A fine mist of spores shivered from the ceiling vents.
He ducked under the chemical shower. Tugged the cord. Frigid water rained down upon him, drenching him inside his suit. He pulled on his mask and watched helplessly as the spores settled to the ground.
The window shattered and glass shards spread across the floor. The same combination of enzymes and mechanical force that had allowed the spores to penetrate the exoskeletons of the insects must have worked every bit as well on the glass and Thompson’s gas mask.
There was no sign of movement through the empty frame. Only rows of dead rabbits that stared back at him through hollow, skeletal sockets.
THE CHEMICAL SHOWER might have saved Randall’s life, but by the time he set off the fire alarm and triggered the building-wide sprinkler system, it was too late for the other scientists still in their labs. Spores had circulated through the air ducts and felled them in the midst of their work. Like Thompson, they demonstrated superficial lesions where the spores had worked through the skin and into the circulatory system. While he couldn’t detect any appreciable signs of life, he knew better than to take their deaths for granted. If they exhibited the same resurrection response as the rabbits and the fungi subsumed their physical forms, then he was dealing with more than mere infestation. As the chief scientist said, they were potentially dealing with the means of the extinction of their very species.
He knew exactly what his commanding officer would say when he called in what had happened, which was why he wasn’t about to do so. At least not yet. This was far beyond their ability to contain, let alone control. If a handful of locusts was enough to begin a cycle deadly enough to kill everyone inside the building, then he could only imagine what could be accomplished with four human beings whose bodies were currently in the early stages of fungal subsummation.
There was only one thing he could think to do, and it would likely derail his career. Maybe even more than that if anyone figured out he’d done so deliberately. As it was, he was taking a sizable risk removing the bodies from the facility, but he couldn’t allow the Army to get ahold of them.
He collected all four of the men and wrapped them individually in plastic tarps. The whole lot of rabbits fit into a fifth bundle, which he loaded into the back of a Jeep and drove out to where Benjamin’s team had been mere hours earlier. The well was sealed beneath a temporary iron hatch that was easily enough leveraged open to reveal a great black orifice from which chemical fumes rose with such intensity that they made his eyes burn.
Randall recognized the enormity of what he was about to do, but couldn’t afford to dwell on it for fear he might talk himself out of it. His plan was wrong on so many levels, and yet the consequences of doing the right thing could prove catastrophic. Thompson had recognized the dangers prior to his death and had planted the seeds of doubt in Randall, who believed in their mission to rid the world of the enemies of freedom and liberty, but not at the expense of all humanity.
The time had come to end this experiment once and for all.
He dragged the wrapped bodies from the Jeep and forced them through the orifice, which was barely wide enough to accommodate their shoulders. Used a metal post from the demolished mast to tamp them deeper, until he was certain they’d fallen into the depths, where the brass would never think to look for them, let alone be able to recover them.
By the time he returned to the main building, dawn was a pink stain on the horizon. With the interior drenched by the fire sprinklers, it was going to take more than a tank of petrol to do what needed to be done. Fortunately, there was a gas line in the lab and thousands of gallons of combustible precursor chemicals, more than enough to turn the entire facility into an inferno that would burn so hot and fast that there would be nothing left of it by the time the fire department arrived.
RANDALL FELT THE heat of the blaze on the back of his isolation suit as he walked down the dirt road toward the security gate. He hoped he’d made it look good enough that the powers that be would believe the bodies of the missing men had been incinerated inside. Maybe he should have just dropped a match into the well and blown the whole base to hell, but he still had faith in what they were trying to do, despite the fact that they’d created an abomination of nature in the process. At least he could count on the toxic chemicals two miles down to destroy the evidence of what they’d accomplished.
THE PAIN IS more than Rana can bear. She cries out and registers surprise at the sound of her voice echoing away from her into darkness so complete she can’t tell if her eyes are open or closed. She tastes blood on her lips, in her mouth. The intense pressure in her head is worse than any migraine she’s ever experienced and it feels as though someone’s sitting on her chest, making it difficult for her to breathe. Her arms and legs are sluggish and heavy. It has to be well over a hundred degrees. Her clothes are already soaked with sweat. She realizes where she is with a start and screams once more into the bowels of the earth.
A muffled moan from somewhere nearby. The acoustics make it impossible to pinpoint its origin.
She pushes herself to her hands and knees and crawls in what she hopes is the right direction, sweeping her palms across the uneven ground in front of her. Each inhalation brings with it chemical fumes that burn all the way down her trachea and into her lungs. The intense heat is worst near her left breast, where her suit must have torn during the attack, the memories of which come flooding back to her.
The creatures had come out of the ground with such speed that she hadn’t gotten a clear look at any of them. Mere silhouettes bristling with sharp, quill-like protrusions all over their bodies. She remembers Sydney turning around and sprinting toward her as the monsters washed over her. Hitting the ground on her chest and clawing at the packed dirt as she was dragged backward toward the hole. People shouting and running in every direction. Rana had barely managed two strides before she was struck from behind. Her mask cracked a heartbeat before her face slammed into the ground. Then, only darkness.
“Help me!” she screams, her voice reverberating into a space far vaster than the readings had led her to believe.
Silence.
She’s about to call out again when she realizes that the creatures that dragged her down here are likely still lurking somewhere nearby.
A faint scratching sound betrays the presence of something moving through the darkness.
Her right hand meets with a soft, somewhat rounded object. She pats it down until she recognizes it as a shoulder. The body is much larger than Sydney’s, meaning it belongs either to Tim or a member of the HAZMAT team. She works inward until she finds the helmet. The shield is broken, fully exposing the man’s face. She traces it with her gloved hands, but can’t feel the contours well enough to identify who it is.
Another scratch, closer this time.
The Tyvek fabric of his suit is torn. She reaches underneath it and feels his chest, but can’t tell if he’s still breathing. His button-down shirt is warm and wet with what she hopes is sweat. A quick search of the pockets of his jeans produces a wad of bills in a money clip and a set of keys with—
She nearly sobs out loud at the discovery of the mini flashlight on his keychain.
Once she turns it on, whatever’s down there with her will know exactly where she is, but if she’s to have any chance of getting out of here, she’s going to have to be able to see her surroundings.