The Deviant Strain

by Justin Richards

  With a sharp intake of cold breath, Rose was on her feet and backing away.

  In front of her the pulsing, throbbing pale-blue light moved suddenly forwards – coming straight at her.

  SIX

  WHATEVER THE LIGHT was, it made a slippery, slithering sound as it came. Something slapped past Rose, brushing her shoulder before flopping down on the ground at her feet. There was another sound now – something dragging. The body she had found being pulled back, towards the light that was now brighter, pulsing more rapidly. A tendril of glowing blue swept in front of Rose, making her dodge sideways and stagger backwards.

  She didn’t wait to see any more of the creature. She turned and ran. Straight into a dark shape that solidified out of the mist and held her tight.

  ‘What is it?’ Sofia demanded as Rose pulled away.

  ‘There’s . . . something. Back there.’

  ‘What sort of something?’

  Rose gave a short laugh. ‘A nasty something. I didn’t hang around to find out any more. And another body, I think.’

  ‘You think?’

  ‘Well, you’ve got the torch.’

  The slithering sounds seemed to have stopped and Rose led the way cautiously back towards where she had seen the glowing creature.

  ‘Like a blobby blue jellyfish or something. With, like, tentacles, you know.’

  ‘I don’t think I do.’ Sofia sounded nervous too.

  But there was nothing there. The faint torchlight picked out the trail in the snow where something had dragged itself up onto the quay and along the roadway. And the deeper trail where something heavy had been pulled away.

  ‘One of the soldiers?’ Rose wondered. ‘Jack couldn’t get them on the radio.’

  ‘If so, this man wouldn’t have been alone,’ Sofia pointed out.

  ‘More than one, then. Maybe. Oh, I dunno, do I?’ Rose protested. ‘We should be getting back to the inn.’

  Sofia was shining the torch along the trail. It was little more than an impression in the snow – no distinctive markings or footprints. Almost as if someone had rolled a snowball along.

  ‘You say it was glowing?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘But the snow hasn’t melted. It’s just been pushed aside and crushed.’

  ‘So, it glows but it doesn’t get hot. It was sort of bluish.’

  ‘Not even warm. A few degrees above freezing is hot round here.’ Sofia clicked her tongue, considering. ‘That’s why we need the generator working again, and quickly. Not for light so much as for heat. Though the institute has its own power supply if we get really desperate.’

  ‘Jack’ll sort it.’

  ‘I hope so.’ She shook her head. ‘Too much,’ she muttered. ‘Too much, too soon. I’m not ready for this.’

  ‘Who is?’ Rose wondered.

  Sofia seemed to gather herself and come to a decision. ‘I want to look at the stone circle again, where we found poor Pavel’s body.’

  ‘What, now? In this fog?’

  ‘It may be clearer up on the cliff. This is a sea mist. It won’t be so thick higher up.’

  ‘Even so.’

  ‘I want to see if there’s a similar trail up there. If we wait, the snow may obscure it.’

  ‘It probably already has,’ Rose pointed out. ‘And if it hasn’t, the soldiers have been trampling all round the place anyway.’

  ‘You don’t have to come,’ Sofia said. She turned away. ‘Go back to the inn and keep warm and safe there, if you like.’

  Rose sighed. ‘I’ll come,’ she said. ‘You’ll need someone to keep an eye out for angry blobs while you go poking about in the snow.’

  A light came on about ten metres away. Its glow was dissipated by the fog. It flickered as if struggling to stay alight, then brightened slightly. It wasn’t much, but it was a comfort. Rose could see that Sofia was smiling. But the way the shadows and the mist obscured her face, for a moment she looked almost grotesque. Like a grinning skull. Then she moved and the moment was gone.

  ‘Come on, then,’ Sofia said.

  They took one of the Jeeps from the institute. Minin drove, silent for most of the journey. It was more than just his concentrating on getting through the thickening mist.

  ‘You got a problem with this?’ the Doctor asked at last.

  ‘Several.’

  ‘I’ll take the blame.’

  ‘That’s only one of the problems.’

  ‘So what are the others?’

  ‘Least of our problems will be digging through frozen ground. More of a problem is knowing where to dig.’

