“Close it,” Mason said.
Seconds later, the door closed, and a welding torch began to seal them in.
3
They stared at each other awkwardly. “I guess we're in this together now, whether we like it or not,” AJ said.
Gideon picked himself up and straightened. He was looking better now, the effects of Melvin's little concoction wearing off. At his full height, he was taller than both of his companions. “Who are you people? And what the hell am I doing here? You know that asshole out there hit me? He actually hit me!” he said, looking around like he expected to find a lawyer hiding behind a cabinet.
“We didn't get a chance to meet yet, Doc. I'm AJ Trenton. This here is my friend, Henry Jones. There was another person with us before, a girl. We were brought here to... well, to consult, you might say.”
“Pleased to meet you, I guess.”
“How are you feeling?”
The man shrugged, his orange coat too big on his shoulders. “Aside from being back in here? How the hell are we going to get out?”
AJ looked at the doctor and then over to his friend. If Dutch was freaked out, he was hiding it well. The situation didn't seem real yet, maybe because it all happened so fast. “Well, this place worked once. I guess they figured it would hold people again. How did you survive, anyway?”
The man giggled. It was a strange sound coming from an adult male. “There's plenty to drink, if that's what you're wondering!”
“Not any more,” Dutch said. He was looking through the refrigerator and through the cabinets. “No more bottles.”
Gideon looked over his shoulder, and his face went ashen. AJ wasn't sure he liked that look any better than hysteria.
“They must have moved everything out. I don't think our imprisonment here is a spur-of-the-moment kind of thing. They must have been waiting for an opportunity to get us separated.”
“You think it's true, what they said about Kate?” Dutch asked.
“I don't know. I didn't hear any shots, did you?”
“You didn't even hear the boat.”
“But you must have.”
Dutch settled his butt against the counter. “Yeah I did, and I didn't hear any shots.”
“They must have left her there.”
“Or drowned her. They'd have a hell of a time getting you and me underwater, but her?”
Gideon began to pace back and forth, his hands threatening to rip out chunks of his own hair. “Okay, okay, great! So no shots. No shots! But we're trapped in here. Right back to square one, you might say. Not just a chair this time. Can you build a welder? If not, then we'll be eating each others' corpses within the week.”
AJ actually laughed. The guy was nuts but not humorless. “Can you make a welder?”
“Me? Hell no. I'm just a biologist, for Christ's sake.”
“I'm sure Bruhbaker was counting on that.”
“Bruhbaker?”
“He's the asshole,” Dutch said, “the one who hit you.”
“Oh.”
AJ started around the room. He was scanning his memory, going over every detail he could remember. He wasn't on the engineering team, but he was well-familiar with the blueprints. It had been part of his job to know the place inside and out. The kitchen, of all places. It hadn't exactly been high on the list of security risks.
“Hey Doc,” Dutch said. “Maybe you want to calm down and tell us more about what we're facing?”
“What do you mean?”
“I don't know if you noticed, but it's a freakin' jungle outside. Those Carrion things are everywhere now.”
“They grow fast, don't they?”
“We noticed,” AJ said. He was over in the corner now, looking at one of the big, industrial stoves. Heat was always a concern, so the primary ventilation system ran...
“There are more of them than when I was outside last,” Gideon said. “When I heard the gunfire I expected... I don't know what I expected. I guess I expected hazmat teams and a government quarantine. I should have known VO would be trying to clean up its own mess.”
“With extreme prejudice,” AJ said. He had begun yanking the stove away from the wall. It was heavy, but it had wheels. “Dutch, you got a penny?”
His buddy tossed him a ten-centavos Chilean coin and went back to examining the door. It didn't look like he was having any luck.
“What I don't get is why they didn't shoot us. If they're trying to kill us, I mean,” Gideon said.
AJ knelt down and examined the space behind the stove. He found the screws he was looking for and starting twisting one of them with the coin. “They can't. Sooner or later, there will be hazmat teams and a government investigation. If our bodies are riddled with bullets, there will be too many questions. Mason was right about that. It might be the easy thing, but he cares too much about Black Shadow's reputation to risk it. Ever since Baghdad, the private sector has been very cautious when it comes to bodies. You got to imagine that goes double for the vice president's daughter.”
“What? Who?” Gideon asked.
“The girl,” Dutch said.
“They can deny we were ever a part of the investigation to begin with. They can claim we ended up here of our own accord.”
“That doesn't make any sense,” Gideon said.
Dutch shook his head. “My buddy's right. Without hard evidence, who's going to prove otherwise? They could make our contract disappear on a whim.”
AJ picked the heavy metal frame off of the wall and tossed it to the floor. It clanged against the counter, snapping everyone's attention back to him. He looked at them. “There's bad news and worse news.”
“Let's hear it.”
“I found the main ventilation system. It goes out the wall here and through the floor,” he said, pointing. “That's actually good news because it goes out of the building. The bad news is that it'll be a tight fit, if we can squeeze through at all.”
“And the worse news?”
“It's a fifty foot drop to the water. I don't see any rope, do you?”
“What about the windows? Have we tried those yet?”
