Cellular Activity- The Djinn
Page 21
Son of a bitch...
«Come on», Macready hisses. «Slowly. No sudden movements.»
The scientist pushes the desk just enough to go by, then he reaches the center of the room.
«Kneel!»
The man obeys, his eyes bouncing from one soldier to another.
«What happened?», Macready asks. «Where's Dr. Moore?»
The Russian hesitates at first, then he sums up what happened, telling how he and the scientist were attacked by the creature. «After the explosions I haven't seen her, she fled to the elevator. I was stuck on this floor. I walked through that opening in the wall and I hid here until you came.»
Macready stares at him. He doesn't trust that man, much less now that he may be one of those creatures.
The scientist seems to realize the doubts in the soldiers mind. «Please, you must believe me. We have to get out of here. I... I know I'm human, and I'm the only one who can help you kill the creature. With Dr. Moore we have found a test that will work for sure.»
«What kind of tests?»
The scientist swallows. «A blood test, but I need chemical reagents, and the lab is destroyed.»
Macready appears undecided whether to believe or not to the Russian, time goes by slowly.
«Twenty-five minutes, sir», Howe's clearly nervous voice.
The Major lingers still for a moment, then takes his decision. «Howe, Tony, let's bring Dr. Ivanov with us. Keep him at a safe distance and don't take your eyes off him for no reason whatsoever.»
The four men make their way into the corridor, to the room with the armored door, when somewhere behind them resonates an indefinable verse.
A low and prolonged moan, issued by something inhuman.
Boeing crash site
The roaring of the main rotor of the Bell UH-1Y Venom gets louder while the propeller increases its speed, rising a circular sand wave all around the helicopter. Its powerful headlights illuminate the area below, drawing an oval, which widens and blurs on the ground as the chopper takes off.
Redmond sits in the pilot's seat, Ironside occupies the co-pilot's place. Behind them, lined up on two benches that run parallel to the sides of the cabin, there are some of the soldiers who were at the site of the Boeing crash, including one of the doctors, Matt Serum, and Lieutenant Samuel Bishop.
The helicopter rotates slowly on its axis, illuminating a small line of military vehicles which starts a slow procession to return to the base.
Ironside's voice can be barely heard over the roar generated by the motor. «Still no contact with the others?»
«Negative, sir, we have tried repeatedly to communicate with them, but no answer so far.»
Ironside is tense and nervous. He has the clear feeling that the situation is worsening, and an imminent danger is hanging over them like a Damocles' sword. The man closes his eyes for a moment, rubbing his temples and eyelids in a vain attempt to find a glimmer of inner stillness. A feeling of anguish and nausea makes its way into his subconscious, like a trickle of rotten and smelly mud that's overlaying his thoughts.
He has seen what happened to the other helicopter. The remains of the pilots and passengers are still before his mind's eyes. He can still see the chilling vision of the twisted creature, the deformed inharmonious limbs born out of a nightmare.
He turns back, looking at the interior of the cabin, and at the men that sit on the two side benches. He knows that inside one of them, or even more than one, one of those monstrous beings may be hiding.
The men sit silent, they're exhausted.
Ironside turns back, taking a deep breath. He closes his eyes again for some moments, recalling to his mind the face of his wife, Taisha, and of their infant daughter, Darla. His world seems light years away. The man hesitates for a moment on the thought of those two, on that feeling of warmth, on the smell of home, of hearth, and shivers like a lizard craving a ray of sunshine on a gray and cold morning.
The feeling of unease pops out again in his soul, as if an invisible syringe is injecting a foreign element. For a moment he's touched by the idea that the creature may reach a town...
With his mind's eyes Ironside sees again the party in his garden: women chatting... children chasing each other while shouting out loudly... laughs, streamers and colorful balloons...
He's watching the scene from the place where, in what seems another life, he hugged the stunning body of his wife Taisha, thoroughly savoring her scent.
His gaze falls on one of the guests, intent on chatting amiably with a group of people.
That face is familiar, but he can't remember who he is. He's certain he has already seen him, but where? He stops to look at the man, his expressions, his gestures, his dress, the way he stands.
Where have I seen you already?
Almost like feeling of being watched, the man turns to look back at him, straight in the eyes, smiling and raising a glass in his direction, as if to toast.
Who is this man?
The answer to the question posed by the Ironside's thoughts isn't long in coming.
The guest freezes, his smile fades slowly away, but he still has his eyes fixed on him. A feeling of primal fear begins to make inroads into John Ironside as he watches the man, whose hand lets the glass fall and shatter at his feet. The stranger starts trembling, slowly at first, but soon those shakes turn into heavy muscle spasms. Bystanders withdraw from the man who, now shaken by violent convulsions, arches his back backwards and lets a yellow-greenish drool bursts out of his mouth, like a wicked fountain.
Ironside wants to intervene, he shouts to the people to get away, to escape. He starts to move, but his body responds slowly. His limbs are stiff, as entangled in mud. No sound comes from his mouth but a hoarse and faint moan.
He can only look with increasing dismay...
