SNAFU: Resurrection Page 8

  The second floor cleared, he again signalled the outside world. In silence, they ascended to the final floor.

  Falkner couldn’t shake the sense of foreboding. The whole house had an atmosphere that went beyond a spooky old building. Even the smell was odd. At first, he assumed it was just dust and decay. Then he swore he could smell rusted iron. Now on the third floor, it had taken on a sickly, sweet fragrance. There was no denying it any longer, the stench of blood permeated the air. His men knew it as well. When Jones reported yet another room clear, there was a questioning look in his eyes. “What’s with the stink, Sarge?”

  “Just mould. Keep moving.”

  “Mould? Are you joking? This is worse than the East Hama offensive without the bodies!”

  The squad froze.

  “I said keep moving. And cut the chatter.” Falkner barged ahead, breaching one door after another door. Each time, he swept his weapon from one corner of the room to the other. Each time he hoped they would find some enemy his men could attack, something normal to explain this unfolding nightmare. All they found was rotting wood, emptiness and more symbols scrawled across the walls.

  The final bedroom lay at the end of a tight corridor. They, whoever ‘they’ were, had to be in there. Falkner held up a fist. The squad halted. He crouched, motioned ahead with two fingers. Douberman crept forward. He primed a flashbang, opened the door, chucked it inside. The light from the detonation splayed through the cracks in the walls. Weapon raised, Douberman charged inside. The squad followed. Falkner took up the rear, praying for the sound of gunfire. Yet when he entered, he found his men stood in another room that hadn’t seen a single soul in decades.

  Brody was the first to break the silence. “What the fuck?”

  “Stay focused. They may have snuck around us,” warned Falkner.

  “Bullshit. The house is empty, Sarge!” Brody protested.

  “I’m not going to repeat myself, soldier!” Falkner’s voice took on a dangerous tone.

  Their torches failed, plunging them into darkness. Falkner slapped the side of his weapon. The light flickered a few times, then died. “Spread out, check the exit and stay sharp!”

  The squad obeyed, eyes adjusting to the point where they could distinguish the shapes of their comrades. Falkner felt along the ridge of his Streamlight rifle attachment until he found the tab. He flipped it up. “Change batteries,” he ordered. It seemed unlikely all their batteries would drain at the same time, but it was the obvious solution.

  They fumbled to comply. Seconds later, their lights fluttered back into life.

  That was when It entered the room.

  The thing was so big it had to crouch through the doorway before lifting itself to full height. Even then its head was about an inch off the ceiling. Under the glare of torchlight, it was completely naked. Its skin was grey and dotted with red blotches that throbbed and pulsed with an eerie light. Its arms and legs were elongated, as if they had been stretched out on a rack.

  It flexed its hands, revealing claws several inches long. A sticky substance oozed from each tip and dripped onto the floor. Falkner moved his torch up to its face. No eyes, ears or nose but its lower jaw bristled with several rows of teeth. Each row moved from side to side, at different angles from the rest. Spikes covered the rest of its head.

  Falkner pulled the trigger. His men joined in. The fire spewing from six SA-80 assault rifles lit up the room like strobe lights. The bullets had no visible effect. They didn't tear flesh or push the creature back. There were no visible signs of impact as if it absorbed each slug.

  “Changing!” yelled Jones. He ducked down. Douberman and Hans providing cover as he popped in a fresh clip.

  The creature cocked its head to one side and despite the lack of eyes, it seemed to home in on Jones. It strode forward. Fear of crossfire made the rest of the team cease theirs. Jones fumbled with his rifle as he backed away. He stopped short, his back against the wall. The monster casually swiped its vicious claw, removing half of Jones’s face. Falkner roared and opened fire again, aiming at the creature’s legs. Jones let out a gurgled scream as the monster picked him up and tossed him into the corner of the room. His body hit the wall with a sickening crunch and he collapsed into a heap.

  It snapped its head to Brody and trapped him as easily as it had Jones. Brody continued firing at point-blank range as the monster gripped him by the shoulders then slowly inserted its claws into Brody’s chest. It cleaved through Kevlar and bone and plucked out Brody’s heart. Somehow, Brody was still alive. He was still alive as he watched the creature bite into his heart, tearing off a large chunk and gulping it down. And he was still alive as it carried him over to the corner and dropped him where Jones moaned in agony. Like a medieval king at a feast, it casually snapped off Jones's arm, pulled out a bone and chewed away at the marrow inside.

