by Jake Bible
“There is no such thing as monsters,” Tony insists. “Those are flights of fancy and cannot be quantified by rational thought.”
“Are you fucking retarded or what?” Krissy Renault shouts from the other end of the room. She turns her bandaged face towards Tony and Belle. “Those fucking things are pretty fucking quantifiable! Why don’t you go outside and have a look? Maybe tell them face to fucking face how they don’t fit in with your retarded rational thought!”
“Hey, now!” Belle snaps.
She stands up and closes the distance quickly, stalking the length of the room until she’s almost to Krissy. The only reason she stops is that the very large half-wolf, half-husky lying at Krissy’s feet looks up suddenly and decides to show a couple of bare fangs.
Belle takes a step back, but doesn’t let the hybrid’s aggression stop her defense of her son. “You do not call my son retarded and you do not act like you have some bitchy little right to be here! You can easily be the one to be walking outside and standing face to face with those things!”
Krissy’s eyes blaze with rage and she points at the blood-stained bandages that cover most of her face. “Can’t really do that, lady. I don’t have much of a face left. The guys that raped me for hours and then skinned me made sure of that.”
“Everything alright in here?” Linda Walton asks as she comes through one of the doors, her hair in a towel and fresh clothes on her bruised body. “I heard yelling.”
“We’re fine,” Krissy says.
“You’re talking!” Linda shouts and hurries over to Krissy.
“No shit,” Krissy says. “Hurts like a motherfucker. Pulls at my skin.”
“Oh…wow,” Linda says. “Um, you have quite the voice and, um, vocabulary.”
“You fucking think?” Krissy growls.
“Does who fucking think what?” Roy asks as he comes into the room, his hand holding a door open that leads to a long, winding staircase. “Oh, hey there, young lady. Good to know you’ve come back to the land of the communicative. Why don’t you pick yourself up and all of you follow me outside. You’ll want to see this.”
“Not going outside,” Tony says.
“Yes, you are,” Roy replies. “The monsters are done digging. It is a sight to see.”
Two
“Why aren’t we being ripped apart?” Dr. Probst nearly shouts as she watches the seismic readings on her laptop climb beyond anything she thought possible. “We should be feeling this!”
None of the other scientists pay attention to her, all too engrossed in the information streaming across their own laptops and work stations. Dr. Burkhorst barks orders, asking for data at random times, typing every number she’s given into her workstation. Her eyes flit from her laptop to the large monitor on the wall.
The monitor that shows the Yellowstone caldera cracking all the way open and a massive taloned finger working its way through the earth and rock.
Dr. Probst’s mind catches up to her astonishment.
“Wait, how are we seeing this?” she asks. No one responds. “Hey! How are we seeing this when the EMP took out all the cameras in the area?”
“Edward! Explain!” Dr. Burkhorst orders.
Dr. Scofield rips his attention from his laptop and looks over at Dr. Probst. “What was the question?”
“How are we seeing this?” Dr. Probst repeats. “Where did the cameras come from?”
“Probes,” Dr. Scofield replies. “Right after the last EMP. The bunker is automated in many ways. We were as blind as the rest of the world for a couple hours, but the probes got our view back up in no time.”
“So they are drones?” Dr. Probst asks.
Dr. Scofield doesn’t answer then shakes his head. “The amount of raw energy coming off this thing is incredible. It doesn’t match the Substance, but it’s close.”
“Dr. Scofield. Edward. Ted!” Dr. Probst snaps. “The probes are like drones?”
“What? No, not at all,” Dr. Scofield replies, paying attention to her once again. “More like space probes. They’re orbs with the most incredible array of sensors and data collection equipment. Far more advanced than what the military is building.”
Dr. Probst almost doesn’t want to ask the next question. Almost.
“Who built them?” Dr. Probst does ask.
“We did,” Dr. Scofield says. “Sort of. We used tech and plans housed here in the facility. We couldn’t build them completely to spec, but we came damn close.”
“Tech and plans? Housed here? In the facility?” Dr. Probst repeats.
