by Jonah Buck
“That’s…not a bad idea, actually.” Denise thought it over for a minute. “The maps of the creatures’ territory, though. How precise are they?”
“Good enough to keep people out of certain areas. There’s not much I can do about the range some of the creatures cover. They might have a territory of hundreds or thousands of square miles, and they meander across that entire area. It’s very hard to pin them down at any given time. Others have their entire populations limited to particular rivers or isolated valleys and swamps. I can provide pretty precise instructions for avoiding them.”
“May I make a suggestion?”
“Shoot.”
“Leave the maps and other locations out entirely. Stick to the broadest possible descriptions of the environment.”
“Why? I think it’s better to give people as precise a warning as possible to they know if they’re in a particular creature’s territory or not. If something only lives on the banks of the Orange River, the people in that area should know that they might have to contend with that.”
“And that’s a fair point. I think you might create some unintended consequences, though. Tell people that they can eat any fruit in the garden except for the apples, and some nitwit is going to get in their head that they simply must try the apples. Tell people that they can go wherever they want except for a dangerous area, and a couple of folks will beeline straight for the dangerous area to see what the big fuss is about. Somebody always has to poke the badger. More people might end up going to those areas just to see if they could see what they’d read about.”
“I suppose curiosity might cause some people to investigate, but I still think the average person would be better off knowing if they were about to head through a particular stretch of wilderness where they were at increased risk of attack.”
“If you could give very broad descriptions of the types of environment a particular creature likes, it might be just as useful. But consider this. Some of these creatures are incredibly rare, yes?”
“A few of them might very well be one of a kind.”
“I used to run a regular big game hunting business before I started specializing in man-eaters and things that go bump in the night. I met all sorts of people, including a good share of pompous twerps who didn’t give two goddamns about anything other than themselves. They weren’t all like that by any means, but there were a few. There was a type. They’re the art collectors who don’t like art. They just like having something rare that will make other people jealous and they can pat themselves on the back for their exquisite taste. If you provide a map to finding some of these animals, there would have been somebody in my office asking me to lead him out to gun them all down. My client would have them all on his wall so visitors could fawn over him and tell him how brave he was to hunt anything so dangerous. The Squires evaluate these things rather than exterminate them, correct?”
“You’re one to talk. You run a business to hunt things like this.”
Denise could see that she’d trammeled on Metrodora’s toes. This was obviously important to her, and she thought Denise was trying to crap on her parade.
“Look, if somebody told me that they wanted to kill one of these things because they thought it would be a gas, I’d kick them out of my office. I don’t do pleasure hunts anymore. We’re not on opposite sides of this argument. I try to help people, the same as you and the Squires. It sounds to me like the Squires do a lot of research but don’t take a lot of direct action. Fine. I hope they learn something valuable. You and I are both trying to fill the void when the Squires fail to act. You’re trying to educate people. My methods are a little more…direct.”
“Alright, fair enough. I helped vet you before we hired you to come down here. I know you’re not some wild woman with a rifle. And you’ve managed to help keep me alive so far, which I appreciate.”
“I accept tips and gratuities. Just saying for when we make it back to civilization.”
“Do you really think people would try to seek these creatures out, even if they knew how dangerous they were?”
“I think that if you told everyone the sun was about to explode and destroy the earth, some people would get up on their roofs to watch. With a guidebook, you might be saving some lives. It would also be an open invitation to a certain number of yahoos, though. Depending on just how dangerous any given creature really was, more people might end up dead, and the creatures might be driven extinct, too. Any time you introduce the human element to a problem, things get messy in a hurry. I’m not saying you should quit working on your guidebook. I just think it’s important to be circumspect about some of the particulars. If Hendrik Metlebeke’s bestiary manages to save even one life, then you’re owed a toast.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“Just feel free to ask if you want me to impart any more of my infallible wisdom. The first one’s free.”
They were nearly to the other side of the crater now. A few seconds later, and they slid through the gap in the ice wall. Denise felt better knowing that they were only a few feet up in case anything went wrong. Now, she only had to worry about the threat of the living dead ripping the flesh from her bones. Or alien slugs crawling into her brain. Or inhuman bug men spewing acid at her. What a relief.
Denise watched the white-blue ice slide by on either side, the edges rough where the opening had been blasted open. The ice continued to slide past for several seconds as the car creaked and groaned on its overhead cables. The construction crews had blasted deep into the ice wall, isolating the chamber beyond from the worst of the exterior conditions.
A moment later, the ice around them fell away to either side. The space beyond was a large room, almost the size of a sports stadium. Pillars of ice led up to the ceiling, helping to support the giant cavity. The walls and roof were all rough and blocky, barely touched after the cavernous space was excavated. The floor had been smoothed over to hockey rink perfection, though. Rubber traction matting covered the floor in discrete paths so people could move about without slipping and sliding all over the place.
The cable car came to a halt at a little platform, and Denise shoved the doors open. Inside the subterranean space, the air was just a little below freezing. Not having to contend with the constant wind made the chamber feel much warmer than the rest of the outside.
