by Jake Bible
***
“Are we going to talk about Kyle?” Bolton asks as he helps Lu move from the floor to one of the couches in the break room. “Careful. Slow, Lu.”
“Fuck slow,” Lu snaps. “I’m done with slow.”
“When have you ever been slow?” Bolton laughs. “You haven’t slowed down since I’ve known you.”
“That’s what you think,” Lu replies as she stretches out on the couch and lets Bolton place a cushion under her head and shoulders. She winces, then waves the man off as he leans in. “I’m fine, I’m fine.”
“You were saying about moving slow?” Bolton grins.
“Fuck you, Connor,” Lu says. “These last sixteen years have felt like molasses. The years kept coming, but I never got anywhere.”
“You’re one of the top US Marshals in the country,” Bolton says. “And you did that on your own.”
“I did that because I pawned my son off onto my mother,” Lu says. “I moved up through my job, but the anchor of Kyle always held me in place. That’s the slow I’m talking about.”
“Anchor?” Kyle asks from the door, two large buckets in his hands. “I was an anchor?”
“No, sweetheart, I didn’t mean it that way,” Lu says. “You didn’t hear the whole conversation.”
“I heard enough,” Kyle responds, dropping the buckets onto the floor. “Here. I’m going to go help Lowell bring more supplies in here. We found a storeroom that has some water and Gatorade, plus some cans of soup.” Kyle kicks one of the buckets. “There’s TP in here, so feel free to shit and piss at will. No need to wait for me to get back. I’d hate to be an anchor on your ass.”
“Kyle!” Lu shouts, then winces at the pain it causes. “Don’t you dare walk away!”
“I dare, Mom!” Kyle says. “Anchor out!”
The boy stomps from the room and both Bolton and Lu can hear him cursing and kicking things as he goes. In a couple of seconds, Lowell shows up at the door, his arms full of bottled water.
“Uh-oh, looks like junior is feeling angsty,” Lowell says as he comes in and sets the water down. “Did you two find his porn stash?”
“Shut up, Lowell,” Bolton says.
“Not porn? Then did you read his texts and see that he and his girlfriend have been sending dirty pictures of their naughty bits? Or maybe he’s secretly a closet Marxist. I bet that’d get your red, white, and blue panties in a wad, wouldn’t it, Marshal?”
“Lowell,” Bolton growls. “Shut up, or I shut you up.”
“Yeah, that’s really scary,” Lowell says.
“Be quiet, both of you,” Lu says. “And hand me a water.”
Bolton glares at Lowell as he walks over and grabs a water bottle. Lowell just smirks.
“Here,” Bolton says, handing Lu the water.
“Thanks,” Lu says as she opens it and takes a long drink. “Ahh. Better. Now go find our son, and get his ass back here. He doesn’t get to throw a hissy fit like that. Not while we’re in this kind of trouble.”
She coughs hard and winces again.
“The air’s getting worse,” Lowell says, fully serious. “We probably won’t live long enough to drink all this water.”
“I’ll get Kyle,” Bolton says. “We’ll get back here and jam up this door. Hopefully, we can block out most of the ammonia and buy ourselves some time.”
“Time for what?” Lowell asks. “I took a detour and listened at the cave in. I don’t hear anyone digging through to get at us. My guess is Taylor and his super soldiers got their asses out of here. That’s what I would do.”
“No surprise there,” Lu says, and takes Bolton by the hand. She squeezes hard. “Get him back here; then we stay put and figure out the rest.”
“I’m on it,” Bolton says. He jogs to the door and hurries out into the hallway.
“Bye!” Lowell calls after him.
“What the fuck, Lowell?” Lu asks. “You were actually turning into a decent human being for a second there.”
“Yeah, that’s when I thought the nukes would kill the giant monsters,” Lowell replies. “Doesn’t look like that worked out. If I’m going to die, then I plan on dying on my terms.”
“As a sarcastic asshole?” Lu asks.
“Exactly,” Lowell smirks. “Only way to go.”