“Tech and plans, Cheryl,” Dr. McDaniels says. “They were here from the beginning. It took almost a hundred years for them to be understood and the machines to be built. Get over it.”
“No need to browbeat her, Valerie,” Dr. Mannering says. “You were just as confused as she was when you first got here. We all were.”
“No time for confusion,” Dr. Burkhorst says. “Pay attention to your stations! What we see and observe is what the world sees and observes!”
“We have a second talon!” Dr. McDaniels announces. “Now a third!”
“Those fingers must be close to one hundred meters long each,” Dr. Probst states. “Can that be right?”
“Looks like it,” Dr. McDaniels says. “The whole hand is coming out! Three fingers only! With, whoa, wait… Look at the joints in the fingers! Six? Yes, six!”
“What could an animal possibly need six joints in each finger for?” Dr. Mannering asks. “You’d think the things would just bend back on themselves, sticking those talons into the back of the poor creature’s hand. Bad design.”
“Poor creature? Are you joking? Maybe you should complain in person, Clark,” Dr. McDaniels says.
“I don’t mean poor creature as in I feel sympathy for the thing, just that those fingers look almost useless,” Dr. Mannering replies.
“Shut it!” Dr. Burkhorst yells. They do. “Dr. Probst, what are the readings from the surrounding area? Give me a sampling from a five, ten, and twenty mile radius.”
Dr. Probst checks the readings and compiles them. “Aftershocks are incredibly strong at five miles, but quickly disappear at twenty. Ten miles is at eight point four.”
“Still a devastating quake, if you were caught in it,” Dr. Scofield says. He smacks his hand on the table. “Incredible. We have just reached the amount of energy found on the surface of the Sun, yet look at the landscape. No sign that the energy is doing any type of damage, other than the obvious physical destruction. We are witnessing physics getting its ass handed to it right now.”
“Your joy is less than professional, Edward,” Dr. Burkhorst says. “Please control yourself.”
“I’ll try, but these readings are making it hard,” Dr. Scofield says. “If I didn’t know how accurate the probes were, I’d think there were malfunctions. This is fusion at a level we’ve never seen on this planet.”
“Seismic readings are diminishing,” Dr. Probst announces and looks from her laptop to the main screen. The clawed hand continues to shove its way up out of the earth. “How? That kind of movement, that kind of destruction should increase the readings. What is going on?”
“Ain’t that the question,” Dr. Scofield laughs. “The land should be molten and crumbly, but it’s not.”
“I have something here!” Dr. Mannering shouts. “The probes are picking up genetic material! This thing is giving off DNA!”
“He’s right,” Dr. McDaniels agrees. “It’s sloughing skin cells at an enormous rate.”
“It’s an enormous hand,” Dr. Scofield says.
“Give me data,” Dr. Burkhorst says. “What are we looking at? What DNA is it? What’s the classification?”
Dr. Mannering starts to answer then closes his mouth and shakes his head. He tilts his laptop towards Dr. McDaniels. She glances at it then looks back at her own and shakes her head.
“No classification,” Dr. McDaniels says. “We do not have anything even close on record.” She look
s about the room, her eyes wide, frightened. “I hesitate to call it DNA. It’s a quadruple helix with proteins unidentified.”
“Not possible,” Dr. Burkhorst snaps. “Check your readings again. There are laws of nature, doctor. The building blocks of life have been clearly defined.”
“So have the laws of thermodynamics and nuclear energy,” Dr. Scofield laughs as he taps at his screen. “And I’m watching those laws get broken right before my eyes.”
“I do not care to hear your professional failings, people!” Dr. Burkhorst shouts. “I want accurate readings and I want them now! Re-crunch your numbers, Edward! Rescan the DNA, Valerie! Assist her with that, Clark! I want the data to be collected and analyzed properly or none of you are of use to me!”
“I have gone over them several times, Burkhorst,” Dr. Scofield snaps. “Don’t even think of threatening me, understand? We are well past the point of you lording over your little fiefdom!”
