All the little lost boys and girls (Update: 26/5/12)

[Bladed_Crescent]

Day six and you're trapped in the Styx: the infection takes hold.

Coming up: Shannon and Abigail vs the hive and the other survivors come face to... er... face with trouble of their own.

Also, there's a little homage to Agatha Christie's sublime murder mystery And Then There Were None in this chapter. If you haven't read it (and why not?), it's definitely something I'd recommend. Ten people on an island and one by one they start to die...

Chapter 46:

Day Six:

It started with a cough.

A cough you couldn’t quite shake, sinuses burning and lungs filled with phlegm. Retries clasped a hand to his chest as another series of wracking coughs made him nearly double over, a Hadley-Wright nurse handing him a tissue. As he wiped his lips, he saw that it came away bloody.

“What,” Davis said quietly, to one in particular. “are you doing to me?”

~

“How many cases?” Colonel Hsing Paclan didn’t turn his eyes away from the monitor bank as a doctor whose name he didn’t know tried just as hard not to look at the displays.

“Nine so far,” the corper said. There were dark circles under the man’s eyes and his breath smelled like caffeine. Another ‘dreamkiller’, one of those who avoided sleep at all costs. There’d been more of them on the ship since they’d entered the Mists, even more since they’d found the DROP. Paclan frowned, trying to remember where he’d heard that odd term. It had only been on this expedition, hadn’t it? Surely he’d never heard it before...

...had he?

As he tried to place the phrase, Hsing realized the doctor was still talking. With an effort, he managed to pull his attention back to the corper. “...security team’s displaying symptoms of course, but two cases are from personnel who were in sections of the ship closest to the main environmental plant...”

Paclan’s hands curled into fists and the doctor’s words seemed to melt away. Veers. What he’d done already was bad enough, but he’d shut down the active filtration systems and ramped up the airflow throughout the frigate. Not for long, really – the petty officer’s changes had been overridden almost as soon as they’d been noticed. But long enough to spread his poison beyond the few small areas of the ship that the security teams had chased him through.

There’d been nothing Veers could do about the passive, physical filters set up in the environmental plant and ducts; mesh, carbon and other assorted filters used to clean detritus and contaminants from the air. There were even nanoscale filters intended to capture microbes; they weren’t 100% effective, but they did help. Just not as much when gaping holes had been ripped and chewed through them, allowing whatever obscene offspring Veers had birthed to scuttle throughout the ship.

Paclan had kill teams and hunter drones scouring Primal’s duct system – turning the entire frigate inside out – looking for those things, but they hadn’t turned up yet. Until they did, the ship was quarantined and the people outside would just have to stay outside.

Hsing rubbed his temples, trying to think. His thoughts seemed... muddier over the last few days and he was finding it harder to place names and people. Had it been only the past few days, though? No... it was just recently that it had gotten worse. Ever since they’d entered the Mists. He gave himself a mental shake. Just stress, that was all. Stress and fatigue. He had people on his crew holding up and damned if he was going to give in to cabin fever. The commander needed to be an example, that was what his uncle had always told him. It had been his uncle, he was sure of it...

“See to your patients, doctor,” he said, dismissing the corper and idly wondering just what the man’s name was.

~

This was bad.

In fact, ‘bad’ was an extraordinary understatement of the situation. The woman was still having trouble trying to understand just how things had gone so wrong so quickly. All thanks to her companion’s idiotic over-enthusiasm. The urge to simply kill him was there, but she suppressed it. That wouldn’t fix things and right now, she needed another meat shield between her and DROP 47’s various horrors. At least until rescue arrived. That was something of a forlorn hope, but it was all she had at the moment. That, and somehow getting to a comm system powerful enough to reach Silence and she wasn’t sure which plan was more difficult.

She walked along the battlements the mercenaries had set up in the bay – they’d been slowly expanding their barricades, building up deeper defences and cobbling together IEDs and other improvised traps, preparing for the next assault. It hadn’t come yet, but the R-types were never far away – only a few hours ago, that same female R-type had managed to ambush one of the soldiers and, like her earlier victim, carry him off before anyone could respond. Much more than one of the mindless drones, this polymorph was fast, lethal and obviously intelligent. The records of the last few failed expeditions had alluded to something like that infection form, but nothing concrete.

She supposed that the news of just how much the R-series could change its hosts would be greeted with both excitement and frustration by the Planning Board, but her concerns were just a bit more immediate than that.

The woman dug her fingernails into her palms in an effort to retain her composure as she nodded to several of the mercenaries on the defence line, her gaze passing over her associate. At least he had the decency not to look her in the eyes, pretending to be suddenly ensconced in cleaning his gun.

Anger was something that she couldn’t afford. That’s what she told herself. Besides, if she were honest with herself, she had to admit some culpability of her own. The plan for the mission had to been to pair one asset with each agent. In order to compartmentalize information, the agent was only supposed to contact the asset when the ship arrived at DROP 47, thereby preventing any chance for ‘loose talk’ beforehand... and, presumably, to make sure that the asset was irrevocably committed to the mission before being briefed fully.

She hadn’t agreed with that policy and had activated her asset early, believing that the more he knew, the more effective he’d be. Unfortunately, her optimism appeared misplaced. In the end, it seemed that the Planning Board’s caution had been justified – if her fellow hadn’t been so damned eager to ‘help’, none of this would have happened.

At least, that’s what she told herself. Looking at the suppurating boils on one soldier’s mauled arm and their cold, sweaty skin, she couldn’t shake the feeling that all her companion had done was change the when of the situation.

She nodded to another of the mercenaries. Like all the others, he was faceless behind his helmet and were it not for the marks on his armour, just as indistinguishable from the others. His name was Charles ‘Chuck’ Daniels. She hadn’t slept with him, but she knew he was interested. She’d been cultivating him – something that she knew irked her asset – but, well, fuck him. She had combat training of course, but it wasn’t her specialty and the more people with guns between her and the rest of the station, the better her chances of survival.

Daniels nodded to her, standing and putting a hand on her shoulder. He nodded, his voice clicking through his mask, telling her that things would be all right.

She envied that ignorance.

