Eric Brown: The Kraken Rises

Carcharis slinked away, his dark, spiny frame disappearing into the swirling curtain of smoke, clutching his trophy gleefully.

“Papa…”

Meanwhile.

John Andrews’ glistening, big, brown eyes were wide with fright, his sharp features illuminated by the red-orange glow emanating from the fire blazing to his right. Tendrils of flame licked at the base of several empty towering, tubular specimen containers lining the far wall. Generated by the spreading conflagration, a haze of grey smoke wafted overheard, stinging the man’s eyes and irritating his lungs.

The young security officer couldn’t believe what he was seeing; the scene before him was one of utter chaos, violence, and butchery. The screams of men and women – dying and injured – filled the smoky air. It was like the ship’s main laboratory had suddenly descended into a state of pure madness – but what had caused it? This wasn’t what he had expected to find when the ship’s alarm first sounded some minutes ago, and his superior ordered him to investigate the lab.

Amidst the panoply of workbenches, computers, and various other scientific instruments, Andrews watched as men and women – colleagues – turned on one another, engaging in the most brutal of acts. The man stood transfixed, wondering the whole time what could have induced such madness in people. One woman wrestled with a man, forcing him down against a benchtop and knocking over an expensive-looking microscope as she pinned him against the surface of the long table. The man struggled frenziedly, trying to free himself from her clutches, but in the end, the demented woman was too strong for him. She clamped her teeth down on his nose, biting it off with a gut-churning crunch! Clutching at the hole in the centre of his butchered face, the man squealed like a stuck pig before collapsing onto the floor and Andrews lost sight of him.

At the far end of the lab, Andrews caught sight of two other members of the ship’s security detail dressed in the same navy blue fatigues as him. The swirling fog of acrid smoke made it impossible to identify who they were exactly. Both had their Berettas raised and were firing into a small group of approaching laboratory technicians positioned at the opposite side of the room. Unperturbed by the wave of red-hot slugs, the lab techs vaulted over work stations to get at the two armed individuals, seemingly immune to the bullet wounds they were sustaining in the process.

Are they on drugs? What the fuck is going on?

Jaws agape, Andrews watched stunned as two of the lab-coated figures clambered over a work station littered with instruments, bullets battering into them still with seemingly no effect. The array of equipment in their path didn’t slow them down that much either. Pausing for a second, the white-clad pair sat back on their haunches like animals lining up their targets; one of whom was in the process of reloading, and the other firing off the last of their rounds. A moment later, both lab techs were flying through the air, arms outstretched, heading straight for the two security officers: predators pouncing on their prey. Then shouting and screaming, all four figures disappeared from view as they went down to the ground, more or less coalescing into a single thrashing mess of limbs.

Starting to come to his senses, Andrews removed his Beretta from the holster on his hip. Flicking off the safety, he chambered a round. It was only then that he noticed the two figures moving about over to his left. He raised his pistol preparing to fire, but stopped when he realized they weren’t a threat. Hugging the wall, the man and woman – both attired in laboratory coats – crouched low, trying to remain hidden from their marauding, seemingly psychotic colleagues.

“Hey!” Andrews called over the din.

He managed to get the man’s attention first.

“Help us!” the man yelled out.

“Follow me!” Andrews waved them over to him encouragingly.

Looking about cautiously, the pair checked left and right, their actions similar to children crossing the road, before they made their dash for Andrews. Coming to stand by his side, Andrews quickly appraised the pair. The man was short, but well-built, with big hazel eyes just like Andrews’ own. His dark African skin was drenched in sweat, salty beads rolling down his bald head. As for the woman, she was Caucasian and tall, with short, dark brown, almost black hair. In the changing light, Andrews couldn’t decide if her eyes were blue or green.

“Come with me,” Andrews told them.

Exiting the main laboratory (or A-1, as it was known to the vessel’s staff), the trio scurried into a rather claustrophobic corridor leading to an adjacent smaller work area known as B-2. About half the size of A-1, B-2’s function was quite simply to the support the larger lab. It was here where most of the research data was pored over by the junior technicians. Whereas the actual experiments were conducted inside A-1, B-2’s workers simply analysed the results of such; cross-referencing and collating the available information into reports and the like. It was boring stuff, but necessary to the overall operation nonetheless. So for the most part, B-2 was chock-full of desks stacked with the likes of computers and hard drives, and little else.

Moving swiftly down the corridor, Andrews and his two newfound companions ran hell-for-leather. They had only just entered the passageway when a horde of bloodthirsty fiends appeared on their heels, screeching like lunatics under the effects of a full moon.

“Try to keep up!” Andrews shouted over the clamour.

After a moment, Andrews let the other two overtake him.

“What are you doing?” the woman’s voice was panicked and shrill.

“Just go!” Andrews said forcefully, dropping down onto one knee. “I’ll hold them back!”

Beretta gripped firmly, the security officer squeezed the trigger, letting off several rounds, the empty casings clattering by his boots. One of his bullets hit an incoming figure square in the chest, causing the deranged-looking man to face-plant. This didn’t trouble those figures shambling behind him, however. Rather, they trod right over the man’s limp profile and kept coming. Still, the maniacs’ advance was restricted by the tight confines of the corridor. This at least worked in Andrews’ favour as they were unable to outflank him or overwhelm him, constricted as they were. Firing again, Andrews managed to strike one of his pursuers in the belly, the wound spewing blood like sauce from a broken ketchup bottle. This time his target, although hit, did not fall. Instead, the rampaging tide of flesh and bone just kept coming for them.

“Fuck this!” Andrews jumped to his feet. He knew if he didn’t keep moving, then they were going to overwhelm him, and sooner rather than later.

Spinning on his heel, Andrews took off, racing after his two cohorts who had just crossed into B-2. Standing on either side of the doorway, they called out to Andrews, eagerly waving him on, encouraging him to pick up his speed.

You can make it! he told himself. Just keep pushing.

All of a sudden, the lights went out, and the passageway descended into total darkness. Andrews felt a sickening knot take hold in his belly.

Has the power been cut? he wondered.

Following this, several things seemed to happen all at once. Andrews felt his stomach heave nauseatingly as the ship rose and fell, riding a series of huge, undulating waves. The unexpected motion threw him off balance, and the security officer collapsed to the floor, landing with a discernible thud! The man’s pistol fell from his grasp as his ankle shifted painfully beneath him, pain shooting up his leg all the way to the thigh. Simultaneously, he heard – who he could only assume was – the short-haired woman screaming hysterically somewhere up ahead, lost to him amid the blanket of darkness.