by Luke Romyn
Talbot followed Colonel Wilson across the rock to a CH-53D Sea Stallion surrounded by troops. The CH-53D was the smaller brother of the Super Stallion, and as such had little difficulty landing on the rough platform of rock so close to the cliff. Talbot clambered on board, still numb from the encounter with the crab-like creatures.
He'd never heard anything about such creatures in Greek mythology, but he supposed stories so old would not be all-encompassing. There might be a multitude of beasts never documented by the Greeks. Anything was possible.
The thought made him sick with dread.
The Sea Stallion powered up and lifted swiftly into the air, flying out over the ocean toward a distant aircraft carrier.
***
Control.
Colonel Sam Wilson thrived on it.
Since this entire episode had begun, he'd felt his command of the situation gradually slipping. Things were spiraling beyond his control.
Chuck Benedict was one of his closest friends - had been since they went through Hell Week in their marine training so many years ago.
Now he was gone.
He couldn't believe the Harrier pilot had dumped the Mark 77 bomb so close to their own people, especially the principal necessary for their mission to have any hope of success. If the man had used one ounce of common sense this entire situation could have been averted.
And Chuck would still be alive.
Colonel Wilson couldn't show any sort of weakness in front of his troops. He held a reputation as one of the coldest marines in the corps, but the sight of Chuck cooked in his own skin -
He savagely shook the image from his mind.
The colonel had been a part of the Marine Corps since his twenties. Twenty-one years of his life dedicated to one war or another, and Chuck had been with him almost every step of the way. Even in the face of everything currently going on, Chuck had been the first to raise his hand and volunteer to fight at his side.
Tours in Iraq, Afghanistan, and Israel hadn't come between them. Now a fucking moronic pilot had torn away the best friend he had ever known.
Snapping back to the present, Colonel Wilson glanced across the cabin of the Sea Stallion to where Talbot Harrison sat frozen, shock evident in his features. When they got through this thing, that guy would need some serious therapy.
If they survived.
The odds were definitely against them, and their hands were at least partially tied. The troops they could call upon were limited to those with Level 4 clearance and above, such was the delicacy of the issue. If word escaped to the media or general public, the ensuing panic would double the risk of catastrophe and stretch their already limited resources to the absolute brink.
The helicopter's blades chopped the air, drawing them steadily toward the colossal USS Ronald Reagan, a Nimitz-class aircraft carrier. He hoped it would have better luck in ferrying Doctor Harrison to his destination than the Arkhangelsk had, though considering the power of the hydra, he wasn't confident of their chances should it choose to return.
Colonel Wilson still couldn't believe what was going on. Damn General Sharpe! It had been his call to activate the machinery they'd located within the mysterious underwater city. But who could have predicted what would emerge?
Thomas Harrison, Talbot's brother, had strongly argued against the decision. He'd claimed to have discovered writings which bespoke the horrors to be released if the rift were to reopen, but the general had dismissed him, calling him a coward. General Sharpe wanted something from this entire episode, but Colonel Wilson couldn't ascertain whether it was power, glory... or perhaps a combination of both.
Something drove the general onwards when another, more cautious man might be compelled to stop. Colonel Wilson suspected he wanted his name attached to other military greats. The man's megalomania had made him a fool, and the planet would end up paying for it.
The USS Ronald Reagan loomed closer. Within moments the CH-53D Sea Stallion touched down and they disembarked. Debriefing with Lieutenant-General Walsh would not be painless - the entire mission thus far had been a disaster - but it was something he couldn't avoid.
Directing Doctor Harrison to follow him, they marched down various sets of steep metal stairs and through a veritable labyrinth of narrow corridors toward the lieutenant-general's quarters. Arriving at the door, he swiftly knocked and opened it at a barked command from the other side.
***
Talbot sat through the entire helicopter journey with his mind shrouded in a gray haze. Nobody had ever sacrificed anything for him, and now a man, a good man, had sacrificed his life to ensure Talbot's safety. He didn't know what to feel.
