The Melting

by Christopher Coleman

  And with the sound of the zipper, the crab drops to all fours and starts running.

  I sprint to the spoke that extends in a ten o’clock direction from the hub, rifling through the bag as I go. I reach the end of the spoke quickly, and immediately the crabs that are on the ice begin to move toward me in curiosity. I don’t know if it’s because I’m new to the chamber, or because of my frantic motion, but their energy has definitely lifted, and I can see now how the design of these chambers are perfect for observing the creatures, much the same way those walkthrough hamster-style tubes are popular in some high-end aquariums.

  I stand with my back pressed against the far wall of the spoke, looking back toward the penalty box entrance and down the main walkway, trying to gauge where the crab has run. But my view is now obscured by the angle of the spoke, and with the crab down on all fours, I can’t see over the walls of the walkways. The beast could be anywhere now.

  And then I hear Stella yell, “That’s good, Dom, keep running. And feel free to hide, though I know there isn’t much to shield you. But that’s what I want to see: how long it takes for him to find you. Oh, and when he does, please fight. It will add to the research.”

  I’m hoping the cold air of the hockey rink will slow the creature down, even if only slightly, just to give me a chance to escape when it eventually does come in my direction.

  Feel free to hide. It’s not a bad idea. I don’t have anything to block me, but I don’t need to be standing high above the walls of the box, exposing myself to everyone. Thanks for the suggestion, Stella.

  I crouch down below the level of the windows, hoping to give myself another few seconds to figure something out before the creature comes barreling down my spoke. I continue to rifle through my backpack, trying to keep as quiet as I can, and then, as if my hand has come upon Merlin’s magic wand, I feel the papery outer lining of a flare.

  I pull the flare out and hold it in front of me, unlit, and then begin to creep back toward the entrance, hoping to catch the crab off guard, poised to light the flare and stab it if the opportunity presents itself.

  From my stooped position, I now can’t see anything happening outside of this particular spoke, but I creep back toward the central hub of the penalty box anyway. I can’t see Stella or the crab, but that means I’m invisible to them as well.

  I close my eyes and take three more steps. I’m now back in the hub.

  Chapter 13

  As I turn the corner into the hub, I hold the flare in front of me, ready to twist the cap and bring the spark of death to life. But I see the backside of the crab as it heads off in the direction of a different hub, chimp-walking down the spoke that radiates in the opposite direction from the one I’m exiting.

  I stand up straight again, wasting no time as I jog into the corridor that leads back to penalty box entrance, where Stella and Aaron are standing outside of the closed door. The soldier has his gun at his hip, which means the door is locked.

  “Obviously it wasn’t going to be that easy, Dominic,” Stella calls through the glass.

  The sound of Stella’s voice prompts me to check my back, my assumption being that her voice would resonate through the chambers of the penalty box like an opera house auditorium.

  And I’m right. From the end of the spoke that radiates to the two o’clock position, I see the crab suddenly pop into sight, standing upright, searching.

  Its eyes meet mine from the back compartment of the hub, and, with little more than the time it takes to blink, the crab drops to all fours and begins heading back towards me.

  I run up toward the entrance until I’m almost in arms reach of the door and yell, “Let me out, Stella!”

  “Sorry, Dominic,” she says, a thin smile across her face. “Give it your best shot.”

  I wait for the crab to enter the main corridor and then I twist the cap of the flare, sparking the dull red baton to life. There’s a trace of fear in the crab’s eyes, but it’s nothing like the reaction I get from the crabs in the rink on the other side of the box. Their howling starts immediately, and they all begin to cluster together, hugging the furthest side of the rink, trying to get as far from the fire as possible, despite it being no danger to them from where I stand currently.

  The crab standing before me, however, shows only a fraction of his brethren’s fear, and I can only imagine this reduced panic is the result of some long, brutal form of conditioning. It edges closer to me, now all but ignoring the fire.

  “Yes!” Stella whispers. “Look at it! Come on. Come on.”

  I jab the flare out, but the crab keeps coming, its eyes focused, full of terror and hunger.

  It takes two or three quick steps towards me now and then stops, pulling back slightly, like a sprinter false starting before a race. I know at once this a test, a gauge of my reaction for when it finally decides to attack.

  I push my back flat against the door now, feeling the cruel, impenetrable Lucite barrier behind me. The crab takes one more slow step forward and then lunges.

  I fall to my knees and close my eyes, holding the flare up in front of me like an offering to a god. The god of death. The ghostly abomination of man.

  I say a silent prayer for Naia, and then I hear the gunshot.

  Chapter 14

  I don’t feel the pain of the attack, and the sounds that follow the gunshot aren’t the gluttonous echoes of a feeding monster, but rather the scurrying feet of a scared animal. I open my eyes to see the crab running away from me, bounding off like a dog before turning the corner at the hub, escaping back toward the far spoke of the penalty box from whence it came.

