Spores (9 page)

This time she didn’t scream, she couldn’t, the nightmare slowly wiggling toward her left Amber unable to speak. Apart from the colour, this monster bore no resemblance to the other one. This thing was armoured; blue chitinous plates covered the front of its body but it wasn’t those that made her bladder want to release its contents, it was the array of pincers and spikes positioned around the monster’s head.

Amber backed away from the hole; escape or die were her only options. That thing was built like a bastard tank. Rocks would just bounce off it. The creature roared; it must know she was down here, waiting to become its next meal. Amber tripped over some of the bones and fell into the pool of blue goo.

“I ain’t for eating, you bastard,” she snarled. Amber snatched up a broken femur and studied the shattered end; she could do a lot of damage if she dug that into that thing’s eye.

“Digging,” she uttered. “Of course, oh you dozy cow.”

Amber scrambled along the floor, looking for another broken bone. She looked back to that hole, hoping that thing would take its sweet time. Her questing fingers slipped around another bone fragment. Amber grinned in triumph and ran to the nearest hole. She didn’t care where it led, anywhere was better than here. She wiggled her way inside and used the bones to drag her body up along the tunnel. Within seconds, she was fully inside. Amber whimpered when she heard the sound of the creature dropping onto the cave floor. She doubled her efforts to climb out of there, wondering how long it would be before it realised where she had gone.

Chapter Eight

There had never been a single moment in Jackson’s past when another living being had made him feel so uncomfortable. Perhaps that description was a little mild for how he felt in such close proximity to this monstrosity. The creature fucking terrified him. Of course, as far as that pissy technician and his gaggle of simpering dickheads were concerned, not even the huge growling thing safely behind those bars could faze him.

He tore his eyes away from its liquid, black stare and turned to face the little man; it annoyed Jackson to watch how his associates scampered around the man like pathetic puppies. He saw love and adoration in their eyes, along with a touch of fear. How could anybody be scared of this spineless cunt? He wondered how they’d react if they knew that their idol had pissed his pants a little earlier on.

Even as he turned, Jackson knew that he still had its undivided attention. Of course, it would continue to stare at him and him alone, it was obvious. The creature saw Jackson as a threat, why the fuck would it look at the puppy handler and his pets? It had probably already assessed them and put them into the category of food.

Jackson also hoped that his presence unnerved the creature a little.

“So then, Sergeant Jackson, what do you think?” asked the technician, “Do you not think he’s rather impressive?”

Jackson reined in his temper and grabbed his trouser fabric to prevent him from slamming his fist into the moron’s smug face. How dare he talk to him as if the wormy bastard was his equal. Jackson gave one of the technician’s followers an acid glare and gained a little satisfaction in watching the dork squirm like an anxious rabbit.

He gave the technician a cold smile, “I’m pleased to see you found the time to change your trousers after your little accident.”

He turned back around and stared into the creature’s eyes, relieved to find that his horrible feeling of helplessness had vanished. Jackson put his behavioural aberration down to shock, the shock of seeing one of these things so close and in the flesh. He glanced at his watch; his Corporal was taking his time. Maybe it wasn’t just the shock of seeing this thing. Perhaps his feelings also had something to do with what he had planned. Jackson took a deep breath and told himself to focus on the job at hand.

He’d seen plenty of the bastards up close back in London but only in the middle of his crosshairs and even then only for a moment before he pulled the trigger.

Those encounters couldn’t possibly have prepared him for the real deal. It did play on his mind that the puppies and pants pisser didn’t appear to be frightened of the creature, perhaps they saw it as just another lab animal, something to be analysed, dissected and studied. Still, the fuckers were shit scared of him so his concerns were irrelevant.

He watched it move closer to the bars; it yawned, showing off its very short teeth. What an impressive creature. It made all the Type Two variations look like dolls in comparison, except maybe the cat/rabbit hybrids. Those armoured fuckers were well scary.

This creature, according to reports, was a little smaller than average, even so, it towered above all of the men. From head to base, Jackson estimated that it must be at least thirteen foot tall. Like the others, its arm and legs had been absorbed into the main body. In fact, with that unwieldy looking box shaped torso and snakelike neck with that very human-like head sat on top; it cast a rather comical appearance. Jackson would smirk if it hadn’t been for just how efficient they were at dispatching their human prey.

That mouthful of needle fangs and whip like appendages attached in several rows along its body were not to be laughed at. The corrosive fluid stored in the tips of those tendrils could turn a man into a pool of steaming fluid in a matter of seconds.

“We believe that its transformation is now complete. With Tyler’s permission, we’d like to move onto the next stage.”

Jackson reluctantly turned his back to the creature and gazed at the little man wondering how long they’d all last if he pushed them into the cage. His head jerked up when he heard the sound of the lab door opening. Corporal Brickman and three soldiers entered the room. As Jackson expected, the soldiers openly gawped at the huge monster, it pleased him to witness his NCO displaying a little more self-control.

The Corporal nodded just the once. Jackson nodded back. The signal had been given. His wheels were now turning.

“Excuse me, Sergeant, but are you listening to me?”

Brickman grinned, he knew what was about to happen. Jackson casually backhanded the man, taking satisfaction in watching the side of his head smack against the wall before he crumpled to the floor.

“Good,” replied the Sergeant. “Put the queer little fucker and his puppies with them. What about our men, have they stayed loyal?”

Jackson jumped away from the cage when the bars behind him shook. He spun around and watched its appendages flick out towards Jackson.

“What’s it doing that for?”

