Evil Beneath Us

by Laybourne, Alex

  A siren rang out and the sound of approaching footsteps snapped Jeremy’s mind back into focus. He looked up and saw two large orderlies charging towards him. They too had escaped the lower level, not without injury he noticed, and now they were bearing down on him. Jeremy froze. It didn’t even register on him what had happened until the bloody mist wafted over him. Bullets tore through the charging bodies, exploding through their heads, with a second tearing through the chest of the larger man. They fell to a heap on the floor, the convulsions of death slowly leeching the final scraps of life from their corpses.

  Behind them, with the gun still raised and aimed at Jeremy, was the chain-smoking, tobacco reeking nurse. Her eyes lit up when she saw Jeremy. He was an added bonus. Her original intention had indeed been to kill the fleeing orderlies. Nobody could escape, not knowing what they did.

  “Oh, you fool. You were free,” she spat, laughing like a maniac. “Oh well. It’s over now,” she said as she moved the gun to her other hand, raised it and pulled the trigger. Her head exploded from the force from the blast. For Jeremy, everything happened in slow motion. The flash of smoke and the sound of the trigger being pulled. He saw the bullet leave the gun and travel the short distance to her flesh, disappearing inside like a cockroach, burying itself beneath her flesh. The nurse’s eyes widened in a brief moment of pain and then rolled back into her head. Her entire face contorted from the force of the gun shot and in response to the projectile scrambling her brain. A strange swelling appeared on the other side of her head. It expanded, stretching the skin further than Jeremy thought possible. It looked like a semi-inflated balloon being squeezed. The mass continued to swell until the only thing left was to burst. The bullet erupted from her head, bringing a shower of blood and globs of brain matter with it.

  The echo of the gunshot brought Jeremy’s life back up to speed. The nurse’s body fell to the floor and her blood flowed to meet that of the two men she had already killed. The crimson wave spread like a flood, marching over the white floor.

  The next tremor hit, and it came with a pressure wave of sound that struck with such a force it cracked the walls of the house and forced Jeremy to his knees. His ears rang and his chest felt crushed by the sudden pressure. Jeremy clamped his hands to his ears in a hope to drown out the sound, but it did no good. When he lowered them, both palms were tacky with blood.

  Jeremy staggered to his feet. He had nowhere left to go. He was trapped. Faced with no other option, he walked back the way he had come, descending the staircase, returning to the sub-basement level. There was an emptiness inside him. It was not because of Anja, but rather it was the realization that the future had been removed. Everything that lay beyond that moment was gone. It no longer existed. All he had was the present.

  Jeremy had to find Dr Marshall, he had to act. Even if it was too late, he had to do it. For himself and for Simon. He had to kill Dr Marshall for what he did to Anja … and Karen.

  The strength of the tremors grew stronger on the lower level, and behind him Jeremy heard the stairs collapse. It didn’t matter. He wasn’t going to be needing them.

  The hallway was abandoned, and the purity of it destroyed. Deep cracks covered every surface. The fragility of the place was clear, and the hunger of the quake long from sated.

  As Jeremy walked the corridor, he felt something change. The quake remained, but the pressure altered. He was no longer being forced back by the blasts, but sucked in. He was being pulled deeper towards the source; towards the black pillar. With his energy all but gone, Jeremy was almost glad for the air in movement. It allowed him to conserve what little he had, for the doctor.

  The doors to the central chamber had been blown out, and a series of cries rang out from within the space. A moment later, an explosion ripped through the doorway and everything fell silent.

  Jeremy entered and almost fell from the steps, the pull on his weak body so strong. The room was filled with blood, and body parts. Ripped apart by the pressure, everybody lay comingled in death. There were too many bodies on the floor, even with his depleted mental faculties Jeremy understood that the number of the dead did not equate with the numbers he had seen in the room. That was when he saw Dr Marshall, and everything fell into place. A war had been waged in the room, and now friend and foe both lay defeated. Only three figures remained, Dr Marshall, who stood holding a bloody knife, Jeremy, and a third figure that sank to its knees as Jeremy drew close.

  “Simon,” Jeremy called out, but it was too late. Dr Marshall drove the knife home, adding another wound to the multitude that covered Simon’s body. His friend fell to the floor, and for the second time in his life, Jeremy was forced to watch as his best friend die.

  The doctor was covered in blood, every inch of his flesh stained crimson. He looked at Jeremy and smiled, dropping the knife.

  “It’s too late,” Jeremy called to him. “You can’t win,” Jeremy added, moving forward, stepping over the body parts that lay in his way.

  “I know. But neither can you.” The doctor laughed and turned around to stare at the pillar.

  Around them, the building finally began to break. The walls came crashing down, and stairwells fell, sealing them together forever.

  Jeremy moved forward and stood beside the doctor. “Why do all this?” he asked, desperate to know the truth before it was over.

  “Why not?” It was the only answer the doctor would give. “The world of man has done itself no service. Even during my years on this earth, we have grown into a species determined to kill one another. We are creatures that dwell in a filth we created but make no attempt to clean. We are beasts, nothing more than that.” There was a resonating anger in the words, although that rage was not directed towards Jeremy. It was all expressed in the way he spat his feelings, as if emptying himself, so that whatever came next would do so on a clean slate.

