by Brian Keene
The creature blinked.
Carrie grinned, ignoring the pounding in her lungs. Her heart hammered in her chest.
This is it. I’m sorry, Paolo. I’m sorry …
Her father appeared again, and smiled. She saw the creature behind him, surging forward with arms and tentacles outstretched, but she didn’t care. Her father reached for her.
Then, the monster suddenly receded and her father vanished, as Carrie was flung upward, twisting and turning, caught in a tremendous, surging wave. The unexpected momentum forced the air from her lungs. Saltwater rushed in to replace it. The roaring in her ears was all-consuming now. All thought ceased. Nothing else existed. Not her injured forearm. Not her mother’s dour recriminations. Not the beast or the cold that seemed to radiate from it. Not Paolo and Abhi. Not the egg. Her entire world was the roaring sound, rushing to meet her, eager to swallow her whole.
Still, even in this state, Carrie refused to go limp. Refused to surrender.
Then the wave tossed her onto the beach face-first, and the sound slipped away with her consciousness.
NINE
When Carrie opened her eyes again, she thought she must be back at the hospital in Chemin Grenier. It smelled like a hospital, and the drab décor was the same. She heard a machine beeping, and decided that it sounded like a hospital, as well.
Had the entire thing just been a dream—an oxygen deprivation-induced nightmare she’d suffered while recovering from the bends? Had she been here all this time, since the initial accident with Peter? Had Paolo and Abhi and the thing in the trench been nothing more than delirium? Then she felt something tug at her arm, which was still numb, and slowly became aware that there were other people in the room with her.
She turned her head to the left and saw a man stitching up her wounded arm. So, it hadn’t been a dream. She should be so lucky. The injury was real enough, which meant that its cause had been real, as well. She remembered the beast, the way it had slashed her, determined to retrieve its egg. That had really happened. All of it. Her thoughts turned to Paolo and Abhi. Where were they? Had her distraction worked? Had Abhi made it to shore? How was Paolo?
Her eyes drifted closed. They flickered open again as she felt another tug on her arm. She stared at the man, watching as he nimbly worked the needle and thread. No glue guns or medical adhesive for this apparent medical professional. He was old-school. He hummed tunelessly, seeming absorbed in the task at hand. He was obviously Mauritian, probably of Creole descent, and handsome. She assumed, given his clothing and the fact that he was sewing her up with some degree of expertise, that he must be a doctor. A nurse stood nearby, who Carrie judged to also be Mauritian.
Okay, Carrie thought. I’m still in Mauritius. But where? And what happened?
She tried to speak, but her mouth was terribly dry, and her lips felt chapped and cracked.
Finally noticing that she was awake, the doctor gave her a disarming smile.
“It’s okay,” he said. “I’m Dr. Barbet. Do you remember what happened, Miss Anderson?”
Before Carrie could answer, he nodded gently at the nurse, who approached Carrie with a small plastic cup filled with ice chips. She administered one, tracing it softly across Carrie’s chafed lips before placing it in Carrie’s mouth.
“Careful now,” the nurse said. “Take it slowly. We don’t want you to choke. Just let it melt in your mouth.”
Carrie did as she was told, and moaned in gratitude. Ice had never tasted or felt so good. She sucked on the chip, feeling it grow smaller, and simultaneously feeling her strength return. She wiggled her toes, experimentally, and was relieved to see that the paralysis had passed. Only her arm remained numb, and she quickly determined that they must have given her anesthetic before attending her wound.
“I remember … the water. Paolo and Abhi…”
“Your companions are here, as well,” Dr. Barbet replied. “Abhi is fine. He suffered only a few abrasions, and a case of sunburn. And Paolo is in surgery right now.”
Carrie’s full sense returned. She sat up, slowly, and reached with her good arm for the cup of ice.
“Carefully, now,” Dr. Barbet cautioned. “The more you hold still, the better I can stitch you. We want to lessen the scar, yes?”
“I don’t care about the scar.” Carrie downed three more ice chips. “How’s Paolo? His leg. That thing put something in his leg.”