  I’m not sure what’s happened exactly, but instinctively I get to my feet, watching as the crab finally disappears from my sight. I pivot toward the glass of the door and see Stella with her hands raised. Face down on the floor beside her is the dead body of her soldier Aaron, a hole the size of a bullet at the back of his head.

  Behind them, Tom stands with the rifle of the soldier that fell into the pit atop his shoulder, staring through the sight at Stella. James and Pam are beside him. Pam’s face is locked in shock at the killing of Aaron that just took place, but she doesn’t waste a tear on him. Or perhaps she has none left. “I found the ladder,” is all she says.

  I nod. “I see that. Thank you.” And then to Tom and James, “Are you two okay?”

  James nods, but Tom just steps forward, the gun poised still and straight as he approaches Stella. He stands only inches away from her and says, “Get inside, Stella.”

  Stella swallows as her eyes grow wide. “Tom, no.”

  “James,” he says, motioning to him to go open the door.

  James unlocks the deadbolt with the key that was resting in the lock and then swings the door open. I look back to the empty corridor once more and then step out.

  “Your turn, Stella,” Tom says.

  “Tom, wait,” I protest. “Listen, we’ll take her in.”

  Tom shakes me off. “Gonna have to let me do this, Dom. I’m sorry; it’s the way it is.”

  “We don’t have time for this, Tom. I have to find Smalley and Jones.”

  Tom gives me a quizzical glance and then focuses back on Stella. “Who are they?”

  “They helped me. After I left the boat. I...just trust me, Tom, I need to find them.”

  “Well, we’ll find ‘em then. But first this business. Get in, Stella.”

  “Shoot me,” Stella says, her eyes fixed on her captor, daring Tom to squeeze off a round. “If I’m to die, I’m not dying like that.”

  Tom pauses, as if considering the option, and then says, “Let’s go.”

  Stella begins to scream as James grabs her and carries her toward the penalty box entrance, and for a moment I consider a full on physical confrontation to stop it from happening.

  But it never comes to that. Simultaneous with Stella’s scream, almost harmonically, really, a sound like a medieval drawbridge opening roars through the hangar. It screeches loud and low, the so
unds of gears and age, amplifying Stella’s bellows even further. And then the second act of the ruckus follows when a whipping sound enters the symphony, drowning out the drawbridge sound like the flapping wings of some giant bird.

  We all stare up in awe to the junction in the ceiling, as it’s clear that the massive noise is coming from outside the hangar, above us and on the other side of the wall that divides the sections of the building.

  “What the hell is that?” James yells.

  “It’s the roof,” I call back. “The roof of the hangar is opening. And it sounds like a helicopter is landing inside.”

  “That’s impossible,” Stella says, now standing awkwardly by the door next to Tom and James, still on the verge of being sent to her death by the two men.

  I look at Tom for a moment with pity. His rage has now made him a cold-blooded killer. It’s likely that’s what’s kept him alive, but I’m saddened by his new demeanor.

  “The roof can only be opened by the guard stationed on the perimeter of the roof,” Stella continues. “But Aaron is dead and you said Curtis is in the cellar.”

  “He’s dead too,” Tom says, and I don’t want to know the details of how that played out.

  “Smalley and Jones,” I say under my breath.

  I can’t know it’s them for sure, but who else could it be? They knew that the hangar was currently unguarded, and once they were locked out and not able to get back in the building through the interior door, they must have found a way up to the roof. Maybe they even heard the approaching whir of the helicopter and it gave them the idea. There must be some exterior ladder along the side of the building for just that purpose. And with their military background and technical training, they would have figured out how to open the roof easily. It probably was no more complicated than pressing a button labeled ‘OPEN.’

  “They couldn’t have...” Stella begins, but then cuts herself off, seemingly coming to the same conclusions I just did.

  The five of us—Stella, Tom, James, Pam, and I—stand staring at the ceiling in wonder, waiting to see what happens next, waiting to see who comes through the door that leads from the landing section of the hangar. Sydney remains on the floor, looking catatonic with fear.

  And then, because of the distraction of the mechanical roof and the sound of the landing helicopter, no one notices when the crab from the penalty box comes barreling down the walkway and out into the main area of the hangar.

  The crab smashes into James first, grabbing him by the neck and pulling him to the ground. He scuffles with it for a moment, and then pushes the beast aside. “Shoot it!” he yells.

  Tom doesn’t hesitate. He swivels the rifle toward the crab, just to the left to make sure he doesn’t hit James, and pops off three rounds.

  The crab doesn’t look like it’s been hit—there’s no blood or sounds of agony—and it bounds away down the corridor of offices where it was caged only minutes ago.

  “It’s inside,” Stella whines. “It can’t be loose inside.” The growing sound of the helicopter landing next door nearly drowns her out, but I can hear the fear in her voice, the hysteria. She backs away into the penalty box and shuts the door in front of her, staring out the window for just a moment before turning and running for safety at the far spoke of the wheel where I was hiding earlier. Once there, she presses her back against the glass and watches us in distress.

