Endless Night

by Andrea Dionne

  “What's so funny?” Zane asked.

  “You wouldn't get it,” Osborne snorted and turned to leave.

  Reaching the corridor again, he looked down it at the long line of rooms they still needed to search. There was no damn way they could get this done in an hour. “Hey, Zane. Get your stupid ass over here,” he yelled to Zane, who'd bent down to study the panties more closely.

  Zane straightened abruptly, turning a shade darker than the panties as he glanced guiltily at Osborne. “Watcha want?"

  “I want you to go down this side of the hall while I check out the other side,” Osborne snapped, motioning with his hand toward the left wall. “We ain't never gonna get done with this shit if we don't split up. Hell, the other guys have probably already finished what they were sent to do."

  Zane looked a little startled. “Captain told us to search in pairs,” he objected tentatively.

  Osborne gave him a look of disgust ... a coward as well as an idiot! “She didn't say nuthin’ about me havin’ to keep you tucked under my ass! What's the matter, Zane, you scared of ghosts?"

  Zane's eyes widened. “You think there's ghosts here?"

  Osborne felt as taken aback as he looked and couldn't decide whether to laugh or just shoot the idiot and put him out of his misery. “That was just a figure on speech, you dumb hick! I was just pointing out that there's nothing living here, nothing we need to watch out for except the ship itself. If you get nervous, just yell,” he added sarcastically.

  “Well ... okay,” Zane muttered. He still looked uneasy, but he moved out of the room and across the corridor.

  Satisfied, Osborne turned his attention to the next cubicle along the corridor as Zane went into a door on his opposite side.

  It was getting damn creepy to look at all these rooms. It looked like there'd been a hell of a struggle here, but where were the damn bodies? Osborne thought angrily. Not that he really wanted to see a 25 year old corpse, but at this point finding corpses didn't seem nearly as unnatural as finding nothing.

  What the hell had he been thinking when he volunteered for this mission? Sure they had promised big money, but what good would that do him now that he was fucking stranded out here?

  Rubbing a furry arm on the door frame, he stopped, hearing a faint scratching noise. At first he thought it was just his own arm scraping on the plastic molding, but it had continued after he had stopped. It was above him, in the ceiling, moving away from the back corner of the room towards him in little raspy clicks—like the metal teeth of a zipper scraping against steel.

  Osborne braced his body against the wall and aimed the long barrel of his gun above him, pointing it where he'd last heard the noise. A small bead of sweat trickled down the side of his face. He wiped at it with his shoulder. “What next?” he muttered

  The noise had startled him and he was breathing like a marathon runner. Holding his breath, he listened to see if he could hear the little tapping noise again ... straining to hear any possible movement. Finally, he expelled the breath he'd been holding. There was nothing. All was quiet. Had he just imagined it or was something really up there? Maybe his imagination had kicked in? All the talk about ghosts ... his preoccupation with not finding any bodies ... that was starting to really jangle his nerves.

  But he knew damn well he hadn't heard his imagination and he'd damn well heard something.

  The seconds stretched into minutes as he listened in strained silence. Not a breath of air stirred the room. The noise was never repeated. “Shit!” he muttered, straightening away from the wall.

  It was then, just as he let out his sigh of relief, that the first liquid scream from across the hall reached his ears.

  Whirling, Osborne rushed through the doorway and across the narrow corridor. Bursting through the opening of the cubicle in a dive and roll, he ended in a crouch, he weapon ready.

  The room was empty. Before his mind had fully grasped that, a sound above him drew his gaze and he looked up and froze in stunned horror. Zane was struggling frantically against the steel tiles of the ceiling as something tried to pull him through a ragged hole that had been ripped in it. Even as it clicked in his mind that the hole wasn't big enough to pull Zane through, the man screamed in horrible agony. His back snapped with an audible crack. His body folded as seemingly effortlessly as a napkin, and was tugged into the impossibly narrow opening. The navy jumpsuit he wore ripped as his body was dragged deeper, flesh and fabric shredding on the ragged tears of the metal, and blood gushed down the man's horror stricken face, dripping onto the bare mattress below as Zane was slowly pulled further and further into the hole.

