Shoggoth

by Byron Craft

  Quickly surveying the area, Ironwood saw several large pieces of fractured rock bearing etched symbols similar to the pictoglyphs he and Alan had discovered beneath the Morley house. They were probably the remains of the monolith that the greed driven Eastwater had his men bust through. The tunnel’s end had been terminated by another cave in, another barrier. A small hole had been dug through the rubble big enough to allow a man to crawl into. Most of the crew were in a panic mode. Before he could say anything one of the seabees piped in, “I should have checked the gas levels with a portable tester. I told Captain Eastwater that it wasn’t safe. The engineers hadn’t shored up the ceiling. Everything collapsed last night after all that gunfire. It must’ve been the vibrations. We hand dug that this morning,” pointing toward the hole. “Lieutenant Riggs went in there looking for the Captain just minutes ago. There must be a volcanic vent leaking carbon dioxide. I should’ve checked the air in that hole.”

  “Do you have any breathing gear?” Ironwood demanded.

  “I sent one of the guys topside to get a unit out of one of the trucks.”

  Ironwood was familiar with the deadly properties of CO2. Being heavier than air it would displace adequate levels of oxygen. When it filled an enclosed space CO2 will, in short order, no more than a minute or two, overcome anyone in contact with it. The unfortunate soul will simply pass out quietly and suffocate not realizing anything was wrong. “There isn’t enough time,” he declared. Turning to Professor Willett, he spotted the AIS, Audio Infrared Scanner, on his portable specimen table, picking up the headpiece he asked, “Does this thing really work?”

  “Just push the red button,” replied Willett.

  Turning it on its side, he located the “red” button and pushed it. A ready light winked. Professor Ironwood removed his straw cowboy hat, plopped it onto Willett’s noggin and donned the extra-terrestrial style helmet. “Wish me luck,” he said, his voice sounding tinny through the amplified mouthpiece, and then headed for the hole in the rubble.

  Breaking loose from the two seabees, Gwen rushed to his side and took hold of Ironwood’s left arm. He smiled, patted her hand and proceeded to crawl through the man-sized rat hole. He was halfway through to the other side before he realized that with the helmet on Gwen was unable to see him smile.

  It was extremely dark in the blocked tunnel section, but the infrared scanner worked exceptionally well. Crawling on his hands and knees Ironwood was able to make out a hunched over outline a short distance in front of him. Rising to his feet, he removed his penlight from his pocket. The miniature torch outlined the image of Lieutenant Jason Riggs’ unconscious form. He was still breathing, thank God! Grabbing the young officer by the arms, he dragged him to the hole which he had just come through and hollered for help. Threading the comatose frame of Riggs through the hand dug cavity was cumbersome and awkward until the welcomed relief of helping hands stretched out from the other end and pulled him through to safety.

  Ironwood rested briefly for a moment against some of the rubble from the rockslide. Getting the Lieutenant out of there was an exhausting task. “Come on Professor!” cried the voice of Gilhooley on the other side. From above he heard a loud ripping sound as if a giant was tearing a granite slab in half. Seconds later the roof fell in.

  The tired but agile Professor ran from the man-sized rat hole toward the darkened interior in the nick of time. Congratulating himself, at first, on escaping the falling debris his heart sank when he noticed that his avenue of escape had been cut off by tons of dirt and rock.

  ***

  At that moment, she realized that she loved Jason Riggs more than life. Gwen wanted to lose herself in his body. She hoped that if they became one that they would grow very old together. She didn't want to lose him.

  The seabees had formed a human stretcher by joining their hands and arms together cradling their Lieutenant out of the tunnel and to fresh air. Three men on each side of Riggs, in unison, jogged the length the of the passageway. Gwendolyn Gilhooley’s voice became loud, rising and falling in an unnatural cadence as she ran alongside, “Wake up Jason…I mean Lieutenant!” Some of the seabees smiled; there were no secrets here.

  Only a second or two after pulling Lieutenant Riggs from the hole in the earth did the tunnel on the other side collapse spewing dirt and debris out of the cavity like a cannon shot. The air turned chalky with desert dust and sand. That was when they took hold of Riggs and fled the mile-long stretch of the tunnel.

