He sipped at his coffee and smoked another cigarette. He was happy to wait as long as was necessary – he had all the time in the world and he wasn’t going anywhere.
The monster finally appeared, a blurry smudge in the distance.
Slowly, but not as slowly as he would have thought, it grew both closer and more distinct. The old man laughed out loud; it looked like nothing more than a child’s drawing of something that might have been a lobster or might have been a spider or might have been both, propped up on flagpole-like legs that supported a wetly-shining carapace, a beaked head, and a tail as long as a bus.
It was enormous and ridiculous in equal measure. The old man was surprised to find that it failed to frighten him.
It drew closer to the city. It stopped suddenly and bit a great chunk out of a stately old tree lining a boulevard. Chewing slowly and methodically, it worked its way through the mass of wood and foliage before throwing its head back and opening its mouth wide. Despite his deafness, the old man felt the monster’s keening in his bones and in the pit of his stomach.
He pulled his hearing-aid from his pocket, turned it on then slipped it in place.
The beast’s cry was low and mournful, more a melancholy bellow than a ferocious roar. Thankfully, the klaxon-blare of the alarms had stopped. The monster cried out again and it shook the old man, both literally and metaphorically. The beast shifted its legs, presumably adjusting its weight and destroying an office building in the process.
Almost comically, it looked down at the destruction it had wrought and seemed to shake its head.
It looked back up and cried out a third time, and then started walking again. It seemed to meet the old man’s eye. Without breaking its gaze, the old man took another sip of his coffee before lighting another cigarette. Slowly-slowly-slowly, the monster drew closer.
You could almost see a smile on the old man’s face.
WAR
YEARS 6-10
In the Belly of the Beast
Up on the Hill
Out in the Bush
In the Belly of the Beast
Sal was in the belly of the beast; it was just her and the meat. To be precise, she was in the cabin of a machine called a digger, which was in the belly of the beast. As well, she couldn’t really see much, the digger’s windscreen armoured and then shuttered to protect her.
Inside the cabin, the noise of the digger was incredible, a grinding-tearing roar that would match those of the beasts themselves. Sal was glad she had earplugs.
She consulted the sat-nav; the digger basically drove itself, the tech team operating it by remote control. All she really had to do was point it in the right direction occasionally and take over if anything went wrong. This part of the job was remarkably easy, and looked like nothing more than someone just pushing buttons on a control panel. From the outside, however, her situation was nightmarish: the operator of a mechanical eating machine, all spinning blades, whirring teeth and gnashing jaws, tunnelling through a mountain of flesh.
She was incredibly conscious of the immense weight of the dead beast bearing down on her and the digger.
A light flashed on the dashboard: an incoming message. Sal removed one of her earplugs. “You alright there?” asked a voice, its owner unidentifiable thanks to the crackle-hiss of the radio.
“All good.”
“How’s your air?”
She took a deep breath. The canned-air pumped into the cabin tasted sweet, pure. She checked the readings: green lights all the way.
“All good.”
“Okay. You’re nearly there, you know what to do.”
“I’m on it.”
Their exchange was perfunctory; their questions and answers, their phrases and replies and acknowledgements, all whittled down to a minimum. She and her team had have been together long enough; they didn’t need to waste any words, to blather on, to push against the dark, to fill the void with long winded responses and chit-chat.
They kept their heads down. They got on with it.
Sal consulted the sat-nav again. The wall to the “chamber” was close: a space that the tech team had identified by x-ray, an empty space in the middle of a monster, devoid of chemicals, stomach acid, blood vessels, air sacks or arteries. It was just the place to test their newest “toy.”
Of course, the science behind it was basically educated guesswork. It was still pretty new, after all.
An alarm sounded. “Approaching exit point,” she said into the radio.
“Copy that. We’ll take it from here.”
The digger shuddered as the tech-team took full control, slowing it down and activating all manner of sensors and scanners.
“Buckle up, Sal.”
“Got it.”
She did so. With a wet sound that should really have been a “pop” but was more like a “plop,” the digger finally chewed through the wall. Awkwardly and heavily, it came to a halt in the middle of a vast empty space the size of a football oval or a car-park, that was at least fifty metres high. The digger’s blades, teeth and jaws started to fall still, throwing off a mist of blood and mucky fluid. The shutters protecting the digger’s windscreen retracted and the digger’s lighting system came online.
Sal waited as air rushed past the digger, the gasses trapped inside the beast’s body suddenly freed. She looked out at the belly of the beast. It was just like any other, really - weird purple-blue meat everywhere.
“All clear, I’m reading nothing but O2,” a voice said over the radio.
“No worries.”
Sal unbuckled and wormed her way out of the cabin, clambering down to what you would probably call the “floor.” The tech team hadn’t determined what it was. Muscle? Sinew? Bone? The sheath of some strange organ? Whichever it was, it was hard, unyielding and bright yellow. Sal had expected something soft, something with some squish to it. But no.
Under her breath, she muttered her crew’s motto: we’re not here to think.
