by Jake Bible
“What does that mean?” Dr. Probst asks. “What is yellow, claxons, red, dead?”
But he’s already gone, leaving Dr. Probst to stand there with her jaw hanging open, her chin rubbing against the bottom of her face mask.
***
“Your turn,” Bolton whispers as he hands Toloski’s helmet to Lu helmet and slowly turns the knob on the oxygen tank attached. “A short breath and then a deep one, then hold it as long as you can.”
Lu nods and does as Bolton says, her cheeks puffing out after the deep breath.
“Your turn, Kyle,” Bolton says.
“I’m good,” Kyle whispers as he sits next to his mother on the break room floor, their backs pressed up against the far wall. His eyes are locked onto the pools of glowing pickle brine that lie between them and the barricade, a result of their hard fought respite from the ooze creatures. “Give some to Holt.”
“I’m good,” Holt rasps from a spot in front of them all, a wounded Toloski cradled in his lap. “Lowell doesn’t look so great, though.”
“Peachy keen, jelly bean,” Lowell mumbles, then spits a thick glob of bloody phlegm onto the floor. “I’ve had worse beatings.”
“What about Toloski?” Kyle asks. “Shouldn’t he be getting most of the air since he’s wounded?”
“Not if he’s about to turn into one of those things,” Lowell says.
“Fuck you, Lowell,” Kyle says. “The guy saved our asses! If he hadn’t jumped in front of what-the-fuck-ever those things were, then you’d be a glowing green blob, just like Kreigel was!”
“Chill, kid,” Holt says. “Lowell is right. Toloski isn’t doing so good, and we don’t need to waste resources on him. He’s either going to die from his wounds, or he’s going to change and die from a bullet in the head.”
Holt picks up his pistol and sets it on his thigh, the barrel just inches from Toloski’s temple.
“This is bullshit,” Kyle says. “Total bullshit.”
“There’s nothing we can do now,” Lu says as she takes Kyle’s hand in hers. “We’re out of pickle jars. We neutralized them well enough to get them to back off, but we aren’t going anywhere unless someone comes and rescues us.”
“But without any com, we can’t call for help,” Bolton says. “I doubt the White House is sending an extraction team just for shits and giggles.”
“We hold out here for as long as we can,” Holt says, and coughs, instantly waving off the face mask Lowell offers. “I’m good. We have to conserve.”
Lowell nods and cranks the knob on the tank, turning the air off.
A sound from the barricade makes Holt lift his pistol and take aim.
“So much for those things moving along,” Lowell whispers.
“Hello?” a voice cries out softly from the other side of the barricade. “Hello? Is anyone in there?”
“Is that Dr. Probst?” Kyle asks as he starts to get up. Lu’s hand grips his wrist like iron, and he looks down at it, then at her. “Mom, if that’s Cheryl, then we need to let her in.”
“Hey!” Dr. Probst calls out. “Kyle? Marshal? Lieutenant Taylor? Is anyone in there?”
“She didn’t ask for me,” Lowell smirks. “I’m hurt.
“Mom, come on,” Kyle hisses.
“It may not be her,” Lu says.
“What? No, those things don’t talk,” Kyle says, and struggles against his mother’s grip. “Mom!”
“Hello!” Dr. Probst yells, and they all hear her start to pull pieces of the barricade apart. “Hello!”
“We don’t know what the things can do,” Lu says. “You saw Kreigel. You saw those creatures. We know nothing about what they are capable of. Perfect mimicry could be the next step.”
“That’s crazy,” Kyle says.
“What isn’t crazy about all of this, kid?” Lowell laughs. “If someone said that monkeys will come flying out of my taint in the next two minutes, I would be inclined to believe them at this point.”
“I can hear talking!” Dr. Probst shouts. “Someone fucking answer me! We only have a few minutes before they purge this whole fucking bunker!”
That gets everyone’s attention, and Bolton and Lowell stand up.
“Sergeant?” Bolton asks as he looks at Holt. “Thoughts?”
“If the things can now mimic people, they sure have gotten really good at it,” Holt says. “My bet is on that being the real Dr. Probst.”
“Goddammit!” Dr. Probst shouts. “I can still hear you talking! Will someone at least tell me you’re all okay?!”
