by Ben Hammott
Dave knelt beside his beloved pet but was at a loss at what to do. He couldn’t see his chest breathing, and there was no sign of life in his creepily wide-open eyes. “He’s dead,” he remarked sadly.
“Dead!” exclaimed Bob. “How come? He was fine a while ago.”
Dave stroked Gizmo’s head, the only part of him not adorned with worms. He gasped when one of them whipped at his hand and curled around his little finger. He instinctively jerked it away. The tendril held fast and was ripped free of its unwilling host. Dave stared in horror at the wound and the worms filling his cat’s stomach; they pulsated and seemed to be feeding. He winced when the tendril worm wrapped around his finger tightened. He went to pull it off and noticed what appeared to be a root ball of thin filaments of varying lengths and thicknesses on the dangling end. Horrified, he held it up for a better look and where best to grab it to pull it free.
Sensing a new lifeform to infect, the cat worms turned their tips at Dave.
Creeped out when the tiny tendrils looked at him as if aware of his presence, Dave yelped in surprise when some of them shot from the root ball and landed on his face. Before he could claw them free, they had burrowed into his skin, slithered up his nose, and into his eyes. Panicking, he swung the still attached worm and slammed its bulbous mass into the wall; tendrils shaken loose dropped to the floor and slithered back to the cat. The second strike released it from his finger.
“What in hell’s name are you doing back there?” exclaimed Bob, twisting his head and noticing his friend’s fear-filled expression.
Dave backed away and watched the thing drag itself back to his worm-infested cat. Wondering what they were, where they had come from, and if he would suffer the same horrific fate as his beloved pet, now they were inside him, he arrived at no comforting answers. What he did know was that he needed medical treatment and fast.
Feeling a little nauseous, Dave resumed his seat. “We need to land this plane now!”
Confused and worried, and with no idea what was going on, Bob sought confirmation. “What’s wrong, and why do we need to land?”
“I need to get to a hospital fast. Something has killed Gizmo, some sort of worm parasite, and now it’s inside me.” Forcing himself to remain calm and rational, Dave turned to his co-pilot as he took the controls. “Look, Bob. I have no idea how long I’ve got before I’m unable to fly the plane, so it might be up to you to get us down safely.”
Astonished, Bob stared at his friend and colleague skeptically as he digested the information.
“Take a look a Gizmo if you don’t believe me, but don’t get too close as those things can jump.”
Definitely requiring confirmation, Bob released his harness, stood, and looked at Gizmo’s worm-infested corpse. Ashen-faced, he sat back down and grabbed a navigational chart. “The nearest airport is Edmonton, about twenty minutes away.”
“Then that’s where we’re going. Punch in the coordinates, and I’ll alert them to the situation.” Dave picked up the radio mic and contacted Edmonton airbase to warn them of their arrival.
As Bob fed the new coordinates into the navigation console, he failed to notice the small black creature creeping up the side of his chair.
*****
Richard shook Colbert’s shoulder. “Wake up! There’s an alien on the plane!”
As the men stirred from the disturbance, Colbert reacted to his abrupt awakening. “What are you talking about, Richard? You had a nightmare or something?”
“Damn right, and I still am, and though I wish it were, it’s not a bad dream.” He pointed at the cockpit. “Some…thing that can only be alien, and in all likelihood came out of the meteorite, infected the cat and just crawled out of its mouth. You and your men need to kill or contain it, now!”
Colbert was about to dismiss Richard’s ranting as nonsense, nothing more than a realistic nightmare when a scream came from the cockpit. Before it had died, the plane started rolling to the side. They all looked at the cockpit entrance. The pilot was out of his seat, a frightened look on his face, batting at something with his hands. He grabbed at his neck and staggered before collapsing. The airplane continued to tip alarmingly.
At the sound of the scream, Richard had headed for the parachute rack. Sensing something was wrong, Boris released his harness and tugged free restricting jumper. Chattering excitedly, he climbed the orange cargo netting lining the fuselage.
