He wasn’t going to make it. The copter was still far away, and the monster was too close, she was going to tackle him and drag him to the ground well before he made it to his destination. Then he did feel the hot breath. He did smell the sour salt water stench, and he could sense the slick fish skin of the creature wrapping itself around him.
But the world opened up in a series of jerking, spasmodic flashes of light before him, followed by swift repeating echoes of noise. Gunfire!
“Keep moving, boss!” shouted Wilcox as she stood in a half-crouch in the doorway of the Bell 412. She held a large Squad Automatic Weapon in her arms, the M249, bronze cylinders coughing and flying from the side of the weapon as it barked, sending a stream of deadly bullets just over McLeod’s head and toward the creature.
The ex-SAS operative could hear the swift thumps of bullets eating into fish skin flesh, tearing into the musculature and ejecting spewing grime out into the air. The thumping footsteps slowed but did not stop.
McLeod gave it one final burst, pushing himself forward, running as fast as he could, his lungs burning, his legs aching.
“Clear out, Wilcox! Get out of the copter!”
Wilcox looked at him curiously, adjusting the aim of her M249 automatic slightly, then squeezing off another burst. The creature tucked its head as more wounds burst open, next to a protruding spine that almost threatened to burst through the thin layer of skin.
“It’s still on you, boss!” Wilcox shouted.
“God dammit, Wilcox, move!” the Bell was only feet away, and he could feel the creature charging closer. But Wilcox wouldn’t, she held her place, firing on the monster, whose pace had quickened even as a dozen ragged bullet holes tore open the skin on its back. Her mouth pried open, forcing a growling scream from whatever lungs were contained within this freaky bag of flesh. It started off as a lion roar, but broke off into a crazed half growl, half eagle screech, spittle flying from its toothy, opened mouth, and spattering across the nape of McLeod’s neck. It was on him again, right on him.
He jumped, throwing himself toward the Bell as the creature lunged. The side cargo door of the helicopter was just wide enough for a pair of gunners to sit, even when completely empty. Tonight, Wilcox sat crouched to McLeod’s right, and the opening seemed quite narrow indeed. McLeod’s feet struck the metal grid floor of the interior of the helicopter, and he surged forward once again, throwing himself through to the other open cargo door. The beast followed.
Wilcox suddenly understood what was happening, and started to backpedal, but too late. With a snarl, the broad, slick-skinned beast slammed her against the metal frame of the copter, her lips pursing and spitting dark blood. McLeod began to slide through the other end, his pursuer’s momentum slowing. It was too large and unwieldy to slip through the two cargo doors, and with a growl and lunge, it was lodged inside the copter, the stump of its thick tail pinned against one side of the entrance door, while its shoulders slammed forward against the inside of the far wall, catching it in a metallic, boxy hug.
McLeod started to fall out the other side, reaching down and clutching the two grenades had had liberated from Berger’s corpse. He pulled them free and with one skillful hook of his fingers, snagged the pins and wrenched them both. The ground was coming up to greet him, and he tossed his arm back, letting go of the two grenades, and more importantly the two firing pins he had held down until their release.
Pain ripped through his left leg, jagged snarls of hot needles, right above the ankle, sending roaring agony up through the muscles of his calf and thigh.
Five seconds.
McLeod twisted in mid-air, slamming back-first onto the ground, the creature’s massive jaws clamped tightly around his lower left leg. Too close! He was too damn close!
Four seconds.
He popped the clasp on his leg holster and slipped his nine-millimeter pistol free.
Three seconds.
Barely thinking, only aiming, McLeod stared deep into the creature’s black eyes, narrowed and squinting. He fired three times.
Two seconds.
All three shots pounded into the creature’s right eye, and it screamed into the night, drawing back and yanking open its large, tooth-filled jaws, dropping McLeod’s broken and bloodied leg to the ground.
One.
