From the corridor come muffled voices. Mac hammers pointlessly on the door then slinks back to the desk before striding back. He hammers, paces twice more, turns to face the window, then comes to an abrupt halt. “Shit and fuck!”
Alerted by the foul-mouthed torrent Ellie gapes as she follows his gaze; undulating, shivering fog seeps from the ventilation system.
Mac takes a step back, then another until he knocks against the far wall.
“It’s OK. You know we’re immune.”
“You might be. I’m not!”
Chills creep down Ellie’s neck as the fog divides into tendrils and moves across the room. It reaches her first, slides around her face, curls over Mimi, twists around her dangling calf then moves onwards.
Todd stands as a statue in the middle of the room, even his eyes don’t move. The fog twists and undulates and wraps itself around him.
“Jesus!” Mac gasps as it covers the boy’s face then slides along his torso. “It’s alive.” The mist smooths away from Todd, a tendril travelling along the floor towards Mac. He kicks at it. The fog fragments.
“It’s trying to get you!”
Mac jumps back, knocking against the door. The mist rises, and tendrils twist towards him. He holds out the lighter and flicks. The flame jumps to life and he holds it out against the fog. The mist fizzles and sparks as it hits the flame then ignites. A ball of orange, green, and purple flames flashes and spins. The fog retracts. Mac releases his thumb from the lighter as it becomes too hot. The flame gone, the mist regroups, then heads back towards Mac.
“Fire burns it!”
As the fog seeps forward, Mac holds out the flame. Again, the fog ignites and retracts. “Quick!” Mac shouts, holding out the lighter. “Get me something to burn!”
Ellie scans the room, pulls out a crumpled sheet from the wastepaper basket and holds it to Mac’s flame. Fire bursts into life and the fog sizzles as another fireball ignites. Tiny black particles drop from the air.
“You’re killing it!”
Ellie passes Mac more paper, twists some for herself, lights it, then waves it at the fog. The air fills with the stench of singed hair as the fog sizzles, pops, and ignites. Wherever the lit paper touches it, the fog bursts into flame. The last piece of paper taken from the bin, Ellie turns to the cabinets, pulling at their handles, but they’re all locked. She looks around in desperation for anything else to burn and realises that Mac no longer holds the lighter up. Instead, a wide grin has spread across his face. For a second, she freezes, scanning his face for sign of infection, but he laughs then whoops. “We killed it! It’s gone.” She spins to look; he’s right. The office is clear of fog and, on the floor, ashes of paper are peppered with black particles.
“Let’s get the hell out of here!”
THE SUDDEN AND EAR-splitting cacophony of an alarm startles Nate as he pulls Josh across the yard, and his urgency to get the boy to safety sets to panic; the infection is spreading and it’s his fault. Convinced the alarm is to warn the base about Josh and the infected doctor, he stumbles with the boy to the corner of a double storey brick building. Behind him a soldier shouts, and doors slam. The heavy thrum of an engine growls, and an armoured vehicle passes. The noise of the alarm fills his head and vibrates through his chest. Ahead, concrete steps lead down to an open door and a grey room beyond. Narrow slits of glass are the only light, and Nate fumbles through the dinge to stand below a window. The cold air is tinged with the smell of mildew and the faint stench of stagnant water.
Josh leans against the damp wall, his breath heavy, then sinks to the floor. Nate follows, pulling his knees to his chest and listens to the incessant cacophony of alarms, shouts, and engines. From the distance, comes gunfire.
“Dad, where’s Aunty Katy and Justin?”
A cold dread sweeps over Nate, enveloping him in a flash of anxiety, grief, and pain. Images of Katy and Justin lying broken on the toilet floor – killed by him! – pierce his brain. Head resting on his hands, he wallows for a second in the wave of self-loathing and horror before answering.
“Dad?”
“They didn’t make it, Josh.”
“Can we go back for them?”
The imprint of Katy’s chin and forehead sears Nate’s palm. The crack of her neck breaking resonates in his ears. “No ... I’m sorry, Josh, but ...”
