Horror Sci-Fi Box Set: Three Novels

by Bryan Dunn

  They flickered, flashed, and then shone brightly, the bare bulbs illuminating the smooth alabaster walls of salt and massive support columns.

  “Here…here…here…and here,” Lucas said, pointing at each spot as he paced off a forty-foot section of the mine’s wall. “The plan is to drill set holes every ten feet and then fill each hole with a block of C-4.”

  Nick nodded and glanced over his shoulder, like he’d been doing every couple of minutes since they’d arrived. “Let’s do it. Let’s do this thing and go.”

  Lucas retraced his steps back over to Nick and lifted an electric drill he’d positioned earlier. He placed it against the wall, squeezed the trigger, and buried the three-foot bit in one fluid movement. He widened the hole by working the drill up and down, then drew it out and handed it to Nick.

  “We need three more like that. While you finish the holes, I’m going to wire up the column behind us. If we drop the wall and the column at the same time, we’ll bring the whole damn ceiling down. Nothing is going to get out of here.”

  “What are we waiting for?” Nick muscled the drill down the wall, slammed the bit into the salt, and ran it into the wall, just like Lucas had done.

  “All right, then.” Lucas smiled and collected the remaining C-4 and made his way over to the support column.

  Nick widened the hole and removed the drill. He moved to the next spot, ran the drill up to the chuck, and, as the taste of salt bloomed in his mouth and dust dulled his helmet lamp, he heard Lucas scream, “Run!”

  The sound of a shotgun blast rang in his ears.

  Still clutching the drill, Nick cranked his head around just in time to see the shotgun cartwheel out and Lucas’s bowels spill onto the floor as his front opened like a Ziploc bag.

  The creature towered over Lucas. Its claws flashed again. A second after that, Lucas’s head lolled, and he sank to the ground.

  Holy God.

  The creature was moving again, coming directly toward him, its eyes locked onto him.

  Jesus Christ!

  As Nick debated which way to run, the drill began to vibrate wildly in his hands.

  Then his shirt was suddenly wet. And then the drill exploded out of the bore hole, ejected by a powerful jet of brine water. The handle slammed into his gut, taking him off his feet and throwing him onto his back.

  Nick stared up at the blasting column of water, the roar in his ears like a jet taking off.

  What the hell?

  Right behind him, right through the roaring water, he thought he heard—no, he knew he heard—racing footsteps.

  Then, like some Jacuzzi from hell, water began jetting from the other bore holes. Above the blasting water, Nick saw the wall fracture, and then he watched as a crack in the shape of a giant frown raced across the salt.

  Son of a bitch, I’m going to drown. And as that thought flooded in, a shadow loomed over him.

  Something flashed at the corner of his eye.

  The crack above him widened into a fissure.

  A hand fell toward him; a raptor’s claw about to seize its prey.

  All at once, the jetting water stopped. It was as if someone had thrown a switch. The mine was plunged into silence.

  A ripping, tearing sound filled his ears. Directly above him, the wall began to distort and then warp outwards, like a thousand serpents were writhing just beneath its surface.

  Just as he was about to run, the wall exploded, and a house-sized chunk of salt swept over Nick and slammed into the creature. A hideous, otherworldly scream filled the air as the beast was carried across the chamber and pinned to the far wall.

  Nick raised his head and then slammed it back down as another chunk of wall was blasted free, warping past him like the hull of a giant ship.

  He realized he’d been holding his breath—he’d forgotten to breathe. He gulped a mouthful of air, filling his lungs, and as he exhaled, the floor beneath him rolled, and the cavern began to shake.

  He heard a loud bang and a horrible rumbling sound.

  Something else was coming.

  Heart in his throat, Nick surged to his feet and ran for his life.

  Twenty feet. Forty feet. When he was sixty feet from the wall, an avalanche of oil swept through the opening and into the chamber.

  Surging. Flooding. Swirling. 250 million barrels of sweet crude crashed into the mine like a tidal wave, sending an unstoppable flood of oil sheeting across the floor.