Turning over and desperately scrambling across the concrete sidewalk, Chuck McLeod closed his eyes as he dragged himself, visualizing only his two children, remembering that crinkled and folded photograph, desperately wanting that to be his final memory.
Two dull thumps echoed in the helicopter, one right after the other, then something inside the aircraft caught and detonated, the whole Bell erupting into a bloom of flame and spiraling vomits of smoke. Black metal broke apart and scattered high in the air and in wide arcs across the trees, the sidewalk, and West 110th Street, sending emergency personnel scrambling for cover.
The roar echoed in the busy New York City night, the snaking flames casting an eerie orange glow on the surrounding windows of the buildings, then McLeod lowered his head and all was the darkest of night.
* * *
Flashes of crimson stroked across Chuck McLeod’s face as he sat on the metal bumper of the fire truck, head bowed, leg wrapped in tight bandages. He could feel the warm moistness of a fresh wound on the side of his head, and a stream of liquid sneaking down his left jawbone. He blinked his eyes open and saw that he was holding the photograph of his children. He couldn’t even remember pulling it from his pocket, yet here it was.
A shadow cast over him, blocking out the whipping red. A paper cup appeared, and he absent mindedly reached out and grabbed it, wrapping his fingers around the warmth.
“Wilcox?” McLeod asked, bringing the cup toward his lips.
“Sorry. She tried to get free, but was too close when the helicopter exploded.” Agent Blaine was still wearing his black combat togs but now wore an NYPD blue windbreaker over it.
McLeod didn’t respond.
“Good news is, that thing won’t be swimming across the Atlantic again any time soon.”
“Dead?”
“Very.”
That was good. Chuck McLeod looked at the picture of his two children and thought about his team. The Shadows. That foul creature was dead... that evil spawn of whatever genetics lab made it, but he wasn’t sure it was worth the price.
Maybe none of it was.
McLeod pressed the photograph back into the slim pocket in his tactical vest and stood, favoring his left leg, which screamed in pain.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Blaine asked.
“I’m going to see my kids.” McLeod looked at his watch. “If I leave now, I can get there just in time.”
* * *
Blaine stood in the wet New York streets watching McLeod hobble away towards the subway station. His phone chirped, and he slipped it from his pants pocket.
“Blaine.” Glancing around, he took a few steps towards the burned wreckage of the helicopter, where the foot traffic was non-existent. “Yeah, they killed it. Couldn’t be helped.” Walking around the other side of the helicopter he looked at the ground where pieces and parts of the vehicle were smoldering. Other parts and pieces were mixed within, considerably more organic in nature. Scientists would be here soon... the retrieval team. “Oh, don’t worry, there’s plenty of genetic material left. Plenty of source material for the next round.”
He took a few more steps towards the trees.
“How do we feel about the results?” Blaine listened for a moment to the voice on the other end, then nodded slightly. “The team did better than expected, I won’t deny that.”
Another check to make sure he was alone, and Blaine took a few more steps deeper into the trees surrounding Central Park.
“I agree. I think we’re ready to move to the next phase. I think it’s time to make this thing operational. Only next time, let’s not send it by train.”
The Weavers in Darkness
James A
Moore & Charles R. Rutledge
Officer Mike Calvin settled into his seat and made sure his seatbelt was secure. There were six jump-seats in the back of the van, three on each side, and five were occupied. Calvin was closest to the back doors by choice. He liked to be the first man out the door and on the scene. He’d gotten into the habit during two tours in Iraq.
Captain Lovell, head of the Bergen PD SWAT team, turned around from the seat closest to the driver’s and said, “Some of you know more about what’s going on than others, so let me give all of you the current situation.”
Tessa Malloy, who had the seat across from Calvin, rolled her eyes. Lovell liked to hear himself talk. Calvin figured Lovell was taking advantage of some piddling occurrence to trot out his shiny new SWAT team. What the hell did a small town like Bergen need with a SWAT team anyway? Still, Calvin reflected, the extra pay was good and they got to train with the newest weapons and tech.