Strangely, anger seemed the closest emotion he could summon. Why was he being made to feel guilty over another man's demise? He'd never asked for it, and he certainly hadn't wanted it, even though it had saved his own life.
Guilt followed closely on the heels of Talbot's self-righteous anger. The screams of Captain Benedict had been truly horrific. They still rang in his ears. And yet the man had held on, protecting him beyond his last breath. Luckily they had been on the absolute edge of the conflagration; otherwise Talbot would have been torched as well, dying as horribly as Chuck Benedict.
His clothes still carried the scent of burning flesh.
Talbot thought his life couldn't possibly be so important as to cause another to sacrifice himself, but Chuck had, and now Talbot had to live up to that debt. He had to fulfill the purpose which the marine had died to safeguard.
As they descended a set of stairs on the aircraft carrier, a new sensation consumed Talbot: determination. He was determined not to fail the man who had died to protect him. He'd see this thing out to its bitter end, and stop whining about how unfair the entire situation was. He needed to focus on how to stop it from getting any worse.
Seeming to shrug a great weight off from his shoulders, Talbot drew himself to his full height. No longer weighed down by the doubts and troubles he'd burdened himself with, he felt strangely fresh, and a small smile crept onto his lips.
He paused behind Colonel Wilson when he knocked on the cabin door and heard Lieutenant General Walsh's reply for them to enter. The colonel began to open the door, and suddenly panic flared in Talbot's heart. Something was wrong. Fighting the impulse to run, he followed Colonel Wilson into the room and watched him close the door behind them. Talbot's gaze flickered around the room, searching fervently. Nothing seemed amiss.
Then his eyes met those of the lieutenant general, and his heart missed a beat. He appeared as he had in their previous meeting, but something was subtly different, something which sent chills down Talbot's spine, though he had no idea why.
"So," began the lieutenant general, "this is the famous Doctor Harrison. It's a pleasure to finally meet you." He extended his hand, and Talbot instinctively stepped back.
"Sir," interrupted Colonel Wilson. "You've already met the doctor, back at Base Bravo."
Lieutenant General Walsh swiftly dropped his hand. "Oh yes, of course."
Colonel Wilson's eyes narrowed slightly. "I'm here to make my report, sir," he said briskly.
"Don't worry about that." The lieutenant general's eyes never strayed from Talbot, an expression not unlike intense desire flickering across his features. Talbot retreated another step and felt something squish under his tennis shoe. Glancing down he saw what it was.
A finger....
Still boasting a decorative wedding band. Exactly the same wedding band Lieutenant General Walsh had worn on his left hand. Talbot's gaze shot back to the lieutenant general, who glanced down at the finger, grinning maliciously.
"He was particularly messy; I thought I'd gotten all the little parts," he declared coldly. His eyes became lidless, and the sockets filled with swirling, black, smoky orbs. "Obviously not."
BOOM!
The head of the creature in the lieutenant general's guise snapped back as the bullet from Colonel Wilson's Desert Eagle impacted its cheek. The colonel grabbed Talbot
by the arm, shoving him through the door and slamming it behind them, shunting him toward the stairs leading back up to the deck.
"Where are we going?" shouted Talbot.
"We have to get to the DSV," replied the colonel, taking the lead. He paused momentarily to slam shut a watertight bulkhead door, glancing around hurriedly, grabbing a fire-extinguisher and jamming the locking wheel.
Talbot had heard of DSVs. Deep Submergence Vehicles. They were used primarily by the United States Navy: self-propelled subs designed for extremely deep ocean exploration and recovery.
But what it really meant was they had a chance for escape. The thought spurred him forward. Talbot sprinted behind the colonel, his pulse pounding in his ears, his breath gasping.
