Horror Sci-Fi Box Set: Three Novels

by Bryan Dunn

  “This month, it’ll be eighteen years that I’ve been working for that old coot.”

  “So explain something to me: how is it that you’re still alive?”

  “That’s a good one.” Lucas laughed as they stepped up to the chamber, stopping just short of the entrance.

  Nick stood in front of the chamber, stared in, and said, “Okay, any brilliant ideas on how to hurrah that thing?”

  Lucas brought up the shotgun and handed it to Nick. “You get its attention with a load of buckshot, get it to chase you, and then we haul ass back to the others.” Lucas reached into his pack and held up a stick of dynamite. Nick saw that the fuse had been clipped and was now only a couple of inches long. “I’ll be right in front of you, and if the creature comes on too fast, if it starts gaining on us, I’ll slow it down with this,” Lucas said, motioning to the stick of dynamite. Then he added, “If we’re lucky, it’ll chase us right up to the Ballroom and into the trap.”

  “You and Emmett,” Nick said, shaking his head. “Both of you are crazy.”

  Chapter 32

  Back in the Ballroom, Emmett, Kylie, and Ray were moving as fast they could, busying themselves setting up the trap.

  Working with Emmett, Kylie gathered up the dynamite fuses. As she bundled the wires together, she couldn’t stop thinking about Molly, hoping she was still alive, hoping she wasn’t hurt…or worse.

  Emmett positioned the last of the dynamite, then straightened and surveyed his work, checking and rechecking the spacing of the charges. He hoped he’d guessed right and hadn’t spaced them too far apart so as not to dissipate the force of the blast.

  He took a few steps back and massaged his left shoulder, studying the dynamite. Two neat rows, five sticks to a side. Yep, that should do it. But something wasn’t right; something was off. He moved to get another angle on the trap, and suddenly, he knew what it was.

  The dynamite. The charges were exposed.

  The sticks of dynamite were lying on the surface of the rock. There might not be enough force projected downward to punch a hole through the chamber floor. If they were back in the mine, he’d simply have drilled twin rows of holes and inserted the dynamite directly into the rock, practically guaranteeing the outcome.

  Think. What would work in place of bore holes?

  As he played the beam of his helmet lamp around the chamber, searching for some alternative, it suddenly hit him: the solution was right in front of his eyes.

  Rocks.

  That was it. They could gather rocks and cover the charges. That would concentrate the blast in a downward direction.

  Emmett moved up to a rock. He clamped his hands around it, lifted it a few inches off the ground, and dropped it. He straightened, turned to Ray, and shouted, “Ray, come on! I need your help. We’ve got to cover the charges.”

  “Why?” Ray asked as he helped Emmett lift the rock and schlep it over to the trap. They gingerly placed it over a stick of dynamite, careful not to damage the fuse. “What’s the point?”

  Emmett double-checked the rock’s position, then looked at Ray and said, “So the force of the blast is projected downward and we blast a hole in the floor and not the ceiling.”

  Ray thought about that and said, “Oh.”

  While Ray and Emmett finished covering the charges, Kylie ran the bundled fuses back to a detonation box they had positioned across the chamber behind a rock outcropping.

  Kylie braided the fuses together, placed the end of the wire next to the crank box, and as she stepped out behind the rock wall to join the others, two powerful beams of light danced in the chamber’s entrance.

  Suddenly, she heard voices. Men’s voices. They got louder and louder, and a moment after that, Slade and Major Atwood entered, their powerful lights catching the surprised faces of Kylie, Emmett, and Ray.

  Slade marched to the center of the chamber, flashing his light this way and that, his head on a swivel. “What’s going on here? Where’s the creature?”

  “We’re setting a trap,” Ray said. Then he added, “Sir.”

  “A trap?” Slade asked, looking at Ray. “For the creature?”

  Ray nodded his head.

  Slade and the major exchanged looks. Then Slade said, “Where’s Walker? And what about that group of students?”

  “The students are safe. They’re on their way back to the campus,” Kylie said. “All except one, that is.”

  Slade raised his light, shining the beam directly in Kylie’s face. “And you are?”