~

Everything seemed so much clearer now. Brighter, more intense. Odours were sharper, more distinct. Sounds were clearer and even the garden’s night-cycle seemed like dusk rather than the pitch black Gemma remembered. She could feel the shift in the air caused by the movement of other bodies, could pick out the subtleties of scent in the air, the unheard conversations between the brood and the overwhelming aroma of growth. And, of course, the blood.

It was everywhere. There were traces of it in the air, on the plants, on the others’ lips and claws and bodies. And it was in front of her.

She couldn’t tell by looking at his face – what was left of it – but the nametag on his tunic read JUNG, C.

Chin-Hae Jung. He’d always flirted with her, but as the trip into the Mist had worn on, his overtures had gotten more desperate, becoming needier and angrier until she couldn’t remember why she’d ever thought he was cute in the first place. Now, with bloody strips of skin hanging from his ruined face, she never would.

“Too far from the rest,” her sister – no no no! – had said as she’d dropped the still-warm carcass in front of her. “This is for you. You need to eat.”

“No,” she’d said, defiant and sick with horror. She’d pulled away, cowering into a corner, feeling the growth covering the bulkhead press against her bare skin, feeling the oddness of her own flesh – nothing she could put into words, nothing that she wanted to put into words. She wanted to wake up, to escape from this horror. She’d do anything, even claw her way out of her own skin if it would save her, if it would stop the pain.

Every part of her seemed to be on fire, burning from the inside out. Joints ached endlessly, her guts seemed as if they were twisting inside her and her muscles felt as if they were pulling themselves apart. And the hunger. Worse than the pain – that was merely excruciating, this was crippling agony – it made her all but double over, rocking back and forth on her knees, each movement causing stinging, burning waves to ripple through her changing body, briefly washing out the obscene need at her core.

She could smell it, wordless whispers in her head telling her that it wasn’t just blood she was smelling, it was prey’s blood, it meant food, it meant enemy. Her tongue – had it always been that long? – ran over her teeth, their sharp edges cutting it and she tasted her own blood, running down her throat, over her lips and down her chin.

More.

No! This was wrong! “No,” she repeated again, trying to blot it all out. The pain, the noises, the smells. Everything but that one word. “No. No,” she said it over and over again, like a child trying to deny an uncomfortable truth, as if she believed that saying it enough would end the nightmare. “No.”

“You need to eat,” that voice said, soft and patient. Her sister – no, I never had a sister – was crouched a few yards away, next to Jung’s corpse. She didn’t try to move closer, simply sitting and waiting for Gemma to come to her. A moment passed and then, again: “You need to eat.” It was all she said now, occasionally breaking Mackenzie’s mantra every few minutes for... how long had it been? A hour? Two? She couldn’t tell.

“No,” Gemma whispered, shaking her head. She was dying. Whatever was happening to her, it was burning her out as her ravaged body cried out for energy to sustain itself. “I won’t, you can’t make me...” I won’t I won’t eat fish it’s nasty and gross!

It’s good for you, sweetie. It’ll help you grow.

No! No no no! You can’t make me!

Then you’ll just sit here until you do.

She moaned, low and long, nearly doubling over from the pain. “No,” she said again, clutching to that single word. “No, I won’t. I won’t eat...” she couldn’t even make herself say it. “I won’t.”

“I know,” the girl replied. Her voice was gentle. “I know.” A moment of silence, then: “I said the same thing.”

~

More people were falling ill. All over the ship as whatever came out of Veers scurried in and out of the vents, spreading their contamination throughout the frigate’s breadth. Strange sounds in the mess hall, muddy footprints in hydroponics, a sighting of something in engineering.

One of the hunter-killers claimed the first one, catching it as it scurried across an empty hallway, the war drone’s single shot all but blasting the small creature in half. Even that wasn’t enough to kill it, until the hunter-killer’s heavy splayed feet crushed the life from the twitching thing.

It could have been human. There was enough similarity in its form to make it a grotesque mockery of a developing chordate embryo. A backbone. A long paddle-like tail. Stunted, grasping forelimbs. And a face. A face that had no business existing on any living thing. Far too human to make it a simple over-sized vertebrate embryo, there was a dreadful resemblance in its too-human features. The curve of the lips, the colour of the eyes. Small things, really. But they added up and Colonel Hsing Paclan realized that he was staring at a twisted reimagining of Petty Officer Jason Veers.

“Find the other one,” he told another medical officer whose name he couldn’t remember. “Find it and kill it.”

~

It wasn’t instant, of course. It couldn’t be. Everything took time and this was no exception; it had been less than a day and so far, there was only the coughing. Painful, wet phlegmy and occasionally bloody coughing, but just coughing nonetheless. As time passed, additional symptoms would manifest, eventually leading to what Kerrigan’s survivors witnessed in the landing bay: the dead would walk. In a manner of speaking, anyways. They wouldn’t really be dead. Like the doomed, deceased petty officer, they would be alive – after a fashion. That hadn’t happened yet, though. No one knew it would, just as no one knew that this sickness would tip the scales the already overstressed, overtired crew’s mental health weighed upon. There were incidents of violence – increasing in both frequency and savagegy, yes – but no one knew what they would escalate into, that they would die by one another’s hands, killed by the people sent to save them or by Acheron’s other predators.

All they knew was that Jason Veers had brought a contagion aboard the ship and that it started with a cough.

Thoughts, like an echo of the people quarantined within the frigate’s hull, ran back and forth like frightened rats in a maze trying to find a way out.

Everything’s gone wrong... we shouldn’t even be here. How many others came here and died here? It’s all wrong. It’s all gone wrong. We’ve got to get out. We have to.

They’re laughing at me, I know it. They stop talking whenever I walk into a room, they were talking about me. I know. I know, you can’t fool me. I’m watching you. I’m watching you all. Don’t think I don’t know what’s going on here... Yes, I know. I do.

So many dead... it won’t happen to me. Not to me. Not to me, I won’t be one of those... those things. I won’t let it happen... Not to me. They’re all going mad, but not me. No sir, not me. It won’t happen to me.

Everyone’s acting so strangely... no one’s sleeping, stims and coffee... you can smell it on their breath. I can’t sleep either. Too many noises... too many dreams. Am I the last sane one... or... or do I just think I am?

It’s her. It has to be. The way she looks at me, the way she’s talks... I’ll watch her. Yes, that’s it. I’ll watch the girl.