“What’s happening” asked Mason wiping the sleep from his eyes.
Colbert snapped out of his indecision. With all he had seen and experienced lately, he couldn’t ignore Richard’s warning. “Richard reckons something crawled out of his rock, infected the cat, and is now in the cockpit.” He called out to Richard. “How big is this thing?”
“Small. Would fit in the palm of your hand.”
“We can swat it then?”
Richard shrugged. “If you want to get that close.”
“We may not have a choice. Even if we could shoot it, I’m not going to risk a bullet damaging the controls or punching a hole through the fuselage at this height.”
The plane, now at a thirty-degree side tilt, began to nosedive. Richard grabbed hold of the side netting to steady himself. “Height, in that respect, soon won’t be a problem, it will be the lack of it. I strongly suggest you hurry up and do something before we crash.”
Colbert turned to his pilot. “Kelly, while we take care of whatever’s in there, you need to seize control of the plane. Whatever this thing is, it looks as if it has taken out both pilots. Mason, find something to kill it with that won’t damage the plane. Sullivan, you come with us.”
As the men headed for the front of the aircraft, Mason shook his head at Richard. “What is it with you and alien monsters? You attract them like shit does flies.”
“Believe me, if I knew, I’d change it.”
Fighting the slope of the floor, Mason moved to his bag and took out his assault rifle to splat the creature with the stock. Aware how dangerous the past aliens had been, as an afterthought, he loaded it.
As Mason made his way to the cockpit, Richard used the side netting as leverage to haul himself up the increasing slope of the aircraft. He had to put on a parachute in case he needed to make a hasty exit to survive. He gazed over at the chattering chimp hanging onto one of the net storage bags attached to the wall. “Yeah, I’m scared too.”
A screeching turned his head to the meteorite straining against its tethers. Wondering if they would hold, and if Kelly would be able to take control before they crashed, Richard continued his struggle to reach the parachutes before that happened.
Hooking an arm around a shelf strut, Richard pulled out a parachute pack, and after a few moments working out how it fitted, he struggled to put it on.
The tethers holding the heavy wooden-caged meteorite to the floor creaked under the strain the tilting plane placed on them. Stretched taut as guitar strings, they twanged when the aircraft started to vibrate.
Made difficult by using only one arm; to let go of the storage unit would see him spilled down the slope, Richard slipped his other arm through the strap and jiggled it onto his shoulder. As he swapped hands, he glanced at the meteorite when its tight straps thrummed with the airplane’s protesting vibrations. If the tethers straining to hold back the weight snapped, it would hurtle through the plane and likely destroy the cockpit and kill everyone inside, dooming the plane to crash. He slipped his other arm through the remaining loop and hoisted the skewwhiff pack into position on his back. He fumbled the ends of the harness together and received a satisfying click when they locked. Even though the thought of leaping from the plane terrified him, he felt better now he had an avenue of escape if the shit hit the fan as past experiences decreed it might. He focused on the control panel at the rear of the plane. It looked simple enough; two buttons, red and green. All he had to do to was climb the slope to reach it, open the ramp, and jump. A commotion in the cockpit turned his head to the front of the plane.
> CHAPTER 5
Chicken Coop
Elroy Turner stepped back from the fence that he had just finished erecting and wiped his sweaty brow with a sleeve as he admired his handiwork. Satisfied the six-foot-high chain-link enclosure topped with barbed wire would keep the foxes from his chickens, he turned his gaze to those he was trying to protect. The chickens had a large secure area to roam now, and there was plenty of room for a few more. Most were productive egg layers, and those who weren’t were destined for the pot.
He dropped the wire cutters into his toolbox, walked over to the coop, and slapped a hand against it. Made from reclaimed timber and corrugated roofing salvaged from the old copper mine buildings, it wouldn’t win any architectural awards, but it was solid as a rock. The fencing and barbed wire had also cost him nothing except a couple of hours labor stripping it from around the abandoned ore processing plant on the outskirts of town.
Pleased with his toil and the lack of expense, he gathered his tools and headed to the house to celebrate with a beer.
