The Chronological Man: The Monster in the Mist

by Andrew Mayne

  Smith turned away from the pile and looked farther down the tunnel. He kept walking down his original path.

  Somewhere in his memory he recalled being down in the depths of dark places like this, sometimes the hunter, other times the hunted.

  Did the thing go down here to track down the men of the John Jackson? Wasn’t it just an opportunistic hunter? Its olfactory senses had to be a thousand times better than his from finding prey across hundreds of miles of ocean.

  Smith and April could smell the John Jackson from the end of the pier. Mr. Carnegie’s hat also had that odor.

  While the creature seemed to consume anything it could find, it did seem unnaturally lucky at finding the members of that ship. If Smith could smell that cap a foot away, what was stopping the creature from smelling it a hundred feet away?

  Smith heard the sound of a horse trotting on the street above. He looked up and saw the stains beneath a rain gutter where the sound was coming from. Smith wondered, when the creature stalked the men those several weeks back, lurking under their ship, did it hear them, too? Did it learn their voices?

  His mind raced with a thousand questions he’d never get the opportunity to have answered. As he looked up at the gutter and pondered the sounds from the street above, he was oblivious to the ripple in the water that moved past his body.

  Chapter 20

  Smith found more parts to animals from the charnel house but nothing that looked human. He began to wonder if he ever would. Most of what men knew about the creatures was myth. The one he was after had no scientific name. It came from parts where men rarely went. Although Broderick said its mate had the form of a squid, it could be a different animal altogether.

  They knew so little about it, let alone how its digestive system worked. Maybe it chewed up men whole and shat out powdered bones?

  The tunnel opened up to a large cistern. Smith hesitantly stuck a foot forward. There was another drop. One more foot and the water would be near his shoulders. Another and he’d be under water with no way to breathe. He walked to the far end of the tunnel to see if there was some kind of ledge that ringed the cistern.

  Smith put a gloved hand on the wall and stuck his foot forward. He leaned in but could only feel the slosh of water through his boots. A wave pushed up against his back, and he slipped on the muck.

  His foot hit ground and he regained his balance. The water was eight inches higher, stopping at his armpits. He looked up and around the cistern with his helmet lamps.

  It was fifty feet across and twenty feet to the ceiling. He was trying to place it in his mental map when he had a realization. He was deep underground in a manmade sewer. There shouldn’t be any waves.

  His stomach tightened like a fist as he realized something had pushed him into the cistern. The water was deeper here. The thing could conceal its entire bulk in there and he’d never see it coming.

  Smith pushed his back against the wall and looked around the chamber. There was the usual debris he’d come to expect, newspapers, bottles, a few planks and tree branches. He looked to his left and his right to see if there was anything he could shield his body with.

  Despite the armor, he felt so naked and open. If he got pulled under, there would be no way he could survive. The weight of it would pull him to the bottom. Taking it off would leave him defenseless.

  He was such a stupid man, he told himself. He’d come to believe the stories others had whispered about him. Smith had deluded himself that maybe he was the supernatural creature Lindestrom suspected.

  Foolish. If only they knew that his survival was in part because of his absolute avoidance of things that could cause him harm.

  The water looked black as ink in the red light of the helmet. Smith scanned the surface looking for any trace of the creature. Garbage and flotsam made tiny ripples in the water. He looked at the waterline and noticed for the first time that the whole chamber was acting like a wineglass as the wine gently rocked back and forth. Only it wasn’t a clumsy hand giving inertia to wine in the glass, it was the movement of something very large deep under the water making it rock back and forth.

  It was swimming in circles. Was this how it hunted? Circling in front of its prey? Would it circle around him if his back weren’t to the wall?

  How would the attack happen? Would it slip a tentacle around his ankles and pull him under? It was a powerful beast. Miss O’Mallory said it lifted Carnegie into the air.

  Its tentacles had to be at least thirty feet long to reach up through the gutter and pull a man down. Smith stared at the center of the cistern. He did the math in his head. Thirty-foot tentacles plus another ten for the body. It was at least forty feet long. If the cistern was fifty feet across, that meant it was a little over one hundred fifty feet in circumference. The animal took up almost a third as it went round.

  Smith had no idea how any of that was immediately useful to him. But it gave him some idea of where it was as he watched the waterline trace a wave around the chamber. He could tell when the bulk of the body was in front of him.

  He looked over at the tunnel he had just come through. If he timed it right, he could wait for the creature to pass and then climb back in there and make a run for it. He’d travel a little bit faster with the slightly lower water level.

  Would it be fast enough? The creature had showed it was quite adept at navigating the sewers. It may have preferred the depth of the cistern, but it certainly didn’t need it.

  Was it going to pursue him if he made a retreat? Smith had no way of knowing the mind of the creature. He hadn’t even seen it yet. But he knew it was out there. Was it waiting for him to make a move?

  In its eyes, whatever they could see from beneath the water, he looked like a different animal than the ones it was pulling from the surface to consume. His metal exterior and large glowing red eyes set him apart.

  The glowing eyes. Smith wondered if the creature thought he was some other species of squid. An ocean predator like itself.