  Shaking his stupor, Osborne leapt up from his crouched position and screamed into the headphones for the others to come, though he doubted the call had gotten through to them. Slinging the strap of his weapon over his shoulder, he ran toward Zane, grabbing his blood slickened hand.

  “Oh God, Osborne. Don't let me die ... don't let me die,” Zane screamed as what ever it was that was hidden in the ceiling pulled him deeper despite Osborne's grip.

  “Just keep a hold on my hand,” Osborne gritted out, struggling to keep Zane's hand from slipping out of his grasp as he fought a deadly tug of war with something fearfully strong. Time slowed as Zane was torn through the hole, inch by agonizing inch. The air thickened with the scent of fresh blood. Waves of fear and energy swept through the room, crackling in his ears and clouding his eyes over. He felt the force give a powerful wrench, and watched in sick, stunned fascination as Zane was ripped from his grasp and disappeared through the hole with one last terrible scream.

  He fell backwards onto the crimson stained mattress as Zane was wrenched from his grasp, the warm blood soaking his back as he lay looking up into the ragged opening. From within the darkness a pair of disembodied, glowing eyes appeared, staring down at him unblinkingly. Osborne uttered a choked, guttural scream, fumbled for his weapon and unloaded his ammunition into the ceiling.

  * * *

  Chapter Six

  They stood just inside the cafeteria, a room that could have easily accommodated 200 people, staring around them in stunned surprise. Angus held the large barrel of his gun parallel to the floor, staring at the myriad of colored glass, plastic, and shiny metal covering the floor in a broken rainbow of blues, greens, and yellows. The tables, which must have once run through the room in straight lines, were now almost completely shattered, along with scores of chairs and whatever else had once been contained within the cafeteria. Destroyed. Complete devastation. Like some seismic wave had come rolling over the room, enveloping it in its annihilating caress.

  Luis and Clayborne moved further into the room, their guns trained to catch any movement, glass and metal crunching noisily under their booted heels as they picked their way through the desolation to the rear of the monstrous room.

  “I can't imagine what might have done this,” breathed Amy as her grip loosened on the coal black rifle. “It's just ... incredible."

  When she spoke, Luis’ gaze was drawn to Amy's face. He couldn't help thinking how beautiful she was, a beacon of love and warmth to which he couldn't help but be drawn. Smiling faintly, he raised his hand to her face and stroked a callused finger down her cheek. She looked briefly at him and then away, without smiling.

  Something was eating at her. He could tell. “What's the matter, baby?” he probed softly. She ignored him and walked a step ahead.

  Surprised when she didn't even acknowledge him, he watched her, feeling uneasiness move over him. “What's eating at you?” he asked, noticing the crease of a frown drawing her fine eyebrows together.

  “Nothing. I'm just hungry is all and worried about what's going to happen to us,” she replied dryly.

  Angus growled, “Well I'm glad someone feels the way I do. I don't know about you guys, but I could sure as hell use some grub. I say we go into that kitchen and see if they have anything besides MREs and take a short break.” Without waiting for a reply, the blonde giant strode rapidly across
the mess hall and stopped to wait for them outside the doors of the galley.

  Luis and Clayborne hurried to keep up with him but were no match for his longer stride. A little breathless when they reached him, they exchanged amused grins at his impatient, red face. His temper definitely showed his Scottish heritage, Luis thought.

  Together, the three of them entered the galley. Inside, steel counter tops gleamed, reflecting the stark florescent light streaming from above them. Closer examination revealed that the destructive wave hadn't touched the sterile confines of the galley. Two doors were on each end of the square room, with counters running the length of each wall, a small alcove against the farthest wall contained what appeared to be a bathroom, and a large island stood in the center—every chef's dream kitchen.