  Before reaching the ladder, a man ran up with the oxygen tank. The human stretcher came to a halt, and the man placed a neoprene face mask over Jason’s nose and mouth and turned a valve. There was a faint hiss, and the Lieutenant began to breathe deeply. Pushing the mask away the first thing that came into Jason’s view was Gwen bending over, looking him in the eyes. “Hello darling,” she beamed.

  “Was it your turn now to pull me out of the earth?” he asked smiling back.

  “No. Professor Ironwood got you out. Only now, he’s trapped. There was another cave in.”

  “Get me up,” he demanded.” The men eased Riggs to his feet. Swaying slightly, he leaned, briefly, against the shoulder of a seabee who looked like he pumped iron in his off time. “Dig him out of there!” he commanded.

  “If we had a week, maybe, Lieutenant. This old structure is pretty flimsy in this area. We’d have to shore as we go,” answered one of the seabees.

  Jason Riggs wished that he had brought the Komatsu excavator when he originally wanted to, but Eastwater had countermanded his request. It could dig through a tunnel ceiling in a matter of minutes, but it would take a day to get the excavator out there. The big piece of equipment had to be partially disassembled and transported by two lowboy trucks and then reassembled on site. He had no idea how much air was in that tunnel section. He had no idea, as well, if Ironwood had survived the cave in.

  Dr. Marinus Bicknell Willett came running up brandishing what looked like a metal detector with a red lens on its sensor. “We can locate him with this,” he said out of breath. “He has the AIS. The scanner is synced to the isotope locator on the helmet.”

  “You sure that thing works Professor?” he challenged.

  “I’d stake my career on it,” the pony tailed scientist fired back.

  “Everyone topside, gentlemen, on the double!” ordered the lieutenant.

  ***

  The swift action of the cave in had cut off the world around him. The inhospitable atmosphere enveloped Ironwood like cold silk sheets lining a coffin. He didn’t choke on the dust that swirled around him for the reason that the AIS breathing apparatus fed him clean air. When he first entered the tunnel section the CO2 readout on the faceplate triggered a warning icon, and the compressed tank responded by filling the helmet with life-saving oxygen. After the cave in, the warning indicator turned off along with the supplemental air supply. The collapse of the tunnel ceiling must have plugged the gas leak, he decided. A stillness now surrounded him. It was quiet. Occasionally, the sound of a pebble feebly sliding down the debris landslide would echo softly through the underground labyrinth breaking the silence. There was a slight dampness, but for the most part, it was dry.

  Over seven decades’ navy personnel had traveled across this section of the desert, unaware that a vast network of tunnels lays below their feet. The tunnel Ironwood walked along was no longer an entrance to a dead end, but it seemed to stretch on forever. Many branching shafts terminated at the passageway he traveled. They appeared empty. Still, he had the impression that someone or something lurked in their darkness, in myriad dark chambers. What added to the anxiety of his entrapment was the lost age that Alan had described so vividly that had been buried beneath the Mojave for more than fifty million years, if his and Isaac Morley’s stories were to be believed. Which would, most likely, indicate that these endless channels and all of their artifacts predated mankind, they were clearly made by some intelligent life. It was mind boggling. The Age of dinosaurs came to an end roughly sixty-five
million years ago, due to an impact by a giant rock from outer space. The whole lot that existed, so long ago, was now a little more than bones pinned together in museums. All of which were insignificant when compared to a living breathing organism from the region's primordial history.

  Professor Ironwood had researched shoggoths in the days when he worked at Miskatonic University. Legend had it that humans were considered less than fleas on the hides of the hapless monstrosities. He read that the nightmarish creatures weren't blind, that they had a countless number of eyes, but they probably didn't need them. The scent of a blood trail was doubtless as wide and as clear as a well-lit highway. The Professor’s thoughts became increasingly gloomy. Most likely, shoggoths owned the darkness, he contemplated. In all probability, this one was waiting. The morbid expectation that its great mass could feel the light footsteps of little warm blooded souls through miles of stone added to his chill. He, somehow, sensed that it didn’t plot its attacks. Maybe it didn’t think of an approaching man as an object of aggression. Not even as prey. It was just waiting to feed. It was hungry.

