by Oliver Tuson
Clarke tried to fight the corpse off him, pushing and kicking as best as he could from his tight position but the corpse kept a tight hold on his throat, strangling him and cutting off the blood to his brain. The world started to go dark as Clarkes brain was being starved of oxygen. A few more seconds and he would pass out.
He worked his pistol up and out. Bringing it to the side of the corpse’s head and pulled the trigger. The one bright eye of the man finally going dull and lifeless as the bullet tore through his head and exploded out the other side with a cloud of blood and brains. Clarke gasped for air as the grip was released. The body falling to the side in a dead heap.
Pike's face haunted Clarkes mind as he sat catching his breath. All the time breathing in the particles of ink. “I’m losing my mind! What the fuck is happening to me!” Clarke shook his head in disbelief. Having to watch his friend die twice. Both times his fault. This can't be right. His worst nightmare was coming true.
Shadows in the ink started to form around him. The other two members of his old team were there. Carter and Harvey, both stumbling forward through the ink. Arms outstretched reaching to kill him. As if to avenge their deaths by killing their failed leader.
“This can't be real!” Clarke stood, scrambling up the wall and darted away from them. “You're not real!” He shouted at them as he aimed his pistol and fired a shot at the men stumbling after him. The round slapped into the rotten flesh of Carter, the impact causing him to stumble back. He fired again and again, until Carter fell back and was finally motionless on the floor.
“You're not real!” he said to the last member, but Harvey still staggered on. Clarke wasn’t sure if he was telling the walking corpse he was dead, or trying to convince himself it didn’t exist. He emptied his pistol into him, the rounds slapping against his rotten body until he joined his comrade on the cold floor.
“You're not real.” It was a whisper this time as he looked at the dead men, back from the grave to get their revenge on him. “You're not real, you can't be…” he repeated the words as he tried to gain control of his mind. But he knew his words were somehow true. “None of this is!” He said it with more confidence this time. As if he finally believed his own words. As he spoke more ink found its way into his mouth. The foul taste causing him to gag slightly.
The ink was still thick as he spat it out of his mouth. He stared at the ink he had just spat out, now on the floor in a blob mixed with his saliva. Then a thought struck him. Chemical weapons.
None of this was real. Maybe he was hallucinating. That thing creating a fog of terror in which to hunt its victims with ease. Unable to defend themselves, their minds lost in a labyrinth of fear and nightmarish hallucinations. Easy prey. The demon roared again. Adding more ink to the atmosphere. Its maze of death becoming darker again. But Clarke was regaining his mind. The shattered pieces of his psyche returning again. Maybe bravo are not dead? Maybe they were hallucinations too. He thought about his men wandering the facility, all in their own nightmarish worlds. Lost in their own demons and pasts.
His memory shot back to the respirators in the crate near the entrance as a plan formed in his mind. That’s the best plan I have, he thought as he gave a final look at his former team lying dead on the floor. He turned and sprinted through the ink towards the direction of the entrance. His arms outreached to stop him running into anything. He traced his steps as best as he could in the black mist until he emerged back at the start.
He quickly threw himself at the crate of gas masks. Tearing one open from its airtight pack, he put it over his face and secured the straps around his head creating an air tight seal for his face. He breathed out hard, emptying his lungs of all the toxins in the ink. Then he breathed in. A long deep satisfying breath as the respirator pushed the toxic air through filters. Providing clean, safe air for the bravo leader.
The familiar rubber smell filled Clarke’s senses, replacing the deathly ink. The familiar smell of endless training exercises and simulations. He somehow found the smell relaxing. Comforting. A reminder that he was now safe. He could feel his mind returning to him. As if waking up from a deep dream. The toxins no longer being inhaled or digested, slowly leaving his system.