Denise looked around, taking the area in. The first thing she saw was a huge stack of bags for cement mix. There was more construction gear spread around the area near the cable car. As far as Denise could tell, this area had been carved out before Merovée Station was built. It would have given the work crews somewhere to shelter during the harshest weather, and it also provided storage for supplies and equipment so not everything lay exposed to the open air. Compared to the scouring wind on the surface, it was downright cozy down here.
Merovée Station had its own warehouse, but this area had apparently been converted into additional storage after construction was finished. This was probably where they kept the stuff that they didn’t necessarily need every day that wouldn’t have been harmed by a little cold.
Apparently, they also kept the stuff they didn’t want at all anymore down here. It looked like the far end of the chamber now served as the station’s refuse heap. All manner of debris lay on the floor in a giant pile that was twice as tall as Denise. Everything from bald tires to fruit rinds lay on the heap. It wasn’t a very tidy pile. Pieces of garbage lay strewn in every direction nearby. Some of it even spread into the rest of the chamber, the areas that were obviously meant for storage.
With the way everything was tossed around, it looked like a small bomb had gone off in the trash heap. Denise wondered if that was a sign that the people here had simply been messy, or if it meant that they had come here and tried to scavenge what they could before the station’s security completely failed. If they’d been desperate enough to root through their own trash, Denise didn’t hold out much hope that that emergency supplies were still down here. Still, s
he had to check. If there was anything useful at all still down here, they needed to drag it back to the main station.
Denise didn’t see anything that could be construed as emergency supplies near the cable car platform. That meant they were going to have to wade out there into the construction equipment and look.
There was a sound from deeper in the chamber. Something under the trash heap moved a little bit then went still. Neither Denise nor Metrodora made any attempt to leave the cable car platform for a minute. Nothing else moved in that time.
“Stick close to me,” Denise said, swinging her Nitro Express around. Moving with some reluctance, she stepped forward onto the rubber matting in front of them. Metrodora followed half a step behind.
There were stacks of spare motor sledge treads, pallets of salt for traction, and shelves of miscellaneous equipment. Some of it might be handy to have on hand for when they left Merovée Station. A lot of it was worthless to them. Denise had to be judicious in what she grabbed.
The thing she was still most enticed by was the emergency supplies. This was an emergency, and they needed supplies. She was still hoping to find more weapons. If everyone was armed, it would bump their chances of survival up quite a bit. Right now, Metrodora was serving as a second set of eyes and ears for her, but that wouldn’t Denise much good if a monster got the drop on both of them and started clawing her guts out.
They didn’t have much of anything at the moment. Even if the emergency supplies were partially depleted, it would still help them. Guns. A first-aid kit. Anything would help.
The storage area down here wasn’t very well kept. A number of crates had been knocked down from where they’d been stacked. Some of them had burst open and spilled their contents out. Others hadn’t broken but were now blocking the path forward. Denise tried to avoid the paths with debris in them. Her footsteps were quiet when she stayed on the rubber mats. There was something else in the cavern with them, lurking beneath the trash heap. She didn’t want to alert it by crunching across broken slats and shattered test tubes.
Denise stepped past a tall stack of crates and noticed an alcove carved into the far wall. A little metal sign hung above it, anchored directly into the ice. The words équipement d'urgence were printed on the sign in neat letters. That was what they were looking for.
“Bingo,” Denise muttered more to herself than Metrodora. Now, she just had to hope there was something left in there. She picked her way along the path toward the alcove, which was uncomfortably close to the near edge of the debris field surrounding the rubbish heap.
She sidestepped around as much of the garbage as possible, keeping the Nitro Express pointed in the direction of the main heap. She flicked her eyes in a steady pattern. Sideways to keep herself moving toward the alcove, down to avoid kicking any of the pieces of trash that had accumulated around the edge of the matting, and forward to make sure there was nothing slithering through the debris toward her like some sort of garbage shark. So far, everything remained still and undisturbed.
Despite the piles of refuse sitting around, including old food, the smell wasn’t as bad as it could have been. The temperatures prevented most of it from rotting. There was some odor, probably from deep inside the pile where things were more insulated and could build up their funk in comparative warmth.
After some shimmying along the pathway, Denise reached the alcove. She ducked inside the narrow corridor and stood at the edge of the Promised Land. The end of the alcove opened up into a medium-sized room lined with shelves loaded with crates. A gate separated her from crate after crate of supplies. All the crates were more or less identical. Each one was rectangular, long enough to hold carbine rifles or medical supplies or almost anything else. They were all boxed up, with no way to see what was inside. They would just have to crack a few of them open to see what they contained and then select the ones they needed to bring back to the station.
The bigger problem right now was the gate. It had a lock and chain that prevented it from opening. There was no way to climb over the metal fencing that blocked them off from the cache of supplies. They might be able to dig under, but it would take forever to scrape away enough ice to slide one of the boxes under the metal.