She paused, wondering if that had been part of the hallucinations.
“You said he was in surgery?”
The doctor turned to the nurse. “Could you inform them that Miss Anderson is awake, please?”
Nodding, the nurse left. The doctor waited until she had closed the door before answering Carrie’s question.
“I don’t know what his current condition is. I can tell you that we handled the frostbite, and there was very little permanent tissue damage. You got him here just in time to prevent that. We also removed the object from his leg. You’ll be grateful to know that your wound had no similar object lodged in it.”
“The ovoid.” Carrie frowned, remembering the barbed mineral she’d been unable to dislodge from Paolo’s wound. So that part, at least, hadn’t been a hallucination.
“Yes. It turns out it is a kind of organic pod. It emptied a payload of toxin into Paolo’s bloodstream. That’s why you should be thankful you only got this gouge, Miss Anderson.”
“Call me Carrie.”
“Very well then, Carrie. Consider yourself lucky.”
Finished with the stitches, he rolled his chair backward. Despite his calm demeanor, Carrie could tell from his expression that he wasn’t telling her everything.
“The toxin. What’s Paolo’s reaction to it?”
Dr. Barbet sighed, hesitating. He drummed his fingers on his thigh, and when he spoke again, he wouldn’t meet Carrie’s gaze.
“I’ve never seen anything like it. In some ways, the chemical compound is similar to that of certain sea anemones, but there are also elements of jellyfish poison and other compounds. It’s bizarre.”
Pursing her lips, Carrie thought back to how the creature had seemed to have the characteristics and biology of different sea creatures.
“Whatever the toxin’s origins,” Barbet continued, “it’s having crazy effects on him, I’m afraid. Killing him while manipulating his brainwaves. He swings between a state of lucidity and a brain state that I have no name for.”
“Killing him? Oh God…”
“I’m very sorry, Miss Anderson. I’m sorry. I mean Carrie. But don’t give up hope yet. We’ve sent for a specialist from Port Louis, and—”
“We’re not in Port Louis? Where are we, then?”
“This is a special clinic. Quite isolated. The press will not bother you here. Indeed, I doubt they even know it exists. We’re very exclusive. You’re safe.”
Before Carrie could ask him to be more specific, the door opened. The nurse entered the room, followed by two middle-aged white men in expensive suits. Each of them had an Alpinus Biofutures identification badge pinned to their ties.
“Doctor?” The first man, who wore glasses and had thinning blond hair, nodded at Dr. Barbet. “If you could excuse us for a few moments, please?”
Barbet looked like he was about to protest. Instead, he slowly rose from his seat.
“Certainly.” He turned to Carrie. “Rest up, okay? And as I said, don’t give up hope. I’ll check back on you in a while.”
Neither of the two new arrivals seemed to pay any attention to the doctor or nurse as they left the room and shut the door behind them. Instead, they focused on Carrie. After the staff were gone, they crossed the room, and stood at both sides of the bed. Now that they were closer, Carrie smelled cologne wafting off the blond. She couldn’t identify the scent, but it certainly wasn’t cheap. Despite its cost, the man wore too much of it. The second man had a thick, neatly-coiffed crop of gray-and-black hair. His large nose showed the telltale signs of having been broken at least once in the pas
t, and his hairy, broad knuckles bore thin, white scars. He seemed uncomfortable wearing the suit. He did not smile, and when he stared at Carrie, she was uncomfortably reminded of a shark’s emotionless, black eyes.
“Miss Anderson.” The blond smiled, displaying perfectly capped teeth that were too large for his gums, and thrust out his hand. “I’m Mr. Ochse. This is my associate, Mr. Maberry. We’re special investigators with Alpinus Biofutures’ security division. We’d like to debrief you, if we may?”
Instead of shaking the offered hand, Carrie raised the plastic cup to her mouth and crunched an ice cube, chewing it slowly and with relish, enjoying the feel of it between her teeth and the effect it had on the two agents.
“Alpinus has a security division?”
“Well, of course,” Ochse responded. “We’re one of the biggest biotech companies in the world. A security division is simply responsible business.”