  The Strategic Petroleum Reserve’s underground reservoir had been breached.

  Sulfurous fumes filled Nick’s mouth and choked his lungs as oil splashed beneath his pounding boots.

  Twisting, turning, and ducking, he blasted through the darkness, abandoning all caution, desperate to beat the oil and reach his only chance of escape: the lift.

  Lungs clogged and burning, Nick skidded around a bend. Metal glinted in the beam of his helmet lamp and he saw the lift, but he was suddenly swept off his feet, caught in the tide of surging oil.

  Pumping his arms, Nick managed to keep his head above the swirling crude, as he was swept through the cavern by the waist-deep oil.

  He pulled his legs beneath him, kicked, and jackknifed his body into a standing position and, half running, half swimming, fought his way towards the lift.

  With his eyes burning and feeling like he was about to pass out, Nick pushed ahead until he was standing directly below the lift. His first thought was to jump up and grab the bottom of the cage, but then his eyes fell on the door hanging off to one side. He lunged over, grabbed the door, and with his last bit of strength, clawed his way up and slid into the lift.

  Nick surged to his knees and, realizing he was seconds away from collapsing, hauled over a duffle bag, ripped out a mask and bottle of oxygen, pulled the respirator over his face, spun the valve on the top of the bottle, and pulled in a lungful of fresh O2.

  Heaven.

  He took another long pull on the respirator, drinking in the fresh air, and a moment later, his eyes cleared and the fog in his brain lifted.

  Nick adjusted the respirator and slung the oxygen bottle over his back. He went to the generator, gripped the cord, and just as he was about to pull, he suddenly stopped.

  Fumes.

  Oil fumes. Would the generator’s sparkplug ignite the fumes?

  As he thought about this, he looked down and watched as the oil continued to rise, getting closer and closer to the bottom of the lift.

  And then he remembered that diesel is much less flammable than gasoline, so, by extension, crude oil should be even safer.

  He took another look at the rising oil—only a couple of feet away now—thought, What the hell, this might be my only chance, then grabbed the starter cord and pulled. The generator roared safely to life.

  Nick fell on the control panel and slammed the lever to the ‘up’ position. The high-pitched whine of the winch filled his ears, the lift rocked, and he began to rise.

  Nick looked out and saw that the swirling oil was keeping perfect pace with the rising lift.

  Shit.

  Chapter 47

  A couple minutes later, the lift jolted to a stop at the mouth of the access shaft. During the ride up, Nick had scavenged two blocks of C-4 and a couple of fuses that had been left in one of the duffle bags. He stuffed the plastic explosives in a pocket and tightened the shoulder straps of the oxygen bottle.

  He took one last look around the lift and determined there was nothing else worth taking.

  He leapt out of the cage and heard a horrible splashing sound. He snapped his head down, and his face immediately fell when he saw oil lapping at the toes of his boots.

  Crap.

  There went his plan to beat the flooding oil up the access shaft. No way he was going to be able to outrun it.

  He took a hit of oxygen and pulled his oil-soaked jacket away from his chest. He felt like it was going to smother him. He pumped the front of jacket in and out, trying to get some relief, and wondered what the hell he was going to do.
<
br />   Just as he thought about trying to make a run for it up the shaft, he heard a dull clanking sound.

  He spun, and there, next to the mouth of the shaft, he saw discarded diesel drums being lifted off the floor, bumping and clanging into each other as they floated on the surface of the flooding oil.

  That was it: the barrels.

  Nick waded over and corralled one of the drums. He might be able to ride the oil up and out of the access shaft using a barrel. He released the barrel and grabbed the one next to it. It had a large V-shaped dent in the middle.

  Perfect.

  As the oil rose to his waist, he draped his body over the barrel, snugged himself into the dent, and gripped the sides. Floating on the surface of the oil, he was carried up the access shaft.

  Fifty feet into the shaft, the oil began to ebb, and the next thing he knew, he was being sucked back down toward the mouth.

  What the hell?

  As if he’d been caught in a riptide, he was suddenly swept past the lift and found himself swirling out into an open sea of crude.