“Two hours ago,” Lovell went on as the van got moving, “dispatch got a 911 call from Maro-tek. It’s an electronics manufacturing plant out by the old quarry. Isolated place.”
“I know someone who works there,” Arturo Perez said from Calvin’s right. “It’s in the middle of nowhere.”
Lovell looked annoyed at being interrupted. He said, “Right. The call came in at 2:15 this afternoon. Caller was frantic. Said something was attacking the workers. Then she was cut off. Repeated calls to the plant didn’t get any answers, so dispatch sent a black and white to have a look. Our last contact with them was right when they arrived. According to Officer Pace, the place looked deserted. They went to check it out and we haven’t heard back from them.”
“That doesn’t sound good,” Kevin Jenkins said. Jenkins was so big that he looked almost comical jammed into the jump-seat next to Tessa. He was a former college football player and he spent so much time in the police gym the other cops called it his office.
Perez said, “Captain, did you say the caller said some thing was attacking? Not someone?”
“That’s what they said. I’m assuming an animal of some sort. Maybe a bear or a mountain lion.”
Calvin knew big cats were extremely rare in Georgia, but he kept that to himself. Contradicting Lovell wasn’t usually worth the grief.
Jeff West, who was driving the van, called over his shoulder, “Maybe we should have sent animal control instead of us.”
West considered himself a wit. He was the only one.
Lovell said, “Stay focused, West.”
“Sorry, Captain.”
They made the rest of the drive in comparative silence. That suited Calvin. He had never been much for small talk. He craned his head to look out the front window as West announced they had arrived at their destination.
Long, deep shadows were falling as the van passed through the front gates of Maro-tek. It was early September and the days had grown shorter. The plant was a big, white, concrete bunker of a building surrounded by pines. The gray bulk of the Blue Ridge Mountains loomed behind it.
“There’s the patrol car,” West said.
Lovell said, “Stop the van here. We want to go in slow.”
When the van stopped, Calvin popped the latch on the back door and dropped to the ground. He brought up the M-4 and moved to the side of the van, making a visual scan of the area as he went. Nothing moved.
Perez and Tessa, both fellow vets, piled out of the van and took up similar defensive positions. The captain and the other two guys did what they’d been taught in SWAT school.
For his own part, Calvin wasn’t putting a lot of faith in the ‘some thing’ comment on the 911 call. That could have just been a slip of the tongue from a desperate caller. Calvin figured a mass shooting or domestic terrorism attack was more likely than a berserk bear on the loose. The captain had said Maro-tek made electrical components. Maybe they made some for the military.
Captain Lovell said, “Calvin, have a look at the patrol car. Everyone else, keep an eye on the building for any movement.”
Calvin gave a short nod and moved carefully up to the black & white. He didn’t mind taking point. Hell, he preferred it. He made a slow circle of the patrol car. Nothing looked amiss.
“Looks clear, Captain,” he called.
“All right. Guess we’ll have a look at the building. Calvin and Tessa, you’re with me. We’ll take the front door. Perez, lead the second team around the side and look for another entrance. Place like this has to have loading bays.”
Calvin started toward the front door without being told. He knew Lovell would want him to stay on point. He felt a slight trickle of sweat on his back. It wasn’t nervousness. Between his body armor and utility vest and the unseasonably warm weather, he was feeling the heat. That’s what he told himself anyway.
The front door yawned open. It was dark inside and Calvin wondered if the power had been cut. He gave a quick look over his shoulder to check Lovell and Tessa’s positions. Lovell was a pain sometimes but he knew how to use his people’s strengths. He had taken the center position, leaving Tessa as rear guard.
Calvin switched on the flashlight on his M-4 and stepped inside quickly so as not to be silhouetted in the doorway. The flashlight beam pierced the gloom, showing him a front office full of toppled furniture and scattered debris. The light fell on two human legs poking out from behind an overturned desk.
