by David Wood
“Where are we?” Larsen shouted at her. “What the hell is happening here?” Without waiting for an answer, he turned away from her, raised questioning hands at Olsen and Jensen.
“You think I know?” Olsen said. “There is nothing natural about any of this and the sooner we get out the better.”
“I don’t know the way!” Larsen’s voice was cracked, his mind close to snapping right behind it.
Olsen gestured towards Slater. “So get back to convincing her. She’s the only one who knows. Or claims to know, at least.”
“We don’t know!” Syed said, pushing up close to Slater. “But maybe together we can find our way.” She looked Slater. “I don’t think we should stay here, at least. This place can’t be safe.”
Slater was inclined to agree with that, then something caught her eye. In the distance, waist deep in the shallows of the impossibly glittering sea, she saw a figure. He was holding aloft something that shined a brighter green than anything else around him.
“Who’s that?” she called out, pointing.
The others squinted into the distance, shielding their eyes against mist and the brightness emanating from whatever was being held up.
“Is that O’Donnell?” Larsen asked.
The mist grew thicker, obscuring the figure. Writhing closer and higher, like a thing with a conscious will. As it began to obscure anything in the distance, including the man in the water, Slater looked back the other way, towards the high ledge of rock. She startled, realized someone was dashing toward them. No, more than someone. Three people, two in front, one lagging a little behind. They seemed to be carrying spears. But a grin split her face at the first bit of good news in a long time. It was Aston and Tate in front, Jen Galicia, face set in grim determination, following doggedly behind. Her heart lurched, she raised a hand to acknowledge them, but the mist thickened more than ever and obscured them all. Surely they had seen her, they must have. They were running right towards her.
But that meant they were running right at the armed mercs too. She turned back and realized the fog had become so thick she could barely see Larsen only a few feet from her. He and the other mercs still seemed to stare off towards Digby O’Donnell, all three taking a step toward the man as the mist closed around them, hiding everything from view. She grabbed Syed by the wrist, whispered, “Come on!” and took off at a run toward Aston.
39
Alex Wong sat with his staff, lamenting his life choices. Whatever had led to all this, he questioned if it was worth the paycheck. But, he consoled himself, these burly, heavily armed mercenaries had assured him and his staff that as long as they all sat quietly, no harm would come to them. He had to believe that. They would apparently be shipped off Antarctica and back to civilization soon if they behaved themselves. So far, the mercs had done nothing to dissuade him of the truth of it. So they just had to wait. He could do that.
Priya Yardley lay on one couch, sleeping fitfully, her face swollen and bruised. On the next couch lay a man called Tom Shelton, his cheek split open and patched now with a band-aid. Apparently he had tried to act like a hero when the mercs had swept in and one had floored him with the butt of a rifle. At least the fool hero hadn’t been shot. Tom’s boyfriend sat on the floor beside the couch where Tom lay, one hand gently stroking the injured man’s hair. On the plus side, between them Priya and Tom presented an ever-present warning that these guys weren’t mucking around. Quick and dangerous violence lay in wait for anyone stupid enough to try to stand up to them now. Perhaps a few hours of boredom wasn’t so bad. All the time things were dull, it meant no one was getting hurt. Alex knew well the old curse, May you live in interesting times. He had had more than enough of interesting and longed for the tedious monotony of base life again.
Just a few hours, they had promised. Or would it be longer? Alex thought about the first team that had gone down and never come back. Then the second team had been sent and no word had come from them until these mercenaries arrived. Were they lost too? Although Anders Larsen had come back then returned underground with the other squad of mercs. So perhaps it wasn’t that people were lost down there, but detained for some other reason. He didn’t like to consider what that reason might be. Maybe now they were all gone, dead somehow, and only the people in this room were left alive anywhere in the region. If Larsen and the other mercs didn’t come back up, how long would they wait here before deciding it was time to go?
“Hey,” he said, addressing a curly-haired merc called Hagen who seemed to be in charge of the other two soldiers left behind.
“What?”
“How long are you going to wait? Like, what are your orders if they don’t come back?”
Hagen frowned, a slow, dull thing. “Why wouldn’t they come back?”
Alex smiled inwardly, but kept his face neutral. “You haven’t heard?”
“About what?”
“An entire scientific expedition was lost in those caverns. They went down and never came back. This team is the second, sent down to find them.”
“What?”
The three newcomers exchanged nervous looks. Alex couldn’t help easing his boredom by playing with them like this, but his question was genuine. “So do you have orders for if they don’t return?”
Hagen shook his head. “No. We’re expecting them back any time now.”
“And if they’re not?”
A new tension had risen in the room, boredom turned to frightened attention.
Hagen started to speak again, but was interrupted by one of his squad. “Sir, what was that?”
Hagen turned. “What was what?”
“I heard something.” The man, tall and angular with ash blond hair, moved nearer to the wall at the end of the lounge room where he had been leaning against a table.
“What did you hear?”
“Kind of a thump, against the wall here.” The tall man leaned close, then jumped back as another thump, this one distinct, sounded through the prefab wall.
