The Things We Bury - Part 1: In Anticipation of the End of the World [Completed]

Chapter 12: Situation Desperate (Part 8 of 8)

The wound immediately went to work changing his body. A cold throbbing robbed his muscles of strength. Clammy sweat covered his skin in a reeking slime. His breath became restricted to short frantic bursts. The intense pain brought with it a false clarity-a hazy, solitary focus that only mimicked lucidity.

R.J. clutched at the hole in his stomach, trying to hold back the blood. It streamed through his fingers, coating his hand. As he slipped to the floor, the overhead lights reflected in the thick, deep red fluid, making it sparkle, creating a dazzling gem-like quality that mirrored its very real preciousness.

A pinging sound broke his concentration. A brass bullet casing rolled along the floor coming to rest inches from his sprawled out foot. Aikman was reloading.

"I really didn't want to have to do that. Hell R.J., you're right: I'm no killer. But you have no idea what the Agency took from me when they brought me here." After inserting the new shell, he snapped the barrel back into place. "This is just a job for you but it's a jail for me. I'm as much a prisoner as that monster in there. Do you get that?"

The only answer R.J. could muster was a cough.

Amy's voice broke through the speakers: "Who's coming, R.J.? R.J.?"

He wanted to call out to her but from the floor, he was too far from the microphone.

"I wonder: do you really care about her?" Aikman began walking over to him. "Or do you only care about the research? You're a hard man to figure out."

He stood over R.J. The sweat glistened off his bald head. His skin was pulled so tight his face resembled a skull.

"Not that it matters anymore. It's all over. The project. You. Her. Everything." He pointed the barrel in R.J.'s face. "Sorry," he said.

Strangely, he really did look sorry as he took a breath and braced himself to pull the trigger.

A blast erupted and R.J. clenched his eyes shut, feeling death reach him before the bullet.

Time seemed to stretch and warp as he waited like his mind was giving him the time to relive his whole life in one millisecond. But there was no rush of memories. And the bullet never came. There was no new pain. No bright light. No void of nothingness.

He opened his eyes. The gun was still pointed at him, unfired. Aikman was distracted by whatever was happening in Amy's room. The shot must have come from in there.

"Amy." His dry throat croaked out that one word heavy with regret.

As though in response, a howl broke loose through the intercom, filling the Observation Center with its terrible sound.

Over the months, R.J. had forced himself to listen to recordings of it, trying to analyze it. It had been an almost impossible task. There was something in its resonances that was terror-inducing. The very timber of the noise she made seemed to activate some primal part of the brain and light up every neuron associated with fear. The strange, preternatural, effect had him investigating the possibility that lycanthrope was a misnomer, and what they were dealing with was a banshee.

With time, he inured himself to her sonic attack and was able to examine the nuances of it. It was so assaulting to the ears and the mind that at first, it sounded like a raging blast, a roar, some deafening wail. But once he got past that, he could hear the musicality to it. It pitched a long mournful tune, to those with ears to hear it. It was a howl. Not the howl of a wolf but of something much older.

Amy was still alive in there. The shot had missed or only wounded. He had to do something to keep her from further harm.

Aikman was collapsed into a crouch with his face buried into his knees. His hands clawed at his scalp, raking bloody lines across it as the baying washed over him.

The gun was on the floor. R.J. forgot about his wound and his ebbing mortality and scrambled for it. He had no experience with handguns and he was shaking so much he feared missing Aikman even with being right next to him. R.J. pushed himself up on to his knees and rested the barrel against the traitor's skull like a feeble old man leaning on a cane.

The trigger took a surprising amount of force to pull and the recoil knocked R.J. backward. Aikman crashed to the floor. His eyes were still wide with fear but already a dull lifelessness was clouding them over.

Amy stopped howling and screams filled the chamber.

R.J. fought against his growing weakness, clawing his way up the console with both hands. His fingers were slippery on the metal and his legs had no power to stand. Inch by inch, he raised himself as a snarling battle took place on the other side of the glass. There was another blast of the gun but the fight continued on.

With one last exertion, he flopped his chest onto the table and finally got a glimpse of what was happening.

Bowman stood at the door to the portal beating a fist against it. Miller hid inside. Amy stood back and watched.

Before he could think of anything to do that might help, she lunged at Bowman's back, tearing through the hazmat suit like it was tissue paper. She seemed to latch onto a rib and she used it to drag him back into the heart of the room, past the toppled armchair.

As soon as she released him, he tried to fight what was happening, flinging punches and kicks. Amy dodged them, leaping back and darting in to nip at different body parts. Was she afraid of the blows or just playing a game with her prey?

Bowman shrieked a high-pitched cry as she pulled back with his glove and at least two fingers off his remaining hand. Amy was going to be alright.

But the monitors showed that the portal was preparing to open. The world around R.J. was fading away. Soon Miller would have free reign of the bunker. Who knew what evil he could do?

R.J. stretched out, feeling the intense agony at the movement. His body was failing him. It could barely tolerate the small effort of his fingers. He flipped open the protective plastic lid, revealing the button for the security breach alarm. It was only supposed to be used if Amy was escaping. He hit it, activating the portal's incinerator just as he collapsed back to the ground. R.J. never felt his body hitting the floor.

***

Author's Note: Here ends Chapter 12. There's only one left now. As we leave off, SBI's incursion has been repelled both above and below. There is still some excitement to come but things will be quieting down as we prepare to leave off for Book Two. I've been posing questions at the end of the sections lately, but I have none for this one. That doesn't mean I wouldn't love to hear what you think.

Note on the music: Chapter 12's song is from Flow Tribe. I had the privilege to see this band perform twice on my recent visit to the Crescent City. Last year, Hungry For You, was the song of the summer for me. With its upbeat rhythm and infectious surf guitar, I listened to it a whole lot in those hot summer months when I was just beginning TTWB. I've been looking for a good spot to use it and happily managed to get it in before the end.