Stories by Kiera Dellacroix

by Dellacroix, Kiera

Several sets of eyes strayed to the man contemptuously.

  "Rigor Mortis," Corky said.

  "Excuse me, Doctor?" McNeely asked.

  "They're moving faster because Rigor Mortis is wearing off," she explained. "It must take a while for everything to loosen up again."

  "They're planning now too," Reynolds added. "They must've decided an all out assault was too costly. They ambushed us this time."

  "Fantastic," Watkins murmured. "Maybe we should just surrender."

  "Watkins," Alvarez growled.

  --------

  Malory sealed the tunnel door and again reentered the complex, spending a moment studying the carnage from her earlier encounter with Coy. There was a remarkable amount blood coloring the inside of the tunnel for several feet but no sign of a body, the red standing out dominantly against the white of the ice walls.

  Carefully, she moved forward several feet until she could poke her head through the missing floor panels, her eyes landing happily on her discarded shotgun. She pulled herself up into the hall with a series of painful grunts and made a beeline for the weapon, snatching it up with a grin.

  She loaded the weapon to capacity and chambered a round. "Groovy."

  Moving cautiously forward, she padded down the hall as silently as she could, coming to a gradual halt when she turned a corner and spotted a slowly moving body several yards ahead. Coy was pulling himself down the hall with his hands, the stump of his leg keeping him from walking.

  Malory closed in on him from behind, a little surprised that he was unaware of her presence. As she came to within a few feet, she could see that his leg had clotted and looking closer, took note of the worms working their way in and out of the flesh industriously. Laboring diligently to keep the tissue they resided in functional.

  She took careful aim. "Hey," she said amiably. "What's that on your face?"

  Coy's head snapped around to capture her with a single eye, most of his head and face missing. He spun wildly on the floor, using his hands in a flurry of motion to thrust himself towards her.

  The blast dissolved what was left of his head in a crimson squall and the headless body contorted viciously around on the floor. Eight rounds later, she mechanically reloaded the shotgun and carefully stepped around the ruined pulp on the floor to continue her journey down the hall, humming softly.

  Eventually, she arrived at her quarters and she opened the door cautiously, a cruel blue gaze scanning the interior carefully. Satisfied that no one was lurking, she entered her office and, shotgun poised at the ready, flung open the door to her room. Her eyes immediately tracked to Little Lovecraft's severed head and she snarled in fury, bending to pick it up and glancing around angrily in search of the rest of her doll. She found the body under the cot and gently put the two pieces of her beloved companion on top of her footlocker.

  "Bastards," she hissed.

  With a livid sigh, she rose to strip off her rifle and bandolier; setting the shotgun on her cot so she could carefully pull on a sweatshirt. Once she had it on, and after several sharp gasps of pain as the shirt made contact with her nose and she forced her wounded arm through the sleeves, she pulled a belt from her closet. The belt became a sling as she strapped it around her waist, trapping her left arm inside the loop and snugly tightening the limb to her side.

  Feeling considerably better, she reclaimed her weapons and walked back into her office, pausing at the door to snatch her sombrero from its hook before stepping into the hall.

  IV

  Tension thickly saturated the interior of the lab as Percy relentlessly continued to calmly punch numbers into the keypad. Anxiety rising sharply and then falling off minimally every time the entry light flashed red, denying him access.

  "We're gonna have to let him in," McNeely said resignedly. "We can't just sit here and wait for him to chance upon the right code and we should do it before one of his friends show up."

  "We'll need some bait," Alvarez said. "I suggest someone expendable and therefore nominate Watkins."

  "I second that," Ring said quickly and hesitant chuckles sounded off around the room.

  "Fuck all of you," Watkins said. "I'm not moving from this spot."

  "Knock it off," McNeely chided, shooting a glare around the room and then smiling slyly. "Besides, with any luck it'll go for him first."

  The resulting snickers turned quickly into nervous laughter and even Corky joined in. The echo of a gunshot penetrated their moment of mirth and the laughter subsided swiftly. Eight more reports sounded off in quick succession and then silence reigned again.

