Existential

by Ryan W. Aslesen

Red emerged from the hatch. “Hope I’ve got the firepower to do it.” He showed Max the screen on the cannon. Four shots had reduced it to half power. Max’s estimate of a one-minute power reserve had been ridiculously optimistic.

  “Marvelous. Thank God you like to hump too many weapons.” Not that your machine gun is likely to kill one of them, but it’s a fair deterrent.

  They started down the hallway. With the possible exception of his first engagement, Max had never walked into a combat situation feeling so tense, even though the hallway ahead appeared to be clear. They could walk upright for the moment, and Max marched off as though leading his old infantry company on a training hump. Speed was their ally for the moment, as they needed to traverse this hallway quickly. Shoot, move, communicate, as the old maxim went. Two out of three would have to suffice.

  Red unleashed the cannon on a creature tailing them. They hadn’t even traveled one hundred feet, and the hallway wouldn’t end anytime soon. Max didn’t bother asking Red if he’d killed the creature. Instead, he stepped it out, marched a little faster, and watched for any signs of beasts trying to blend into the hallway. He still had to worry about creatures down in the maintenance tunnel as well. No way could he possibly be wary of all the dangers that might lurk in every crevice around him.

  Again, Red fired. The pungent scents of burnt flesh and ozone pervaded the hot, sticky air. Red howled and hurled another jolt of lightning. Max glanced over his shoulder and saw the bolt blast a creature that had taken an armored reptile-insect hybrid form. The hit knocked it several feet back down the hallway. It landed on its back, its serrated insect legs flailing at the air.

  Another creature rounded the corner, its exact form indistinct from that distance.

  Max had seen enough. Red had one shot left with the cannon, two at the most. Since no creatures were visible ahead, Max switched places with Dr. Rogers as they retreated from the pursuing beasts. He wouldn’t be able to get a good shot around Red in the narrow hallway, but he had to be there to back up his man, just in case. They jogged backward, keeping the creatures in sight at all times. The beasts were closing in, but Red let them come for the moment. The cannon was more effective at close range, and he had to make his last couple of shots count.

  “We clear up there?” Max called to Dr. Rogers.

  “Yes. I see the end of the hallway!”

  Red shouted, “’Bout fucking time!”

  They kept retreating. The lead creature, an aberration with five scuttling legs ending in spade-like claws, had closed to within fifty feet. Wait for it, Red!

  They had nearly reached the security door, where Dr. Rogers stood poised to close the portal off behind them. Max glimpsed another of the small ports in the grating after he’d passed it. Red came abreast of it and paused to take a shot with his cannon at the lead creature, now within forty feet.

  Max sensed the lurking creature an instant too late. A tentacle shot out of the portal and wrapped around Red’s ankles, yanking him off his feet. It pulled him knee-deep into the hole, skinning the flesh from his calves. His exposed bones scraped steel as the beast attempted to pull his bulk through the tiny aperture. Red’s echoing bellow of pain might have been heard back in Base Camp.

  Max shoved the barrel of the fléchette rifle down through the grating and fired, pumping the heavy explosive darts into the beast below. The sounds were nearly enough to drive him insane: Red screaming in agony; the creature wailing beneath the onslaught of darts; the rip of cartilage and muscle being torn apart; the motorized whirl of the fléchette gun’s cylinder as it fired at a thousand rounds a minute.

  The creatures were damn near immune to bullets, but the exploding fléchettes seemed to disrupt their regenerative properties. The thing beneath the floor started to smoke as the darts sank deep into its flesh; then it imploded, deflating into an inert puddle of the substance.

  Red lay writhing on the floor, vermillion blood coursing from the stumps of two legs severed at the knee. Max opened fire on the lead beast in the hallway, a mere twenty feet separating them. As the darts pierced its body, it screeched and backed away at top speed.

  Max pulled Red through the security doorway, which Dr. Rogers closed behind them. He got to work on Red while Dr. Rogers moved on to open the door at the hallway’s end. After Max pulled Red’s tourniquet off his vest, he grabbed another one from his own calf cargo pocket. The beasts had retired far down the hallway for the moment to heal their wounds. They won’t be gone for long. He ripped open the cravat package with his teeth and started tying off Red’s left leg.

