by Greig Beck
*
Adira turned from North Street into Willow Lane, one hand on the wheel, the other holding the tracker. She slowed as the device’s screen glowed red. Looking up she saw they were abreast of an old building, incongruously well kept in the rundown area, fronted by almost church-like black double doors. Adira sat staring for a few seconds, and then drove on to the end of the street.
She sat holding the wheel, her eyes focused on the horizon as a huge yellow disk was becoming visible.
“Moon rise,” Matt whispered.
“Then we have little time,” she said and looked back at the black doors.
“It’s dead.” Andy was looking out of the back window. “There’s no one around.”
Adira turned the car at the end of the lane and pulled in. “That two-story brownstone with the double doors. What we seek is in there.”
“Now what?” Matt had sunk low in his seat.
“Now we find a way in.” Adira sat forward, looking up at the blacked-out windows, the walls and roofline. “No problem.”
Matt turned from the building to Adira. “Really?”
She sat back and stuffed the tracker into her pocket. “Hand me that bag.” She pointed at his feet, and then checked each of her guns.
Matt handed it to her, and she quickly unzipped it, removing two police walkie-talkies. She threw one to Andy in the back and shouldered open her door.
“I climb up to the roof, and find a way in there – no one ever locks rooftop doors or skylights. And then you, Professor, will come in through the front door.”
Matt jumped when his phone buzzed with an incoming call.
“Ignore that,” Adira said harshly.
Matt checked the incoming number. “Oh shit; it’s Major Abrams.” The phone seemed to ring ever more insistently, but Adira glared so hard he almost felt physical heat on his face. He let it go, until it gave up. In another second a text came through, and he read it.
“He knows you’re here.” He looked up at Adira.
“Then we better get moving. Wait at the front door – I’ll let you in.”
“Hey, what about me? What do I do?” Andy asked through the open window.
Adira started to cross the street, but turned to lift her walkie-talkie. “You, my geologist friend, are the backup.”
Chapter 21
Abrams had been pissed off that Kearns had not taken his call, but any feelings of hostility or frustration was wiped away by what he looked at in the containment cell…any feelings other than revulsion, that was.
He stood at the thick glass viewing panel, and stared in at the thing inside. Beside him, Eric Ford’s face, like those of all the other scientists in the room, was drawn with exhaustion.
“It’s quite impervious to projectiles – it’s not made up of the same cell structures as we are. Our cells, human cells, as well as most animals, have a membrane as their outer boundary – the cell wall. This wall is surprisingly strong for something so tiny. Basically they contain something called a cytoskeleton – like scaffolding to maintain the cell’s shape.”
Ford folded his arms. “But not this guy; its cells do not have a cell wall, just a membrane. In fact, it’s more like water and mucous than flesh and blood. One minute it can disassemble and then tighten its cells and create a shape like poor old Harry in there, and then the next it can expand to fill the room.” He exhaled. “Damned tough sonsofbitches too.”
Abrams stepped in closer. Immediately Harry’s mouth opened and what looked like a length of dark, wet rope flew out to strike the window in front of the major’s face. It stuck, the suckers working – puckering and unpuckering.
Abrams jerked back. “Jesus Christ.”
Ford nodded. “Gotta watch that. It can’t break through, but it certainly knows we’re here.”
As Abrams watched in horrified fascination, he saw that the suckers continued working on the glass, tiny tongues in the center of each that licked at the smooth surface. Surrounding the tiny orifices were hooks that closed like teeth, also scraping at the glass. Abrams grimaced as he imagined what it would be like if one of those things got hold of his skin.
“Eric, give me something I can work with. If we can’t even put a dent in one of them, what can we do against thousands?”
Ford exhaled, compressing his lips. “Bullets just go right through.” He paced away from the glass. “It shies away from flame, but doesn’t really seem to burn, probably because it’s coated in some sort of slime – ancient, primordial, and more like something you see coming out of a garden slug.”