“We’re fine, Doctor!” Bolton yells as he moves to the barricade. “For the most part!”
“Should we be yelling?” Lowell ask as he steps next to Bolton and begins yanking boards and furniture from the barricade. “I mean, you know, because of the oozemunks?”
“If they were back, then we wouldn’t hear Dr. Probst,” Bolton says. “And that ‘purge’ she mentioned sounds a lot worse than oozemunks.”
“Please stop saying oozemunks,” Lu sighs.
“Deal,” Bolton says as he and Lowell hurry up their pace at clearing the barricade.
They meet Dr. Probst halfway, but don’t slow as they scramble to get the barricade clear enough so they can be free of the break room.
“Jesus,” Dr. Probst says as she is finally able to get past the barricade and into the room. “What the fuck happened here?”
“Oozemunks,” Lowell says, smiling at the groan from Lu, “and other assorted beasties of the green gel variety.”
“Green gel?” Dr. Probst asks, then looks at the residue left in the room. “Oh, that stuff.” She sniffs. “Why does it smell like pickles in here?”
“Because pickles,” Kyle says as he points to the pools of pickle juice, “is the only thing that would stop the things. The vinegar neutralized the ammonia. We got the things to retreat.”
“Not before casualties,” Holt says.
“He doesn’t look good,” Dr. Probst says. “Can he walk?”
“No,” Holt says. “He took a direct hit from one of the ooze creatures. Saved our lives, but not his. He probably doesn’t have long.”
“Where’s everyone else?” Dr. Probst asks. “Taylor? Kreigel? Please tell me they aren’t in the other part of the bunker.”
“They’re dead,” Bolton says. “The things got them.”
“Oh,” Dr. Probst says quietly, then takes a deep breath and nods at them all. “Well, fuck then. Let’s go.”
“Hold the fuck on, Doctor Livingston,” Lowell says. “Go? Go where? There’s no place to go, and those fucking creatures will be back soon.”
“There is a place to go, and we don’t have much time to get there,” Dr. Probst says. “Now follow me, or we’re going to be nothing but ash.”
“Lu’s hurt,” Bolton says. “She can’t hurry.”
“Toloski’s down for the count,” Holt says. “I need to stay here with him. If it was the other way around, he’d put a bullet in my head and leave. But I’m not him, so I’ll stay.”
“Bullshit,” Dr. Probst says. “You’re coming. You’re all coming, and I’m not arguing. We have twenty minutes to get our asses into the purge shaft and down to the facility.”
They all stare at her.
“No time to explain,” she sighs.
There are several shrieks and cries from farther inside the bunker.
“Okay,” Lowell says as he moves to one side of Lu and grips her under her armpit. He looks at Bolton. “You gonna help, Sergeant Slaughter? Or do I have to rescue the damsel myself?”
His head rocks back from the punch between his eyes, and he falls on his ass.
“Call me a damsel again, fuckface,” Lu says as she struggles to her feet on her own power. “You guys carry Toloski. Kyle can help me.”
“He can’t come with us,” Dr. Probst says. “There’s no way he can get down the ladder.”
“Go,” Toloski rasps. He looks up at Holt. “Don’t worry about me.”
“Toloski, c
ome on,” Holt starts to argue, but sees the look in Toloski’s eyes. “You sure?”
“Sure,” Toloski says. “Go.”
“Come on,” Dr. Probst says as she shoves through the barricade out into the hallway. “The clock is ticking, and we don’t want to be here when it runs down.”
***
The freezing waters are nearly as terrifying to Dr. Hall as the monsters that snap and crush the canoe in their massive claws before him. His teeth chatter violently, and he has to struggle to move his limbs and keep from going under the surface of the frozen Potomac. Ice chunks slam into his head as he desperately, fruitlessly tries to make his way to shore.
A sputtering, coughing Alvarez comes up from underneath and starts to twist this way and that as he takes in the situation.
“Go, you moron,” he hisses at Dr. Hall through blue lips and his own equally chattering teeth. “Get to the shore!”
“I’m trying, dammit,” Dr. Hall whimpers, the act of speaking almost too painful as his jaw threatens to freeze closed while also threatening to chatter right off his face.