“I see.” Carrie crunched another ice cube, deliberately taking her time. “And I guess you’re here to investigate me for unauthorized use of your equipment and your personnel, right?”
Ochse laughed, but Carrie thought it seemed forced and insincere. Maberry said nothing. His face was an expressionless slate, betraying nothing. He seemed almost bored, but Carrie also detected a hint of menace.
“On the contrary,” Ochse replied. “We’re quite interested in what occurred, and you’re not in any trouble. We just want to know what happened. We’re not interested in disciplinary action or charges.”
“Really?”
“As I said, we’re just here to debrief you. Shall we get started?”
Shrugging, Carrie indicated her consent. Ochse sat down in the chair Dr. Barbet had previously occupied, and scooted it up next to her bedside. The chair’s feet made a screeching sound, and left black scuff marks on the floor. The still-silent Maberry remained standing, but he moved to the foot of the bed. His heavy-lidded eyes never seemed to blink. Ochse produced a small digital recorder from the inside pocket of his suit jacket, grinning as if he were a magician pulling a rabbit out of a hat, and sat it on the table next to Carrie. Then, he began to speak.
“This is Weston Ochse, AB Security, employee number eight-three-zero-niner. This is our initial interview with former AB freelance consultant Caroline May Anderson.”
“Wow,” Carrie murmured. “Nobody ever calls me Caroline.”
He then stated the date and time, and asked Carrie to confirm her identity. When she had done so, they began a long, intense, and grueling debriefing that lasted a full hour. Carrie told them everything, starting with her release from the hospital in Chemin Grenier after recovering from the bends, her encounter with Jessamine, and later Paolo, her determination to further investigate the collapse, and ultimately, their encounter with the creature. She noticed that neither man seemed to scoff or display any disbelief at her story, even when she recounted the hallucinations in detail. They simply listened. Maberry remained a stone statue, impassive and unreadable. Ochse was more engaged, occasionally asked questions for clarification, but seemed mostly content to just let her talk. Carrie held nothing back. She could see no reason to do so, especially now that it seemed clear there would be no recriminations for her non-sanctioned expedition.
The only time she got a reaction out of the men was when she mentioned the egg. Ochse had glanced at Maberry at that point, and then informed her that no egg had been recovered when she was found in the surf. Carrie expressed her doubts about this, but Ochse assured her that nothing like what she was describing had been discovered. He suggested that it was a possibility the egg was still on the beach, or—more likely—it had slipped from her grasp when that final wave had tossed her ashore.
At the end of the interview, Carrie was exhausted, both physically and mentally. Ochse thanked her for her time, and offered his hand again. This time she shook it. All the talking had left her thirsty, but her plastic cup was long empty. Ochse assured her that he would notify the nurses and ask them to bring her some more ice.
Yawning and sore, she asked them if Abhi would get in trouble for helping her. After all, he wasn’t a freelancer or a consultant, but a direct employee of Alpinus Biofutures. Smiling, Ochse gently assured her that they were debriefing him next, and while there might be some slight disciplinary action—perhaps a loss of pay or a written warning—the older man would most likely keep his job, as long as his account of the events matched her own.
The door clicked shut behind them. Carrie let her head loll to one side, and noticed that it was dark outside her window. She idly wondered what time it was as she fell asleep, waiting for the nurse to return with more ice chips.
* * *
When Carrie woke for the second time, she once again took a moment to remember where she was. After it all came back to her, Carrie’s first thoughts were of Paolo and Abhi. She glanced around the hospital room, looking for a clock. One wall had a painting of a boat at sea that would have looked more at home in a cheap hotel room. Another wall held an emergency eye wash station and a fire extinguisher. A third had a plastic storage bin mounted on it, which was full of medical paperwork, and what Carrie assumed was her chart. But the room seemed to be devoid of clocks.