  "That's got to be the Commander," Alvarez said.

  "I know it is," Corky said.

  "Did those rounds sound any closer?" McNeely asked.

  "Hard to tell inside, but they seemed louder," Hanson replied.

  "It didn't seem to bother our friend out there," Reynolds pointed out.

  Indeed, Percy hadn't paused in his mission and continued to persistently key numbers into the door.

  "Could they be using weapons out there to break the seals on the doors?" Lenard asked.

  "We don't have a weapon in inventory that could break the seal on those doors," Reynolds answered.

  "Could any of our weapons break through this glass?" Lenard asked, gesturing to the transparent partition separating them from the foyer.

  The Chief looked at the glass thoughtfully. "I seriously doubt it."

  "But you're not sure?"

  "There's a slim chance that concentrated fire could weaken it, why do you ask?"

  "Not to rain on anyone's parade but the chances of Lovecraft being still among the living is remarkably slim," Lenard said. "These things have shown signs of astonishing intelligence, perhaps they're experimenting."

  "Malory is alive," Corky said.

  "I hope so, Doctor," Lenard said. "But we should be prepared for just about anything at this stage."

  "Well, gee," Watkins muttered. "The thought of those things with weapons gives me a warm fuzzy."

  "Watkins," McNeely rumbled. "If we didn't need the extra gun so badly I'd feed you to those things myself. Do yourself the favor of remaining quiet unless you have something productive to add."

  Watkins rolled his eyes, falling back against the wall heavily and McNeely eyed him carefully for a long moment.

  "Sergeant Major," Lenard said. "You said we have some explosives. Could they use those to penetrate the room?"

  "Yes," McNeely answered. "But to use them requires a knowledge I would assume no one else has, except for myself and possibly Mr. Alvarez," he added with a look at the Tech Sergeant, receiving a nod of confirmation.

  "Even the Commander?" Lenard asked.

  McNeely paused. "Possible but doubtful."

  "Have any of you considered the notion that if Lovecraft is one of those things," Watkins began condescendingly, "she has the knowledge to effectively destroy us all? She could walk right up and open this door or bring the entire complex out of lockdown."

  "Malory is not one of those things," Corky growled.

  McNeely shared a look with Reynolds and nodded.

  Corky cast wary eyes on both of them. "What are you doing?"

  "Doctor," McNeely sighed. "Unfortunately, Watkins has a point. We have to, at the very least, change the door codes again."

  "No!" she protested. "She won't be able to get back in."

  "That's the whole point," Watkins said.

  "She is not one of those things!" Corky insisted. "She's out there fighting them, you've all heard the shots!"

  "Doctor, if she falls," McNeely said. "She could endanger us all."

  "You don't know anything!" Corky yelled. "She would kill herself to keep from being taken by those things!"

  "That, is unarguably true, Dr. Rivers," McNeely agreed. "But even if she were to do that, we've all seen the dead get up and walk."

  Corky opened her mouth to reply but ended up bringing a hand up to cover a sudden sob. She quickly turned away from everyone and faced the wall,
her shoulders hitching.

  McNeely watched her sadly for a moment and then turned to the Chief. "Do it."

  --------

  Malory walked boldly down the hall, making no attempt at stealth. Her emotions traveling back and forth between moments of bleak pain and vicious intent. She fought bravely through occasional bouts of wooziness that she knew were the results of internal bleeding. When she found her attention wandering, she hummed out loud in an effort to keep herself grounded, often softly singing the words to the few songs she remembered snippets from.

  Her steps came to a faltering halt as she rounded a corner and found the remains of several bodies in the distance. Lips twisted into a snarl and her shotgun came up in preparation as she advanced unwaveringly, noticing movement as she got closer to her destination.

  Jones was so intent on his meal that he was unaware of her approach until the last second. He raised his head from the grisly hole in Terrel's belly with an expression of morbid surprise, only to find the barrel of a shotgun three inches away from his face. A ravaged piece of meat fell from his mouth in shock as his eyes rose to meet a pair of blue almost as insane as his own.