CHAPTER 6
Infected
Kelly was first to reach the cockpit and the first to realize Richard hadn’t been bullshitting. He stepped past the motionless pilot on the floor, who had no doubt died horrifically—a common trait when Richard was involved—and stared at the pale tentacles sticking out from the dead cat. As if put into motion by a non-existent breeze, they swayed creepily. Turning away, he focused his gaze on the co-pilot. Although his hands were on the controls, he was seemingly oblivious to the danger his aircraft faced. Spying no sign of the small alien creature Richard had described, he fought the slope of the plane and quickly peeled away the co-pilot’s clammy hands from the controls. If the rapidly approaching ground out through the screen wasn’t sufficient evidence, a glance at the spinning altimeter as he slipped into the pilot’s chair indicated they were running out of airspace; twelve-hundred feet and it would all be over.
Colbert glanced worriedly at the tendril-infested cat carcass when he moved to the pilot’s legs. “Give me a hand, Sullivan. We’ll stow him in the toilet.”
As the men removed the pilot, Kelly strapped himself into the dead man’s seat and slowly raised the nose and leveled out the aircraft.
Relieved they now had the plane under control and had averted a disaster, Mason held open the toilet door to allow Sullivan to support the pilot’s shoulders to enter the cramped space.
Colbert nodded at the cockpit behind him. “See if you can find that thing Richard said was in there but keep away from the cat.”
Gripping the rifle butt-first ready to splatter the creature, Mason cautiously entered the cockpit.
Watching the men carry the dead pilot into the toilet, Richard was also thankful when Kelly regained control of the plane; he was keeping the parachute on, though; the alien was still on board, and he wasn’t going to relax until the SEALs had dealt with it. Assuming the co-pilot was also dead, two had already died at its hands, and he would be surprised if the body count didn’t rise before this hellish flight was over.
He turned his gaze to the meteorite; could that thing that infected the cat really have been inside it? Could he genuinely be THAT unlucky? Judging by the strange alien creatures he had encountered in Antarctica and Siberia, he thought it entirely possible. It was he who insisted they bring the meteorite on board, so he could be held accountable for the pilots’ deaths. He sighed. It would be nice if, for once, his attempts to become famous—and hopefully make some money at the same time—weren’t continually thwarted by deadly aliens. He shrugged off his culpability for the deaths. No one could have predicted the meteorite held a live alien organism that would start killing at the first opportunity.
Propping the pilot on the toilet with his head resting against the partition wall, Sullivan and Colbert stared into the man’s vacant, creepy wide-open eyes.
“You reckon he died the same way as the cat and those wormy things are inside him?” asked Sullivan, brushing his hands on his clothes and thinking maybe it hadn’t been such a good idea to get so close to the infected corpse.
Wondering what had caused it, Colbert looked at the cut on the side of the man’s neck. “One would assume so. Luckily for us, they haven’t erupted through his skin yet, but I don’t expect it’ll be long before they do.” Colbert closed the door on the problem. “Find something to cover the co-pilot and the cat while I work out our next move because there is no way we can risk taking what’s onboard to a civilized area. We don’t even know what it is or even if all of us are already infected.”
“Great!” uttered Sullivan, glancing back through the hold and scowling at Richard moving toward them. “You know as sure as eggs are eggs, that he’s responsible.”
“That’s it, blame me,” moaned Richard, peering past the men into the cockpit. “Have you killed it yet?”
“Haven’t seen hide nor hair of it except for what’s infecting the cat,” replied Colbert moving aside so Sullivan could search through the cabin lockers. “You really believe it came out of your meteorite?”
Richard shrugged. “What other explanation is there? The cat seemed fine before it sat on it, and then it wasn’t…obviously!”
Sullivan took two blankets from a storage locker and slammed the door shut. “Told you he was to blame. We should push him and his precious space rock out the cargo door and be done with it.”
Colbert smiled wryly. “A tempting thought, but the damage is already done. My priority now is to keep it contained.”