Have to watch the core. If it slips into the red, it’ll melt down and kill us all. Have to watch the core, just keep watching the core and everything will be fine. That’s all. The others can worry about the rest of the ship. I’ll just watch the core. I’ll make sure it’s working. That’s my job. Everything will be fine if I just do my job...

They’re everywhere... in the ship. Even before Veers, I heard them. I know I did... scratching at the walls. I heard them outside my door. I know I did. This ship isn’t safe. I have to get out. I have to get out. I have to get out.

~

They found the other one. It was already dead, withered and gaunt as if it had starved to death, little more than paper-thin skin over fragile bones. Its tiny clawed hands were scarred and shredded, its lips were torn and its teeth were broken from its efforts to rip and chew its way through the ship’s ventilation system. Its emaciated face still bore traces of its ‘father’s’ features.

As the remaining scientists and medical staff examined the creature and struggled to comprehend its impossible physiology, none of them said what they were all thinking, what had been on their minds ever since the corpse had been discovered. It showed no signs of trying to feed; in fact, its rudimentary digestive system was atrophied and virtually nonfunctional; even if it had eaten anything, it certainly couldn’t have digested it. The creature had never been intended to survive for long.

Only until its job was done.

Not one mentioned that, each of the scientists holding back their fears under a layer of false civility, professional banter and a desperation to pretend things were normal, even as their eyes darted around the room. Looking at one another, wondering what the person next to them was thinking, each of them afraid that the other’s thoughts would be the same as their own, each of them hoping for the way out of the maze.

~

Gemma cradled her shoulders, feeling something warm and wet roll down her cheeks. “Mommy...” she whispered to the darkness. “Daddy... I’m scared, daddy. It hurts.”

“It’s okay,” a voice said and arms wrapped around her. They were slight, but powerful. Claws that could pierce metal rested gently against her skin, a comforting scent touched her nose and she buried her face in her sister’s breasts.

“I’m scared,” Gemma whispered, shaking with pain and terror. “I don’t want to go. Don’t make me go, I want to stay here. Please don’t make me go.”

“Ssssh,” her sister whispered, holding Gemma tightly. “It’s all right. ”

She felt her sister shift, heard something wet and heavy being dragged over the floor, liquid tearing and cracking sounds. The scent of blood thickened in the air and something was pressed to her lips, salty and... and... and...

Gemma tried to pull away, but there was a hand on the back of her head. Not pushing her forward, but keeping her from moving back. “You need to eat,” that same voice told her. Gently, but firmly.

She shook her head, moaning desperately. “No. No...”

It smelled so good.

No! No no no no! This is sick! This is wrong! Someone help me, please God, let me wake up, let it stop. Please...

She was so hungry.

I won’t I won’t you can’t make me, I’ll sit here all night, I will!

Gemma reached out with one hand, to push the offered meal away. She froze as she caught sight of her hands. The skin of her fingers had split, bone and cuticle fusing together into stunted talons. Softer and shorter than those of her sister, they were still vicious, deadly claws in their own right. And they would grow and harden...

She gagged on her own revulsion, sagging further down. “Let me die,” she begged. “Just... just please. Don’t. Don’t make me. Please, daddy. I want to stay. Mommy? Mommy, where are you? I don’t want to go...”

Against her will, her fingers tightened on Jung’s severed limb.

“Sssh,” her sister whispered. “I know. I know.”

Gemma shivered, starting to tug on the scrap of meat in her hands. The other girl let go and she pulled it to her mouth, her own saliva splattering onto the shredded skin. “His name was Chin,” she said, her eyes squeezed shut, still trying to fight against the nightmare, feeling herself slip away. “His name was Chin. His name was Chin.” The tears curled down her cheeks, mingling with the drool and blood covering Jung’s arm. “He-he liked skiing and old movies and... and.. and... his name was Chin.”

Hungry it hurts it hurts so much make it stop please make it stop...

I don’t want to.

His name was Chin.

Please...

And she fed.

...more.

[LadyTevar]

Ninth day, she grins and devours her kin.
Now she does feast, as she's become the beast

[Themightytom]

uh oh, whatever Crescent's got, Lady Tevar's got it too..

[Master_Baerne]

Quick, isolate them! It's spreading!

[Xon]

Now you lay and wait, for their screams will haunt you in your dreams

[Night_stalker]

Quick, isolate them! It's spreading!

It's too late! Xon's already been infected!

[HSRTG]

I'd just like to state that this fic infiltrated my dreams. Fortunately I woke up before the giant black thing made out of screaming bodies caught me.

Fucker.

EDIT: Yes, it definitely was this fic as the graffiti on the walls would have testified. If I had had time to read it.

[Darth Nostril]

It lives!

I'd just like to state that this fic infiltrated my dreams.

Stow the chatter Corporal Meatshield. Now move out, your squad has point.

[xt828]

Good to see this is still alive, so to speak.

Another nice chapter - I'm growing quite fond of the Gemma parts in particular

[Master_Baerne]

Good to see this is still alive, so to speak.

I see what you did there.

In other news,

I didn't mean for you to hurt,
I only wanted to convert.
Join us now, my darling friend,
And stay with us until the end.

It really does sorta... worm its way into your head, doesn't it? And you can't ever get it out.

[Bladed_Crescent]

Ninth day, she grins and devours her kin.
Now she does feast, as she's become the beast

One for sorrow,
Two for joy,
Three for a girl,
Four for a boy,
Five for silver,
Six for gold,
Seven for a secret
Never to be told.

uh oh, whatever Crescent's got, Lady Tevar's got it too..

It's spreading.

Quick, isolate them! It's spreading!

Make us whole.

Now you lay and wait, for their screams will haunt you in your dreams

Very apt.

And a bit of wisdom from the denizens of DROP 47:

"Never cry. Never cry, and never call out. Don't whimper, don't plead, don't beg. Curse and scream, howl and rage. Never cry. Never beg."

I'd just like to state that this fic infiltrated my dreams. Fortunately I woke up before the giant black thing made out of screaming bodies caught me.

Fucker.

EDIT: Yes, it definitely was this fic as the graffiti on the walls would have testified. If I had had time to read it.

No time to read it, eh? Was there a lot of running or hiding in the dark?

