Francesco Mazzotta - Cellular Activity

“If this is true”, Ironside says, “then we should take into account the possibility that these creatures aren’t exclusively confined to the depths of the Antarctic continent. There may be other, around the world.”

“Yes, indeed. And now all of them are aware that on the surface there is an evolved race able to kill them”, Macready’s conclusion.

“It’s a hypothesis yet to be confirmed”, Moore, “but we can’t rule it out. According to what Ivanov told me, these beings have already faced in the past species far more evolved than ours, and they have survived. No, they don’t currently believe that we represent a danger but a potential opportunity.”

“Opportunity for what?”, he asks Macready.

“Who can say? Further evolution, new scientific achievements. Perhaps they await the development of a technology capable of traveling between the stars, so that they can infiltrate other planets and close still open issues with their creators. After all, time isn’t a problem for them, they can wait.”

“These are the questions about which we’ll talk again, Emily”, Ironside. “Now about us, what should we do now?”

Moore shrugs, hinting a sign of denial with her head.

“I know what we have to do”. Macready stands up with a deep sigh, heading toward the armored vehicle located a few meters away.

Moore and Ironside exchange a questioning look. The Major rummages in the interior, coming back after a while with three incendiary canisters, and as many rifles.

“What do you want to do?”, Ironside asks alarmed.

Macready is silent, his eyes are tired but show a conspiratorial half smile. He puts the three canisters on the ground, at the corners of an imaginary triangle, distance a dozen meters, each with one of the assault rifles next to it and ready with a bullet in the chamber. Then he takes a seat next to one of them nodding to the others to imitate him.

Ironside and Moore squat on the ground, sensing the Major’s plan. The scientist takes her rifle as one who picks up a baby for the first time.

“Rescue teams shouldn’t delay”, the Major exclaims. “When they arrive – if the sun won’t roast us before – we’ll tell them what happened, and we’ll tell them also to put each of us in armored quarantine until you find a safe way to prove that we are human beings. I just hope not to become a guinea pig… or one of those things.”

Ironside nods, then without speaking anymore he approaches one of the two canisters prepared by Macready. With a sigh he sits on the ground, placing the container on its side, on which to lean his head.

“These ghost bases should have an emergency pub outside”, Ironside crosses his legs to get more comfortable. “I hope that the rescue teams won’t delay in coming.”

“I hope they have a beer!”, Macready adds.

Moore doesn’t seem to listen to them, she’s deep in thoughts.

“When Ivanov told us about the American outpost… The two men found frozen to death, aiming their weapons at each other…”

“Because neither of them could be sure that the other was human or not”, Macready’s voice sounds tired.

“This brings us back to us. Until the help arrives, we will stay together, although at a distance, but on sight. And everyone will always bring with them their weapons and incendiary mixture. For now we can’t do anything but wait… See what happens…”

.

..

..

..

First of all, I wish to thank my wife, who has had the patience to read and correct this story despite the genre was not among her favorites.

Thanks also to my good friend Andrea, who has helped me a lot with the translation.

I love At the Mountains of Madness , by H.P. Lovecraft. I read that story many times since I was a child, and I’d really love to see a movie adaptation. I liked the novel Who Goes There , by J. W. Campbell Jr. and The Thing from Another World . Those b&w science fiction movies have a timeless appeal for those who, like me, grew up dreaming about Flash Gordon and Doctor Who.

Then we have John Carpenter’s The Thing , a masterpiece of the early ’80s that still has much to teach to the modern filmmakers and to those who believe that computer graphics can compete with real practical special effects. I love the movie, and I’ve always wanted to see a sequel that could convey the same feelings.

So, a bit for fun, and partly as a kind of personal challenge, I wanted to try to write a story in which all these stories could converge, even if it was not possible to keep it always homogeneous and consistent.

The ending leaves a degree of uncertainty, and my Italian readers know well the reason. Actually, I’m working to translate the two sequels of this first chapter.

Last but not least, thanks to those who have read and enjoyed this story.

Anyone who wants to contact me for advice, criticism, or suggestions for future chapters, may write at info@ermetica.net

There is a web site dedicated to the trilogy. Take a look at cellularactivity.itYou’ll find a section Curiosity with a few extra considerations on the characters and other things .

Obviously this is a work of fiction and any resemblance to facts or really existing characters is to be considered purely fictional.

And now… keep reading for the final chapter…

“Why have you to bark so much?”

Mohamed-the-Elder approaches with the slowness of those who no longer have any hurry. His jaw muscles are contracted while he straightens his aching back. With his wooden stick he tries to ward off a dog barking in the direction of the desert.

“May I know what’s wrong with you? You dumb beast, go away!”

The dog doesn’t seem to pay any attention.

The man looks up, shading his eyes with one hand. At first he can’t see anything unusual. His tired eyes scan the blurry expanse of dunes trembling under the scorching Sahara sun.

From those lands of ruthless nothing, something dark emerges slowly, swaying in the heat.

Slowly, as it approaches, the shape takes more distinct outlines.

It’s a man.

He wears strange clothes, dirty and torn in several places. His step is uncertain and unsteady.

You know… djinns are strange…

The elder quickly takes a small wine-skin full of water, heading towards the man.

The dog stays behind, alternating between a furious barking and yelps of fear.

The Berber reaches the unfortunate traveler, holding him up and handing him the bottle of drink. The man’s skin is blistered and cracked by sunburn. His thick black hair makes his head appear too big. They are burned here and there. He drinks eagerly the water brought by the old man.

“Easy, boy, easy. Otherwise it will do more harm than good,” exclaims the elder.

The man lowers slowly the wine skin, lingering for a moment with his eyes closed, then he drinks again long sips.

Once his thirst is quenched, he turns to the old man that rescued him, showing a friendly and very wide, almost caricatural smile.

Though they may conceal their true shape, there is always a detail that betrays them…

The traveler moves his head, turning towards Mohamed with a nod of thanks.

“May God bless your home, father.”

“Where are you from?”

The other looks up at the sky, lingering for a moment before answering.

“Well… a lot of different places…”

The old man looks at him uncertainly.

It’s said that some of them can give great gifts if greeted with kindness and with good hospitality…