Slimer

by Harry Adam Knight

  But he remained motionless in his seat, looking at her with a blank expression. Then he opened his mouth and the same black jelly that had been in the glass began to ooze out of his mouth. She screamed again and turned to Greg and Sheila for help. But they too were undergoing the same horrible transformation. Black slime was dripping from their mouths too and their eyes were black holes leading into a pit where something nameless lurked, waiting… waiting for her.

  She tried to run but then she saw that everyone in the beer garden looked the same. And they were moving in on her. She was surrounded. Trapped. And all alone.

  She shut her eyes and screamed.

  ***

  'Linda!'

  She was being shaken by the shoulder. It had her. She screamed louder.

  'LINDA! It's me, Paul. You were having a nightmare, that's all!'

  She opened her eyes. Paul was leaning over her. She was in a small room lit by a single lamp. Where am I? she wondered. Totally disorientated, she couldn't remember a thing at first, then it all came flooding back…

  She groaned. The nightmare wasn't over. They were still on the rig.

  'Linda? Are you okay?'

  She sat up on the bunk. The movement made the pain in her broken arm worse. 'I think so. What time is it?'

  'Almost six in the morning. I think we should get moving. I want to check the creature.'

  She remembered the events of a few hours ago. They had found the creature in a comatose state in the bathroom where it had got poor Mark. Paul decided that it had been affected by the heroin that Mark had just taken before he was absorbed by the thing. Excitedly, he told her they might have accidentally discovered an effective way of dealing with it…

  'If it was a simple poison the thing would just evolve the means of neutralising it,' he had said, 'but because it doesn't chemically perceive the heroin as a threat to its existence it's susceptible to it.'

  'Fine,' she said impatiently, trying to avoid looking at the horror on the floor but at the same time worried that it might suddenly spring to life, 'but how does that help us? It'll just wear off eventually.'

  'Not if we give it a massive overdoseV Paul had cried. 'Who knows - it might even kill it before it realises what's happening. At the very least it will knock it out of action for a few days and give us time to get away from here.'

  So they then' spent about half-an-hour dissolving the heroin in water and injecting it into the creature. Or rather Paul did all the injecting; she couldn't bring herself to go near the thing. Just being in the same room as the slimy mass with its ghastly outcrops of human and animal sec-tions was almost too much for her.

  They only used two thirds of the drug altogether. Paul decided to keep the rest in reserve. 'We'll come back in the morning. If it's dead - great! If not, we'll inject the rest of it and then make for the roof.'

  'We're not going up there now?' she'd asked.

  'No. I think we can risk grabbing some sleep in one of the cabins. We're both in need of some rest - you especially.'

  'Are you sure we can take the chance?' she asked.

  She prayed he would say yes - she couldn't imagine anything better than to be able to go to bed and sleep, even if it was only for a couple of hours.

  'Yes. I think so. The small amount of junk it got from Mark's body put it under for quite a time so all this we've pumped into it should really drop it in its tracks.'

  'I hope you're right,' she'd said, glancing briefly at the thing and looking away with a shiver.

  And now, five hours later, she felt just as exhausted and sore as before she'd gone to sleep. And the nightmare echoed in her mind like a nasty aftertaste…

  ***

  Her first try at getting off the bunk wasn't a success. On top of everything else she was very stiff. She looked at her bare legs and groaned. They were covered with dark bruises and ugly abrasions - a legacy from her encounter with the transformed Alex. And from the feel of her back and shoulder where Alex's claws had dug into her she was an even bigger mess.

  She picked up her jeans with her one good hand and began to struggle into them. As she did so she realised they stank. And so did her shirt. 'I need a bath,' she moaned.

  'You need a hospital,' Paul told her. He was already dres-sed and was strapping the flame-thrower onto his back. She saw that the few hours sleep hadn't done him much visible good either. He still looked haggard and there were lines on his face she'd never noticed before. He was only twenty-six but now he looked thirty-six. She guessed that the terrible events of the last couple of days were going to leave indelible marks on both of them.