Ahead of him, on the verge of the inky mist, three silhouettes stepped into view. His old team members stopped at the edge of the black ink. No longer corpses. All standing there as he once remembered them. Alive. Smiling towards him. The ink behind them shimmered and gave way to a mass of young children that flowed around them. All wanting to play with the men and touch the fascinating guns and equipment of the soldiers that had given their lives to save them from their deaths. All the children jumped about playfully. Carter bent down and picked one up. Placing the young girl on his shoulders who was grinning with delight.
With a nod of respect towards Clarke for doing his part in saving the young children’s lives, they all turned and started to walk back into the mist. As they did, Pike turned and pointed towards the distant wall and the elevator to escape this hell, before following his comrades and disappearing with the mass of school children into the ink which shimmed around them, encapsulating them into its embrace.
He blinked his eyes shut as the last of the hallucinogenic effects were washing away then looked back at the men, who had now disappeared into the ink once again, leaving Clarke on his own. The men who had given the ultimate sacrifice for their country’s children had gone, but somehow, Clarke felt he was still with them and more at ease. As if a burden had been lifted. The strangling hold from his past slightly looser.
Clarke was torn from his thoughts as the demon roared once from deep within the storage zone. Clarke gripped his pistol tight and ran towards the beast whilst trying to think fast as he moved into the black unknown. Holding his pistol that felt like it was there for comfort only. Knowing it might not do much against the creature that lurked in the black abyss. He needed something better. Something bigger. “Shit,” he whispered helplessly to himself. The thought of his team wondering around out there in the black cloud adding to his frustration. He prayed the creature that was stalking them from the shadows hadn’t finished them yet. Almost hoping it was enjoying their torment too much to kill them.
His vision was limited due to the gas mark. The thick rubber taking away his peripheral vision, adding to the sense of claustrophobia from the inky black cloud. His breathing was heavy. Made worse through the vent of the mask that restricted the flow of oxygen. But he still felt that the mask was the best weapon he had. Protection from his own mind and the horrors the ink produced.
He stopped and leant back against a container as he tried to steady his breathing. Scanning around for any sign of bravo or the beast. He looked at his pistol, wishing he hadn’t lost his rifle earlier in the tunnel. “Fuck!” He slammed the butt into the container with a metallic thud.
The sound made him stop. An idea forming in his fatigued mind. He played it over in his head. The only option he could think of. But, he thought with a sigh, it has only one chance of success. With that he sprinted as fast as he could through the ink towards the elevator at the far side. All the while expecting the demon to leap out and tear him to pieces. Or to stumble over the remains of one of his bravos.
A few moments later and he reached the far side. Stumbling against the wall that loomed out of the darkness. He looked about trying to get his bearings and could just make out the shadow of the crane to his right. The large structure looming up from the ink. He moved towards it, hand railing the wall as he went. Soon he was just able to make out the lights of the cranes operating panel blurring through the ink. His mind racing as he thought his plan over in his head whilst trying to catch his breath through ragged gasps. He looked around and tried to estimate if he was in the right place for his idea to work.
Clarke took a few paces away from the control panel, deeper into the area and looked up. The thick ink limited his view of what he was seeking. One way to check he thought, as he aimed his pistol up and fired off two r
ounds and grinned with satisfaction as he heard a metallic sound of bullet on metal and could just make out a spark through the thick ink. The bright flash dancing across the blackness.
“Lets do it!” He said to himself, excepting that he would either die at the hands of the demon stalking around or his plan would work and he would live. Fifty fifty he mused. He took a breath to steady his nerves. Then he shouted as loud as he could.
“Come on you fucker! Come and get me!” His voice came out muffled through the mask. He fired his weapon into the air until the magazine was empty. The ricochets sparking above him like a lightning storm hovering over him in the black cloud of ink. He kept shouting as he reloaded.
The ink finally shimmered as the beast stepped into view. Its bulk towering over Clarke as he staggered back at the terrifying sight of it. The demon looked down at Clark and gave a deafening roar that rocked Clarke’s senses. Only the bravo leader was ready. He spun and leapt towards the cranes controls as the monster started after him. Clarke was there in a few seconds, already slamming his fist onto the release button.