She heard birds tweeting softly, and turned to the window. Soft daylight filtered through the curtains. Carrie took a moment to lift up the corner of the gauze over her arm and examine her stitches. They seemed fine, although her arm was stiff and sore, and the flesh around the stitches felt taut and warm. Realizing that she wasn’t hooked up to any monitors or IVs, Carrie slowly sat up and peeled the blanket back. Then she got out of bed. She shivered when her bare feet hit the cool linoleum floor. She waited a moment, making sure there were no lingering effects from the creature’s neurotoxins. Then, when she felt more confident, she pulled her gown tightly around herself, shuffled over to the window, and drew back the curtains.
Dr. Barbet had mentioned that the clinic was isolated, but the full magnitude of that statement didn’t hit Carrie until that moment. Rather than a medical complex with additional buildings, a parking lot, and well-manicured grounds, she found herself staring out into a thick jungle. She guessed, judging from the height, that her room was on the second or third floor of the facility. The grounds were deserted. The small, one-lane road leading to the clinic was empty, as well. She glimpsed what appeared to be a guard shack in the distance, as well as a high security fence, topped with razor wire. The sharp barbs glinted in the sunlight. Just looking at them made her shudder.
“Talk about the middle of nowhere. And what kind of clinic has fencing like that?”
Frowning, Carrie let the curtain fall back and stepped away from the window. Why had they been brought here, rather than one of the bigger hospitals or clinics? And where was here, exactly? Who were these people? She remembered Paolo’s dire warnings from two days before—his paranoia that they were being followed and observed, that the Novak had been under some type of surveillance. Did that have something to do with their current whereabouts? Were Ochse and Maberry really working for Alpinus Biofutures? Maybe not. It was possible they had simply pretended to be—posing as security agents in an effort to convince Carrie to tell them what had happened. If so, then she had played right into their hands. But if they were actually working for Alpinus, that was equally confusing. Why would Alpinus Biofutures have a private clinic in Mauritius? And why was she just now learning about it? Why hadn’t they taken her here after her ill-fated dive with Peter?
Peter … Carrie felt a sudden pang of guilt and regret. So much had happened, she had completely forgotten about him.
She began searching the hospital room, looking for clues. A check of the bathroom turned up nothing, and a search of the dresser next to her bed yielded no results either. She wondered where her personal items were—her phone and identification—and then realized that they’d been on the boat, along with her clothes that she’d changed out of when she and Paolo had donned their wetsuits. It had never occurred to her t
o retrieve them when she and Abhi had abandoned ship. But then again, why would it have? Both of them had been almost overcome with hallucinations by that point. It was a miracle she’d had the presence of mind to leave at all, let alone bring the egg with her.
There was a cream-colored push button phone on the table next to her bed. She picked up the receiver and tried it, but there was no dial tone. She pressed zero and waited, but there was only more silence. Shrugging, Carrie assumed it was one of those interoffice systems where the user had to dial a certain code to get an outside line. Either that, or the clinic hadn’t paid their phone bill.
The room had a television mounted on the wall. Realizing it was probably pointless, she decided to try it anyway. Maybe there would be an interfacility channel that would shed some light on where she was. Carrie grabbed the remote control from beside the bed and clicked it on, flipping through the channels. She found reruns of Miami Vice, Grounded For Life, and Doctor Who, all dubbed in Creole, an old episode of Wheel of Fortune dubbed in Khmer with Spanish subtitles, five infomercials (two of which were also in Khmer), four cooking shows, a soccer game, a horse race, a chess match, and three news broadcasts, all of which were talking about the latest developments regarding the Mouth of Hell and whether or not a decision had been made regarding a nationwide evacuation. None of this was any help. Indeed, it left Carrie feeling even more helpless. Frustrated, she thumbed the remote, turning the television off once again.
“Shit.”
Carrie was about to give up, admit defeat, and return to bed when she suddenly became aware of voices outside her door. She stepped closer, eavesdropping, and realized that it was Dr. Barbet and Ochse. She recognized the doctor’s voice immediately, and Ochse’s after a longer moment. While they were clearly doing their best to keep their voices subdued, their conversation sounded intense. Curious, she tiptoed to the door, pressed her ear against it, held her breath, and listened.