Oddly enough, the number of spiders seemed to be diminishing as they neared the cave. It was almost as if the creatures didn't care for the sickly radiance which fluoresced from within.
Calvin sensed movement to his right and veered away. It was well that he had because a big area of the ground suddenly seemed to rear up and a bulbous head sporting long mandibles shot forward. West screamed as the mandibles closed on his leg and pulled him toward the dark gaping hole under the raised disc, which Calvin could now see was composed of webbing covered with earth. His memory flashed on a documentary he had seen one night on PBS. He was looking at a giant trap-door spider. It built a layer underground and waited for prey to pass close by. Then it sprang out, grabbed them, and pulled them into its hole to devour at leisure.
Calvin almost gagged at the thought of what would happen to West if they didn't help him. West was flat on the ground on his stomach, clawing at the earth as the spider tried to drag him into the lair. He was screaming and maybe even crying. Calvin tried to line up a shot, but in the darkness, with West flailing around, he couldn't draw a bead on the spider. A moment later it was too late as West vanished from sight.
Calvin started toward the area of ground that hid the hole, but he felt a hand clamp onto his arm. He turned to find Carter Decamp.
“You can't help him now. Keep moving or you're dead too.”
“But he's still alive. Down there in the dark with that thing.”
“I know. Nothing we can do. Go over there and there may be another one waiting. Now move, Calvin!”
Decamp took off and Calvin followed, hating Decamp and hating himself. A moment later they reached the mouth of the cave. It was bigger than Calvin expected, tall enough for them to stand inside, and miraculously, there didn't seem to be any spiders inside or anywhere close to the entrance. Maybe he had been right and the spiders didn't like whatever was in the cave. And Calvin really didn't want to meet anything those monsters feared.
Decamp and Crowley moved deeper into the cave and the others followed. There was something about the purple light Calvin found painful. At first he thought it was hurting his eyes, but then he realized the pain was deeper, as if the light was actually flowing into his brain, probing at his thoughts, and twisting through the maze of his memories.
They rounded a corner in what had become a tunnel and found a gigantic chamber. Calvin had been to the tourist attraction, Ruby Falls, when he was a kid and this was like that. A massive underground room filled with stalactites and strange formations of stone. The purple radiance played across these forms, casting deep, flickering shadows.
The floor of the chamber was cluttered with the white bones of animals and humans. A great mass of webbing hung in the center of the vault with thick strands stretching from floor to ceiling, supporting the mass. Directly below the webbing stood a tall, thick stone, pointed at the top and covered with carvings of some sort. It was the source of the purple light and the sickly glow flowed off it in waves.
“What the hell is that?” Tessa whispered.
“What we've been looking for,” Crowley said. “That stone is the artifact that's causing all of this.”
Tessa said, “There's something inside that sack of webbing.”
Calvin looked back at the mass. At first he thought the light from the stone was just making it look like the web was moving, but now he could see the surface was twisting and undulating. There was definitely something alive in side. “So we need to destroy the stone and all of this ends, right?”
“In theory,” said Decamp. “But there may be more to it than that.”
“Fuck that,” Perez said, raising his M-4.
Crowley said, “No, you idiot.”
But it was too late. Perez unloaded on the stone. Calvin didn't blame Perez. It was just rock after all, right? The shells from the M-4 should be able to shatter it and that would stop these monsters, right?
But that wasn't what happened.
The bullets glanced off the stone and ricocheted around the chamber. The stone began to give off a whining sound like a giant, angry hornet, and the purple glow grew in intensity. Above the stone, the movements in the web sac became more frantic and violent and then the sac ripped open along the bottom and something big fell out and landed with a wet, meaty thud among the bones.
Slowly the thing on the floor rose, gleaming wetly in the purple light. It had the upper torso of a large, well-formed man, but below the waist it had the bloated body of a gigantic spider. The pale human flesh was scored with stretch marks, red striations that showed where the flesh was changing too quickly. At the waist those marks were worse and sometimes devolved into shreds of split skin from which the vast spidery form had erupted, leaving bloody streaks of gore. Eight, segmented legs spread out to a diameter of at least fifteen feet. They were long and thin and a deeply polished black, much like the obsidian cast of the bloated body they supported.