  When she was ready Paul told her to carry the lamp. He was carrying both the flame-thrower and one of the Ml6s. Then they headed back to the bathroom where they'd found the creature. But when they arrived they got a shock.

  It was gone.

  The floor was bare. All that was left was Mark's pathetic pile of empty clothing.

  'Oh no,' groaned Linda. This meant the horror would continue. It was a nightmare. It would go on and on…

  'I don't believe it,' said Paul angrily. 'We injected enough heroin into it to drop a herd of elephants.'

  'It must have adapted to the drug after all. It sensed it was a form of poison and the Phoenix gene devised a protection against it…'

  Paul sighed. 'You're probably right. The damn thing just can't be killed.'

  'What do we do now?' she asked, nervously glancing behind her.

  'We head straight for the roof. Come on.'

  The nightmare feeling grew more pronounced as Linda followed him down the black corridor. It seemed they had been running from the creature for years - for an eternity. Would it never end? Or would they suffer the same fate as all the others? Was it simply playing with them? Like a sadistic little boy pulling the wings off a fly?

  Then came a bad moment when Paul admitted he was lost. But tg her relief he quickly got his bearings again and sounded confident that they were moving in the right direction again.

  'Not much further now,' he told her. 'The airlock leading to the outside door should be in the next corridor.'

  'Good,' she said. It would be marvellous to breathe fresh air again. Since the power had cut off the atmosphere had become increasingly stale.

  They were just turning into the corridor that led to the airlock when a nearby door suddenly opened and a man emerged. He was dressed in some sort of overalls and carry-ing a flashlight. Linda screamed.

  Paul's reaction was immediate. He spun round to face him, raising the barrel of the M16 at the same time. The man had taken only one step through the doorway when Paul fired.

  It was a replay of what had happened when Linda had shot 'Chris'. The fusillade of bullets at such close range blas-ted the man backwards off his feet and he disappeared into the darkness beyond the doorway.

  Not pausing to check the body Paul cried urgently, 'Quickly! Get moving before it has time to change!'

  They ran down the corridor and, to Linda's joy, the light from their lamp revealed the entrance to the airlock. And even better, the glass doors were open.

  Then, unbelievably, they were opening the outer door and stepping through onto a catwalk outside. Linda blinked in confusion as her senses were abruptly assaulted by a combi-nation of grey light, cold wind and wet rain. She stared at the heaving sea in fascination, as if she'd never seen it before.

  'The worst of the storm has passed, thank God,' said Paul, having to shout against the wind. 'But that swell is pretty bad…'

  Linda nodded. The sea was rising up the massive platform leg directly below them until it almost reached the catwalk on which they stood, before dropping away a considerable distance. She guessed it was a difference of some thirty or forty feet between the sea's peaks and the troughs.

  'We've got a long climb to the top,' yelled Paul. 'You think you can manage it now?'

  'Yes,' she said, turning off the lamp and hooking it onto her belt, 'Let's go…'

  'You go first,' he told her, 'a
nd be careful. The steps will be as slippery as hell.'

  He was right. Climbing up the steep gangways with only one arm to hang on with was difficult and she almost fell several times on the wet metal steps which were as smooth as ice.

  Paul had problems too, having to carry both the flame-thrower and the M16, but finally they made it to the second level from the top. Linda knew she would never be able to climb the ladder that led to the roof but then Paul discovered another gangway. It went up to the helicopter landing pad directly overhead.

  'We should be able to cross from there onto the roof,' said Paul. 'First we'll get you set up under shelter somewhere then I'll scout around the life boats and emergency lockers and see what I can find in the way of flares and stuff…'

  Linda was wet through and frozen to the bone when she at last emerged onto the helicopter pad. But then all thought of her acute discomfort fled from her mind.

  Sitting there on the pad was a large helicopter.

  It was painted bright yellow with the Brinkstone insignia on its side.

  'Oh Paul!' she cried, 'We're saved! We're saved!'