Though I think this is the fifth or sixth time someone's told me they've dreamed about this story...

Stow the chatter Corporal Meatshield. Now move out, your squad has point.

Corporal Meatshield and the 13th Doomed Infantry will also be required to march into battle with porkchop necklaces. Failing that, tenderloin pauldrons will be used.

Another nice chapter - I'm growing quite fond of the Gemma parts in particular

Thanks; I enjoy them as well. The Crying Girls are certainly fun to write, though more than a little sad; they remember who and what they were and what they are now and can't help but watch and feel themselves warp into something awful and hungry. No matter how much they try or what they tell themselves - the hunger will always win out. They may think they can control it; they may even be able to reign it in for some time but sooner or later, they will succumb.

The only refuge they really have is in madness and at first glance, you might think that this strange girl, crying in the dark and reciting nonsense verse and nursery rhymes is harmless. And maybe she is. For an hour, a day or a week.

Until the hunger rises.

And next chapter we're really going to have some fun, oh yes... Ah heh heh heh.

It really does sorta... worm its way into your head, doesn't it? And you can't ever get it out.

Not with anything short of a power drill.

[Manthor]

The crunchy fragile humans came to DROP 47
Down came the Turned and ate them inside out
Up came Entropy and put the Turned to Sleep
And the Crunchy Fragile humans came to DROP 47.....

...again

Mmmmmm.So.....hungry.So crunchy.So warm....flesh...hunger. Will there be more humans coming to play with me Mr Crescent?They're so much fun.But they are so fragile.And delicious.

[xt828]

Thanks; I enjoy them as well. The Crying Girls are certainly fun to write, though more than a little sad; they remember who and what they were and what they are now and can't help but watch and feel themselves warp into something awful and hungry. No matter how much they try or what they tell themselves - the hunger will always win out. They may think they can control it; they may even be able to reign it in for some time but sooner or later, they will succumb.

The only refuge they really have is in madness and at first glance, you might think that this strange girl, crying in the dark and reciting nonsense verse and nursery rhymes is harmless. And maybe she is. For an hour, a day or a week.

Until the hunger rises.

Yeah, there's a great mix of horror and melancholy in those passages, and I think you're capturing the emotions really well. I have to admit that probably the prime reason I like this story so much is how well you're doing the emotional side of it - we're really getting a good feel for how the characters are getting ground down by everything they see and experience. My reading experience is that writers often struggle with the dark side of human emotions, so I tend to latch on to the good stuff.

[Bladed_Crescent]

Mmmmmm.So.....hungry.So crunchy.So warm....flesh...hunger. Will there be more humans coming to play with me Mr Crescent?They're so much fun.But they are so fragile.And delicious.

Heh. We'll see.

Yeah, there's a great mix of horror and melancholy in those passages, and I think you're capturing the emotions really well. I have to admit that probably the prime reason I like this story so much is how well you're doing the emotional side of it - we're really getting a good feel for how the characters are getting ground down by everything they see and experience. My reading experience is that writers often struggle with the dark side of human emotions, so I tend to latch on to the good stuff.

Thanks; action scenes are fun to write, but I also like to know how my characters are going to react both coming in and going out of the scenes, how it will affect them. It's not just about the explosions and gunfire, after all.

It's one of the reasons I like Ian Trevayne from Weber and White's Insurrection; he lost his wife and daughter in an attack the rebel forces botched and after his son defects, he's forced to destroy his ship. So he has just a little bit of animosity towards the rebels, so much so that he almost destroys a rebel armada that's literally pleading to surrender, until his second in command reminds him of his duty. It's not because Trevayne is a bad man, or a psychopath on the brink it's because, as the Joker said - he had that One Bad Day; the nation he swore to protect is fighting itself, he was forced to flee from the guns of his own supposed brothers and sisters in arms, has been weathering constant attacks as he tries to hold an isolated/surrounded fragment of his nation together, found out that his wife and young daughter were turned to ash in a botched rebel attack and was forced to have his own son's ship destroyed.

To me, that emotional aspect is what makes Trevayne one of my favorite Weber characters. That it's not always about the battles, but the characters in them, that even the most sterling, upright people can have that One Bad Day... and what happens then? If they're lucky, like Trevayne, they have someone to catch them. If they're not, well...

That's what happens on DROP 47. Some people manage to hold onto each other. Others don't. Exploring that is, to me, almost as much fun as getting into the mythology of the station and the truth behind what happened on that One Bad Day, six hundred years ago.

Which is a really long, roundabout way of saying that I enjoy exploring the emotional aspect of characters, even (or especially) the darker ones.

[Bladed_Crescent]

In this chapter, we have girls being bad.

Coming up: Day seven and you know you'll never see heaven.

Chapter 47:

It had no face.

That was the first impression anyone could form as they stared at the thing in the doorway.

Its armour was the colour of a moonless night, and seemed to eat every drop of light that fell on it. Its helmet was like a featureless opera mask, devoid of all but the barest emulation of a human face. A slight ridge of a nose and raised, indistinct lips. Eyes that glinted like a cat’s. It was like looking at something sculpted by a man who had never seen another person’s face. Beneath the armour, it might have been female.

Its right hand was reaching towards the keypad when the door had snapped open, catching it unawares and just as surprised as the survivors. Bujold was the closest to it and could only gape in confusion. Then, he went for his weapons. He was a fast draw. Faster than any other survivor, perhaps even faster than anyone in either Primal or Kerrigan’s expeditions. It took just over a tenth of a second for him to draw his pistols, cock and aim them. Less than a eyeblink more and he could have fired.

But his opponent was faster. A flicker of movement and her weapon was already up, held at shoulder-level – not from the waist where all quick-draw shooters fired from. There was no time for Bujold to react, only enough for the start of a stunned thought to form before she fired. The sound was soft, a crack of superheated air as a brilliant bolt of energy burst through the man’s throat, burning a fist-sized hole through meat and bone, leaving his head barely attached to his body by two charred, smoking strings of flesh.

He fell, head sagging forward as he telescoped onto his knees, toppling to one side, pistols falling from nerveless fingers.

Emily gaped in horror as the killer’s head snapped towards her-

-it stepped through the doorway-

-Lutzberg was screaming-

-and thunder crashed, again and again.