“Got a body over here,” Calvin said, moving to the side of the desk to get a look behind it without getting too close. The beam rested on the corpse's face and Calvin recoiled from the sight. In Iraq he had seen more bodies than he ever wanted to think about, but nothing like this.
He only knew the body was male because of the clothes. The face was blue tinged and shrunken like some wizened mummy. The eyes were just sockets. What he could see of the arms that extended from the corpse's shirt were similarly shrunken.
Calvin said, “Gas masks. We could have some sort of infection here.” He pulled on his own mask as he spoke. Lovell and Tessa did the same.
“Shit!” Tessa said.
“What is it?” Lovell said.
“Thought I saw something move in the corner.”
Lovell turned his M-4 that way. The barrel mounted Mag-Light sent a bright beam into that part of the room. The light bounced back from what Calvin realized were eyes and a moment later, something big and fast came hurtling out of the corner.
For a second Calvin thought it really was a mountain lion. Then he realized it had too many legs. It was about the size of a large German shepherd and it landed on Lovell, bearing him to the ground. Even as he trained his weapon on the hairy form, Calvin's brain was trying to tell him what it was and at the same time trying to reject the reality. It was a spider. A goddamn spider the size of a dog.
Lovell started screaming and Calvin realized the thing was biting him. Lovell jerked and twisted, trying to pull away but the thing was locked on to him with its pincers or whatever they were called. Calvin shook himself, realizing he needed to do something other than just stand there with his mouth hanging open.
A second later he heard two loud reports and glanced to his side. Tessa, realizing the M-4 was too dangerous to use with Lovell so close to the thing, had drawn her Glock 9mm and put two rounds into the spider's head. The thing toppled off Lovell, legs twitching as it rolled.
“Christ,” Tessa said. “Jesus Christ. Captain Lovell, are you injured? Can you hear me?”
Despite the fact the spider had relinquished its hold, Lovell was still flailing like he was having a seizure. Calvin and Tessa hurried over to him. His helmet and gas mask had been knocked loose and they could see that his teeth were clinched and his eyes were open wide.
“Do you think it was poisonous?” Tessa said.
“How the hell would I know?” said Calvin. “What the hell was it? Spiders don't get that big.”
“Well this one did. The captain's convulsing. We have to get him out of here.”
Calvin stepped over to help Tessa with Lovell. Then he h
eard a scrabbling sound, and turning, he saw two more spiders coming toward him. One of them was almost twice as large as the one that had bitten the captain. Calvin came very close to screaming as he scrambled backwards, swinging the M-4 up and depressing the trigger. The gun sounded incredibly loud in the confined space, but Calvin kept firing, cutting the creatures to pieces, until the magazine clicked on empty. His reflexes kicked in and he snatched one of two remaining magazines off his utility vest and slammed it into the rifle.
He realized then that Tessa had been firing too. She was looking, mouth agape, at the two fallen spiders.
“This is not happening,” Tessa said. “This is not fucking happening. We have to get out of here.”
Calvin looked over at Lovell. He had stopped convulsing and was lying motionless. Probably dead. But Calvin had to be sure. He crouched and felt Lovell's throat for a pulse. Nothing.
“Okay, we'll send someone back for him. Hell, we'll get the national guard in here with flame throwers and—”
A hurtling form slammed into Tessa. She screamed as she fell, trying to ward off the spider's fangs as it sought to bite her. Calvin fumbled for his Glock, but even as he did so, yet another spider came rushing from the shadows. How many of these damn things were there?
Calvin put three rounds into the one that was attacking Tessa, moving forward as he did so. He kicked the dead creature off of her, feeling the soft, yielding weight of the body, which made his stomach lurch. He caught Tessa by the arm and pulled her upright. Half dragging her, he tried to get around the second spider to reach the door, but the thing was too fast and it moved to intercept them. Calvin fired at the spider, then turned and headed toward a door on the far side of the room. Maybe they could get away from the things long enough to wait for backup.
SNAFU: Unnatural Selection Page 6
