by Oliver Tuson
Clarke ran, as silently as he could, unconsciously holding his breath for a moment whilst trying to be as stealthily as humanly possible. He bounded up the stairs, his knees soft to take the impact and remaining quiet. He didn’t look back, but he could hear the sound of glass breaking as the stalkers stood on the shattered remains of the bottle.
He cleared the stairs and sprinted into the corridor, ducking under the damaged door and kept going through the scene of death towards the elevator, the blinking lights providing the only light to guide him. He slammed the elevator button hard then turned to face the way he had come. His heart thumped hard in his chest. His breathing ragged from both the terror and the run. The elevator beeped and whined to life as it slowly descended from the level high above. “Come on… come on…!” He whispered to himself in frustration. He took some deep breaths, trying to steady his breathing as best he could.
Then it appeared. Its lipless snarling mouth creeping around the corner followed by its muscular body. Its leathery skin shining red as the lights from the lab bounced off it. Its blood red eyes narrowed, taking in the sight of its prey at the end of the corridor. It’s arms at the front braced it against the corridor. The other two on the floor. Its position made its bulk even more formidable. And terrifying he thought as he raised his weapon, emptying a magazine towards the monster that instantly bolted forward. It leapt up on to the wall, then the ceiling, then the other wall. Its claws digging into the surface with ease as it kept coming in its circular motion.
Some rounds found their target offering a thump as they hit its thick hide. Others missing and sparking off the back wall. It continued forward, moving to the opposite wall then the floor before continuing its corkscrew like motion around the corridor towards Clarke, almost as if gravity wasn’t a concept it understood.
He pulled out another magazine as he swore at the elevator still whining away behind him. Ramming it into the housing on the pistol, he raised the weapon as the creature closed the gap on the final few meters. Just as he pulled the trigger it smashed him against the doors. Pinning both of his arms out to the side with its solid grip. The pistol burst to life sending bullets ricocheting down the corridor, as Clarkes trigger finger twitched in the creature's solid grip. The stalker turned its head at the noise, watching the sparks with a gleam in its eyes. Clarke tried to move his arms, work them free from its grip but swore as he failed. Bringing both legs up, he kicked hard into the stalker’s chest, before its other arms simply pinned his legs down. He was dead, he thought, helplessly stretched out like a star against the door. The gun clicked, ending the sparks of the bullets. The entertainment gone for the creature it knocked the weapon from his grip with his head then it slowly turned its head towards Clarke, focusing its attention back to its trapped prey. Its blood red eyes looking deep into his as he hopelessly stared back.
“Fuck you!” He spat in defiance. He thought he saw a grin spread over its lipless face as it opened its jaws. Its forked tongue whipped out tasting Clarke’s skin before sets of razor-sharp teeth were reaching towards him. Its rancid breath was hot on his face as he closed his eyes tight as he excepted the embrace of death, soon to see all his fallen comrades once more.
‘Ding’… the doors opened. Both of them fell into the small space of the elevator, the supporting doors that opened buying him a few more moments of existence. The surprise momentarily took them both. The creature dropped its grip on his right arm as it threw its arm forward to brace itself. The wind was knocked from Clarke as the weight of the stalker slammed on top of his chest. Whilst gasping for air, he acted as quick as he could.
Pulling his commando dagger free from its sheath, he didn’t waste any precious time on its thick hide. Instead he worked it up towards its head. The creature had recovered from the shock of the fall. Its jaws back open and snapping towards Clarke’s head just as he jammed the long blade deep into one of its red eyes and twisted and pushed the bladed deeper and deeper towards its brain. It snatched its head away in agony, but Clarke kept a tight grip on the handle, pulling him with it, freeing his body some more from the weight of the creature. The blade came away from its head, blood erupting from the messy socket. Clarke didn’t let up. He plowed the blade into another eye, deep into its brain beyond. Twisting and turning the blade, tearing it side to side as the dagger ripped the brain to shreds beyond the eye socket. It reared up howling in pain, the blade sliding back out in a fountain of blood. It’s red eye still skewed on it with grey matter hanging on the end.
