by Luke Romyn
“No, Doctor. These things don’t breathe air. They move through the ocean easier than we walk on land.”
Talbot swallowed heavily at the thought. “What do you need from me?” he asked, though he knew the answer would be the thing he dreaded most.
“We need you to find a way to close the rift from the other side. We believe the answers lie there, within the realm of Tartarus.”
Talbot thought through the general’s words. He really didn’t want to help them after they’d abandoned his brother to die, but the image of Captain Benedict kept returning to haunt him. Even though he had been among those who had supposedly abandoned Thomas beyond the rift, the man’s sacrifice remained, and Talbot felt obliged to repay the debt he owed.
“You keep talking about the rift being secure. How do you secure it?” he asked the general.
“I couldn’t give you the details, but our scientists discovered that if we concentrated enough electricity on it – and I’m talking about more power than a city the size of Los Angeles uses – we could narrow the gap enough so that only smaller denizens of Tartarus could sneak through. Most of these we are able to take care of, but enough get past us that we have the problem of them escaping out into the world.”
“How do you generate so much power?” Talbot asked.
“We transported a prototype nuclear reactor several months ago. It’s a fraction the size of a regular reactor, but also more... how shall I say... unpredictable. It occasionally lapses, and then we have a problem like that cyclops back at Base Alpha, or the gryphon that attacked your Super Stallion. We need to close the rift from the inside, Doctor. There is no other way.”
Talbot cursed inwardly.
“You’ll be right mate,” chimed in Wes, lifting a M4A5 Carbine assault rifle before slamming in a full clip and chambering a round. “Those little fuckers won’t get within pterodactyl-farting distance of you, I promise.”
Exasperated, Talbot spun to ask what he meant, but noticed the predatory look had returned to Wes’s eyes. It was an expression of such intensity Talbot was forced to drop his gaze.
“When do you want me to go?” he asked softly.
“Now,” answered General Sharpe.
Crap.
***
They stood in the rift chamber, and Talbot gazed around in wonder. The area revealed the scars of several battles, including repairs to sections of the walls – obviously areas where the creatures had escaped by tearing through the very stone. These were now braced against the pressure of the ocean by massive steel girders and thick plating.
Surrounding Talbot stood some sixty marines; ferocious-looking warriors armed to the teeth, tense and ready, their expressions set and determined. They each carried rifles, their barrels flared out at the end like a trumpet, reminiscent of the ancient blunderbuss. The weapons were hooked via cable into a self-contained power pack which each marine carried on his back, shoulder straps securing the load and making it as comfortable as possible.
In stark contrast to these formidable combatants, Wes lay stretched out on the ground, apparently sleeping, his M4A5 resting across his chest, its under-slung M203A1- 40mm grenade launcher seemingly in wait of action. Talbot could hear him snoring slightly.
Talbot gazed at the rift; the source of all their problems.
It stood around sixty feet high, a swirling void occasionally crackling loudly from the electricity concentrated on it. He had been expecting something spectacular, but apart from the fact it hung unsuspended vertically in the air, the rift itself was quite boring to look at.
Irregular edges constantly swirled and changed, framing nothing. That was the best explanation for it: nothing. It was so hard to actually focus on; his eyes seemed to slide away from it, fastening to the walls behind or ceiling above. The rift wasn’t even black in the sense of the word, but black was the closest thing he could liken it to; it seemed to leech the light from around it, sucking all illumination into its cavernous maw.
A startling ripple of color flowed suddenly over the darkness, like a trapped rainbow. Starting innocuously along the bottom, left edge, it flowed up from the blackness, flitting across the surface of the inky pond to the top edge, and then it was gone.
“All right, gentlemen,” the general’s voice intoned from the control room. “We will be disabling power to the rift in thirty seconds. Stand ready.”
The soldiers instantly raised their weapons to their shoulders, and a strange humming filled the room.
