Black Melt

by Indy McDaniel

  Even that wouldn’t be easy, Stark knew.

  The elevator doors slid open when it reached the appropriate floor. Stark and Zoey got off and made their way to another front desk – not unlike the one in the lobby, although smaller – with another bright faced secretary waiting for them. “Agent Stark,” the secretary said. “Doctor Green. We’ve been expecting you. Mister Wolfe is currently in a meeting, but he’ll be with you shortly.”

  Stark didn’t slow his pace. He didn’t intend on waiting. “Just point me in the general direction of his office.”

  “Old meeting cancelled,” Zoey added. “New meeting taking place shortly.”

  “Don’t worry,” Stark assured the worried secretary as she reluctantly pointed the way. “I’ll make sure he’s far too pissed off at me to even think about firing you for not keeping me back.” He turned away from the secretary and headed for the office she’d indicated. When he got to it, he didn’t bother to knock. Opening the door, he strode in, Zoey right behind him. The office was big and well furnished. There were two men inside. One, an older man with bright white hair with a matching mustache and goatee, sat behind a large mahogany desk. The other, a skinny, bald man who looked as if he’d sucked on one too many pieces of sour candy, sat in front of the desk. He spun around as the door opened, staring in shocked anger at Stark.

  “You can’t just barge in here like that,” the bald man snapped.

  Stark glanced back at the open door and shrugged. “All evidence to the contrary.” He looked to the man behind the desk. “Bryce Wolfe. I’m Special Agent Nicholas Stark.” He motioned to Zoey. “This is Doctor Zoey Green, she’s with the CDC. We need to talk to you about a very serious situation involving an outbreak of contagious fungal material in Philadelphia yesterday that we believe came from one of your labs.”

  The bald man turned back to Wolfe. “Don’t say anything, sir.” He got up from his chair and turned to face Stark and Zoey. “I’m Cornelius Sanderson. Mister Wolfe’s personal lawyer. Any questions you have for him must first go through me. Preferably in writing.”

  Wolfe looked out at the situation and gave a thin smile of amusement. “It’s alright, Cornelius. I’m sure we don’t have to resort to such formal matters. I’d be more than happy to answer any questions Agent Stark and Doctor Green have. After all, it’s not as if I have anything to hide.”

  “Incorrect,” Zoey chimed in as she stepped forward. “Rich men frequently have many proverbial skeletons in closet. Suspect you no different. Beyond personal secrets, corporate secrets most likely extensive. Take lab where fungal infection originated from, for instance. Location kept hidden from public. Hidden lab, by definition, a secret. Lying also in the nature of rich men. So far, you’re embodying the stereotype quite well.”

  “I’m sorry, my dear,” Wolfe replied. “Was there a question in there somewhere? If there was, I must have missed it. Perhaps you should lay off the coffee.”

  Zoey gave Wolfe a confused look. “Only had two cups with breakfast. Caffeine ingestion not a factor in regards to speed of my speech. Didn’t hear question because none was asked. When I do ask, will make sure I slow down so you can catch it.”

  “The outbreak,” Stark cut in. “It left three people dead. Not exactly great PR if it gets out that you were the cause of it.”

  “How do you even know CyberWolfe Industries has any relation to this outbreak, Agent Stark?” Sanderson asked.

  “Because two of the three fatalities were the ones who initially contracted the fungal infection,” Stark said. “And while searching their apartment, we found a nice treasure trove of rather sensitive information with your company logo plastered all over it.”

  Sanderson’s eyes went wide and the color drained from his face. He nervously looked back to Wolfe. The CEO stood from his desk and rounded it, appearing far more at ease than his lawyer. “Would either of you care for a drink?” he asked as he made his way over to a well-stocked bar stationed at one side of the office. “I’m certainly going to have one while I wait for one of you to actually ask me a question.”

  “Here’s a question,” Stark said. “Where’s the lab?”

  “We have many labs,” Wolfe said as he poured himself a drink. “We’re a global company. We have them all over the world. The locations of most of them are not disclosed as the work we’re doing in them is far too precious. So I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific.”