The nightmare turned toward Calvin and the others, and Calvin saw that above the eyes in the oh-so human face were two more sets of shiny black orbs. The thing opened its mouth and half a dozen tiny black spiders dribbled out. From within the creature's mouth, two long, sharp, mandibles extended.
The thing rose on its eight legs and took a step toward the group. It moved with that unsettling scurrying step so many spiders had, seeming almost to jump it moved so fast.
Guillermo screamed and turned to run. With amazing quickness, the creature shot forward and drove one the sharp tips of one its legs through Guillermo's torso, impaling him and then casting him aside.
Perez howled with rage and brought up his M-4 and stared firing. The noise shook Calvin from the daze he had sunk into and he too brought his rifle into play. A split second later, Tessa joined them. The cave was lit up with the muzzle flair from the three machine guns.
The spider thing was unharmed.
Calvin said, “What the hell is that thing, Decamp?”
Decamp said, “An aspect of Atlach-Nacha. Not quite a god. Far more than human.”
Perez said, “How do we kill that fucking bastard?” His eyes were wide and wild; the man’s cousin was dead. Calvin had heard enough tales of the Perez family to know he was broken up about it. Still, the grief would have to wait.
“You don't,” Crowley said. “We do.” He was smiling again. Calvin shivered.
Decamp said, “We have to get to the stone. See if you can distract the creature.”
Calvin said, “I got one magazine left.” He rammed it home into the M-4 and then started firing rapid bursts from the rifle, aiming at the monster's head. As he did so he scrambled across the uneven cavern floor. Tessa did the same, also on her last clip.
One of the creature's legs shot out and Calvin twisted away. The sharp tip still tore through the fleshy part of his leg, and he bellowed in pain as he toppled. The spider thing rushed toward him. Tessa put herself between the creature and Calvin and emptied her weapon at the scrambling horror. The creature didn't even slow down.
“Decamp!” Calvin yelled.
Decamp looked back over his shoulder. He said, “Jonathan, get the stone.” Then he hopped down and ran to where Calvin had fallen.
Tessa swung her empty rifle and sent it spinning at the creature. So far the thing hadn't made any sound but Calvin saw that it was grinning around its mandibles. The damn thing was enjoying itself. A moment later, it wasn't. The thing threw its head back and emitted a high pitched screech as Decamp's oddly glittering sword cut through one of its legs.
The spider thing whirled and lashed out at Decamp with another leg. Decamp stepped to one side, avoiding the thrust, and sheered the tip off the attacking limb. The creature staggered back, favoring its wounded legs. Then, without warning, it lunged at Decamp and this time managed to strike him with the side of one leg. The impact sent the slender man tumbling.
The spider thing hissed and started toward Decamp. Calvin looked over to where Crowley was standing by the stone. It was almost as tall as he was. Cro
wley muttered to himself and closed his fingers around something that Calvin could not see. He lifted his closed hand and as Calvin watched, an orange flame ignited around Crowley's clenched fist. Crowley drew back and struck the stone. The surface of the standing stone cracked, and the purplish energies surged and flickered like a candle in a strong wind.
The spider thing stopped stalking toward Decamp. Its head whipped around and its six eyes glared at Crowley. “No,” the thing said in a sibilant, echoing voice that pounded at Calvin’s head like a tidal wave. Not heard so much as felt. It began to lurch toward Crowley, its progress slowed by its injured legs. It wasn't coming fast, but it was coming.
Calvin fumbled for his 9mm. He knew it wouldn't do any good but he couldn't just sit there. He glanced at Crowley again. Crowley struck the stone a second time, making bigger cracks in its surface. Flares of energy rippled and bled along those cracks.
“Not fast enough,” Crowley muttered as he saw the spider thing bearing down on him. He leaned forward, opening his hands. Whatever he’d clenched in his fist was gone. With a strength Calvin would have thought impossible, he tore the standing stone out of the ground, his feet sinking into the arid dirt as he strained. His body turned and he hurled his prize at the creature. The stone struck the spider thing and it stumbled and fell. But the stone, though lined with cracks, was still in one piece.