The unknown guest moves awkwardly like a drunk, stumbling and struggling to stay upright. His head deforms, stretching into a grotesque mask while red tentacles tear his skin and clothing, whirling in the air like angry snakes in search of their prey.
People shout and run in a panic. A woman stumbles and hits the ground. Her face contracts in pain and terror.
Ironside looks at his daughter Darla. The child stays still, paralyzed with fear, crying only a few meters from a mass of flesh and malformed limbs that has nothing of human.
Alien howls, in addition to roars and other sounds made by throats that are not of this earth.
Taisha, the faithful companion of his life, sprints to get the child and get her away from that crawling chaos...
Some of the tentacles reach the woman, grabbing her legs.
My God, no!
Other deformed appendices reach the slender body of the child.
Ironside can only look at his dearest people being dragged by that monstrosity while he is crushed by the sense of helplessness.
The sound of their shattered bones reaches him like a hammer straight into his stomach.
Their eyes show that mixture of terror and amazement of those that are suddenly torn to pieces, while he is there and can barely breathe.
Their screams tear apart his terrified soul, like ice blades that slash through a canvas...
USA base CNT222
Emily Moore looks at one side of the corridor, right after the door of Philip Redmond. The wall is broken through. The woman swallows, holding her breath. Her senses stay alert while she tries to find the courage to approach and check. Somewhere beneath her, the noise of collapsing walls echoes suddenly, along with vibrations that seem like small earthquakes. After a little while, the silence comes back again.
She approaches slowly to the breach. No noise seems to come from within, and the only audible sounds are her anxious breathing accompanied by the beating of her heart. She bends down to enter the room, firmly holding the last Molotov bomb in her hand.
There are no traces of blood or other fluids inside Redmond's apartment, but everything there is messed up upside down. The place is devastated as i
f a gang of thieves had searched everywhere looking for something. In the flickering light of the fluorescent tubes, Moore can see another deep gash in one of the side walls. It's the side that borders to the last room: Macready's.
A terrible thought starts making its way into her mind. With the slowness of a sloth, the scientist approaches the fissure, through which she can see the other room.
Inside it, the chaos is even worse. Here too, no trace of blood nor other traces that reveal the presence of the creature and a possible assimilation. Everything is messed up. The mattress presents deep parallel lacerations, as if a clawed hand had dug in its interior. Lockers are empty, various stuff and papers are scattered on the floor.
The scientist moves cautiously toward a door at the end. The noise of a falling drop is amplified by the unnatural silence that reigns supreme. She reaches the threshold and operates slowly the white plastic handle, feeling it cold to the touch. There is a small bathroom inside. Clear signs of violence are visible here too. A wall cabinet balances on the sink, kept in place by a single nail.
The initial doubt becomes certain: someone or something has been here in search of who knows what.
A small dark rectangle, half-buried by the chaos of objects that lie scattered on the floor, draws her attention. Moore picks it up. It's an old leather briefcase, with worn edges. The woman opens it in search of a badge, but all that it contains is a picture.
It's an old Polaroid, with yellowed edges and faded colors. Two men are in the photo. The first is barely more than a boy, in whose features she recognizes a youth version of the same Albert Macready. The second is taller, has long hair and a full beard. With his right hand he's holding a Texan cowboy hat on the boy's head and his left hand holds aloft a bottle of J&B as a toast to the photographer.
Something makes its way into her heart, as she watches the old photo which seems to emanate a sense of humanity and family warmth, which seem far away now. The smile of the two, the soft and yellowed colors, the grasslands behind them, the sky that appears without clouds. Many little things that paint a world and an inner state that are light years away from the despair of her current situation.
The image seems to fade slowly from her sight as tears veil her eyes. The woman brings instinctively the old picture to her chest, as if to put those feelings in her soul.
She stands still for a moment, breathing deeply as in an attempt to find a basis of quiet on which to develop coherent thoughts.
Suddenly she hears a noise that makes her blood freeze, recalling her to the tremendous reality.
The unmistakable beep of electronic locks.
Somewhere in the corridor, a door has just opened.
Algerian desert
Military convoy
«Sir!»
«You okay, sir?»
«Sir!»
The voice of Lieutenant Philip Redmond, and the firm grip on one arm, recall Ironside to reality, pulling him out of the murky mists of his vision.
The soldier looks at him with a worried face.
John Ironside tries to swallow, but his mouth is completely dry and kneaded. He nods, turning a tarnished look behind him, toward the men crammed in the helicopter. One of the soldiers is looking straight at him, but it only lasts a moment, and after giving a nod he turns his gaze elsewhere.
Multiple perceptions alternate in Ironside's mind. The sounds and scenes lived a few moments earlier are still vivid into his heart. A too realistic vision, a sick lucid dream, even though the host's identity is the only detail that he can't focus on. A man with dark, bushy hair, with an affable smile over a face slightly too big for his narrow and sagging shoulders.
Who the hell is that man?
It's as if someone, or something, was projecting a movie into his mind, purposely missing that so important particular. Halfway between a threat and a kind of induced nightmare. A hideous vision of a possible future.