Louis was shouting, but even at the top of his lungs, no one could hear him over Betsy’s roar as the shotgun pounded out a torrent of shells. The killer staggered, caught in the midst of the storm and it fell back out of the doorway, crashing to the deck. Fingers and legs twitched in a death spasm, its left hand still clutching the weapon it had killed Bujold with.

The rolling thunder quieted, smoke wafting out of Betsy’s barrel. “Fuck me,” Louis breathed. “What the fuck? What the fuck is that?”

Emily couldn’t speak, couldn’t find the words, pulling herself up out of the panel. “I... I...” she managed to gather herself. “I... don’t know.” She couldn’t look at it. So fast...

“Is it dead?” Lutzberg whimpered from the staircase where he’d tried to hide. “Is it dead?”

“I just put half a drum into it at point-blank range,” Louis said over his shoulder. “There’s no way it could still be alive. No way..”

His voice trailed off as he looked back at the fallen form, still spasming. “No way...” he whispered a third time.

Its armour – cratered, splintered, scarred and dented – was repairing itself. Almost like it was... like it was healing.

Pained breaths breaths rasped through its null-helm and fingers tightened around the pistol’s grip. Its other hand braced itself against the deck, legs drawing up. Groggy and disoriented from the fusillade that had battered it down, but still alive. Its faceless visor stared at them as it regained its bearings and Louis could almost feel the waves of hatred pulsing from that featureless visage. It made a noise, deep in its throat – something ugly and low. Not quite a hiss, not quite a growl, but something atavistic and savage. The sound a predator might make just before it struck.

“Close it!” Louis shouted as the stalker-thing pulled itself back to its feet, the weapon in its hand starting to hum, a hellish light glowing from vents on its wide barrel. “Close the door!” The mercenary pulled a grenade from his bandolier and thumbed it active.

Emily scrambled back into the panel’s innards. “Now!” she shouted. “Throw it!”

The projectile sailed out into the corridor, the enemy soldier already pulling away from the explosive. The door slammed shut.

There was the muted thunder of the grenade’s detonation and several tense, hopeful moments of silence.

And then, they heard it scream.

~

That hurt.

-injury-

She picked herself up, looking down at her broken arm. She grabbed it with her good hand and wrenched it, letting out a shriek at the sudden burst of pain as she pulled the bones right, feeling her armour’s internal bindings tighten and hold the fractures in place. Pain suppressants and regenerative compounds flooded her system and she sighed as the pain faded, replaced by an electric tingle as nerves and skin, blood vessels and bones, were made whole once more. A diagnostic pulsed blue; the limb was healing normally. Good. She’d had a broken leg set improperly before and had had to break it again.

Her fingers found the comforting weight of the Ashmaker and she gave it a quick check, but her body had protected the pistol from the explosion. Still, caution paid for itself. Ashmakers were very effective, but undeniably volatile weapons.

-watch them burn, smell the charred meat-

She holstered the pistol, touching a hand to the destroyed access panel. The synthlink nodes in her armour reached out to the damaged systems, attempting to make a connection, but there was none to be had. The damage from the blast was cosmetic and could be repaired, but the links to access the door had been severed from the inside and the manual override had been jammed.

Her lips pulled back from her teeth, almost pleased at the enemy’s cunning. Almost. They were trespassing on the cairn.

-defilers kill them close your teeth on their throats and tear them open-

She reached out to the door, letting the tips of her fingers brush over it, curling them into a fist and rapping on the metal.

tong tong tong

She turned away, still groggy from both assaults. “I’ve found them,” she confirmed to the pack, relaying the prey’s location to her comrades. “Heavy weapons. I’ve taken damage.”

“Functional?”

She flexed her broken arm, shivers of pain spiking up the limb, quickly washed out by the heady flow of endorphins. “Functional,” she confirmed. Her good hand closed on a demolition charge. “I can breach...”

“Negative. Increasing movement in your area.”

She nodded. The sounds had drawn them. “Hunters?”

“Yes. And soldiers. Possible praetorian release. Fall back to specified ambush point.” A beat. “Confirm.”

She looked back at the door, her fingers flexing. Her teeth clicked against each other.

-kill them kill them KILL THEM-

In the distance, the cries of the Ribbons had stilled.

-kill them, rip them open and feel their steaming blood on your skin-

“Confirmed. Falling back. Initiating shade.” It was a reluctant killer that faded into the shadows, rippling from view like a dissipating mirage, but it was a killer that understood more than instinct. No matter how loud it screamed. Father had taught them that. That they could be better.

They held to that tenant and the New Ones would again learn what that meant. Even if the lesson never took, they weren’t quite evolved enough not to enjoy administering it time and again.

~

It hung from the walls like a sack of rotten meat, its spread-eagled arms and legs barely recognizable as distinct appendages. They’d grown into the spread, so much that the awful thing’s skin was almost impossible to differentiate from the diseased growth, as if the host had been crucified upon the wall and the creeping corruption had grown over it, into it. Its swollen belly gaped with strangely even orifices, like chambers in a honeycomb. Its eyes were bulbous, like those of some nocturnal mammal and stared into the pervasive gloom as its head lolled slowly back and forth across the 3-way intersection it guarded.

Sentry.

Abigail crouched behind a pustulent blob of tissue almost four feet tall; she didn’t know if the tumourous growth had simply spread over some other structure, or it had simply built up for some disgusting purpose that she could only guess at. All she knew about the vile abscess was that it was providing cover from the bulging eyes of a living motion sensor. She couldn’t see Shannon from her position, but the corporal was a few meters further up the hall, squeezed into an overgrown closet to prevent the sentry-thing from seeing her. It knew they were there; it kept glancing in their direction with increasing frequency, the wet, pulsing rasps of its breathing picking up as it sensed intruders to its lair, but so far unable to locate them. Occasionally, it would make a noise, something that defied description: a curious burbling wail as if it were calling to them, daring them to show themselves.