“Yeah, well, if it was a freaking garden slug, I’d put my size twelve boot on it…or cover it in salt.” Abrams ran a hand up through his sweat soaked hair. “And why is it so goddamned hot in here?”
“It’s hot everywhere now.” Ford stopped pacing. “Hey…” his head tilted “…what you said.”
“What, the heat?” Abrams half turned.
“No, no.” Ford spun back. “You know, most gastropod bodies are made up mostly of water – just like this thing. And slugs produce two types of mucus: one is thin and watery, and the other thick and sticky. The thin kind is what it expels for sliding on, but the thick mucus coats the whole body of the slug – again, just like this thing.” He began to pace in front of the glass. Harry’s eyes followed him – all of them.
Ford stopped, and looked back at the Shoggoth. “The other thing we’ve found is that this creature has a weird mineral balance, with the concentration of salts inside its skin almost non-existent. Once again, similar to a garden slug. The body of a slug has cell membranes designed to keep the nutrients and minerals inside but which allow water through.” He turned to Abrams, his face splitting in a grin. “You know why slugs go crazy when you salt them? Because the imbalance forces the water inside the gastropod out to try and dilute the salt concentration on its outside – the rapid movement of fluid rapidly dehydrates the slug to a point where it simply turns to mush.”
“Salt?” Abrams stared in at Harry. “Well, we’ve tried everything else.”
“Indeed we have,” said Ford. “How about a little Trojan Horse test first?” He turned to one of the scientists furiously taking notes on a tablet. “Neil, prepare a rabbit carcass; introduce a hundred grams of sodium chloride solution under its skin.”
The man nodded and hurried away. Ford folded his arms, staring at Harry. “Could it be that simple?”
Abrams joined him. “Could we be that lucky?” He checked his watch. He remembered Dr Albadi’s warning in Syria about the previous mass extinctions – all major species wiped out, probably eaten alive. The thought that human beings might end up as just another footnote in the fossil record scared the shit out of him.
Abrams’s attention was drawn back to the glass as a small slot was pulled back at the rear of the room and a rabbit carcass was slid in on a tray. The door slid closed. Nothing appeared to be happening; Harry and the dead rabbit were unmoving at separate ends of the room.
Ford nudged Abrams and then pointed to one of the screens that showed an image from the rear of the Harry thing. “Look.”
A single eye formed and then popped open in the back of Harry’s head. It moved along the scalp, parting the hair like a small shiny animal moving through a field of long grass, and then stopped to fix on the rabbit. Immediately, Harry’s back burst open. A ragged maw swung wide like a bear trap, and from within it, dark cords fired toward the small dead body, enveloping it and snatching it up, and then reeling it back into the huge mouth. The glistening tentacles and the rabbit whipped inside the black hole, which then snapped shut. The savage maw seemed to dissolve back into the body, and in seconds had disappeared without trace.
“Now, let’s see.” Ford leaned forward and Abrams felt his heart rate kick up a notch. Please, please, he silently prayed.
In another moment the skin on Harry’s face and body blackened, and then his human shape first swelled, and then burst open. He continued to balloon in front of their eyes, gro
wing quickly into a massive bulb of glistening black flesh, multiple limbs, eyes, mouths that issued all manner of screaming, hooting, cawing and hissing. In another moment, the mangled body of the rabbit was spat onto the floor, and then great gobbets if slimy flesh began to be hived off as the creature tried to expel all traces of the salt that had contaminated the flesh from inside its body.
While they watched, Harry’s flesh shriveled, blobs dropping from him to hiss and steam on the floor. In a moment they were just puddles of stinking black mess. The Harry thing backed away from them, and in its eyes Abrams was sure he recognized the most basic of human emotions – fear.
“So, you can be hurt,” he whispered. He turned to the scientist. “Cover that damn thing; I want to see if it can be killed.”
Ford shook his head. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea. This is the only creature we’ve been able to capture. If it’s dead, then all our opportunities for study will die with it.”
