole. The whole subbasement was filling with the stench of burning sewage. It seemed like the monster would burn to death flailing, its screams, little more than an unnerving wheeze.
And then they heard the engine roaring from the stairwell.
Jesus stepped onto the scene like a hero in a bad pulp comic, brandishing the chainsaw with a look of stark determination chiseled on his face.
“What the fuck is he doing?” Franklin cried, waving. “Jesus! No, man!”
But Jesus couldn’t hear him over the buzzing of the chainsaw. He took a step toward the smoldering creature, and another.
Everyone waved their arms and screamed his name, but he was singularly focused. He approached from behind, unseen and raised his weapon over the things shoulder. Then he brought it down.
The blade went through the thing’s flesh and muscle like a gelatin, offering almost no resistance. Losing his balance, Jesus leaned too far into it and didn’t just slice the thing’s arm off, but cut deep into the body cavity, carving away a huge hunk. A wave of green goo exploded all over, coating Jesus and stalling out the chainsaw, but the monster slumped, motionless.
Jesus stood there, stunned for a moment. He spit monster blood, laughed and shouted, “How do you like me now?!”
“Fuck man,” said Franklin, “you are one crazy asshole.”
Relief did not last long, however. As they watched, the monster’s carcass began to deflate and slip back into the hole. “Oh, shit,” whispered Sam. “I don’t think this shit is over...”
Jesus lugged the chainsaw back with him a few steps as the body fell away. And then, all hell broke loose.
Chapter Seventeen
Smaller monsters, uncountable, welled up out of the hole like puss from a wound. There were fist-sized green oozy blobs, rat-sized squidy-birdlike ones, and a larger variety, about as big as a mastiff with horrible gaping faces and three sets of tiny, bat-like wings.
“Oh, holy shit,” said Kim, her face pale with fear.
Jesus retreated to the relative safety of the ramp, still covered in monster blood. “The fuck do we do now?”
“Kill as many as you can,” said Sam, picking up her machete, “try not to let any of them up to the street level.”
&nbs
p; “Oh, holy shit! Look at ‘em all!” Carter cried, running up behind them with Yolanda. He had a nail gun, one Sam had admired at the hardware store when she bought her machete. It looked like he had a crap ton of nails for it too.
Yolanda had a propane torch and the flare gun strapped to her hip, opting for fire.
They all watched in horror as the garage filled with monsters. Heather took careful aim and sent one of her bolts right through a mastiff’s shoulder. It howled with pain and anger, its face opening into a gigantic mouth full of thorny teeth. This seemed to rile the others, driving them to frenzy. Some even attacked each other. It was chaos.
“Go time, kids,” said Carter, taking aim with the nail gun. It was hardly an automatic, so spray and pray was out, but he hit about a baker’s dozen of the smaller monsters in the first ten seconds. They screeched and melted down to nasty green goop, making the concrete slick with monster blood.
Nobody seemed in much of a hurry to approach the monsters, but the first wave was spreading out, with many heading toward the other ramp. Seeing no alternative, Sam cut across the level, slashing at any of the things that came her way. She killed a few and got into position to keep them underground. Her adrenaline was getting up, but she felt the situation was only teetering within their control. She watched as Franklin stabbed any of the monsters that came within reach while Yolanda and Kim tried to help Jesus get the chainsaw started again. Heather and Carter provided suppressing fire.
Distracted by this glance at her friends, Sam didn’t see the mastiff flanking her. The beast leaped, slamming into her from the side and sending her sprawling to the concrete. Instinctively, she got the machete between her and it, trying to hold its weird, curling maw away from her face. Its claws were another worry, and they dug into one of Sam's shoulders, tearing through her polo shirt. How many uniforms was she going to have to replace?
She turned her face and became horribly aware of several tiny globs getting uncomfortably close. Grunting, she pushed the snarling monster up and off, half lifting, half rolling. It sprang back to its feet instantly, and she swung at. The tip of the blade just caught the side of the thing's neck, spilling its slimy, soupy blood in a putrid gush. It collapsed and melted into a hissing puddle of ooze, and Sam turned her attention to the smaller monsters sneaking up on her.
Kim screamed as a bat-like creature with three mouths slammed into her, trying to bite and claw anything it could reach. Yolanda grabbed the creature by its slimy, membranous wings and pulled it off, throwing it to the concrete. Kim recovered and zapped the bat-thing with her taser until it smoked while Yolanda caught one of the smaller goo-sacks with her toe and kicked so hard it spatted on a crossbeam running along the ceiling.
“Watch out!”
Sam looked up, but it was too late to do anything other than flinch as the huge mastiff came down on top of her. A staff slammed into the side of its head, knocking it off course. Sam seized the moment and plunged her machete into its stomach. She turned and found John in full magician regalia, cloak and all. “What the hell are you doing here?”
He shrugged. “What else did I have to do today? Now, watch your ass, I’m not gonna be saving it all the time.”
There was a flash to their right as Yolanda lit a pack of the rodent-sized creatures up with her torch. The squealing cut through the din of even the chainsaw revving up again and they watched as the fire quickly spread through the hoard.
“Hey, excuse me!”
Sam whirled around, barely avoiding slicing the speaker open. He looked and smelled like he’d had a few beers at the game. His eyes were bloodshot too. He’d been having himself a nice afternoon, until now. His gaze fell upon the machete in her hand. “I, uh, can’t find my, um, car…?”