  Kylie blinked and covered her eyes. “Kylie Sinclair. I’m their teacher.”

  Lucky students, Slade thought, letting his eyes trace down her body. “And what about Walker?”

  Ray jumped forward. “Nick and Lucas are the bait—for the trap. They’ve gone back to lure the creature up here.”

  Major Atwood stepped up and said, “I have orders to clear this area.”

  “Orders?” Emmett said, staring at Atwood’s crisp blue uniform. “Well, that’s fine, Captain, but like Ray just mentioned, we’ve got two men down there counting on us.”

  “Major,” Atwood said, leveling his gaze at Emmett. “It’s ‘Major.’ And you are?”

  “Emmett Clayton.”

  Atwood gave a nod, stepped past Emmett, and moved to where the charges had been placed, studying one of the sticks of dynamite. He shone his light directly on it, seeing how it was poking out from beneath a pile of rocks. Atwood glanced from the dynamite to Emmett and asked, “Are you qualified to handle explosives, Mr. Clayton?”

  Emmett was quiet. “Qualified?” he said after a long silence. “Well, I don’t got a degree in it, if that’s what you mean. But I’ve spent the better part of my life blasting salt out of this ground.”

  Slade moved up, inserting himself between the major and Emmett. “Mr. Clayton owns and operates the Clayton Salt Mine, Major.” Slade motioned in the direction of the mine. “In fact, his property butts right up to this cavern.”

  Chapter 33

  “I wonder if that thing already ate?” Lucas said as he and Nick entered the Fortress of the Blue Giants, both of them coming to an abrupt halt just past the entrance.

  The air was still freighted with silt and dust from the crumbling walls and toppled columns. The thick atmosphere diffused the beams of their flashlights and helmet lamps, making the pitch black seem even more menacing than it already was.

  The chamber was still and quiet, and there was no sign of the creature.

  Nick jabbed his flashlight at the dark, motioning to the place where they’d left the DoE worker. “Well, there’s only one way to find out.”

  “Right,” Lucas said with zero conviction in his voice.

  Nick took the lead, and with the beam of his flashlight ticking back and forth like a train’s headlight crawling through a low fog, they started into the chamber toward the slide—the place where they’d found the worker’s body—all the while keeping their eyes peeled for any sign of the creature.

  Ten feet…twenty feet… Nick suddenly froze when his boot landed on a smooth object. A moment after that, the object collapsed to the floor with a loud crunching sound.

  What the hell?

  Nick yanked his foot back and lowered the beam of his flashlight, and there, lying on the chamber floor, shattered like a china vase, was the oil worker’s skull, the parietal bone dotted with puncture wounds. The perforations had been made by a set of razor- sharp teeth.

  “Jesus Christ,” Nick shouted, reeling from the chilling sight.

  The visibility was so poor that Lucas wasn’t able to see what Nick was talking about until he was practically on top of the crushed skull.

  Lucas stared down in silence. “Lord,” he whispered after a short pause. “Picked clean.”

  Nick took a deep breath, then exhaled, the slow, controlled stream of escaping air calming his nerves.

  “Mystery solved,” Nick said. “Dinner has been served.”

  Lucas nodded and began to laugh. “Reminds me of
something that happened a long time ago.”

  “Yeah? What’s that?”

  “Years ago, working on L.A.’s Metro—the underground—me and six other sandhogs were digging a drainage tunnel off the main cut, and we got a surprise. It was wet and dark, and we were about fifty feet off the main line, when we hit a column of bricks—red bricks. Looked like someone had taken a chimney and buried it a hundred and fifty feet underground. Well, we kept digging, busting down the bricks, and pretty soon, we realized it wasn’t a chimney. It was an old well that had been lined with bricks. And sitting on the bottom next to a bucket was a human skull, the hatchet used to kill the victim still lodged in the bone.”

  “Jesus,” Nick murmured. It struck him how surreal it felt to be listening to one of Lucas’s old war stories while they were in a cave, five hundred feet below the surface, with an alien creature stalking them.

