Alex Gore - The Cube

Struggling bodies were rolling on the floor. The red lights in the eyes of the doubles were moving in the darkness like huge and fast fireflies.

The metal bar from the roof hit Marcela on the forehead and she almost lost consciousness. She saw only shadows, while her ears were ringing from the swish of bodies flying around. She thought she was dying. The surprising attack had left no room for fear and now she was conquered by some strange peace before death.

She had the feeling that the flash of the bullet moved towards her head for several seconds before the bang deafened her completely.

She thought of the lightnings. Her ears started ringing again and then deadly silence followed.

Marcela closed her eyes, waiting for her end and laid low on the floor. Alan threw himself over her to protect her. Shots were heard. Norman was firing at the red spots, moving around the room, careful not to shoot someone of his own group.

A second later the double of one of the soldiers threw itself against him and pushed the gun from his grip. Norman caught the creature, trying to throw it on the floor, then took out the knife from the sheath on his waist and without any hesitation dug it in the double’s head, between the eyes.

The Major felt the iron grip around his chest loosening and glanced around in search for more red eyes.

At the same time Alan, with Marcela cuddled beneath him, felt an enormous weight on his back as if a ton of sand was loaded on him. Something warm bit the back of his neck, he was overwhelmed by sharp pain and dizziness.

His first thought was to protect Marcela. He felt as if he was drunk, as if he was injected with poison and could not reason straight. Thinking only of her and how to save her from those beasts, he had no idea at all whether he himself was wounded or not.

His self-preservation instincts were off.

He turned over in order to relax the pressure on her and together with the creature, that had grabbed him, rolled over and crashed against the wall. It was completely dark and Alan could not see anything; he heard a shot and the noise of fighting in the room. He was not sure where the ceiling and where the floor were, and with his last remaining strength he managed to kick off the creature aside. The double was pushed away but at the last moment, like someone sinking under water, grabbed Alan’s leg. Alan knew there was no way for him to extract his limb from the pitiless iron vise. At this moment a pair of blood-red eyes lowered towards his face and he felt the sharp smell of carrion against his lips.

Then a dull blow came in his crotch, a body, thrusting against his own, some warm liquid squirted over his face and he tasted fresh blood in his mouth.

He felt sick but did not have the strength to throw up.

The pain was only momentous, but the sharpest he had ever felt. His leg hurt as if a thousand knives were stuck in his flesh.

Then he lost consciousness.

The Sergeant saw how most of the lights in the Base went out. The strong wind was blowing sand in the eyes and blurred his vision. He was ordered to keep his duty down on the ground because of the hurricane danger and, really, the forty five feet construction was moving like an overturned pendulum and hardly anyone would like to stand on its highest point at this moment. However, from his position in the base of the watchtower his zone of vision was too limited and he could barely distinguish the outlines of the camp. He felt a tap on his back, turned around and saw the Major.

“What are you doing here, Sir?”

Norman’s face was mostly covered. He had twisted some white cloth around his head like a true Bedouin. He approached the soldier and with a quick shot of his hand squeezed his throat, then grabbed his testicles. The man on duty was so shocked by the surprise attack, that stood frozen. He felt a stinging pain between his legs which crawled along his stomach and up towards the chest. Darkness fell before his eyes, his head felt heavy as lead, pulsating, and now he saw only the light, coming from a gloomy tunnel.

Norman’s double pushed the dead body among the crates under the shed of the watchtower and went away.

An explosion. Then another one.

The ammunition warehouses and the watchtower were in flames.

He saw shadows, moving slowly in the darkness of the room and in his ears a misaligned grinding device was screeching. The shadows were talking among each other, he was sure of that, but as much as he strained, he could not understand just what they were saying. He felt as if terribly drunk, it had happened to him once when he was a university student – he poisoned himself with different varieties of alcohol and his body surrendered on him. He was young and wild back then, and after the heavy drinking session his life was saved with lots of efforts in the emergency room. He was in a coma and was almost not going to make it, at least that was what he was told.

The few memories that he kept from reanimation back then were very similar to what he felt now. The same cold insensitivity and panic fear of not being able to feel your own skin. No sense of cold or stinging. Even the strong hands of the colossal chief nurse, shaking his shoulders, felt like gentle caresses. “Do you think he’s in pain?”

“I doubt it, I completely drugged him with pain-killers, so he must hardly realize where he is.”

“He has lost a lot of blood and needs to go to a hospital. Infusions, an urgent operation…”

Alan was gradually coming out of the haze and could distinguish Marcela’s voice.

She was so exquisitely beautiful and he wanted very much to tell it to her. He had craved for it ever since he saw her.

“March, you are awesome… I love you…” he lisped.

“Here, now he is talking deliriously. He is drugged and stabilized now, but if we don’t take him to a hospital, he will soon be in a coma.”

Alan thought that her voice was like a Shakespearean sonnet, kind, gentle, filled with love.

“Alan, Alan, wake up! How are you feeling? Does it hurt somewhere?” This was the not so gentle Major’s voice.

“Yes, yes, I’m okay. Nothing hurts, I’m just a bit dizzy. Where am I? What happened? I can’t remember anything.”

“You suffered an accident during the attack, Alan, you are seriously hurt. You need a doctor.” His head felt heavy again and he drifted into uneasy sleep.

“So… gentlemen, our situation is quite grave”, Norman said.

He was standing in front of them with a torn uniform and bandaged head, all dirty with blood and sand. His face was grim and smeared, just his big eyes were flashing with their typical daring flame. Now he was more responsible for them than ever before. There was no way he could let them down.

The rest were sitting on the remains of the furniture with dropped heads and blurred eyes.

“I guess it couldn’t be any worse” Michael said. He didn’t look at all well with his split eyebrow and a bandaged left hand. He felt like this was the worst hangover in his life, but with his usual light smile tried to encourage them. “We could be dead, but I guess death is preferable to hangover.”

“Only the five of us are left, plus Alan and Ivanov, who are in the biological hall. The Russian is better now, luckily, we have about ten liters of frozen blood and we started infusions. I believe he will be fully restored in a couple of days. However, Alan is in bad state and needs an urgent operation. Otherwise he will die. As you know, his left leg was torn away and his condition deteriorates by the hour. Colonel Ivanov will answer before a court martial for his actions. I have solid proof that he tried to sabotage our mission from the start and I will hold him responsible for the death of several people. However, he cannot be denied the strength and courage, since he managed to kill with bare hands Marcela’s double.”