Cellular Activity- The Djinn

by Francesco Mazzotta

  Moore and Ivanov look each other, the woman terrified by the knowledge that the story of the Russian might really not be the lie that she secretly hoped it was.

  «My God», she stammers. «This means that...»

  «The boy isn't human anymore, and we can say the same thing for the wounded soldier», replies the man, while collecting the charred remains of the creature with tweezers, and dropping them into the container with the corrosive solution.

  Vasquez approaches the two with suspicion, his face is pale as he tries to get into contact with the two soldiers guarding Ahmed's cell. «They don't respond, dammit! Neither Major Macready!»

  «Let's hurry», says Moore. «Take us to the room where you hold the boy!»

  The soldier won't be asked twice. The three walk out of the soundproof lab and run through the two long corridors that separate them from the room where they hope to find Ahmed.

  When they reach the door they notice the absence of the two guards. They turn the corner of the corridor to look inside the room through the side window.

  Their bewilderment is equal to the anguish and terror they feel when, turned the corner, they face a gruesome scene. The observation window is broken from the inside. On the ground and on the walls are large splashes of blood and whitish mucus. There is no trace of the guards that were standing there.

  Helicopter crash site

  Men in bio-hazard suits work frantically around the carcass of the CH-47. The flames swirl violently, producing a thick dark pillar of smoke.

  The nervous voices of the men mix with the noise of the CO2 fire-extinguishers' jets struggling against the roaring flames.

  The aircraft crashed for no apparent reason, about two thirds of the distance between the location of the plane disaster and the US base. No messages, no requests for assistance. The military found it quickly by the smoke rising from the burning wreckage.

  They take a good dozen minutes to extinguish the fire. Once done, the soldiers must wait until the temperature drops down to tolerable limits. The area is fogg y because of the haze generated by the fire extinguishers, which disappears slowly despite the heat of the daylight.

  The helicopter has broken into two main pieces, which had dug deep furrows in the sand. One of the big propeller blades pops out from the side of a low dune, distant one hundred meters.

  The aircraft's tail appears emptied; the crates with the equipment and other objects are strewn on the ground, scattered over a wide radius.

  The shape of the cabin is practically intact. A few sharp blades along the edge are the remnant of the windshield, now crumbled. Everything is charred.

  The spectacle before the rescuers, as the fog clears, leaves no doubt about the causes that led to this new tragedy. The interior looks like it came from a grotesque version of a painting by Salvador Dali. The plastic parts are melted and deformed, making a sort of caricature of their original appearance. However, this is not what fills the witnesses of the scene with a silent dismay.

  They can clearly see the bodies of two men at the controls. From the face of one of them it is still possible to recognize the pilot of the aircraft. The man's mouth is frozen in an expression of anguish and pain. His chest is raised as a careened sternum, and a gash in the suit shows the snarling face of a creature that should not exist. The other body is unrecognizable and disfigured. It has three arms, one of which pops out from the right side of the basin and is horribly distorted. The neck is bent backward and stretched, to fade into a huge amorphous and bulbous mass, that holds together both the unfortunate passengers. Bizarre shapes appear on its surface... Distorted faces, human clumsy-looking limbs, aberrant appendages that resemble parts of an insect and unrecognizable structures that seem to blend the kingdoms of nature.

  «... Matt Serum, medical unit, said the helicopter was carrying part of the recovered remains, and six of our soldiers, including Waters, the medical officer», says one of the soldiers, holding back the urge to vomit. «No communication, no SOS.»

  His words, however, don't reach the conscious sphere of Macready. Thoughtful and absent, he looks at the scene through the visor of his bio-hazard suit.

  Ironside is next to him, a mixture of conflicting emotions stirring on his face. «What is the current situation at the site of the crash of the Boeing?», he asks the soldier.

  «Men have almost finished loading the remains on one of the trucks, they should...»

  «NO!», Ironside interrupts him abruptly. «Contact them immediately, order them to incinerate anything that can burn. Make sure that no trace is left of the bodies, then make sure that the soldiers haste to go back to the base as soon as possible. No one must be left alone, tell them to move in groups of three people.»

  The soldier seems to falter, throwing quick glances at Major Macready, as if awaiting confirmation of the newly received orders.

  «This is an order, for Christ's sake!», adds Ironside raising his voice. The soldier moves away, when another marine, coming from the vehicle with TLC instrumentation, approaches running, turning to Macready.

  «Sir, sergeant Jennings is on line. He asked to speak to you, he says it's urgent.»

  No reply.

  «Sir!», the marine raises his voice, to call to mind the Major. This one turns slowly towards him, his eyes have a faraway look, as if staring at another portion of the universe from an infinite distance.

  Without a word, Macready walks towards the military communications vehicle that is about thirty meters ahead, shortly followed by Ironside.

  USA base CNT222

  The door leading to the cafeteria and the recreational area on the second level of the base slide to its side, revealing a back-lit curvy figure.

  «A-ha, that's a good one!»

  Constantine Delgado steps out, smiling to an exchange of jokes with the cleaners who are working near two vending machines. The woman crosses the threshold holding a big plastic cup of dark and fragrant coffee, she heads to the left, toward the elevator.