“I will remove you, Edward!” Dr. Burkhorst yells. “I will do it myself and you know I have the skills to see it through!”
“Eh hem,” a voice calls from one of the monitors. “You kids done freaking out yet? It’s getting boring on my end.”
All eyes turn and look at the amused face of VanderVoort staring at them. She raises her eyebrows and shakes her head.
“Stress is a shitty thing, I know,” VanderVoort’s image says. “That’s why you have your psyche workups twice a week. All of you should be stable enough to handle what is happening. If not then I can just purge the whole facility you’re at and have one of the other facilities take over your duties.”
“You can do that?” Dr. Probst asks, turning to Dr. Scofield. “She can do that?”
“Who wants to find out?” VanderVoort asks. No one replies. “Exactly. Glenda? Dr. Burkhorst? Who is your facility physician?”
“Dr. Bennett,” Dr. Burkhorst replies.
“Have him come do exams on each of you right now,” VanderVoort orders. “I want to rule out any influence of the Substance on your team due to the new activity. I’d hate to chalk this all up to stress and find out it’s your brains being fried by the unknown.” She wiggles her fingers at the screen. “Oohhhh, scary.”
VanderVoort cocks her head and listens to someone off screen.
“I know, right?” she laughs. “Are we understood, Glenda?”
“Understood,” Dr. Burkhorst nods. “I’ll have Dr. Bennet get right on it.”
“Thank you,” VanderVoort says. Her eyes widen. “Wow. Better hurry. Looks like Junior is cracking through the egg. This is just fascinating.” She turns and looks over her shoulder. “Isn’t this just fascinating?” She waits. There are slight murmurs. VanderVoort shrugs. “Chicken shits.” She pats her belly. “I may learn how to change diapers before this little guy even pops out considering all the fucking babies around me right now. Glenda? Get to fucking work.”
Dr. Burkhorst swallows hard then looks at her team.
“We’re done panicking,” she says. “Myself included. This is our facility. This is our job. We will complete the mission and save this planet.”
“Works for me,” Dr. Scofield says.
Dr. Mannering nods as does Dr. McDaniels.
Dr. Probst gives a small smile and focuses on her laptop, completely unsure about everything and anything.
***
VanderVoort pushes back from the workstation she’s commandeered and stands up. Stretching her arms above her head, reaching as high as she can, until there are several loud pops from her spine.
“Oh, shit, that feels good,” she says, her arms still stretched up. “This little fucker is trying to rearrange every vertebra in my body. Not to mention the redecorating of my abdominal cavity. Little shit has the ottoman sitting on my bladder and the recliners pressed up against my lungs.” She looks about at the faces that are paying zero attention to her and focused on the large monitor above her head. “So, ladies and gentlemen, any thoughts? You’re watching what I’m watching. I know many of you aren’t scientists, but that doesn’t mean you can’t connect dots. Let’s brainstorm, folks. I want ideas, no matter how far out there they are. Your random association could help my people make some intuitive leaps they haven’t been able to make.”
President Nance clears his throat and VanderVoort lowers her arms, pointing at the former most powerful person on the planet.
“Charles?” VanderVoort asks, getting more than a few gasps at the use of the informal.
“How can we stop this?” President Nance asks. “That…that thing will be massive. Larger than any of the other things that have come out of the caldera. Nukes didn’t work on the smaller ones, so how do we destroy this one?”
“Straight to the fight and kill,” VanderVoort grins. “That’s what I like about you, Charles. Business first.” VanderVoort starts pacing back and forth, her hands pressed against the small of her back. “I don’t think we can kill it. Not with nuclear weapons or any other conventional weapon. Maybe we could hack it to pieces if we had a mile high hatchet, but that’s not really possible.”
“Laser?” Dr. Hall asks from his inconspicuous seat in the back of the situation room. “Do we have lasers powerful enough? Maybe we can’t destroy it, but we could cut it down to size once it has emerged fully.”