  Falkner had used four magazines to no effect. Lowering his weapon, he stared dumbstruck at the carnage before him. The thing was ignoring them! It was far more interested in its feast. From the corner, he heard the unmistakable voice of Brody calling out for help while the creature consumed more body parts. He must have been in excruciating agony, but it was impossible – he’d seen the monster remove the man’s heart! Jones was also becoming more vocal, the shock giving way to terror and pain. Both men had suffered fatal injuries yet were still, somehow, being eaten alive in front of him.

  Falkner found himself moving on auto-pilot out of the room and sprinting towards the main staircase. He glanced around, relieved to see what remained of his squad had followed. His mind struggled to accept what he’s witnessed was real, he fell back on training and standard operating procedure. “Johnson, move down to the second floor and take position. Hans, you’re in the middle. Douberman, you’re with me at the rear. Let’s move!”

  The group descended the stairway, their guns sweeping to cover every angle. They regrouped on the second-floor landing. Falkner was about to order them down to the first floor when he heard a noise from a door to his right. “Quiet,” he whispered. “Everybody listen and be on alert.”

  Approaching the door, the sound became clearer. It was a woman calling out ‘help’ over and over.

  “What are we hanging around for?” pointed out Hans.

  “Yeah, I say we carry on. Let’s get the shit out of here,” said Johnson.

  Falkner turned his torch on Johnson, “I’m giving the orders soldier. We may have an injured civilian here. Hans, keep an eye on the stairway.”

  “This is bullshit," Hans said, as he moved into a flanking position.

  “Johnson, open the door then move back. You two, cover him.”

  Side by side with their weapons raised, Douberman and Falkner stood ready. Johnson placed his back to the wall. Reaching over, he pushed the door open. Clear. They strode in. Their lights shone all over the room as they surveyed it with practised efficiency. Yet the room, which once had been some kind of study, looked exactly the same as when they first swept this floor; empty.

  “This is fucked up with a capital F!” said Doberman.

  “I agree, let’s go people!” ordered Falkner.

  Falkner and Douberman headed out first. Johnson backed out slowly, his gun rifle sweeping the room as if he didn’t quite trust the emptiness. As he reached the doorway, he heard a large popping sound like a burst balloon. A huge disembodied hand materialised out of thin air right in front of him. “What the…”

  Falkner looked over his shoulder and couldn't quite comprehend the surreal scene before him. A hand. A hand almost as wide as the doorway held Johnson in a bone crushing grip! He raised his weapon, but before he could squeeze the trigger, Johnson was dragged back into the room and the door slammed shut. Falkner slammed into it with all he could muster. It didn't budge. Hans and Douberman joined in, adding their weight. Despite the rotting wood, it held fast. A wet tearing noise joined Johnson’s screams. Bones cracked and crunched. A vivid image of Jones and Brody being eaten alive invaded Falkner’s mind.<
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  His knees felt weak. His world was collapsing. All his training, all his experience with the so-called evils of the world paled in comparison to… to… this. Escape. It was all he could think to do. His men were frozen to the spot. He grabbed them by the shoulders, propelling them forward. “Let’s go. Now! Move it! NOW, NOW, NOW!”

  All professionalism left them as they took the stairs two at a time, feet pounding, hearts racing, running on pure instinct. Douberman tripped on the final step. He went down hard, sprawling across the marble floor of an enormous ballroom. Beyond rational thinking, Falkner fled past his fallen comrade until he found himself in the centre. He halted a moment to gather his bearings and finally noticed a voice screaming in his head, telling him that something was out of place. Hans approached, supporting a limping Douberman, blood gushing from the man’s smashed nose. “Which way, sir?”