Abrams gritted his teeth and slowly turned. “I like you, Eric, but tomorrow this time, we estimate there could be millions of these things running wild on the planet. And if that’s not bad enough, soon their boss will make an appearance: a creature about five miles wide, and we have no idea how deep.” He stood in front of the scientist. “Who knows; when they take over, maybe it’ll be you in the containment cell with these things on the outside, experimenting on your body.” Abrams stood closer to the man. “So kill the fucking thing, that’s an order!”
Ford’s head bobbed. “Okay, okay, I just…” He shook his head. “Okay, got it.” He spun, yelling to his colleagues. “I want the gas vents packed with sodium chloride dust. Let’s give old Harry here a salt shower.”
In another few minutes, a powder so fine it could have been mist started to float down onto the top of the creature. If there was a perfect image of Hell and madness, then Abrams reckoned the inside of the containment cell over the next five minutes was it – the creature expanded to twice its size, bulges formed, and hundreds of eyes popped open, mouths screamed and other pustules and protuberances bulged, formed and unformed, as dark fluid sprayed. The Shoggoth pounded on the walls and glass, the blows so strong Abrams felt them through the soles of his boots.
A huge crack appeared down the center of the many-inches-thick screen in front of the men, and Ford and Abrams began to step back. In one final act of madness, or perhaps defiance, a huge mouth on the end of a column-thick limb struck the glass, and suckered on. Dagger-like teeth dragged down the screen, gouging deep pits into the specially toughened glass.
The Shoggoth began to shrivel and melt away; steam rising until all that was left was a soup of black primordial ooze.
Abrams fists were bunched and his teeth bared. He turned to Ford, his eyes blazing. “Weaponize it.”
*
Abrams rushed back to his office, and was joined by Hartogg in the hallway. “Lester.” He reached out to shake the big Special Forces soldier’s hand. “Sorry to pull you back in, but you know what we’re up against better than most, and I need experience real close to me right about now.”
“Any time, sir.” Hartogg fell into step with the major as he moved quickly along the hall.
Abrams turned to him. “We’ve got a weapon against the Shoggoth. It works: I’ve seen it.”
“Let me at it.” Hartogg’s face was grim. “What is it?”
“Salt.” He shrugged. “Plain old table salt – melts em right away.”
Hartogg half smiled. “Sounds too easy. What about the big bastard coming up under our feet? Will it work on that too?”
Abrams frowned. “Don’t know, but anyway the general’s gonna be taking that one head on. However, we need a Plan B…and that’s what we’re about to go looking for.” He pushed into his office, pushing the door wide for his lieutenant to follow. “By the way, Senesh is off the leash. She broke out of captivity and either took Matt Kearns hostage or encouraged him to travel with her.”
“Like who couldn’t see that coming – that woman’s a tornado. She was always going to break out,” Hartogg said.
Abrams looked away. He’d underestimated her, again. “Well, we got a visual lead via various CCTV cameras and satellite images. It’s being sent to me now. We picked her up as soon as she exited the airport carpark.”
Abrams went behind his desk and sat down. He pushed his screen to the center for Hartogg to see, and then called up some data packets from their surveillance group. The film started with a view of the airport carpark, and the woman walking quickly to a small sedan and opening the door. The image jumped from city block to block – the car approaching and driving down various streets until it left the city entirely. The images then switched to the occasional building security feed, traffic camera, and ATM, each one picking up the same car as it sped along the highways.
Hartogg leaned in. “That’s Tarver Road.”
Abrams folded his arms. “Yep, just outside of Fort Benning, and where she probably contacted Professor Kearns and the geologist, Bennet – both of them went with her.”
Hartogg nodded. “She could have made them go with her if she wanted to. She could have also killed them without blinking. But my bet is she told them something. Gave them some news that made them want to go with her.”
Abrams nodded. “That’s my assumption.”
“But what could she tell them?” Hartogg frowned at the screen images. “She’s out of the loop.”
“Unlikely.” Abrams pulled in a cheek. “Mossad has a powerful network in every country, and she’ll have tapped into that. As for what would she tell them, well, we know Matt Kearns is the only one to have read the Book, and maybe he still has an attachment to it. Maybe she told him where he can find it.”