  “I’ll get you out of this,” Max vowed. He hadn’t been able to save Irish, but he would get Red out of this hallway somehow.

  Red’s bleeding subsided from a garden hose spray to a steady trickle, and then degenerated to a mere ooze as Max cinched the tourniquet tight above one bleeding stump.

  “Stop it, Chief,” Red said raising his hand.

  “Nah, you’re coming with me.”

  Red shook his head in frustration. “Don’t play hero on my account.”

  Max dismissed his concern and started tying the second tourniquet.

  A doorway about twenty feet down the passage opened; out stepped a thick-legged muscular beast in semi-humanoid form, with absurdly long arms that ended in hooks the size of sickle blades. A pit viper’s pointed head surmounted its three-foot neck, topped with a thorn-like crest that could easily impale a man. It ran at the security door and jabbed its hooks into the control panel.

  Max looked at the aberration through the viewing port in the security door.

  Can they open doors now? Have they evolved that much? Max wasn’t going to stick around to find out.

  He grabbed Red by the drag handle on his plate carrier and started dragging him down the hallway.

  The security door slid open a few seconds later. Max’s brain barely had time to process the dismaying development before the creature crouched on its brawny back legs and sprang forward.

  Red blasted it in midair just before it pounced on them, sending it tumbling back down the hallway in a whirling tempest of flailing arms and legs crackling with blue electricity, its scream an assault on the ears.

  “Shit,” Red whispered. “Dead.” He meant the lightning cannon, not the beast, which calmed its sizzling body and started to recover. Red dropped the dead cannon. “Give me the MG!”

  Max paused long enough to put Red’s beloved machine gun back in his hands.

  The beast stood again and advanced, the two other creatures right behind it. Max leaned back and pulled, drove with his legs, used all his strength to get Red’s bulk moving again.

  “Come on, you motherfuckers!” Red shouted as he sprayed lead down the hallway.

  Snakehead absorbed the bullets and continued to march, though the shots slowed him considerably. Max raised the fléchette rifle with his right hand and fired, grateful for the weapon’s lack of recoil, which allowed him to drag Red simultaneously. Several darts struck the creature’s snake head, blasting it to pieces. The thing dropped to the grating. Not dead but seriously fucked up.

  Another creature in centipede form—perhaps the same one that killed Harlow—slithered right over the other obliterated creature to continue the chase.

  “You want some, Mr. Caterpillar?” Red fired a burst at it. “Come and get it!” He pulled the trigger and squeezed off more lead. He ran out of ammo a second later.

  Max shot it up with a short burst from the fléchette rifle. The creature turned and began to flee. The rifle’s BB gun kick then abruptly stopped. The cylinder continued spinning, its chambers empty. Knowing he didn’t have time to reload the fléchette rifle, Max traded it for his HK416.

  The worm creature turned hard about and took up the chase again. Max looked over his shoulder and saw Dr. Rogers about a hundred feet away. She’d reached the end of the hallway. Max emptied his rifle into the creature as he dragged Red the last thirty yards. The bulk of the rounds struck home; several more sparked as they ricoch
eted off the creature’s armored head. The rifle’s bolt stopped at the loading position. Empty. With no more ammunition, he dropped the rifle and drew his pistol, firing vainly at the approaching horror.

  Max grunted as he tried to drag Red even faster, every muscle in his body burning under the strain. The beast sensed their defenselessness and charged forward on its dozen-odd legs, closing the gap. In a few moments they would be in tentacle range.

  We’re not gonna make it.

  “Chief, I got this!” Red held up his hands, an alien mine in each massive palm. He held down the timers with his thumbs, not bothering to turn the dial to set a time. They would detonate when he released pressure. “See you in Valhalla.”

  Max met his eyes and nodded. Nothing further needed to be said. He wanted to stay there and die fighting with Red—and would have if the fate of the human race weren’t riding on his shoulders.

  He let go of the drag handle and fled, his panicked instinct to survive suppressing his self-loathing at abandoning Red.

  “Hurry!” Dr. Rogers shouted from just inside a doorway.