  ‘Someone must know. We’ll get directions.’

  Minin wiped at the inside of the windscreen with the back of his hand. It made little difference. They had slowed almost to a walking pace.

  ‘Fedor Vahlen will know. He digs the graves.’

  ‘How’s he do that?’

  ‘He’s a builder. Mainly repairing leaks and shoring up the older buildings. But he’s got a digger.’

  ‘That’s OK, then.’

  ‘Pavel was his son,’ Minin said quietly.

  ‘Oh. Right.’ The Doctor thought about this. ‘He should be glad to help, then.’

  ‘Might be glad to help you. Vahlen and I . . . he doesn’t like me.’

  The Doctor turned to look at Minin. ‘No one likes you,’ he pointed out. Then he grinned. ‘He’ll like me, though. Everyone does. Guaranteed.’

  Razul was rubbing his oily hands on a rag. ‘There was a blockage in the main feed from the larger fuel tank. No wonder they had to keep topping it up. Should run for a couple of days now without needing any attention.’

  ‘Fingers crossed,’ Jack said. ‘Well done.’

  Sergeyev nodded, which seemed to be as close as he would come to congratulating his comrade.

  ‘Right, let’s get back to the institute and see who’s checked in. We can’t do much more till morning and this mist burns off.’

  ‘If it does,’ Sergeyev said glumly.

  ‘Oh, you’re a bundle of joy,’ Jack told him.

  Sergeyev scowled back.

  Razul was smiling with amusement at their antagonism. But his smile froze as he tossed the oily rag into a corner. ‘What was that?’

  ‘What?’ Jack asked.

  ‘A sound. Just then. Listen.’

  They all stood silently, listening. There was a scuffling, scraping sound from behind the generator, barely audible above its steady throb of power.

  ‘It’s nothing,’ Sergeyev said. ‘Just the machinery.’

  ‘Or rats, maybe,’ Jack suggested.

  But Razul was not convinced. ‘It sounded like something outside, on the hull. Sliding across the outer shell of the submarine.’

  Sergeyev gave a dismissive laugh. ‘That’s not possible,’ he said. ‘We are below the waterline.’

  Vahlen took some persuading to leave his distraught wife and bring his digger to the graveyard. He glared at Minin, refusing point blank to talk to the man, and so the Doctor had to work his charm.

  It only went so far before the Doctor lost his patience. ‘Will you stop feeling so sorry for yourself and do something to help?’ he demanded. ‘Pavel’s gone, and I’m sorry. But if you want to prevent anyone else having to suffer what you’re going through, then I suggest you get off your backside and give us a hand.’ He took a deep breath before continuing more quietly, ‘There’s something going on here that’s wrong and dangerous. You know that. Everyone knows that. You ignore it or give it a mythical name because you think you can’t stop it. But now that’s got to change. It’s time to make a stand. I can stop it. I will stop it. But I need your help. All right?’

  The huge mechanical shovel bit into the frosted earth. It struggled to penetrate, the main body of the digger lifting off the ground. But then it cut through suddenly, the digger thumping back down as the shovel came up. Its arm swung round, dropping the dark earth onto the snowy ground. Tendrils of mist played round the scene, the exhaust from the digge
r thickening the air.

  The older graves had proper headstones: all identical, all arranged evenly in neat rows – like soldiers on parade. But the more recent ones were marked by small wooden crosses and positioned haphazardly across the landscape.

  ‘He was the last to die under similar circumstances,’ Minin said as they watched the pile of earth growing. ‘He’s been in the ground for two years. You sure you want to do this, Doctor?’

  ‘Why doesn’t he like you?’ the Doctor said in reply.

  ‘As you said, no one likes me.’

  ‘Yeah. But he really doesn’t like you.’

  The digger backed away. It drew level with Minin and the Doctor, and Vahlen leaned out of the cab. He spoke to the Doctor, ignoring Minin altogether.

  ‘The casket’s exposed now. You do what you have to. I’ll get out of your way and fill it in again when you’re done. I’d rather no one else knew about this.’ The engine revved and the digger lurched forwards again. Then it stopped and Vahlen’s head reappeared. ‘You’ll stop this? You’ll make sure it doesn’t ever happen again?’