“Better stand back here with me, Doc,” cautioned a voice in Talbot’s ear making him jump. Spinning, he came face to face with Wes, clear-eyed and bearing an intensity upon his features Talbot immediately equated with danger. He motioned for Talbot to follow him, his eyes never leaving the rift.
Talbot moved to comply, wondering at this strange man who could go from a deep sleep to being instantly alert within seconds. They stepped to the back of the room – closest to the emergency exit, Talbot noticed.
“If I tell you to move, get through that door and keep running until I give you the all-clear to stop. Understand?”
Talbot nodded, unable to question this figure of authority who, up until now, he had begun to think was merely a smartass – albeit a smartass who might just happen to be good with a gun.
Wes – whoever the hell he was – was turning out to be a whole lot more than that.
Alarms sounded, and every weapon in the room aimed directly at the rift. Red lights flashed, and the tension became almost unbearable.
A new voice – not the general’s – came over the speakers. “Cutting power to the rift in five... four... three... two... one!”
The rift instantly stopped crackling and seemed to expand slightly, as though released from chains. No one seemed to breathe.
A howl echoed through the area. The lights flickered.
“Oh shit,” whispered Wes. “Run. Now!”
Talbot turned just as all of the lights in the room exploded, spraying the marines with glass. The howling pierced directly into his brain, causing him to pause.
“I said run, you fucking idiot!” roared Wes, grabbing him and propelling them both through the thick steel door. The SAS commando spun and hit a button on the wall as the door slammed shut. Heavy bolts slammed home inside the steel door, and a solid latticework grill shot down, smashing into the ground. The buzz of electricity ran over it, crackling and popping.
Wes turned back and frowned at Talbot, who promptly bolted off down the long corridor with Wes’s boots slapping the stone floor right behind him.
“Where are we going?” yelled Talbot over his shoulder.
“Away from what was about to come through that fucking rift.”
“What was it?”
“Something bad. Something very, very bad. It got out the first time we opened the rift and killed half the soldiers here before they were able to drive it back. I had to bring your brother this exact route to get away from it.”
“Maybe we should just wait here until they stop it,” suggested Talbot.
The door far behind them shuddered as something smashed into it from the other side. It would not hold for long.
“Maybe not,” amended Talbot, doubling his efforts.
The crashing continued as they reached the end of the hallway, and Talbot found himself faced with a ladder which went both up and down.
“Which way?” he gasped.
“Down!” ordered the commando.
“Of course,” muttered Talbot.
He mounted the ladder and managed a single step before an explosion rocked the entire structure, almost causing him to lose his grip on the rung. Glancing back, he saw the door and electrified grill flying through the hallway toward them, crashing to the ground about a quarter of the way down. Talbot raised his eyes to see what had caused such devastation –
And froze.
A single silhouette filled the entire doorway. The body of the creature resembled that of a man, albeit it a grotesquely muscular ma
n. Layers of thick corded muscle bunched beneath the surface of the beast’s skin.
It snorted, drawing Talbot’s gaze to its head, sending an icy tendril of fear down his spine. The decaying skull of a bull sat upon the huge neck, blood dribbling from its ruined eye sockets. Strips of flesh hung from the cheeks of the beast, and as it sniffed the air Talbot caught a glimpse of a maw filled with row upon row of serrated teeth.
Images of victims gored and maimed flashed through his mind. Cries rose in his ears as he imagined this beast tearing flesh from their bones within the walls of an enormous maze – a labyrinth.
The fabled Minotaur. Not the romanticized one from legends, rather of one of the most horrific beasts from Greek mythology, risen from the pit.
“Hey, nasty!” Wes yelled at the beast. Shaking his head, Talbot noticed the creature had actually progressed at least halfway down the stone corridor. “Eat this, you ugly fucker!”
Wes squeezed the trigger of the grenade-launcher attached beneath his M4A5, and a 40mm projectile shot out, hitting the Minotaur square in the chest and exploding in a fiery ball.