In the distance, the noises of the other Turned continued and – Abigail didn’t think she was imagining it – began to sound more agitated. She didn’t know what was going on, but this mission was looking worse and worse. Her comm clicked with an all-clear signal and Abigail moved, trusting Shannon’s instincts – the sentry-thing was looking away and the mercenary darted to the next bit of cover, another piece of unknown technology subsumed by the spread’s inevitable growth. Her feet squished with each step and the sentry’s misshapen head snapped towards the sound, a millisecond after Abigail pressed herself flat to the ground, hearing her heart pound in her ears as the once-human thing forced another obscene sound from its throat; lower and more threatening but still inquisitive as the Turned’s mutated eyes scanned for any sign of the intruders it knew were there. Its jagged ribs flexed with each rumbling breath, the broken bones jabbing out from its flesh, laced together like the spurs of a Venus flytrap.

Face-down in the spread, Abigail forced herself to lay still, counting out her heartbeats, knowing that even as the sound dwindled, the sentry was still watching, hoping – did it even have enough of a mind for that? – to surprise anyone foolish enough to think its attention had wandered. One hundred.

Two hundred.

Three hundred.

At three hundred and seventy-seven heartbeats, the mercenary chanced a glance, peering around the overgrown machinery. It wasn’t looking, staring back towards the heart of its lair, where its companions warbled and screamed. Abigail counted out another hundred and seventeen heartbeats, then clicked her own comm, urging Shannon to move ahead.

She’d barely made it two steps out of cover when the sentry’s head snapped towards her and this time, it couldn’t be fooled; even the darkness provided no safety as the creature’s eyes focused on the Halo, its distended mouth sagging open...

...and it began to scream, its head lashing back and forth with such frenzy it seemed impossible that it hadn’t snapped its own neck, its infested arms and legs twitching with what was left of their muscles. Its bulbous torso pulsed and shivered and finally spasmed, powerful muscles hurling metal-hard spikes half the size of a man’s forearm up the corridor. Shannon dived for the ground as one of them whipped past her head, getting off a snap-shot that blew a fist-sized hole in the sentry-thing’s chest. Tissue and blood leaked from the crater as writhing tendrils licked out of the wound like serpents’ tongues, the injury sealing up.

It spasmed again, another jagged bone spike pulsing out from its belly, its guts bulging and writhing as indefinable snakelike things moved within it, splitting its skin and slithering out like questing tendrils. They twitched and shivered as jagged bits of bone pierced their sides, remaking the creature’s entrails into serrated whips, ready to strangle and flay anyone who ventured too close, a monstrous, bloated parody of who and what it had once been. Another survivor, another inhabitant, another visitor.

Another victim.

Another target, part of Shannon’s mind whispered to her, sending a thrill of joy through her that she couldn’t quite shake.

~

“What was what?” Louis asked again as he paced back and forth through the lab. “What the fuck was that... that thing?” His gaze kept darting away from the corner where a man in a burned suit and a rotted face sat, raising his voice to keep from hearing the accusations that dripped from decomposing lips.

“It’s one of the stalkers,” Lutzberg whimpered, clutching his hands to his head, once again hearing their awful cries, listening to them as they hunted and killed. “They killed my people before. Hung Oversten like meat.”

“You... you saw them?” the mercenary snapped. “You saw them and you didn’t warn us?!” he advanced on the petty officer. “Those things were out there – they were out there and hunting us and you knew about them?”

“When you mentioned the Masks, I thought that they were just ferals!” Armin shouted back. “That’s what... that’s what I wanted to think.” He shuddered. “The sounds they made...”

“You ‘thought’,” sneered Louis. “That’s just fucking great, petty officer! There’s been a bunch of fucking lunatics with weapons and armour running around this station and you didn’t see fit to tell us about them. Another bunch of silver-faced bastards out to burn-”

“Enough, both of you!” Emily snapped, putting herself between the men, the petite doctor pushing them back before they could come to blows. “Enough! This isn’t helping!” Emily looked from Armin to Hernandez, meeting the big mercenary’s eyes, halting him mid-stride. “This isn’t helping,” she repeated, taking a quick glance back at Armin. “It’s not helping.”

Finally, Louis nodded. “Yeah,” he admitted at last. “Yeah, you’re right.” He stared Lutzberg down for a moment longer, then turned away. “Anything else that you think we need to know, petty officer, or is someone else going to have to die? Who is it going to be next time?”

Armin stiffened, about to retort and start the argument again, but Emily spoke first. “I killed him,” she said, her voice hoarse. “I did it. I opened the door. I gave that... that thing its oppurtunity. I’m the one who killed Bujold. Not Armin. Me.”

Hernandez waved away the doctor’s comments. “You couldn’t have known it was there.”

“And neither did Armin.”

Louis hesitated for a moment, then offered Lutzberg an apologetic grunt. “Sorry.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to focus. His thoughts felt muddier as the adrenaline rush from the anger faded. “Okay,” he said. “Okay. Three and Four are fucking around with our bugger’s little mission-”

“They’re what?” Armin interrupted, a note of hysteria entering his voice. “They’re not going to bring us through? They’re going... they’re just going to leave us here with... with those things?” He almost shrieked it: “It’s just outside the door!”

“Easy,” Emily said, facing the shaking petty officer. “It’s not trying to get in. It might have left.” Please God, let it have gone somewhere else.

“It’s waiting!” Lutzberg insisted. “It’s waiting for us! They do that, they wait until you’re there until you’re right there and then they kill you.” He squeezed his eyes shut, the memories all rushing back to the fore, coming out in a confused jumble of nouns and subjects. “They didn’t scream, you know. Not at first. There wasn’t enough time. And then they started shooting. Started killing. Then they screamed. Running and screaming. Not many, there weren’t many of them. And then fewer. And then, just one.” He looked down at his filthy hands and they were shaking. “The sounds they made...”

Emily shivered as the petty officer relived the slaughter of his people. Implacable killers striking from the shadows, the gleam of their charging weapons the only warning you got...

Eyes in the dark.

“Speaking of sounds...” Louis interrupted Emily’s reverie, snapping her back to reality, away from the vision of glinting eyes and singsong whispers. “You hear that?”

Delphini cocked her head. “I don’t hear anything,” she admitted, the coin dropping the instant after she’d said the words.

“Right,” Louis replied, tightening his grip on Betsy’s stock. “It’s quiet.”

