by Joe Hart
There was a rapid clicking sound and a sequence of flashes that throbbed at rear of his eyes. Blinking, he tried to focus on the doorway. A cloud of smoke billowed from a shimmering oval shape that hung where the black hole had been. It was like seeing a condensed mirage normally reserved for an expanse of desert in the hot sun. Five twitching segmented legs lay on the floor beneath the anomaly in a pool of dark fluid. Fevered vapor rose from the stunted ends where they’d been cut mid-step. Clouds of boiling steam shot up next to Sullivan as more water flowed around the overheated machine, engulfing him in a heavy cloud. Every eye in the cave swung toward him, along with four alien orbs that narrowed with hatred so pure he could feel it.
Warden Andrews struggled to his feet and pointed with a bony arm at Sullivan. “Kill him!”
Sullivan heard the shuffling of hundreds of knees as the crowd rose to its feet with murderous speed. He looked to his right, and then to the left, until he spotted a rock the size and shape of a large textbook. He snatched the rock off the ground and carefully laid it across the red button on the console, successfully pinning it down.
Sullivan dove away from the machine as a series of snaps rang out in its steel belly. The harsh ripping of electricity outside of its insulation met his ears, and a massive cloud of steam flew up nearly two stories in the air as more water washed down to cool the atomic device.
He gained his feet just as a group of guards and inmates rounded the side of the massive weapon and ran toward him, their eyes silvery with loathing. Sullivan leveled the shotgun without bringing it up to his shoulder and fired.
Two prisoners at the front of the group sprouted red leaks that poured through their uniforms. Their legs pumped several more times before they collapsed in heaps, their bodies dead before their minds could comprehend it. A guard drew his sidearm and threw a wild shot at Sullivan, who ducked, feeling the passage of the bullet beside his face. The shotgun boomed in his hands and he watched the guard scrabble at his throat as several tendrils shot out of the holes left by the buckshot. Sullivan fired three more times, leveling the rest of the group that had rushed him. His hands felt wooden as they dove into his pants pockets and fumbled for more shells. A huge shape loomed on the other side of the mist forming in the cave, its legs articulating at a speed that was scary for something so large. Sullivan stuffed the last shell into the bottom of the shotgun and pulled the stock to his shoulder, waiting to see the black of the thing’s eyes before he fired. The head of the male creature came into view through the haze, its mouth open, revealing swaying ropes that slashed like daggers through the air.
A loud thumping sound arose from Sullivan’s right, and he turned his head just in time to see the machine’s steel cowling buckle and mushroom outward with a pop. A heavy access door shot from the side of the weapon, like it was flung from a colossal sling. It sang across the cave in a runner of smoke and sliced through the male creature’s torso without stopping. The monster’s body fell in two halves, and it uttered a sickening growl deep in its chest. The smell that gagged Sullivan earlier washed over him and he covered his mouth to keep from vomiting, as a thick wash of black fluid flooded from the creature’s torn body. Somewhere deeper in the cavern a blaring roar resounded. It was the sound of distilled rage.
The machine’s outer assembly continued to melt, and Sullivan watched as the long barrel tilted and finally struck the ground with a hollow boom. Water flowed constantly around the machine and continued to kick up vast amounts of steam that reached all the way to the ceiling and crept outward at a steady rate. A few screams were audible on the opposite side of the cave, which was obscured by the curtain of vaporized water, and Sullivan knew the steam was doing its work.
He ran past the fallen body of the male creature and jumped over a still-twitching leg, firing the shotgun into a cadre of hissing inmates as he went. Through the crawling fog enveloping the cavern, he spotted the female creature—she. She was moving away from the encroaching steam, farther into the darkness that cloaked the far end of the cave. A shot rang out somewhere to his right, and a few pieces of rock kicked off the stalactite he was running past and showered the top of his head. He spun and fired blindly in the direction the shot came from, and kept moving. In that instant as he turned, he saw that a large portion of the crowd was trying to circumvent the scalding steam that continued to boil off the melted weapon. He realized that they were heading toward the tunnel’s entrance, but there was no getting past the atomic-fueled mist.
