by Alan Spencer
"I don't understand," Bright said. "What does that have to do with our situation now?"
"Like I said, you're forgetting something. We're not out of bullets. I want to destroy some shit. It might be pointless, but it'll make me feel better."
Anchor released a blast of acid on the left wall. The fleshy material melted, giving Anchor and Bright an escape from the boiling belly beneath them. They made haste, escaping the hot box.
"So you want to shoot some shit?" Bright suggested. "Then let's have some fucking fun."
"Hell yeah," Anchor said. "I want to go out with guns blazing and my clips empty, and maybe we might fight Fagan and Leeks or The Annihilator. I'll ram my fists down Dr. Singer's throat so hard he'll shit claps."
Bright and Anchor clutched their weapons and took on whatever came their way next.
Escape Pod
Dr. Singer was back on board The Annihilator. The lights inside the submarine were beginning to dim. The sub was losing power. Before long, the submarine would go dark. The vessel would be a useless hunk of steel. That's why his timing was so excellent. He was relieved to be out of his suit and heading to the escape pod. The escape pod was inside a key code room. Dr. Singer was the only one on board with the key code. The secret room was along the very bottom of the ship. A square of steel would open up, and the pod itself would eject. Like The Annihilator, the pod had blades that would slice up flesh, bone, and muscle. He would carve his way free out of Gargantuan.
The pod was a one-man submarine/aircraft. He could only lay in place and reach out to a control panel. Dr. Singer opened up the pod, placed the samples he'd acquired inside, and shut the entrance, sealing himself up in the pod.
Captain Mendel's voice spoke into his headset. "I've received the signal you've made it to the escape pod. You have the samples, correct?"
"Affirmative, sir. Everything's going according to plan."
"What's the status of the rest of the crew?"
"Few are alive, but most of them are dead. They'll all be dead soon enough. Those charges will blast everything to smithereens. It's a shame to strap a bomb to such compelling science."
"You're lucky to come away with what you got," Captain Mendel said. "The media is breathing down our necks, saying we're not acting fast enough to ensure America's safety. The White House is bombarded with protesters. If they ever found out we hesitated this long just to get the samples, we'd have a real situation on our hands."
"You have ways of keeping secrets from the American public, sir," Dr. Singer said. "You do your job, I'll do mine. I'll be back very soon."
"We've got a tracking device on your escape pod," Captain Mendel said. "I'll have a team ready to pick you up. I'm on my way to the coast. I'm taking a private plane. Once those explosions go off, we're holding a press conference on shore to win back the confidence of America. I can't have you being seen."
"Understood, sir."
"Get home safely, Dr. Singer. This can't all be for nothing. All the lives lost. It's my ass too if you fail."
Captain Mendel ended the conversation.
The pressure was on to get home. Dr. Singer started up the submarine. All he had to do was set the controls to manual. The machine would find the quickest way to cut through Gargantuan and climb back up to the top of the ocean.
He imagined the awards, and the accolades and respect of his colleagues. Dr. Singer was too busy daydreaming about the future to notice his canisters with the samples. Still ignoring the samples, Dr. Singer took the time to contact Anchor one more time. He enjoyed taunting the bastard.
Little did he know, the samples would break free any moment.
Stampede
"Watch yourself," Anchor said. "God knows what else this place has to throw at us."
That's all he had to say. The sounds made Anchor nervous. The incoming noises sounded like the pounding of many feet against puddles of mud.
"Where is that coming from?" Bright asked. "It's coming closer."
Along the fleshy floor, an ankle deep wave of water passed between their feet. Up ahead, they were coming in fast. Anchor unleashed every round from his TAC-10 until it went dry. It did nothing to stop them. Bright was blasting them, the army of angry seahorses that were eight feet tall a piece. They were riding the top of the water, moving at insane speeds.
"The bullets aren't stopping them," Bright said. "Shit, what do we do?"
"Spray the walls with acid. See if it opens up an escape route. If they get any closer, they're going to stampede right through us!"
