Pain Bringer (The Constant War Book 2), page 27
“How is this even possible?” asked Marcia.
A maniacal smile twisted Char’s lip. “Didn’t your mother teach you about the birds and the bees?”
“Are we saying what I think we’re saying?” asked Wilkins.
“We all saw what happened when they summoned Sindarhe,” said Char.
Dr. Scott looked up from his scanner. “What happened when they summoned Sindarhe?”
“Well, most of us did anyway.”
“What—” Dr. Scott began.
Wilkins cut him off. “When they pulled Sindarhe through the rift in spacetime, it…uh…how do I put this delicately?”
Char blurted, “That great big Old God fucked life back into Mother Earth.”
Wilkins cringed. “That’s more crude than I would have put it, but”—he glanced back at the alien nursery—“it certainly looks that way.”
Dr. Scott turned to Marcia. “Did you know about this?”
She tilted her head to one side, then the other, briefly raising her shoulders. “It was difficult to believe, even witnessing the event, but it was fairly self-explanatory. Sindarhe latched on to Earth for a duration, in a rather suggestive manner, but there was no way of knowing what it was actually doing. Most took it as an overt attack. By the looks of things down here, it appears to have been procreating.”
“Going to pound town.” Char made a circle with the fingers on her left hand, and repeatedly penetrated it with the pointer finger on her right. She caught awkward stares from the scientists. And muffled chuckles from the Marines.
“We thought they were summoning Sindarhe to destroy Earth,” said Wilkins.
Marcia angled her head around the corner. “Looks like it was spreading its seed.”
“Ew,” said Char.
Wilkins glanced at Fairhaven. She was still at the back of the pack. He signaled for two Marines to accompany him as they entered the alien nursery together.
The pods glistened, slick with mucous. Most appeared dormant, however, tentacles waggled from a few, listlessly waving like seaweed in an ocean current.
Tentatively, Marcia followed in their footsteps, surveying the room. “Do you think they know we’re here?”
“They know,” said Dr. Scott.
“You sure ’bout that?” asked Wilkins, finding Dr. Scott’s certainty surprising. “They seem pretty oblivious to me.”
“I’m certain.”
Wilkins wasn’t so sure. The squiddies, in their current pupae state, appeared too serene and immobile to notice the presence of outsiders. They were in such a fetal state that he doubted they even had the capacity for consciousness.
“Well, looky here.” Char picked up a tapered bone-white object about a half meter in length. Blood-red markings were carved up and down its length. She tossed it to Dr. Scott. “Check this out.”
“Hey! Careful with that. We don’t know what any of this is.”
“But we do. You told me these were your fav.”
Dr. Scott rolled the object over in his hands. Instantly, he recognized it. It was identical to the idols they had on display in the museum back on Heaven. “Would you look at that.”
Wilkins glanced at the object in Dr. Scott’s hands. “You’ve seen those things before?”
“Of course.” Dr. Scott held it up. “They’re our first contact with the Sindarhe. The first things they sent through the rifts. Before the squiddies. Before the ringriders. Before the station. Before everything.”
Marcia recognized it as well. Her eyes flitted across the room. Dozens more idols were wedged into corners and under folds of flesh in the walls. A small stalagmite of congealed flesh hid a stockpile of several dozen more idols in the middle of the room. “Yes, but what are they doing in here? And who carved them?”
Tentacles burst out of a cabbage bud on the wall, lashing out at Marcia. She flinched, dodging out of its reach. Suckers on the tentacle underbelly pulsated, drooling viscous fluid. A screech-hiss shrieked, reverberating off the walls.
Wilkins yanked Marcia out of harm’s way. He crouched, extending his arms wide, as he backed away, keeping himself in front of the others.
The writhing tentacles bunched together around a central bud, looking like petals blooming around the pistil of a flower. They pushed against the wall, and the bud began to swell and bulge. Flesh rippled along the tentacles, drawing taut as they squeezed the central bud. Slowly, it opened. A slimy form crowned within. Tentacles grabbed at the edges of the splaying organism. The form wriggled inside, forcing itself to the surface. A wet congealed mass of flesh and slime fell to the ground with a damp thud. Its tentacle arms flailed, now free from restraint.