The two burst onto the deck into a scene of carnage. Bodies were strewn across the entire landing deck of the carrier. Crew members stood frozen bearing expressions of mute terror, some shouldering weapons aimed at their killer. Standing in their midst was something horrific.
"Don't look at it!" hissed the colonel, whipping Talbot around and pulling him behind a bulkhead before the creature turned toward them.
Talbot had caught only a glimpse of the creature, but it appeared perhaps nine feet tall, a cadaverous human torso tapering into the thick body of a serpent. Snakes whipped from the top of its head as it peered around for more victims. Talbot hadn't seen the face.
"What is it?" whispered Talbot.
"It's a gorgon," answered the colonel. "I've encountered one before, possibly the same as this one. If you gaze at its face, your entire body succumbs to intense rigor mortis. Victims die in incredible agony after several hours."
Talbot knew all about gorgons, and could only blame his panic for not recognizing the creature. Gorgons had dominated his nightmares as a child after he'd watched a movie featuring Medusa. Only three sister gorgons were mentioned in Greek mythology, but Talbot guessed they could be as common in their own realm as dogs were in this one.
He racked his brain. How had the hero in the movie defeated Medusa?
Finally it came to him.
"Colonel, do you have a mirror?" asked Talbot.
The marine frowned. "I don't usually carry my beauty kit in the field, Doctor."
"We need a damn mirror," snapped Talbot, "not stupid jokes. Where can we get one?"
The colonel seemed taken aback by his authoritative tone. Moving swiftly into the corridor they'd emerged from, he opened a door to a toilet - complete with wall mirror. Removing a folding knife from its sheathe at his hip, Colonel Wilson carefully pried the mirror from the wall and handed it to Talbot.
A demonic howl pierced the stairwell they'd just ascended. "I think that thing posing as the general has somehow recovered," mused the colonel darkly.
Talbot took the mirror and crept back to the bulkhead, angling the reflection so as to focus on the beast prowling the deck. It was moving now, slowly searching the area for any who might have escaped. It twisted around, its face turning toward him -
Talbot froze.
Every muscle in his body seized up so painfully he thought they would all snap. The mirror clattered to the deck, but he didn't notice. The agony was so intense he tried to cry out, but found himself unable to. Nothing moved. Everything screamed.
Pushing aside the pain with effort, Talbot focused on a tiny movement. He tried to blink. After what seemed an eon, his left eyelid fluttered down. It was like breaking a dam. Movement rushed back into his body, and he almost screamed with relief, catching himself at the last moment.
The entire episode had only lasted moments, and the colonel hadn't even noticed, but to Talbot it had felt like eternity. Luckily, the power of the gorgon's gaze seemed weakened by the reflection, but Talbot still didn't want to risk such torture again.
Another unearthly roar sounded from behind them, down the stairwell, but closer this time. "We need another plan," gasped Talbot. "How far is the DSV?" he asked.
"It's almost directly across the deck. We just have to get past that thing and we're away."
Howling echoed up the stairs. Whatever Colonel Wilson had shot in the face was now past the watertight door; they only had moments before it caught them.
"To Hell with it," snapped Talbot. "Run! Just don't look at the gorgon."
He bolted from his position of cover toward where he hoped the DSV was, the pounding footsteps of the colonel right behind him. From the corner of his eye he saw the gorgon spin around and pounce toward them, moving with terrifying speed.
It was going to be close.
Actually, they were going to lose. Talbot realized it as they reached the halfway point across the deck. There was no way they could outrun this beast; it was just too fast, too -
KABOOM!!!
The explosion rocked Talbot forward onto his toes, actually propelling him faster than his struggling feet could move as they sought to keep pace with his flailing body. But he didn't look back. Regaining his footing, he ducked between two Harrier Jump-Jets and spied the DSV hanging from two huge winches.
God, he hoped they could lower the sub from inside.