  Falkner shushed him as he trained his torch around, trying to figure out what was amiss. Then it came to him. When they’d swept through earlier, there were two sets of support columns at each end of the room. Now there was an extra set. He trained his torch at the base of one of the extra columns. He tried to convince himself that what he was looking at had the consistency of stone. Then, like a deer caught in headlights, he stood staring as steel grey claws extended from what was a massive paw. Hands shaking, sweat pouring down his face, he raised the torch towards the ceiling. But that was no ceiling. It was a mass of familiar-looking grey skin with throbbing red blotches. He trained his torch ahead, towards the exit. In the distant gloom, he could just about make out an enormous bulk hovering above the doorway. The head of the beast, waiting to eat them alive if they passed that way.

  A section of his mind observed it almost casually while the rest of it began preparing for a short, sharp descent into madness. The rational part noticed that Douberman was jabbering. “That can’t be real. It can’t. I want me mum. Sir, tell her to come pick me up. She won’t mind. Please, sir!”

  His rational mind took hold, and he slapped Douberman far harder than he intended. “Get a grip solider, we are leaving…now! Fire in the hole, gentlemen, light that bastard up!” He pointed with two fingers towards the exit, then with one towards the wall on their far right.

  Their training kicked in, experience and thought of escape keeping them focused. Each tossed stun grenades towards the main exit then slid regular grenades towards the wall. The trio curled up on the floor, closed their eyes and covered their ears. The flashbangs erupted, and the beast roared. Moments later the concussive force of the grenades added to the sensory overload.

  Falkner was disorientated. Visions of retaking Kunduz against the Taliban overlapped the reality of the moment. Part of him wanted to hide in those memories. Back then it was horror, but at least it was a horror he understood, an enemy he could fight.

  He forced himself kicking and screaming into the present. Yanking his men from the floor, he shoved them forward. "GO, GO, GO!"

  With a roar, he opened fire. Hans and Douberman followed suit, emptying an entire mag at the wall as they charged. The combined fire was enough to punch several small holes through. Their torches revealed what appeared to be a kitchen on the other side.

  “Douberman, provide cover!” Falkner ordered as he and Hans pulled at the bricks and mortar and hacked away with the butts of their rifles. Hans reloaded, then sprayed and prayed.

  A few agonizing moments later, they had a soldier-sized hole cleared. Hans wasted no time scrambling through.

  Falkner turned to Douberman and froze. The man was held inches off the floor, a monstrous tentacle wrapped around his waist. Why hadn’t he called… Falkner’s gut lurched. At the tip of the tentacle, a grotesque mouth filled with razor-sharp teeth was chewing through the Douberman’s throat.

  The soldier’s mouth flopped open in a desperate attempt to scream. All he could manage was a blood-filled gurgle. Bile burned up Falkner’s throat, and without a second thought, he raised his weapon and shot him. It was clean, right through his forehead. But he didn’t die. He continued twisting in agony as the monster bit deeper into his neck. Despite the insanity of the situation, Falkner found himself assessing the threat as he would normally. It was just like Jones and Brody. Once the thing had you in its grip, some aspect, be it biological or supernatural, kept you alive while it feasted. Pain, torment, and suffering must flavour the meat like sugar and spice and all things nice. That thought made him giggle as he scampered through the hole. Every second he expected the grasp of a slithery tentacle to drag him back. This made him laugh harder. By the time he made it through, he was hysterical. He spotted Hans throwing up in the sink. Falkner collapsed in a heap, tears streaming down his face, laughing so violently his stomach cramped.

  Hans grabbed him by the shoulders. “Get a grip, sir! We’re almost out.” Falkner could smell the vomit on his breath, and somehow this brought him back from the brink.

  He wiped his eyes, nodding. “Let’s fucking do this.”

  Both men switched to pockets torches, discarded their useless rifles in favour of increased speed and mobility – their fight or flight response indulging the latter with increased urgency.

  They sprinted, reaching the main hallway without any sign of the creature. Escape was but a few scant seconds away. If we could get out, we can report back to Command. Command would know what to do. They could explain it all away. They had explanations and contingency plans for everything.

  A dark swarm of shadows formed before the main entrance.

  “What the fuck?” said Hans, as they halted.

  The swarm merged into a humanoid shape but with the signature long arms and legs of the creature. Falkner tried to come up with options. His mind drew a blank. He had nothing left. The shape blurred as it surged forward at incredible speed. Falkner tensed.

  Shit—

  Hot liquid splattered his face. He glanced around. “Hans?”

  Falkner stood alone in the gloom.