Bright sprayed acid on the walls. The fatty tissues were bared back to bone.
"No go, Anchor!"
"Keep trying. Try through the water. The acid will cut through."
The raging sea horses were picking up speed. Their breathing sounded like charging bulls being strangled.
Bright emptied the gun of acid. The ground was boiling. Nothing seemed to be happening. Anchor braced himself for impact. Would he be killed instantly? He imagined them breaking every bone in his body. Instant death would be better than prolonged suffering.
The ground fizzled into nothing. Bright and Anchor fell through, landing in a fast-running stream of neon green. The two of them were being carried down so fast on a current, bashing against the leathery walls of the narrow recess. Anchor imagined them to being carried down a giant vein.
Through the neon green, Anchor could see fish heads rise above the surface. They were piranha in appearance. They had jagged spokes poking up from their backs. The spokes weren't natural to the fish. They were saw blades. The piranha bodies would vibrate, and then the saw blades would start spinning. Rotating so fast, the saw blades shot at them. It barely missed Anchor's head. Dozens of saw blades were coming their way. When they missed, they'd cut right through the walls.
Anchor had an idea.
"Bright! You hear me?"
Bright was almost cut by three blades at once. She dunked herself under the green and bobbed back up. "Yeah, what is it? You got some last words? I got some of my own. This fucking sucks!"
"Quick, grab my leg."
"Is that some sexual reference? You want me to grab your penis. Why don't you grab my vagina, dickhead?"
"Just do it. I got an idea. Do it!"
The piranha heads kept poking up from the surface. Once they spent their saw blades, the bodies would come undone and melt into the green muck. Anchor imagined them to be like bees once they used their stingers. Nature sure had one fucked up plan, Anchor thought.
Bright paddled hard and grabbed Anchor's leg.
"Now hold on. Wait for it."
"You better not be fucking with me."
Anchor waited. A saw blade missed, catching the wall. Anchor grabbed the tear in the fabric and pulled himself in. Bright was holding on, unleashing a thousand curses as new saw blades narrowly missed her.
Anchor used all of his strength to pull them out of the vein. Once he reached out for purchase, there was nothing to grab onto. Anchor and Bright was pitched down into a long drop into the unknown.
Pitch Black Walk
The fall was from up high, yet the landing was soft. Anchor thought he'd landed on fish eggs. There was no way to know what it was for sure. Both of the lights installed in their suits had stopped functioning. Bright had grabbed onto his arm. She wouldn't let go of him. The way was so dark. Anchor imagined glowing creatures suddenly appearing out of nowhere to attack them. Eggs hatching and killing them.
Anchor talked to avoid those thoughts.
"You okay?"
Bright sounded shaken. "Yeah. For how much longer, I don't know. That was good thinking back there."
"I'm going to get us out of here."
Anchor wasn't sure what made him say it. Maybe because he wanted to believe it. Bright called him out on it.
"I don't mean to squash your dreams or anything, but you're forgetting something. We're inside of a giant monster without a way out. You can't win every battle. We're not escaping. This is where we're goin
g to die."
"I've been through too much to give up," Anchor argued. "I've lost too much in my life to have anything else be taken away. I'm not dying here."
"Yes, we are," Bright said, "but while we're here, we might as well keep moving. I don't want to die in some dark hole. We hold each other's arms and move forward. Sound like a plan?"
Anchor imagined his future. He couldn't create a picture in his mind, because Bright was right. This is the place where they would die.
"Fine. We keep moving."
A crackle came on the line.
"Not now," Anchor growled. "The last thing I want to hear is that son-of-a-bitch talk."
Dr. Singer spoke to them.
"I thought I'd take the time out to say goodbye. I'm currently well on my way to safety. My escape pod is cutting through Gargantuan as we speak. I'm so close. Don't forget what I promised, Anchor. I'll tell the world how you murdered your fellow officers, and how you tried to kill me. You did so much to jeopardize the mission. I'll apologize on your behalf to America. I'll apologize to your ex-wife. I wonder if she's dating anyone?