Up ahead, the remaining creature scrambled over a pile of rocks two stories high and disappeared into the darkness that hung thick because of the slanting earthen roof toward the floor. Sullivan sped up, not willing to lose the impregnated abomination. Can’t let it get away, can’t let it get away, he repeated in his head, hoping the mantra would somehow allow him to stop her before she made it to the world above.
He rounded the last boulder that stood between him and the rock pile the creature had disappeared over, and slid to a stop. No less than fifty inmates and guards stood in a half circle before the rock pile. All of the guards’ handguns were trained on Sullivan, and Warden Andrews stood at the center of the group.
“Shoot him!” Andrews screamed.
Sullivan dove behind the nearby boulder just as bullets cracked and whined off the rock’s skin. Sullivan crouched there, his heart thundering in his chest, each breath like a lungful of acid. He checked his pockets for more shotgun shells but found none. We had a good run, he told himself, but this is the end of the line. Bullets continued to chip away at the protection of the boulder, and he drew Barry’s handgun from his waistband. If he was going out, he’d go out killing as many of the infected as he could. Just as he was about to step out and unleash hell, he heard a loud sizzling sound and looked to the far end of the cavern.
A gush of water barreled out of the tunnel’s mouth and engulfed the atomic gun. The melting reactor in the center of the weapon, along with the molten steel surrounding it, vaporized the floodwater instantly and sent a near-solid plume of steam in every direction. The infected men and women who stood to either side of the machine were overtaken in a flash, and Sullivan heard their dying screams as the steam blistered every inch of their bodies. A few tried to run in his direction but were swallowed by the billowing mist as it expanded exponentially, covering the cavern from top to bottom in its cleansing haze. The wall of steam rushed steadily onward, until Sullivan could feel its heat begin to curl the hair on his head. Pushing the 1911 back into his belt, he spun away from the rock and ran headlong into the mass of waiting men.
The surprise of rushing his attackers was the only thing that bought him the few seconds he needed. Most of the inmates and guards were staring at the approaching cloud of boiling mist when Sullivan stepped out and began firing. His last few rounds from the shotgun caught four of the armed guards in the chest and head before they’d taken aim. He dropped the empty shotgun on the ground as he ran toward the remaining cluster of men and drew the heavy .45. He saw a glimpse of Andrews’s long face folding in anger and frustration, and then it felt as if an oven had been opened behind him. Sullivan saw the group split in half and run in either direction, away from the encroaching steam. Without pausing to fire any more rounds, Sullivan ran up and over the hill of stones before him, his feet finding purchase on the various edges in the deepening dark.
When he reached the top, he paused only to assure himself that the creature wasn’t waiting on the other side, then plummeted down without seeing where he stepped. A loose rock gave way beneath his left foot and he uttered a short cry before falling to his back, the entire rear of the pile sliding downward in a rumbling avalanche of stone. Sullivan managed to keep his balance and landed on his feet as soon as he hit the floor. Several rocks hit the back of his legs, but none were large enough to knock him flat. To either side he heard cries of terror and saw scurrying forms in the dark, seeking shelter from the burning tide that came closer with each second. He moved straight ahead, following th
e course the female creature was traveling on before she’d vanished from sight.
The darkness closed in over him as he navigated as fast as he could around waist-high rocks and over small cave-ins that littered the floor. He could tell that the floor was gradually moving up. The slope rose at a small angle and the craggy ceiling came down to meet the floor. Sullivan prayed as he ran that he would find the exit that Andrews had mentioned without knowing it. If the creature sometimes hunted in the forest around the prison, then there must be an alternate route from beneath the facility.
