She rose to her feet, having to bend over at the waist to keep her head from scraping the ceiling and leveled her gun down the hallway. As soon as Alvarez joined them and gave her a thumbs up, she proceeded forward as quickly as she could manage, eyes and ears strained for anything of import. Their anxious breathing and the sound of hurried footsteps in the ice seemed conspicuously audible.
Within minutes, she cautiously approached the first intersection and signaled the men to halt. Taking a deep breath and holding it, she rushed forward and leaped across the gap, coming to her knees and signaling it clear. Hanson nodded and gave a two-fingered salute before making his way down the adjoining tunnel alone. Alvarez motioned her forward and she turned to continue on, mentally wishing the young Sergeant well.
Ten minutes later, she did the same for Alvarez as the man disappeared toward his destination, finding herself suddenly alone and feeling terribly vulnerable. After a determined sigh, she was again on her way, her breath visible puffs of white as the cold inside the tunnel only added to the oppressive apprehension consuming her.
The tunnel began to veer off to the left and her gaze became even more agitated, the curvature in front of her slightly obstructing the path ahead. The ducting and conduits lining the wall that she wouldn't ordinarily notice took on a sinister appearance, obstacles to be avoided and she was afraid to let any part of her body brush against them.
A lifetime later, she spotted the door beckoning to her in the distance and she went stock still, afraid to let herself hope that she might actually succeed. The walls closed in on her as she hurried forward, her focus reduced to nothing but the objective in front of her. Twenty more yards and she could sprint back to safety. Soon it was fifteen yards and then ten.
Eight yards from her destination she screamed in both terror and surprise as the floor fell in on top of her. The scream cut off abruptly as the wind was forced from her by the obscene strength of the jolting grip that yanked her into the hallway above. Stars danced in front of her eyes as her face collided painfully against the wall, bloodying her nose with a crunch. She went limp in her captive's grip and found freedom as she sank to the floor. Her arms and neck burning abrasively from having her sweatshirt torn forcibly from her body, she rolled to the side, surprised to find the shotgun still in her hands.
Coy stared stupidly at the rag of her shirt dangling from his hand and turned to recapture his target.
The point blank blast from her shotgun severed his left leg from the knee down and he fell almost comically to the ground, his hands made no move to break the fall and his head hit the ground with the sound of a melon being split.
Malory followed the blast with two more quick shots to his face and neck, she would have fired a fourth but the impact from the rounds forced his body into the hole he had created in the floor and he disappeared from view. The sound of footsteps from behind brought her swinging around to see Percy lumbering up the hall from about twenty feet away.
Not wasting any time, she emptied the shotgun at Percy and dropped it to the floor. Instantly swinging the rifle around from her back and firing it down the hall until it locked open empty. The clatter of the magazine hitting the ground was quickly followed by the insertion of another and the loud clack of the bolt being snapped closed. Her finger depressed the trigger and a salvo of bullets tore into the ceiling as the floor panel she was kneeling on surged upwards, flinging her backwards down the hall. She fell into the hole she had emerged from, landing on her left shoulder with an audible crack and emitting an ear splitting scream of pain that echoed loudly off the walls.
The sudden grip around her ankle brought her back to the moment and she brought the rifle still strapped to her up with her right arm and took aim through tearing eyes. The bullets slammed into Coy's face, neck, and chest, tearing away flesh and splattering the ice walls haphazardly with blood and tissue. Worms began to drop in clumps from one side of his ruined head and Malory screamed again, frantically kicking away from him as his grip left her boot.
She scrambled wildly backwards and bit her tongue hard enough to draw blood when her back connected against something solid. Her head whipped around hysterically and she found herself against the frame of the pressure door. In a second of clarity, she knew she had no other option and hurriedly crawled through, pulling the door closed behind her. Her eyes catching a glimpse of Coy relentlessly pursuing her, using his arms to propel him forward, before the door closed with a satisfying electronic chime.
The tears started in earnest as she entered the code to seal it, effectively locking herself out of the central facility. She fell back against the wall and dropped the magazine from her rifle, digging another one out of her bandolier with her right hand and slapping it home. The agony radiating from her left shoulder was crippling and it sent waves of misery coursing through her when she tried to make a fist. A hand came up to wipe at her nose and she flinched in pain.
Angrily, she took stock of her situation. She had lost her shotgun, but still had her pistol and radio. Other than her rifle and the bandolier of magazines, she was dressed from the waist up in a pale blue bra, the sleeves of her missing sweatshirt gathered at her wrists. The bandage around her ribs that Corky had diligently applied the night before was missing and she suspected her nose was broken. She didn't even want to think about her shoulder.
It took a moment but it slowly dawned on her that she was still in possibly hostile territory and she considered the alternatives. The only place available that offered her a safe haven was Operations and that would require running across the cavernous room that housed the platform and down a long ice hallway, up two flights of metal stairs, another short hallway and the time it took to enter her code and seal the door. Then, if she managed to get there, she would find herself trapped in a small room with no food or water. Sadly, she realized that it was her only choice and she rose with a whimper to travel the few yards the led to the end of the tunnel.