  “How about the one where you were experimenting with a space rock you found with extraterrestrial fungal growth on it?” Stark asked. The more he talked with Wolfe, the more his patience wore thin. He’d expected a stonewalling, not a playful teasing.

  “Any labs outside of the United States can be immediately discarded, as can any publically known labs,” Zoey added. “Most likely, the lab in question is in fairly close proximity to New England area. Doubt O’Malley and Kurylenko travelled cross country.”

  Wolfe took a sip of his drink, seemingly unbothered. “Yes, I know the lab you speak of. I can’t divulge its exact location, but I can assure you, we’re aware of the break in and are in the process of taking the necessary steps to secure the area.”

  “The fact that you’ve already failed to keep your lab experiment in check and three civilians have died as a result of it means you don’t get to make that call anymore, Wolfe,” Stark snapped. “That’s the CDC’s job now. And considering the dangerous nature of the fungal matter, I’m sure the United States government won’t allow you to keep any samples you might have stashed away.”

  “You’ve already admitted that at least two of those dead civilians are the very thieves that broke into our lab,” Sanderson said. “We cannot be held responsible for their actions. Any materials or equipment within the lab is the property of CyberWolfe Industries, as is any information you may have collected during the process of your investigation. We’ll need that back.”

  “Sorry, Chuckles,” Stark said. “That’s evidence now. You want it back, you’re going to have to get a court order.”

  “Oh, we will,” Wolfe said, a smug smirk forming on his face. “Cornelius specializes in court orders.”

  Stark fought back the urge to punch Wolfe in his smug face and ruin his perfect smile. An assault charge less than a day after a fatal shooting incident wouldn’t look great on his permanent record. But it sure would feel damn good, he thought. “Well, how about we sort all this out down at the FBI field office?” he snarled back at Wolfe. “Got a nice pair of handcuffs that’ll go real good with your expensive cufflinks.”

  The pencil thin lawyer with the head that looked like an eraser was quick to jump in. “You put my client in cuffs and he’ll sue you and the FBI for assault.”

  Stark shifted his glare to the lawyer. “Buddy, you ain’t seen ounce one of assault yet.”

  Zoey’s tablet gave off a soft tone and she pulled it from her purse. Stark’s attention was focused on Cornelius the Annoying Dipshit Lawyer, exchanging choice words back and forth with the rail thin bald man. His voice was growing in volume with each exchange as the slimy twerp continued to throw legal threats his way. Before the urge to make the lawyer’s threat of assault charges all too easy for him to make good on, Zoey spoke up. “Can you turn on the news?” she asked, looking up from her tablet to Stark and then to Wolfe, who looked at her blankly. “Was the question not voiced slowly enough?”

  Wolfe let out a sigh and did as Zoey asked, moving over to a large, flat-panel television mounted to the wall above the bar. He flicked it on and turned it to a national news station. The sight of a flaming passenger airliner lying wrecked across an open field greeted them, drawing everyone in the office into a sober silence.

  Wolfe finally broke the silence. “Yes, this is all very tragic,” he said with mild annoyance. “But I don’t understand the urgency.”

  Before Zoey could answer – and before Stark could follow through on the punch he so badly wanted to deliver to the man – the footage cut from an aerial view to a ground level c
amera. The news reporter on the scene looked haunted and as she relayed what was going on at the scene of the crash, her voice matched her look. “It is unclear at this time what exactly caused Flight 1412 to lose control during its short trip from Philadelphia to Baltimore. Rescue crews are doing everything they can to find any survivors, but at the moment, things appear grim. The…” the reporter faltered over the next word. “Remains removed from the wreckage so far look like nothing this reporter has ever seen before. The rescue workers on site refuse to hazard a guess as to the cause of death, but it does appear the majority of the crew and passengers of Flight 1412 were deceased before the aircraft went down.”

  The news broadcast cut to a different camera, showing what appeared to be a number of half-dissolved corpses drenched in black sludge. That was all Stark needed to see. He turned his glare back to Wolfe and the CEO’s lawyer. “So who’s getting sued for what now?” he growled.