  Paul had hauled himself up the last few steps of the gang-way and was standing beside her, staring open-mouthed at the aircraft. For a moment he looked profoundly relieved, then his expression turned grim.

  'What's the matter?' she asked, 'Can't you see? We've been rescued!' Then, leaving him, she ran across the platform to the big machine and peered in through the large open door in its side. To her disappointment it was empty.

  'No one here,' she called to Paul as he approached. He was looking even grimmer.

  'I wish I knew how to fly one of these things,' he said.

  She frowned at him. She couldn't understand why he was reacting so strangely to their being rescued. 'Why? You don't have to. The pilot will fly it.'

  'The man down below. That was the pilot, Linda. And I killed him.'

  SIXTEEN

  Linda refused to believe it. 'No! That wasn't the pilot! You shot the creature!'

  'I wish I had,' said Paul bitterly. 'But think back - the guy was carrying a flashlight. The thing wouldn't do that. And that's why the airlock was open. He'd just come in from outside.' He shook his head. 'No. That was a real person I shot down there. I've just committed a murder…'

  'But you didn't know… and we can't be sure yet that was the pilot. You could be wrong.' Please say you're wrong, she pleaded silently. To be this close to rescue and then have their hopes dashed was ridiculous. It couldn't happen. It was too cruel.

  Paul didn't answer. He climbed into the machine and began to investigate its interior. She stood there helplessly, feeling the cold wind pluck at her tattered shirt with icy fingers. She had never experienced despair as overwhelming as this before. For a moment she contemplated going to the edge of the pad and throwing herself over the side.

  'It's a Sikorsky S-76,' came Paul's voice from inside the helicopter. 'It's pretty new too. These things haven't been in service long. It's supposed to be a good aircraft.'

  'Well, that is fascinating,' she said with heavy sarcasm. Then she decided to follow him into the machine. At least it would be warmer in there. 'You know everything Paul,' she said as she climbed in. 'Are you sure you wouldn't be able to fly this thing? Maybe you could get us as far as another oil platform? We could ditch in the sea beside it. Just as long as we could get away from here.'

  If he noticed her sarcasm he didn't give any sign of it. 'I know the basics of flying a helicopter,' he replied seriously, 'but that's light years away from actually being able to fly one. They're difficult things to handle, even for experienced pilots. If the weather conditions were perfect I might succeed in lifting her off the pad without smashing the tail rotor to pieces but I wouldn't bet on it. In this wind - forget it.'

  'So what are we going to do?' she demanded.

  'I don't know,' he said blandly. She didn't like the sound of his voice. It gave the impression that he'd given up at last. She watched worriedly as he climbed forward into one of the pilot's seats and started examining the control panel as if he was looking over a new car in a showroom. How long would it be, she wondered, before that thing followed them up here?

  She moved closer to Paul, peering over his shoulder at the maze ofdifferent instruments in front of him. Then she noticed something that sent a pulse of excitement through her. When he'd sat down he'd picked up a pilot's helmet from the seat and shifted it to the other one. Now there were two helmets resting on the other seat.

  She dug her fingers into Paul's shoulder. 'Paul, there are two of them! Two pilots! See, the helmets!'

  He looked at them for a long time and then turned to her. His eyes were alive again. 'Christ, you're right!' he exclaimed. He started to get up. 'We've got to find the other one, fast. Before it gets him…'

  'Go back in there again?' she cried. The thought of entering those dark corridors made her stomach muscles contract unpleasantly. 'No, I can't. Don't ask me to.'

  'Okay. You wait here.' He pushed past her and jumped down onto the pad.

  'Wait!'

  He stood there impatiently. 'Well, are you coming or not?'

  She didn't know what to do. She didn't want to go back inside again but neither did she want to be left on her own. She had the strong feeling that if she let Paul out of her sight she'd never see him alive again. Oh, she might see something that looked like Paul but how would she know for certain it was him?

  She took a deep breath. 'Okay,' she said reluctantly. 'I'll come with you.'