“The hell is that?” someone asked in a querulous voice. “Everyone is here.”
Hagen turned back to Alex. “What’s back there? Could the team come back that way?”
Alex frowned, picturing the base layout in his mind. “Nothing’s back there really,” he said. “That’s just an internal wall, a corridor outside it and the kitchens on the other side. But all the staff are here, so there’s no one in the kitchen. If anyone came in the back way, they might pass through there, but we’d have seen them going past these windows, I think.”
He gestured outside at the uniform whiteness, the scattering of sheds and equipment. The elevator entrance to the caverns was a good hundred yards beyond the base in the opposite direction. The thump came again, louder this time, followed quickly by two or three others, spread along the wall, then scratches and scrapes.
“It moved!” the tall man said, bringing his assault rifle up to bear.
“What did?” Hagen demanded.
“The wall! The fucking wall flexed!”
More rapid thumps and knocks sounded, then more scratching and scrabbling noises. “Sounds like a pack of dogs trying to get in,” Hagen said, moving a few steps nearer.
Alex moved back in the other direction, subtly indicating to his staff to join him in moving as far away from that wall as the room would allow. Gathered by the windows, they watched the three mercenaries line themselves up a few feet apart all facing the wall as it flexed again and the noises, more insistent than before, continued.
Alex opened his mouth, about to suggest they all decamp to another part of the base, maybe even his office, where they could see what was back there on the CCTV monitors. But the words froze in his throat when a large, zigzagging crack split the wall from floor to ceiling. Shocked barks of surprise and a couple of screams filled the air, then the wall burst open.
Beyond the split, the dark corridor could be seen, and it writhed with movement. Alex frowned, trying to make sense of the shadows, then needed no m
ore time when they spilled into the room. Huge black, shining creatures, giant armored bugs with glistening carapaces and snapping mandibles, each at least the size of a grown man, fell into the lounge like maggots pouring through the split skin of a corpse. Bizarrely, their faces, including their large-looking eyes, were covered with ragged strips of cloth, seemingly taken from a wide variety of sources. Jackets, pants, even the acrylic lining of tents, all torn into strips and tied in place.
The room filled with thunder as the mercenaries staggered back, firing staccato bursts from their assault rifles. Bright green sparks flashed and spat as the bullets bounced off the shining shells. The tall blond man had been nearest to where the wall had burst open and the creatures fell upon him first. His screams were high-pitched and unreal as blood sprayed the walls and floor, his body parts quickly scattering as his screams were shut off. But the thunderous gunfire continued, people ran randomly, screaming and crying, with nowhere to go. Having backed up to the windows, the creatures now blocked the path to the only door out of the room.
The creatures, blind by the coverings, turned quickly left and right responding to wherever they perceived sound to come from. They snapped and tore and pulled limbs from sockets. And despite occasional success from the remaining two mercenaries shooting them down, more and more came. The corridor behind the burst open wall was thick with them.
Alex Wong, pressed into one corner with the wet, warm sensation of urine soaking through his pants, found himself wishing more than ever that he was bored again.
40
Aston couldn’t believe the speed with which the mist had encroached and smothered everything. He had definitely seen Slater and Syed, with Larsen and two other armed men. As he ran toward them, he had caught a glimpse of something, of someone, in the edge of the water, holding up a kind of small statue that shone a bright green. He was quickly becoming sick of anything green. He would kill for a chance to gaze once again upon a blue sky. And he had a feeling he would have to kill to do so. He was fine with that.
Another thing he had seen as he ran towards them was Slater glance in his direction, her face splitting in a grin of recognition just before the mist had swallowed her up. He had to keep going in that direction, he couldn’t lose her again now, not this close.
The fog was cold against any exposed skin, its touch like frozen silken fingers brushing him. He blinked in surprise as rain spattered his face, momentarily confused by it, then it came again. Not rain, he realized, but spray from the water that had begun to roil. He heard it now, churning and splashing, repeatedly sending up the spray that rained over them all.
“What’s happening?” Tate yelled.
“I don’t know, and I don’t care. Let’s get to Slater and Syed and then get the hell out of here.”
He caught hints of movement in the rolling mist, then jumped as bursts of gunfire popped and barked, bright orange bursts of muzzle flash briefly penetrating the green-tinged whiteness. He crunched in on himself as he ran, trying to cower and move at the same time, hoping no stray bullets came his way. What the hell were they shooting at? He hoped it wasn’t Slater and Syed.
“Look!” Jen called out from a few paces behind.
He turned to see where she pointed and saw bigger shapes scurrying, half-shrouded in the fog. “Damn!” he hissed, watching the unmistakable outline of mantics swarming past. He heard a scream, both high-pitched and muffled by the fog at the same time. It was impossible to tell if it was male or female, and he desperately hoped it wasn’t a friend.
A mantic burst out of the fog right in front of him and he cried out, automatically bringing up the bloodstone spear he carried. He put his weight behind it and drove it at the creature’s face. He had a moment of elation watching darkness burst out as it sank into the mantic’s eye, but flinched away as the thing’s head exploded in a blinding flash of bright green surrounded by black shadow. Messy, but damned effective, he thought.