Alvarez strokes hard and grabs onto Dr. Hall’s collar, yanking the man towards the eastern shore of the river. Dr. Hall struggles against the manhandling at first, then realizes he has almost as little strength to fight as he does to swim.
“Come on,” Alvarez says as they reach the shore, and the man flops up out of the water and onto the riverbank. “We can’t stay.”
Dr. Hall manages to get all of himself up onto the riverbank, but a large splash would probably cover his feet instantly. The splash comes as the monsters in the river fight over the mangled canoe and cause several large waves to crash down over Dr. Hall’s legs. He whimpers and claws his way up farther until he’s level with Alvarez.
“I can’t move,” Dr. Hall says. “I think I’m dying of hypothermia.”
“There’s nothink about it,” Alvarez says. “We’re both going to die of hypothermia if we don’t get someplace warm and get out of these clothes.”
“How?” Dr. Hall asks. “We’re in the middle of nowhere.”
“We’re on a golf course, idiot,” Alvarez says, painfully getting to his feet. He turns and starts dragging Dr. Hall farther up onto the frozen grass. “It’s not nowhere. Now get up.”
Dr. Hall rolls over, and he sees the claws out in the river snipping bits off the canoe until the thing is nothing but shreds floating with the ice chunks.
“Those aren’t fish,” Dr. Hall says. “Those are crabs. Giant fucking crabs.”
“Blue crabs,” Alvarez says. “Sort of.”
There’s a large splash and then a loud gasp from the riverbank and Dr. Hall jolts, scrambling to his feet.
“Help,” a weak voice cries. “Alvarez. Help.”
Alvarez steps closer and sees Whittier lying in the cold mud of the riverbank, half his left leg gone. The man looks up and squints into the darkness.
“Alvarez?” he asks.
“Fuck,” Alvarez says as he hurries forward and reaches down for Whittier’s outstretched hand.
But before he can grasp it, a fifteen foot tall, semi-glowing, blue crab monster comes up out of the river, ice chunks and bits of blue canoe falling from its shell, and slams a claw down in the middle of Whittier’s back. The sound of the man’s spine cracking is almost as loud as Dr. Hall’s scream.
“Go!” Alvarez yells as he stumbles backwards, turns, and starts shoving Dr. Hall across the golf course and towards a set of barely visible buildings in the distance. “Run!”
Dr. Hall doesn’t have to be told twice as Whittier starts screaming, his body systematically torn apart by the crab monster. The screams of agony and the pleas for help and mercy drive Dr. Hall on even though he has pretty much lost all feeling in his legs from the thighs down.
Alvarez is right behind him, a palm pressed firmly in the small of his back, as the two men sprint as fast as they can over the perfectly cut, ash covered grass of the East Potomac Golf Course and Driving Range. A roar from behind gets them moving even faster, although Dr. Hall can’t help himself and glances back over his shoulder.
“Crabs can’t roar,” he says.
“Cram the zoology bullshit, Doctor,” Alvarez says. “Crabs also aren’t fifteen feet tall and glowing.”
Dr. Hall nods in agreement as if the man had stated that dogs like to lick their own balls.
They race across a green, and then dodge the small pine trees that make up a barrier between the sixth and ninth tees. The roar from behind gets louder and is joined by two more. This time Alvarez glances over his shoulder.
“Shit! They’re after us!” Alvarez yells. “You have to run faster, Doctor!”
“You run faster!” Dr. Hall snaps, knowing the reply makes no sense.
Gunshots ring out, and one of the roars turns to a howl of pain.
“Come on, you fuckers!” Zakarian screams from up on the bridge behind them. “I’m up here!”
More gunshots, more howls, quite a few more roars.
“That’s right! Come on up here and get me!” Zakarian screams. “Come on, you fuckery fucks! BRING IT ON!”
The man is still screaming as Alvarez and Dr. Hall reach the first building, a concessions shack that is boarded up tight.
“Aren’t we going in there?” Dr. Hall asks as Alvarez shoves him past the small building. “There might be something in there to keep us warm.”
“What? Frozen cans of stadium cheese?” Alvarez snaps. “Even if half The North Face inventory was in there, we can’t stop here. The things will crush that shack like they crushed our canoe.”
