Nomad

by Jamie Nash

  I steal a glance at the huge bucket-thing. It’s still grinding and groaning. The pounding is getting louder and louder. But whatever required extra thawing isn’t over yet. Maybe we can get out of here before they finish whatever hellish routine they’re doing.

  The red fluid in Shaft’s cryo begins to drain through tiny vents behind his shaking head. Apparently, this is how these things are supposed to work—not smashing them open with an axe and dragging people out. It’s graceful, majestic, and still terrifyingly unnatural.

  Shaft lays staring at the ceiling. Sleeping beauty in a bed of circuitry. The tubes wriggle out from his throat and his insides. He gags and wretches. An identical scene plays out at the other machines. People wake, confused, gasping for air, and birthed into this horrible place.

  Strangers. All of them.

  There’s five total. Redhead Boy, Mr. Crew Cut, Perm Girl, Afro Guy, Tom Selleck ‘Stache. We have a team. Or a gang might be more appropriate, given what I’ve read in the files. Whatever, we have the numbers now. We can kick Phantom’s butt. Taylor’s too.

  Assuming they’re on our side.

  With a pneumatic hiss, the glass cover retracts into the sides of the mechanism. Shaft cranes up. I hug him tight. His wetsuited body chills me. The blasting air above us feels like a winter wind. He shivers, so do I. I squeeze him tighter.

  “Do you remember me?” I ask, betraying ten shades of neediness.

  “Dorothy,” he rasps.

  Tears well in my eyes as I laugh. I was worried the machines were like chalk erasers for our brains. It’s a relief—he’s the oldest friend I have.

  His eyes sweep the surroundings. “The girl. Don’t trust her.”

  “Yeah,” I say. “I’ve seen her rap sheet. Do you know where she went?”

  Shaft wipes the slime away from his face. “She stabbed me. That’s the last thing I remember. Things went black.” Suddenly, a wave of emotion bursts across his face. He begins to cry. An ugly one. Blubbering and out of control. “I thought that was it.” I give his arm a squeeze. It seems to help. He gets it together. “I’m sorry,” he says, squeezing his eyes. “It’s been a weird day.”

  “A bit,” I say. “A little bit.”

  He rubs his neck. His fingers bumping against a little ride mark.

  “It was just a needle. She drugged you,” I say. “This is like the third time you’ve been medically knocked out today. That must be some kind of record.”

  “Call Guinness.” He laughs. So do I. It’s amazing how eager we are to laugh when it could be our last. Shaft glances over my shoulder noticing the other opening cryopods for the first time. Inside them, guys and girls roughly our age and of varying ethnicities shake off their slumber, dazed and confused, sitting up, and coughing and gagging. “Who are they?” Shaft asks.

  “The map says they’re crew members,” I say. “I’m just hoping they’re not dicks.”

  Shaft smirks then cocks a brow. “Wait. There’s a map to this place?”

  “There’s more than that,” I strike a somber note. I’m not sure where to start—the killer upstairs, the file folders, or our dead friend.

  The others start to stand and get their bearings. Shaft eyes them up, searching for something. “Where is …” He waves his hands around his face and sticks out his tongue. He’s talking about Crazytown. “Is he with you?”

  I start to talk, but my lip quivers. Damn. I didn’t want to be the crying girl. But here I am. I turn away not wanting him to see the emotion. “There’s a man up in the tower. A dangerous man.”

  Something enormous crashes against the metal bucket machine. The concussion rings out, empty and hollow. Shaft sits up a bit.

  I ease to my feet, getting ready to bolt. “I think it’s a cryopod.”

  “A big one,” he says.

  I pull Shaft to his feet. The pounding rattles the bolts that secure the large container to the wall. It’s like a battering ram smashing a castle door.

  Shaft laser focuses on the thing. “We shouldn’t be here.”

  No, we shouldn’t. But we can’t just abandon all these newly hatched crew members. I have a responsibility. I gave birth to them. Or I’m more like the stork. I pressed the stupid button at least. And they’re out of it, still shaking out cobwebs, vomiting, shivering, and remembering how to stand. They are nowhere near as with it as Shaft. Maybe because Shaft wasn’t in there as long this time. Or maybe because Shaft has me. Or he’s had a chance to stretch his legs in the last decade.