  “We figured the guy was murdered somewhere else and then the body was chopped up and scattered around town. One of the guys on my crew—a Korean fellow, I think—was so freaked out by the sight of the skull, he never set foot in a tunnel again.”

  “I feel the guy’s pain,” Nick said. “And thank you for that uplifting little story.”

  Lucas laughed. “I thought that might cheer you up.”

  Nick took a breath and immediately began to cough, the hazy air clogging his lungs. Another breath, and then he remembered something. He reached down, groped at his side, clamped his hand around the oxygen mask that was clipped to his belt. Christ, why hadn’t he thought of that sooner? Both of them were carrying oxygen.

  Nick removed the mask from his belt, holding it up so Lucas could see it. The mask had rubber sides and a full facemask, just like the kind firemen used when entering smoke-filled structures.

  “Why the hell are we breathing this crap when we have these?”

  “Right,” Lucas said, already reaching for his mask.

  They opened the valves on the oxygen bottles slung on their backs and adjusted the straps of their facemasks. Both men removed their helmets, slipped the masks over their faces, and took a breath. Their faceplates immediately fogged, the humidity in the cave causing condensation to form on the inside of the lenses.

  Crap!

  * * * *

  Back in the Ballroom chamber, Slade hovered over the trap, a skeptical look on his face as he stared down at the dynamite covered by stacks of rocks. ‘Half-assed’ is the word he was thinking as he let his eyes trace along the bundle of fuses that ran across the floor.

  “What if it doesn’t work?” Slade turned from the trap and approached the others. “What if the floor doesn’t collapse? What if the creature isn’t trapped? What if it doesn’t stop that thing?’

  Emmett illuminated Slade with the beam of his flashlight. “Then I guess it’s assholes and elbows up to the top.”

  Slade shook his head. “That’s your plan? Run?” He stepped up to Emmett. “No offense, Mr. Clayton, but it looks like your track and field days are long behind you.”

  “Don’t worry about me.”

  “Fine. But what about the rest of us? There should be some sort of a backup, a Plan B.”

  “Well, there’s always this.”

  All heads swiveled to face Ray, who was standing next to a pile of gear holding up a couple of blocks of C-4.

  “Whoa.” Emmett held up his hands. “Now, hold on there, son. No one said anything about plastic explosives. That C-4 is much more powerful than the charges I used to set the trap. It’s too risky. Not worth the chance.”

  Atwood moved up to Slade, leaned in close, and said in a low voice, “We need to talk. Now.”

  Atwood motioned for Slade to follow him. After they had moved a short distance away from the others he continued, “Colonel Kemp’s instructions were clear. We wait for him and his team to arrive.”

  “I get it. I understand,” Slade said. “But when the colonel arrives and discovers that the Strategic Petroleum Reserve is located next door, all bets are off.”

  “That doesn’t change anything; that doesn’t change my orders.”

  Slade didn’t speak. He stared at Atwood, thinking about what he could say to change the major’s mind, to make him understand, to make him see what an amazing opportunity this was. They didn’t have to destroy the creature.

  “We can do better than New Mexico. We can do better than what happened at Rainier Mesa. We don’t have to repeat that. There’s a good chance we could trap this thing.”

  Before the major had a chance to respond, Slade switched to his most persuasive and charming voice, adding, “Listen, Major, I understand you have orders, but what if Bubba’s half-baked trap doesn’t work?” He hooked a thumb in Emmett’s direction. “What if the creature escapes before the colonel gets here?”

  “That can’t happen, not if—”

  “It can happen,” Slade shot back, cutting him off. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. Listen to me. Ray’s onto something. What if we were to take the C-4 and place the charges just outside this chamber in the tunnel that leads to the surface? That way, if the first trap fails, we can seal the exit and trap the creature down here.”

  Atwood shook his head. But Slade could see that he had the major thinking.

  “Hell, maybe we can even capture this thing. Think about it, Major. You’ll be famous. You’ll be a part of history. And your career…the sky’s the limit. This is the opportunity of a lifetime.”