  The doctor turned and looked at Jeremy. “Out there, beyond this realm of ours, are creatures of such intelligence, such astounding ability that to gaze upon them, even for a moment would be to stare at the divine. Come with me, Jeremy. You too have played a role in this. We all had our parts to play. Stand here with me and gaze upon the future.”

  There was no answer to give, and instead the two men allowed their eyes to meet, and then turned to stand side by side and watch as their world crumbled.

  The world fell silent. The tremors stopped and the sound of the collapsing building floated away to nothing.

  “What happens now?” Jeremy asked, not looking at Dr Marshall, but staring at the pillar.

  “Now we watch,” the doctor said, turning away from the pillar.

  Jeremy turned with him, feeling a longing pull as his eyes broke their connection with the towering alien column. Two large metal doors slid open and revealed the elevator shaft which Jeremy foolishly assumed was coming to take them both to safety. Stepping into the lift, he allowed himself to think of escape. It was short lived, however, much like the ride in the elevator. They stopped, having risen just a single floor. The doors opened they were inside the control. The elevator doors opening behind the machines, hidden from the view of anybody.

  “I don’t understand,” Jeremy spoke as they exited the lift. There was no sign of any disturbance in the room. The effect of the tremors seemed to have missed them completely.

  “Now we get to gaze through new eyes and enter our own salvation,” the doctor answered, an excited smile spread across his face.

  No sooner had he spoken and the monitors sprang into life. The screens lighting with a strange synchronicity that made it look like they were blinking. There was an image to be seen, one that consumed all of the screens, but the monitors were blinking too quickly. Like someone woken up by a bright light.

  “They are eyes,” Jeremy exclaimed when he saw the shape of the monitor wall fully illuminated.

  “The eyes are the windows to the soul; doorways to the truth. They hold it all: past, present, and the future,” the doctor called as a wail sang out
all around them.

  With a final flicker, the monitors held their state and the vision they provided came into focus. Jeremy felt the same rush he had felt when Simon had taken him. He closed his eyes. Scared.

  “Time has come, Jeremy. There is no going back. Look. Look at what I have created. Marvel at the future,” Doctor Marshall cried out, his voice a combination of wonder and agony.

  Jeremy felt the ground rumble, and he knew. It was too late. Not for them, but for everything. The veil had been broken. The world as they knew it was crumbling. He needed to look, he needed to see what it had all been about. He wanted to understand.

  Jeremy opened his eyes. Pain exploded through his body. His every cell overloaded with sensations, both good and bad in equal measures. It was beauty, it was pain … it was exquisite. The image began to form in Jeremy’s mind, and as everything else fell away he saw it. In a single moment of clarity. Over in an instant, but that was all it took. It was all Jeremy needed. All anybody would need. Words formed on his lips.

  “It’s beautiful,” Jeremy cried out, but by the time the word had taken flight, he was gone, and the world was lost.

  THE END

  Who is Alex Laybourne?

  Born and raised in the coastal English town Lowestoft, it should come as no surprise (to those that have the misfortune of knowing this place) that I became a horror writer.

  From an early age I was sent to schools which were at least 30 minutes' drive away and so spent most of my free time alone, as the friends I did have lived too far away for me to be able to hang out with them in the weekends or holidays.

  I have been a writer as long as I can remember and have always had a vivid imagination. To this very day I find it all too easy to just drift away into my own mind and explore the world I create; where the conditions always seem to be just perfect for the cultivation of ideas, plots, scenes, characters and lines of dialogue

  I am married and have five wonderful children; James, Logan, Ashleigh, Damon, and Riley. My biggest dream for them is that they grow up, and spend their lives doing what makes them happy, whatever that is.

  For people who buy my work, I hope that they enjoy what they read and that I can create something that takes them away from reality for a short time. For me, the greatest compliment I can receive is not based on rankings but by knowing that people enjoy what I produce, that they buy my work with pleasure and never once feel as though their money would have been better spent elsewhere.

  An Extract from Diaries of the Damned

  Paul Larkin sat in his seat and fastened his seatbelt. His body was caked with sweat and dried blood. His ears rang from the gunshots, and his ankle was swollen again; remnants of an injury he acquired jumping from the first floor window of his suburban home. At least, it used to be suburbia, before everything went to shit.

  He sat back and let out a long, deep breath. Shock threatened to take hold of him, so he closed his eyes and waited. The plane filled up and the cries of those refused admittance echoed down the walkway, swiftly followed by the sound of their execution.

  Paul spared but the most fleeting of moments thinking about it. He found it strange how killing and death had become such a large part of his life.

  “Excuse me,” a fragile sounding voice stirred Paul from the calm place he had just started to settle into. “I believe this is my seat.” An elderly woman, late seventies at best stood before him, her face was smeared with blood, while one eye had been covered by a filthy rag that had been hastily secured to her face with what looked like duct tape.

