Sometimes the lights have a start, on for brief moments, shining a glimmer of hope in their hearts, then the darkness comes back to dominate the scene. In the play of light and shadows a foreign thought seems to come alive in the conscious mind of Moore: the arrhythmic duel between the fluorescent tubes and the total obscurity is a mirror of a clash of wills. There is someone, or rather something, behind the black-out of the base. A dark, chaotic and perverse mind that is playing with all of them. An intelligence that is able to scan the deepness of their hearts as a scientist analyzes a guinea pig wandering through a maze looking for an exit.
The thought about the laboratory mice leaves her dismayed, because she realizes that she has suddenly moved to the other side of the cage. The reaction is immediate and surprises even herself. It’s something that goes beyond fear, beyond the instinct of individual preservation and beyond the unknown. Her existence, the years spent bent studying on books and microscopes, her parents, their sacrifices, the hopes for a better future, her world and life itself… They are strains that fuel a devastating fire, which glows red in the most remote areas of her soul. A sense of furious rage takes life in her, Emily Moore, while clenching her fists so strongly to injure herself with her own nails.
Anger and frustration turn into cold and calculated determination.
I won’t surrender to fear…
I will make it through…
I will get out of here alive!
Almost echoing those thoughts, a vibration reaches the two scientists huddled at the foot of the laboratory door. An ultra-low frequency, an inaudible crude sound that the two perceive as vibrations in the walls and inside their own bodies. A series of waves that resonate in their cavities.
“That’s not good”, whispers Ivanov, while the two instinctively huddle tighter. “This is a kind of ELF sonar. It’s scanning the entire base…”
As soon as Ivanov ends his sentence, the vibrations cease. Almost simultaneously, the fluorescent tubes come back to life, illuminating the world with an intermittent buzzing, like undecided whether to stay on or not. The woman murmurs a thank you to a vague God, with whom she has stopped talking since she was a child.
“Let’s move”, urges Ivanov, pulling her up to slide her badge in the optical reader on the side of the door. “Now it knows exactly where every one of us is. And it will come soon.”
The panel slides softly, as if the electric current that feeds it is too low, slowing its movement. Driven by the fear of what is happening after the curve in the corridor from which they have just come, the two don’t wait for the door to open completely. They push aside the still sliding doors, finally managing to sneak inside the lab.
ALGERIAN DESERT
Seagull leads the team reaching the ruins. The soldiers walk lowered, holding their weapons, expecting an attack every step they take. A quick inspection confirms their first impressions: it’s a small abandoned camp. They can see what is left of a ramshackle hut, and just a low wall of pressed earth and sand is still standing. What is left of the perimeter of other small buildings fades into the sand.
“This place was probably a kind of oasis a very long time ago”, Jennings speaks low into the intercom. “That old well means water, and those ruins were probably raw huts…”
The five men team converges slowly to the small pile of stones. The tracks on the ground stop abruptly next to it. One of the rocks seems freshly rolled away, and it has dug a small trail in the sand.
From his post on top of the vehicle, Will Bailey watches the scene through the viewfinder of the sniper rifle. The marine sees Seagull slowly approaching the mouth of the well, aiming his assault rifle in front of him and looking inside.
The duct diameter is slightly less than a meter. Its walls are made with earth bricks for some meter down, then they fade into the solid rock. The bottom is clearly visible about twenty meters below.
There’s no trace of water, nor any sign of the creature.
“This well has dried centuries ago…”, says the leader. “But that beast might have sensed the presence of water somewhere down. I can’t figure out any other reason for it to came straight here.”
“I don’t like this shit… I don’t like it at all”, Ralph spits an almost dissolved tobacco down the well. The gush goes down, drawing a sort of brownish star on the ground.
“Roger, can you send a drone down?”, Seagull to the expert in telecommunications and video surveillance.
The soldier hastes to the rear of their vehicle, without answering.
“What’s going on out there?”, Jeff asks to the sniper perched on top of the vehicle.
“It seems that Roger is pulling out one of his toys. Yes, it’s a drone. All quiet for now. Even too quiet.”
“Don’t be a jinx”, is the other’s reply. “There is something absurd in this. I have a feeling that everything does nothing but worsen.”
“Who’s the jinx now?”
“Mmm… I confess I can’t wait to get my ass at home and to leave all this shit behind. I want to forget this fucking sand that sticks everywhere, and sit for at least twenty-four hours in a row with my balls soaked in a pool. Just a few perfect days… and I mean beer… oh yeah bro… perfectly roasted bacon with the smoke of apple tree branches… the velvet legs of my Cindy… Jesus, I’d be a new man! That’s right, that’s what it takes! My God those things seems so far away…”
Will stay silent, as he watches the tiny drone rises to about two meters in height and heading towards the well.
“Tell me, Will, is there someone waiting for you?”
“Do you mean a woman?”, Bailey lights up a crumpled cigarette. “Of course I do. Man, you should see her… She has two legs that when you caress them you feel like they’ll go on forever, and two so big boobs that you can get lost in this fucking desert without suffering thirst.”
The other smiles. “Hmm… what a sentimentalist soul indeed! Come on, you serious?”
“Of course I am”. Bailey takes a long puff, then he lets out the smoke in a theatrical fashion, as acting for an invisible audience. “Well… she’s a girl with a very sad story. She opens up to me, you know. She always says that her husband has a very very very little bird. It’s so tiny that it may be mistaken for a button. The poor girl can’t wait for me to come back so she can have some serious gymnastics, as she should.”
“What strange stories around… A button…” Jeff laughs inside the vehicle. “Damn, poor guy…”
“Who knows, maybe you know her too. She lives in Baltimore, Maryland, just like you.”
“That can’t be…”, says the other. “What’s her name?”
“Oh no, my friend, don’t ask me that. If something were to escape your mouth all would be screwed up, you know how these stories go, don’t you?”
“Come on, who should I say it to? It’s just out of curiosity.”
The friend has taken the bait, and Bailey smiles sardonically, as he pulls on the fishing line.
“All right buddy, but keep it for yourself, especially with Stu, okay? Well… she lives in a lovely little house, at the corner between Ruxton Road and the 3th… Her name is Cindy… Cindy Braxton, or Cindy Michigan when she uses her husband’s name.”