  The base is strangely silent. Almost all the military personnel is at work somewhere on the desert surface. The only people left inside are those busy in the warehouse, the cleaners, those guarding the armory, the plants technicians and a few others. The empty and lifeless corridors seem almost surreal.

  A cigarette on the surface is what it takes... She thinks while walking toward the elevator.

  The cabin is open and there's a man inside, fiddling with the controls. He wears a bio-hazard protective suit, his face is hidden by a mask with a dark visor. The woman is just a couple of meters from the opening and hints a hello to the figure inside, which ignores her and keeps pressing the buttons repeatedly. Delgado doesn't have time to make another step because the sliding doors close, leaving her at the floor.

  What an asshole...

  Delgado presses a couple of times the button to call back the elevator, watching the red LED display switching from two to three. Whoever it was, he headed to the third floor, the deeper one.

  Why such a hurry?

  The harmonious silhouette of the woman contrasts with the white surface of the sliding doors while waiting for the cabin to come back to her floor. After a moment a hissing sound tells her that the elevator is moving again. Anyway, it doesn't stop at her floor, the cabin proceeds upwards, keeping moving in front of her eyes. Constantine feels impatient, and presses the call button again, wondering what criteria they used to program the elevator's stopping priorities.

  How was that old saying: the other queue always goes faster...

  A distant rustling, mixed with the sound of several quick steps, makes her turn around.

  A group of soldiers pops out of the curve of the corridor. Everyone is wearing bio-hazard suits, like the man who was in the elevator a few seconds earlier, although these ones carry assault rifles.

  It must be the team that arrived with the jet along with the two civilians...

  The woman turns to the elevator, which is slow in coming, as the footsteps of the soldiers b
ehind her get closer, finally stopping just behind her.

  She already had a chance to take a glimpse of the newcomers. Taciturn individuals, with dark and gloomy looks. People who lived in hellish situations, losing each time a part of their humanity. They are only five now, and Constantine doesn't remember having seen the others around, after their arrival.

  They may be somewhere else in the area...

  Or maybe the others are in the armory, on the third basement, where that other has just gone...

  They probably split into two teams that operate in shifts...

  Even if... they don't have the look of people used to things like working hours...

  How long does it take to get here?

  She doesn't like too much the idea of having those G.I. Joe behind her. Not a gesture, not a greeting, and she is aware of their eyes x-raying her from head to toes behind their darkened visors. She takes a sip of coffee, to dampen the waiting, focusing on its taste.

  A beep signals the arrival at the floor. The elevator opens slowly and, with relief, Constantine steps forward to enter.

  The woman has just made a step when a figure comes out of the cabin, bumping violently on her and making her spill the coffee on the ground.

  What the fuck?!?

  The man clings with one hand to her shoulder, leaning with his weight and pushing her off balance. Delgado reacts instinctively, putting her feet down and balancing her legs to support the weight of the man.

  She looks at him, recognizing him as Desmond Majo, a black giant from Detroit, one of the two soldiers that were guarding the Berber boy found near the crash site.

  «Help me Delgado!», he whispers, almost gasping, turning to the woman he has clung with one hand. He tightens his abdomen.

  She supports him, experiencing a feeling of moist heat on one hand. Delgado turns to the soldiers behind her. These have taken a step back, raising their guns. «What the hell are you looking at? Give me a hand!»

  The soldiers don't move, merely pointing assault rifles at the woman and the man who exited the elevator.

  «He is wounded! Shit, what's up with you?!?» She blurts.

  At a gesture from one of the soldiers, two of them drop their guns and approach to help the man. Delgado steps away, looking at her bloody hands. She feels a persisting heat. Her palms burn, as if she has just touched something very hot for too long. «Let's get him to the infirmary», she exclaims, leading the soldiers to a door, just past the corner of the corridor.

  The soldiers carry the wounded man. They quickly follow Delgado and put down the soldier on a stretcher, then hurry to leave the infirmary stepping outside with their weapons ready. Inside there is only one of them left: their leader.

  Meanwhile the woman tries to clean her hands as best as she can on a big roll of paper towels. Disappointed by the inexplicable behavior of the team of soldiers, she promises herself to report to Redmond about this. Then she turns to provide assistance to the injured man.

  «Desmond, what happened?», asks the woman, while rummaging in a locker to retrieve a first aid kit.

  «I don't know, I don't fucking know. Aah!»

  «Hold still, here... Rest your head here. Leave it to me now, I got it.»

  The man tells what happened with delirious voice interrupted occasionally by strained verses.

  «That little bastard broke the handcuffs and stood up. He pulled off his hood and approached the observation glass. He was standing there, motionless staring at us for I don't know how long. No eyelid beating and it seemed he was not breathing either. Then... suddenly he started to shiver... to slam... Something...», says the injured soldier in one breath, while grimacing in pain. «Something popped out of that guy... It broke through the glass grabbing Syd.»

  Man coughs, spitting a lump of bloody mucus. His voice sounds hoarse as he goes on. «I tried to help him, but that... that...». Another coughing, while the man crouches moaning, seized by violent spasms. «I don't know what the hell it was but it was weird and pissed off! It hit me! That son of a bitch hit me!»