«Excuse me, sir, you seemed to have dozed off. I didn't want to bother you, but you almost immediately began to moan in your sleep.»
«How much time did I...?»
«Not much, sir, not even three minutes, as I said, I'm sorry...»
«No problem, lieutenant, thank you. The last forty-eight hours have been hard to everybody. What about the troops on the ground?»
«That's also why I allowed myself to bother you, sir. We have received a communication from the boys who were with Major Macready, where the helicopter crashed. They split. The Major has returned to the base with two men to investigate the radio silence. Others converge in our direction to join us along the way, we will meet them soon.»
«Radio silence?»
«Affirmative sir, we can no longer communicate with the base...»
Redmond's words fade into a worried silence, while the soldier points to the line of military vehicles on the ground, in the headlights of the helicopter.
Ironside turns his gaze to watch the scene below them, and a warning bell lights up in his chest, causing a rush of adrenaline.
«I think there is something wrong, sir. The vehicle that leads the line has slowed down, I can't understand why. It's moving very slowly and swerves over again.»
«Who's in that vehicle?»
«Brody...», says Redmond in the intercom, partly responding to the question for Ironside, «...what the hell are you doing?»
No reply.
«White, Brody, can you hear me?»
The lead vehicle swerves sharply, raising a cloud of sand, then it keeps going on, zigzagging between low dunes.
«We can't communicate with them, sir.»
Shit...
«Who's driving the trucks behind them?»
«The first is led by Terry McKinnock, the following truck is driven by Vince Seemore. Keith Brimley drives the last one, that with the mechanical shovel and other tools.
«Can you get in touch with the three of them, excluding the leading truck?»
After a few moments the voice of Ironside sounds in the internal communication system. «John Ironside here, can you hear me?»
The affirmative answers arrive almost in unison.
«McKinnock here, sir, I get you loud and clear. What's wrong with those two over there? Are they having a party while driving?»
«McKinnock, Seemore, slow down and cover its sides, I want you to place your trucks on the two sides of the lead truck. Tell me if you see something inside. Brimley, stay a few meters back, we try to close it on three sides.»
From the helicopter cockpit, Redmond and Ironside see the maneuver of the two vehicles, which head to the sides of the truck that drives the column. Something isn't right: now it seems accelerating, in order to outdistance its pursuers by a few meters.
«Brody is always joking, that asshole is accelerating», the deep voice of Seemore.
Shit...
«Follow it, guys, try to get its sides. Stay sharp!»
The engines of the two trucks roar and speed, getting quickly next to the suspect vehicle. The third truck, much heavier due to the load of equipment, remains behind.
The voices of the drivers and other soldiers sitting next to them sound in the helicopter's intercom.
«I can't see anything inside, it's too dark.»
«I'm gonna try to get close! Wilford, see if you can lean. Approach it more. Use a flashlight!»
Ironside and Redmond are looking at the scene from inside the cockpit.
The truck, which runs parallel to the left, approaches the side of the vehicle. A soldier leans out the window, pointing a spotlight toward the other car.
«I can't see anything...», the voice of the marine comes muffled over the intercom in the helicopter cabin.
«Wait, there's something... Jesus Christ! What the fuck... Go, go, go! Terry get away!»
Before Redmond and Ironside realize what they just heard, they get a glimpse of something breaking off the window of the vehicle, projecting out and firmly grasping the marine. His body is drawn into the cockpit. For a moment the soldie
r's body stays suspended between the two vehicles, then it finally disappears inside the truck.
The voice of McKinnock shouts in the headphones of Ironside and Redmond.
«Shit! Wilford Wilford!»
In the heat of the moment no one notices the truck that is coming from the opposite direction, a few hundred meters further down the track traveled by the convoy.
The roof of the vehicle opens, the figure of Samuel Brody emerges halfway, holding a heavy machine gun of large caliber, with which he begins to target the other vehicles.
The newcomer truck moves towards the convoy, carrying soldiers from the place where the helicopter crashed. As it climbs over the edge of a sand dune, it swerves abruptly, realizing that the other vehicles are moving in his own direction at high speed. Nobody warned the driver about the occurring situation, and the internal communication system, switched from Redmond to contact the three vehicles tracking the truck, made it impossible to hear the conversation between the other drivers.
Everything happens too quickly for the men on board of the aircraft to do anything.
One of the barrage of blows fired by Brody centers the side of the truck driven by Seemore. More bullets hit the fuel tank, just behind the cabin, on the left side, causing an explosion that transforms the vehicle into a fire ball launched in the desert, swerving dangerously to the right.
The driver of the truck coming from the opposite direction tries desperately to divert from the path of the other vehicle, but he is barely able to move a little, just enough to offer the left flank. The vehicle engulfed in flames crashes at full speed into the other, impacting violently on the exposed side, that of the fuel tank. For a moment it seems that nothing is going to happen, then a new explosion shakes both the vehicles. The truck coming from the opposite direction is tipped on its side, in an eruption of violent flames, while the other goes on a rickety running for a few tens of meters before stopping.
Their flames stand out in the dark of night and grow tall.