  "Let me wash that down for you," she growled.

  Jones would've found the blast deafening if he had retained the necessary anatomy. Grim intent fueled the next eight rounds and Malory paid no attention to the blood that splattered her from indulging in the close range massacre. When the gun was empty, she casually shook the worms and tissue off of her boots as she reloaded the weapon.

  The sound of a footstep caught her attention and she turned to find Tanaka approaching stiffly from a few dozen yards away, one side of his head crushed in comically and the blood on his clothes still moist. She watched his advance indifferently as she chambered a round and inserted another shell to load the shotgun to full capacity.

  Another sound from behind alerted her to the presence of Dobson and she gloomily assessed her situation; she couldn't drop them both in time to prevent one from reaching her. It was going to have to be a running battle. She smiled.

  "You'll not see nothing like the mighty Quinn," she sang softly and turned to run in the direction of Tanaka, leveling her shotgun as she closed the distance.

  Her rate of movement and the one handed grip on the shotgun affected her accuracy but the consequences of the nine semiautomatic blasts were devastatingly effective. The last two especially as they removed Tanaka's head from the nose up, leaving him blind and flailing around aggressively.

  She didn't pause and ran the last few feet as fast as she could, screaming loudly in rage as she ducked her right shoulder and ran into him with all the strength she had available. The collision proved fruitful and Malory managed to knock him off his feet, but couldn't keep her balance as she bowled over him and fell painfully to the ground a few meters behind him, her shotgun skidding away from her.

  Her mind fought to overcome a powerful spell of nausea and she floundered several times in the attempt to regain her feet. As she fell to the floor on her third attempt, the impending blackness of unconsciousness threatened to take over and she struggled to stave it off.

  The struggle ended with an agonized rasp as she was lifted into the air by the belt that strapped her injured left arm to her side. Disorientated and helpless, she was manhandled roughly in the air until she abruptly found herself face to face with the demonic features of the late Dr. Dobson. A terrified power surged through her and she brought her good hand up to brutally claw into his eyes, digging in violently and tearing several nails off with the ferocity of her attack.

  One of his hands clamped around the back of her neck and she felt herself being drawn inexorably forward. She went into a Herculean frenzy of resistance, contorting madly in his grasp, screaming in fear as his mouth began to advance on her own.

  Suddenly, she went completely limp in his embrace and her head lolled backwards in apparent unconsciousness. An expression of macabre surprise crossed Dobson's ruined features and he paused in obvious curiosity, studying the limp form that lay helpless within his grasp.

  His remaining eye blinked when blue orbs snapped open and regarded him savagely as a cool and unyielding object made contact with the roof of his gaping mouth.

  "All sales are final," Malory rasped.

  The pointblank blast of the .45 scattered the back of Dobson's head all over the ceiling and Malory landed on wobbly legs as the grip on her was released. Wasting no time, she backed up a step and took careful aim, extinguishing what was left of his vision with another roar from the handgun. She emptied the remaining rounds into his head with precision, moving a step with each shot in the direction of her misplaced shotgun, kneeling to retrieve it when the pistol locked open empty.

  Keeping a careful eye on the sightless Dobson as he cavorted recklessly around the hallway, she reloaded the shotgun and chambered a round. "I hope like hell that you feel pain," she said hoarsely. "Because I really want this to hurt," she added, leveling the weapon and moving forward single-mindedly.

  --------

  Corky looked up sharply at the sound of gunshots and blew out a relieved breath. She refused to subscribe to any theory that suggested Malory wasn't the source of all the gunfire.

  McNeely rose to his feet and approached the door to the lab thoughtfully, leveling a hard stare on the vigorously determined Percy.

  "She's out there," Corky said. "Let that fucker in and blow him away so we can go help her," she added with a dismissive gesture in Percy's direction.

  "Fuck that," Watkins said. "If Lovecraft is alive, there's nothing we can do for the bitch."

  Several of the men rose to their feet angrily and Corky spun on her heel to level a homicidal glare in his direction. "You worthless, yellow pussy," she hissed, striding towards him dangerously and extending a hand. "Give me your rifle, you spineless shit."

