The Chronological Man: The Monster in the Mist

by Andrew Mayne

  He felt his boots dip into the water. They’d measured the water depth at four feet using a rock tied to a piece of cord. That would put it at his upper abdomen once he finished his descent.

  His toes touched the bottom of the cistern. Smith gave them a thumbs-up and the police officers fed him some slack. Broderick lowered the lantern down to illuminate the chamber, shaking his head and muttering.

  Smith backed up to the curved back wall so he could see every spot. The lantern threw off more light than his head lamps did the last time. He could see the surface of the water more clearly. It still looked like a vast ocean of black ink, but details were easier to make out.

  He could see tiny ripples from floating debris but no tell-tale signs of the creature. Remembering how it disturbed the waterline like swirling liquid in a wineglass, he searched the walls for any motion. Nothing.

  Smith checked the cables attached to his body and made sure the right lights were lit up on the panel on his chest. He gave the all-clear to the men on the surface.

  Broderick said something to Brooks and then Smith heard a pop followed by a red flash that illuminated the fog above the manhole cover.

  A moment after the flare went up, he heard the first grenade go off. Its boom echoed down the tunnels. A second later another one went off at the opposite end of the city. Starting from the far ends, they were intended to startle the beast toward the center of the city to the main drainpipe and through the cistern Smith was standing in.

  More explosions went off and the entire sewer system sounded like a battle in hell. Smith had packed some rags into the helmet to help deaden the noise, but it still rattled the brass shell like a bell. Distant memories of cannon fire floated through his mind like a fog.

  There was no doubt the beast knew something was afoot. The question was whether it would go past Smith and try to leave the sewer system, hopefully getting skewered by one of the whalers at the exits, find some other place to hide or come for him.

  His eyes darted to the left as he saw a wave come rolling into the cistern.

  Chapter 24

  Three blocks away, Sgt. Robertson looked down the manhole cover into the void below. His arm dangled a lantern in the depths, casting a dim yellow glow on the walls of the sewer. The newly minted Sgt. Miles watched on, his palms sweaty on the shotgun he held.

  “Sergeant, I don’t know if that’s wise,” said the nervous young man.

  “Mind the end of the gun, Miles. Keep your eye on the street. Make sure no early risers are out for a stroll.”

  Miles turned his head to look at the street. His own lantern was at his feet, next to the fire ax, projecting his shadow into the fog like a phantom. “Sorry about the grenade. I thought it was like the ones I used in the Army.”

  “Misfires happen, son. It was a naval issue. No bother.” Robertson was trying to see where it had landed. Each two-man unit had been given a grenade to drop into the sewer. They were a naval type used to cause concussion blasts. They didn’t fragment and were intended to not blow up the entire Boston sewer system.

  “I’d feel a bit easier if you moved away from there, sir,” said Miles as he watched Robertson lean more of his body into the dark hole.

  “I need to see where it landed. I can’t have some poor city worker stumble onto it. Just mind the street,” said Roberts. He thought he saw something bobbing up and down in the water as the waves from the other blasts passed by underneath them. “Mind passing me your ….” Robertson jerked around when he heard the sound of boot heels drag on the cobblestone.

  Miles was gone.

  Robertson ran to where he’d last seen the young man. He saw a faint shape being pulled to the gutter. He kicked the lantern in that direction. The light rolled across the ground and cracked open as it hit the edge of the sidewalk. Fuel dripped out and made a puddle of flames. In the flickering light, he saw a tentacle like the one on the desk at the station, wrapped around the younger man’s head. Miles’ hands struggled at the slimy mass.

  Robertson pulled out his revolver but couldn’t get a clear shot that wouldn’t hit one of Miles’ flailing limbs. His boot touched the ax. He picked it up and ran to the edge of the gutter in back of the tentacle as it slowly retreated into the sewer.