She crouched down, stroking the floor. It was stiff and leathery, dry to the touch, no slime, blood or fluid glistening on her gloves. She returned to the tunnel she had bored. At the far end, a bright block of sunlight, the blurred silhouettes of the rest of the crew the only break in the glare. Sal reached into the tunnel and stroked the wall – it was stiff and leathery as well, the meat cauterised by the heat of the digger.
“Clear,” she yelled.
“Here we come.”
The crew entered the tunnel, walking in single file, each member pushing a trolley laden with equipment or the crates that the tech team had given them. She greeted them all by name as they exited the tunnel and offloaded their gear. It wasn’t courtesy or politeness that made her do this – she was taking a roll-call, so to speak, and checking their equipment against a list in her head.
Satisfied, she nodded to herself. “Gather round,” she said, although there was really no need, they were already looking at her.
And what a sight they were: tattoos, shaven heads and matted dreads; studs and piercings or a combination of both; heavy boots, thick coveralls, dust masks, hardhats; bandannas, badges, buttons, stripes.
A voice from Sal’s radio broke her brief reverie. “Rabbit One, are you there? Over.”
She groaned aloud. It was the tech team. “Fucking nerds,” she muttered, using her favourite derogatory nickname.
“I repeat: Rabbit One, are you there? Come in, Rabbit One. Over.”
She groaned again, hating how much the tech team enjoyed playing solider. But technically, they were the ones in charge…
“Yeah, I’m here. What’s up?”
“We need you back at base, Rabbit One. Over.”
“I’ll be there in a minute.”
Someone laughed. Someone made the bok-bok-bok sound of a chicken. She looked over at her crew, scanning their faces, but they were all avoiding her eye, their expressions butter-wouldn’t-melt innocent. She encouraged a bit of banter; there were no pretensions on her watch; she never lord
ed it over them. Somehow, they always found the perfect moments to get under her skin.
“You all know what to do,” she said to them, stern and short. “Any questions?”
The new girl raised her hand.
“What is it, Newbie?”
“I’ll need a hand getting the lights up. With a space like this, I can’t do it alone.”
“Right. You get a start on them, I’ll help out when I get back – it’s time to talk to the nerds.”
They all had a laugh at this, but Sal wasn’t in the mood. “Knock it off. You know that they have to be there, and you know that I don’t like it either. But that’s just how it is.”
No one replied. They all knew better.
“Now get to work.”
***
Sal stepped into the tunnel she had bored and slowly made her way outside. Once again, she was incredibly aware of the beast’s bulk bearing down on her. She shook it off and picked up her pace.
Outside, she paused for a moment to take in the ruin: a rubble-strewn street littered with abandoned cars, with overturned cars, with cars that had been squashed flat. Collapsed buildings lined the street, a mess of jutting steel, shattered glass, broken brick and cracked concrete, each one marred with gaping holes caused by teeth and claws, by missiles and rockets. The smell of petrol and rot drifted on the wind. Birds called, radios occasionally crackled, instructions and orders being passed back and forth. Even though Sal couldn’t see them, she knew that there were soldiers nearby, cordoning off the block, keeping at bay.
A little piece of her heart broke, seeing her hometown reduced to such wreckage.
“Ah, Rabbit One, you made it,” one of the tech team called, emerging from a field-hut sitting in the shadow of the beast’s body.
Sal met his gaze, trying to identify him. The name wouldn’t come. She approached him, met his gaze, looked at him steadily, letting him know that she was no one’s flunky. He looked away, abashed, and waited outside the hut, his hands in his pockets. Even at a distance, Sal could see that he was sweating profusely, his shirt pasted to his body, the underarms of his white lab-coat stained yellow.
Sal snatched a look at the beast. It was just an immense grey-green wall of leathery skin, too big to properly comprehend.
“Rabbit One, it’s nice to see you,” the member of the tech team said when Sal finally pulled up next to him.
Sal stared at him for a second. The name finally came. “It’s Tim, right?”
“That’s it.”
“Right. Okay, Tim. First up, please, just call me Sal. Not Rabbit One or Miss Frost. Okay?”
Tim rubbed his almost-bald head and looked a bit embarrassed. “Sorry.”
“You’re ‘right. Now, what’s up?”
Her curtness wasn’t meant as rudeness. It wasn’t that she had a specific problem with the tech team. They had to work together, after all, one supporting the other. But when she and her crew were getting their hands dirty, Sal wished that they would just get out of the way.
“The boss wants to talk to you,” Tim said.
“Why? We’re kind of in the middle of something…”
“Please, Miss Frost.”
Sal glared at him, annoyed at his slip of the tongue. And she then let it go as he stood aside, waving at the field-hut.
“This had better be quick, we’ve got a lot of work to do.”
“It won’t take long. Sorry for the inconvenience, we know you’re busy.”
Sal entered the hut; Tim didn’t follow. As always, Sal was taken aback by the style of the tech team’s field HQ. And no wonder: “undergraduate” was probably the best word for it. Or, perhaps: “arrested development.” Band posters adorned the walls, as well as Van Gogh and Dali prints and a tatty reproduction of The Scream; rows of shelves heaved with not just scientific equipment and biological specimens, but also plastic dinosaurs, toy soldiers, troll-dolls, action figures and retro knick-knacks; a pair of plastic pink flamingos occupied one corner, crowded alongside a piñata shaped like a cactus and a mannequin dressed as a Hula girl.