"I'll tell her how it wasn't her fault you became the way you are, Anchor. I'll build her up and tell her how she deserves better. I'll be the one to give her better. With the amount of money and fame, I can have any woman. Just imagine what everybody who ever knew or loved you will think of you, Anchor, when I'm done telling my story."
Bright was trying to tell him not to bother responding. They were helpless to change anything.
Anchor didn't care.
"You're not going to touch my ex-wife, you sick son-of-a-bitch. She's more woman than you can handle. She's a smart one. She'll sniff out a rotten bastard like yourself. Kill me, but don't go after my family."
"Say what you want, call me what you want, but you're wasting your breath," Singer laughed. "Everything's in my hands. You're a whipping boy, Anchor. Captain Mendel used you to take the fall for Olsen, and Olsen's dead now. Wow. You lost everything, in a nutshell, for no good reason. Your life was thrown away like a dirty diaper. Sometimes, the world has a way of flushing away its own shit. Nature works in mysterious ways. Well, so does humanity."
"You're right," Anchor said. "You can say whatever you want. I can't stop you, but there's one thing I have to ask you. Are you still planning on brushing your teeth with my dick?"
Before Dr. Singer could reply, he let out a great shriek.
"No, what’s happening? The samples. THE SAMPLES!"
The line cut out after Dr. Singer sounded off more terror.
"It sounded like he was being ripped apart," Bright said. "I never heard a person make such noises before, and I've heard some crazy shit today."
"It's all sweet music to my ears."
For the first time in a while, Anchor was starting to feel upbeat about the situation.
The two of them kept on walking in the darkness.
Escape Pod Sabotage
There was something up his ass.
Damn it, there was something up his ass!
Dr. Singer unleashed the pain of having his lower regions invaded. Something tore through his suit and was having at it.
No, no, no, no, this can't be happening!
Hot blood was splashing the insides of the pod.
"Whoa-noooooooooo!"
Empty sample containers were rolling in the pod.
Had everything he collected snuck up his ass?
Dr. Singer dialed up Captain Mendel's frequency. "The samples, listen to me, they're loose! You have to help me. The pain. Please. There has to be something you can do for me. Ahhhhhhhhhhhh!"
Dr. Singer screeched in torment. His abdomen cramped up with crawling things. His brains were expanding in his skull. Both his eyes popped out and were replaced by blossoming anemones. A slit down his stomach spread open. Frogs, jellyfish, eels, crawdads, shrimp, clams, and a collection of bacteria-eating sea life were shoving the guts out of his body. He was snorting thumb-tip sized starfish out of his nostrils. He shook his head, and slippery minnows splashed free from his ears. The flesh along his hands ripped, revealing pincers for hands.
Dr. Singer used those pincers to decapitate his own head.
Minutes later, the escape pod equipment was damaged by the infestation of sea life.
The pod crashed into a boiling pool of Gargantuan's stomach acid.
Junk Heap
The darkness surrounding Anchor and Bright turned into muted neon green light. Anchor and Bright were walking towards a giant junk heap. The stack was comprised of refuse from humanity: concrete blocks, broken up vehicles, cabs, buses, parts of houses, and dead bodies sprawled out in terrible death poses. This wasn't the best place to spend their final moments.
"Hey, you guys made it to the party."
The weak voice called out to them from the outskirts of the towering junk pile. The man was sitting on a car seat. Fagan was clutching onto the detonator to the charges.
"You guys the only ones to survive?"
"Yeah," Anchor said, "and you?"
"I think we're it."
"Listen," Fagan said, "I barely made it this far with my life. We were surrounded by so many horrible monsters. Dr. Singer sold us out. Everything went to hell so fast. I was thrown so hard during the last battle, I broke my leg, and my midsection is crushed. I'm in so much pain. I can't take it any longer. I'm going to set off the charges. I'm giving you fifteen minutes. That's it, and then I complete the mission. End of the line."