  “I’m sorry…” Paul asked, confused.

  “Seat 17b. This is my seat.” The woman waved the ticket in Paul’s face.

  Paul said nothing, but gave the woman a look which screamed, ‘the world as we knew it has ended, are you seriously going to complain that I’m in your seat’. If she could read his expression, she showed no signs of it. So with another heavy sigh, this one of frustration, Paul undid his belt and scooted one seat over.

  “Thank you. I don’t mean to be rude, but after all that has happened, I feel the need to remain proper about some things,” she said as she sat down. There was an odor to her person that Paul found distinctly repelling, yet she had clearly gotten through the scanners at the gate.

  “It’s fine,” he answered her, closing his eyes once more.

  The seat he had taken was a window seat, just before the wings of the Boeing 737, which the military had been using as an emergency evacuation vehicle for the past two weeks. Looking out across the tarmac, Paul saw the troops standing guard at the perimeter of the small airfield. The sun had begun to disappear beneath the horizon, and in the dull afterglow of yet another survived day, Paul found himself staring at the firework like bursts of gunfire and wondering how it could have all gone so wrong, so quickly.

  He tried to stop himself, but before he knew it, his mind was cast back. He saw his wife, Julia and their two children, Doug and Maddie. They were outside, Paul standing behind the barbeque as Julia busied herself by setting the table, while their kids played in the garden enjoying the summer weather. He blinked, trying to force the image away. It worked, but was replaced by the memory of his wife’s battered, bloody corpse lying on the floor in their living room; her face blackened and swollen by the sickness, her body broken from the repeated strikes he had delivered with his son’s baseball bat. Her blood was splattered over his clothes, his face, everything.

  “Daddy, I don’t feel well,” his daughter had called. Paul had turned around just in time to see the blood flow from her mouth like vomit. She collapsed to the floor, the convulsions already upon her. His son followed suit within the hour. Their small bodies were an easy target for the virus.

  “I love you,” Paul had whispered as he hugged them both tightly, and then pushed their heads beneath the surface of the water. They struggled of course, but their bodies were too weak from the disease to provide much resistance. His daughter fought the longest. “You’re with the angels now,” Paul whispered to them as he dried their faces, dressed them in clean clothes, and laid them in their beds.

  The sound of an explosion within the terminal rocked the plane and pulled Paul from the nightmare. The sun had fallen behind the trees, yet the plane did not seem anywhere near full.

  “Close those doors!” the lone flight attendant called out, running down the aisle, pushing passengers out of the way without a second thought. “Close them now!” she screamed again just as the roar of machine gun fire reached them.

  The screams of those still in the walkway were cut off as the doors were closed and the engines roared into life.

  “Ladies and Gentlemen please take your seats. We are making an immediate departure,” the now out of breath young women spoke into the intercom. “God help us all,” she added.

  The plane shuddered into life and rolled away from the gate. The coupling that connected it to the terminal was still filled with bodies. Paul watched them cascade to the floor like lemmings; a human waterfall. “Lucky bastards,” he whispered as he stared at their still, lifeless forms.

  The plane rolled onto the runway and stopped. They sat there for ten minutes. Then just as people started to get nervous, three armored Jeeps came to a screeching halt either side of the aircraft, the machine guns mounted on the top of each firing into the unseen enemy.

  “Oh God, they got past the perimeter fences!” a voice cried out. This was accompanied by a wave of panic that saw people leap from their seats. Paul however, sat still; shock and weariness had overcome him. As a result, he saw the guns cease firing, and the gunner of the car nearest his window waved his hands in a signal which even Paul understood meant, ‘Get going, NOW!’

  Paul opened his mouth to warn the panicked mob, but he was too late. The engines roared and the plane sped down the runway. People were thrown to the floor and into their seats as the plane gathered momentum. Through his window Paul watched as the bodies of those that had caused the delay were mown down by the speeding
jet. Even that wouldn’t be enough to kill them all, but what did it matter now; they were airborne and the legions of the undead were behind them.

  Grab you copy of Diaries of the Damned from Amazon today!

  If you like creature features and mindless carnage, then feel free to check out any of my titles below:

  When Dr. Martin Lucas was recruited to work on the oceanic military base Omega Base Six, he had no idea of what lay ahead of him.

  Tasked with genetically engineering a megalodon for military use he was the most important man on the base. That also made him a target.

  Six years after a terrorist attack on the base almost cost him his life, Martin is brought back to face off against the monster he created. His shark has lain dormant, but with Omega Base Six set to be scuttled, she returns, bigger than ever and ready to protect her home at whatever cost.

  When Lieutenant Jenna Harrington and her crew pulled their US CoastGuard cutter up against a stricken fishing vessel, the last thing they expected to find was a boat covered in blood, the lone survivor muttering about a sea monster. Yet before they know it, they are locked in a battle with a beast straight from the gates of hell.

  Pitted in a war against a creature they don't understand. the US Navy is caught in a fight that will change everybody involved, forever. When tensions run high between the captains in the makeshift attack group, their internal squabbles threaten to get them all killed.