“Do I look like a fucking expert?” he snapped back, then he noticed a couple of blood spots on the wall beside him. “It looks like I may have been a bit too rough with our technician.”

Jackson grabbed a discarded lab coat and wiped the wall clean. The creature calmed down almost immediately.

“What about the pilot?” he asked. “Did he give you any trouble?”

“He did whine a bit when I explained the revised plans but soon shut his trap when he realised that there would be more women to go round.”

Jackson watched Brickman follow the soldiers through the back of the lab. His Corporal was a bloody good man. He felt a tinge of pride, knowing that it had been him and him alone who’d shaped that skinny teenager into a well-disciplined and fearless individual.

The pivotal moment, the time when Jackson really saw what he’d crafted was whilst they’d been holed up in that coffee shop near Kings Cross station two weeks ago.

Jackson’s men were cut off from support, completely out of ammunition and being chased by at least eight of those monsters.

While the rest of his men had collapsed at the back of the shop, licking their wounds, Jackson joined Brickman who’d taken it upon himself to guard the door. The Corporal hadn’t spoken a word since they’d barely escaped with their lives battling out of St. Pancras station. Jackson wondered if the man was losing his bottle.

“We need a new strategy,” murmured Brickman, whilst gazing out of the window into the fog-shrouded street. “Got to think outside the box.”

Jackson pressed his face against the glass; he pushed the uncomfortable thought of his best man losing his nerve to the back of his head. He then slowly smiled as he noticed what appeared to be a transit van in front of a lamppost, parked on the opposite side of the road. That would be large enough for them all to pile in. Unlike the centre, the roads in the north of London were practically deserted.

Jackson opened his mouth, about to ask the Corporal if he still remembered how to hotwire a vehicle when both the lamppost and the van slowly shifted to the left. This couldn’t be happening, his blood ran cold. Jackson had almost led his men into the waiting tendrils of the things they’d be running from.

“They’re changing the guard,” said Brickman, “posting a new sentry.”

Did Brickman actually know that fucker was out there?

The Corporal sighed, muttered something incomprehensible under his breath then sat down and picked a laminated menu off the table.

“You’d better get your shit together,” growled Jackson, “or I’ll throw you out of the shop myself.”

Brickman shrugged, apparently unconcerned by the Sergeant’s threat. He ran his gloved finger down the list of the overwhelming coffee varieties. “What difference would that make? We’ll all be dead in a few minutes anyway.”

He then threw the menu onto the floor then jumped out of his chair. “Can’t you see what those fuckers are playing at?”

Jackson involuntary jumped back, he’d never seen Brickman raise his voice before; the man’s calmness under pressure was legendary.

The Corporal ran to the door and pulled it open, and an audible gasp erupted from the back of the room.

“Oh fuck, you really have lost it haven’t you,” said Jackson reaching for his sidearm.

Brickman smiled, his eyes followed Jackson’s hand down toward his holster. “What were you thinking of doing with your pistol, Sergeant, throwing it at me? Listen to those things out there, moaning. Don’t you get it? The bastards are talking to each other.”

“Bullshit,” he snapped. “That’s utter fantasy, they are just animals.”

Brickman shook his head, “Come on man, make the leap. Those fuckers were once human, it’s our brains that give us the advantage over the rest of life on this planet. Why the fuck would they wish to lose that?”

“You honestly believe that don’t you,” replied Jackson, “So that thing out there has just told his chums where we are?”

The Corporal shook his head smiling, “Oh no, they already know where we are, Sergeant. They’ve herded us here like a flock of dozy, fucking sheep. They were the ones who chose this place, not us.

Jackson walked over to the rest of his men, leaving Brickman with his delusions; of the six that had left the London complex, this morning, only four excluding himself and Brickman had made it this far. He glanced down at Hayder, Hicks, Neild and Kirk, wondering just how the fuck they were going to get out of this mess.

Hayder and Neild had each found themselves a pair of kitchen knives, while Hicks mopped Kirk’s damp forehead with a strip of material. The lad looked like he was drifting in and out of consciousness. At least he’d stopped screaming which was a blessing. Kirk had been unfortunate enough to step into one of the creature’s discarded acid puddles. The corrosive fluid dissolved everything, boot, flesh, even bone, all the way up to his ankle.

“They’re requesting back up,” shouted Brickman. They can’t get us in here but the Type Two’s sure as fucking can.” He hurried over and snatched the knife out of Neild’s hand.

“What the fuck are you playing at Brickman?”

“Do you remember what happened to Julie?” asked Brickman as he rolled up his shirtsleeve.

Jackson shuddered, that was one incident that he’d never forget. The week before, three of them, plus a guide had been climbing out of a broken window, each carrying carrier bags full of not so fresh fruit and vegetables. Their objective was a small supermarket and their guide used to work there and she just so happened to know a way to get in the building without having to go through the steel shutters.

Their guide slipped and cut her thigh on a glass shard. The poor woman had sliced open her femoral artery. Her blood sprayed from the wound like a geyser. Jackson knew the woman was beyond saving. Before they had time to react, out of nowhere, a continuous cascade of moans filled the air. Julie added her own to the chorus; they all knew what that sound meant.

He and Brickman dropped their bags and kneeled before the dying woman, at least they could make her final moments comfortable, knowing that they were safe in this alley; the monsters couldn’t get them in here. Screaming from the other group member caused them to look toward the exit. Hundreds of Type Twos swarmed toward their position, they crawled and leaped over his men; Jackson knew exactly what they were after. He picked up his bags and fled, leaving the shrieking woman to her fate.