  It took a few seconds for his brain to catch-up. Like viewing a video recorder, Falkner rewound the event then played it back in slow motion. The creature had moved at such high velocity, Falkner barely registered it. It had run straight through Hans, who exploded with the force of the impact. What was left of the last man under his command, now decorated the walls of the mansion

  He let out a slow moan that soon built up into a war cry, a roar filled with pain, rage and terror. His eyes bulged, the veins on his neck threatening to burst. Falkner catapulted himself forward, convinced he was going to die. All sense of reason lost, the only shred of humanity left was a grim determination to go out like a solider; fighting until his last breath.

  Somehow, he reached the entrance and almost wrenched the door off its hinges. A spotlight of blinding light trained on his position. He shaded his eyes and stepped outside but was brought up short. His heart pounded in his chest. Something held him fast from behind.

  This is it. This is where eternal pain begins.

  Claws sliced through the armour at his back with ease, tearing into his flesh. He screamed. The sensation was greater than pain. It was fire, ice, eternal darkness and damnation. It felt like the culmination of every wrong deed, every injustice he had ever inflicted onto others had returned tenfold. As it reached a crescendo where the suffering threatened to become all-consuming, it ceased. Something shoved him forward. Using this momentum, he managed to get a few feet clear of the building before collapsing.

  Moments later he felt arms around him as officers picked him up and carried him away. Questions assaulted his ears, a babble of voices that made no sense. He mumbled something unintelligible. He wished they’d shut up. All he desired was a hospital bed, drugs and the comfort of blessed oblivion. A sudden flurry of activity sparked his interest and rekindled a faint flicker of fear. He opened his eyes and sat up. He’d been dumped unceremoniously just short of the main command tent they had setup on the front lawn. Soldiers were shouting and pointing at the house.

  Huge spotligh
ts, trained on the entrance where a huge, grey hand was visible just inside the doorway. A spiked tongue curled around one of its talons, licking away Falkner’s blood.

  The hand withdrew. Then a face appeared. Hans. but… it wasn't. It was impossible, and impossibly large – almost as large as the doorway. It spouted an evil grin, displaying rows of sharp teeth drooling with blood.

  Several soldiers opened fire. No order was given but the commanders also drew their side arms. Within moments, it was a free-for-all.

  “It’s no good! It’s no good!” Falkner shouted, but no one could hear him over the gunfire.

  The bombardment decimated the main entrance and side windows. Enough hit their mark though. Slugs from various calibre weapons bounced off the face, others were absorbed into its skin. One soldier lobbed a grenade, it was a perfect shot. But after the explosion cleared, the creature’s taunting face remained. Finally, the shooting ceased, although the trigger-click of empty weapons filled the silence.

  With a smirk, the thing pulled itself back into the shadows.

  Falkner’s superior ran over, grabbing him by the shoulder. “Falkner! What the hell happened in there? What is that thing?”

  He tried to explain. Words failed him. All that came out was fractured comments. “Evil… no... survivors. All dead, but still alive. Forever alive, forever dead!”

  His commanding officer cursed and barked out orders as he strode towards the communications tent. It didn’t take long for three camouflaged soldiers to make their way to the house where they placed small devices around the sides of the estate. Several more were thrown through the windows. Their task completed, they withdrew. Falkner knew they had planted laser markers. Despite the horror he had been through, Falkner smiled at the thought of the trouble this would cause the government. An authorised air strike on British soil! Oh, there would be hell to pay, even though the estate was miles from the nearest populated area. Unless, of course, they could cover it up. They were very good at cover-ups.

  All units were pulled back to minimum safe distance. It would only take a few minutes before the planes arrived. Falkner felt disconnected. It all seemed a bit surreal like it had happened to someone else. The creature or whatever it was, possessed abilities beyond human understanding. It wasn't afraid of their guns and Falkner was sure it could have taken them all out at any time. Yet it chose to play with them as if it was showing off. Why had it stayed inside the mansion? Why hadn’t it come out of the house to finish the job? He gazed at the sun sneaking up over the horizon. Tears tracked down his cheeks, as one of his favourite Bram Stoker quotes came to mind. 'No man knows till he has suffered from the night how sweet and dear to his heart and eye the morning can be.'