  Panicked and desperate to get back to the shaft, Nick kicked his legs, but his efforts were useless against the tide of oil.

  Pitching and rolling, he hung on for dear life as he was swept through the cavern, back toward the mine, his head only inches from jagged rocks and jutting stalactites.

  He stared out through the oil-spattered faceplate of his mask, wondering how this would end, wondering what his fate would be. His helmet lamp shorted out, and he was plunged into darkness, the pitch-black cave merging seamlessly with the inky oil.

  He panicked. He couldn’t breathe. It was like someone had cut off his oxygen, but his mask was working fine. His hands slipped. He felt himself losing his grip on the barrel and his heart thudded in his chest. Suddenly, it was twenty years ago and he was stuck at the bottom of a lake, and he was going to drown.

  His throat closed. He was being pulled down, sucked into the oil. Just before he slipped beneath the surface, a profound peace settled over him.

  Immediately, his throat opened and he began to breathe. He felt his body rise, as if an invisible hand were pulling him back onto the barrel.

  He looked up and saw his hands gripping the barrel again. He shut his eyes and felt himself being lifted and tossed by the flooding of oil. It was out of his hands now. He had to hang on and trust in things bigger than himself. That was all he could do.

  At that moment, he knew that whatever happened, he’d be all right. He couldn’t explain it; his circumstances were dire—impossible—but he felt no fear, only a divine sense of wellbeing and peace.

  * * * *

  Ten minutes later, a dull thud caused Nick to open his eyes and lift his head. The barrel—it had just struck something. A rock, maybe, or was it the bottom of the shaft?

  He strained forward. He blinked his eyes. Through the mask he saw a pinpoint of light. The entrance. The oil had pushed him right through the mine, all the way up to the entrance.

  He blinked again, looked up, and the light was still there, getting brighter and brighter.

  The oil continued to flood and swirl. He was able see the ore car, and then its tracks, and just beyond, the conveyor belt.

  He had made it. He was going to get out of the mine alive.

  As the flood of oil slowed, Nick felt his boots touch the ground, and then he found himself on his feet, standing waist-deep in oil.

  Nick released the barrel, letting it float away, then waded to the oil’s edge. Using his last bit of strength, he clawed his way up onto a dry section of the mine floor.

  Wobbling on his feet, he watched as oil drained off of him and pooled around his boots. He still couldn’t believe it—he couldn’t believe that he was alive, that he had somehow survived being swept through the mine in the sea of oil. He reached up, pulled his oxygen mask off, and heard a splashing sound.

  Directly behind him.

  He torqued around, and there, right on the glistening surface of the oil, a bump had appeared.

  It began to move, sliding through the silky crude toward him. A moment later, it broke the surface, and he saw what it was.

  The creature.

  Its head rose and it located him, shooting forward like a giant crocodile moving in for the kill.

  Impossible.

  How could it have survived?

  Nick threw off the oxygen bottle, shrugged off his pack, and dug out the two blocks of C-4, fuses, and the detonator.

  A terrible hissing sound brought his head up, and he watched as the creature attacked the barrel, ripping it in two like an empty soda can.

  Jesus.

  As the creature swept back in Nick’s direction, he pushed two fuses into the C-4 and dropped the explosives in the pack. He palmed the detonator and turned toward the creature.

  As the creature’s body rose out of the oil, Nick leapt forward, planted a foot, and hurled the pack at it.

  The creature hissed.

  The pack pinwheeled out and the creature caught it in its mouth.

  Nick yelled, “Fire in the hole, motherfucker!” He spun around, sprinted to the ore car, leapt up, and grabbed the rail. As he tumbled inside, he pushed the button on the remote detonator.

  The creature leapt out of the oil, and just as its feet landed on dry land, the charges exploded.

  The alien beast was torn apart in a spray of blood and body parts. Its severed limbs were sent cartwheeling through the air. There was a secondary explosion. Then a massive concussion as the surface of 250 million barrels of oil burst into flames.