The spider creature slowly stood. Crowley crouched and then hurled himself over the creature. The monster made an awkward turn, trying to keep Crowley in sight, and in doing so, turned directly into a sword thrust from Carter Decamp that tore through the thing's abdomen. The great, swollen orb split open, disgorging a flood of black ichor, swimming with small spiders.
“Nice one, Decamp,” Crowley said. He lifted his hand again and this time his fist blazed with a white light. Crowley brought his fist down on the fallen stone and it shattered, sending fragments flying around the cave. The sound was as loud as a church bell struck by a hammer, and then everything went black. The purple light was gone.
It was Perez who got his mag-light working. He played the beam around the room, showing the lifeless hulk of the spider thing. The tiny spiders that had been swimming in its blood were dead as well.
“Is it over?” Calvin said.
Decamp said, “It's over. The spiders outside will have returned to normal size and they're probably as dead as the ones in here. That kind of metamorphosis carries a price.”
Tessa said, “Calvin we need to get you some medical attention asap.”
“We'll help you get him back to the van,” Crowley said. “Your radio should work now and you can call an ambulance.”
Perez said, “What the fuck happened here?”
Decamp produced a penlight from a pocket and stepped over to the fallen spider creature. The arachnid parts of its anatomy seemed to be shrinking away, leaving the form of a nude man. Decamp shone the light on the man's hand and something glittered. A wedding ring.
Decamp said, “I can speculate. This man, whoever he was, found this cave. Perhaps a landslide opened it, or maybe he was digging. He found the standing stone, a relic from antiquity, and somehow it came to life.”
“And created those freaks?” Tessa said.
“Yes,” said Crowley. “The stone is incredibly old, from a time before recorded history. There were dark things living in those days.”
“You sound almost as if you were there,” said Calvin.
Crowley flashed that dark grin of his again. His eyes locked with Calvin’s. “Do I?”
Decamp said, “The Eldritch energy from the other side poured into this man, changing him and taking over his body. He was a vessel for one of the entities that flourish in the outer dark. The spiders were just a side effect.”
Crowley said, “And that's all you need to know. Let's get Calvin out of here.”
“You two are going of have a lot of explaining to do,” Calvin said.
Crowley said, “Probably not.”
And he was right.
Kill Team Kill
Justin A Coates
“This is bullshit.”
It was the second time Macy had said it during the long march up the mountain. Sergeant Nielsen glanced at his MK48 gunner in annoyance as the younger man leaned against an Afghan pine.
“Shut up, Macy,” he said, feeling the same exhaustion he knew the machine gunner felt but refusing to show it. “You can bitch about it once we make it back to Desolation. Take a knee, face out, drink water.”
Macy looked back at his team leader with barely disguised disdain. He lit a cigarette as he got down in the prone, popping out the machine gun’s bipod behind the roots of the pine tree. Nielsen made sure to stump the toe of his boot into Macy’s side plate as he went to check on the rest of Team 1.
Erwin was seated against a smooth limestone boulder. The marksman peered down the scope mounted on his MK14 EBR. The 7.62mm sniper rifle was pulled snug into his shoulder, between where his plate carrier met his Multicam-pattern combat blouse.
“See anything interesting?” Nielsen asked.
“Not a thing,” Erwin muttered, slowly scanning the valleys below. “Not since that weird goatherd guy following us after Meri Khel.” He cocked his head to the side, affecting a higher tone of voice. “Did you see that chicken guy?”
“Yeah,” Nielsen answered. “That guy was weird.”
They both laughed quietly, having shared the same inside joke with the rest of the team for six months now. Being stationed at COP Desolation wasn’t easy; finding humor in the most idiotic or vulgar circumstances had kept the men of the 25th Infantry Division from killing each other. The combat outpost was tiny, and the daily missions grueling. Bleak humor was all they had.
“We still set to meet with Team 2 on time?” Erwin asked, briefly glancing away from his scope.