  The professor walked on in silence through the dark for what seemed like an eternity until the cave abruptly widened. He had hiked several miles by then and was surprised to discover a deviation within the unvaried five-sided subterranean architecture. His flashlight illuminated a familiar breach on the right side of the tunnel. It was a raised area similar to a loading dock. It was recessed. It was identical to the large rectangular hole in the wall that had was in the other tunnel section except this one was in an excellent state of preservation. Excluding eons of dust, the thirty-foot-long, four-foot-high ledge was entirely free of the dirt and rock that had all but buried the other platform. The most striking thing about it was the chromium object on its brink. Unlike the other silver pedestal, this one was completely intact. This solitary post with a conical bottom was crowned with a large sphere that loomed a good five-feet above its base. The globe looked like a colossal steel bubble a few feet in diameter. Its dust-laden exterior still gleamed when he directed the beam of his flashlight at it. Wiping the surface clean with the palm of his hand revealed a slight protrusion, a lens of a greenish hue.

  Crawling up the edge of the platform to get a better view of the alien object, the Professor noted that every artifact that he had come across in the tunnels appeared to been built for giants. The platform was equally deep as it was wide, about thirty-feet. At the back was an enormous five-sided door that stood the height of two men and had a grab bar nearly six-feet in length. Eager that the colossal door might lead to an exit he ran up to it only to be disappointed when, through a circular pothole in its surface, he observed tons of rubble blocking the way. Discouraged, Ironwood approached the steel bubble again. Wiping more of its surface free of centuries of dust, he discovered a small opening in the device. It was the size of a nickel. It was smack dab in the middle of the orb facing the interior of the platform. The small hole, when he shone his light directly on it, was revealed to be five-sided in shape.

  Ironwood stared at the familiar configuration for several minutes. He was struck by an idea. It was a silly thought, he knew, nevertheless, it might be so. “It couldn’t be,” he said to himself. Reaching into his pocket, he removed one of the star shaped stones he had appropriated when Captain Eastwater wasn’t watching. It looked to be the same size. Curiosity had overcome common sense, he placed the five-sided stone into the corresponding receptacle. It was a perfect fit.

  The lens atop the device radiated green, and a buzzing sound filled the chamber.

  ***

  A squad of Marines approached Lieutenant Riggs. The unit had been subdivided down to eight soldiers assigned to be a fire team. Two of the men carried the flame throwers Admiral Hawkins had described, and the rest toted Colt M16A2 Rifles. The NCO reported to Riggs. “Stand ready,” the Lieutenant ordered.

  The long arm of the AIS detector swept the ground, and the sensor winked red. “Found him!” Dr. Willett howled.

  Lieutenant Riggs ran to his side. “Are you sure this time?”

  “Yes,” he answered back. “He kept moving before, but now he is staying in one place.”

  Riggs was relieved when Willett, earlier, had picked up Ironwood’s movements. If he was moving, it meant he was alive. “Everyone over here,” he shouted. “Start digging.”

  Seabees and Marines alike joined in with picks and shovels. Jason Riggs stood watching as dirt and sand went flying. At this rate, he thought, we might be able to break through before sunset. The sound of a truck’s motor diverted his attention. Riggs turned around and spotted Gwendolyn Gilhooley backing her single axle flatbed truck with its drill tower mounted on the rear up to the spot where the men were digging. Jason smiled. He knew what she was up to.

  Gwen hollered out the opened window of her truck and demanded, “Out of the way, you guys are too damn slow.”

  The Seabees and Marines turned to their lieutenant for guidance. “Let the lady through gentlemen,” he directed, still smiling.

  The men parted, and Gwen backed the truck up to their digging spot. The drill tower tilted up and aligned vertically over the area. Gwen disengaged the drive shaft from the transmission, while still inside the cab, and connected it to the drilling rig using the shift levers on the truck’s floor. She jumped to the ground and ran around to the back of her truck to supervise the drill bar’s operation. “We’ll punch a three-foot hole in the ground. A five-pound charge should do the trick.”