Lu shakes her head, then stops immediately as a wave of nausea hits her.
“You cool?” Lowell asks, seeing the color of Lu’s face change instantly.
“Bucket,” Lu says.
Lowell rushes over to one of the buckets, dumps the TP onto the floor, and makes it back to the couch just as Lu throws up. He helps keep her steady over the bucket, holding her shoulders so she doesn’t collapse right into her own sick. After some empty heaves, Lu finishes, and Lowell eases her back onto the couch.
“Water?” he asks.
“Not now,” Lu whispers. “I’ll just puke it back up.”
“Your brain may be bleeding,” Lowell says. “I saw a guy in prison get the holy fuck beat out of him and act the same way. Guards refused to take him to the infirmary and just let him die in his cell. Word was he hemorrhaged to death in his head. I didn’t think there was that much blood up there to do that.”
“Yes, you did,” Lu says. “I saw your file, Lowell. I know your IQ scores. You play stupid, but you aren’t.”
“Maybe I played smart when I took the tests, and I’m actually dumb as paint,” Lowell says.
“You could have done something with your life, Lowell,” Lu says, “if you’d stuck it out and not killed all those people. You would have been released from juvenile prison, and your record would have stayed sealed.”
“I told you why I did what I did,” Lowell replies. “People needed to die, and I needed to be the one that made sure they died.”
“But you didn’t,” Lu says. “You could have walked away. Revenge doesn’t have to be the answer to everything.”
“Maybe not in your world, Marshal,” Lowell laughs. “But where I come from, if you don’t have revenge, then you don’t have any life goals.”
“Well, things are different now,” Lu says. “No one needs killing.”
“Those monsters do,” Lowell says. “I’m thinking of cooking up a vendetta against them. I’m pretty good at following through, so maybe I’ll be the one to save the planet.”
“The planet?” Lu asks. “You mean the country.”
“No, I mean the planet,” Lowell says. “There’s no way this shit is isolated to just the US. There have to be more of these things.”
“Why the hell would there be more?” Lu asks.
“Because the supervolcano wasn’t just some random pimple on America’s ass,” Lowell says. “The planet is covered by a crust which has the mantle underneath. The mantle is where all that good, tasty magma comes from. Volcanos form when the magma from the mantle pushes up through a weak point in the crust. Just like these things pushed up through the Yellowstone supervolcano.”
Despite the pain, Lu pushes up onto her elbows so she can look Lowell in the eye.
“See?” she says. “You are smart.”
“Fuck off.”
“Are you thinking there might be more of these things?” Lu asks. “And they could erupt in other parts of the world?”
“That would make sense,” Lowell says. “There is no reason this is isolated to the land of the free and home of the brave.”
“Fuck me,” Lu says.
“Tempting,” Lowell grins. “Truly. But I don’t swing for pig.”
“Fuck you,” Lu grumbles, and lies back down.
There’s a scuffle at the door and Lowell spins about to see Kreigel looking in at them.
“Found them!” he calls out, and lowers his carbine. “Good to see you two alive.”
“Good to be alive,” Lu says. “Sort of.”
“Sort of?” Kreigel asks as he steps into the room.
“She has a boo boo on her head,” Lowell says. “And I just explained that there’s a good chance
more volcanos will erupt and send new and exciting monsters into the world.”
“Doesn’t need to be more volcanos for that,” Kreigel says. “There’re dog spiders.”
“Dog spiders?” Lowell asks.
“Did you say dog spiders?” Holt asks as he follows in behind Kreigel. “Those things are ugly as fuck. Big too. We watched them puke up the flying carpets made of mold.”
“The things that lay the ammonia eggs?” Lowell asks.
“Yep,” Holt nods as he moves out of the way so Toloski and Taylor can join them. “And don’t get us started on those fucking eggs.”
“They really messed up Bambi,” Toloski says.
“I need to rest,” Lu says. “I thought I just heard him talk about Bambi.”
“No resting,” Lowell says as he gently shakes her shoulder. “You sleep with a concussion, and you may not wake up.”