  After surveying it, they moved to the rear of the room to the door opposite the one they had entered. Pushing through it, they could see it was identical in size to the preceding room with shelves running from floor to ceiling in perfect rows, each holding countless stores of food.

  Thank God for the miracles of preservation, Angus thought as he walked down one row and selected a large can of pork ‘n’ beans. It could probably feed ten people. And it was also expired. He checked another can ... expired.

  “You ain't gonna eat that by yourself, Bull, are you?” Luis asked with a little disgust. But he knew the big man could probably handle most of it himself. They were going to have a time with him later when the contents of the can kicked in, Luis thought crudely.

  “Nope. Everything's expired. I'm not going to put that in my stomach. Guess it's MREs for us,” Angus growled.

  Luis watched Amy as she walked down the aisles. She still seemed distracted, he thought, irritated she wouldn't trust him with whatever it was that was really bothering her. Maybe it was just the fact that they were stranded here, but he doubted it.

  A dark shape suddenly blotted the light from the open doorway, then quickly moved away. Angus dropped the can he was holding and reached for the gun slung over his shoulder. Amy snapped her head up and looked at the door, moving quickly towards it with her weapon raised.

  Ducking through the opening, expecting ambush but receiving none, she rolled and came up again to a braced crouch, scanning the area. The dark shape had flitted through the large double doors at the entrance of the cafeteria. It paused a split second, trained a pair of blood red eyes on her, then disappeared.

  Whatever it was, it was fast ... damn fast, she thought, shuddering with the vision of the almost glowing red eyes. Angus and Luis had burst through the doors behind her. Three ran as one to where the shapeless creature had disappeared. Pausing just inside to ready themselves for attack, they burst into the corridor, Luis and Clayborne facing one direction, Angus the other, scanning both directions at once. The corridor seemed to go on for miles in a straight, unbroken line. They should have been able to see the fleeing figure. Instead, the discovered the corridor bare except from themselves.

  “Where the hell did it go?” Angus’ voice carried a touch of amazement as he stared down the empty hall.

  “And what the hell was it?” Amy asked shakily.

  “I don't know,” Luis whispered softly. This was getting freakier by the minute.

  * * * *

  Breanna and Caleb raced through the corridor, scarcely taking note of their surroundings, listening to the screams of their comrades echoing through their headsets.

  Breanna tried to discern whose voice it was screaming through the radio. “Who is it? We need to know so we can find them,” she said through gritted teeth, sliding down a banister to the lower levels of the ship.

  “This is Delaney! Sound off, damn it! Clayborne? Salvatore? Hunter?” She landed lightly on her feet, pausing at the junction of halls jutting out in every possible direction. It was a veritable maze of rooms and hallways. “How will we ever find them?” she muttered, anxiously looking at their surroundings. “Sylvaine—Can you make out who it is?"

  “I think it's Osborne. C'mon,” he said, taking her smaller hand into his own and swinging down a corridor to their left.

  As they ran through the maze of hallways and rooms, the screaming increased in volume until the headsets weren't necessary to hear them. The cries for help echoed eerily, bouncing from wall to wall and making it almost impossible to tell the direction of origin. With no certainty of which room the men might be in, Caleb and Breanna began throwing doors open on either side, ducking inside for a quick look and then moving to the next door along the hallway.

  Bounding inside yet another set of rooms designed as family quarters, Caleb met up with Kingsley and Ranger, searching through the area for their comrades. Briefly, the three men trained their weapons on each other. In the next split second, recognition dawned and they lifted the guns ceilingward. Relieved, the two men hurriedly ran over to Caleb and Breanna.

  “Where are they?” Caleb demanded breathlessly as they approached.

  “I don't know. We've searched this entire area but can't make out where the sound is coming from because of all the....” Kingsley stopped as the last of the cries ceased as abruptly as a door slamming shut. The silence was nearly deafening, reverberating through the hall, echoing hollowly through the air. Before any of the four could so much as draw a ragged breath, the staccato-like peal of gunfire quickly replaced the screams.