Denise eyed the padlock keeping the gate closed. Obviously, there would be a key for it somewhere, but she had no idea where to find it. It could be in a drawer in a desk back in the security office. It could be in the pocket of a corpse shambling toward the South Pole. Colonel Dagenais might have it right now while he sat on the bridge of the cruiser. They needed to get in there, though. Fortunately, Denise had brought a lock-pick.
“Cover your ears,” she said to Metrodora. She raised the elephant gun and held the barrels out a couple of inches away from the lock’s clasp. Wincing in anticipation of the noise, Denise pulled the trigger.
The entire lock blew apart and went skittering off toward the rear of the alcove. What was left of it looked like a clump of molten metal that had accidentally fallen out of the forge and cooled in any random shape it pleased. It certainly wasn’t identifiable as a padlock anymore. The gate flew open.
The noise smote Denise’s ears. For a few seconds, she was almost completely deaf except for a high-pitched ringing noise. The ringing faded a little after a moment, but she still couldn’t hear the brass shell as it clinked onto the floor. She popped a fresh round into the Nitro Express and turned around.
“Get behind me and grab a box,” Denise said, not really sure how loud she was speaking. She could see out into the main chamber through the narrow hallway. The trash was beginning to stir.
A hand shot up through the debris. Another hand joined it, and the head and torso of a ghoul emerged from the layers of rubbish. It was like watching some campfire story fiend rise from its grave to seek fresh blood. There were more figures breaching the surface now, and not all of them were strictly human. Protruding compound insect eyes stared at her from inhuman faces.
Denise wondered for just a moment what the creatures were doing under a massive pile of trash. Then, she aimed and fired. A jet of pure fury shot out of the elephant gun’s right barrel, and the first of the ghouls pitched over backward, disappearing into the trash with most of his head missing.
Another dead man waded out of the garbage. He was wearing a parka with the hood pulled over his head. All Denise could see of his face was a set of crooked teeth. His lips had been chewed off some time ago. Maybe he’d done it himself. Denise fired the second barrel of the elephant gun, and that shambling figure went down in a puff of blood and pulverized brain matter.
Denise broke the Nitro Express open and fished two more rounds out of her jacket pocket. She stuffed them home and checked on Metrodora. Any recovery her hearing had made since destroying the lock was now completely gone. All she could hear was that high-pitched ringing noise again.
Metrodora had grabbed one of the crates and was dragging it across the floor. It looked heavy. Good. Hopefully, that meant it had lots of useful equipment inside. She wished there was time to inspect what was inside and maybe mix and match with the contents of the other crates or, better yet, grab a whole bunch of the crates and cart them all back to the station. Beggars couldn’t be choosers, though. Right now, they needed to make a tactical retreat with their prize.
One of the weird bug men managed to claw its way free of the trash heap, and it started toward them. It moved with the same jittery, hopping movements as the creature that killed Poole in the warehouse. It bounced around with surprising speed for anything its size.
Another squeeze of the trigger, and the abomination was thrown backward. Ichor sprayed out of the gaping wound in its torso. More of the creatures were coming, though. They looked a bit like a cross between a human being, a beetle, and the combined illustrations from a textbook on exotic skin diseases. Denise fired at another one of the creatures, and the monster’s arm flew off, but it didn’t seem to mind too much. It continued to disinter itself from the trash heap, even as foul fluids spil
led from the gaping wound.
Denise reloaded and then bent down and grabbed the far edge of the crate that Metrodora was dragging. Together, the two of them managed to lift it up a little and move a bit faster. The wooden edges bit into Denise’s fingers. She’d been right earlier; the box was heavy. She could feel things shifting around in there as they half-dragged, half-carried the box out of the alcove.
There were more of the creatures than Denise wanted to try to deal with. Her Nitro Express could only hold two shots at a time. Once she fired both barrels, she had to reload. That didn’t give her a lot of time to work with when the monsters kept coming out of the woodwork. She could pick a couple off at a time, but they had the numbers. It was better to get what they could and get out than risk being overwhelmed.
She slung the Nitro Express over her shoulder and grabbed the crate, trying to get a better grip on the sides. She and Metrodora started to scuttle away in an awkward, crouched shuffle as the monsters continued to spill out of the trash. Between the walking corpses and the bug men, there must have been at least ten monsters hidden within the station’s landfill. Denise had taken a couple of them out, but it was only a matter of time until the bug men started spitting acid at them.
Denise still couldn’t hear much of anything. The ringing in her ears was just starting to fade ever so slightly again. It was being replaced with a dull humming noise, though. She wondered if maybe she hadn’t permanently damaged her sense of hearing. Firing the Nitro Express was like pulling the cord on a small artillery piece. In close quarters like this, the noise level was well above the threshold of pain.
However, the humming noise wasn’t fading at all, either. In fact, it only seemed to be getting louder. Was that the sound of the blood rushing through her ears? Was she actually going completely deaf, and this was the sound of her eardrums dying? The noise built louder still, and then Denise realized what it was.