“I woke up once,” Lu says.
“Concussion?” Taylor asks.
“Big bump,” Lowell says, pointing to a spot on the back of his head that corresponds with where the massive lump is on Lu’s head. “I’m guessing she has some brain bleedin’ goin’ on.”
“Okay,” Taylor nods. “That makes things a little more difficult.”
“Difficult? Why?” Lowell asks.
“Because we are getting you guys out of here and over to the other side,” Taylor says. “And there’s some rock climbing involved.” He looks about. “Where’s Bolton and the kid?”
“Having some father and son bonding time,” Lowell says.
Taylor nods to Holt. “Go get them.” He nods to Toloski. “Try to find more climbing gear. We’ll need as much rope as possible to get Marshal Morgan from the ledge to the mountainside.”
“She could always just jump,” Lowell smirks. “Fastest way to the mountainside I saw.”
“Not constructive,” Taylor snaps. “Keep the sarcasm to yourself, inmate. Unless you have something to contribute, then there’s no need for you to talk anymore.”
“I was going to compliment your eyes, but now I’m not,” Lowell says, and sticks out his tongue.
“Cute,” Taylor says. “Now help me breakdown some of this furniture so we can make a stretcher and sling. We’ll need to pulley her across.”
“Pulley? Across what?” Lu asks.
“Yeah, there’s a bit of a drop at the front door,” Lowell says.
“Great,” Lu sighs, then lurches to the side. “Gonna puke again.”
Lowell moves the bucket close and holds her shoulders once more.
“See, GI Joe? I can be constructive. Nothing more helpful than keeping a US Marshal from falling into a bucket of her own vomit.” He looks the soldiers up and down. “Nice spacesuits. Got any extras?”
Five
“Oh, man, come on,” Dr. Probst says as the fluorescent lights above her flicker then go out. “Seriously?”
She blinks a few times, letting the after images of the room fade before she tries to get her bearings. The darkness is so complete that for a split second she feels as if she can’t breathe, that taking a single breath would mean drowning in the black. But the uneasiness passes, and she cautiously puts one foot in front of the other as she reaches out with her right hand and finds the wall.
“Okay, not going to let this get me down,” she says as she continues to check the perimeter of the warehouse space. “Just keep moving, and soon you’ll circle back to the doors. There’re probably sensors there that activate the lights. You were an idiot and walked away from the doors. No wonder the lights went off.”
She walks for several feet before she hears a noise in the dark. It’s coming from her left, and she instinctively turns that direction even though she can’t see a thing. Her ears prick up as she hears the sound again, and she tries to work out what could be making it.
“Rats?” she asks. “No. How would they get in? This place is always sealed. And I didn’t see or smell any signs of rodents or any other pests.”
She hesitates, a thought running around and around in her head.
“And no dust,” she says. “No signs of rodents. No dust. No cobwebs. If this is an old munitions dump for the government, then it should have plenty of dust and cobwebs. You can keep out rats, but no one can keep out dust or spiders.” She shivers at the thought of a big, fat black spider skittering across the floor. “Stop that. Don’t psyche yourself out. Think it through.”
Dr. Probst hears the sound one more time and realizes it sounds strangely like the squeaking of cables. Like in a lift or elevator. A slight clanging is added to the sound, and Dr. Probst knows for sure that some type of machinery is running.
She cocks her head and tries to focus on the exact location.
“The middle,” she says. “I can hear it in the middle of the room.”
Or so she thinks. Hard to tell with the many rows of crates between her and the center of the warehouse space. A final squeak and then clang echoes through the air—then silence—until the definite sound of mechanical doors sliding open and a loud hiss of decompressed air.
“Lights are out,” a voice says. A man, maybe middle aged. “Whoever it was is gone.”
“What’s that smell? Do you smell it?” another voice asks. A woman, certainly in her older years. “Is that ammonia? Dear God, has the Substance changed again?”
“Why would it switch to ammonia?” the man asks. “That doesn’t make sense.”
