Anthony DeCosmo - Disintegration

It felt as if they had entered a living creature, not a building. The corridors seemed more like arteries filled with humid, heavy air. A steady hum reverberated all around. Jon worried the building would gobble them up.

Light came from small orbs placed sporadically. Not bright, but enough to see.

The hall split into four directions. Monks approached from each. Bullets killed two; one ran away, the fourth fell to K9 teeth after skewering a Husky.

Tyr barked and Jon sensibly followed the dog's lead to a large spherical chamber with doors-membranes-spaced along the walls.

The Elkhound approached one, sniffed, left for another, stiffed, then scratched frantically.

"There! Boylen, punch through it!"

Plasma rifle in hand, the big Irishman took aim at the door.

"Move outta there, dog," he ordered and Tyr backed off as the blast hit. A circle of flames spread across the membrane and sliced open a small slit. "There's your hole."

"Let me give it a shot." Shepherd went to work carving with a hunting knife.

Pellets hit the wall near Jon's head.

A spider sentry approached. The drill bit on its face shot forward like a harpoon. Before it could pierce Jon's chest, a blast from Boylen's alien rifle disintegrated the round head and stole the power behind the shot.

"Ugly bastard, ain't it?"

"I'm through!" Shepherd shouted.

Before any of the people could enter, Try, Odin, and two Rottweilers bound inside the cell. Jon heard them bark and growl. The remaining Siberian Huskies stayed outside forming a loose perimeter of sorts.

"I'll hold here," Shep said as he raised an M4 and struck down a charging monk.

Jon went through the slit cut in the door and Boylen followed.

They entered a large, dome-shaped room shrouded in darkness save for a solitary light high in the ceiling. Trevor lay atop what looked like a wide, flat tree trunk made of green roots. The K9s circled him, barking angrily with their snouts aimed toward the shadows overhead.

"Boylen, cover me."

"Aye."

Jon approached Trevor, slinging his rifle and pulling out a sharp knife when he spied the ropes-or something like ropes-binding his naked friend to the surface.

Boylen warned, "Somethin' moving up there."

Trevor lay with his eyes wide open staring up. Jon could not tell if he were alive or dead until he saw the slow rise of his chest.

A brilliant flash lit the room and an explosion of heat erupted. Jon instinctively covered his head as he felt a mass fall from above. A black mass of tangled legs.

The torture-spider missed Jon by a foot as it collapsed to the floor; a big burning hole punched in its abdomen by Boylen's plasma rifle. The creature-attached to the ceiling by a pulsating thick tube-rolled and kicked, searching for balance. The Grenadiers moved in, tearing and biting with incredible ferocity.

"It almost had ya'," Boylen said. "Tried to slip down right on top of your 'ead."

He turned to Trevor again and hacked his binds. A shudder of pain echoed around the room with each cut and a sick puss oozed from the tendrils as Jon sliced them.

"Trevor? It's me, Jon. Can you hear me?"

Trevor did not move. He did not react.

Boylen helped Brewer move Trevor from the table and through the cut membrane.

"We've got what we came for," Jon said. "Let's get out of here."

Shepherd corrected, "We got one more to find."

Bangs and booms from the battle outside reached their ears. Jon felt the clock ticking.

"She put him here."

"I'm not arguing with you," Shepherd said.

Odin ran to the men and barked. Apparently, he had-yet again-found her scent.

– Nina paced under the solitary glowing orb lighting the small chamber. Her fists flexed closed and open. Her eyes darted around as if looking for something to fight.

Anger. Hatred. They burned in her but she found it difficult to remember why. Emotional energy without purpose, but the intensity of that energy took a physical toll: her muscles felt weak, her breath short, her thoughts unfocused.

She smelled something burning and spied a glowing spot on the door to her chamber. The glow turned into smoke and then a small hole formed. A knife poked through the hole and cut the membrane. A black and gray dog jumped through the opening. Jerry Shepherd and Jon Brewer followed.

Nina growled, "Get away from me. Get out of here!"

Plasma shots sounded from outside the door as Boylen fended off a threat.

"Oh, to hell with this," Jon had little patience for Nina Forest at that moment.

Nina saw a rifle butt. Then she saw stars.

– Trevor lay on a blanket underneath the cover of a white canopy, his eyes blinking occasionally but otherwise staring at nothing.

Jon Brewer stood overhead with Reverend Johnny at his side. Tyr lay at his Master's feet watching. Waiting.

"He hasn't said a damn thing since we pulled him out of there," Brewer mumbled through clenched teeth. "What the hell is wrong? You found some bruises and sores, that's it."

"I fear he endured an ordeal far greater than anything I might detect. Sometimes the greatest trauma is to the mind."

Jon turned sharp on the Reverend. "What the Hell does that mean?"

Reverend Johnny did nothing other than return Jon's stare. The latter finally bowed his head, patted the Reverend on his shoulder, and the two walked out.

Crisp twilight air greeted them outside the white canopy strung between a wagon and a barren tree. Another wagon and another canopy waited on the other side of the camp, a camp assembled on dying grass next to a parking lot and the vertical kilns of the historic Coplay Cement Company.

Jon walked at a fast clip. The Reverend tried to keep pace.

Horses stood tied to tree branches; supplies lay scattered about; Ames struggled to start a fire and Whiskey drank from a bottle of something while tending to a bloody ankle wound.

"We can only wait, Mr. Brewer. And pray."

"You pray, Rev. Pray I don't get my hands on Nina Forest. She did this."

"Ms. Forest is a victim in this plot, Jon," he grabbed Brewer's shoulder, spinning him around. "Your anger for what has been done to your friend is best directed at those responsible. Last I saw, those responsible were being consumed by the fire raging at their outpost."

Jon huffed a big, frustrated breath.

"You think they'll follow us?"

"Mr. Brewer, the blow we delivered unto their facility was mightier than we could have hoped. I believe they will abandon that outpost and start anew elsewhere."

Tolbert-the large black man who once worked as a prison guard and who had covered their retreat from The Order's compound earlier in the day-approached.

"She's not happy about being tied up, I can tell you that," he spoke to Johnny. "I'm not sure how much longer those ropes are going to hold."

"Yes, it's about time. I spotted the implant on her back. It should be easy enough to remove if the blasted girl will hold still."

Brewer's radio crackled to life. Stonewall McAllister's voice called: "I say, is there anyone about who could guide us?"

Reverend Johnny and Tolbert headed to the other tent. Brewer raised his radio and walked the opposite direction toward a main road adjacent to the parking lot.

"Hello, McAllister? This is Brewer. Where you at?"

First static and then, "We are in the parking lot of a super market. There are several pairs of hungry eyes watching from the confines within."

"Okay, yeah, look," Jon walked faster. "We're about a quarter mile-not even-northeast of you. Just follow Coplay Road and you'll see the parking lot and our camp to your right."

Brewer waited. First, he heard the clop-clop of the horses, then he saw Stonewall and Shepherd riding toward him.

"Anything?"

General Stonewall McAllister reported, "The rear guard is pleased to report nothing, Sir. Although we did see several scavenger-types heading toward The Order's facility. Still," Stonewall glanced at the fading sunlight overhead. "Sunset nears. No doubt, the nightmares will be out in full force. Perhaps we should endeavor to leave the city confines before then."