  Despite Cornelius’s increasingly nervous demeanor, Wolfe seemed unfazed by the news report. “I’m afraid I don’t follow,” he said.

  “Can help with that,” Zoey cut in, tapping her fingers across her tablet before flipping it around to show Wolfe the screen. Displayed in glorious high definition was an image from Erin Moone’s autopsy. Only the lower half of her body remained, wearing nothing but a toe tag dangling from her big toe. Her waist was covered in black sludge that looked exactly like the kind covering the plane crash victims. “Erin Moone, twenty-three. What’s left of her. The rest dissolved.” Zoey’s finger tapped the tablet screen and swiped to the next picture, revealing the body of Gavin, similarly stripped but more whole than Erin had been. The black growths across his body were clearly visible – as was his rigid erection. “Gavin O’Malley, twenty-six. Infected with extraterrestrial fungal matter. Killed Moone. Consumed her. Would have done same to me, if not for Stark.” She flipped to the third picture in the series, this one showing Alyx’s eviscerated corpse. The open maw of her hollowed out abdominal cavity was in perfect focus. “Alyx Kurylenko, twenty-four. Infected with same fungus as O’Malley. Death caused by extreme adverse reaction to anti-fungal medication.”

  Wolfe didn’t look away from the images, but he obviously wanted to.

  Stark was impressed by Zoey’s performance. As he’d hoped, she’d cut through where he could not. But the conversation wasn’t over yet. He needed to get through to Wolfe before his lawyer did something stupid like telling his client to keep his mouth shut. “While you’ve been covering up and pussyfooting around, this shit you’ve dredged up from the ocean floor has gotten out of control. Now I want you to give Doctor Green every tidbit of information you have on this fungus and anything else you even suspect might be of use to our investigation.”

  Wolfe seemed on the verge of throwing a punch of his own, narrow blue eyes alit with fiery rage. Before he could write a check his frail old bones couldn’t hope of cashing, his lawyer leaned in and whispered fast and frantic into the CEO’s ear. The anger dissipated somewhat. Clenching his jaw shut tight for a few moments to get himself under control, he finally spoke. “Fine,” he said, his voice just above an angry whisper. “Is there anything else we here at CyberWolfe can help you with?”

  “Yes,” Stark said. “You can stay out of our way. And you can stop getting people killed.” He turned away and headed for the door out of the office, Zoey in tow.

  * * *

  Zoey checked her tablet on the way down in the elevator. “They’ve already sent the information,” she told Stark. “Doesn’t look like much more than what we already had.”

  “Anything will help,” Stark said, pulling his cell phone out and dialing the number for the FBI field office. “We’ve got to get to Baltimore. But first, you need to get in touch with the ground crew there and let them know what they’re up against. We need to keep the infection contained to the plane crash.”

  Zoey nodded. “Already sent pertinent information to CDC home office with instructions to forward to crash site. How are we getting to Baltimore? Drive here bad enough.”

  Stark relayed his own information to the agent on the other side of the phone before hanging up. “We’re not driving.” The elevator doors dinged open and he led the way out, heading for the front lobby. “Grab what you need out of the car. We’re leaving it here.”

  “Have tablet, have purse,” Zoey said. “Don’t need much else.”

  “Good,” Stark said. “There’ll be an SUV picking us up in five minutes.”

  “SUV still form of driving,” Zoey argued. “Actually worse than our car. Terrible gas mileage.”

  “The SUV’s taking us to the FBI field office,” Stark explained. “Then we’re getting on a chopper. Never let it be said I don’t learn from my mistakes.”

  * * *

  Benjamin Stone crouched over the fallen TV reporter, giggling. He tore her blouse open and ripped her cream colored bra away to reveal her perky breasts. His eyes lit up with aroused hunger and he leaned forward, planting his face over one of her breasts. Her screams of terror rang in his ears as he puked over her chest and flicked his tongue across the rapidly dissolving nub of her nipple, squirming it into the warm fat within the woman’s breast. He could hear other, similar screams of pain and horror all around him. Benjamin and the handful of others he’d infected on the plane had hidden after the impact with the ground. The crash had banged them up fairly bad, but only one of them had died.