  The Doctor nodded. ‘It might take a while. There may be some cost. But I’ll stop it. Promise.’

  Vahlen’s head disappeared back into the cab, then the digger disappeared back into the mist.

  ‘He used to work with a man called Chedakin,’ Minin said.

  They walked slowly across to the open grave. The Doctor had a spade over his shoulder. They looked down into the blackness.

  ‘They were the best of friends. But Chedakin had a big mouth.’

  ‘Careless talk costs lives,’ the Doctor said.

  ‘It cost him his, certainly.’

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘They found him with a gun in his hand and a hole in the back of his head. Shot himself rather than be recalled to Moscow to explain his actions. That’s the theory.’

  ‘Suicide?’

  Minin nodded.

  ‘And Vahlen and the others blame you for that?’ The Doctor jumped down into the grave. ‘People are so short-sighted, aren’t they,’ he said. ‘Right, let’s get the lid off this coffin.’

  The cold of the ground had helped preserve the wood and it took the combined efforts of the Doctor and Minin to lever the top from the plain wooden box that served as a coffin. Immediately, the stench from inside made them both gag.

  ‘Well, we know he’s still here,’ the Doctor said.

  Minin had a handkerchief clamped over his nose and mouth. ‘Quick as you can,’ he said, his voice muffled. ‘Let’s get this over with.’

  They wrenched the lid away and looked inside.

  The coffin was empty.

  ‘He’s gone! Then where’s the smell coming from?’ Minin said.

  The Doctor was stooped down beside the coffin. He had a test tube in one hand and a metal spatula from Catherine’s lab in the other. ‘He’s still here, I’m afraid.’ The Doctor was scooping something up from the bottom of the coffin and scraping it into the test tube. He stuck a rubber bung in the top and handed it to Minin. ‘Hang on to this a mo.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘The clothes have rotted, probably an accelerated process. As with the body. Whatever did it drained the binding energy from everything, not just the bone and cartilage.’ He tapped the test tube that Minin was now holding. ‘That’s what’s left of the body.’

  Minin stared at it in horrified disbelief. Inside was what looked like a lump of pale, colourless jelly. ‘This was once a person?’

  The Doctor pushed the lid back on the coffin and hauled himself out of the grave. ‘Yep.’

  ‘But how can someone end up like this?’

  ‘Dunno. But –’ he reached down and helped Minin climb out to join him – ‘unless we find out soon, we might all end up the same way.’ He took back the test tube and shoved it into his jacket pocket. ‘Cheering thought, isn’t it?’ he said happily, waving through the mist for Vahlen to come and fill in the hole.

  The sound of the generator was a gentle throbbing from behind them as they made their way back towards the main hatch. They had almost reached it when they heard the noise again. Slithering, sliding, scraping – from somewhere up ahead.

  ‘I don’t like this,’ Razul whispered. He checked his Geiger counter, but the reading was the same as ever.

  ‘It’s ahead of us,’ Sergeyev said.

  ‘It does sound as if it’s inside the boat now,’ Jack agreed. ‘Must be some machinery, or something loose shifting as the sub moves in the water.’

  ‘It isn’t moving in the water,’ Sergeyev pointed out.

  ‘Clever clogs,’ Jack muttered. ‘OK, then,’ he said out loud, ‘let’s get out of here as quick as we can, agreed?’

  The other two nodded. The ladder up into the conning tower was just ahead of them now, the whole metal world lit in blood red as only the emergency lighting seemed to work.

  Razul reached the ladder first. He reached out for it, then pulled his hand away. ‘It’s slippery,’ he said in a hushed voice.

  ‘It’s just rusty, that’s all,’ Sergeyev said. He reached out to check, then he too pulled his hand away. ‘No, it’s . . . it’s as if it’s been smeared with oil or grease or something.’

  ‘Something cold,’ Razul agreed. ‘Icy. But sticky.’

  ‘It’s the only way out,’ Jack said quietly. ‘Do we debate what’s happened or leg it?’

  They were all three clustered round the ladder now. Sergeyev shone his torch at the rungs in front of them. ‘Colourless,’ he said. He moved the torch up, and they could now all see that something clear and viscous was coating the ladder. The beam of light reached the top of the ladder, illuminating the open hatch. And with a cry of surprise and fear, Sergeyev dropped the torch.