“We’re a little busy right now...” said Sam, wondering which one of them had lost their mind.
Two large monsters, slimy masses of spaghetti tentacles came up out of the hole and lunged toward them, making a disturbing blubbering noise as they seethed over the concrete. The guy screamed and ran full tilt back up the ramp, his car forgotten. Sam shook her head as she went back to hacking monsters to bits.
“Looks like we have some more company,” said John, pointing toward the stairwell.
As Sam looked over, Joe stepped out, covered in what looked like blood. Scraps of fabric with strange symbols scrawled on them were tied to his arms and wrapped around his torso, and around his neck, hung the amulet. He crouched beside the black hole of the cistern and started setting up some sort of altar.
Sam felt actual, red-hot rage building inside. This guy had knocked her out, broken into her apartment, and destroyed all her stuff. He'd slept on the job and not gotten fired. And now, he would end the world. “Fuck that guy,” she said, wiping the machete on her pant leg. “Cover me.”
She mowed down monsters like she was an explorer cutting through dense jungle. Swing left, slash open something like a garbage bag made of teeth and claws, swing right, leave a gash on a seething dog beast that spilled foul-smelling green ooze everywhere. John followed behind, keeping the monsters back with his staff, which must have been enchanted, or heavier than it looked, because when he hit them with it, they didn’t get back up.
Aside from the disgusting reek of monsters, the basement was filling up with fumes from the chainsaw which Jesus had turned on the larger monsters. He was covered from head to toe with slimy green gore. Many were still on fire, adding to the chaos. Franklin did his best to give their shooters some distance, and to keep the flaming ones in the heart of the hoard, but Sam could see he was getting tired. She had to end this now.
Joe didn’t seem to see her as she came up on him, but the monsters did. Maybe there was some sort of psychic connection, but the whole group seemed to change focus. Even those heading for the unmanned ramp turned and started in her direction. “I think we’re about to be overwhelmed,” said John, sweeping them away with his staff.
Sam whistled at the rest of the group and they moved in closer, Heather picking up slime-covered bolts from the floor and refilling her quiver. Carter continued to fire his nail gun, but it wasn’t as effective against the bigger monsters and the crossbow was slow to reload. Franklin and Jesus were the best at clearing the monsters, but they were getting fatigued. Kim shocked the hell out of anything that got anywhere near her, but electricity didn't cause nearly as much damage as fire. Struggling, the seven of them made slow progress.
Meanwhile, Joe was going through the motions of the summoning. He started murmuring in a language no human civilization had ever spoken, forming symbols with his hands, occasionally screaming as though in great pain.
“Better hurry,” said John, “or none of this will matter much.”
Seeing an opening, Sam lunged out of the seething mass of monsters. Joe was blind to everything around him and didn’t react. Her eyes fell upon the amulet. She reached out, grabbed it and pulled, meaning to jerk it off of his neck and break the spell. But the chain didn’t snap like she expected. “Fuck,” she said, jerking again.
Joe stood there like an animated corpse. He barely reacted to the violence, just continued his summoning ritual. She pulled the amulet again, harder. The chain still did not snap.
“Fuck!” she cried. This asshole had ruined just about everything in her personal world, and something was bent on having him ruin the rest of it. She balled up her fist around the dull, gold bauble and punched him in the face with it as hard as she could.
It hurt like hell, but was enough to knock him off balance. His reflexes were dull and failed to save him as his foot slipped into the void. His weight yanked Sam’s arm almost out of its socket, pulling her down toward the darkness. Her chest hit broken concrete, but she held on, refusing to let go. It only took a second for the chain around his neck to give this time, and she watched in horror as his glassy stare fell away into the blackness. Beyond him lay everything her nightmares had been made of.
The surrounding monsters cried out as one terrible creature
, and dissolved into a flood of green goo, all of it flowing toward the ruined cistern. John pulled Sam up and they all crowded into the stairwell to get out of the way.
The roar that rose from the darkness shook the teeth in their skulls it was so loud and deep and they huddled together as the building groaned around them. Outside, something exploded. “Were we too late?!” asked Sam, jamming the amulet in her pocket and holding her hands over her ears.
Nobody had any answers, they were all holding on for dear life.
"...as big as a mastiff with horrible gaping faces and three sets of tiny, bat-like wings."
Chapter Eighteen
After what seemed like forever, the sound died away, replaced by the sound of car alarms going off in every direction. Slowly, they untangled themselves from each other. “The hell just happened?” asked Franklin, peering out into the garage. It was still awash with monster blood, but most of it seemed to have flowed underground. A huge crack had formed in the ceiling, but things seemed to have calmed down.
“I don’t know,” said Yolanda. “You think they’re dead?”
Sam crept over to the crumbling edge of the cistern. She’d seen the void below, the unending blackness. And the thing that lived in that blackness. At the bottom of this hole were chunks of concrete and brackish water, only about ten feet down. Sam thought of Joe and shuddered. She turned to ask John what he thought, but he was gone.
“I think it’s over,” she said, disappointed. “I think we’re going to be fine.”
Franklin switched his walkie back on. HQ was under siege from unhappy customers and bewildered cashiers. “We better get back to work before anyone comes looking for us,” he said, leaning on the tree trimmer, looking tired as hell.
“Yeah…” said Jesus, picking up his slime-stained chainsaw. His hands shook and Yolanda put her arm around his shoulders to steady him.