Ben Hammott: Salvage

Out of the Mist They Came…

WHEN THEY REACHED the second block of storage containers, Lieutenant Miller halted the squad and stared at the thick ground-hugging mist emerging from the darkness and rolling towards them.

“That doesn’t look good,” stated Blake, his nervous gaze searching for anything that might be concealed within the mysterious fog.

Miller had already reached the same conclusion. “Fitch, scout it out.”

For a brief, terrifying moment, Fitch thought the Lieutenant meant physically―they had all read the scientists reports about the deadly insects that, in some ways, were more frightening than the larger and easier to shoot monsters―he recovered quickly and sent the drone flying forward a few feet above the mist. He concentrated on the small control screen as he directed the drone through the room. When it reached the far end his already nervous apprehension changed to dread. “The door’s open!”

“Why is that a problem?” asked Brody, anxiously.

Fitch stared at the man. “That’s where the alien insects live.”

The clatter of tiny feet on the floor grew louder as a swarm of insects emerged from the mist’s leading edge. Two men fired. Bullets tore into the tiny aliens and ricocheted off the floor. The rest of the men opened fire. Insect blood and body parts flew into the air, but they were too small for the weapons designed for larger prey to have much of an effect upon the thousands that surged towards them.

Egg-laden females peeled off from the pack and climbed onto the stacks of storage crates. One aimed her body at the men below and fired her better designed missiles. The eggs flew towards Blake and Reid. When they hatched in midair, the tiny offspring caught their first glimpse of the world they had been born into. They focused on their first prey and spun their circular rows of teeth like gruesome hole-borers. As soon as the tiny offspring landed on their chosen victims, they burrowed into flesh and tunneled through their bodies, devouring flesh, muscle, organs and bone.

The two men screamed and writhed in agony as their insides were devoured. Blake spun with his weapon still firing. His bullets cut through Reid’s head, mercifully ending his pain. The sweep of the weapon continued, peppering O’Toole’s legs with bullets. When the well-fed infants exploded in an eruption of blood from the far side of Blake’s body, the weapon fell from his corpse and both fell to the floor.

With blood pouring from his leg wounds, O’Toole collapsed to the ground screaming. Oblivious to the pain they had caused, the gorged infants’ eyes on yellow stalks picked out the new victims they sailed towards.

Lieutenant Miller glanced at the screaming men and the chaos that had suddenly erupted around him. He aimed at the female on top of the storage container firing small pale eggs into the air. A blast of bullets knocked it into oblivion. He glanced around at the crates. More egg-bearing insects moved into position. “Fall back,” he shouted.

Three infant insects landed on Wakoski when he went to help O’Toole. His weapon clattered to the floor as he grabbed at the pain, hoping to free the insects burrowing through his skin. One landed on his hand and burrowed straight through into his body. Wakoski held up the hand and peered through the ragged circular hole at the insects that leaped at him. Others ran up his legs until he was smothered with the vicious, biting creatures. He opened his mouth to scream, but before the sound escaped, an insect entered, bored through his tongue and clawed its way down his throat, muffling his agonized yell. A single shot rang out. Blackness replaced his pain.

Miller lowered the weapon as Wakoski collapsed to the floor. He rushed forward, aiming to grab O’Toole’s arm and drag him to the exit, but had to dodge back to avoid the leaping insects. He batted them away with the rifle as he retreated. O’Toole screamed. Miller glanced at the wounded man. So many insects had swarmed over him it looked like a man formed out of insects. O’Toole’s agonized screams accompanied his retreat.

The men fell back towards the exit as insects swarmed over their fallen comrades and began feeding. Predicting a fast withdrawal might be in the cards when the first gunshots rang out, Sawyer had opened the door. He was glad he had when he saw some of the men rush towards him followed by a wave of tiny death that flowed ever nearer. Fitch arrived first, nipped inside and maneuvered the drone so it floated near the ceiling. The surviving squad members rushed into the airlock. While the door closed, the men fired at the frontline of insects to prevent them from gaining entry. White pus-like blood spread across the floor and sprayed the air. The last man only stopped firing through the narrowing gap when the door slid into its frame.

The men, their faces creased with shock and fear, panted heavily.

“I never signed up for this hell,” complained Brody.

“None of us did.” Lieutenant Miller glanced around at the men. Four had died: two American and two British.

Two insects appeared at the window in the door and looked at them. One reached out a claw and scratched at the glass.

Sullivan pressed the barrel of his weapon against the window level with the insect. “Don’t tempt me you little alien fucker.”

The men turned away when the hangar airlock door opened behind them.

“We need something to block this door so it can’t close,” said Miller. “If it does and the other one opens like last time, they’ll get into the air lock. If they get past this door they’ll be upon us again. Something I’m certain none of us wants to happen.”

Shocked to silence by that the horror they had all witnessed, everyone present in the control room stared at the gruesome images on the screens.

“Fuck!” cursed Admiral Thomson loudly.

The Scavenger Team formed of NASA and military engineers and mechanics had been previously briefed with descriptions and rough sketches of the two types of shuttlecraft from the scientists. They had worked on the problem of how to transfer the shuttlecraft from the spaceship’s hangar, through the ice tunnel and onto the container ship before they had set sail from New Zealand. Materials and the tools they thought they might need had been requested and loaded aboard. They had set up shop in the cavernous rear cargo hold, which proved ideal to construct the sleds they had designed. As the length between each leg of the spacecraft was unknown, it had been designed in separate parts that could be joined together aboard the spaceship.

When the Scavenger Team entered the hangar, they stared in awe at the impressive shuttlecraft. The scientists’ descriptions hadn’t done them justice.

Corporal Joe McNally, the officer in charge of the Scavenger Team, pointed at the slightly battered, sleek scout ship; it was smaller than the larger cargo shuttle craft and ideal to test out their equipment and plan to remove them. “We’ll salvage that one first.”

The two motorized carts carrying their tools and equipment were maneuvered over to the scout ship and unloaded.

Corporal McNally glanced back along the tunnel when the thundering roar of the bulldozer, lowered onto the ice ledge by a powerful CH-47F helicopter, echoed into the hangar. While the dozer used its large blade to smooth the tunnel floor, some of the Scavenger Team set about measuring the distances between the legs of the scout ship and relayed the measurements to those making final adjustments to the sled’s connecting bars aboard the ship.

While they waited for the sled parts to arrive, men dragged a heavy-lift air bag over to the craft.

McNally glanced over at the footsteps rushing across the hangar.

Cleveland crossed the room and grabbed one the equipment carts. “I need to borrow this.”