  The sergeant raised the ax above his head and slammed the sharp blade into the creature’s flesh. Dark yellow liquid sprayed out at him. He smelled the pungent scent of ammonium. The limb quivered but didn’t release Miles. Instead, it flung him flat to the ground and tried to retract more quickly.

  Robertson swung the ax into a new spot as the last wound retreated under the sidewalk. He struck again and again. More fluid sprayed over him. The creature’s grasp slackened and Miles let out a scream as he tried to get more air.

  Robertson caught a glimpse of his face as the tentacle tried to re-grip him. Blood poured from punctures where the claw had bit into his head and shoulders. Robertson struck again and threw his whole weight into the blow. The ax blade hit cobblestone as it half severed the limb.

  There was a violent spasm and then it flung Miles away. The beast pulled its tentacle back into the gutter. Robertson brought his face down to look where it had gone. In the back of his mind he remembered the story the old sailor had told them in the police station as they prepared for the night’s work.

  Robertson rolled away from the gutter as quickly as he could. He pried the shotgun from the shocked Miles’ hands and aimed it at the other side of the street. He saw something whip toward him. He lost his balance as it pulled at his leg.

  He could feel the cobblestone running across his spine like stone knuckles as it dragged him to the gutter. With his free hand he undid the strap that held his artificial leg to his body. The tentacle whipped it away. Robertson fired the shotgun.

  There was a loud slap as the other tentacle, the one that had come at them from the gutter on the other side while he hacked away, smacked into the street with fury. Robertson pumped the gun again and fired at the dark shape in the fog as it reached up again. It pulled back, and he could hear a splashing sound from the manhole below. Robertson rolled back over to the hole and peered down. It was right below him.

  He pulled his service revolver from his side and aimed downward. He fired at the bottle-shaped object that bobbed up and down. He rolled away as soon as he squeezed the trigger. He heard a loud pop and felt a blast of hot air and smoke rush out of the manhole as the grenade went off.

  There was the sound of thrashing and then silence as the creature skulked off.

  Robertson crawled over to Miles and looked at his wounds. The young man’s face was soaked in blood. Teeth were visible from a gash in his cheek. A puncture by his collarbone gushed red. Robertson squeezed it while he pulled a knife from his pocket to slice his shirt into bandages.

  He called for help and then bound Miles’ shoulder as tightly as he could.

  “Howz zbad,” said the young man. Blood whistled out of the side of his mouth as he spoke.

  “Seen worse. Good thing you’re married,” said Robertson.

  “Waz zat?” asked Miles.

  “Ain’t nobody gonna want to marry you now after they see your face.”

  Miles tried to laugh. It came out in a gurgle.

  “Easy there. We’ll get you patched up.” You’ll have a nice scar to impress the people on your beat.

  “Didth thwe geth ith?”

  Robertson shook his head. “Wounded it a bit. But mostly I think we made it really, really mad.”

  Chapter 25

  Smith watched the wave glide into the chamber. He resisted the urge to fire. This was the concussion from the grenades they’d dropped into the sewers. He’d failed to account for that. The agitated water was going to make it harder to tell when the beast actually entered.

  He’d have to remain still and wait. Smith stared into the dark chamber and looked at the four entrances. He was certain it would be passing through there soon enough. That was if it hadn’t already passed by him.

&
nbsp; Smith decided to deal with one problem at a time. His eye caught a tiny flicker of movement several feet above the water level. A small rat stood on a one-inch ledge where bricks gave way to concrete. It lifted up on its hind legs and sniffed the air.

  “Care to tell me what you smell?” whispered Smith.

  “Pardon me?” answered Broderick’s crackly voice over the telephone line they’d run from the street above into the suit.

  “Quiet, I’m talking to a rat,” said Smith.

  The rat decided it didn’t like what it smelled and vanished around a corner. Smith thought about recommending a nice pile of dead animal flesh to it and then he heard a thrashing sound in the junction entrance to his right. The creature was near.