“I don’t see how they could grow so big,” Dr. Hall says. “That doesn’t make sense.”
“News flash, Doctor, but nothing makes sense,” Alvarez says. “I don’t think anything ever will again, as far as I’m concerned.” He squints into the distance. “There! The pro shop! It’ll have clothes and is big enough that we can dodge the crabs!”
Dr. Hall shakes his head at the impossibility of that statement, yet keeps his mouth closed for a change.
More gunshots, more howls, more roars, and then a piercing scream.
“Shit,” Alvarez mutters, knowing Zakarian didn’t make it. “Thanks, buddy.”
They hit the rear glass doors of the pro shop, and Alvarez grabs the handles and yanks hard. The doors don’t budge. He looks around and picks up a small cement statue of a golf gnome and smashes one of the doors. He kicks out the glass and shoves Dr. Hall through.
A look over his shoulder tells him that he has only one move to make. Diving through the door and taking Dr. Hall out at the knees in the process, Alvarez just manages to get his legs clear as a crab claw snaps closed right where he had been standing.
“Crawl!” Alvarez orders, and Dr. Hall complies as they scramble across the laminate wood flooring of the golf club’s pro shop.
Dr. Hall clips a rack of golf balls and a hundred 12-packs of Titleist Pro V1’s come crashing down onto Alvarez. The man rolls onto his back and kicks out as the crab claw reaches in through the broken glass door at him. The thing is an inch or so away from Alvarez’s right foot before it comes to a jarring halt, eliciting a frustrated roar from the monster on the other end of the claw.
Alvarez clumsily gets to his feet amidst the pile of golf ball cases, extricates himself from the mess, and follows Dr. Hall farther into the shop.
“Pants,” Dr. Hall is saying as he gets to a rack of golf pants and strips off his own dripping wet pants. “Dry pants.”
His fingers can barely work the snap and zipper as he yanks on a pair of bright green golf pants that are a size too small, completely ignoring the thrashing, roaring monster at the doors to the shop.
“No,” Alvarez shouts as he grabs Dr. Hall’s arm and pulls him away from the rack of gaudy attire. “The lockers. Back here.”
“What? This is the pro shop, not the club house,” Dr. Hall yells as he tries to pull free from the agent’s grip. “There are no lockers here.”
Alvarez ignores the man’s protest, pulls him around the checkout counter, grabs a counter top display of key chains, and kicks open a door directly behind the cash register.
“In,” Alvarez says, and shoves Dr. Hall into the employee break room beyond. “Lockers.”
He slams the door closed and starts grabbing the key chains off the display one by one.
“Come on, come on,” he says as he pinches golf ball shaped key fob after key fob. “Just give me one break. One break.”
“What are you doing?” Dr. Hall asks, trying to see in the gloom of the break room. Suddenly a bright blue light erupts from between Alvarez’s thumb and forefinger. “Hey!”
“Yes!” Alvarez says as he turns the mini-flashlight on the dark room.
“The odds of finding a working flashlight after a catastrophic EMP event like we experienced is one in a billion,” Dr. Hall says.
“Who cares?” Alvarez replies. “That means there might be other things working in this city.”
“Okay, it’s possible, but…”
“Hold this,” Alvarez interrupts, and shoves the light into Dr. Hall’s hands.
Alvarez rushes over to a set of old, banged up storage lockers. He ignores the lockers without locks, and instead grabs a nine iron from a stray bag of clubs that leans close to a counter with an ancient microwave and stained coffee maker on it. He brings the nine iron down again and again on a padlock on one of the lockers, then sets it aside once the padlock gives out.
“Jackpot,” he says as he pulls a gym bag out of the locker and tosses it to Dr. Hall. “See what’s in there?”
Dr. Hall clicks the flashlight twice and the light stays on as he sets the key fob down and starts rummaging through the gym bag.
Alvarez destroys the other locks and empties the lockers of their contents, joyful at the sight of the pairs of sweatpants, hoodies, sweatshirts, running shoes, and many sets of cold weather gloves and hats.
“I dated a woman that worked here,” Alvarez says. “The employees always changed in here instead of the club house so they didn’t have to deal with members and the public. Easy in, easy out. Some of them were part of a running club, so I knew there would be gear left here.”