The container that had been hanging on the cable plunged down. The ink washing around it as it hurtled towards the beast below. It must have sensed it falling as the demon made a final leap at Clarke, talons outstretched.
But it was too late. The container smashed down on the creature's lower body instantly crushing its legs and hips. The noise of the crash echoed around the room and shook the ground. The force sending the floating ink blowing around the area like ink swirling in water. The demon howled in pain as it clawed the ground in a futile attempt to pull its self out.
Clarke watched as it withered around. Its horns waving through the inky smoke. The creature suddenly stopped and looked directly at Clarke. Knowing he was the cause of its sudden pain. The bravo leader smiled and nodded. Tormenting the beast further. It howled once more and started to claw towards him. Slowly ripping its upper body from its broken and crushed lower half. Blood was pooling around it as its middle was tearing away. Intestines and organs spewing out on to the ground.
Clarke took a few bold quick steps up to it. Just out of reach of its arms, and looked deep into its eyes as he aimed his pistol at one of them. “Back to the hell that spawned you!” He emptied his weapon into its eye socket whilst shouting in a bloody rage of relief. All of the rounds puncturing the eye and smashing through into its brain. It dropped its head to the floor and let out a final breath. The air pushing the ink about one final time.
Clarke fell to his knees. Exhausted. Trying to breathe through the mask. His heart was pounding. Sweat was building up in the mask around the seal. He tried to steady his breathing. Taking long deep breaths whilst staring at the creature that had crept into the deepest fears of his mind. Slowly the ink was settling around him. Disappearing once more. A few more minutes passed and he tore his mask off. Breathing with ease again. He stayed there for a moment until the silence was broken by groans of pain.
Clarke was up and running towards the sound. Behind a container he found Jasper with a wound across his chest. Blood was running from it. “Jas!” He knelt by him and pulled off the shredded remains of his assault vest and put pressure on the wounds straight away. “I got you brother! Hang on!” Jasper looked at his team leader.
“Sorry boss, I don’t know what happened.” He grimaced in pain as Clarke pressed down harder trying to stop the blood. “It just appeared from the cloud of ink. But it wasn’t alone… it was with…” He struggled to find his words as Clarke tried to stop the bleeding. “my brother…all of my fears… my worst fears. I couldn’t move. I froze!” He dropped his head down as if embarrassed by his defeat.
“Don't think about it Jas. I got you now.” He continued to work on his wound as Sanchez emerged from around the container. He was holding a wound on his arm, but instantly let it go when he saw Jasper’s more severe wound. “Jas!” He darted forward and helped Clarke, pulling a field dressing from his assault vest.
“You’re bleeding…” Jasper half smiled as he said it. Clearly biting back, the pain of his injury.
“Just a flesh wound brother. Don’t worry about it.” Sanchez kept bandaging the wound.
“That fucker, it was like it was playing with me. Didn’t want to kill me to quick.” Jasper said recalling his ordeal with the beast.
“Don’t talk Jas, save your energy. Either way, it’s dead.” Clarke stated as he kept working.
Hawkins staggered up to them. “What the hell just happened! My head’s fucked!” Sanchez, having just finished with Jasper’s bandage jumped up to greet his friend. Throwing his arms around the younger solider and lifting him momentarily into the air.
“Easy brother!” Hawkins muttered through a crushed chest until he was released. He was deathly pale as he staggered in shock towards the team with Sanchez next to him.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Jasper said with a smile. Hawkins looked at him with an almost blank expression. “As it happens, I just did.” They looked at each other for a second. The group of friends remembering the fears the creature's ink had made them see.
Jasper’s groan shattered the moment as he tried to stand. The three men instantly helped him up. “I've stopped the bleeding brother, but we gotta get you out of here,” Clarke said as they all stood there for a moment, still holding Jasper up. All the team were alive and looking at each other with a sense of overwhelming relief. “What a day…” Jasper muttered as he looked down at his bandaged chest. He chuckled slightly as he said it. They all leant into him in a team embrace and started to laugh gently at first. Then harder. As if all the tensions of the past day were evaporating around them.