AJ shook his head. “They're shatterproof. You couldn't break one of those with a sledgehammer.”
“I know, I tried,” Gideon said. “I mean, not that I had a real hammer or anything.”
Dutch let out a breath. “Well, there's no waiting it out, I guess.”
AJ looked at him. “I don't know about you, but I'm not counting on the government moving in for another two or three days. If the Shadow team manages to hold off the authorities, we'll be just as dead. In fact, I think that's their plan. Besides, you heard what Doctor Grey here said about how fast that stuff is growing. I'm not sure I want to wait until it drags the whole damned place down with it.”
“You don't think...” Dutch began.
“I don't think it can move, but it could grow heavy enough to topple the platform. This place may look solid, but you got to remember that it entered the water horizontally and was tipped ninety degrees into place. It could tip back if the supports break.”
They were quiet. Every groan of wind became an unbearable din. They could feel the strain of the place all around them, their prison getting smaller by the moment. No one mentioned the cut on Doctor Grey's head. No one mentioned the fact that—if they stayed—he might be as prone to The Carrion spores as the original crew, and it probably wouldn't take a full three days before something happened.
Dutch bent down and examined the hole in the wall. He threw his jacket down and started taking off his shirt. “Well, now or never.”
“Not yet,” AJ said. He knew what came next, and it wasn't pleasant.
“What are you do—”
AJ grabbed Gideon by the scruff of the neck, bending him backwards over the counter.
Gideon flailed. “What the—”
“If we're going out there, I want you tell me one more thing, Doc. It's something you neglected to mention in your little speech to Bruhbaker and
company.”
“What... what's that?”
“I want to know what happened to the crew. You see, I know where they were. They hunted down your friends and kept you inside this room. That's what you said, right? But what I want to know is where they are. Because as you've noticed, it's been awfully quiet, and I have a feeling we're not really alone, are we Doctor?” AJ saw the man's face change, and he suddenly felt a ghost step over his grave. How had Mason not thought to ask him? He had smashed the doc before he had a chance to spill it.
Gideon squirmed.
“You can start talking, or we can toss you down that goddamned vent shaft and let you drown in the water below. What do you say?” AJ released him, and the doctor bounced back to his full height.
“Oh,” the man said, rubbing his throat. “That won't be necessary. Certainly not.”
So, he told them.
4
The gunk oozing from the arm-sized tentacle stank unlike anything Jin had smelled in his life. The closest approximation was Mama's Canh Chua. Jin's best friend in middle school had been this Vietnamese kid named John Choy. He used to invite him over to his house, but on Sundays, his mom made this stew with fish parts and oils that smelled like rotting pussy. John said it was called Canh Chua, but why he insisted on putting Mama's before it, Jin never knew. He did know he never had the stomach to try it, and on some level, it was responsible for why he detested most Vietnamese people on sight now. They were just so goddamned dirty, maybe because they could eat shit like that without flinching. Old Johnny used to just love his Mama's Canh Chua.
“You having fun down there?”
Bending over the railing, Jin looked up and saw Peter gazing down from the level above. Christian stood next to him, and the two of them looked unbearably pleased about something.
Jin held up a plastic bag filled with the fungus. It was a viscous black color, full of chunks where he'd chopped at the thing. It looked like he'd been prospecting for hobo shit. “You want to help?”
By way of reply, Peter scrunched his cheeks and let a gob of spit fall down towards him. It was thick with tobacco juice. Jin dodged, pulling his head in and nearly smashing it on a steel pulley. “Now that's disgusting.” He heard laughter above, stuck his head back out, and shot the pair of them the bird. Then he turned back to his gear, making a mental note to add Italians to his list of inferior dirt eaters. “You're a fucking animal, St. Croix,” he yelled. They absolutely howled.
How they could be laughing, he didn't know. They were in the middle of some weird shit, and they were a long way from out of the woods. He supposed they were gloating now that the security specialist was out of the way. What happened to doing a good day's work and going the fuck home? Jesus, you didn't have to gloat, especially when a man's life was at stake. But whatever. One day, he'd be free of these psychos and be able to open his own consulting firm. This bloody field work had to go.
He threw his baggie to the ground and picked up his tool kit. Good, he thought. Back to my real job. It's not like they couldn't pay some other dipshit to collect the samples they wanted. But of course, it's Jin for the grunt work... again! Always the goddamned Asian guy.
Not that he was complaining. He'd rather spend two hours down here than five minutes with those monkeys up top. As far as repairs went though, things weren't as bad as he had thought. With a little elbow grease, he thought he could repair the antenna and restore the short range radio. Mason said there was some kind of interference going on, but he was on his own for that one. Jin had had just about enough of figuring out other people's problems. At least if he got the radio running, Bruhbaker would be happy. “Well, probably not,” he said to himself. “Jin, fix the derrick while you're it. You got time, right? Oh, and find out what's going on with the cell phones. Just out of curiosity, where are those sub-sea repeaters? Do you think you could get to those? Jesus, you're the smart one. College boy. Hurry it up!” But...
Whatever.
“You need some help down there?”
Jin poked his head back over the rails to see that Peter and Christian had calmed down.