  And she makes no notice of the crabs behind her.

  The flare and gunshots and screaming, along with, I suppose, the noise of the helicopter, have worked the crabs in the rink into a lather, and they begin to cluster behind the glass where Stella is standing. They’re silent creatures anyway, but even if they had the roars of lions, she wouldn’t have heard them over the sound of the descending helicopter. And in her petrified state, fixed as she is on the free-ranging creature somewhere in the hangar, Stella also doesn’t notice when they begin to form a ladder and start scaling the wall.

  “Look at that,” Pam says, her tone the curiosity of someone who’s witnessed a lot of behavior from these creatures and is now seeing something new and intriguing.

  But it’s not new to me. I’ve seen this scaling technique a few times now. It’s an attack.

  I scream for Stella to move, but she can’t hear me. Not even close. And when I make a move to open the door to the box, Tom holds me back, his arms strong and secure like a father’s as he brings me into his chest. And it isn’t hate for Stella that’s precipitated this reaction, it’s a desire to protect me.

  One of the crabs is already at the top of the wall and about to scale over. Even if she noticed them now, it would be too late.

  The first crab grabs Stella by the face, digging its fingers into her eye sockets as it pulls up. The next one over the wall drops to the ground of the box and grips Stella at her waist, thrusting its mouth into her belly. I can see the scream, but I can’t hear it, and I turn away before she’s torn apart completely.

  “Let’s go, Dom,” Tom says. “That door there, let’s see if we can get through it.”

  But before we get halfway to the interior door, it opens from the other side, and through it walk two pilots, their hands on their heads, frowning. Behind them are Smalley and Jones.

  “You guys ready to go?” Smalley asks.

  I grab Sydney by the back of the shirt and lift her up, and she instinctively begins to run with the rest of the pack as we all head toward this new, open door to freedom. I look back one last time for posterity, just to imprint the lasting image of the nightmare that occurred in the D&W building. I’ve no doubt my testimony will be required someday, perhaps in the halls of Congress.

  I take one more mental photograph, and as I turn back to the door that leads to the copter pad, I catch a glimpse of someone running.

  It’s the colonel.

  “Wait!” he screams, the despair in his voice palpable.

  I blink a few times, not quite sure I’m seeing the vision correctly.

  “Wait,” he repeats. “God no, wait!”

  This isn’t the cool, unburdened colonel from earlier, who was only mildly irritated by his captivity. But perhaps he realizes he’ll be stranded here in this desolate world, and that has him spooked.

  So I decide I will wait. We’ll fly the colonel back to the world as a prisoner to be judged and court-martialed, and if the crimes he’s committed are high enough, I’ll be sure to be a witness to his execution.

  But that’s already been settled.

  Before the colonel can make another plea, the mutant crab gallops out from the corridors and leaps onto his back, plunging its teeth into the top of the colonel’s neck. He wasn’t afraid of being left, he was afraid of the creature that was chasing him.

  I watch for only a moment, registering yet another death into the registry of my memory, and then I follow the rest of my party through the door and out to the helicopter.

  Chapter 15

  Within moments, we’re back in the air, and as we lift above the hangar, I can see that the RV is no longer parked in front of the entrance to the D&W building.

  Spence. He must have dodged the crabs and made it to the vehicle, and it was his lucky day when he found the keys inside.

  As we fly over the cordoned-off area of Warren County, it’s clear that there’s more ground than snow now.

  The melting is in full swing.

  Many of the crabs, creatures that were once secretive and apprehensive, now run about the landscape as if rabid, fighting amongst each other, tearing at inanimate parts of the world in search of relief of the pain that the melting has brought.

  And their relief will come.

  In addition to the crabs roaming mad, there are the scattered corpses of others. The ones who fought their demise and lost. They’re nothing more than charred outlines on the ground, and I remember the sight of Abramowitz in the receiving room of Gray’s Grocery.

  I don’t know the whereabouts of Danielle.

  She was alive when Tom and James last s
aw her, having escaped from Stella and the colonel only minutes into their capture. That doesn’t surprise me, and my only hope now is that she survives until the melting is complete.

  But survival won’t be easy. The environment outside is a painting of insanity.

  But Danielle is a survivor, and I hold on to hope that I’ll see her again.

  We fly a few miles farther, over the tanks and barriers that surround the blasted areas of the two counties, until we finally leave Maripo County for good. And as I look out the side of the helicopter and down into a foreign world of green normalcy, I begin to cry.

  Dear Reader,

  I hope you enjoyed The Melting.

  If you’re a fan of horror-inspired fairy tales, check out my Gretel Series. In Gretel, the first book, there is an ancient evil in the Back Country, dormant for centuries but now hungry and lurking.

  When it sets its sights on an unsuspecting mother one routine morning along an isolated stretch of highway, a quiet farming family is suddenly thrust into a world of unspeakable terror, and a young girl must learn to be a hero.

  Start reading Gretel today.

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