Then he realized that the spear’s shaft had broken, the bloodstone point lost somewhere among the mantic’s remains. It was good the bloodstone worked against them, but not if it only worked once like that. There were far too many to make it a viable defense. He drew the bloodstone dagger from inside his jacket, thinking he would be better able to keep hold of it than rely on shafts of who knew what scavenged junk. Tate stood beside him, a dagger in one hand, her spear in the other. Jen stood on his other side, her own bloodstone dagger held out in front of her, the three of them isolated in the fog as screams and gunfire and mantic shrieks echoed around them.
Another shadow approached, and Aston crouched, ready to fight.Then he realized the shape was human. He wondered if it might be Slater or Larsen, but as the figure appeared out of the gloom he was astounded to see it was Sol, battered but very much alive.
“Is it good to see you!” Sol said.
“How the hell did you survive?”
“Honestly, more by luck than anything. I fell into a crevice in the rock which bought me a few seconds and I somehow managed to crawl aside of the bastards that knocked me down. They couldn’t get to me, too big to fit. Then I managed to escape into a tunnel. Not without a souvenir, though.” He turned one leg to show them the back of his thigh where an ugly gash soaked his pants in scarlet. “I’ve lost rather a lot of blood. Feeling a bit weak, if I’m honest.”
Aston was amazed at the man’s resilience, but he’d take all the help he could get right now. “How did you get here?”
“I don’t know. I was just trying to stay ahead of the mantics, then I heard noise and came in this direction. What’s in here? Seems like a big cavern. Why all the mist?”
Aston barked a short laugh. “Mate, you have no idea.”
Another burst of gunfire ripped through the air, and then they heard the high-pitched keening that told them one of the mantics had gone down.
“Larsen is back,” Aston said. “He’s got some armed goons in tow. He’s also got Slater and Syed. We need to find them.”
Before he could say more, something burst from the fog and slammed into him, sending him crashing to the ground. He brought his dagger half up before spotting the swish of long dark hair and realized it was Slater sitting awkwardly on top of him where they’d fallen.
“Thank God!” she gasped and planted a kiss on his lips. His eyes widened in surprise and she quickly broke away, realizing what she’d done. He didn’t mind at all.
She rolled off him and stood, and he rose quickly behind. Despite her embarrassment, he pulled her into a hug. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”
She returned the embrace, her face pressed into his shoulder. “Me too. But what the hell is going on?”
Syed was with her, the six of them huddled together in the swirling fog.
“Something significant is happening,” Syed said. “But I have no idea what!”
“No shit,” Sol said. “But I think I saw somebody sitting in the water, holding up something that shone like an emerald flame. You think he’s the one stirring all this up?”
“That’s Digby O’Donnell,” Slater said.
Aston turned to her, stunned. “You’re sure?”
“Pretty sure, yeah. We got a good look right before this thicker fog swept in.”
More gunfire popped and muzzles flashed, thankfully moving a little further away from them, but other shadows still moved in the clouds that swirled close like curtains, chilling their skin.
“What the hell is he doing?” Aston asked.
“Who cares?” Sol said, wincing as he pressed a hand to his wounded leg. Blood oozed between his fingers. “All I care about is getting out of here. If he–”
Sol Griffin didn’t finish his sentence as a massive, writhing black tentacle whipped out of the mist, coiled around him, and swiftly carried him away. The others stood stunned, watching as the large man was lifted high into the air, roaring in defiance. After a couple more seconds his roar turned to a scream that died wetly. Presumably, Sol Griffin had died too.
; “What the fuck was that?” Tate said, eyes wide as full moons.
Another tentacle appeared, slick and black, most definitely solid, and thicker around than Aston’s waist, lined with suckers the size of teacups. This one writhed behind them, feeling its way around in the fog. Reflexively, Jen Galicia, standing nearest to it, swept her bloodstone dagger across the top of its slick black surface. Dark shadow burst up from the point of impact, then a bright green ichor pulsed up and the tentacle drew back. Aston was pleased to see the dagger hadn’t been destroyed by the act.
“I think we should all run!” he shouted, and as one they took off into the mist, staying close together and putting the horrendous ocean behind them.
41
Slater, Aston, and company ran through the fog, staying close together so they didn’t lose each other. All Slater wanted was the safety of a dark tunnel, hopefully free of mantics. A tunnel that would lead them back to the green cavern would be ideal, but at this stage she would take anything that wasn’t this mayhem and whatever those writhing black tentacles belonged to. She remembered them diving through the underwater door, traveling through the strange city, running blindly from one cave to the next. How could they possibly find their way out? Maybe with enough time and supplies, and without mantics attacking them, they could eventually retrace their route. She hoped with all her heart that’s what would happen. Or if not, that they could find any other way out. Just to be back above ground, fresh air and open skies. She would gladly welcome the endless white expanse of surface Antarctica in place of the dark tunnels and green glows of subterranean Antarctica.