“Seriously,” Peter said. “The place is secure. You don't want to be taking any chances with the ropes.”
“Thanks, but I don't think so.”
“Suit yourself, China-man.”
Jin hated being called China-man, especially since he wasn't Chinese. Not to mention the term was downright racist, and that's not shit you were supposed to say out loud in a professional environment.
“I think I'll be just fine without you two idiots.”
Christian hocked a spit down at him then, the loogie passing considerably closer than Peter's had.
“Piss off!”
The pair of them cackled like old crones and disappeared. He could hear them talking above, but he was too tired to give a shit. “I hope you rot.”
Jin found his backpack and brought out his harness. He would have to do a little rope work to get to the antenna cables, but that was fine. He was a professional goddammit, even if he was surrounded by morons. Peter had saved his bacon earlier, and Jin didn't forget that. As talented as the man was though, he just wasn't firing on all cylinders.
There were already support systems in place for a rope access technician, so Jin had no problems strapping in. He made sure the rope was well-secured, then stepped over the rails and perched his feet on the ledge. One of the huge, black tendrils lay just in front of him, the water fifty feet below. He made sure he had his equipment—tool kit, gloves, wiring—then floated out over empty space. The ropes held fast, but he discovered the cable he wanted was just out of reach; the tentacle was in the way.
It was massive. Jin guessed it could be eight feet wide, and the smell was unbelievable. Mama's fish stew, he thought, reaching into his shirt and pulling up a painter's mask. Oh Johnny, you fucking dirt eater. If this didn't deserve extra hazard pay, he didn't know what did.
The thing in front of him wasn't opaque like the smaller tentacles he'd cut. This one was different, and it looked translucent when he got close. There was a fluid moving inside of it, giving the thing an awful, undulating appearance. There was something else too, some... shape.
He pulled himself closer still, bringing a gloved hand up as if to touch it. There really was something inside, and it was moving. He inched his face closer, wanting to see just what the hell it was.
That's when the thing inside opened its eyes and looked back.
Chapter 14: Purpose
The Island:
February, 1939
1
Beneath the earth, Dominik sat on a cold gray table in the middle of a cold gray room, surrounded by his colleagues. At least, that's how he had begun to think of them. The others each had a purpose, each had their own expertise. When they were down here, they weren't so different from any other research group in the real world, and each day, he clung to that idea to keep himself sane. Just four scientists doing a job, together at the lab.
Beside him, Ari was sitting on the floor with one hand on his knee. The man called Ettore stood across from them, pensive as always, and next to him, the last prisoner, Thomas Frece. Doctor Kriege was not there. It seemed the führer of their little ensemble, like the grand Führer himself, was a late sleeper.
“So we abandon the radiation theory,” Dominik said.
Ari shook his head. “We may have to. I've never seen anything like it.”
“I believe Mister Kaminski is correct. It's the melanin,” Ettore offered. “That would explain the color, in any case. Did you take a look at my temperature measurements?”
Frece took an aggressive step forward. “Excuse me, are you a biologist? Because you're starting to sound like one. There's only one biologist here, and he's not doing a damned thing.”
In fact, Dominik had done plenty. He'd even started keeping a journal at Kriege's request, an old red notebook cataloging their theories and experiences. Arguing wouldn't get him anywhere with Frece though, and he kept silent.<
br />
“My measurements indicate that the temperature inside the terrarium increased dramatically after exposure, and the increase was proportionate to the amount of radiation we pumped in,” Ettore said placidly. He indicated a series of charts. “See for yourself.”
The proof was there, and like it or not, Frece was going to have to come around to it. Because the fungus—what Gideon Grey called The Carrion and what the current troupe could only think of as the growths—wouldn't die. When cut, they healed. When chopped into parts, they grew like earthworms. When starved of food and air, they simply waited. Most recently, Frece had tried hitting it with gamma rays, alpha radiation, and exposed it directly to plutonium 239 bombarded with neutrons. Even that had no effect. The growths burned at high temperatures, but a solution like that wouldn't serve The Reich. They wanted something to control it. That was their goal, the four of them: control that which could not be controlled.
Ari sighed. “It's converting all types of ionizing radiation to heat. That's what you're saying, isn't it?”
“It's doing more than that,” Ettore said. “It's growing. Its mass and girth will increase proportional to the amount of gamma rays we pump in. In fact, there doesn't seem to be an upper limit. It's quite extraordinary.”
“Yeah,” Frece said. “Just great.”
“Again, we're back to the melanin. That was your theory, Dominik, and you believe it's true?”
Dominik looked up and saw that they were all watching him. “We've known about certain types of extremophile fungi for a little while: organisms that thrive in extreme temperatures or in extremely low PHP values. We've theorized that some could exist under the effects of ionizing radiation. I've never encountered any myself, though,” he added quickly.
“But it's not mysterious. The conversion of gamma rays to heat energy is chemical?” Ettore said, leading him.
“Oh yes. I'm quite certain it's due to the high concentration of melanin. We know that it can buffer some of the effects of ionizing radiation in mammals. In this case, the organism has a more efficient means of not only absorbing it, but converting it directly into energy.”
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