Mortal Skies Omnibus

by Rebecca Fernfield

The bony leg rises, angled at the knuckle, and taps.

  “It’s asking to be fed?”

  Connaught reaches into the rats’ cage. “More of a demand, I’d say. It’s truly fascinating.”

  “Fascinating is not the word I would use, Connaught.”

  Taking the squirming rat by the tail, Connaught places it into the secondary chamber attached to the large plastic container. It scurries, turns back to the entrance as Connaught relocks the hatch, and scratches at the wall. The mist rises, and a tendril works its way into the smaller chamber, enveloping the rat. It scurries into the larger chamber. The bony leg of the creature lifts as the rat passes, and spears the rodent with its horned leg.

  “So, it does have the capacity to kill.”

  “It does, and its aim is always accurate; it hasn’t had to stab twice.”

  The rat lies rigid as the creature retracts its barb.

  “Is it paralysed? Will it eat it?”

  “Watch, Colonel. You’ll see.”

  A long membranous tube elongates and hovers over the rat’s head. The creature bokes, spews orange vomit, then envelopes the head with its leathery proboscis. The noise of sucking is distinct, and nauseating.

  “That is disgusting.”

  “Indeed it is, but it’s not unlike our flies, which also spit enzymes onto their food then suck it up, although they eat anything, unlike this species which only appears to eat the brain of its prey.” Connaught gestures to a blue and white cool box on the counter. “You can take a look if you want. The remains of her last few meals are awaiting incineration after I’ve taken a look.”

  “Her?” Littleton draws back from the creature. “When is it scheduled for extermination?”

  “Extermination?”

  “Yes!” His voice is stern. “Extermination. It has to die, and the sooner the better.”

  “But we’re only at the beginning of discovering what it’s capable of.”

  Littleton turns away, the revulsion he feels borders on panic; the thing is truly repulsive, and dangerous. “We have absolutely no interest in learning what it is capable of; only in learning how to destroy it. One more day-”

  “One!”

  “Yes, one more day and then I will put in a request for the termination of this project.” Littleton recognises the steely glint of defiance in Connaught’s eyes. “I recognise that your ... interest in this-”

  “What happened to ‘we can’t fight an enemy we don’t understand’?”

  “Connaught, the only thing we need to understand about this ‘enemy’ is how to rid the earth of its presence.”

  “But it’s a new species, Colonel. The ramifications-”

  “A new species that sees us as prey, Connaught.”

  “Wolves, lions-”

  Littleton snorts. “There is no comparison between this thing,” he gestures to the tank, “and lions and tigers, and it is far too dangerous to be kept alive. Man has spent decades attempting to wipe out pathogens that spread disease and death, this creature is no different.”

  “But a new species, Colonel. We should study it to-”

  “A new species that I will make it my priority to drive into extinction, Doctor Connaught.”

  “By studying it, we have a chance of discovering what will kill the parasite, or reverse the effects of the infection, even create a vaccine. If we can do that, then you won’t have to exterminate entire communities with chemical weapons. The people will be cured.”

  Littleton remembers the images of the infected, and is not sure he’d want to see one ‘cured’; that they’d return to normal is doubtful. “Curing the infected may not be ... hell, man, we need to stop this at source.”

  “Then let me continue with my research.”

  The monster in the cage retracts it proboscis, the gas swirls in agitation. The rat lies dead, its flesh stripped to bone, eye sockets empty, skull cavity cleaned out.

  “One day, Doctor Connaught-”

  Thud!

  Both men twist to look at the creature in the cage. It appears agitated, but is not the source of the noise.

  Thud!

  Both men stare across to the counter.

  Thud!

  The blue and white cool box shifts. Littleton steps towards the door. “What the hell is in that box, Connaught?”

  Thud!

  The box moves towards the edge. The creature in the cage scrabbles, its horned legs tapping against the plastic.

  “The dead rats.”

  “Dead?”

  Another thud and the box hangs over the edge.

  “Connaught, get out of here!”

  Thud!

  The box topples and its contents spray across the tiled floor.

  “Connaught get back!”