  'Hurry then.' He helped her out of the helicopter then headed for the gangway.

  'We'll go in the door we first entered on the top level,' he told her as they climbed down. 'I imagine they must have split up. One w.ent to the bottom level and the other one probably worked his way down from the top.'

  As they entered the passageway Paul's theory seemed correct because the airlock was standing open here too. They hurried through the corridors but could find no trace of the pilot.

  'He must already be down on one of the lower levels,' panted Paul.

  Of course he must be, thought Linda sourly, her heart thumping from both exertion and fear. It was too much to expect that they would locate him straight away without any trouble. The platform wasn't going to let them go that easily.

  But they didn't find him on the second level either.

  They went down to the next one… and immediately came face to face with Shelley.

  They almost collided with him as they turned a corner. He was staggering along in a kind of drunk's shuffle. When he saw them he slumped against the wall and raised a hand. 'No, don't shoot! You must listen to me…'

  Paul was already aiming the M16. But he held his fire. Linda guessed that after his accidental shooting of the pilot he was going to have difficulty in using the gun again, even against the creature.

  'Don't waste your time talking,' he snarled, 'you're not Shelley. This is just another of your tricks. You're Charlie or Phoenix or whatever and I'm going to blow your head off…'

  'It's no trick!' cried Shelley. 'I'm still me… I'm the last one left in here with my own personality intact… but I don't know how much longer I can hold out. You must listen to what I have to say, it's vitally important…'

  'I don't believe you,' said Paul. But he didn't shoot.

  'It's dying,' gasped Shelley. 'You have succeeded where I and all my colleagues, with our scientific resources, failed. You have found a way to destroy the Phoenix…'

  'What do you mean?' asked Paul suspiciously.

  Shelley was barely able to stand upright. His limbs were shaking and his face had the pallor of a man in the last stages of a terminal illness. Linda was reminded of the way Mark had looked before…

  'The heroin,' said Shelley. 'Your idea to inject the creature with heroin was a master-stroke…'

  'But it didn't kill it. It's still…you're still alive.'

  'Yes, but it is dying. Slowly but surely. And it can't evolve a defence against
what's killing it.'

  'Why?' asked Paul. 'I thought it could protect itself against anything.'

  'Yes, but…' Shelley groaned and slid slowly down the wall until he was sitting on the floor. With an obvious effort he spoke again. 'By overdosing it with heroin you have made it totally dependent on the drug. Now it is experiencing fatal withdrawal symptoms. It can't evolve a defence against this threat because it has become its own enemy. The Phoenix is self-destructing… its own body is destroying it and it can't do a thing about it…' He closed his eyes.

  There was a period of silence until Paul said dubiously, 'I'd like to believe that.'

  'It's true. The only thing that will keep the creature alive is another dose of heroin.' He opened his eyes. 'There's none left, is there?'

  'No,' said Linda quickly. Shelley might be telling the truth - she was more than half-convinced herself - but if he wasn't it would be stupid to let the thing know about the rest of the heroin that Paul was carrying. And besides, if this was Shelley he was probably feeling an urgent need of a fix himself. He was, after all, sharing the same body as the thing.

  Paul backed her up. 'We used it all. Your creature would have to travel a long, long way to reach another supply.'

  'Good,' sighed Shelley. 'Then it's definitely over. We will have destroyed this monstrosity that we so foolishly brought into the world.' A violent shudder ran through his body and for a second or two his face seemed to shimmer out of focus. Then he was back. 'Won't be much longer,' he said weakly. 'It's beginning to break down inside.'

  'How much longer before you… you…?' asked Paul.

  A flicker of a smile appeared on Shelley's lips. 'Die? Possibly only minutes. But don't be sorry for me. I look forward to the release that death will bring. At least I didn't suffer the fate of my friends and colleagues… I have stayed myself to the end. I wasn't… taken… by that horror. I only lost my body… not my soul...'

  'There's one more question,' said Paul urgently. 'You've got to tell us - is there only one creature?'