Tim Curran - Biohazard

I remember wondering why Carl didn’t shoot again, thinking that this had been going on for minutes. But later they told me that it was probably less than five seconds from the time I went on my ass to when it stood over me.

Then Carl did fire.

He caught the beast right in the head, his round right on target despite the shadows. It punched through that slit eye and exited with a spray of meat and blood. It was a killshot. A perfect fucking killshot. That thing should have fallen over dead as a stump. But it didn’t. The impact of the bullet tossed it backwards and it stumbled for a few feet, but instead of dying it raised its taloned hands to the sky, threw back its head and let out a shrieking cry that nearly deafened me. It wasn’t a roar or a baying, nothing like that. Not the sort of thing you’d expect from a monster like that. No, it was a high, piercing wail that sounded very much like a woman in utter anguish. Inhuman, yet definitely female.

Then it darted into the shadows.

By that time I was crawling madly towards the concrete pillars and hands found me and yanked me to my feet. I was nearly delirious with terror. It took me a moment to screw my head on straight.

“Let’s get the hell out of here,” I finally said.

Mickey instantly took charge. With a flashlight borrowed from Carl she found the trail and led us out of there. Texas Slim was at her side with his Desert Eagle. They got us through that maze of bones and junk and found the trail leading up the hillside. Carl and I took up the back door, Janie and Gremlin sandwiched in-between.

Out in the enshrouding darkness of the pit we could hear the thing.

It was wailing with that shrill unearthly sound, its voice echoing out all around us. It seemed to come from behind us, then off to the left, then the right. We stopped dead twice in our climb because it sounded like it was right in front of us. It must have been the echo. Once, when we paused, I swore that I heard it sobbing out there pitifully. Then, seconds later, there came a maniacal screeching that went right up my spine and that, too, dissolved into a cold, dry, hysterical laughter like the braying of a hyena.

We kept moving up the sheer face of the hill, Mickey’s light picking out skulls and ribcages, a few fully articulated skeletons in rags rising from the sand. Half way up we heard more of that grisly, fragmented laughter and it was directly behind us. There was no doubt of it. We froze again, weapons drawn.

It was there, but we couldn’t see it.

The moonlight in the pit was uneven with all that heaped refuse down there casting jagged shadows in every direction. Every time we heard a noise, our flashlights revealed nothing.

But it was coming. Getting closer, tightening the noose around us.

We came to a halt, bunching together in a circle, weapons pointing in all directions. But on whose flank it would attack, we did not know. My mouth was dry as sawdust. I couldn’t even summon the spit to swallow. It felt like every muscle and tendon in my body had drawn tight like wires.

We heard it, seemingly in several different directions.

It was casting around out there, cat and mouse. I heard things crunching like it had stepped on skulls and crushed them flat. Something huge fell over and the ground shook. I felt the stomping of its feet. A section of cement pipe came flying out of the darkness, whooshing right over our heads and impaling itself in the hillside.

“This is fucking bullshit,” Carl said, his voice weak with a sort of manic desperation I’d never heard in it before.

“Quiet,” Texas told him

The pit was silent as a crypt suddenly. I could hear the others breathing but nothing else. Sweat rolled down my neck. I could feel the heat rising from the others. It was close, the beast was close. I knew that much. It had been playing games with us, trying to drive us into a state of absolute fear and it had succeeded quite well. Now the end game was at hand. Mickey scanned her light around with a trembling hand and picked out nothing but bones, broken slabs of pavement, the rusting hulk of an old stove. Suddenly, the air was thick with a sickening stench like spoiled meat.

The beast came leaping out of the shadows, roaring with primeval appetite.

We shot at it, but it was like trying to kill a ghost. It was there. And then it was not. Panic set in and we just scrambled madly up the hillside. Mickey led the way, Texas right behind her. Gremlin knocked me aside and then grabbed Janie and tossed her back. She lost her balance and rolled ten or fifteen feet down the hillside.

“Take her!” Gremlin cried. “Take her and leave us alone! She’s the one you want!”

I went after Janie and Carl went after Gremlin. I heard them tussling. Heard screams and cries. I pulled Janie up and fired into the darkness where I heard the beast. As I led Janie back up, I saw that Carl had Gremlin on the ground. Gremlin was screaming and crying and Carl was drilling him in the face. By the time I reached him, he had yanked Gremlin to his feet. Then, grabbing him by the hair and the back of his jacket, he lifted him right up and threw him. Gremlin went airborne about five feet, hit the ground rolling. He rolled right down to the bottom and when he finally stopped he let out a demented scream that was about as close to raw insanity as I’ve ever heard.

We saw him in the moonlight.

Just as we saw the grotesque figure standing over him. The beast picked him up with very little effort, hoisting him over its head and shaking him like an offering to the cold moon above. He was squirming, crying, screaming. If I hadn’t have hated that bastard so much at that point, I might have felt sorry for him. The beast brought him down on a sawtoothed plate of exposed metal. His scream ended instantly with a wet, shearing sound.

We ran up the hillside and out of the pit in record time.

Behind us, we could hear the sounds of Gremlin being battered to a pulp.

Thirty minutes later we saw the bridge. It stretched about half a mile over the Calumet River and the railroad tracks below. It was a steel bridge with two high arches near the center, sagging and twisted like it had withstood an airstrike. Maybe it had. I estimated that it was probably a good hundred foot drop to the river below. The closer we got to it the more we all saw the wreckage: mangled girders, blackened uprights, overhead beams sheared and hanging, the whole thing crowded with debris, smashed cars and trucks. Everything from big semis to minivans. It almost looked like they had been driven up on the bridge to form some kind of barricade. Many of them were charred.

As we neared it, Janie said, “Are you sure this thing is stable?’

Mickey nodded. “It doesn’t look like much, but it’s safe.”

I don’t think any of us were very reassured. It looked like some kind of war had been fought up there and not that long ago. In my mind, the bridge was the monstrous exoskeleton of some gigantic insect, shattered and broken and rawboned, just waiting to fall into the polluted depths of the river below.

I checked Texas Slim’s wound by flashlight, just to see if all the commotion had torn it open but it was okay. So on we went.

Mickey led the way, seeming to know it quite well as she slipped around the burnt hulks of cars, trucks, and nameless machinery. We saw quite a few skeletons, some cremated behind the wheels of vehicles and others scattered underfoot, birdpicked and disjointed. It was like a graveyard. My flashlight picked out more than one skeleton that was punctured with bullet holes and that made me certain that a war was fought up here, or at the very least dozens of small skirmishes. Several trucks had burst through the railing and hung precariously on the edge, their noses pointed out into the misting blackness. A sluggish, gray-green fog with the consistency of ectoplasm drifted over the river below. Now and then there was an opening in it and I could see the wrecks of vehicles rising from the murky, stinking water.