  “Miss Malone, are you there?” he asked.

  “Ready and waiting,” her faint voice replied on the party line.

  There was more thrashing and the sound of gunfire.

  “What was that?” asked Smith.

  “Brooks is sending some men to go look,” answered Broderick.

  “Tell them to be careful. I think it’s under where the gunfire came from.”

  “Aye,” answered Broderick.

  Smith turned his body toward the right entrance. That was going to be the spot the creature would be coming through. Would it stay? Or would it keep going?

  If it wanted to keep moving, there was little Smith could do to stop it. Maybe it would get skewered by the harpoons in the pier. Maybe it would find some other corner to hide. Smith hated uncertainty. He pushed away from the back wall and treaded water toward the center of the cistern.

  He reached the middle and faced down the tunnel from which he’d heard the splashing and gunfire. The surest way to solve this particular elliptical problem was to disrupt the equation.

  A large wave splashed against his chest as he heard more thrashing. Off in the distance he could see the faint sparks from a gun as it fired. There was a flash of light and an explosion as a grenade exploded. The silhouette of the squid was burned in his eyes as the orange ball of fire erupted.

  Having spent the last half-hour trying to get his eyes acclimated to the dark, the flash of light blinded him. Smith closed them shut in vain. It would take a minute for them to adjust again well enough to see any kind of detail.

  He felt a surge of water on his chest as something pushed its way through the tunnel. Smith gripped the Gatling gun and waited for it to run into him. To shoot blindly into the dark, or even just a few feet away through water, would have little effect. Not that his last encounter gave him any confidence in the device’s stopping power on a creature like this.

  Smith braced himself and pushed one foot forward so he wouldn’t be easily toppled over.

  There was a surge of water.

  The beast slammed into his chest and knocked the wind out of him. Smith squeezed the trigger. The Gatling gun sent a barrage of bullets into the animal as it continued to push Smith backward.

  He emptied the entire gun into the creature’s husk. It kept charging forward. Smith’s feet slipped entirely. He reached out with one hand and grasped the animal’s slick flesh. With his other, he activated the motorized spear point and began punching into the animal’s thick skin.

  Still blinded, Smith could feel thick, viscous blood erupt and spray him in the face through the open window of the suit. It tasted foul. He spat it out and kept pulverizing the creature with his right hand. He knew it had little more effect than a tattoo needle on a fat man’s arse.

  The purpose was to annoy the beast. Smith felt the wall slam into him as the creature pinned him to it. He couldn’t understand the tactic until he felt a tentacle slap against the side of his head. It hit so hard he had a metal taste in his mouth.

  For the first time in a minute, he could see vague shapes in the lantern light. He could make out the claws of the tentacle as they scratched on the helmet and clung to the inner edge of the window.

  Suddenly, he was pulled out of the water by the beast.

  “My god!” shouted Broderick over the telephone connection as he watched from above.

  “Quiet, please,” said Smith in a voice far more confident than he was feeling.

  His body was slapped against the water. Another tentacle reached around his legs. Smith could see the orange glowing eyes. They were getting closer.

  The beak made a cracking sound as it opened. Smith was pulled under water. He tried to slam the window shut but the claw from the tentacle stopped it from closing. He held his breath as water poured into the suit. His hand managed to turn on the lantern light attached to the side of the helmet not covered by the tentacle.

  Through the opening, he could see the razor-sharp tongue flick back and forth. Smith’s abdomen was pulled toward the beak. It gnashed down to tear into his stomach.

  Smith punched at the side of the beak with his harpoon point on his left glove and activated the reciprocating action. The serrated point punctured the hard casing, ripping into it.

  He reached out with his right hand and brought the other motorized blade into the beak and began to saw it off. The creature convulsed. It was confused by how he was resisting.

  The light from above faded as the creature used all of its remaining tentacles to pull him in. They closed in on Smith like a plant trapping an insect. The beast’s tongue extended from its mouth and scraped across the metal chest plate.