  They’d waited for fresh meals to show up at the scene of the wreck and now they were feasting. It felt so much better to eat while exposed to the warm spring air and the sun beating down on his back. His stiff erection oozed black jizz onto the reporter’s belly, singeing through her skin as he lightly ground his hips against her. Even after feeding on the majority of the plane’s passengers, Benjamin found it no less exhilarating as he puked, dissolved, and absorbed the reporter. If anything, each subsequent feeding brought forth a fresh wave of newness to the experience. He’d learned – no, that wasn’t right, it was more like re-learning something he’d always known but had forgotten about – that being less hasty with his meals made them more filling. So while he enjoyed the flavor of the reporter’s soupified tits, he was careful not to melt his way through her breast bone and into her precious organs.

  With each cell of the reporter Benjamin consumed, he could feel more of her psyche oozing into him as well. He lifted his head to stare into her wide eyes and gave her a wide, black-toothed grin. “Why are you so scared?” he asked. “By the time I’m through with you, I will know you more intimately than any lover ever could. And I haven’t even penetrated you.” He dragged his slimy tongue across her cheek, moaning as he tasted her individual cells breaking away from each other and dissolving into him. He left behind a nasty burn along the side of the reporter’s once pretty face.

  The four other infected were dividing their attention between making similarly pleasurable meals of the women and infecting the men, but it went beyond that. Even as each individual infected person consumed their respective meals, they shared a mutual consumption with one another. Whether it was Benjamin slurping up the not-so-pretty reporter’s finger flesh off her bones, or the flight attendant force-feeding the cameraman flaky bits of infected skin, or any of the other horrible feasts being carried out across the wreckage strewn field, they all felt each energy-rich morsel entering their system, becoming part of the whole. Flesh along with lives, bone along with memories, nutrients along with personalities, all of it swirled together into the pit of the fungus’s connected system and then spread out again as the infection claimed new carriers to share in the experience.

  And as the screams off its food transformed into wet gurgles and death rattles, the sound of an urgent voice could be heard, coming from a discarded radio lying adjacent to the still bubbling remains of a rescue worker. Benjamin heard the voice and turned his head towards it, spotting the radio. He lifted himself off of the sobbing reporter and made his way over to it. Snatching up the radio, he twisted the vol
ume nob to hear the voice better.

  “Repeat,” the voice said. “There is highly contagious biological material on the plane. Cease all rescue attempts until the CDC can arrive. ETA, twenty minutes.”

  More tasty munchables, one of the many voices rolling around in Benjamin’s head hissed.

  Too many, another replied. Can’t eat them all.

  Not important, a third said. Still so far to go. Can’t risk it.

  But the sweetness, another said. We’re on the verge of cumming just thinking of it.

  Plenty more to eat, the third voice argued. When we get where we’re going.

  We’re not finished eating these yet.

  Twenty minutes. Maybe less. Plenty of time, if we don’t linger.

  Benjamin dropped the radio into the pool of rescue worker and turned back to the half-eaten reporter with a wide grin. “We don’t have time to fully appreciate all the wondrous bliss of your lingering demise,” he told her. “Sorry, girlie.” He dropped onto her, straddling her head and lifting it up from the ground. He pushed his throbbing erection into her mouth and groaned as his slimy black spunk ate a hole through the roof of her mouth. He shoved forward, sliding through her palate and sinus cavities before entering her brain. The reporter went into spasms, eyes rolling back as she died with her brain sizzling into the back of her skull.

  * * *

  After getting to the FBI field office and boarding the chopper, Stark and Zoey were on their way to the crash site. They were about halfway there when the bad news came in. “CDC field team has arrived at crash site,” Zoey said, her eyes focused on the tablet in her lap. The headsets they wore kept them from having to yell to be heard over the sound of the chopper. She went silent as she scanned through the rest of the status update. “Not good. Very not good.” She looked over at Stark. “Infection on aircraft much worse than originally thought. Upon arrival, they found rescue workers all dead or missing.”