“They’re dead aren’t they.”
Nate nods in silence then forces a ‘yes’.
“Did ... did one of them kill them?”
Nate swallows, the beating of his heart painful. “No ... they became infected.”
Silence then, “Oh”.
Josh groans, then shifts. “Tina!” he blurts. “Where’s Tina?”
As Nate opens his mouth to speak, Josh continues. “She can’t be! Please, Dad, tell me she’s ok.”
“I’m sorry-”
“No!”
AS JOSH SLAMS A FIST against the concrete floor in anguish, and Nate leans back in exhaustion against the damp wall, a bony leg encased in oily leather with wart-like protuberances, retracts. The creature’s pulsating body shuffles, moulds itself into the furthest corner, and calls without breaking the silence.
THE MIST HAD TRAVELLED across the medical room, tendrils twisting, mesmerising Dr. Roderick Brickman with its undulating and sparkling beauty as its particles caught in the overhead light. After catching the father’s horrified look, and the boy’s confused stare, Dr. Brickman had only two seconds before the mist reached him. Twisting tendrils had narrowed to a sharp point, shooting into his nasal cavity, infiltrating the membrane, and flooding his body with a shot of endorphins that overwhelmed his senses. The sensation was instant; an intense pulse of ecstasy from his groin that swept over his entire body. In his stupor, the father had kicked him and, oblivious to the pair leaving the room, the ecstasy had receded as a backwash to his bowels as he’d hit the floor. A biting pain invaded his intestines, and the urgent, whining, and irresistible call of the creature had followed. The urge to break bones and tear flesh became impossible to ignore.
He turns to the call, desperate for the flood of ecstasy to return and the pain to ease, and staggers against the woman’s weight. One of the nurse’s flat-heeled shoes lies in the corridor, the other dangles from her heel. As he turns to the call, and the pain reduces, the other shoe drops with a clat. Oblivious to the shoe and the alarm ringing through the building, he pulls the body, leaving a smear of blood on the tiles, and barges through the double doors that will take him closer to the desperate and all-consuming call.
RIVULETS OF BROWN SWEAT run from Victoria’s temple, past her ear, and onto her neck where they soak the fabric of her t-shirt. Rings of brown radiate out from her shoulder where the sweat has stained the white cloth. The pain of the call burns through her veins as she drags the body through the fields of yellow to the dark place where it waits.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Ellie glances at the ceiling. “What is that noise?”
Tack, tack, tack.
“Something trapped behind the ceiling tiles,” Mac replies. “Could be birds, or rats.”
“Rats!”
“Probably just mice, Ellie. Calm down.”
“If it’s rats ...” she grips the fabric of her top as she scans the ceiling. “I can’t stand rats!” Her memory shifts back to the basement and the dead rat that had lain beside the concrete steps, its belly swollen, its head partially eaten. Having it so close to her feet had been bad enough, but the thought of one of the vile creatures scurrying above her head makes her flesh creep. She scans the tiles for any signs of movement, and a tile in the corner shifts.
“Mac!” She jabs a finger at the tile. “It’s moving!” A corner lifts, then presses back down. “Something just ran across that tile!” A cold shiver runs over her scalp. Todd tugs at her elbow and points at the ventilation grille on the wall, just below the ceiling. Something moves behind its cover then a black hook pokes out from between the white plastic.
“Whate
ver that is, it’s not a rat.”
Another hook pokes out and then another. Though much smaller than the creature in the basement, Ellie recognises the bony protuberance. “It’s one of them!” Her voice is shrill. “I saw it in the basement.”
“One of what?” Mac asks as he stares at the hook clawing at the plastic. It pulls and the plastic bows. Another hook shoots through the grille, it reaches as though grasping then pulls back. Above, a black point appears through the corner tile.
“They’re trying to break in!”
At the door Ellie twists the handle and rattles the door against its frame. “Help!” She turns to Mac. “Break this door down. Those things ...” she jabs a hand at the black and clawing legs, “eat people.”