  Several of the rats are intact, their bellies distended, their heads skinned of fur and flesh. Others lay with bellies burst open and the cavities empty. Across the floor, black monsters, miniature, mutated, versions of the hideous creature in the cage, scurry between the bodies, scattering across the room. Connaught stands frozen. Littleton backs to the door. “Connaught! Evacuate now! That is an order.”

  Littleton grabs the door handle, slamming it down as the things scurry to Connaught.

  “Move it, Connaught!” Littleton pulls the door open and leaps into the corridor.

  Connaught screams as a dozen black and spiny monsters launch into the air, pinning themselves to his body, stabbing barbed legs into his flesh, biting rows of tapered incisors into his face, arms, legs, and stomach. Littleton slams the door shut as one launches across the room. It thuds against the door as Connaught falls to the tiles, his legs jerking in spasms as the creatures devour him.

  The room is alive with movement, a black mass of writhing bodies at its centre. Littleton’s breath catches, his hand splayed against the glass as he watches the things swarm around the head and torso of Doctor Connaught. Laid prone beside the table, the scientist’s legs twitch. Littleton gags and clutches at the left side of his chest as pain stabs his heart. He falls against the window’s frame, his skin leaving a greasy imprint on the reinforced glass. The pain is immense.

  As he grabs for the pain, the creatures swarm over and around Connaught, some tearing at the fabric of his blue jeans, others – vomit threatens to rise in Littleton’s throat - disappearing between his lips. They scurry across the tiles like rats, then swarm back and burrow into his flesh. The pain in Littleton’s chest squeezes and his forehead knocks against the glass as he buckles.

  Thud!

  He takes another breath. He can’t have a heart attack. Not now! His knees tremble as sweat trickles at his temples.

  Thud!

  He has to warn the others.

  Thud!

  The noise of thudding against glass sits at the periphery of his awareness. The pain ebbs.

  Thud!

  A black, spiny and leathery body launches itself at the glass as Littleton looks back through the window. Oh, Christ! They can jump. Moving from the glass as the vibration of the creature’s body hitting the pane passes to his hand, he wipes his palm against his trouser leg. Revulsion sweeps over him. Another creature runs, jumps, and hits the glass. It falls back to the tiles, seemingly unhurt, and scurries back to the body. Another runs and again launches at the glass; their efforts relentless. Littleton shudders as he watches the creatures with fascination, forcing himself to stand his ground. He’d never run from an enemy before, and at fifty-five years old, he wasn’t about to start now. Pull yourself together, man!

  Connaught’s legs twitch again.

  Tap! Tap! Tap!

  Movement catches Littleton’s attention as the tapping repeats. The thing in the Perspex box. What was it Connaught had said, ‘it taps for food’, demanding to be fed? The tapping repeats, louder this time, its leathery proboscis sliding over the clear wall of its prison leaving a brown trail of slime, the gas swirling in irritated tendrils.

  The things eating Connaught scurry in circles, one leaving the body as anot
her takes its place, then returns, an endless swapping of bodies eating a body. They’re organised, sharing the meal, allowing each a fair share! Littleton’s scalp creeps in horror as he realises that the things are organised, working in unison with deadly precision; piranhas with the co-operative efficiency of ants. Sweat trickles at his temples, flowing down to the close-shaven grey of his jaw. The thing in the box taps again then thuds against the plastic wall. The box shifts. The monsters scurry. The thing in the box thuds against the plastic again and the box moves inches across the smooth surface of the table. The pain in his chest repeats, deepens, floods outwards. Heart attack! His entire body tenses at another wave of excruciating pain radiating from his heart. Too young! I’m too young! Jesus, save me!

  “Marks!” His voice doesn’t have the strength it needs. “Marks! ... Carl-!”

  The pain repeats in his chest and his legs buckle as the pain overwhelms him. Gasping for air, the last thing he sees as he slips into unconsciousness, is the box toppling from the table and a line of black bodies climbing up the wall to the ventilation shaft. The fog rises to follow.

  THUD! THUD! THUD!

  The noise seems to come from outside in the corridor and from the ventilation shaft too.