The creature swept the floor with its head, as if it was too heavy to hoist any higher. For a moment, it stopped and looked directly at Dr. Scott. Even with no eyes, it seemed to see him.
To see all of them.
It raised up on all eight of its haunches and squawked at the group. Falling back onto its rear, it mewled incessantly. After a moment, it lifted itself and scuttled in tiny circles, like a dog nipping at its tail.
All things considered, it was almost cute.
And then it belched bile onto itself.
Tentacles slapped at the mucous vomit on its slick body as it made blubbering noises. A trail of bubbles oozed from its underside.
Then the newborn squiddie began to violently shake. A high-pitched squeal warbled in sync with the vibrations of its body. The undulating sound grew in speed, pitch, and decibel, until its flesh appeared to melt, falling away from whatever underlying structure gave it form. It sluffed off its flesh until nothing was left but hardened innards and a beaked mouth.
“Okay, that is the grossest thing I’ve ever seen,” said Char.
The shedded flesh became gelatinous, congealing in a pool of sludge. The surrounding organic material coating the walls and floor slowly reabsorbed it. What was left of its beak and innards were a conglomeration of hardened dense material, now tapered and bone-white. Blood-red markings were etched along its side.
The Marines—Wilkins and Fairhaven included—were speechless.
But not Marcia.
Cautiously, she approached the spot where the squiddie’s flesh was puddling, bent down, and picked up the bone-white object. She held it up to the light, examining it. “Fascinating.”
“I guess that answers where those things come from,” said Wilkins.
Char made a retching noise. “So unbelievably gross.”
Another high-pitched squeal tore through the room like a klaxon on Heaven’s bridge. Tentacles poked from every cabbage bud, writhing in the air. The entire wall appeared to move. Thousands of tentacles arched back against the wall, their buds blooming like flowers, giving birth to freshly mucous-covered squiddies. Dozens of squiddies rained to the floor. A thunderstorm of slime and wriggling bodies slithered across the floor.
“That’s not good,” said Char.
These squiddies didn’t repeat the first one’s grotesque routine. Instead, they found their bearings, immediately greeting the intruders in the nursery with hissing snarls and flared, whipping tentacles.
Three lunged at Char. She pivoted backward, stumbling. The first squiddie slashed her shoulder, ripping a large gash through her pressure suit. The second jumped at her. Backed into a corner, Char crossed her arms over her head.
Fairhaven leaped in front of Char, grabbed the squiddie by a tentacle, and hurled it into the other two attacking her. She pointed at the exit tunnel with one hand and shouted, “Move! Now!”
Her other hand was on her rifle. She lowered her head, firing a volley into a wave of squiddies closing in around them.
Char scrambled to her feet and ran into the corridor.
Fairhaven circled in front of the scientists, providing cover fire. “You two, get out of here!”
Dr. Scott left without hesitation, but Marcia seemed conflicted. Fascinated by the writhing mob of squiddies pouring from the walls, Marcia raised an arm, pointing at them. “They’re astonishing.”
“Yes, wonderful, miraculous, also about to kill us,” said Fairhaven. “It’s your turn, brains. Go on, git.”
It took Marcia slightly longer than it should have to regain her senses and realize the imminent danger she was in. That they were all in.
Wilkins grabbed Dr. Scott by the shoulder and shoved him into the corridor. Marcia, Char and the four Marines quickly followed, funneling out of the room.
He shouted at Fairhaven, “We gotta leave!”
“Go!” she shouted back. “I’ll hold ’em off.”
“I’m not leaving you.”
“Are you crazy? I’m not staying. I’m right behind you. Now move it!”
Her response took a moment to register. Wilkins raised a hand toward her to object. When he realized she was actually agreeing with him, he nodded and disappeared after the others down the corridor.