Mimi screams as another leg pokes through the ceiling tile.
“Get back,” Mac orders then aims a kick at the door.
The grille splits and the tile above breaks.
He kicks at the door again, takes a step back and barges at it with his shoulder.
Ellie grabs a chair as the grille snaps and Mimi screams.
As Mac takes a step back to make another effort at shoulder-barging the door, it opens and he’s face to face with the soldier who had retrieved them from the motel. The soldier’s look of consternation is quickly replaced by one of horror. Without waiting, Mac pushes out into the corridor where a Chinese-looking woman and a chubby one with curling grey hair are struggling to hold up a man in uniform. As Mac lurches into the corridor, the soldier leans against the wall, his face ashen. Behind him the noises of ceiling tiles breaking, plastic snapping, and something thudding to the floor is followed by an eruption of screams and shouts. In the next seconds bodies fill the corridor and the door slams shut.
THUDS AGAINST THE DOOR vibrate through Taylor’s hands as he holds the handle.
“What the hell are those things?” The pitch of Su-Li’s voice indicates the edge of panic.
“They looked like the creatures littered around The Stacks,” Helen suggests.
“Do you mean that’s what was in the cool box?”
She’s tipping into hysteria. “Stay calm, Su-Li.”
“But we killed them! We put them in the incinerator!”
Su-Li sways. Taylor grabs at her elbow, his other hand still pulling on the handle. The thuds are intense against the door as spiny bodies slam into the wood.
“Helen! Get her,” he barks as Su-Li begins to buckle. He locks the door then quickly assesses the situation; Littleton is still conscious though struggling, Su-Li is now deathly pale and looks more likely to pass out than Littleton, and the young girl is whimpering, but the remainder of the group are still in control of their senses.
The noise of scurrying comes from overhead. The girl screams and all eyes stare upwards as high-pitched squeals are accompanied by tacking. The ceiling tiles shift and then something pokes from the ventilation grille high on the wall.
“They’re coming!” the redhead shouts.
Su-Li screams and leaps forward, stumbles, and falls.
The squealing intensifies.
“Helen. Take them to the Operations Room. You,” he says turning to the man, “help me with Colonel Littleton. Those things will break through any second.”
As the men reach for Littleton, the redhead slips an arm around Su-Li’s back and Helen guides them towards the double doors and the exit. The scratting intensifies above them. Lifting Littleton between them, they carry him at a run towards the end of the corridor. The noise of scrabbling and tacking follows them.
“Jesus! They can tell where we’re going.”
The tiles break behind them followed by the noise of bodies dropping to the carpet. Squealing erupts and Mac twists to look. “Run!”
Barging through the doors, Taylor takes a second to look back before twisting the lock. Four spider-like creatures scurry along the carpet, their bulbous bodies moving swiftly on long and bony legs. A shard of ceiling tile falls, and another creature drops down into the corridor.
“What the hell are they?”
“Monsters! Let’s get the hell out of here.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
It takes three minutes for them to reach the next block then work their way through the corridors and down into the self-supporting concrete bunker that is the Operations Room. Punching the code into the lock, Helen opens the reinforced door and they make their way down the brightly lit stairs to another heavy door and then safety. As the door closes behind them, the room is suddenly alive with voices and movement.
“I need help here. Colonel Littleton needs a doctor.”
After handing over Littleton, Taylor joins Gareth Smaller at the bank of screens now switched to survey the base. He bites back expletives as he surveys each screen. Of the ten screens, five show nothing out of the ordinary but in one a man in a white coat, that Taylor recognises as Dr. Rod Brickman, is dragging a woman’s body. Taylor leans in to the grainy image. “Who is it?” he points a finger at the woman with hair flowing along the ground, arms flung over her head. Shoeless, her skirt has ridden up to her knickers, showing her panties and the waistband of the nylon tights pulled over them.
“It’s one of the nurses that was on duty today.”