Sitting at a desk set before a wall that split the hut in two, was Jules, the tech team’s leader. She was leaning back in her chair, her feet up on the desk. The only things in the room that betrayed its function as a workshop and a laboratory were the white coat that Jules was wearing, and the heaving shelves of equipment and specimens.
“Please, take a seat,” Jules said.
“I’d rather stand – I’ve got to be quick.”
“Oh, right. Okay. So, Rabbit One…”
Sal groaned aloud, a mix of displeasure and frustration.
“Sorry, of course. So, Sal…” Jules dragged her name out, “…how’s it going in there?”
Sal shook her head. She let her impatience show. “How would I know? I’m here talking to you, aren’t I? It’s my crew that are getting their hands dirty.” She made a show of checking her watch. “So, what’s up?”
“Sorry.” Jules fidgeted a little, tidying the papers in front of her. She fidgeted some more, looking everywhere except at Sal.
Sal set her frustration free. “For fuck’s sake, Jules, what’s going on?”
Jules finally got up from behind her desk. She trudged across the room, checked that the door was locked, turned back.
“We got some news, while you were in the digger.”
News is always bad.
“What?”
“Last week in France, they brought a UBO down in Paris. They followed protocol – they waited five days, and then sent in a clean-up crew. Only an hour or so ago, while the crew were still breaking it down, another UBO showed up and ate what was left of the first one.”
Sal’s eyes widened. For an instant, she felt lightheaded. She imagined that her heart just skipped a beat. “What about the workers?” she asked, trying hard to keep her voice steady.
“They, uh, they didn’t make it. It was a mess, the city still in ruins, survivors still trapped.”
Sal didn’t really know what to say, and so she just let her mouth fall open in a capital-O of shock. Jules took her shock and horror as a sign that she hadn’t understood a word that she’d said.
“So be ready to drop everything and just run. You got that?”
“You’re keeping an eye out?” Sal asked.
“You bet.”
“Jesus Christ, how worse can things get?” Sal muttered.
“I hear that.”
For a moment, Sal almost let herself fall down this new rabbit-hole of horror. Two beasts within days of each other? She shook her head, refusing to believe it. But, being a sunny pessimist, her nature soon got the better of her and she shrugged, telling herself that if they were fucked, well, that was just the way it was meant to be. And if they weren’t, someone had to take care of the dead beast.
Besides, what else could she do? Pack up the crew and turn tail? This news would spread like a bushfire; the streets would be chaos.
“Thanks for the heads-up, Jules. You just make sure that these new reagents you and Johnno cooked up work, okay?”
“They’ll work, Sal. They’ll turn that fucking thing into so much soup…”
“I’ll keep you posted, then.”
Jules frowned. “Just be careful, Sal.”
“You got it.”
***
Sal saw the ruined streets and the collapsed buildings of the stricken city. She saw the looming bulk of the dead beast. She saw the changed world that it represented. But she didn’t really see these things – the tech team’s warning fresh in her mind, her thoughts had now turned to her crew working away inside the beast. Unable to stop herself, she kept trying to predict how they would take the tech team’s news, ran through multiple scenarios as she crafted a feasible exit strategy that would keep them safe, and couldn’t help wondering when another beast would show up to feast on its kin. Somehow, she knew in her gut that another beast showing up was a “when,” not an “if.”
Although she knew she was being ridic
ulous, she kept looking over her shoulder, as if this second beast might appear without warning.
She finally stepped into the tunnel. She regained some focus. The crew had been busy in her absence – prefabricated steel tracks were already fixed to the tunnel floor, six-inch screws digging deep into the beast’s flesh. Strings of halogens lights hung on the tunnel walls, bathing everything in a cold-blue glow. Sal hurried on, drawn by the sharp bang-crash of equipment being assembled and empty crates being thrown aside, and by the electric whine and roar of tools in use, and by raised voices instructing and offering help and joking around.
Drawn by the beautifully discordant music of industry, she stepped into the belly of the beast. She looked around and smiled. Everyone was busy. No one stopped what they were doing and approached her to say hi. Only a couple of them even looked up, and only one of them waved a hello. She had trained them well…
She made her way through the cavernous space, weaving through the knots and whirls of her crew at work. Some were going it alone, some were in teams. Sal stopped and greeted them all, making sure that she wasn’t in their way, answering any questions they had before then asking her own questions in turn.
When she spotted the newbie struggling with a set of lights, she finally stopped her rounds.
Despite the size of the lights, the newbie had done well, managing to erect four sets all on her own and giving the crew enough light to work by. The newbie caught Sal staring, caught Sal’s smile. She suddenly looked proud of herself. And so she should, Sal thought – those lights are really fucking heavy…
“Good job, Newbie,” Sal said. “But don’t worry about the rest – I’ve got an announcement to make first. You just, I don’t know, take five.”
“Okay, Miss.”
Sal looked at her hard, her smile disappearing in an instant. “Don’t ever call me that.”
We Call It Monster Page 6