  A shockwave swept forward, slamming Nick to the ore car’s floor and sending the car flying down its tracks and straight out of the mine.

  Chapter 48

  Outside the mine, black smoke billowed out of the entrance and filled the sky. As the smoke rose, it was caught in the rotor wash of an Air Force Blackhawk helicopter circling overhead.

  The ore car that had carried Nick out of the mine lay at the base of one of the mounds of salt, twisted and bent; it looked like a discarded toy.

  “Nick!” Kylie shouted as she and Ray raced past the ruined ore car and began to claw their way up the salt.

  Directly above them, halfway up the mound, the salt began to move. Then a slide formed. Kylie and Ray looked up and watched as the slide became an arm, and then two arms, and then they saw Nick’s face.

  Nick was alive.

  “Nick!” Kylie shouted. She couldn’t believe it. He was alive; he had survived the explosion.

  Kylie was the first to reach Nick. She threw her arms around him, hugging him tightly. She dusted him off, but it did little good. The oil coating his face and arms made the salt stick to him like frosting.

  Nick stared up at Kylie, admiring her beautiful face and said, “Am I still alive?”

  Kylie hugged him again. “It’s incredible.”

  Nick nodded and smiled, blinking away some grit as Ray scrambled up next to them. “I can’t believe it. I can’t believe you survived that blast.”

  Still a little dazed, Nick looked up at Ray and, squinting into the sun, said, “Hey, Ray…”

  “What about Lucas—and Slade? And the creature—is that thing still alive?” Ray looked at the oil that coated Nick’s face and clothing. “And the oil—where did all the oil come from?”

  Nick lowered his head. “Lucas and Slade are gone. The creature, too.” After another pause, he looked at Kylie and Ray and said, “Lucas died saving my life.”

  Kylie and Ray glanced at each other, trying to imagine what he’d just been through. Kylie wiped away a tear as Ray took Nick’s arm and said, “Come on, let’s get you to the hospital.”

  As Ray went to lift him, Nick cried out in pain. He motioned for Ray to hang on, then reached beneath his leg, dug something out of the salt, and held up a flat rock with a jagged edge.

  Nick flipped the rock over and was amazed when he saw the tail section of a prehistoric fish perfectly preserved in the rock.

  It was a
fossil. A very familiar-looking fossil.

  Nick couldn’t believe it. It was the missing half of the fossil Willie had given him. “You’re not going to believe this,” Nick said and handed the fossil to Kylie.

  Kylie looked at the fossil and immediately recognized it.

  “Oh my God. The fossil—it’s the other half of the fossil you gave me.”

  “No way,” Ray said, leaning over Kylie’s shoulder. “Amazing.”

  Nick took the fossil from Kylie, held it up, and said, “Tell you what—promise to have that glass of wine with me, and it’s yours.”

  Ray frowned and rolled his eyes. “Oh God…”

  Kylie grabbed the fossil, leaned forward, kissed Nick on the lips, and said, “Maybe even dinner, too.”

  Ray threw up his hands. “Okay. All right. That’s it.” As he started down the mound, he said, “I don’t need this.”

  * * * *

  Inside a Los Angeles apartment located in a seedy part of Echo Park, Todd Gibson—or “the gimp,” as his fellow burglars referred to him—lay sprawled beneath the kitchen table.

  A fly buzzed.

  He watched the fly circle the darkened room and then land on his face. It walked across the bridge of his nose. He tried to shoo it away, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t move his arms. In fact, he couldn’t even lift a finger.

  Todd Gibson was completely paralyzed.

  Above him, scattered across the table, pieces of shattered rock surrounded a hammer and an acetylene cutting torch.

  At the center of the table, a tendril of smoke rose in the air like a charmed serpent. Beneath the thread of smoke, an ovoid pod lay on its side. One of the ends had liquefied and pooled on the tabletop.

  The fly buzzed.

  A dark shape scuttled across the kitchen floor.

  His eyes flicked towards it. There was a frozen, terror-filled moment, and then Todd Gibson began to scream.

  Thaw

  Bryan Dunn