She poked her head out cautiously and rapidly looked back and forth, finding it clear to emerge into Receiving. The wide-open space of the cavern allowed her the small and liberating feeling of having room to maneuver. It was a drastic change from the cramped confines of the tunnel and for a moment at least, she could look around and feel confident of her safety. The temperature here was much colder and uncomfortably emphasized by her lack of apparel as heat was only sparingly applied to this part of the compound to keep equipment from freezing over. Her eyes took in the long column that led to both the platform and the world above and she wished it were as simple as taking an elevator ride to escape. The distinctive outline of the helicopter rested silently on its skis and her gaze roamed over the room's other machinery slowly, reminding her eerily of a hastily abandoned ghost town.
A flicker of movement caught her eye and she froze, watching intently as Dr. Garret lurched slowly out from between several barrels of fuel. He was far enough away that she didn't feel immediately threatened, confident that she could outrun him. She shot a glance at the hall that led to Operations and began jogging towards it slowly, crossing the open space and keeping a wary eye on her pursuer. Her path widened as she approached the hall, keeping distance between her and the entrance in case it was providing refuge to anything she didn't want to encounter. Finding no sign of company, she glanced over her shoulder at Dr. Garret and found him teetering along at a rapidly alarming pace and closing the distance between them. She considered trying to slow him down or take a leg from him, but didn't have much confidence in aiming the rifle with one hand accurately. Shrugging it off, she jogged down the hallway, pausing at the foot of the stairs to shoot a glance behind her. Garret hadn't reached the hall yet and she suddenly remembered her radio, she let go of the rifle and pulled it from her belt.
"McNeely."
"Go ahead," he responded immediately, his relief evident.
"The door is sealed," she said, glancing up sharply as Garret appeared to pick up speed and advanced faster than she thought possible.<
br />
"Understood. Your status?"
Garret began to jog, the stiffness she associated with the creatures beginning to show signs of wearing off. She brought the radio to her mouth but thought the better of it as Garret frighteningly began to cover more ground and she turned to run up the stairs. Two steps from the top, the radio flew from her hands and dropped to the ground below as a stair collapsed out from under her, the impact of her chest against the next step knocked the breath from her body. Her waist hanging precariously in the air below the staircase, she struggled madly to pull herself up with her right arm. The rifle hanging from her side hindered her progress and she began to panic, flailing around hysterically. The sound of rapidly approaching footsteps sobered her and she struck out with her left arm, using both to pull herself up with a piercing scream of distress. Finding her feet, she didn't look back and ran up the second flight of stairs at a breakneck pace; flying down the hall so fast her feet barely touched the ground. Her momentum brought her up against the door to Operations with a thud and she frenetically punched in the entry code, her finger jabbing forcefully into the keypad.
She thanked God she got it on the first try and threw herself into the room, slamming the door shut behind her with a frightened energy. Her eyes came up to see Garret's face ram into the porthole hard enough to leave behind a blood smear and she quickly reentered the code to seal the door. The rifle came up and she backed away from the door slowly, her eyes riveted on the face staring at her blankly through the window. Her calves bumped up against a chair and she spun wildly, her eyes flying around the room in terror. Still hyperventilating from her close call, it took several minutes for her to restore any semblance of calm and composure.
Eventually, she balanced herself with a deep breath and unslung her rifle, placing it on the desk in front of her. She sank into the chair that had spooked her and gingerly poked at her shoulder, whimpering at the pain her examination produced. A sleeve from her ruined sweatshirt became a washrag and she tenderly wiped the blood from her face, throwing the soiled garment irritably across the room when she was finished. Starting to fume at the situation she found herself in, she lifted angry eyes to meet those that still maddeningly gazed at her through the window.
A hand came up to reveal her right breast she cupped it defiantly. "Suck me, bitch."
Her display elicited no response. Garret just stared.
--------
Corky positioned herself in a corner of the lab and brought her knees up to her chest as soon as Malory disappeared down the hall, praying desperately for her safe return. Clovis joined her a few minutes later and she appreciated the comfort his presence provided, offering him a weak smile of gratitude.
The time stretched on excruciatingly and she schooled herself not to cry. Telling herself that if Malory could find the courage to do what she had, she would be brave enough not to break into heartsick tears. That is, until she at least had the benefit of a little privacy in which to conceal her breakdown. She was determined to give the appearance of strength, knowing that the people surrounding her looked to Malory for leadership and she wasn't going to tarnish that by playing the part of the hysterically inconsolable girlfriend. It was going to be a hard sell, even to herself.
Her eyes rose to the nervously pacing McNeely and stayed focused on him intently; he would be the first to know. The Sergeant prudently kept his distance from everybody, not wanting anyone to overhear any communications he might receive. However, she studied his body language carefully for any clue that he might unconsciously reveal.
A little over a quarter of an hour after Malory and her party had left, she caught the rapid motion of McNeely bringing his radio up, speaking into it tersely. She tensed as the man walked over to address everybody.
"Hanson got his door sealed and is on his way back," he reported. "Let's get ready in case he arrives in a hurry."
