by Joshua Grant
He winced in agony. Julian clenched his teeth wishing there was something, anything, he could do. He felt so helpless. “Let’s get you to the doctor. She’ll—“
“No!” Harry grasped painfully at Julian’s chest. He opened the bloody hole of his mouth to speak again but only a liquid gurgle emanated from the writhing man.
Tick.
Somewhere in Julian’s subconscious he was aware of the soft sound behind him. His neck hairs stood at attention acknowledging the impending danger that was stalking them both. But that was all forgotten as Harry arched his chest painfully several times in quick succession, his legs kicking sporadically as he tried to fight off the invisible death that clutched at him.
“Harry!” Julian tried to hold his friend steady but his body spasmed with so much strength, tearing itself free from his grip.
Tick, tick.
What the hell is that!?
Julian had no time to survey the room for the stealthy intruder. Harry’s limbs flailed to the rhythmic tune laid down by his head thumping against the wall. His fingers spasmed wildly like Mozart with an air piano. Suddenly his leg jerked and his knee gave way with a sickening wet snap!
Oh fuck!
The break was just the first in a cascading series, hell’s dominoes toppling down. Harry’s ribs popped next, one bulging up under his tactical vest leaving a dark red spot. Several of his fingers somehow found the strength to dislocate themselves backwards, each snap sending jitters through Julian’s spine.
He watched in horror as his friend’s body mutilated itself, changing into something that Satan liked to dream about.
Thump.
Too late did he realize the trap that had been laid for him. He managed to tear his eyes away from the mangling body in front of him, swiveling in time to see the thing that would keep him up at night for the rest of his life if he somehow survived this mess—hell, this damn minute! It was the thing that had been creeping up on him this whole time.
The fleshy mass descended from the ceiling and alighted on the polished dance floor with a thud. Its body was all sinuous muscle, oversized arms and legs holding the malignant lump erect like a naked body builder that decided to crabwalk for the rest of his life. Each appendage was tipped with impossibly long fingers that ended in jagged nails, the same nails that had torn into Harry judging by the ragged flaps of skin that still clung to them.
Further up between the two arms emerged the dome of a head supported by a bulging yet flexible neck. The thing had no facial features, just mottled flesh pulled tightly over its lumpy skull. Eyeless, it saw him, its blank head bobbling in Julian’s direction.
Harry’s agonized snapping was forgotten in an instant. Julian’s mind was beyond thought or rational words as pure instinct took over.
He jerked his rifle up but the creature was fast. Really fast! Its wet, nasty body exploded into action, digging its fingers into the polished floor and propelling itself forward. The creature’s arms were a flurry of motion, every thrust bringing it several feet closer.
Shit-shit-shit!
The fleshy mass slammed into Julian with all the force of a trained NFL quarterback smashing him back, his right shoulder crunching painfully into the metal wall. He ignored its throbbing as he focused on the threat that had taken up residence on his chest. The creature was surprisingly heavy for its size as it barreled down on him, pinning him to the floor, wedging his right arm and rifle under its sweaty body. He jerked at it but it was no use.
Its head bobbled up close to his, its grotesque featureless face letting out a strange croaking noise, a kind of throaty coffee maker gurgle. The horrible dirge intensified as the nasty skin mask came within inches of his face, so close he could feel his own rapid breaths pelting off it. Julian struggled—
And then its face began to change. Its stretched flesh slowly peeled back with a wet, grape squishing sound like hell’s foreskin getting ready to play. Julian held his breath. Oh my God! The organic curtain slipped over a haggard chin, then a slimy mouth with uneven jagged teeth that peeked out at odd angles like a hillbilly Halloween special. It blew a blast of fetid breath across Julian’s face making him desperately want to gag, or scream, or some combination of the two.
Get it off! Get it—
The oozing orifice opened and Julian knew he’d never be okay again. Something was inside there, writhing just past the rotted teeth. It pushed forward, the light from the stairwell window reflecting off its glistening surface. A wormlike pink tube slithered between the thing’s jaws in a lazy descent towards Julian’s face. He clenched his lips, trying to turn his head, and saw how truly screwed he was. The tube was tipped in spindly barbs that twitched in their descent, eager to make quick work of his face as he resisted. He was going to end up like Harry, broken and dying in the worst way possible.
Like Harry!
Julian reached with his free left hand. He felt Harry’s quivering body.
Come on! Come on!
His fingers raked the tip of Harry’s rifle just as the noodle touched his face. It was feverishly warm and wet and just about the most horrible thing Julian had ever encountered in his life. It slithered on his cheek, oozing towards his compressed lips, hot blood throbbing through it, and began to pry greedily at his mouth.
Oh my God! Come onnn!
His grip tightened around the handle. He wasted no time in squeezing the trigger with a hatred and desperation he never realized even existed.
Bam-bam-bam!
The glorious shots ripped through the creature’s body, propelling it backwards away from Julian (not far enough. The deepest black hole at the most distant ass end of space wouldn’t be far enough). Dark ichor oozed from the gaping holes—
--and the creature squealed in frustration as it tried to regain its footing on the blood-slickened floor. It wasn’t dead!