“Unless the Progeny came under some type of attack,” the woman replies. “You know how adaptable the Substance is. It figured out how to replicate genetic structures to fit its needs, then modified its basic biology to thrive in an oxygen rich environment.”
“Could be that was temporary,” the man says. “It adapted to overcome the hurdle of coming to the surface. Now that it has broken through, it may be trying to change the basic components to make the atmosphere closer to its liking.”
“It likes to consume,” the woman says. “It can do that without changing the atmosphere.”
“I think you are being short sighted, Valerie,” the man scoffs. “You assume the Substance is brainless; that it’s an unthinking ooze without wants or ambition.”
“Ambition?” the woman laughs. “It’s not some junior senator from Ohio, Clark. It’s an unknown entity of possibly non-terrestrial origin.”
“Oh, please!” the man nearly shouts. “Not that crap again! It is not an alien, Valerie. If it was, then how could it get down under the Earth’s crust?”
“It burrowed, Clark,” the woman snaps. “Lots of things burrow. It may have started out small, as we have surmised, and grown to its current size over millennia. More than likely eons.”
“I’ll agree with the eons,” the man replies. “But I’m still not saying it is anything but terrestrial. It has all the same components of life that exist on Earth.”
“Yes, it has all the components, Clark,” the woman says. “That’s just way too coincidental.”
“Why does Burkhorst send me up here with you? All we do is bicker,” the man says.
“Because we bicker just as much down there,” the woman replies. “Let’s just conduct our sweep and get back down to the labs, okay? I’m on break in thirty minutes and have some microwave popcorn and a Judy Garland movie waiting for me.”
“Judy Garland? Which one?” the man asks.
“A Star Is Born,” the woman replies.
“That’s Barbra Streisand, not Judy Garland,” the man says.
“The Streisand one is a remake, you dumbshit,” the woman snaps.
“Oh, well I didn’t know that,” the man grumbles. “Don’t have to bite my head off.”
Dr. Probst just stands there, her back against the wall, her mouth hanging open, and her mind blown. The darkness is no longer complete as the hint of flashlights reflects up against the ceiling of the warehouse space.
“Flashlights? An elevator?” Dr. Probst says. “What about the EMP?” Then she clamps her hands over her mouth as she realiz
es she didn’t say that in her head like she’d planned.
“Did you hear that?” the woman asks.
“Yeah,” the man says. “Maybe it echoed up from the shaft.”
“The shaft is double sealed from the labs, Clark,” the woman replies, exasperated. “We couldn’t hear them down there if they were screaming at the top of their lungs and playing Metallica at full volume.”
“We wouldn’t hear them screaming at all if they were playing Metallica at full volume,” the man says.
“Oh, for the love of Pete! Why must you nitpick everything I say?”
“Because you say things that aren’t always correct!”
“They are called figures of speech, Clark! Or metaphors! Or analogies! Or just whatever pops into my head! Stop being so damn literal all the time! I have never met a cellular biologist with so little capacity for creative thought! Think outside the petri dish for five seconds, will you?”
“No need for personal attacks,” the man replies quietly.
“Sometimes there is a great need,” the woman replies.
Dr. Probst watches the ceiling, her eyes tracking the movement of the light. She turns to her left and backtracks towards the doors. Maybe she can hide and see if they open the doors and leave the warehouse space. If so, then she can follow and get the hell out of this place.
Except…
Except, there’s an elevator that goes down to labs below. An elevator. That goes down. To labs below.
What’s in those labs? she thinks, this time remembering to keep the dialogue internal.
She carefully places each foot in front of the other, mindful not to scuff or scrape the floor and alert the people to her presence. Her eyes track the lights, and it’s a couple minutes before she realizes that there’s not nearly as much light as there was before. She glances over her shoulder to see light coming around the corner of the closest row of crates to the wall.
“Shit,” she whispers.
She moves faster, trying to get to the first break in the row before the person shines the flashlight down towards her. She just gets to the opening, and is ready to jump behind the crates, when she’s blinded by a flashlight directly in front of her.