  As the hellish thrashing grows, they begin to get with the program. Their eyes draw to the hodgepodge device.

  “Oh shit.” Selleck ‘Stache leans against the wall for balance. “Who activated the cage?” Cage. Damn. It’s a cage. I don’t confess my guilt. I don’t need to. Whatever is in there is going to be punishment enough. He doesn’t press the issue. He’s more worried about what’s inside than who is to blame. “We need to shut it down.”

  Perm Girl races past me toward a back wall. She throws open a control panel. It’s a nest of clunky knobs and knotted red and blue wires. She starts throwing switches and yanking wires. The booming continues at a frantic pace. It sounds like an angry ape, a giant one, King Kong.

  The heavy door crashes to the ground. Heat and steam flood out and fill the room. It warms my lungs. A wave of sauna-esque air. Within the fog, something slithers. It’s enormous and gray. My first thought is the Loch Ness Monster.

  My second thought is that we’re going to die.

  The fog parts unveiling the nightmarish creature. It’s animal-like but not an animal. It has no legs. It slithers on its scaled snake body that’s as thick as a tree trunk. It’s like fifteen feet of Godzilla’s lower intestine. Smells like it too. My feet are cannonballs. I will them backward.

  The creature’s head twists toward me. At least, I think it’s the head. It has no face or eyes. But damn, it has a mouth—a large gray pit of steel shark teeth. The jagged daggers chitter in my general direction. We’re no longer the top of the food chain. We’re nourishment.

  Feed.

  “Good God,” Shaft mutters. The understatement of the century. The beast abruptly twists its head toward him. Not directly though, just in his general vicinity. The others are silent and frozen. Five little mimes. “We need to run,” Shaft grunts in a quavering voice.

  Five sets of eyes shoot him a look. They can’t believe he dared speak. I’m starting to get it. This beast can’t see. But it’s listening. I grab Shaft’s wrist and squeeze it tight. A silent signal. Don’t move a muscle.

  The creature slithers toward us.

  Shaft’s pulse pounds almost inhumanely through his wrist. The monster probably hears our thumping hearts, the sweat oozing from our pores, our bodies quivering. The others remain statues, holding their breath. They’re not jumping in to save us. Shaft’s feet slide. I shake my head. Staying rock still is the only hope.

  The thing’s teeth poke toward us. If it had a nose, I’d say it was sniffing us out. It’s inches from us. It must know exactly where we are. It’s just playing with its food. The others slide toward the exit. They’ll break for it the second this monstrosity starts chomping up our bones. I close my eyes but unfortunately can’t shut my nostrils. This hideous creature stinks like hell, as stomach-wrenching as rotten meat, yet pungent as gasoline. Its hideous maw nudges toward us, something rumbles deep within its gut, alien acids sloshing around its snakelike digestive system.

  It’s hungry. And I’m about to die.

  But a clanging noise comes from the other side of the room. The monster’s attention snaps to the sound. Redhead Boy has stubbed his toe on one of the prone cryopods. He knows the gaffe might be his last. The rest of the crew freezes, certain death in their eyes.

  Then it starts. The thing’s mouth widens, stretches.

  Redhead shrieks. Pure terror.

  The monster lashes out like a bullwhip. Chomps down. Its knife-sharp teeth stab into the boy’s flesh and lift him in the air like a dog’s chew
toy. The beast shakes the kid. Its teeth shred his body. Blood splatters. My face and open mouth take the brunt of it. I don’t risk spitting it out. Better grossed out than dead.

  The crew screams. They can’t help themselves. Maybe it’s because their nerves are still frazzled from getting dumped out of the cryos. Maybe it’s because they just saw their friend eviscerated.

  Either way, they’re fucked.

  And I can’t help them without giving myself up.

  They scramble for the open door, losing their minds, pulling and wrestling each other, fighting to be first. I’m knocked to the ground by the muscular guy with the crew cut and tattoos. I’m kicked in the face by Selleck ‘Stache. The beast flings Redhead away and tears after the frightened mob.

  I move to stand, but Shaft lies on top of me, holding me down, covering my mouth. “No,” he whispers firmly. “No!” He’s right. If we move, we’re both goners.

  The enormous creature disappears into the corridor with impossible speed. Almost immediately, horrified screams fill the chamber. Terror turns to agony. Flesh rips. Bones crack. Bodies hit steel walls with breakneck force.