“Get down that fucking ladder before I fire the next one at you!” yelled Wes at Talbot.
Snapping out of his daze, Talbot placed his hands and feet on either side of the ladder, sliding twenty feet straight down to the floor below. He jumped out of the way just in time as Wes dropped beside him on the concrete floor, landing like a cat, his expression blank.
“No time for celebrating, Doc,” snapped Wes. “That bugger’s only stunned. We’ve gotta go before he regains his senses.”
Once more Talbot found himself being bustled along a corridor, but this one ended relatively sooner than the last. Wes hit a lever in the wall releasing a thick door. They charged through and the door swung closed, securing behind them. Wes spun a large wheel, similar to that on a main safe in a bank, and heavy locks boomed through the ancient stone.
“That’ll only hold him for a couple of minutes. Get in.”
Talbot began to ask what he meant when a wall rotated inward, revealing a shuttle vaguely reminiscent of the thermo-carrier, only much smaller, perhaps twenty-feet-long. A canopy opened, unveiling two seats – one behind the other.
“Take the front,” ordered Wes. Talbot scrambled into the transport, fitting snugly into the front seat. He heard Wes clamber into the seat behind him. Lifting the Air Force helmet off the console in front of him, Talbot pulled it on, securing the strap beneath his chin.
“This thing is called a thermo-shot, and was the precursor to that thermo-carrier thing you escaped from Base Alpha in,” called Wes over the headphones, his voice infuriatingly calm, as though merely discussing the merits of a summer day. “But it’s a hell of a lot more fun. Hold onto your testicles, Doc, otherwise they’ll end up in the back of your throat.”
The canopy began to lower just as Talbot heard thudding blows against the outside of the door. It was going to be close.
The thermo-shot lifted off the ground in a similar fashion to the thermo-carrier, and a hatch began to open in front of them. He glanced toward the door in time to see it buckle before exploding inward. The Minotaur burst through, rushing headlong toward them.
The thermo-shot jolted forward with such velocity Talbot’s eyes were literally pushed back in their sockets. He endured several moments of intense pain, and then the peacefulness of oblivion covered him as he passed out.
CHAPTER 6
“You alright there, mate?” called the heavily-accented voice through Talbot’s headphones. With a great deal of difficulty, Talbot struggled back into the realm of the conscious. His eyes slowly opened, and he peered through the slim windshield of the thermo-shot.
A single beam of light from the front of the rocket-shaped craft illuminated the tunnel before them, and Talbot cringed at the speed they were travelling. Having reached the point of inertia – where his body travelled at the same pace as the vehicle he rode in – the pressure had lessened immensely, and Talbot no longer felt any pain.
Fear, however, was a completely different story.
Inches were all that separated the vehicle from the smooth walls surrounding them, and Talbot trembled at their velocity. He felt like he was sitting within a giant bullet as it shot through the barrel of a gun.
“Are you alright?” queried the voice again, more insistently this time, snapping Talbot back into a semblance of coherent thought.
“Err... yeah, I think so,” replied Talbot.
“I can’t hear ya. Key the mike on your dash.”
Talbot glanced at the control panel and, after several moments, found the button Wes was describing.
“Yeah, I’m okay,” he shouted.
“No need to yell,” replied Wes. “You just about burst my damn ear drums.”
“Sorry,” muttered Talbot.
“Save it for later,” said Wes. “I’ve been trying to raise the Atlantis base for the last hour while you’ve been out. I’m getting no reply from them. I think things might have gone to absolute shit after we got out. Maybe that fucker brought some friends with him.”
“What are you saying?”
“Atlantis is off the grid. She’s gone. We’re all alone now, mate.”
Terror shot through Talbot. They were alone. “Where are we going?”
“This tunnel ends at a base you’d know of as Area 51.”
Talbot paused. He couldn’t have heard that right. “Er... Area 51?”
“Yeah, you know. That place all you Yanks think is full of aliens? We’re heading there.”