Richard sighed. “Quarantine.”
“Exactly. Now let’s go see if Mason has found your latest alien nightmare.”
Noticing the cat tendrils were now longer and fatter, and their host had shrunk, Sullivan draped the blanket over the cat corpse.
“With the greatest respect Sullivan, I’m not sure that’s going to contain it,” said Richard, his British sarcasm not lost on the Americans.
Sullivan turned on him. “Well, unless you have a sealed container to put it in, it’ll have to do.”
Indifferent to the man’s aggressiveness; it was an emotion he often inspired in others who spent enough time with him, Richard peered past him into the cockpit; the doorway was as near as he was willing to get. “You spotted it yet, Mason?”
Wary of getting too close to the dead co-pilot, Mason peered at the floor around the man’s feet. Straightening up, he turned to the others crowded in the doorway. “Still no sign of it.” He looked at Richard. “How small did you say it was?”
Richard held out his hand and drew a finger circle in his palm. “It would fit in my hand, and it had thin tentacle legs a few inches long.”
Colbert glanced around the cockpit at the many hiding places such a small creature could conceal itself. “It could be anywhere.”
“Are the fire extinguishers CO2?” asked Richard, remembering that Krisztina had used one against the alien in the secret Siberian base.
“I’ve no idea, why?” asked Colbert.
“CO2 is cold. It might not kill it, but it should slow it down or freeze it so it can be caught and destroyed.”
Kelly examined the fire extinguisher clipped next to the co-pilot's seat. “No good, it’s Halon.”
He turned to Sullivan. “Go check in the hold. If there is one, it may be our best bet at holding it at bay when it makes an appearance.”
Sullivan went to check.
“You decided on a plan of action yet, commander?” enquired Kelly.
Colbert glanced out at the cloud-filled sky. “Sort of. We need to find a secluded airbase to land. Somewhere nearby, as I’m sure none of us fancy being cooped up with what’s onboard longer than necessary. Once we’ve decided on a suitable location, I’ll contact command to inform them of the situation and get them to arrange a quarantine unit to meet us there.”
Mason glanced out the windscreen as the clouds parted to give them a view of the ground. “Where exactly are we?”
“By the look of the terrain down there, Canad
a,” answered Kelly.
“Can you be more precise?” asked Colbert. “Canada’s a big country.”
Kelly studied the readout of the Joint Precision Air Drop System (JPADS), a parachute and guidance unit used when dropping supplies by parachute to a pre-programmed landing zone, and then at the GPS screen. “Luckily, we haven’t deviated too far from our original flight. The pilot has rerouted to Edmonton airport, which is of no use to us as it’s too densely populated. We are currently approaching the American border into Montana.”
“Then we’re in luck,” remarked Mason. “There’s an abandoned air force base just over the border in Montana with a runway plenty long enough to accommodate us.”
“When did it close?” asked Colbert, worried about the condition of the landing strip. The C-130 was designed to land on short, rough runways, but there were limits.
“Ninety-six. My brother was stationed there until it closed. I’m not saying it's going to be in great condition, but it is remote, extremely so. There’s a nearby town, but from what I understand, it’s been in decline since the base shut, so even if it’s still populated, it won’t be heavily so.”
“Okay,” said Colbert, “seems ideal. What’s the name of this base?”
“Devil Falls, named after the town.”
Sullivan sighed. “If that’s not a bad omen, I don’t know what is.”
Mason laughed. “It’s named after a tall waterfall that drains into a hole aptly named the Devil’s Cauldron. It’s an old mining town—copper, I think—until the ore ran out.”
“I’ll get the coordinates and let Command know our plans.” Colbert reached for the radio mic and took note of their callsign, HCZ-599, marked on the console. “This is Commander Colbert aboard Hotel, Charlie, Zulu, five, nine, nine to base. We have an emergency situation and request a secure channel to speak to Commander Graham.”
The reply was almost immediate. “Copy that, Hotel, Charlie, Zulu, five, nine, nine. Standby.”