  I push to get up, go to the rescue, but Shaft weighs me down. He shakes his head. Sweat dripping off him. Tears in his eyes. He won’t let me go and play martyr. I’m supposed to close my eyes and feel lucky it’s not me.

  “Help,” a strained voice whimpers from the far side of the room. It’s Redhead. He’s still alive. He shouldn’t be. He’s all chewed up and massacred. Amidst his torn flesh, I see what I think is his spleen. The monster must have spit him out to feast on the other fleeing cryomates. “Help …” Blood bubbles at his lips. “Please … please help me.”

  Shaft gestures for him to shut the hell up. “Shh … shhhh.” The screams and cries of the others continue, drowning out Shaft’s shushing sounds. But they’re fading quickly. Soon there will be none.

  The decimated Redhead doesn’t care. His guts are leaking onto the floor. Playing it smart is not a luxury he has. “I don’t want to die,” he whines.

  “Shhhhhhh.” Shaft hisses with extra emphasis.

  Redhead sobs. His eyes droop to his ravaged body. His guts. He examines parts of his own anatomy no human is meant to see. “No. Dear God, dear God.” The terror from the corridor has silenced. Nothing human is coming from the hall, just chewing and crunching. It’s like the grossest rib feast in all of Texas is happening. “Help me!” Red shouts with all his remaining breath. His voice echoes.

  Help doesn’t come, but now he has the beast’s undivided attention.

  Shaft jumps to his feet. “Come on!” He grabs the back of my wetsuit and yanks me to my feet. The beast roars back inside. It smashes through cabling and cryopods. Shaft and I sprint in the opposite direction. I hurdle Redhead’s decimated body.

  Something snags my foot.

  I fall forward. My chin hits the floor. My teeth gnash. A flash of hot white blasts through my skull. It’s Redhead. He clutches me with his blood-soaked hands. “You can’t leave. You can’t!”

  The massive thing slithers our way.

  I kick at Redhead’s arms, but he only grips tighter. It’s a weird and desperate tug of war. I stop short of smashing him in the face.

  “Stop!” Shaft snaps in an intense whisper. His wide eyes are focused just above me.

  I know I’m doomed. I look anyway. The abomination looms over me. Its teeth are painted in the gore and guts of the humans it just massacred. Despite its lack of eyes, I know I have its full attention. If I run, I’m dead. If I lie here, I’m probably dead too. Probably.

  I stay. Wait. Pray, not on my lips, but in my mind. I recite the only prayer I know.

  God is great, God is good. Let me thank him for this food.

  God is great, God is good. Let me thank him for this food.

  God is great, God is good. Let me thank him for this food.

  The beast’s warm, wet breath bathes my face. It smells like week-old roadkill. I close my eyes and brace for the last shock of pain. I hear nothing but the ping of its victim’s blood dripping from its teeth to the metal floor.

  I wait for the end.

  Be quick. Be painless.

  An ungodly squeal shatters my personal vigil. The crunch of bones fills my ears. But there’s no pain. My eyes peel open. The creature’s fangs are deep inside Redhead’s skull. The monster rears back, ripping the kid’s head from his shoulders. The headless corpse thunks down beside me. Blood spills from the neck stump. Arteries and other stuff hang out, roads leading to nowhere.

  I leap to my feet. A jingling betrays me. The creature hunches mid-blood feast, zeroing in on those damn keys that dangle from my waist. I grab them, silencing the sound.

  It’s too late. The slug knows exactly where I am.

  I laugh as the thing unfurls in front of me. “Come on,” I say. “Bon appétit.” Across from me, Shaft watches. He wants to be the white knight. I hope he’s not that dumb. If he is, we’re both goners. “Go,” I say to him while I raise my fists to the monster. “I’ll hold it off.” It’s complete bullshit. I have zero chance of holding it off, so he better move.

  He doesn’t, of course. He’s a good guy. Or a stupid one. I’d say both. I know one thing—his file is all wrong. He is ready to give his life for some dumb chick he met about an hour ago. That’s not what assholes do.

  Stuff that in your file.

  “Stop!” He yells. The thing tilts toward him. Damn, he’s really going to go through with this rescue business.