~

The creature was still screaming, its whining roar echoing through the halls, so loud that the women had to shut down their autosenses to hear one another over it, its bulging eyes sweeping back and forth, ready to fire another volley as soon as either of the mercenaries showed themselves. Shannon didn’t know if the bolts would actually penetrate their armour, but they were heavy enough and moving fast enough that it didn’t really matter; the force of the impact would be like getting hit with a sledgehammer.

Abigail fired a burst into the sentry’s rotten hide, with no more success at disabling it than Shannon’s bullet. “We can’t stay here!” she snapped as she ducked back behind cover, an instant before a jagged black spike whipped through the space where the Darkknell’s head had been and imbedded itself in the deck. “This thing is calling up all its buddies!”

“It’s regenerating too quickly,” Shannon replied. “We can’t damage it fast enough.”

She could hear Abigail’s grin through the comm link. “I do have an anti-tank rifle.”

“Which will over-penetrate, punch through the bulkhead behind it – which is decompressed – and trigger the environmental doors which will seal us in this section, but not the creatures that can survive in vacuum.”

“Oh,” Abigail grunted, a touch of petulance in her voice at the suggestion that her new toy might not be as effective as she’d hoped. “It still needs eyes, doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” Shannon said, nodding. Her eyes flicked back and forth as she started to calculate variables. “Give me an incendiary.”

Abigail rolled one of the grenades to her, the motion prompting a change in the sentry’s cries, but no retaliatory fire, the creature obviously not seeing the small objects as something it needed to attack. “Get your sword ready, Abby. When I tell you, get to it and kill it.”

Hutchins drew her disruptor, thumb on the activation blade. “Ready, Four.” There was no hesitation in her voice, only a touch of curiousity as to why Abigail wanted her to use the blade rather than one of her guns.

The Halo will save us.

“On three, private. One,” Shannon’s legs tensed, ready to move.

“Two.” Abigail was still, the movement of a hunting cat, waiting to strike.

“Three.” The Darknell vaulted over the wreckage, the sentry whipping towards her, but before it could lock on to the sprinting mercenary, Shannon rose. She shouted – bellowed – a challenge, drawing the Turned’s attention away from Abigail an instant before it fired. It looked right at her, its abdomen trembling...

...and she put a bullet right between its over-large eyes, shattering the top of its skull, destroying its brain – for whatever that was worth – and blinding it. The Turned’s scream rose to a shrill, hateful cry. It wasn’t capable of feeling pain, but at this moment, it just might be able to feel rage and its sagging torso vomited forth a broadside of spikes, spraying them up and down the hallway as its tentacles lashed in a berserker frenzy. Even blinded and brain-dead it was still formidable. One of the impalers missed Abigail by inches; another almost found Shannon’s visor, which it surely would have broken through, allowing it to bury itself inches-deep in the Halo’s right eye.

If only she’d still been there.

The incendiary grenade exploded just before it reached the creature, showering the horror with burning accelerant, transforming it into a living torch, its tendrils going limp in that moment of shock, giving Abigail her opening and without even a break in her stride, she was through the Turned’s defences. The disruptor in her hand shrilled as it came down in a blinding slash of coruscating energy. It was a perfect strike, a weapon that could cleave through bulkheads and body armour finding no resistance at all in the ugly, ruined meat of its target, cleaving it open from shoulder to thigh, spilling burned viscera to the deck as Abigail’s backswing silenced the sentry’s howls for all time.

“Fuck me,” the Darkknell breathed, looking over her shoulder at Shannon. “Fuck me, Shannon. What was that?”

The smaller woman shrugged. “Timing.”

“Timing,” Abigail deadpanned. She shook her head and swapped the sword for her carbine. “Halos.”

Suddenly uncomfortable with the conversation, Shannon nodded up the hallway. “We should get going. They’re going to be coming.”

“Yes, they are,” a new voice said from the other hallway. Both women spun, catching a slight figure in the glare of their weapons’ guidelights. A woman, slightly taller than Shannon. She had red hair that had once been tied back in orderly cornrows, but was now loose and scraggly. Her hands hung at her sides, palms outward in a pose of contrition. She wasn’t armed, but the dried blood around her mouth and the fingers stretched into long talons belied any sense of harmlessness. Her clothes were torn and bloodstained, but still identifiable as those of an Artemis petty officer. She was smiling. “But I can help you.”

Her nametag read MACKENZIE, G.

[Sky Captain]

Oh, I nearly missed this update. Keep up the good work!

BTW this story with some Death Metal playing in the background makes just perfect atmosphere.

[LadyTevar]

Gemma. Poor girl.

[Mr. Coffee]

BC, you are still without a doubt the creepiest motherfucker in the Fiction forum. That said, where the fuck are the albino space lesbians, man? I miss that shit...

[iborg]

So, they're making new friends... of course with friends like those found in DROP 47...

[Themightytom]

BC, you are still without a doubt the creepiest motherfucker in the Fiction forum. That said, where the fuck are the albino space lesbians, man? I miss that shit...

There are space lesbians here... they are just a tad less psychotic

[Bladed_Crescent]

Oh, I nearly missed this update. Keep up the good work!

BTW this story with some Death Metal playing in the background makes just perfect atmosphere.

Thanks.

Not sure about death metal, but my writing playlist includes:
Disturbed
Breaking Benjamin
Evanescence
Linkin Park
Nightwish
Within Temptation
Skillet
as well as tons of singles from bands, soundtracks, etc
Lots of good stuff across them all.

Gemma. Poor girl.

What are little girls made of?
Sugar and spice,
And everything nice,
That's what little girls are made of.

BC, you are still without a doubt the creepiest motherfucker in the Fiction forum. That said, where the fuck are the albino space lesbians, man? I miss that shit...

Thanks... I think. This probably won't do anything to lessen that concept, but at my old job, I had a reputation. Not a bad one, just for having an offbeat sense of humour and a decidedly eclectic sense of whimsy, that culminated in my unnerving an entire room of Manly MenTM with nothing more than five minutes of boredom and a piece of chalk. This story got around to one of the new hires - who thought he was "all that" - and started giving me what he no doubt thought of as "the business". He kept saying. "Tell me something creepy. Come on. Something creepy. I bet it's not really that scary. Tell me something creepy."

