The Thing 3: Assimilation✔️

Chapter 03: A Moment's Peace

They walked through the door at the head of the room and into a corridor. MacReady gave him a quick tour. "Here's the mess," he said, showing him to medium sized room taken up mostly by tables and chairs. At the back of the room, what Blake realized at once was a break room, were some cabinets and counters, a sink, a microwave and a mini-fridge. There were a pair of crates on the counter, one contained bottles of water, the other contained cans of food.

"Everyone prepares their own meals," MacReady said firmly. "Best that way."

"Makes sense. And we should only eat out of cans, I imagine," Blake replied.

MacReady nodded, then frowned.

"What?" Blake asked.

MacReady shook his head. "Nothing, just...a friend of mine came to the same conclusion, back Outpost Thirty One. Fuchs was his name...come on."

He showed Blake to one of three small rooms that had clearly been converted from storage rooms. They each held a stack of crates and a makeshift bed. In one case it was a mattress on the floor, the other two held cots.

"Everyone locks the doors when they go in to sleep. Now, finally, you'll like this."

There were two rooms at the end of the hall. One was a simple bathroom with a toilet, a sink and a urinal. The other was a shower room with two stalls.

"Hot water and everything," MacReady said with a grin. Blake spied bars of soap, razors, shaving cream and towels. "Now, as for clothes, uh, I think some of the boxes in there had cold weather gear in them, so I'm afraid you'll have to help yourself. I need to go help North batten down the hatches, as it were," he said.

"Fine by me. And thanks."

MacReady offered him a grim smile. "Don't thank me yet, I'm going to need your particular skill-set over the next few days, or weeks, or however long this takes. Once we start, we really won't be stopping and I doubt all of us will come out alive."

"Yeah," Blake replied.

"Get some food and rest, I'll give you as much time as I can."

"Thanks."

MacReady turned and left. Blake stood there in the corridor for a long moment, wondering what to do first. His stomach decided for him. He needed to eat before he did anything else. Blake made his way back to the mess and moved around the tables and chairs to where the food was. He spent five minutes searching through the fridge and cabinets, but there really wasn't anything left. At least nothing that he trusted.

Sighing in resignation, he grabbed two bottles of water, a can opener, a can of black beans, a can of diced pears and a can of corned beef hash. He preferred it cooked but that just wasn't an option. Sitting down, he opened the cans and ate them mechanically, pausing to drink from the two water bottles. He'd spent enough time in his life eating not for taste, but for the simple fact that his body needed fuel. The food wasn't awful, just not the way he liked it. He didn't think about much as he worked his way through the meal, getting through the beans first, then the fruit and finally the corned beef hash. At least it had a pretty good taste to it.

He finished the cans and the bottles of water off, threw away the remains in a large, barrel-like trash can and replaced the can opener. His next stop was going to be to find some clothes, but then, at all once, it hit him that he was unarmed.

So that became his top priority.

He retraced his steps back into the antechamber and headed down the appropriate corridor, the one that had the armory. It was easy enough to find, and examining it made him more than a little worried. He recognized the flamethrower he'd gotten from Burrows. It and three little blowtorches were all they had in the form of flame-based weaponry. Not good. Besides that, there were a handful of pistols, an MP-5 and two shotguns, then a few boxes that contained some, but not a whole lot, of ammo for all the weapons.

Blake ended up taking a blowtorch, because there was no way he was sleeping without a weapon. After making sure that it was full up on fuel, he left the armory and made his way back to the living quarters. He selected the one that had a mattress in it, even if it was on the floor it looked more comfortable than either of the two cots. Coming inside, he found a box marked Cold Weather Gear, set down the blowtorch and began his search. A part of him felt a little guilty for taking the mattress, because he, like most other soldiers, had learned to sleep goddamn near anywhere. But most other soldiers hadn't been through what he had over the past few days. If he was going to survive this mess, he needed real sleep.

The search of the box turned up a fresh coat, an undershirt, long-johns, boxers, socks, (two pairs), big ass boots, a heavy set of leggings, an overshirt and a coat. All of it would be needed to survive the hell of Antarctica's weather. He left most of it in a pile by the bed, taking only the socks, boxers, undershirt and long-johns into the shower area with him. Before he took a shower, he relieved himself in the bathroom, then came back to the shower area, closed the door and began stripping down. It was a huge relief.

He'd been on missions where he was stuck in the same outfit for days at a time, sometimes up to a week, depending on how bad the situation was, and nothing in his whole life seemed to feel quite as satisfying as peeling it all off at the end. Soon, he stood naked before a mirror, staring at himself. He was bruised and a bit battered, but he had no cuts, no open wounds besides the puncture wounds he'd endured proving his humanity.

Satisfied that he was healthy enough for now, Blake hurried over to the nearest shower stall, got in and turned the water up as hot as he could stand it. He almost passed out. It was like heaven after all the hell he'd been through. All he was missing was a beautiful woman and a beer. But for now he'd settle for getting clean and some decent sleep. After about five minutes of just soaking in the hot water, he grabbed a bar of soap and cleaned up. When that was over, he was reluctant to leave the shower, but ultimately made himself.

No telling how big a water supply they had.

He dried off and dressed, then headed back to the room he'd chosen for himself. The mattress looked like the most inviting thing in the whole fucking world right now. He closed the door, locked it and then moved to turn off the light...but he couldn't make himself do it. As much as he felt like a grown-ass man, a soldier no less, in the fucking Special Forces...he couldn't make himself sleep in the dark. Not after what he had endured.

Sighing, on the edge of passing out from exhaustion now, Blake searched the crates until he came up with what he needed: a battery powered lantern. Feeling more than a little embarrassed, he turned it on, then killed the lights. The room became saturated in gloom, but he could see. Sighing softly, he set the lantern and the blowtorch beside him on the floor, then laid down, covered himself up and faced the wall.

He was asleep within seconds.