  He was sure that illusion was shattered when it observed him clumsily stumbling in the water. Smith was no sea creature. There was also the scientific fact that being another squid wouldn’t exclude Smith from the animal’s eating list.

  Smith felt the surge of water gently pass him by. How long would he let this go on? Presently he was waiting for the squid to make the first move. Perhaps the squid had the same inclination.

  Smith could hope that it lost interest and swim away. But waiting for that to happen also meant waiting for it to strike first. He thought of the story Broderick had told, about how it outfoxed them and picked the men off the harpoon gun one by one.

  That was an incredibly adaptive thinker. Maybe it had seen whalers before, but that kind of planning, organized planning with its mate, was hard to comprehend.

  If Smith tried to exit, that meant turning his back to it. That could be deadly.

  He felt the surge again. This time it seemed a little more powerful. Smith could feel pressure from the water getting closer.

  It was widening its range.

  Soon, it would brush up against him. Smith knew that he had to act. The creature was getting more aggressive. No matter how confused or entranced it may have been with his bright red eyes, it was going to make a move soon.

  Smith recalled that sailors sometimes said sharks would bump up against men in the water before they struck. Was this common to other sea creatures? Smith remembered something about whales doing it, too.

  If he waited for contact, that would solve the nagging problem at the back of his mind — how to deal with the range of the Gatling under water. The bullets would only travel a few feet before they lost their velocity. After that, they’d just plummet to the bottom.

  If it got close enough ....

  Smith put both hands on the Gatling and pushed his buttocks against the wall while he leaned forward, aiming the gun at an angle into the water. His fingers were ready on the trigger.

  He felt a stronger push and almost pull
ed the trigger before he realized it was just a bigger wave. What would he do after he fired? He might hit the body, but the business end of the squid was its powerful tentacles. And those were what was moving past him after the body.

  He still had his powered gloves and a little electric power left. That might be enough to discourage a tentacle. Maybe no more than a flea on a dog.

  Smith had timed out the waves and got ready for the next one. But it didn’t come. He felt a moment of relief before the recognition sank in. It was creating an expectation of a pattern in him.

  On instinct, Smith jerked to his right and aimed the gun into the water. Something crashed into his chest. He squeezed the trigger and sent twenty rounds into whatever just hit him. The gun made a loud racket as it sent a spray of bullets into the bulk in front of him.

  He felt something twitch and violently thrash. There was a sucking sound as it changed direction and shot away from him, creating a small vortex in the water. It wasn’t expecting that kind of reaction from him. Bullets were an alien thing in its world.

  Smith turned to the opening and waded toward it. He moved inches at a time, while the thing could go yards in the same span. He stepped up into the tunnel and ran as fast as the suit would allow him.

  He heard the echo of splashing water in the cistern as the angry animal thrashed around looking for him. Smith kept moving. He didn’t turn around. He had to reach a ladder.

  The pile of rotten animal flesh passed on his right. He paused as he heard a splash at the mouth of the tunnel he was in. He looked back and saw a surge of water. For the very first time, he saw the glowing orange eyes. They were racing toward him.

  He couldn’t make it to the next junction in time. Smith threw himself on top of the dead flesh and climbed up it. His feet skidded and slid as he tried to find purchase. He strained and shaved and got his chest and then his waist on top of it. He pulled his legs up as glowing eyes came near.

  Smith thought of his own eyes. He resisted the urge to throw the helmet away when he couldn’t get the switch to work. His nervous fingers finally found it and dimmed them.

  Smith stood up on his island of dead animal parts, pulling his body as far away from the orange eyes as they passed by. He watched as they glided into the junction he had been heading into. They stopped.

  Smith could imagine the creature was trying to figure out which way he had gone. By now, the green fire had died away. There were three other directions.

  By what senses it was trying to determine this, Smith could only guess. Was it using its tentacles to feel for vibrations in the water? Smith waited for it to choose a direction and glide away, but the eyes just stayed there, faintly glowing under the water.

  It was confused.

  It knew something wasn’t right.

  It suspected it had been tricked.

  Smith looked up at the drainpipe that was spilling blood and bile onto him. He reached a gloved hand to the lip and grabbed hold. He might be able to pull his body up there but not with the armor.

  He looked down at the pile of bones. If he crawled into the abattoir’s drainpipe, he might find an exit. There was probably a removable grating covering a trough that led to the pipe.

  He looked back toward the junction. The eyes were gone.

  Did they always glow? Was it another trick?

  Smith waited in the dark. He listened to the trickle of the water as it splashed over his suit and onto the refuse pile he was standing on. He tried to listen for waves but heard none.

  Smith began to strip off his armor.

  Chapter 21

  Smith unhooked the helmet and set it into the drainpipe above his head. He faced the eyes outward, so their dim glow could provide some light. But not enough to attract its attention, he hoped, knowing full well he hadn’t a clue what the squid could see.

  He took off his boots and set them on the pile next to his bare feet. The rotten flesh squished between his toes. He pulled off the leggings and used them to stand on. Lastly, he slid the chest plate over his head. The gloves were attached via thick cables and came off like a child’s jumper.