Julian frantically wiped the slime from his face with his freed hand—
--the realization hitting him. He didn’t know how or why, but the creature that had attacked him was made from the passengers on this ship, sewn together from their parts like a modern day Frankenstein’s monster. It had been trying to change him, like it was in the process of changing Harry, to turn him into a meat machine, a mindless, soulless killer.
Julian looked to what had once been his friend. Harry was practically unidentifiable now. His skeleton had been completely shattered from within by whatever the creature had forcefully pumped down his throat. He could see the bone fragments moving beneath the flesh, reworking themselves, becoming something new and deadly. Becoming one of them.
And Julian suddenly felt very sick.
Harry’s milky eyes only confirmed it. They were fixed on Julian, but nothing of Harry remained in them. His bloody mouth produced an unnatural, hungry moan as he stared murder into Julian. There was only one thing to be done.
Across the club the wounded creature was recovering its footing quickly. Julian only had seconds to act if he was going to survive this. He yanked the safety ring from the grenade attached to Harry’s tactical vest. It was armed, ensuring that Harry was one soul the demons wouldn’t be claiming tonight.
Five.
Julian turned his rifle, not on the creature but on the observation window that led into the aft stairwell lobby.
Four.
He fired a three round burst through the window. It ruptured in a magnificent and deafening explosion of shards. The creature was on its unusual feet now and making its way toward him.
Three--two.
Julian charged towards the opening with everything he had left. He ignored the pain that wracked his whole body or the squeals of the creature that was just seconds behind him.
One!
Julian dove through the waist high opening, falling hard to the carpeted stairs and rolling over his damaged shoulder. He covered his head, hard fear throbbing through his entire body.
VWOOM!
The explosion blasted his back with such intense heat that Julian thought he mi
ght actually be burning. The deafening roar punched through his eardrums over and over, mashing his hearing into a shrill and deafening ringing that threatened to make him pass out. Bits of wall and other smoldering debris showered the whole lobby.
But something else splatted down around him too. Wet burnt chunks of what had once been hell’s nightmare slopped over his clothes and the floor. The creature that had killed his friend had been blown to bits. A second passed and he managed to breathe, the heat subsiding as the ship’s fire suppression system kicked in with a roar that pealed through his temporary tinnitus. White plumes of halon blasted over the ruined stairwell and gaping burnt hole of a club.
Julian staggered slowly to his feet. He was alive.
Tick.
The soft sound sliced right through the masking halon and into the adrenaline pumper of his heart. The ship’s lights dimmed with the impact of the explosion but then came back to full, illuminating something slender and wet easing itself along the ceiling to his left, another creature identical to the first! It was aware of him, but was trying to quietly move closer. Julian looked around frantically, on the dangerous border between full on panic. Fighting here in the open would be suicide. Who knew how many more of these things were out there. Possibly thousands.
His darting eyes settled on his only hope, a small janitor’s closet hanging open nearby. His muscles quivered. Gotta make it. How close is it already? Shit Julian, just move your ass!
He hefted himself up, his fear driven muscles completely suppressing the pain, and made a run for the thin door. A horrible croaking erupted from the creature—so close behind Julian that he might have relieved himself if he had any time to actually eat breakfast this morning. Minor miracles. It leapt from its perch and ferociously hurdled after him.
Come on-come on-come on!
It was going to be tight. The thing was closing fast. Julian could almost taste its wet tongue sliding down his throat and threw on another burst of speed. He whipped past the threshold, turned in the same half a breath, and slammed the thin wooden door. His momentum flung him back into the dark recess of the small closet. Quickly, he looked up at the door.
Please hold. Please--
The creature slammed into the barricade milliseconds later. Bam! Bam-bam!
It wanted him. It wanted all of them, just like Harry said. The door shook with each of the creature’s heavy blows.
Don’t break. Don’t break.
Julian watched the door and waited for its inevitable failure—and realized he was talking about himself, pleading with himself. Please don’t. Please don’t break. Don’t—
Julian started to cry, like he was fifteen all over again huddled in some hateful jungle with men that wanted to kill him.
No. He clenched his jaw tighter. I won’t.
Bam! The door creaked weakly making him jump.
He watched it desperately, waiting for the next chapter in the nightmare—the one they had all walked into--from which none of them would be waking up from again.
Chapter 11
Watcher wailed its fury. The Prowler, fifty-four organs, had been blown to bits along with the Seed. How could the man!? How could he!? Watcher was going to tear him limb from limb, stimulating his cerebral cortex to keep him alive, to keep him cognizant of every sensation. There was nowhere he could run without Watcher being able to find him. He had killed one of the children and therefore he had to die.
It would rip him to bits and turn him into something more beautiful. Something inside out, wet and deadly. He would be fully aware through the process. It salivated at the very thought. It would make the man a prisoner in his own mutilated body, force him to hunt down the rest of his friends. Force him to watch.
Yes, yes! Do it!