The monster’s grip gone from him, Clarke leapt up and tried to break past it into the corridor but got knocked against the elevator wall as it thrashed about in pain. As it did, the stalker hit the ceiling panels, causing one to smash down, knocking the dagger from his grip, which tumbled around under the stalker.
There… he saw the opening in the ceiling leading to the cables and elevator shaft. He quickly kicked off against the wall, jumping up and grabbing the opening. Heaving himself up and through the gap as the creature below continued to thrash around as it died. The two deep wounds to its brain taking their toll.
He rolled on to roof of the elevator gasping for breath as the toxic gas started to take its effects. Blinking sweat from his eyes that began to sting, he tried to steady his breathing. Below the creature finally stopped thrashing as it accepted its death.
Only its comrade hadn't. It gave a rebellious shriek that echoed up the shaft as it leaped over its dead pack member. A claw reaching up to the opening, barely missing Clarkes face. Weaponless, he leapt up, gripping the cable and started climbing as fast as his tired and beaten body could. Below, the creature tried pulling its massive frame through the small hatch whilst reaching up after his feet. The small gap stopped it, giving him a few extra seconds to clear its reach.
It slammed and slammed in to the gap causing the other panels to start giving way. Clarke climbed as fast as he could. Reaching up and using his legs, squeezing the cable with his knees and driving up higher and higher. By the time he reached fifteen meters, the creature below gave a victorious roar as the panels gave way. Its huge body squeezing through the larger gap. Its arms clawing and pulling it through. Its teeth moving closer to him.
“Fuck!” No choice he told himself. I'm dead the second that thing gets through. He reached into his assault vest while gripping the cable with his spare arm and legs. He pulled out his final grenade and pulled the pin. Danger close he thought, excepting the fact the blast would probably kill him too, but I’m taking you with me. He dropped it towards the mass of claws and muscle below.
The grenade landed on its shoulder and rolled down, landing with a thud on the last part of the panel. He kept climbing as the grenade detonated below. The deafening blast making his ears ring. Shrapnel exploded out of the explosion tearing into the creature which took the bulk of the explosion. It roared in pain as it slipped back into the elevator on top of its comrade. Shrapnel ricocheted up the shaft. Clarke felt red hot pain in his thigh as some caught his leg causing him to almost lose his grip.
He was hanging on by shear willpower to survive. The smell of the explosion filled the vent as the noise died away. He could feel blood running down his leg. But that was it he thought with delight. No further wounds. And I’m still alive! He glanced down. The creature lay in the elevator on top of its partner. Both not moving.
He let out a sigh whilst still gripping the cable tight. He looked up. Hell of a climb he thought as he looked into the darkness above. He glanced down thinking if the lift would still work after the blast. Tough decision, but at least those monstrosities are dead. One way to find out. He started to descend the cable, fighting the effects of the toxic gas that was now rising up with the heat of the blast.
A violent metallic groan filled the shaft, the cable vibrating causing him to pause. “Shit…” The groan turned to a loud snapping sound. A moment later the cable attachment came free sending the elevator plummeting toward the bottom of the shaft that was much further than the l
ab level. As it dropped, he swore he thought the creature looked up at him. A few seconds later the sound of the elevator smashing the bottom filled the shaft.
He swung like a pendulum on the cable. Staring down into the black abyss below trying to figure out what else was further down the shaft. He looked up to the climb ahead. “Guess that decision is made then…” he said to himself as his tired muscles began the long climb up.
He finally reached the top and looked at the elevator doors and was about to try to swing to them and start to pry them open. Only the sounds of scraping at the doors already began. The sound of claws tearing through the doors to get at him. His exhausted body just hung there as the doors opened slightly. He could see the flash of light bouncing of a claw that wedged the door open.
Only it wasn’t a claw, it was a commando dagger. And behind it was Sanchez prying the doors open enough to get his hands in and slide them open. “Boss!” His voice was full of joy at seeing the bravo team leader as he offered his hand whilst bracing against the half open door. Clarke used his last drops of energy to grip his forearm. Sanchez pulled him aggressively from the shaft and onto the cold floor of the centre where he lay trying to catch his breath.