  He clutched the weapon to his chest possessively. "Fuck off, you little queer. You ain't got the balls for it."

  The sound of several rifles cocking was startlingly loud and Watkins looked up to see every gun barrel in the room pointed at him steadily, the eyes behind shining blatantly with deadly intent.

  "Give her the weapon," McNeely rumbled. "Right now."

  Watkins froze, excruciatingly aware that the threat outside now paled in comparison to the danger immediately confronting him.

  "I said now," McNeely growled.

  He slowly extended the weapon in Corky's direction and she snatched it out of his hands. "Asshole," she hissed.

  "Chief, we're gonna need some more cable," McNeely said, still looking down the length of his gun barrel at Watkins. "And a chair," he added as an afterthought.

  "With pleasure, Sergeant Major," Reynolds said cheerfully, lowering his rifle and ambling out of the room with a purpose.

  Watkins eyes widened. "Wait a minute now. You can't…"

  "Shut the fuck up," McNeely said. "I can think of about twenty people I wish were here with us now instead of you."

  "That ain't no lie," Alvarez rumbled. "We lost some damn good men and I'd grease you myself right now if I thought it would bring any of them back."

  Reynolds walked back into the room guiding a rolling chair in front of him, which he shoved into Watkins knees. "Have a seat, Dr. Watkins."

  "You can't do…"

  His words were cut off by the impact of the Chief's backhand and a flurry of distinctly unkind hands forced him into the chair, binding him tightly in place.

  "Don't do this!" he screamed in panic.

  "Gag him," McNeely said and a few seconds later, Watkins was silenced. "Place him against the wall in full view of the door."

  Watkins whimpered helplessly through his gag as he was rolled into place, his eyes darting around fearfully.

  "Alright," McNeely said. "Form up, I'm going to let Percy in. If a stray round strikes Watkins, I'll consider it an accident."

  Alvarez and Reynolds turned slyly sinister smiles on the bound man.

  "Head and legs. Everyth
ing else is a waste of time," McNeely reminded.

  He looked around to receive nods of readiness and walked for the door, closing to within three feet before grinding to a surprised halt. His eyes riveted upon the instantly recognizable black sombrero as Malory stepped into the foyer and leveled a one handed shotgun at the back of Percy's head.

  "Malory!" Corky exclaimed.

  Percy turned as if perceiving a threat and the occupants inside the lab found themselves viewing a graphic portrait of blood, tissue, and bone as his head exploded onto the glass.

  The gore obscured the details of the resulting carnage as eight more rounds thundered through the room. At the last shot, McNeely overcame his paralysis and lunged forward to open the door.

  A tense moment later, Malory stepped in on shaky legs and attempted a weak smile in Corky's direction. "Hail to the Queen, baby," she rasped.

  Corky's hands came to her mouth in concern as she got a close look at her lover, not knowing what injury to start fussing over first. Both of her eyes were blackened impressively from an obviously broken nose, the bruises so large they melted into the previous contusions she had suffered. Her left arm was strapped tightly to her body with a belt and her complexion was a sickly pale, not to mention the blood covering her from head to toe.

  She took a hesitant step forward and then broke into a run as Malory's eyes rolled back and she began to collapse, saved from hitting the floor only by McNeely's quick embrace.

  The Sergeant lowered her gently to the floor and Corky fell to her knees beside her, hands flying over her body in diagnosis.

  "Get a stretcher," she ordered tersely a moment later. "She's in shock, we need to get her to Medical, right now."

  "DeSoto, Daly," McNeely barked. "On the double!"

  The men rushed from the room and McNeely turned to Hanson. "Burn that piece of shit," he said gesturing to Percy's quivering remains. "The rest of you gear up, let's make sure she got them all."

  Corky barely heard the commotion going on around her as she tried to professionally detach herself from Malory's injuries. She failed miserably and the tears fell from her eyes freely as she struggled to find a spot on her lover's body that wasn't beaten or bruised.