“Something funny?” Millerchip said through heavy breathing as he suddenly appeared red faced after running the distance to back them up. He stopped and tried to catch his breath as the team slapped him on the shoulder, joyfully greeting him. A few moments later Sarah appeared. Sheepishly hanging back from the group of soldiers and not making eye contact.
“You’re awake.” Hawkins stated bluntly, unsure of how he felt about the facility’s employee, but leaning more towards anger.
“I have some questions that need answering!” Clarke said as he started to walk up to her, the recent sense of joy disappearing at her sight.
“And we have the answers.” Millerchip said as he stepped between the woman and Clarke, palms raised to calm the bravo leader down. The group looked at him questioningly as he broke into conversation about all the professor’s personal assistant had said in the control room. Stopping only to be corrected by her or to expand on points. Once the story was told, bravo team just stood there in silence. The reality of it all of it bearing down on them. Hawkins went to speak. Probably one of his usual quips but stopped. Instead just shook his head and looked down. Words failing him for the first time since Clarke had met him. Millerchip broke the silence.
“Sarah has agreed to speak up on the whole thing. Tell the world about all that went on here. She is the evidence we need to get started on bringing these people to justice.” He stopped for a second and took a deep breath. “To get revenge for all our lads who died today. And I want revenge!” They all nodded agreement as Sarah spoke up.
“You tell me what to do, what to say and when, and I’ll do my best to get justice. Even if it means I go down with the lunatics too. I want to redeem myself for my part in this madness.” Her voice was sincere and full of regret.
“Good, that's the first step then. Come on. Let's get out of here.” Clarke motioned towards the elevator. The six survivors walked towards its massive doors, Sanchez and Hawkins either side of Jasper supporting him as limped in pain from his wounds. Clarke had picked up Jaspers M4 and assault vest from the ground and slung it over his shoulder as he opened the cargo lift’s door, sliding it across by hand. The metal grinding loudly as it did. They all filtered in and took one last look at the demon's body before going to close the door.
Only they couldn’t. There were no con
trols on the inside. “Shit…” Clarke slammed his fist against the wall.
Jasper groaned as Sanchez and Hawkins lowered him to the floor, where he sat with his back against the wall and spoke in a pained voice.
“The control room operates the lift. The controls were there on the terminal, but there should have been an access point here too, I was sure of it.” He shook his head in disbelief. “I'm sorry boss, I thought there would be a way to control it. Security’s so tight in this place, it must only be able to be controlled from up there.”
“It's not your fault Jas. Don’t worry.” Clarke said as he smiled to his men calmly and stepped out of the lift’s doorway. Knowing they would protest, he gave them no chance to think.
“You boys are still getting out!” He grabbed the door. Millerchip, sensing Clarke’s plan just dived through the door in time as Clarke slammed it, instantly locking it shut trapping the remainder of bravo and Sarah inside. Sanchez and Hawkins leapt against the door banging their fists against it in angry protest.
“Clarke!” Sanchez shouted at him in pure rage and disbelief. “Don’t you dare! Don’t you fucking dare!”
Clarke ignored him and looked at Millerchip who was getting up after his dive out. “I wish you hadn’t done that.”
“I'm not losing another man Clarke. And I’m sure as hell not leaving one behind.” Clarke shook his head having no choice but to accept Millerchip’s actions.
“Boss! Clarke! Don’t do it! We can all find another way out!" Sanchez's voice was pleading to his leader and friend. "We are a team! We will get out together… somehow!” Sanchez’s voice was desperate. “You don’t need to save us Clarke! This burden you have, it's not your fault, London wasn't your fault!"
Clarke smiled at him and gave a soft nod of acknowledgement. "I know. I know that now. But either way, you boys are going to live. He turned to Millerchip and went to ask him to get back in, but stopped himself. The expression on his face already betrayed his answer.