  “Contact, Miss Malone!” shouted Smith.

  Three miles away, at the streetcar electric power station, April Malone turned from the receiver and shouted to the men standing next to the two 10,000 horsepower Edison Dynamos.

  “NOW!” she shouted.

  The men nodded and pulled two massive switches.

  One hundred thousand volts raced at the speed of light from the station, down three miles of overheard street car lines, to the bypass above the open manhole cover and down a thick rubberized cable that led to an electrical junction on Smith’s suit.

  As shielded as he was by the rubber suit he wore and the grounding cable, Smith felt an intense shock as he sent the bulk of the current into the creature about to devour him.

  The animal shook violently. Its tentacle shot away from him like fingers exploding open. Smith punched a fist into a thick section near where one of the tentacles met the body and continued feeding electricity into it. The bright orange globe-like eyes stared into his own. He could see them begin to boil. The creature vibrated as its entire nervous system quivered from the electrical impulse.

  The tongue stopped trying to lash at his chest and came to a stop. A blue electric arc ran from its tongue to Smith’s metal body. Smith shoved his left fist into the scaly surface of it and continued to unleash the full force of the dynamos. Over the telephone set, Miss Malone was trying to tell him something, but there was too much interference from the massive amounts of current.

  The water filled with black ink as the creature lost control of its own body. The right eye exploded, shooting a spray of strange orange liquid out of the fissure.

  Smith got to his feet and stood upright. He started punching the beast with his gloved fist, pushing spear points of electricity into its body. He could smell the scent of burning flesh.

  The crackle of the current finally died as the overheated dynamos gave out.

  Smith didn’t know what counted as “dead” for an animal like this. So he used the remaining power in his suit to saw off the limbs with his powered blades. Broderick leaned his head in from above and watched as Smith moved from limb to limb, cutting them from the body. The reciprocating blades on his wrists sawed into the flesh. Yellow fluid spilled into the chamber as Smith turned it into an abattoir.

  “I think it’s dead, son,” shouted Broderick.

  Smith ignored him and kept carving at the body. Tentacles occasionally spasmed and lashed out as it slowly gave up the ghost. Finally, Smith finished.

  A crowd of heads peered down from the manhole and looked at Smith’s handiwork. Handkerchiefs covered their mout
hs as they tried to avoid the stench.

  There were twelve limbs in all. Two of them had already been lopped off at the tips. Six of the others were just as thick and potent as them. The other four had no obvious function other than grasping for sex or pulling apart smaller prey.

  When he was satisfied, Smith finally looked up. His eyes were stinging from the effect of the ammonium. “I think it’s dead.”

  Capt. Brooks leaned over and looked down at him. He looked at the severed limbs bobbing in the water and the still-smoking corpse. “I think that’s an accurate assessment.”

  Chapter 26

  The locomotive pulled only three cars through the forest. From his window in the passenger car, Lindestrom observed as the engineer brought it to a halt, hopped on to the tracks and pulled a lever switching tracks from the main line to a side track. The boilers fired up again and the train began its journey through several miles of the thick trees that covered the private estate in upstate New York.

  Lindestrom massaged his aching knuckles. His stomach was a pit of despair.

  A short round man was waiting at the small private depot when the train pulled in. Lindestrom stepped from the train and looked at the man with some hesitation.

  “Is it on here?” said Doyle, gesturing to the sealed freight cars.

  Lindestrom nodded. “Packed on ice. Ready to be sent to the conservatory.”

  The shorter man nodded. “I read your reports. Interesting. We have some buyers for the beak and claws. There’s some interest in the ink, too. Some think we might be able to find a nasty poison in there. Perhaps something untraceable.”

  Lindestrom’s interests were more medical than diabolical, despite his own machinations. “I think the blood should be of particular interest. The creature can go long periods in freezing temperatures and still manage to pump blood to its heart and not freeze.”