Watcher was just outside the door, a flimsy, clumsy structure, a testimony to man’s limited intellectual capacity. If Watcher willed it, the thin wooden membrane, the only thing standing between it and its most hated prey, would be no more. Watcher’s serrated nails raked at the wood, the rough scratching sound quickening its hearts with an excitement that was almost sexual. It was rewarded with a fresh blast of the man’s pheromones. He knew he was sweating away the last seconds of his pathetic life. Soon he would know a world far more beautiful than anything his dual-lobed processing center could have conjured. A world driven by pain and inspired by Watcher’s divine intellect. This man would be given the gift of immortality, if only to watch his loved ones suffer.
No.
The thought came suddenly and powerfully, and for a moment the Prowler stopped its onslaught. Watcher wanted the man dead. It wanted to bathe in his bodily fluids.
No.
Again, Watcher was shocked by its own indecision. Never before had it halted a killing spree. The hunger for flesh was ever present within it. The burning sensation had only been driven mad through the decades of waiting. Decades of cold darkness, alone and trapped, wrongfully imprisoned by lesser minds.
The throbbing that had cropped up in Watcher’s mind, that had pulsed through its entire nervous structure, suddenly ceased and there was clarity. Watcher was afraid of being alone again. Here on this ship, a prison in its own right, Watcher had almost expended all its new friends. A handful of survivors had managed to elude its Hunters. The rest lay in tatters. It enjoyed playing with their spent flesh, more than anything really, but it was also nice to have friends.
Yes. That’s it!
It was decided. Watcher would play with its new friends just a little longer. They were just hours away from shore. Then Watcher wouldn’t need its friends anymore. It would have the work. Watcher loved the work. Such a blessing to love what one did. And when the work was finished, it would then pursue its favorite hobby, families. It would play with those families, and make their children its own.
But, for the time being, it needed its friends. Watcher smiled inwardly. It thought of a wonderful surprise for the ones in the front of the ship. Watcher so loved surprises. The people who once inhabited this ship did too. It would pay them a visit. They’d be delighted to see Watcher. True friends always were.
Chapter 12
Deck 8, Port Hallway
Konesco was having a really shitty day.
First there was the sabotage of the chopper. No other way to explain it than that, sabotage. Jack was the only other person on this mission that was aware of their orders, their real orders.
Apparently not.
He gritted his teeth in frustration. It wasn’t a matter of if they were sabotaged, but who had the expertise to carry it out? His bet was on Mackenzie. He never believed the man’s cowardice act. He would be sure to take that up with him later.
After all, they were likely dead anyway, a fact that pissed Konesco off to no end. Here at the precipice, they were so close to achieving the Organization’s long sought goals. They only had to extend their hand and take what was rightfully theirs. They could be gods if he could just finish this fucking mission!
It was supposed to be a simple smash and grab operation. He, the doctor, and Jack could have easily retrieved the sample and would have been long gone, a future of prosperity on the horizon.
Until someone destroyed their ride, stranding them in a worse situation than any of them except Konesco could fathom. They’d figure out soon enough. Undoubtedly, it already knew they were here which put a distinct and itchy target on the back of Konesco’s head.
Mackenzie, you’re a dead man. He cast a glaring sidelong glance at Olga running beside him and toyed with the thought of shooting her in the back of the head right now. All things considered, it would actually be a mercy. It’d certainly make him feel a little better, like screaming into a pillow, or a nice hot cup of tea. His hand tensed on the machine gun.
No. She’s still useful.
He let the tension slip away—just a little. Until the Captain’s keycard was found and command of the vessel restored, they all had an extension on their pathetic lives, even Mackenzie. The ship was too much ground fo
r Konesco to cover alone. Who knew what horrors the creature was already dreaming up for them?
That wasn’t the only doomsday timer that had already been set, a fact that Konesco was too keenly aware. Carver was a prudent man. This ship would never reach the shore. The boys would be along soon to wipe the slate clean and Konesco didn’t have the communications from which to stop them. Either they gained control of the ship and brought it to a halt at sea, or they came to one brutal end or another.
Mackenzie and I are definitely going to have a friendly chat when this is all over.
Olga came to a skittering halt near the side entrance of a casino. Konesco took up position along the wall next to her.
“He definitely dipped in there,” she informed between breaths.
Finally some progress. Their quarry wore a crew uniform. If anyone still alive knew where to find the card, it would be him. Unfortunately, he was smart. Now that the power was restored, the casino was alive in all its noisy glory. It would provide perfect cover for someone who knew this ship a hundred times better than them.
Konesco carefully peered around the corner into the vast whirring playground of slot machines and game tables. There were a total of four exits in the room counting the one they currently occupied. The two larger ones emptied into the ship’s main atriums. The exit across the way was a side hallway access. The crewman could have disappeared through any one of them. Konesco eyeballed the small island of slots just a few feet from the doorway. The cover would give them a better vantage point of the room.
“Move up,” he whispered. The veil of chinging machines worked both ways. Their prey would be hard pressed to hear them over the racket.
They rushed into the room making for the safety of the island of machines like a ship in stormy seas. Thunder rolled.
Bam-bam!
Konesco and Olga threw themselves behind the machines, and not a moment too soon. He actually heard the bullets whiz by over him on their path into the hallway.