  * * * *

  Osborne stared above him into the eyes hovering in the darkness. His heart pounded in his chest as if he'd just run a mile in 30 seconds flat. Cold sweat poured off him, mingling with Zane's cooling blood on the mattress.

  A voice whispered in his ears, but he didn't listen to it. Who knew what would happen if he did? He clamped his hands over his ears, shaking his head violently. That thing was trying to talk to him. Was that how it had gotten Zane?

  “Stop it!” Osborne screamed. The gun ... His gun was empty. He stared at it stupidly, trying to think if he'd brought another clip with him. He realized he hadn't at about the same moment he remembered Zane's gun. He had to find the gun before he ended up like Zane, he thought wildly.

  He groped blindly for the fallen weapon, afraid to take his eyes off the red, glowing orbs above him, wondering all the while if Zane had still had it with him when that ... thing.. whatever it was had.... Tears of frustration streamed down his face when he couldn't find Zane's weapon, and he chanced a look at his surroundings.

  Spotting it not more than two hand spans away, he snatched it up, the smooth metal reassuring him like a life preserver in an endless sea. Bringing the barrel up, he fired, aiming at the floating orbs of light. The ringing of bullets hitting steel blared in his ears, nearly deafening him, but he kept firing. The eyes blinked then disappeared into the blackness, taking the jumbled voices with it.

  Scarcely daring to breathe, Osborne studied the blackness while his heart measured out two minutes in frantic pounding. When it didn't reappear, he rolled his aching body off of the mattress and wobbled to his feet. It could have been me, he thought as he stumbled through the door and ran screaming down the hall in search of the other squad members, barely drawing breath between each tortured cry as he wove through the maze of rooms.

  He neither knew nor cared where he was going, however, as long as it was away from that damned room. Turning a corner, he ran headlong into the frantic search party. Caleb caught him as he nearly fell to the floor.

  “Oh god ... he's dead ... that thing,” Osborne gasped out, shuddering.

  Caleb and Breanna exchanged glances. “Get a grip, soldier!” Breanna snapped, giving him a shake to try to get some sense out of him. “We don't leave a man down. Where did you leave him?"

  “He's gone!"

  “I thought you said he was dead,” Caleb reminded him.

  “There's blood everywhere. I saw ... I saw .... I don't know what the hell that thing was, but Zane's dead, I tell you! Nobody could live through that. Nobody."

  “Kingsley—you and Ranger take him back to the rendezvous point and get hi
m patched up. We'll check on Zane,” Breanna commanded, signaling for Caleb to precede her.

  * * * *

  “What the hell are we gonna do?” Keith Hunter shouted at Breanna. He raised one orange freckled hand to his mouth, chewing the already ragged fingernails nervously. “What are we gonna do?” he muttered again.

  Caleb studied the anxiously pacing man. He was babbling incoherently now, though Caleb couldn't really blame him. Saying they'd been through hell today was an understatement.

  Caleb turned to study the other members of the squad sitting in grim silence on the floor of the communication's room. After a moment, he glanced at Osborne, off in a corner by himself. They had removed the soaked vest and had washed as much of the blood from his hands and face as possible, but it had changed nothing. Osborne still stared at his hands in wide-eyed shock as if the blood was still there, picturing some horror in his mind that they couldn't begin to imagine.

  Breanna stood in the middle of the room listening to Amy recount what had happened to them while they had been in the galley. Breanna looked angry, probably because of losing a man and botching the mission. Not that he considered it botched, just sabotaged. In fact, everyone looked about ready to go out and kill something. Of course, that attitude wouldn't get them any closer to going home.

  “It's now very obvious that we are not alone on this ship,” Breanna said, breaking into his thoughts as she turned to speak to the motley group.

  “Not alone. Shit woman, I've known that from the start,” Hunter yelled at her. “I knew it. I should have never come. It was a mistake. I shouldn't have listened....” He stopped, realizing what he'd been about to say.