  “Hey! Over here!” I bark, reclaiming the creature’s attention. And now Shaft and I are in some childish battle of who-saves-who’s life. I press on. “You want to fight? Fight me.” It lowers its teeth level with my face and roars. I roar right back, giving it all my fear, and adrenaline, and anger.

  Then something out screams us both.

  A high-pitched alarm accompanied by blinding flashes of light. The monster whips around and lashes at the walls. The speakers must be buried deep within them, or the thing is just maddened by the ear-piercing sounds.

  Tight against the wall, safe from the creature, Taylor stands at the emergency alarm button. She pulled it. She saved us … again. Taylor dips back into the corridor. We chase behind her.

  The creature slams its massive body down like a boulder shattering the grilled floor. It’s drunk with rage. It gnashes at everything in its kill range, bullwhips into the walls, and smashes everything in its path hunting the shrieking siren.

  We race from the chamber, heading back to where we began. I’m lost without the map, but Taylor knows the route by heart. We sprint for almost a minute, twisting and turning, ducking in and out of rooms. Suddenly, Taylor stops. She stares up.

  The hatch that leads to the tower I climbed earlier has been blown off. In the spot where it was once sealed in place, there’s now a gaping hole with black ash and jagged metal. The twisted and charred remnants of the hatch lay at Taylor’s feet. It smells like a kitchen after a grease fire. I kick a chunk of a flame-broiled milk carton. This is the bomb that the Phantom was making on the pool table. Our killer is out of his cage. On the loose. He could be anywhere.

  “Shhh,” Shaft hisses. “Listen.” It’s quiet, all things considered—spaceship sounds, machines, and air flow. I’m not sure what he wants me to hear. “The alarm.” Shaft stops and looks back.

  I can’t hear it. I’m not sure what he’s getting at.

  “It’s off,” Taylor snaps.

  They’re right. It’s silenced. The creature must have chewed it out of the walls.

  A heavy gonging begins to echo out from behind us. Like a giant cannonball bouldering through a steel cave. It’s the monster. It’s coming, barreling toward us.

  Taylor sprints off. We follow. It’s not my favorite option. I’m sure it’s not Shaft’s. But it beats getting eaten by Snaky McFangs. Taylor’s arms and legs pump like a machine. She doesn’t look back, as if even a quick peek would cost her the race. Shaft and I are going all out too. Shaft’s pr
etty fast.

  I’m the straggler. I’m lunch.

  A loud growl blasts out behind me. I turn on instinct. There it is, about twenty feet behind us and gaining. Damn it’s fast. A scream escapes my lips.

  “Hurry!” Taylor shouts. As if I’m not running faster than I’ve ever run in my life. Taylor’s sights set on the Red Door ahead of us. It hangs halfway open like the hungover eyelid of a coed. It occurs to me that we closed the red bulkhead when we escaped from the W.I.T.C.H. Doctor. Someone opened it.

  Phantom.

  He might be inside waiting for us.

  Again, the monster roars behind me. I can feel the heat and spit warm the back of my head. Better Phantom than the atrocity coming for me.

  The bulkhead is ten feet and closing. Taylor’s already there. She rolls under it. Shaft follows. I hit the ground hard. By the time I stand up, Taylor’s punching the code into the door’s keypad. The bulkhead door slices to the floor and lands with a resounding clang.

  The monster rams the other side. The control room rattles, but the wall-thick bulkhead holds. We can hear teeth chomping and scraping, waging war against the metal. Eventually, even the creature seems to realize. The beast is still out there, but it has lost some fight. A few solid hits ring out. It’s more probing and testing the walls, searching for an alternative way to get to us. No chance it’s coming through that bulkhead.

  I grab my knees. My lungs hack up phlegm. My throat burns. It’s been over a century since I’ve gotten that much exercise. I stand and turn to the others.

  The W.I.T.C.H. Doctor looms over me.

  I jolt, but it doesn’t rip my head off.

  On further inspection, it’s limp and deactivated. I tap one of its tentacles just to make sure. It doesn’t move. Dead as disco. I shuffle past but keep my eyes on it. Just in case. Ceiling lights cast a dim glow on the control room. Phantom must have found the light switch. The chamber is in the same state as before—shredded and trashed. The few control panels that survived the surgical automaton’s attack chirp and flash.