James Axler - Downrigger Drift

“If anything happened here, it was long ago and far away,” J.B. opined. “Let’s get the hell out.”

“Hopefully the rest of the place is as well-preserved,” Krysty said, opening one of the small drawers next to a station, only to find it empty. “Been dreaming of a hot shower lately.”

Mildred nodded. “You and me both, sister.”

“Best not be running your bath water just yet, ladies. J.B., on me.” Ryan waited for his friend to reach the other side of the steel door before punching numbers on the keypad, and readied himself again as it cycled open.

“Phew!”

“Stink dead dog shit!” Jak commented.

“What sort of odorous miasma is assaulting us, friends?”

Ryan thought Doc’s question was the winner. The corridor beyond was filled with a stench that nearly made him gag—a heavy, clammy, stomach-churning reek so overpowering it was almost tangible, pouring into his nose and mouth to settle into his lungs as if it would never leave.

J.B.’s nose twitched once as he took in the sight ahead of them. “Black dust, what the hell is that?” Fluorescent lights had flickered on down the hallway when the door opened, revealing what had once been a plain, concretewalled, tiled corridor. Now, however, the floor and walls were caked with several inches of a green-black, viscous substance, piled in clumps in the corners, and stretching as far as the eye could see. Overhead, a triple row of olive-drab pipes ran down the tunnel before snaking off deeper into the complex walls.

“Krysty, do you sense anything?”

The flame-haired woman came up behind him, swallowing hard. She frowned as she tried to fathom what might have made this hallway a communal toilet. “Nothing really dangerous—some kind of rats crapping down here for a few years—mostly just disgusting.”

Ryan resisted the powerful urge to cover his nose as he edged into the filthy hallway. “Right in one.”

J.B. stepped into the corridor, his booted feet breaking through the top crust and squishing into the muck. “Got something here, Ryan. Cover me.”

Fighting the urge to vomit, Ryan watched for movement as the Armorer scraped crusted gunk off the wall. Meanwhile, Doc and Mildred looked on in horrified fascination.

“Upon my soul, I would swear that I have breathed in this very stench before. Indeed, it is almost familiar, which is not something I admit to lightly, my friends.”

Jak’s assessment was more succinct. “Stinks! Go back?”

“Let’s see what J.B.’s found first.” Ryan saw absolutely no signs of life in the tunnel, but if there wasn’t, what had made this incredible mess?

“Got a map of the floor here. We’re under a place once called Fort McCoy. Military base, looks like. Could be weapons, ammo topside.”

“And quarters, maybe even with running water.” Mildred’s voice lilted with faint hope.

“Mebbe something better than jerky,” Jak chimed in.

J.B. peered closely at the map. “According to this, the elevator’s at the far end. Other levels look promising.”

Ryan looked at the expectant faces around him. “Sure as hellfire anything’s better than this. All right, let’s try for the elevator. Wrap your nose and mouth if you can, and don’t fall, because I’m not giving you a hand up.” Gritting his teeth, he stepped into the ankle-deep waste.

Krysty sighed as her blue Western-tooled cowboy boots with the chiseled silver falcons on the sides disappeared into the dark muck. “Better be a shower, or at least a hose to wash down with.”

“One thing I am always assured of is that you people take me to the most elegant of places.” Doc stabbed his swordstick into the feces, but was stopped by Mildred.

The black woman offered Doc her arm. “Shall we?”

“It would be my pleasure to escort you across this sea of excrement, my dear.” Mildred kept a tight grip on Doc’s arm and caught Ryan’s approving nod with a slight one of her own. While he had moments of grace, Doc also wasn’t the spryest of men, and the extra support would keep him upright on the slippery floor.

Behind them, Jak prodded the odd couple. “Move. Nose ’bout fall off.”

Looking for all the world like two best friends out for an evening stroll, the two advanced into the putrid sludge, breaking through the crust and releasing pungent bursts of stink with every step.

J.B. had explored the wall next to the map and found the door’s number pad. “Think I’ll close the door. Don’t need shit dirtying up the place.”

Mildred sneezed and threw her arm up over her mouth and nose. “I don’t know if I can take much more of this.”

“Just keep moving and try not to think about it.” Ryan swallowed hard and did his best to follow his own advice. It was harder than it appeared, for each time his boot sank into the waste, it picked up a bit more gunk, until it felt like his feet were encased in twenty pounds of shit. They still had twenty yards to go, and Ryan was laboring for each step.

“Hold up. Gotta clean some of this off. Everyone else should do the same.”

“Ryan,” Krysty said quietly, “we’ve got company.”

Flicking off a handful of sticky crap off his fingers, Ryan wiped them off as best as he could on the wall, and looked around, not seeing anything. “Where from?”

“Around. Hard to say. Mebbe in the walls. Lots of movement, though.”

“Don’t like that. All right, people, let’s keep moving.” Ryan continued slogging forward, trudging through the sludge. The elevator doors beckoned, now only a few yards away.

“Ryan!” Mildred’s voice was controlled but tight. “Movement behind us!”

He whirled, seeing Jak already turned to the rear. “J.B., get up there and get those doors open. What have you got, Jak?”

“Dunno. Ugly fuckers, though.” The teen’s .357 Magnum blaster was out and tracking something, but there were too many people between for Ryan to see.

Putting his hand on Krysty’s shoulder, Ryan pressed her forward. “Make sure Doc and Mildred get to the doors.”

“Dozen, mebbe more,” Jak called out. “Shoot?”

“Careful Ryan,” Mildred said as he passed. “Gunfire in an enclosed space like this will damage our eardrums. We could go deaf from the sound waves.”

Ryan held up his SIG-Sauer blaster with its built-in silencer. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t. “Got just the thing for that.” At the teen’s shoulder now, he got his first look at the creatures inhabiting this part of the complex.

Jak’s succinct description of the mutie animals—a hideous crossbreed of pig and rat—didn’t even begin to do them justice. About eighteen inches long, each had a low-slung body covered in wet, dung-slicked fur. Their front legs ended in sharp claws, but as they moved, Ryan saw their back legs were porcine, right down to a pair of pointed hooves. Their faces combined the ugliest features of both species, with large, black eyes over a flat, porcine nose and a mouth filled with sharp, gnawing teeth, capped by a double pair of up-thrusting tusks about two inches long. The noise they made as they appeared out of the muck was a cross between squeal and a snort, a high-pitched sound that grated on Ryan’s ears. The small pack seemed more curious than anything, although he didn’t like how close a few were getting.

Jak had a throwing blade raised in one hand, his Magnum blaster in the other. “Take out?”

“Let me.” Ryan braced his SIG-Sauer in his hand and squeezed off two shots, the silencer reducing the shots to a muffled cough. The 9 mm bullets tore into the nearest mutie and sent it writhing into the slime, its scream of agony cut off by the second round.

Although the two pig-rats nearest to the body immediately tore into the carcass of their former brethren, the rest of the muties did something unexpected.