So i finally turn to him and utterly deadpan in a complete monotone, say: "I know where you live." Honestly, I didn't think it would have quite the effect it did. Apparently, I underestimated my Creepy Motherfucker powers, because he just froze like a deer in the headlights, slack-jawed and trying to figure out if that was a joke or I really was going to murder him in his sleep (he was a douche, so it was tempting...). He'd just started to ask if I was serious before the supervisor (who thought the preceding incident was hilarious and was entirely responsible for spreading said story around) spoiled the whole thing and started laughing at him.

He tried to pass it off "I was just playing along," but she just shook her head. "No, you weren't. He got you." and thus proceeded to mock him and commend me for the next couple months.

Anyways, as far as albino space lesbians go, they've had to take an unfortunate back seat to my job. Need to get writing them more, though. I miss 'em. I've got a huge list of things to write; more "Rabbits"-verse stories, more Children of Heaven short stories, including the prequel, lots more short stories... too many things, not enough time.

So, they're making new friends... of course with friends like those found in DROP 47...

Oh, there's plenty more friends to make.

There are space lesbians here... they are just a tad less psychotic

So far...

[Sky Captain]

Oh, I nearly missed this update. Keep up the good work!

BTW this story with some Death Metal playing in the background makes just perfect atmosphere.

Thanks.

Not sure about death metal, but my writing playlist includes:
Disturbed
Breaking Benjamin
Evanescence
Linkin Park
Nightwish
Within Temptation
Skillet
as well as tons of singles from bands, soundtracks, etc
Lots of good stuff across them all.

Yeah, some of those are also pretty good especially Nighwish, Within Temptation and Disturbed.

When I read your Children of Heaven I listened to Iron Savior, Gamma Ray, Iron Maiden, Primal Fear, Judas Priest, Star One, Ayreon, Accept, Anthrax, Paradise Lost, Slough Feg, Slayer, Clowen Hoof, Rebellion, Megadeath, Grand Magus.

When I read this story I prefer Children of Bodom, Hypocrisy, Arch Enemy, Cannibal Corpse, Bathory, Enslaved, Sepultura, Dimmu Borgir, Amon Amarth.

Usually I don't listen very much Death and Black metal, but when you have hordes of flesh eating zombies running around nothing else fits.

[Grimnosh]

Oh, I nearly missed this update. Keep up the good work!

BTW this story with some Death Metal playing in the background makes just perfect atmosphere.

Thanks.

Not sure about death metal, but my writing playlist includes:
Disturbed
Breaking Benjamin
Evanescence
Linkin Park
Nightwish
Within Temptation
Skillet
as well as tons of singles from bands, soundtracks, etc
Lots of good stuff across them all.

Yeah, some of those are also pretty good especially Nighwish, Within Temptation and Disturbed.

When I read your Children of Heaven I listened to Iron Savior, Gamma Ray, Iron Maiden, Primal Fear, Judas Priest, Star One, Ayreon, Accept, Anthrax, Paradise Lost, Slough Feg, Slayer, Clowen Hoof, Rebellion, Megadeath, Grand Magus.

When I read this story I prefer Children of Bodom, Hypocrisy, Arch Enemy, Cannibal Corpse, Bathory, Enslaved, Sepultura, Dimmu Borgir, Amon Amarth.

Usually I don't listen very much Death and Black metal, but when you have hordes of flesh eating zombies running around nothing else fits.

Try Carrot Juice is Murder by The Arrogent Worms. Just for something compleately out of field.

[Swindle1984]

Oh, I nearly missed this update. Keep up the good work!

BTW this story with some Death Metal playing in the background makes just perfect atmosphere.

Thanks.

Not sure about death metal, but my writing playlist includes:
Disturbed
Breaking Benjamin
Evanescence
Linkin Park
Nightwish
Within Temptation
Skillet
as well as tons of singles from bands, soundtracks, etc
Lots of good stuff across them all.

Yeah, some of those are also pretty good especially Nighwish, Within Temptation and Disturbed.

When I read your Children of Heaven I listened to Iron Savior, Gamma Ray, Iron Maiden, Primal Fear, Judas Priest, Star One, Ayreon, Accept, Anthrax, Paradise Lost, Slough Feg, Slayer, Clowen Hoof, Rebellion, Megadeath, Grand Magus.

When I read this story I prefer Children of Bodom, Hypocrisy, Arch Enemy, Cannibal Corpse, Bathory, Enslaved, Sepultura, Dimmu Borgir, Amon Amarth.

Usually I don't listen very much Death and Black metal, but when you have hordes of flesh eating zombies running around nothing else fits.

Try this on for size: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2LmwGPtVnmc

Now tell me that ain't appropriate.

Also, if you really want something creepy to listen to while reading this story, try some authentic recordings of radio signals from other planets in the solar system:

Saturn's rings

Uranus

Neptune

Various planets

Jupiter

Even Earth itself sounds creepy

And finally, something recorded from the Pacific Ocean

I used all those clips to great effect while people read, in real-time, a short story I wrote set on Mars. Spoiler: Everybody dies, horribly, and several readers scared themselves senseless.

[RecklessPrudence]

Damn Bladed... I read the first ten pages or so some time back, and I've just binged on some of that again, to refresh my memory, and all the rest over the last day-and-a-half (I know, slow - in my defence, I was doing other things, as well). This while I'm running a bit of a fever, alone in the house - apart from a dog that's still getting used to being the only dog again, and will randomly start intruder-alarm!barking or howling - and not being able to sleep, so reading at 3am and the like.

Let me just say, not a recommended combination - or rather, highly recommended to get the full impact. Especially with your own somewhat fever-disconnected thoughts and the story's Veers and Gemma succumbing.

And on the topic of good music to listen to while reading this? A band called E Nomine - but only certain of their tracks, as some are really ominous and kind of creepy, and others are really uplifting and 'get-ready-for-some-kickass', more suited to the end of a Jim Butcher novel. I use it for mowing music . And Swindle? Listening to those planet ones, under the aforementioned conditions? Really good. Just excellent. I didn't have any problems with them at all. In fact, they were really ... cheerful. Especially when you click on a link, your internet hiccups, and twenty minutes later it starts playing, all on it's own.

...

All that said, waiting eagerly for more.

hungry...

Note, I'm still running a fever and, although no longer quasi-delirious, don't feel quite connected to my body, so if this made no sense, I'm going to blame it on the fever.