  Thud! Thud! Thud!

  Todd hammers a fist against the door. Mac pulls him back. Ellie pulls at the blind covering the window.

  Mimi had begun to scream as the blood-curdling noise of a man in agony had filtered through the shaft. She is screaming still.

  Turning back to the room, Mac’s eyes meet Ellie’s with the same terrified confusion, and then the man’s screams stop along with the thudding.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Su-Li and Helen Blaylock walk beside Taylor until he strides forwards to open the double doors leading to Connaught’s laboratory. Su-Li powers through, the waft of freshly used soap and perfume sweetening the air. “Thanks.”

  The sweetness disappears. He gags as a rich stench of shit rises to his nostrils. It’s a smell he recognises. His skin creeps. Quickening his step, he strides ahead of Su-Li. The stench intensifies, rising to his nostrils with a kick of sulphur. He grabs her arm. Her face pinches but not with pain.

  “That stench is repulsive.” The overhead light of the enclosed corridor casts stark shadows beneath her eyes as they stare into his.

  “Something’s wrong.”

  “It stinks,” Helen complains.

  “Wait here.”

  “No, I-”

  “Do as I say, Su-Li. That stench is coming from Doctor Connaught’s lab.”

  “It didn’t smell this bad last night.”

  “Once we get to the doors, do exactly as I say.”

  Ignoring him, she surges forward, the hurried clack of her shoes joining the quick thud of his boots. Both run to the double doors and stop to look through the rectangular panes of glass. Littleton lies slumped against the wall, a hand across his chest, the stark light making his face lumpy.

  “Jesus!”

  Su-Li pushes at the door. Taylor pulls her back, barks ‘wait’, scans the corridor, checks that the large window to the laboratory is intact, that its door is shut, and that there is no evidence of fog hovering along the corridor, and swings it open.

  Crouching next to Littleton he feels for a pulse. “Colonel!” He pulls at the soldier’s tie and unbuttons the collar of his shirt. Littleton’s pulse is strong, but too quick, and his chest heaves.

  Behind him, Su-Li’s scream is quickly snapped to silent. “There’s something in there.” Horror is threaded through her voice as she stumbles over Taylor’s boot. She backs up to the wall.

  He remembers her disgust about the rats. “It’s just the creature we brought back from the basement.” Taylor taps at Littleton’s cheek. “Colonel. Can you hear me?”

  “No! Look!” Helen’s turn to speak in horrified tones. “There’s something else in there.”

  Littleton’s eyes widen, stare at Taylor with horror, and then to the window. “Connaught!”

  Rising with an increasing sense of dread, Taylor turns to the wide laboratory window. He scans the room and bile rises, mixing with the stench that clings to the hairs in his nose. Despite the horrific wounds that he’s seen on the battlefield, what he sees makes him gag. Nothing moves in the room, but the evidence of an horrific attack is smeared across its white tiles and clinical surfaces. The remaining cooler box lies on its side, blue base empty, the lid a metre away, obviously fallen from the counter that runs along the length of the wall. In the middle of the room is a large white-topped table. He’d watched the video of Connaught feeding the creature live rats, seen how the fog had become agitated, and how the thing had raised a barbed foot, or arm, something bony and gross whatever it was, and stabbed the rats with precision. Watched too as it had reduced their flesh to goo and sucked it up. The large Perspex box it had sat in like some great malevolent spider is lying on the floor, its sides cracked, its lid broken, the thing gone. And the blood! The blood is everywhere. It is pooled beneath the table, and there are strokes of red as though a dozen crabs had dipped their feet in red paint and scurried around the room, but the sight that makes his bile rise to vomit, that forces him to gag and lean against the window for support as his stomach threatens to empty its contents, is the pile of flesh, bones, and tattered fabric that lies beside the cool box. He recognises the light chinos, the plaid shirt, the tan walking boots, the patch of darkly curling hair still clinging to the remaining patch of scalp; Connaught!

  Nothing remains of the scientist’s face, apart from one staring eye. The flesh has been stripped back to the bone, all muscle gone, his teeth in an eternal grin. The sound of retching sits at the periphery of his awareness as he stares at the scene. A bead of sweat trickles at his forehead as he forces the vomit swirling in his own stomach to stay down.