  From down the hallway came unintelligible war chants uttered in the ancient tongue of the Norse. Red’s only academic pursuit had been researching every aspect of Viking culture, right down to learning Old Norse from a noted Norwegian scholar. The berserker would die fighting to his last breath, just as his ancient forebears had. Max didn’t need to understand Red’s shouting to recognize his last words as curses upon the creatures.

  The mines detonated simultaneously, the blast so forceful in the cramped hallway that it might have been measured in megatons. Max dove toward the open door, arms outstretched like a runner trying to steal second base. The shockwave ahead of the flames propelled his flying body forward at tremendous speed. He felt the heat on his legs as he sailed through the doorway, which slammed shut an instant later, shielding him and Dr. Rogers before the flames roasted them alive.

  Max lay supine on the floor, staring blankly at the ceiling. A wave of exhaustion crushed him. He felt immobile as though an elephant crushed his chest. Fuck, this is futile.

  Dr. Rogers appeared, squatting over his inert form. “Max!” She shook him.

  “Yeah.”

  “We need to move. We’ve nearly reached the reactor.”

  Max continued staring upward as he considered her words. Nearly didn’t cut it. The ship was teeming with creatures; he doubted they would reach the reactor. He pounded the floor once with a fist. “No. This isn’t gonna work.” He hated to say it. He hated losing, but they’d been bested. Eight men had fast-roped off a helicopter two days previous. Seven were now dead. Max knew he would soon join them.

  “It will. I’m certain I can initiate the reactor’s self-destruct sequence.”

  Max sat up. “Be pretty hard to do if you never reach the reactor. And with no additional firepower to support us I doubt we can make it.”

  “We need to—”

  “No, Gable was right. We need to do is get off this ship and contact some proper authorities. I still have connections in the military, a two-star who works at the Pentagon. If I can get out of here and contact him, he might be able to put boots on the ground, get Greytech off the site and seal up this vessel for good. Maybe even destroy it with tactical nukes. It’s our best alternative.”

  “Greytech isn’t about to let you call in any sort of assistance. Even if you did, do you honestly think the government would destroy it? They would try to contain it and study it.”

  “I don’t plan on asking them. I’ll hide in the camp, steal a radio, and notify the military to come in and mop this up. We have to-”

  She shook her head. “There isn’t time for that! These creatures represent an existential threat to humanity, to all life on the planet. If we don’t stop them now, it will be too late.”

  “Maybe it already is. You’ve seen these things butcher my men, and we’ll be next if we make for the reactor.”

  “We stand the same chance of dying if we try to escape the ship.”

  Max conceded her point with a reluctant nod. “True enough.”

  “If you want to leave and try contacting the military, I understand. This is my responsibility, and I’ll handle it alone. I will destroy this ship and all the creatures onboard.”

  “And sacrifice yourself as well?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Max nodded. She’s determined to see this through to the end. Why aren’t you? He thought back to his training at OCS Quantico, a long time ago. The Marine Corps’ legendary sergeant Dan Daly crying, “Come on, you sons of bitches! Do you want to live forever?” before he led the charge at Belleau Wood. That’s how you’ve always operated. And living forever sounds overrated, especially when you have nothing left to live for. Seven good men had died on this mission; he could at least attempt to make their sacrifice count for something.

  “Very well. I’m coming with you. Two is one, and one is none. I need to make sure you execute your plan.”

  She smiled at him. “You don’t trust anyone, do you?”

  “I trusted my men. They’re dead now.”

  “You can trust me.”

  “Perhaps I can, but I’m still coming with you. Trust but verify.”

  * * *

  “Just ahead,” Dr. Rogers whispered. “Almost there.”

  They stood at ceiling level on one end of a cavernous room several stories in height. A narrow catwalk before them hugged a sheer wall of computers over one hundred feet above a floor crowded with glowing, whining machinery. Like the bridges they’d traversed, the catwalk had no railing. The reactor control room lay behind a closed door at the other end of the catwalk, below a yellow warning sign emblazoned with a black radioactive symbol. A corpse in a shredded, bloody HAZMAT suit lay sprawled on the walkway outside the door.