Hartogg straightened. “She’s going after it…and Drummond.”
Abrams got to his feet. “She’ll kill him before we have a chance to interrogate him. Damnit, if someone is going to kick that guy’s ass, it should be us – especially on our soil.” He turned back to the screen. “And here’s where we pick her up again.” Once again the images of the car jumped from street to street, from corner to corner, sometimes swapping to high altitude as the satellite took over. The car finally entered a small street in Franklin, Kentucky, and then pulled over.
Hartogg chuckled softly. “She’s tracking him somehow.”
Abrams smiled tightly. “Yep, must have bugged him – kept that little bit of information from us the whole time.”
Hartogg smiled, his brows raised. “She’s good; can’t help admiring her.” His eyes slid across to Abrams. “Wish she was on our side.”
Abrams spoke through gritted teeth. “That’s just it; she is. We’re all in this shit sandwich together. If that thing breaks through to the surface, then it’s the whole goddamn world that’ll go to hell – Israel, America, Australia – the whole freaking box and dice.”
“Do we have a team on her?” Hartogg asked.
“McAllister is trying to run her down, but he wouldn’t know what to look for. And besides, unless they’ve got shoot-to-kill orders, Adira will ignore them, or send them home in body bags.” Abrams turned. “But I’m sending a team – leading it myself – a small one…one with experience.”
Hartogg smiled and held his arms wide. “Ready when you are…and don’t forget the salt.”
*
Abrams paced while talking into a phone. The Sikorsky S-97 Raider helicopter’s rotors were already turning on the tarmac; Hartogg was leaning out, watching.
The major disconnected, and stood, hands on hips, neck jutting, as he stared at the weapons research division building. In a few more minutes, a jeep sped toward them, cutting across roads and bouncing over green grass slopes as it careened their way. It skidded to a halt, and Ford nearly catapulted out carrying a steel ammunition box and a duffel bag. Abrams turned to Hartogg and waved him over.
Ford placed the box and bag on the ground and opened both – inside were dozens of preloaded clips, knives and, in the large
metal box, larger clips for Hartogg’s HK-MP5N assault rifle.
The scientist motioned with his hand. “Compressed salt rounds. We used calcining lime and clay, mixed with water to form a salt-based mortar. It’s hard enough to survive as a projectile as it exits the gun barrel, but will break open in the target, delivering the salt packet into whatever you hit – man, beast or…Shoggoth.” He pointed to the larger clips. “Same as the larger rounds, so you got enough for a small war, boys.” Ford stood, and then shrugged. “These are our test batch, and you’re our test subjects…our only test subjects. So unless we hear different, we’ll be mass producing them for the troops.”
Hartogg unsheathed a knife and tested its edge against his thumb – it cut, and the SEAL sucked at the wound. “Stings.” He smacked his lips. “Salty – nice.”
Ford smiled. “A little something extra if you’re in real close. We upped the binding compound, giving the mortar extra strength. Still mostly salt, but it’ll cut through flesh and retain its edge.”
Hartogg nodded, resheathed the knife, and then strapped one to his leg. He then took the bag and box to the chopper, and Ford stood back and saluted. “Good luck, Joshua.” He snorted sadly. “But frankly, I hope luck is the last thing you need.”
Abrams shook his hand. “Thanks, Eric.” He smiled. “Hey, it’s not every day you get to make war on a god, right?”
Abrams jumped into the chopper and it immediately lifted off. He placed the phones over his head and heard Hartogg’s voice in his ear.
“What’s the plan, boss?”
Abrams thought through his next steps, and then half turned. “This S-97 Raider will get us there in a little over an hour. If Senesh is still out front, we stop them, and find out what they know. But if they’ve gone in, then we go in. I want Drummond, I want the Book, and I want Matt Kearns. Everyone and everything else is expendable.”
Hartogg nodded. “Copy that.” He started to slide the spare magazines into pouches on his pant legs and vest, and then handed Abrams a bundle of handgun clips.