Scrambling through the open hatch, Talbot glanced back to see Colonel Wilson limping across the last span of deck, a long shard of steel embedded in his calf. Scrambling back, Talbot grabbed the colonel, wrapping the marine's left arm across his shoulders and half-dragging him over to the sub. Talbot swiftly turned and saw the gorgon slowly rising from the deck, but snatched his gaze away before it faced him.
"Get inside," grunted the colonel. Talbot needed no further prompting.
The DSV was shaped similar to a normal submarine, but on a vastly smaller scale. The one they were now in stretched maybe twenty five feet, spanning roughly eight feet across. The outer hull was constructed of super-strengthened steel, a small conning tower situated near the bow. The DSV had no windows or portholes, but Talbot had spied several cameras on the outer hull before he pulled the hatch shut and secured it.
Colonel Wilson hobbled to the cockpit and hit several switches, powering up the vessel. "Hold on to something," he called out to Talbot. "This is going to be rough."
Talbot gripped a nearby railing just as the craft dropped, crashing heavily into the water. The colonel punched several more switches, and Talbot felt the craft power forward before angling slightly down, diving beneath the waves of the North Atlantic Ocean.
"I need your help," grunted Colonel Wilson, his face pale. "Get me that first aid kit over by the ladder."
Talbot spied the kit and grabbed it before sitting in the secondary command chair in the cockpit, gazing down at the six-inch sliver of metal protruding from the colonel's calf.
"What happened?" Talbot asked, opening up the kit.
Colonel Wilson winced as Talbot probed the area, gritting his teeth against the pain. "That thing was gaining on us, so I shot one of the fuel drums on the deck just as it passed it. Unfortunately I copped this as a result."
Talbot probed the area once more, checking to see if any major arteries had been pierced. He only had basic first aid training, and nothing in his life had prepared him for this.
"You're going to have to just pull it out," hissed the colonel from between gritted teeth. "You're not supposed to, but we don't have the tools to remove it safely, and if we don't stop the hemorrhaging, I'll bleed to death in the time it'll take for us to get help. Just pull it straight out and try not to cut the flesh to either side. Once it's out, get a compress on the wound straight away before I -" He cut off, grabbing a nearby bucket and retching into it. Shock was obviously setting in.
"I - I can't do that," whispered Talbot.
"You have to or I'll die."
The memory of Captain Benedict flashed into Talbot's mind. Nobody else was going to die for him.
"What do I have to do again?"
The colonel drew a deep breath and repeated his instructions.
Talbot didn't like the sound of it, but he had little option. Colonel Wilson twisted around slightly to reach t
he sub's controls, flicking a few buttons and keying something into the onboard computer. The sub now travelled smoothly through the ocean under its own control, heading for whatever destination the colonel had programmed in.
Preparing a thick gauze patch for a compress, Talbot peered around, grabbing a pair of pliers off a nearby shelf. He sucked in a huge gulp of air, summoning courage for the task in front of him. He glanced at the colonel, who gritted his teeth and nodded.
Gripping the shard of metal, Talbot pulled... and nothing happened! The suction around the wound would not release it without....
"This is going to hurt a lot," he cautioned. Colonel Wilson merely nodded, sweat running down his brow, his skin ghostly.
Talbot twisted the metal within the wound, opening a gap in the skin to allow some air in. Blood spurted and Colonel Wilson screamed.
"Come on, you bitch," grunted Talbot.
The steel shard finally drew clear of the wound, and Talbot grabbed the compress, instantly pressing it firmly against the wound. The blood was oozing, not spraying, and thus Talbot guessed the metal had missed any critical arteries. But Colonel Wilson could still bleed to death or die from shock.
Talbot secured the thick compress with surgical tape and guided the colonel back to the single cot bed, supporting his weight as he clambered into it.
"We're on course... for Atlantis," gasped the colonel between clenched teeth. "They'll contact... soon. Tell them... who... you are. Wes will be there to take over.... I don't know why... the general didn't use him... from the start. I swear that guy's... not human. He wouldn't have gotten hurt... not like this."