  Hearing those words, the soldier leading the squad of military in bio-hazard suits turns and walks out to join the team. The group of soldiers walks away, heading quickly toward the elevator.

  Delgado stays with Majo. The man rests on the stretcher and seems to have lost consciousness.

  She takes a sharp scissors, and quickly cuts the uniform of the wounded man to access his skin.

  Disgust draws on her face, while looking at a deep laceration with jagged edges that pierces the abdomen of the man just on the left of his navel, going up to the right side of the chest.

  Trying to ignore the burning feeling that still grips her hands, Delgado takes a bottle of disinfectant, pouring enough on the wound. The man's skin contracts when the liquid touches it. A soft gurgling sounds inside.

  Without noticing it, the woman hastes to prepare the necessary to suture the wound. Her fingers have lost all feeling.

  After a number of unsuccessful attempts, everything is ready to fix Majo's abdomen. Using a sterile gauze, the woman tries to lift one of the edges of the wound, to align them before suturing.

  However, a movement catches her eye.

  Something pale stirs for a moment inside the wound, like a muscle that contracts due to a spasm.

  The woman slowly and gently rests her hands on the wound's edges, enlarging them just enough to expose the underlying tissue. Stifling her disgust she observes what looks like a tiny whitish sphere, no bigger than a golf ball. The surface is clear and translucent, and she can see something moving fluttering inside.

  Under the astonished gaze of Delgado, thin capillaries draw on the bulbous surface, while a darker area seems to move up, surfacing from the inside and taking shape on the top. The wonder quickly gives way to horror when she realizes that the strange globular mass is rapidly taking the shape of a human eye.

  Unable to formulate a thought, Constantine observes the appearance of an iris pigmentation with a greenish color gradient. Shortly thereafter a pupil emerges, small at first, then quickly expanding to fill almost the entire iris. Then it narrows as disturbed by the light. Then the body of the eye is complete and comes to life, moving quickly as if to scan at the environment around it.

  The woman lets out a cry of anguish, realizing that she has completely lost the sensitivity of the hands and arms up to the elbow. Despite her efforts she is unable to look away from the mutation in the flesh of the wounded colleague.

  The eye formed in the abdomen of the unconscious soldier quickly darts in different directions, finally staring at her. It watches her for a long moment, during which she realizes that behind that eye something superhuman has just become aware of her presence. The man's body begins to shake with violent convulsions.

  In a panic, she takes a few steps backward until her back hits the infirmary door. She turns, raising her right hand to press the internal release control, but at the sight of her own hand she is petrified.

  The limb is swollen and distorted. The fingers seem to have come to a life of their own and they are moving, surging and bending in such absurd angles as to tear deep into her palm.

  At that moment the lights in the base go off completely, plunging the entire floor in total darkness.

  A hoarse moan comes from the man lying on the stretcher behind her...

  Algerian Desert

  On the trail of the raiders

  Sergeant Kain Seagull looks at the desert through binoculars, focusing the instrument on a tiny dot in the distance between the dunes. He is the first to sight the white jeep used by the raiders. «Eleven o'clock, Jeff», he communicates to the driver, who promptly steers, heading to that direction.

  Their vehicle slows to a stop about three hundred meters from the other car. Seagull inspects it through his binoculars, while on the roof of the military vehicle, Will Bailey watches the same scene through the viewfinder of his inseparable M82. The vision is shaky, due to the extreme heat of the blazing sun.


  «Will, can you see anything?»

  «Negative, the car seems abandoned in place. No suspicious movement around.»

  «Keep your eyes wide open. Jeff, let's move carefully, it may be an ambush.»

  At that moment, electrostatic discharges emerge from their intercom. For some seconds they hear voices, but the signal is disturbed and makes them incomprehensible.

  «Roger, what the hell was that?», Seagull asks to the fourth marine, a lanky guy with traces of juvenile acne, the communications officer.

  «I have a poor radio signal. I think it was the voice of Jennings, but I can neither contact him nor the base.»

  «Holy shit!», says Seagull annoyed. «Keep trying, it may be important.»

  * * *

  Meanwhile, the Humvee carrying the team led by Jennings jumps, while Ralph tries desperately a compromise between speed and safety, driving on a very bumpy ground made from sand and rocks.

  Jennings lets out a series of expletives, while trying to establish contact with Seagull's team.

  The horrible death of Christer Black has had a profound effect on their mental state. They have experience in the field, they have witnessed previously the death of many others. However, the brutal, grotesque and horrifying unexpected episode they have just experienced brought them into a new territory. An unexplored elsewhere where the only certainty is that they are no longer on top of the food chain. A new universe of fear and uncertainty with which they have to live hoping to bring back home their skin.

  The encounter with the creature was something that none of them could ever be ready for.

  Sergeant Gold Jennings hoped that Major Macready could somehow have some reassuring answers.

  But this was unlikely. On the contrary, while he spoke, describing what happened to Black, he had the feeling that the man on the other side of the communication system was as shocked as he was.