Mason switched on his rifle light and focused the beam on the hatch. He moved a few steps away from Sullivan and matched his footsteps moving nearer to the uninviting hole in the floor. When they were a single step away, both men darted forward and aimed their weapons into the hatch. Their twin beams probed the empty chute.
Mason glanced at Sullivan questioningly.
“One of those alien things was climbing up, but it looks like it went back down,” explained Sullivan. “Probably hunting Richard and Krisztina who went below to reconnect the self-destruct bomb to get the device working, which they succeeded in doing, but when they reconnected it, the timer was initiated.”
“Richard went below?” asked Mason in surprise. “Doesn’t sound like the sort of thing he’d do.”
“It wasn’t entirely voluntary,” informed Sullivan, roaming his weapon around the hut furnished with few places where something might be concealed. The swinging light imbued the inside of the hut with shadows that seemed to move as his eyes roamed over the large fuel tank and rested on the darkness behind the back-up diesel generator.
“Ah,” uttered Mason. “Didn’t think it would have been. Where are they now?”
“Making their way to Level 1. They were supposed to exit via this escape ladder but were unable to because one of the alien creatures was in it. Ramirez is also down there, on Level 1, presently clearing their route out to the exit elevator.”
To check the alien wasn’t hiding somewhere in the room, Sullivan pointed at the generator and signaled for Mason to work his way around the far end.
Mason nodded and moved into position.
Something leapt from the darkness, bowling Sullivan to the ground. His head struck the generator during his fall, dazing him. As he began to lose consciousness, the rifle slipped from his grasp, landing with its beam aimed across the floor.
The fast-moving creature jumped into the air. A limb slashed at the light, shattering the bulb. The thump of feet landing on the floor, a scampering, then stillness.
With his ears straining to pick out sounds of movement against the creaks of the hut, Mason’s flashlight erratically roamed the darkness. When something swift, dark, little more than a blur, passed through Sullivan’s dropped rifle beam, he fired. Bullets pinged off the floor, ricocheted off the metal hatch and struck the walls. Mason spun on hearing a noise behind him. Something grabbed his rifle and shoved the stock hard into his face. As he staggered back, the creature ran for the door and dashed through it. A little groggy from the blow, Mason set off in pursuit.
Colbert glanced over at the generator building as shots erupted from inside. Hopefully that would be the end of the creature and they could now concentrate on their evac. Concerned that time was running out, he was about to contact Ramirez for an update when something burst from the hut—a chimpanzee. The primate glanced around the compound and then behind at Mason when he rushed through the door brandishing his weapon. The chimp rushed around the side of the hut and disappeared into darkness shed by the dark gray clouds filling the sky. When Mason set off in pursuit, Colbert called him to a halt.
“Let it go, Mason. It’s only a chimpanzee.”
Mason halted and looked over at his commander. “How do you know? I thought that the alien could change form?”
“It can, but the chimp is real,” stated Colbert.
“How can you be so sure?”
“It wasn’t black. “I don’t think the aliens can do colors.” Colbert glanced at the hut door when Sullivan staggered out rubbing the side of his head. “You all right, Sullivan?”
Sullivan winced when he nodded. “Throbbing headache, but nothing that will kill me.”
Their eyes turned to the hut’s doorway when screeches drifted out.
“You did close the hatch?” questioned Colbert.
Cursing, Sullivan and Mason rushed back inside.
Sullivan and Mason crossed to the hatch and peered down. Beyond the reach of their flashlights, shapes darker than shadows shrieked amidst the clatter of small feet climbing the chute. They flipped down their NVGs and observed the spectral lit monstrosities climbing towards them.
“They look like giant alien centipedes,” uttered Mason, shocked by their numbers.
“That’s probably their least monstrous form,” said Sullivan. “Let’s shoot a few and then shut them in.”
Their rifles spat short bursts of bullets at the oncoming hoard. Shrieks and squeals indicated some had found a target. Mason passed his rifle to Sullivan and slammed the lid shut. When he went to spin the wheel, it refused to turn. He increased his effort, but it still wouldn’t budge. He raised it again and flipping up their NVGs, used their flashlights to examine the hatch lid. The root of the problem was a bent locking rod damaged by one of Mason’s bullets striking it earlier. It no longer lined up with the hole it was meant to slide into.
“Hold the lid, and I’ll try to straighten it,” instructed Mason.
Sullivan gripped the lid with both hands while Mason kicked at the rod with the heel of his boot.
Sullivan glanced at the bent rod and then down the chute at the approaching hoard. “It’s not working.”
Mason joined Sullivan looking at the climbing creatures. “Any ideas?”
Sullivan pulled a grenade from his ammo vest. “Explosions kill them.” He held the grenade over the chute, released the arming clip and counted to two before dropping it.
The two men stepped back from the hole to avoid the explosive blast that erupted from the chute. When it had settled, they returned to the hatch and aimed their flashlights inside. The swirling smoke slowly cleared. Their anxious gazes detected no movement and no sounds apart from the distant warning alarm drifting up from below.
“That seems to have done the trick,” said Mason.
Though it couldn’t be locked, Sullivan reached for the hatch to close it. He froze when a clacking drifted up the chute. The single clacking quickly changed to a cacophony of click, clacks, squeals and shrieks. Flicking down their NVGs, they gazed down at the army of small, rat-size ant-like creatures covering the circumference of the chute for as far as they could see and flowing towards them like an insidious oil slick.
“Now what?” asked Mason.
“Fire!” stated Sullivan. “We’ll burn the evil fuckers.” His eyes flicked to the diesel tank across the room. “I’ll try and hold them off while you see if you can get some fuel out of that tank.”
Mason glanced at the tank and the level indicator close to empty. “I have a better idea. There’s a tanker full outside.”
Sullivan nodded. “Let the commander know what we’re doing, but hurry. I’m not sure how long I can hold them back.”
When Mason rushed from the hut, Sullivan dropped another grenade into the chute.
Mason veered his sprint towards Colbert and before he reached him shouted out the plan. “Hatch is damaged, won’t lock. Sullivan is holding back the creatures. Going to use fuel from the tanker to burn them.”
Colbert nodded. “Do it!”
Mason headed for the truck, climbed inside and brought it to life. He crunched it into reverse and, narrowly missing the helicopter rotors, gunned it around in a semi-circle to the hut. He leapt out, grabbed a long thick hose from the side and attached it to the outlet at the rear. As gunshots rang out from inside, he opened the outlet valve. With fuel gushing from the end of the hose, he picked it up and rushed into the hut.
Eyes watering from the overpowering stench of noxious fumes choking the air and his lungs, Mason sprayed the volatile fuel around the sides of the chute and over the evilness intent on reaching them. When he was confident the creatures were covered, he dropped the diesel spouting hose into the hatch.