  Atwood didn’t speak. “No, I have my orders,” he said after a long pause. “When those men return, whether the trap works or not, I’m getting everyone out of this cavern.”

  Slade blew out a frustrated breath and in a defiant tone said, “Until Colonel Kemp arrives, I’m in charge. This is NASA business. And whatever that thing is, it’s NASA property.”

  * * * *

  Once their masks were cleared and working properly, Nick and Lucas moved farther into the chamber. The effectiveness of the helmet lamps and flashlight beams were halved by the thick atmosphere.

  As they moved through the darkness, every few seconds a rock would break loose from the ceiling or cave wall and drop to the floor with a sharp crack, echoing through the chamber like small arms fire.

  Nick drew in a lungful of fresh oxygen and said, “I don’t think this is the sort of thing you roust.”

  “Right.” Lucas’s helmet bobbed up and down as he nodded in agreement. “Maybe the thing skedaddled. Maybe it moved to a lower chamber.”

  “Maybe we should whistle, see if that gets its attention. How’s your whistling?”

  Lucas tapped his faceplate. “Through this—not so good.”

  Nick was about to suggest they try clapping, when a burst of static erupted from the radio clipped to his belt.

  Both of them jumped, startled by the sound. Then a second static crash filled the chamber followed by the sound of someone keying the mike on the other end, and then Ray’s voice boomed out of the radio.

  “Nick. Hey, Nick. It’s Ray. Any sign of the creature?”

  Suddenly, the chamber was filled with the sound of footsteps. Horrible, pounding footsteps. They echoed through the darkness, making it impossible for Nick and Lucas to pinpoint its source.

  “Oh shit!” Lucas shouted.

  A moment after that, the creature shot out of the pitch black. It was right on top of them.

  “Jesus,” Nick yelled, falling back, the creature’s scaly plates caught in the beam of his helmet lamp.

  Lucas fought to level the shotgun. He fired. The grotesque face of the creature was illuminated by the muzzle flash, its lizard mouth flaring in the blast.

  The shot went wild, striking the ceiling directly above them.

  The creature lunged forward. Viscous saliva streamed from the corners of its mouth as a powerful clawed hand shot out, reaching for Nick.

  A cascade of rocks, salt, and dirt rained down from where Lucas’s shot had hit.

  There was a loud groaning sound, and the roof of the cave above th
e creature collapsed, burying the alien beneath a mound of debris, giving Nick and Lucas the chance they needed to scrabble free and run for the exit.

  Behind them, the creature rose up, freeing itself from the rubble. It spun around and lunged after them, moving through the blackness at a terrible speed.

  Chapter 34

  In the tunnel just outside the Ballroom chamber, Slade held a flashlight for Emmett as he inserted the last of the detonators in two blocks of demolition-grade C-4.

  After he was sure the charges were correctly wired, Emmett snugged them into a canvas bag and then wedged the explosives into a crack in the tunnel wall.

  Then he reached into a pack slung on his shoulder and removed a remote detonation device. He checked to see that it was charged and working, flipped open a cover exposing a trigger button, and flipped the protective cover guard back over the button. As he went to return the remote to his pack, Slade reached out and grabbed it from Emmett’s hand.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Emmett said, caught off-guard by Slade’s grab for the remote.

  Ignoring Emmett, Slade studied the remote, turning it over in his hand, opening and closing the guard that covered the trigger.

  “It’s my call on the C-4,” he said. “I decide if and when we set off the charges.”

  “Okay, take it easy,” Emmett said, his eyes glued to the remote. “Be very careful with that.”

  “Ya think?” Slade scoffed, then dropped the remote into his jacket pocket.

  “Yes, I do.” Emmett pointed to the explosives. “And do me a favor—before you send up that C-4, make damn sure we’re all the hell out of here.”

  Slade patted the pocket containing the remote. “I’m not stupid, Mr. Clayton.”

  A few feet away inside the chamber, Ray almost jumped out of his skin when the radio on his side buzzed and popped, then exploded with Nick’s shouting voice.

  “Set the trap! Set the trap!” Right after that, the sound of pounding footsteps echoed from out of the speaker.