Piles of squiddies rushed Fairhaven, only to meet a barrage of bullets driving them back. She pulled an M68 off her belt, pulled the pin with her teeth, and lobbed it into the nursery. She sprayed a final volley of bullets to at the squiddies to keep them off her heels and hightailed it out of the nursery.
“Fire in the hole!”
Wilkins shouted back, “Keep ’er coming.”
The pregnancy made Fairhaven carry her weight differently than she had previously. Though it didn’t seem to impede or slow her down, her run was more of a fast-paced waddle than a full-stride sprint.
Wilkins wanted to simultaneously laugh, swell with pride at the mother of his unborn child, and immediately run back to help and protect her.
That thought was short-lived, as an explosion rocked the corridor, raining dust and debris on their heads. A pillar of fire flooded behind them, flames engulfing hundreds of squiddies. Several dozen outside the blast radius of the initial fireball kept charging in full pursuit. Tentacles windmilled. Slimy alien bodies swarmed over one another, moving like a tsunami.
The party sprinted through the narrow twists and turns of the underground catacombs. Ahead, the dim blue-white glow of the halogen lamps illuminated a circular chamber—their makeshift catacomb entrance. A beam of sunlight cut into the chamber. Overhead, they could hear the shouting of the two Marines left on guard. Two sets of rappelling ropes were tossed into the chamber.
By the time Fairhaven arrived, the others were already getting into their climbing harnesses. Wilkins grabbed a rope, clipped Marcia in, and shoved the slack into her hand. He pulled the slack tight, and raised her off the ground.
“Up you go.”
At the second rappelling line, Dr. Scott fumbled with his climbing gear. His hands shook. He tried to clip in, but kept missing. Two of the Marines huddled around him, pushing his hands away, and clipping him into his gear like a mother putting her child into a car seat.
The first line was tossed back down, and Char was already hoisting herself up and out, by the time Dr. Scott was finally on the move.
Of the remaining four Marines, two efficiently strapped in and climbed out in a flash of motion, while the other two fired at the squiddies constantly trying to infiltrate the room.
The ropes unfurled down on the remaining Marines’ shoulders, drawing their attention.
“You two, go!” shouted Fairhaven. “We’ll hold it down here.”
Wilkins and Fairhaven stood shoulder to shoulder, raining bullets into the hallway.
“Mag out,” said Fairhaven.
“Gotcha.” Wilkins laid down fire thick on the corridor entrance as she ejected the spent mag and slapped in a fresh one. Above them, the Marines disappeared over the ledge. Two more Marines barked at them and tossed down the rappelling ropes.
Without taking his hand off the trigger, Wilkins put his left hand on Fairhaven’s shoulder. “I know you’re a badass and all, but you first this time.”
Through volleys of suppressive fire, Fairhaven was about to object, but Wilkins said, “It’s not about the baby. I climb faster than you.”
She gave him the stink-eye.
“And yes, it’s about the baby. Get your butt up that rope.”
She slapped something into his hand, leaned forward and kissed him, deep and hard. “I love you.”
“Likewise. Now get outta here.”
She spent her entire mag, pushing the squiddies back to buy Wilkins time as she clipped into her line. He put a hand beneath her and boosted her as high as he could lift her.
“Don’t forget to use my parting gift,” said Fairhaven.
Wilkins looked down. In his hand was her last two M68s. “I love you too.”
“Shut up and kill those things, will ya?”
“You clear yet? Or you just sticking around to blather?”
“I’m clee—wait a sec.” She dangled in midair. The Marines hoisted her up and over the ledge. “Okay, all clear.”
Waves of squiddies tumbled into the room, clawing and writhing over one another.
“All clear, she says,” Wilkins muttered under his breath.
Wilkins’ M97B chugged ammo at the incoming rush of squiddies as he reached back clipping himself on the rappelling line. His rifle clicked, ammo completely spent. He held both M68s in one hand, slid his pointer finger through the pin of one and his ring finger into the other, pulled them simultaneously, and underhand tossed the two M68s into the squiddie melee. Without looking back, he hoisted himself up the rappelling line like the great big ape he was.