“Melanie Spencer,” Smaller specifies as he draws next to Taylor. “I saw her in the carpark this morning. Where’s he taking her?”
“To it, the extra-terrestrial.” Helen Blaylock explains as she joins them. “Connaught’s studies showed that the infected would roam aimlessly without the presence of the creature. Before we brought it here, the infected rats would attack each other and then just go around in circles.”
“Look at that!” Mac pushes beside Helen. “It’s one of those things that dropped from the ceiling. What the hell are they?” He follows a spider-like creature with his finger as it exits the screen.
“We think those are the offspring of the extra-terrestrial that came down with the comets.”
“I saw one in the basement,” the redhead adds, “when I got Josh out.”
“You were in the basement?” Taylor asks, shocked that anyone would venture into that hell-hole willingly.
“Fat Babs took him in there,” the girl says. “Fitz saved him!” She slips a protective arm around the redhead.
“Fat Babs? Fitz?”
“Fat Babs is what we called Mrs Fitch. She grabbed Josh when he was trying to escape with Tina. She was dead skinny when she was dead though, like all the fat had been sucked out of her.”
“She looked really gross, all saggy,” the girl agrees.
“Yeah, she looked better fat.”
“And who is Fitz?”
“That’s me,” the redhead replies. “Ellie Fitzpatrick.”
“Ah.”
“And where is this Tina now?”
“Tabitha killed her when she went crazy.”
Taylor shakes his head, unable to keep up with all the names being thrown out at him. He turns back to the screen. Dr. Roderick Brickman turns a corner. Nurse Spencer’s body, head, then hands disappear from view. In another screen, rolling mist moves along the corridor of D-Block.
The large screen at one end of the room is alive with the movement of a live feed. The image shows the blocked lanes of a motorway. Several hours ago, people could be seen milling around the cars, vans, lorries, and buses. Some talking in groups, several relieving themselves behind bushes, whilst others had been walking with purpose along the verge, their vehicles abandoned as they made their way to the nearest point of help. Now the area appears deserted, just a huge carpark in the middle of a vast expanse of fields. The chopper swings and turns away from the cars and the motel behind. Ahead are more fields, but here the waving stalks of corn have been trampled. Cold sweat dribbles down Taylor’s back as he watches. The infected drivers and their passengers had made their way in huge numbers across the fields. The helicopter quickly catches up to the stragglers, then flies along the rear of the horde, examining just how wide it is. Minutes pass in s
ilence as they watch its progress.
Gareth Smaller breaks the quiet with a cough as the helicopter sweeps to the left in a curve. He hunches forward as he stares at the screen. “The fog seems to have followed the direction of the motorway.”
“It has followed its prey,” Dr. Blaylock says with authority.
“There’s standing traffic right into the city.”
Smaller groans, reaches for the telephone and passes on the information.
“All the people going across the field ...” asks the redhead. “Where are they going?”
The screen fills with people again. The helicopter swoops down, and the camera zooms in on several of the lurching men and women. All have the typical rictus grin of the infected, the blackened lips, the stiff lurch. Most drag bodies behind them. In the near distance is a compound of squat buildings, military vehicles, and aircraft hangars. “They’re coming here.”
Between the lurching figures, bodies lie bloodied and strewn, the evidence of an earlier effort to stop the onslaught. The horde becomes more dense as it approaches the perimeter of the base, the tangle of infected thickest at the high wire fence.
“So far they haven’t penetrated.”
As the image swoops over the fence and the horde disappears, a hand reaches the top of the railing and a man’s head, swirling mist trailing over his blackened lips, comes into view.
“That fence is twenty feet high!”
“It is, Smaller.”
“Then how in the very hell did that hand get to the top?”
“Mutual co-operation,” Helen Blaylock says with certainty.
“Mutual co-operation? We haven’t seen any evidence of that before.”
“They hunted in packs in the city.”
“Bodies have been piled up at the fence,” Dr. Blaylock continues. “The man was standing on that pile of bodies in order to gain access to the base.”
Mortal Skies Omnibus Page 31