  A glowing tendril, like pale seaweed, dropped down towards them, thrashing across the bottom of the ladder.

  ‘Come on!’ Jack led the way, running from the pale, glowing, gelatinous mass of the creature that was oozing down the ladder behind them.

  ‘We should have headed back for the generator,’ Razul gasped.

  ‘There is no way out back there either,’ Sergeyev said.

  ‘No. But up here, we heard . . .’ His voice tailed off.

  They slowed to a halt. Their faces were pale even in the red of the lights. From behind them came the slithering sound as the creature dragged itself after them down the main corridor.

  And from up ahead they could all hear the same sound. Not an echo, but another of the creatures.

  ‘We’re trapped between two of them,’ Jack realised.

  ‘It’s cold, it’s foggy and there’s nothing here,’ Rose announced. She was standing with her arms folded, close to one of the stones on the top of the cliff.

  In front of her, Sofia was shining her torch slowly round the stone circle. The upright monoliths stood like soldiers waiting for orders – dark shapes wreathed with mist.

  ‘Just a few minutes more,’ Sofia said.

  ‘Why? There’s nothing.’

  ‘I want to test a theory.’

  ‘What theory?’

  Sofia switched off the torch. Her pale face seemed to glow in the suffused light. The tendrils of thin mist that wrapped themselves round her made the woman seem wraith-like, ghostly, as she stepped towards Rose.

  ‘This creature must be part of it. So the systems are starting up on their own, without intervention.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘I’m talking about a problem. My problem. It may all be coming to an end. I must know.’

  Rose took a step back, away from the advancing woman. ‘You’re mental,’ she muttered.

  ‘And if the systems are activating themselves, then these stones will also be active all the time.’

  ‘Active – what do you mean? What do they do?’ Rose was seriously spooked now.

  Sofia’s face seemed as old as weathered rock as she took another step forwards. Then she suddenly lunged at Rose and grabbed her wrist, p
ulling her.

  ‘Don’t you know?’ she hissed, her face close to Rose’s. She seemed suddenly much older than Rose had thought. Then she turned Rose round, so she was facing the nearest stone – just a metre away.

  ‘When they are active, when we turn them on, the stones drain the energy from anyone who touches them. They take it all, anything that can nourish and feed them. And leave just the empty skin.’

  She shoved Rose away from her, holding her by the hair, forcing her face towards the stone.

  SEVEN

  THERE WAS A faint tingling sensation on her cheek, like static electricity. Rose pressed back, trying desperately not to let her face touch the stone. But inch by inch Sofia was forcing her head forwards, both hands tangled in Rose’s hair as she pushed. Rose grabbed the woman’s coat, tried to push her away, but there was no way she could stop her.

  So she didn’t try. She let her legs collapse beneath her, falling suddenly downwards rather than forwards. Her face was still perilously close to the smooth, cold stone, but as Rose fell Sofia cried out in alarm and surprise. Her hands were wrenched from Rose’s head. Rose twisted as she dropped down, determined to stay away from the stone. At the same time she kept hold of Sofia’s coat, trying to pull her down as well – downwards and forwards.

  As Rose twisted, she saw Sofia crash into the stone. Crawling away through the churned-up snow, she heard Sofia’s shriek of pain and fear – watched her stagger back, hands over her face as if burned.

  Rose didn’t wait to see what the damage was. She was struggling to her feet, slipping in the slush, stumbling forwards – towards the car.

  She wrenched open the door and hurled herself inside. The door slammed shut, and a moment later Sofia was there, dragging it open again. Rose held on tight, let it open enough that she could slam it shut again, and pushed the handle across to lock it. Please don’t let her have the key, she thought.

  The key was still in the ignition. With a sob of relief, Rose turned it. The engine creaked and coughed but didn’t start. She turned the key again.

  And the windscreen cracked.

  Sofia was kneeling on the bonnet of the car, hammering at the windscreen with the butt of her torch. Another crack with each blow. Another couple of goes and it would break. The woman’s face was a snarl of rage as she raised the torch in both hands like a dagger, preparing to strike again.