A series of boulders surrounded his path, and in the dim light he saw that the track he was on narrowed ahead. The screams of the cooking men behind him were a mingling staccato of agony that would not stop. Just as one voice became silent, another would take up its course and rise to a crescendo before falling away. Sullivan took two more steps and stopped, the heat at his back a reminder that death was less than thirty seconds behind if he didn’t find a way out. He squinted into the darkness around him and saw a deeper shadow a few yards to his right. Holding out the handgun before him like an unlit torch, he continued, his other hand groping at the nearby wall that closed in around him. He followed the curve of the tunnel, and the true darkness of being underground closed its fist over his vision. He stumbled over something and kept going, the floor becoming more hazardous with small outcroppings of rocks.
After a few more halting steps, he tripped, and when he put his hand against the ground to stop his fall, he knew he’d found the way out.
The leaf beneath his palm crackled with dryness, but its texture was undeniable. After he steadied himself, he pushed the handgun deep into the back of his pants and started climbing again. The incline was steeper than the man-made descent on the far side of the underground cavern and more riddled with rocks and debris. A misty light came from somewhere above and he could see the tunnel he traveled through was large enough to accommodate the bulk of the creature. The only question was how far she’d gotten ahead of him. With a renewed vigor, he leapt toward the next outline of rock, ready to surge forward and close the distance between him and the beast.
A cold hand gripped his ankle and yanked him backward.
Sullivan grunted as he fell to the floor, his body colliding with its jagged embrace. He felt pain radiate outward from his ribs and rebound at the top of his head, only to make the circuit once again.
“You fucking worthless prick!” Sullivan rolled over to find Andrews standing above him, the older man just a shadow with two burning eyes full of hatred. “You ruined everything, you self-righteous shit!”
Sullivan kicked at the warden with half the strength and speed he normally possessed. Andrews caught his ankle in two bony hands strengthened with animosity.
“Now, you’re gonna burn with the rest of us for taking Maddy away from me!”
Andrews hauled on Sullivan’s leg, and Sullivan felt himself slide several feet, his back scraping over several razor-edged stones as he went. He tried to grab the gun at his back but it was pinned beneath him as he slid. He kicked out again, but the older man merely laughed and pulled, skidding them both down the slope, and now Sullivan could feel heat building from the chamber below. The only escape for the radiation-tainted steam was the natural vent they were in now. Panic began to grip Sullivan with thoughts of how his skin would feel as it blistered and bubbled under the scorching touch of the steam. He could already see the flesh dropping off his bones like an overdone piece of poultry, as the skeleton that used to be Andrews grinned over its shoulder, its vacant eye sockets swallowing his soul.
Sullivan cried out as his hand closed over a baseball-sized rock. In one motion he pulled the stone from its bed in the soil and drew back his leg. Andrews leaned toward him, staggering from Sullivan’s movements. Sullivan brought the heavy rock up and over in a viscous arc that connected with a wet, breaking sound as it met Andrews’s face.
He had only a glimpse of the warden’s wide eyes above the oblong rock, lodged solidly in the wreckage that was once his nasal cavity and cheekbones, before Andrews tipped backward and plummeted away into the gathering steam below. A choked bellow filtered up to Sullivan, and then was gone, along with the warden’s lanky outline. The solid wall of steam continued unabated.
Sullivan scrambled to his feet and climbed again. He felt the back of his pants growing moist and hot, which only spurred him onward. There were men on the earth who were afraid of hell and its fury. Sullivan had been there and seen its occupants, and now ran from it with all the strength he contained.
The tunnel sped by as the howling voice of the irradiated mist chased after him. The aboveground opening came closer and closer, until he was finally free of the tunnel. Cool, fresh air that tasted almost sugary hit him full in the face as he struggled free of the earth’s clutches. He fell out of the cave’s shaft and onto the ground. Light drops of rain and soft green blades of grass welcomed him, asked him to sleep in their embrace, but he stood and stumbled, drawing the pistol as he went.
After a few wobbling strides, Sullivan collapsed and fell back, his chest heaving and his eyes taking in the rim of gray daylight that dawned in the east. A whistling sound vibrated behind him and he turned, squinting at the hole in the earth.
A blast of steam so thick and solid that it appeared to be a vertical river flew from the passageway. It mushroomed out into the cool air of the early morning and descended upon him, a soft blanket of death.