Squiddies leaped up, nipping at his heels. A tentacle wrapped around his ankle. Wilkins yelped as he fought the added weight pulling him back down into the chamber.
Inhuman screeches pierced the air. A ball of fire rolled across the ground, rising in the chamber. The blast wave pushed him upward, and he caught the edge of the opening. It was slick, slimy organic material that squished in his hand. He clawed at the edge for purchase, but found none.
Rising heat from the burning inferno below singed his body, as he felt himself falling.
Fairhaven caught his hand. Char grabbed his other, attempting to haul him up.
“God damn, you’re heavy,” said Char.
Two Marines braced the ladies. Three more lurched forward, grabbing Wilkins and lugging him over the ledge onto mosaic tile.
In the chamber below, the flames began to dwindle.
Fairhaven jumped to her feet, pointed at the smoldering squiddies below, and shouted, “Not so tough now, are ya fuckers?”
“Fascinating,” said Marcia. “They’re still alive.”
In the pit, squiddies scoured the walls and surfaces, searching for a route up top. Their slimy olive flesh was now charred and blackened. Other than moving appreciably slower, as if dazed, they didn’t appear to be injured from the explosion or flames. Flapping tentacles slapped against the sides of the walls. In the center, they began gathering, dogpiling on top of one another.
“What are they doing?” asked Char.
All of a sudden, they raised up, a daisy chain of tentacles and moist bodies. Squiddies climbed over one another, building the chain a link at a time, flailing tentacles reaching for the ledge.
“We gotta move,” said Fairhaven. “They’re still coming.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Char sprinted down the central aisle, through pews filled with air-mummified corpses. Noonday light shone through the stained glass windows, casting rainbow patterns across the nave. She made a hard right turn into the vestibule, heading for the main doors, when a hand grabbed her shoulder and pulled her backward.
“You can’t go out there,” said Marcia.
Char shrugged off her hand. “And we can’t stay in here, either.”
Once again, Marcia reached for her shoulder. But this time, she put a finger through the gaping hole in her pressure suit. “Your pressure suit is torn and you don’t have a mask.”
“I’m fine with taking my chances.”
“No,” said Dr. Scott. He and several Marines were at the door, waiting for the rest of the party to move out into Earth’s toxic environment. He showed his scanner to Char. “She’s right. There’s trace amounts of neurotoxin in here. It only gets worse outside. You’ll die if you go out there.”
“She’ll die if she stays in here,” said Wilkins, storming into the vestibule with Fairhaven and the remaining Marines tight on his six. “We all will.”
Behind the altar, squiddies climbed out of the opening, covering the dais like a lava flow.
“She can umbilical off me,” said one of the Marines. His name tape read: ROTHMAN. He reached into his kit and produced a spare mask. “Even have a spare mask she can use.”
“Perfect. That’s solved,” said Wilkins. “C’mere.” He grabbed Char by the collar and dragged her toward him. “Stay.”
Like the Marine, Wilkins reached behind his back for something on his belt. There was a loud scritch tear. Vigorously, he patted her chest and shoulder with silver duct tape.
Char raised a brow. “And that’s gonna hold?”
“It better. Not like you have another choice.” Wilkins released his grip, set her down, and swatted her ass. “Go on now, git!”
The move startled her. She didn’t know if she should be upset. Or turned on. But the squiddies left zero time to consider it.
She nudged Rothman and shouldered through the heavy double doors into midday sunlight.
“Wait!” Wilkins shouted. “We should—”
But it was too late. Char was already outside, halfway across the courtyard.
“We should check the seal first,” he muttered to himself, finishing his thought.
Fairhaven tugged on the scruff of his pressure suit. “C’mon, big guy. Let’s go. Preferably now.”
Squiddies flooded the sanctuary, bubbling up from the opening, and spilling over the stage into the front pews. They poured down the aisles, slithering across tile and stone.
Outside Our Lady of Mount Carmel, the Marines ran at top speed, their gear bouncing heavy and hard on their backs, and in their arms, as they moved at breakneck pace.