Unable to talk from the effort of the climb, Clarke’s face showed the shock he was in at seeing his two friends alive once more. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost, boss.” Hawkins added with his usual happy grin. Clarke just nodded as he kept gasping for air. After a few moments of catching his breath, he could finally talk again.
“Last time I saw you two, you were swamped in stalkers, I thought I lost you both. How the hell did you get away?”
“Stalkers?” Hawkins questioned.
“Those things that had you surrounded. They call them stalkers.”
“That's fitting…” Hawkins started, thinking of the run from the creatures. “We got cornered in the power control room but Jasper led us out. Good job he stayed in the control room with his toys or we would have been be ripped to pieces by them.”
“Jesus… good work boys.” Clarke rolled on to his knees and slowly started standing up. His body aching in protest and wanting to rest. “What about you? I watched that thing grab you? And the grenade?” Sanchez asked.
“I don’t really know myself. I thought I was dead. Made that thing choke on the grenade then… boom, sent it to hell! Woke up at the bottom of that tunnel in the research levels.”
“We’ve all had our fair share of luck today. Let's not take any more risks, hey?” Millerchip said as he shook Clarke’s hand firmly. “Either way, well come back from the dead.”
“Speaking of the dead… and hell, there’s more to this place than we thought, much more,” Clarke said as he filled them in on all he had discovered down in the three labs. The rest of the group listened intently as he spoke, until eventually Clarke finished speaking and the men stood in silence contemplating the information.
“This place is fucked up.” Millerchip added eventually. “Wait, your telling me that thing in the power room, was just a baby?” Hawkins asked in shock.
“A teenager if you like, but yeah, not an adult. In the pictures I saw it was huge compared to that.”
“I have a teenager,” Millerchip added, “He’s just as hard work!” The group burst into laughter. More at the thrill of finding each other alive than Millerchip’s poor attempt at humour.
“Come on. Let's get out of here and regroup with Jasper.” Millerchip said as he led the group towards the elevator that would take them back up the level above. “Jas, open the lift now.” Millerchip ordered over the radio.
“You got it. And welcome back boss, glad you made it.” Clark smiled as he just heard Jasper’s voice over Hawkins’ radio next to him. The doors slide open and the group of soldiers walked in. The elevator came to life and started going up, but a few moments later came to an abrupt stop making the men stumble. The interior lights cut out casting them into pitch black.
“Shit! What now! Jas, talk to me!” Millerchip shouted over the radio.
“The powers gone,” came Jasper’s flustered reply.
“Thanks Jas, we worked that one out!” Hawkins said frustratedly as he flashed his torch on again illuminating the men in the confined space.
“Yeah, yeah Hawks! I’m doing my best,” Jasper replied as he investigated the issue on the other end of the radio. The men in the lift shifted about awkwardly, the feeling of being trapped and helpless starting to get to them.
“Some of the circuits must have overloaded, the whole facility is trying to feed off the few remaining generators that weren’t damaged by that creature.” Jasper said. As he talked the group could hear the sound of Jasper’s quick typing as he worked the terminals trying to investigate the issue. The sound was somehow calming. Knowing the right man was on the case.
“Can you fix it?” Millerchip asked, his voice slightly calmer.
“Of course. I’ll close down some of the nonessential systems from the labs and other areas and reroute the power to your elevator. Easily done, just give me some time.”
“We will just wait here then Jas… no rush.” Hawkins added as he slumped against the wall and slid down, sitting with his back against the wall and legs outstretched. The other three looked at him as he made himself comfortable. Then followed his example. The four men all sat down, finally being forced to relax after all the recent chaos and stresses of the day.
“Good job Jasper is up there and not me.” Millerchip said with a small smile. “I’d never be able to get you out of here.” The group smiled and nodded. Clarke looked at Millerchip’s wound. The blood seeping through the bandage on his arm again. “You good?”
Millerchip looked at it and nodded. “Just a flesh wound, I’ll be fine. What about you? You look terrible.”