Sullivan struggled to his feet and ran down the rise he’d rested upon. With a look back, he saw a partial view of chainlink fence topped with razor wire standing on the shoulder of the hill, and beyond that, the morose silhouette of Singleton. He faced back in the direction he ran, the grass groping and tangling at his feet. As he moved he noticed the foliage around him was bent and trampled flat, as if a steamroller had driven through the spot over and over again.
A thick rumbling that rattled his heart against his rib cage echoed through the morning air. He scanned the brush and tangled screen of greenery before him until he spotted it. The creature stood, looking back over a massive shoulder at him from the edge of a roaring stream. Sullivan threw the handgun up in front of him and squeezed off two shots. At the reports, the beast scuttled away with an uncanny speed. He followed, his feet slipping on a patch of wet ferns, as he half ran, half slid down the little hill.
The stream was swollen beyond its narrow banks with the accumulation of rain over the last few weeks. The water spit and flew off rocks and trees that bordered its normal path. Sullivan sloshed through a few inches of water and stopped at the stream’s edge, making sure the creature hadn’t fled into the current or swam to the opposite shore. A sapling snapped in half farther down the stream on his side, and he began to run again, his breathing erratic and punctuated with a heartbeat that never seemed to slow. He knew now where it was going. Andrews had told him and Barry the first day they set foot in his office. This stream fed a larger river, which emptied into Lake Superior. Lake Superior was attached to the ocean. It was heading for the sea.
The thought of the creature escaping into the depths of the ocean to birth its young made his feet quicken their already hurried pace. The sky was lightening more in the east, a shine beginning to spread across the clouds overhead. He ducked beneath a fallen birch and hurdled a rotting stump. The ground became wetter the farther he went, and all at once he realized he could no longer hear the thing’s passage over the sound of his own footsteps.
The bone-tipped tendril hit him in his left side. He felt the jagged edge tear through the thin T-shirt and strip meat down to his ribs. He screamed and fell dangerously close to the edge of the stream. As he rolled to his back, the cool water washing around him and stinging the new wound at his side, the creature stood from its hiding place behind a cluster of fir trees. Like a gigantic scorpion, it articulated closer, its hinged body swinging obscenely. Sullivan leveled the handgun at its head just as the rest of its tongues emerged from its mouth, their bone edges sh
ining in the early light. He fired.
The bullet hit the bundle of appendages in its open maw. The hard ends of each tendril exploded like porcelain hand grenades. The beast staggered and the ruined tongues withdrew from sight, as ichor began to flow from its slack mouth. It coughed, a surprisingly human sound, and nearly fell. It legs bit and tore into the sopping earth as it regained its sense of direction and ran between two towering oaks, raking the heavy bark off as it went.
Sullivan stood and addressed his newest wound with what light he had. The rip in his shirt dripped crimson, and when he touched it he realized the flaps of his skin almost perfectly matched the tears in the fabric.
“Fuck!” he swore, his voice coming back to him off the flowing water and surrounding trees. Another tree fell to the ground beneath the thing’s weight, fifty yards downstream. Hissing at the continued burning in his ribs, he began to run again. Without stopping, he ejected the magazine from Barry’s pistol and checked the round count. The empty clip met his gaze and he slammed it back home, cursing. There was one shot left, seated in the chamber. He’d have to make it count.
A black slick on the surface of the water appeared, first in small patches, and then in glossy thickening pools that covered the area he ran through. He hoped the creature’s own organic shrapnel had cut an artery, or what passed for such in the alien organism. Perhaps he’d finally catch a break and come upon its lifeless body after a few more steps. A loud rushing sound that dwarfed the call of the stream grew. The river was very close. Sullivan caught a glimpse of the creature’s swaying form as it attempted to crawl over a deadfall, and he skidded to a stop, drawing a bead on where its head would be. The gun shook with his rushed breathing, and then the thing scuttled up and was gone behind the scraggly branches of the downed tree.