“This is why you’re here,” VanderVoort smiles. “That and you ran here on your own two feet. Good on you for not dying up above.” VanderVoort gives a small golf clap. Then she turns to the Joint Chiefs of Staff. “Gentlemen? You have the weapons, the weapons that go boom. Anything in the deadly, focused light department that might fit the bill? Something that slices and dices and can still cut a tomato? I know you’re short on members, what with there only being three of you here, but maybe those three heads could equal one?”
The present members of the Joint Chiefs of Staff -Admiral Malcolm Quigley (Navy), General Mark Tulane (Air Force), and General Lawrence Azoul (Army)- do not hide their disdain for the woman in front of them. The relationship between the military world and covert ops world was tenuous before the crisis at hand, it is strained to breaking now. Especially with VanderVoort’s less than diplomatic way of taking control, sanctioned by international law or not.
“I believe we may have something available,” Tulane replies. “It is a holdover from the Star Wars era, big enough to possibly be effective. But it is clunky and mothballed. Retrofitting it to our current systems would take some time.” He nods towards the monitor with the image of the massive beast jamming a second claw through the cracked and broken earth. “I doubt we have time for that kind of work.”
“Start work on it anyway,” VanderVoort says. When the general doesn’t move, she claps her hands together. “Now! Jesus, this isn’t a game of Simon Says, Tulane.”
“Communications are down with all bases, Ms. VanderVoort,” Tulane replies, a satisfied smirk playing at his lips. “I can’t just make a call.”
VanderVoort looks around. “That’s a bullshit excuse. Strike one, General. Strike three and you are useless to me and the human race. Give me options.”
Before Tulane can respond, Admiral Quigley clears his throat. “If it is the system I believe it is then we may have a shot.” He looks over at General Azoul. “Plus, it should be housed close to your drones. Those have laser capabilities, do they not?
“They do, but on such a small scale, I’m not sure what effect they’ll have,” Azoul replies.
“A thousand paper cuts,” Quigley says.
“Quigley!” VanderVoort exclaims. “How Zen of you. Or whatever that would be called.” She focuses on Azoul. “How many drones do you have?”
“Close to a hundred,” Azoul says. “If they haven’t been destroyed.”
“That’s a lot of paper cuts,” VanderVoort smiles. “Start making calls, gentlemen.”
“How?” Tulane snaps. “Our communications with our bases are down.” He sweeps his hand at the many monitors showing the facilities crews from across the globe. “Unles
s you have a way to patch into them.”
“I do not,” VanderVoort says. “Not yet. What options do we have then?”
“Boots on the ground,” Quigley says. “We send men to the drones first, get them operational, then send them on to Tulane’s laser.”
“All good ideas, but who do we send?” Tulane asks. “And how do we get ahold of them?”
“Good question,” Quigley asks. “But I have an idea. Hopefully, it’s not a dead idea.”
***
Bolton stares out of the front of the cell, his eyes narrowed, his mind working a mile a minute. He ignores the actual enclosure itself, knowing he can’t break through. His mind is focused on what lies beyond the cell, out in the bright area the cell faces. He looks for cracks in the security, but he can’t find any cracks. Not even the simple crack of a door jamb or seam where the walls meet.
“Rounded,” Bolton says.
“What?” Lu asks as she sits on the floor, her back against one of the bunks. “What’s rounded?”
“The corners,” Bolton says. “No right angles out there. No sign there is even an exit.”
“Well, we know there’s a door,” Lowell says from his seat on the floor, empty pizza boxes next to him. He takes a swig of water from the jug and sets it down. “The doc came and went through a door.”
“Why all of this security?” Bolton asks. “If the facility is locked down as tight as we have been told then why bother with seamless walls and rounded corners?” He places his hand against the clear plastic that makes up the front of the cell. “Heavy duty plastic, clear enough for full observation, but thick enough that an elephant can’t break out. Why have this if all that are down here are scientists?”
“Maybe there didn’t use to be just scientists,” Holt says, still lounging on one of the bunks. “Maybe there were some more dangerous elements down here.”
“Like you and me?” Bolton asks. “SpecOps?”