  Max paused for a single breath to center his mind on the job at hand. He peered down into the glowing machinery, scanning for any creatures. None stood out ahead, but at least one was following them. “Let’s do this.”

  They’d only traveled a few hundred feet since escaping the long hallway where Red had dispatched himself to Valhalla. In that time Max had emptied most of the second drum of darts he’d brought from the armory, driving off three creatures to clear their way. The fléchette rifle felt feather light now. When it ran empty, he would be left with only his Glock and the grenade launcher strapped across his back.

  Dr. Rogers strode onto the catwalk with Max right behind her. The control room door beckoned about sixty yards distant. He kept alert for any signs of creatures but made no attempt to slow Dr. Rogers. The sooner this is done, the better. Miraculously, they reached the far door without incident.

  “WARNING: FUSION REACTOR CONTROL ROOM. ACCESS STRICTLY FORBIDDEN!” read the sign posted over the door. The Greytech guard had been sliced and pierced by claws at least two dozen times, but the wounds all appeared superficial. Max figured he’d bled to death, probably while his assassin watched in sadistic glee. The dead man’s rifle was missing, but Max took his 9mm pistol, still holstered and fully loaded, along with two mags of ammo.

  Dr. Rogers stepped over the corpse and stood before the closed door. She wasted no time accessing the holographic computer that controlled access. She could only open some of the doors throughout the ship, and Max had no idea if she might open this one. A portal guarding such a critical facility would likely feature an abundance of additional security features. Max took up a defensive position about twenty feet down the catwalk from her, so he would have a clean shot with his rifle if a beast appeared near her. He watched for creatures as she worked. Nothing appeared at the catwalk’s far end, but Max knew they hadn’t given up the chase.

  A viscous stream that reminded Max of filthy motor oil poured down from a small ceiling duct onto the catwalk. He waited for it to ooze into a full puddle before opening fire, cutting loose as it rapidly took shape. The darts hammered it hard, made the thing squirm and bubble as they exploded. Never fully forming, it
capitulated, flowing straight down through the grated floor. A temporary victory at best; it would climb back up to re-engage at some point.

  Dr. Rogers screamed.

  Max spun with the rifle leveled and saw the large humanoid creature that had taken Thatcher. It let out a deep growl as it flipped up onto the catwalk between Max and the doctor. The creature paused and seemed to consider her, then reached out and grabbed her with its prehensile arm. It clutched her throat and lifted her off the deck, her hands grasping at the creature’s unearthly strong hands.

  “No!” Max yelled as he sighted in on the beast. He knew he might kill Dr. Rogers while trying to slay it, but she would die for certain if he held his fire. He blasted at the alien’s legs with the fléchette rifle, the darts tearing into the creature, black gore flying.

  Then the tapping recoil stopped; the empty cylinder spun impotently. Max dropped the rifle and reached back for his grenade launcher as he began sprinting toward the creature. He waited until he was sure he wouldn’t hit Dr. Rogers with the spread, then pumped three grapeshot rounds into the creature’s lower back thorax. Smoking substance oozed from its shredded body and the pellets sent chunks of the creature spinning off into the bright, cavernous abyss.

  The beast roared, dropped Dr. Rogers and turned towards Max, who threw down the now-useless weapon. He leaped forward to meet the creature and caught it off guard—it hadn’t expected him to attack hand-to-hand. He launched his body and slammed into the thing. It felt like he’d slammed into a brick wall, pain shooting through his shoulder as he made the tackle. His old college coach would have been proud. The beast creature’s center of gravity offset, it fell hard to the catwalk with Max on top of it.

  Then the creature flipped over, and they rolled off the catwalk in a death embrace.

  Max stuck out his left hand and grasped for the edge of the catwalk. His gloved fingers found temporary purchase on the lip, his grip slipping fast.

  The creature dangled next to him, one arm hooked on the edge of the walkway. It slashed at him with the other arm and narrowly missed. Max pulled the extra pistol from his belt and fired several rounds into the joint on the arm from which the creature dangled. The beast screeched and dropped, flailing its arms in an attempt to take Max down with it.