Anchor could've given a speech to send himself off in style. The truth was, this was miserable. Being a martyr was bullshit. He wanted his life back before Olsen destroyed that cruise ship. That would never happen. Just like how he wouldn't survive this ordeal.
What he wasn't ready for was Bright giving him a hug.
"You're a good man, Anchor. Handsome, strong, and unstoppable."
"Except for this one time."
Bright smiled at him. "You can't win them all, Anchor, but know this, you're a genuine person. Die knowing someone sees you for your good qualities. It's too bad we can't take off our suits. Fifteen minutes is plenty of time to, you know?"
Anchor was going to say something clever when from all angles, hordes of enemies approached them.
"That's my queue," Fagan said, coughing up a mouthful of blood. "I'm raising this place. Fight or die, guys. I leave the choice up to you. You got fifteen minutes before you meet your maker. Let's pray heaven has some beer and pussy."
Fagan engaged the detonator. The timer started.
The life in Fagan's eyes went dim.
Fagan was dead.
They had fifteen minutes to live.
Anchor growled. "The next best thing after sex is kicking some ass! You with me?"
Anchor didn't have to wait for an answer.
Bright was one-step ahead of him.
"Look, this heap isn't all trash," Bright said, picking up a Winchester 1300 pump-action shotgun. "There are weapons scattered all over the place. Whatever those monsters sucked up from the cities, a lot of people did their best to fight back."
"A lot of good it did them," Anchor said. "May they rest in peace."
"This bitch will rest in pieces soon enough. This is revenge, Anchor. We're going to save so many people by what we've done today. This is a good thing."
"And meanwhile, men like Captain Mendel get to ruin lives and manipulate the government and its people. I've had enough of that shit. I'm stuck in the belly of this huge bitch, and there isn't a damn thing I can do about it. I'm going to die being labeled a mass murderer."
"No time, Anchor! They're coming."
Bright was correct.
She unloaded three thundering shots from the Winchester. The booms disembodied two of the Heart Rippers they'd encountered earlier. When Bright emptied the gun into more of the crab monsters, she dove and scooped up an M-16. The metal beast prattled fire, shredding into a giant school of flying fish with thorns pointing out of their heads and champing barracuda mouths. As the
red meat fodder slapped the walls and floor, Anchor located a Mossberg 590 shotgun.
The Mossberg hit hard, delivering a lead fist into the face of what looked like a bear covered in threads of algae and gill slits going down its midsection. The algae creature landed in two pieces on the killing floor.
Churning out bullets, hurling curses, spraying, blasting, and pumping more and more burning hot lead, they watched a legion of sea horses go up into pureed pink.
"America will learn from this," Bright said. "It will point out the flaws in their government. They haven't handled this matter of national security with much grace."
"Nobody will know any better," Anchor growled back, picking up a Remington 870 and removing the severed human hand still clutching onto the stock. "The government will cover up everything. The people will be happy they are safe. The media will be manipulated to say what the government makes them say. It's the same I scratch your back, you scratch mine."
Anchor shoved the barrel into an incoming shark's face that had three tiers of teeth and at least twenty steely black eyes and pulled the trigger until the thing was decapitated.
"But in this case," Anchor continued, "it's, I'll scratch you back, you lick my balls! Fucking media, fucking government, fucking bullshit! Fuck everybody! But most of all, FUCK THESE FISH!"
Anchor used the Remington to cut the flying anaconda sized eel into three pieces before it could hurl itself across the battlefield and wrap itself around him. Bright had two Berettas and was pumping both at the hail of flying starfish that threatened to flank her from all corners. Anchor ducked, rolled, and used the last three shots from the Remington to turn the deadly starfish into stardust.
Puffer fish with gnarly pumping veins and sucker mouths were being shot out a giant wad of flesh with dorsal fins and lobster pinchers. Anchor imagined a tennis ball shoot shooting out tennis balls.
"They're bringing out the big guns," Anchor said. "They just keep getting uglier."