Clarke caught his reflection on the shiny metal wall of the lift as the torch light it up. He was covered in blood from the beast he had slain in the power room. As well as various cuts and grazes that covered his head and body. His hair was plastered to his head with blood and sweat. Dust and dirt were all over his skin and clothing from his fall down the tunnel. He barley recognised himself.
“Jesus, your right.” He rubbed some of the blood away from his face and ran his fingers through his hair, trying to make himself slightly more presentable.
“And that…” Sanchez pointed at the wound to his thigh were the grenade’s shrapnel had caught him in the shaft. Blood was slowly running from it. Sanchez pulled out a field dressing from his vest and crawled over to apply it to Clarke’s leg.
“We thought you were gone boss. That thing, that creature cut you off from us, we couldn't get to you. We tried but…” Sanchez started, a sense of guilt creeping through in his words as he dressed the wound. “Then we heard the grenade and thought you were gone.” He finished the dressing and patted his leg before going back to collapse against the wall of the lift.
“I should have been. Blind luck I didn’t die in the blast. I was ready for it. Ready to die.” He shook his head and looked down as he thought about how he went through the labs looking for revenge and death. “I thought you were both dead. Along with everyone else we lost today. Along with Pike, Harvey and Carter. All that death, I just wanted to die. And take as many of those fuckers as I could with me.”
Clarke hadn’t realised the three names that slipped from his mouth as he thought about the toll of deaths. But the others all looked at each other on hearing the names. The names from a past that they knew Clarke was struggling with.
Clarke looked up at the men of his command and gave a sigh of relief as the fact they were all still alive hit him. Reality catching up with the bravo leader. Sanchez read his mind. “We are all good boss.”
Clarke just nodded as he looked down for a second. The pressure of thinking they were dead leaving his shoulders. Hawkins used the moment. “You want to talk?”
Clarke looked up at him surprised. “Who are Pike, Carter and Harvey?” Hawkins asked cautiously. Clarke’s f
ace momentarily turned to anger at the young solider for mentioning the past. But he stopped himself, suddenly aware that he had said the names. Hawkins, as always didn’t let up. Relentlessly pressing on.
“Odds are we are going to die down here. Trapped down in this hell with no way out. Maybe telling us about it might help spread the burden, boss.” Hawkins voice was soft and actually sounded like he genuinely cared about his team leader, Sanchez thought with a smile towards his friend. Hawkins noticed the look from the older soldier and instantly hardened his voice again, trying to maintain his image. “Might explain why you act like a bit of a dick at times too boss…”
Clarke shot him a look as he thought of another argument with the young, inquisitive solider. Instead, he nodded. Maybe he was tired. Too tired to argue with him. Maybe brushing with death as much as they had recently made him want to unburden the past, ready to die with less weighing down on his mind. Or maybe he was right. Telling them the truth of his actions on that day so long ago, might somehow help. He wasn't sure, but maybe.
Clarke took a deep breath as he slowly nodded his agreement to tell his story. Opening up his past to the men trapped in hell together deep underground. As good a place as any to tell the tale he thought.
“I was in a counter terrorism unit. We got the call about ten on a cold and wet day. Security services had a lead that a bombing was going to hit a school in south London.” Clarke looked down at the floor as the memories started coming back. Memories he had suppressed for too long.
“Someone was planning to kill all those defenceless children at the school, and in doing so would send the country into panic. Imagine, too sacred to send your kids to school for fear of bombings. Fear for your children. That is real fear.”
“Sick fuckers.” Sanchez muttered. The men stayed silent for a few moments before Clarke continued again. “The intel was one man. One lone bomber who planned to kill hundreds of children in one single blast. Intelligence units tracked him down to an apartment on the tenth floor of an expensive high-rise building, less than a quarter of a mile from the school he planned to attack. They reckoned he had been holed up in the apartment for a while, and that he had acquired everything he needed to build the bomb and carry out the attack. It was only a question of when. The intelligence services had the building under surveillance. No one had come in or out.” Clarke looked about at the group who were listening intently to his story.