The men began to assemble into a large 'U' in front of the door and Clovis got up to join them, leaving her to maintain her vigil alone. The minutes passed in a tense and impatient silence, one melting slowly into the other. Finally, the radio in McNeely's hand barked urgently.
"I'm in the hall," Hanson muttered uneasily. "It's clear, let me in."
"Open the door," McNeely ordered and presently Hanson ran into the room, the door closing behind him immediately.
Hanson blew out a breath that lasted twenty seconds as the door was sealed behind him, his shoulders slumping dramatically in relief.
"Well done, Sergeant," McNeely said, clapping him fatherly on the shoulder. "Any trouble?"
He shook his head to the negative. "Any word from the Commander or Alvarez?"
"Not yet," McNeely said. "But they had further to go than you," he added and retreated to his private corner again.
Corky looked at the young Sergeant and scolded herself for wishing that it were Malory who had returned instead of him. Her worry was giving her a powerful headache and she lapsed back into her thoughts, eyes again straying to McNeely and taking up residence.
Another ten minutes of oppressive silence and McNeely paused his nervous pacing to raise his radio, crossing the room hurriedly.
"Alvarez on his way back," he said. "His door was already sealed and he's got company."
The men scrambled to their former positions, rifles shouldered and pointed steadily at the doorway.
Sooner than expected, McNeely's radio crackled. "I've got distance, ETA less than a minute," Alvarez reported breathlessly.
McNeely waited almost thirty seconds. "Open the door."
Within the span of three heartbeats, Alvarez raced into the room. "It's right behind me," he said and the door was spirited closed.
All eyes scanned the anteroom anxiously and the sound of plodding steps gradually became audible, eventually revealing the figure that once was Jones.
He entered slowly on an almost ruined leg and missing a good portion of his face. White teeth were visible through chunks of flesh that had been savagely torn away and the wounds moved with a life of their own as worms quivered ecstatically in the attempt to find undamaged tissue.
Corky noted this with unseeing eyes, suddenly rising to her feet. "We need to kill it," she said. "Malory can't get back in if its standing there."
McNeely stared at her in understanding and then turned eyes in Jones's direction as if summing the creature up. "Right, looks like he's been chewed on. Back away from the door and form up in the corners," he ordered and the men scrambled. "His right leg is barely there, everyone on that first. When he drops, burn him."
He turned to verify everyone was in place. "I'll open the door, give me a second to get clear," he added, moving forward.
His finger had depressed the first key when the unmistakable sounds of a shotgun being fired could be heard in the distance and he froze. Corky's hands came up to cover her mouth in comprehension and the room went deathly silent. A few unbearable seconds later, the long and steady burst of an automatic rifle echoed off the walls.
"Oh, God," Corky whined in horror.
Another quick abbreviated burst and silence reigned again, broken quickly with another long automatic salvo. All ears listened expectantly, waiting for anything that might provide more information but the silence weighed heavily and showed no sign of letting up.
"Love… craft," Jones gurgled, his voice receiving everyone's attention. "Love…craft is… dead," he finished and turned to lumber back into the hall.
Corky's resolve floundered at the words and her face altered from horror to despair. Her sob was startlingly loud within the confines of the room but no one could turn to look at her. As the sob was followed by another, Clovis put his weapon down and walked over to envelope her in an encompassing embrace.
The men moved away from them respectfully and McNeely crossed the room to sit down angrily in a chair, spinning in his seat to face the wall.
"McNeely," Malory's voice crackled through the radio.
"Fuck me!" McNeely exclaimed in surpris
e, bolting to his feet. The radio moving from his belt to his mouth in a blur. "Go ahead."
Corky's head rose sharply to peer out from behind one of Clovis' arms, hope shining in her eyes.
"The door is sealed," she reported.
"Understood. Your status?"
No answer was forthcoming. "Commander?" he asked impatiently.
Corky snatched the radio from her belt. "Malory?"
"Commander?" McNeely repeated and did so several times, his frustration growing with every unanswered call. Finally, he threw his arms into the air and made as if to throw his radio against the wall, barely restraining himself at the last second.
"I want a gun," Corky stated quietly in the silence that followed.
McNeely took a deep breath and turned to face her. "Why?"
"Because she's alive and we're going to find her," Corky said.
"Fuckin'A," Alvarez piped up in agreement.
McNeely nodded. "How many are we up against?"
"I figure six," Hanson said. "We found what was left of Isaaks in the tunnel. We know of Coy and Jones for certain. Garret is still missing as is Percy and we lost Gallagher and Dobson yesterday."
"Six?" Watkins said in distress. "We almost lost our ass to just three yesterday."
"We have a lot more guns now," Reynolds said. "And the complex is secure, whatever is out there is trapped in here. Just like us."
"We can't leave her out there," Corky said. "We won't leave her out there."
"We're not going to," McNeely said. "However, we'll need a group to stay behind. All of us walking around out there makes too big a target, as we found out yesterday."
"Who stays behind?" Watkins asked eagerly and received several derisive looks in his direction.
Stories by Kiera Dellacroix Page 74