  ***

  It was sweet, like the fragrance after the rain. There was a brief flicker on the edge of nowhere. From the dark burrow, a coiling mass of tentacles shot out. A great mucous covered bulk writhed and squirmed as it finally revealed itself. Ironwood hadn't seen a shoggoth in its entirety until now. It was a parasitic protozoan on steroids. It had no form and moved using pseudopods, temporary projections or membranes of unicellular construction. It didn't crawl or slither it moved in starts and stops as its membranes stretched forward and moved not unlike a swimmer doing the breast stroke. The cry “Eeeeeeee! Eeeeeeee! Wawk Wawk Wawk Wawk!” followed by a rattling noise, assaulted his ears.

  Coming closer Ironwood was repulsed by what he saw. The infrared scanner in the helmet coupled with the powerful lumens of his flashlight defined the ghastly image. The shoggoth’s feedings must have nurtured it to a mature state because it terminated at one end by a star shaped cluster of tentacles. It was an eye-opener for Ironwood because he realized with a shock that its countenance was replicated by the star stones.

  Embedded in the slime of the shoggoth were the outlines of three men. All dressed in camo. Their skin stood out extremely white in the prevailing light as the creature, undoubtedly, sucked the very life out of them, liquefying their flesh and bones. Their faces contorted into continual screams that became completely muffled by the putrid flesh, in which each was encased.

  Increasing its speed, while riding on the slick tunnel floor, the shoggoth moved forward, closer and closer towards Professor Thomas Ironwood.

  ***

  Captain Eastwater was in excruciating pain. The shoggoth slime had penetrated every inch of his clothing. It was a cancer seeping into every single pore of his body. Through the thick veil of the creature’s substance, he could just make out Ironwood standing on a raised loading dock. It was a dream image. He had been overbearing, cruel to the man for no other reason than he was successful. He had been jealous. Eastwater was overcome with remorse and regret. Ironwood should not suffer the same fate as I, he reasoned despite his torment. Move arm must move the arm, he told himself focusing all his will on the task. He had been a fool for the better part of his adult life. Stepping all over others to gain wealth and recognition. The pain was agonizingly terrible. His greed had brought him to this hell. His entire body felt aflame. Somehow, he had become empathic with the creature as it slowly absorbed him with a thousand knives. He knew that the unbearable existence would last a very long time until the mercy of death befell him.
Move that arm. He struggled in the viscous mass. His boney emaciated hand moved closer to his belt. That’s it, his brain screamed, now closer! The Captain eached his objective, his hand closed around the grenade suspended from his belt, pulling the pin, his last thought was, “penitence.”

  ***

  The explosion rocked Ironwood backward. The tentacle thing blasted back down the tunnel like the wadding from a cannon shot. With his ears ringing from the deafening report he regained his balance, climbed off the platform and peered down the length of the tunnel. It was gone. The confined space must have acted like a rifle barrel.

  ***

  The diesel engine of Gwen’s truck had masked the report. No one felt the vibrations of the explosion below. Gwe moved the truck with the drill rig to a safe distance and removed a five-pound charge from the containment trailer. The blasting gel was tightly encased in a heavy plastic wrap and formed into a tubular shape. Inserting a blasting cap through the plastic wrapper along with the two wires attached, she lowered the gel, cap, and wires into the hole she had drilled. Trailing the wires away from the explosive to a distance of two-hundred feet Gwen hooked one of the wires to the negative pole of a twelve-volt battery.

  Familiar with the procedure, Jason back filled the hole with a few shovels full of earth. It was a method used to add weight on top of the explosive material that helped to drive the detonation downward.

  ***

  The shoggoth reassembled itself as it moved along. Ironwood’s disbelief was overwhelmed by his fear and astonishment. Pieces of the giant thrashing blob were rejoining. The tentacles momentarily blended into a ball of tendrils and muscular trunks thrashing in the air, pounding on the passageway floor resembling misshapened elephant legs. All the time, new organs formed over its bloated body; eyes, ears, mouths, none of them human.