  He was soaked to the skin in his boxers and shirt with sweat and water. Blood and bile dripped down on him, adding to the fluids staining his shirt.

  He tried to push the chest plate into the drainpipe, but he knew it was too large. He didn’t want to abandon it just yet. Even without the mini Gatling attached to it, the batteries, plating and electrical apparatus made it weigh a considerable amount. He almost fell over trying to get it through the small opening.

  He settled for clipping the fingers of one of the powered gloves to the lip of the pipe. This also made climbing into the pipe easier. Smith reached up and grabbed the pipe with both hands. He placed a foot into the neck opening of the chest piece and climbed up.

  His other foot pulled away from the pile. He tried not to think of the rotten flesh still clinging to the soles of his feet and squished between the spaces of his toes.

  It was only animal flesh. He’d climbed through much worse, he reminded himself.

  Smith pulled his body into the opening and nudged the helmet out of the way with his forehead. Below him, he heard a small splash as one of the boots fell into the water. Smith scrambled to get his whole body into the pipe.

  It was a narrow fit. Just enough space for his shoulders. He used his hands to push the helmet further in and then pull himself deep enough to keep his legs from dangling.

  Once his toes came over the edge, he breathed a silent breath of relief. He turned the helmet to face down the pipe. He adjusted the dimmer and saw what looked like a hundred feet of decaying meat and bones trail off into the darkness.

  The tunnel was at a gradual incline. It wasn’t going to be easy work pulling himself through it, but it was manageable enough. He reached his arms forward and pulled himself farther in. He nudged the helmet and pulled himself a few more feet.

  Bits of bone poked into his chest while he tried to control his breathing — so he wouldn’t open his mouth and get any of the filth inside of there. Ahead of the light, he could see tiny little eyes looking back at him. More rats.

  He welcomed their presence, given the alternative. At the moment, he thought of himself as one giant rat crawling through a pipe to gain entry into the abattoir. He began to think about what he was going to do next. Anything but the filthy claustrophobic space and what lay behind him.

  Once he found the grating that would take him to freedom, he’d have to make it back to one of his safe houses and change into something that didn’t make him look like a blood-covered maniac. His mission to find a body was derailed the moment Flintwick and Dobbins shot him off the moto-cycle.

  After everything, he was going to emerge empty-handed. Smith pushed the helmet forward again and looked into the pipe ahead of him. Where had all the tiny eyes gone?

  Were they that offended by his presence? He pulled himself forward and then smelled the strong scent of ammonium. He could hear dripping water in the tunnel behind him, water dripping from something besides the pipe he was presently clogging.

  He could feel cold water fall on the back of his legs. He froze every muscle and tried to will himself to be part of the blood and muck he was face down in. Something slapped the back of his legs and then he felt a tentacle reach around them and squeeze. It had found him.

  Smith clawed his fingers into the pipe to stop from being dragged backward. They ripped free from a seam as the creature pulled his legs out of the pipe. Smith’s hands clung to handfuls of rotting flesh and bone as he tried to hold anything to stop him from being extracted from his hiding place.

  The creature pulled at his legs again and jerked him halfway out of the pipe. Smith felt the knuckles of the powered glove scrape by his testicles as the creature yanked him free of the small space.

  At the last instant, Smith grabbed hold of the armor he’d hung from the pipe. The creature swung him into the middle of the chamber and held him aloft in midair. Two orange eyes
looked up at him from the water. That was all he could see in the darkness.

  Was it confused by Smith being out of his shell? Whatever the reason, Smith used the hesitation to slide the chest plate back over his body and pull the gloves over his hands. He pressed a knob on his chest and powered the wrist pistons. The suit began to hum.

  Smith punched the broad part of the tentacle grasping his legs and sent a ton of force into an area the size of a silver dollar. He could feel blood and fluids shoot out and trickle down his legs.

  The creature loosened his grasp, and Smith fell into the water. He quickly righted himself and made sure everything was plugged in. Another tentacle lashed out and pinned his arm to his waist. Smith had to wait a moment for the piston to reset.

  He punched the tentacle and felt another spray of fluid. Smith didn’t delude himself into thinking these were anything more than pinpricks to the beast. It dropped him into the water.

  The orange eyes looked straight at him. Smith felt two pairs of tentacles whip around his body and pin both arms to his sides.

  Damn! It learned fast. The eyes grew larger as it pulled him toward its beaklike mouth. He could hear the sound of cartilage cracking as it opened wide. Somewhere inside there was its razor-like tongue ready to lick the flesh off his bones.

  Smith breathed in and let the creature bring him closer. The ammonium smell was so powerful his sinuses began to burn. He could hear the sound of something flicking around in its beaklike mouth. The creature pulled him forward.

  Inside his glove, Smith pressed the switch that would power the copper loops and studs that covered his suit. He only had a small charge left.

  There was a flash of light and a loud crack as the squid got its first taste of electricity. It flung Smith against a wall as it spasmed.

  Smith’s head hit the concrete, and he passed out. Surprised by the new sensation, the creature wasn’t sure what to do. It’d never met anything like Smith.