  “Connaught!”

  Taylor turns back to Littleton, relieved to look on the Colonel instead of the scene of gut-wrenching horror. Su-Li has one arm against the wall, a spatter of orange vomit trails down the wall as her head hangs below her shoulders. She heaves again, and a string of bile drops from her lips.

  “Sorry!”

  Ignoring her, Taylor turns his attention to the Colonel. “What happened?”

  Littleton shuffles to a more upright position. His skin has taken on the pallor of illness. “The creature ...” He takes a breath. “It ... they ...”

  They? There had only been one creature they’d brought back from the basement. Taylor waits for the Colonel to explain.

  “The rats ...”

  “The rats did that?”

  “No. It ate the rats ... they came alive ... Connaught? Is he ... they were in the cool box ... the rats ...”

  “Take a breath Colonel, you’re not making sense. Slow down. Breathe.”

  The Colonel takes a breath. It pains Taylor to see this old war horse in such a state. “That’s right. Just breath. Take is slow.” Littleton takes more breaths, obviously struggling to get enough oxygen into his system. “Now, from the beginning.”

  For the next minutes, Littleton describes how the creatures, with spines, and teeth, and crab-like legs, had burst from the rats’ bellies in the cool box and attacked Connaught. Taylor shivers as he remembers the movement in the cool box yesterday before he’d shoved it into the incinerator.

  “The alien we brought back from the basement, Colonel. Where is it?”

  “It’s in there ... with them.”

  Su-Li gasps, and Taylor glances back at the glass partition. Nothing but the remains of Connaught is inside the laboratory. Taylor’s skin creeps. He checks inside the room. Perhaps he’s missed it? Perhaps it is in the corner, or under the table, trying to find somewhere dark like the basement? As he scans the room, he follows the trail of bloody scratch marks; they whorl around the desk and the body and then reach the wall. A stone sinks in his belly as he follows the bloody prints up the wall to the torn grille of the air duct just beneath the ceiling.

  The s
mell of Su-Li’s vomit cuts through the stench of faeces and sulphur as she stands by Taylor’s side. She grips his bicep. “They’ve escaped!” Her voice is little more than a whisper.

  “What time was this, Colonel?”

  Littleton forces out the words and Taylor checks his watch. “That was twenty-seven minutes ago.”

  Littleton groans. “I must have blacked out. I can’t remember ...”

  Panic rises in Su-Li’s voice as she scans the ceiling, checking each side of the corridor. A single point of ventilation sits at the far end. “They’re in the ventilation system!” She takes a step back towards the double doors.

  “Stay calm, Doctor Van Der Paul.”

  Littleton groans, pushes himself up. “They’ve gone?”

  “The lab’s empty, Colonel. Whatever attacked Connaught-”

  “They ate him! Jesus have Mercy! They ate him.”

  “ ... has escaped into the ventilation system.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  The screaming still rings in Ellie’s ears despite the minutes that have passed since it stopped. She checks her watch, reads the time, instantly forgets it, and pulls Mimi closer. The girl had sobbed until five minutes ago and Ellie’s top is wet with her tears. She heaves again. Ellie strokes a calming finger across her cheek and glances beyond the skewed blind at the window. Her own eyes are red from crying and burn with tiredness. She wipes a sleeve across her nose. From the near distance comes the pop of gunfire. She flinches and holds Mimi tighter; the nightmare of the city seems to have followed them to the base.

  “Can you see what’s happening?”

  Mac flicks at the lighter again, the flame pops up, then disappears. “Just a lot of soldiers moving about. Whatever they’re shooting at, isn’t on the base.”

  She sighs with relief and lays her head on top of Mimi’s. A gentle snuffle tells her the girl has fallen asleep. Ellie leans her back into the crook of her arm; with her halo of dishevelled blonde hair pulling out from its ponytail, she’s a perfect, tear-stained angel. “Poor kid,” she whispers, stroking a finger across her cheek. “That’s right, just sleep.”