“Yeah. If we make this our last stop we should be fine.” Nielsen fiddled with his Camelback, sucking down a gulp of warm water from the hydration system hose. “Lemme know if you see anything.”
Folen and Coutts were on the other side of the small summit, overlooking a sheer drop of over a hundred feet. Coutts was in the prone behind his M249, the automatic rifle’s stubby barrel poking out into the open air. Folen’s M4 with underslung M320 grenade launcher was propped against a tree while Folen pissed a steady stream of clear liquid over the cliff.
“You’re gonna get shot in the dick if you keep silhouetting yourself like that,” Nielsen said.
Coutts looked up at him, grinning like an idiot. “Right in the diiiick,” he said, spitting out a thick black thread of chewing tobacco. “Quit diiiicking around, Folen.”
“I wanna see how far out I can get it,” Folen said, visibly struggling.
“I’m being serious, asshat. Cut it out.”
Folen buttoned his trousers and took up his position at the tail end of their small formation. “How much further we got to the objective, sarn’t?”
“Another five hundred meters up,” he said, briefly checking the GPS unit attached to his wrist. “As long as we follow this spur we should be fine. Team 2 will be waiting for us there. You all staying hydrated?”
“Roger,” they both replied, their heads returning to the slow, automatic swivel typical of anyone used to patrolling in a combat zone.
Returning to the center of the small patrol base, Nielsen keyed his microphone. “1-7, this is 1-1, over.”
Silence greeted him. He tried to keep his voice down. “1-7, 1-1. We’re within 500 meters of the objective. How copy, over.”
Silence. Dead, cold, empty silence. Nielsen was sweating despite the cool of the evening. Not for the first time he cursed himself for not speaking out against their platoon leader’s idiotic plan for locating the enemy weapon caches. Splitting the platoon into such small teams was stupid. It flew in the face of common sense; it flew in the face of basic tactics. If not for the platoon sergeant’s total incompetence and unwillingness to confront the new lieutenant, it would never h
ave happened.
There’d been no radio contact for almost twenty minutes now. That was absolutely unheard of. The only thing to do was drive on to the next objective and hope to meet them there. Beyond that Nielsen didn’t have a clue, but he’d be damned if he’d let his team down by showing his fear.
“All right,” he said after a moment. “Let’s pick it up.”
They pushed on another three hundred meters. Every step was the same grueling, knee-locked affair as the last. The air in the mountains was thin. Nielsen resisted the urge to give the order to swap their helmets for patrol caps. Nightfall was coming soon, and they’d need their helmet-mounted night vision for even the shortest movement up the mountain.
They’d made it almost four hundred meters up the spur when Macy abruptly opened fire with his MK48. “Contact,” he said, dropping to a knee behind a small pile of rocks. The machine gun thundered briefly, firing a burst of nine armor-piercing incendiary rounds. “Two hundred fifty meters. High on opposite ridge. One enemy RPG team.”
Nielsen’s response was drowned out by the heavy crump of an exploding RPG-7. The rocket propelled grenade detonated against a nearby pine, sending splinters of wood and sap flying.
“1-7, this is 1-1, troops in contact,” he said into his useless radio, dropping to a knee as Macy went down into the prone. “Talk the guns!” He shouted as Coutts’ lighter M249 opened up further down the spur. The M249 and the MK48 quickly began firing complimentary bursts, each one opening up when the other paused to re-acquire sight pictures or reload.
A High-Explosive Dual-Purpose grenade sailed through the air from Folen’s position. Nielsen fired his own grenade launcher a second later. AK-47 rounds snapped through the air past his head. He reloaded his underslung grenade launcher, taking note of the bright muzzle flash of the enemy RPK light machine gun.
Both his and Folen’s grenades landed solidly in the midst of the enemy position. A plume of smoke and dust rose from the stand of trees where the enemy had been. “Cease fire,” Nielsen shouted immediately, fearful for the conservation of machine gun ammunition. “Folen, hit it again. Erwin, tag any squirters you can see.”
SNAFU: Unnatural Selection Page 9