The offhanded way Wes described the top secret base still left Talbot unsure. He understood the words, but the meaning still failed to sink in, like a bullet grazing across the surface of its target.
“What’s there, Wes?” he queried.
“Well I can tell you it ain’t aliens, that’s for shit sure.” Wes’s laughter echoed through the headphones. “E.T. phone home.”
Somehow the jokes made Talbot less confident than if Wes had told him there actually were aliens.
“What is there, Wes?” he persisted.
There was a long silence. “Bad memories, that’s what.” The reply was soft, introspective. The intercom system clicked in his ear, and Talbot realized Wes had cut him off.
They were heading through the crust of the Earth in a bullet, toward a destination steeped in mystery. Talbot shrugged. After the events which had led up to this point it wasn’t such an incredible situation. In fact, this was one of the more plausible things that had happened lately. He sat back in the plush chair of the thermo-shot and tried to make himself comfortable for the rest of the trip.
“Be good, Elliot,” crackled Wes’s voice through the headphones, bursting into laughter before cutting off once more.
***
The thermo-shot slowed smoothly and came to rest in an identical berthing station to the one they’d departed from. Flashing lights lit the walls, and as the thermo-shot powered down Talbot heard the blaring of klaxons. Twenty fully-armed troops exploded into the berthing area and swiftly surrounded them, weapons trained on the vehicle.
The canopy of the thermo-shot slid clear, and Wes jumped out. “It’s only me, you pussies,” he muttered to the troops before moving to assist Talbot.
“What the hell are you doing here?” squealed a voice. The troops parted to allow a short, narrow-shouldered and bespectacled general through.
“Whatever the hell I want to,” replied Wes casually.
“You will salute me, soldier. I don’t care who you think you are,” barked the general.
Talbot gazed at the man and got the distinct impression he was a haughty, whining idiot. He wore the rank of general, but from the looks of things he had never seen a day of action in his entire life.
“Yeah, I’ll get right onto that,” drawled Wes. “This is Doctor Talbot Harrison. We had some problems back in Atlantis.”
The general looked as though he was about to explode at Wes’s casual insolence. Talbo
t saw several of the troops quickly covering satisfied grins and determined that this man was exactly as he’d thought: a self-important buffoon lacking even the respect of his own troops.
Wes moved past the apoplectic general and into the hallway, followed by a grinning Talbot. He was really beginning to warm to Wes’s arrogant confidence, and it was flowing into him as a result. Talbot felt somehow taller when walking with Wes, and he felt increasingly confident as he followed the cocksure SAS commando.
“I need somebody to give me an immediate sit-rep!” barked Wes as they entered a large control room.
“Disregard that!” squealed the general, scrambling into the room after them, his troops following closely, not wanting to miss the show. Wes turned calmly, evenly meeting the general’s glare with his own impassive gaze.
“What’s to stop me from putting you in the stockade right now, soldier?” barked the general.
Wes moved faster than Talbot’s eyes could follow. One moment he was standing casually with his hands at his sides, the next he had his SOG knife clear of its sheath and pressed lightly, but deliberately against the throat of the general, pinning him against a six-foot-high filing cabinet. The troops snapped their weapons up, aiming at Wes’s head, and several barked for him to desist.
Talbot glanced nervously around, unsure of what Wes would do.
He ignored them.
“If you try locking me up, you miserable little cock-smoker,” growled Wes, “I’ll cut your fucking head off and wear it as a hat while I call up your president and tell him you pissed me off. Am I making myself clear? I’m under his direct orders, and as a result you can’t tell me to do shit. Understand?”
The general whimpered slightly and nodded stiffly, careful not to exert any added pressure against the blade at his throat. Wes sheathed his knife once more and turned around expectantly. “Well?” He gestured to the soldiers surrounding him. “Where’s my fucking sit-rep?”
The troops appeared unsure, but one finally stepped forward when the general remained silent. “Sir, we’ve lost contact with Atlantis.”
