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

Chapter 4: Me and My Bad Luck (Part 5 of 6)

Stepping into the enclosure was a scene out of a horror movie.  A dark sci-fi film playing on television late at night, half-watched but buried into the subconscious.  Something about a dead spaceship and a rescue team doomed to die.

The portal sealed behind them like an airlock.  The hazmat gear was as thick and bulky as any spacesuit.  The only sound was breathing and the echo of the ventilator valve, whooshing in response.  The suit cut off all sensations except for the uncomfortable warmth of the recycled air within it.  The view of the room through the plastic visor was foggy – motes of space dust suspended in zero gravity.

The team enters the derelict craft completely oblivious to the danger.  They blunder through its passageways, never anticipating the alien monster lurking in the dark, preparing to kill them all.  Except in real life, the monster is right fucking in front of me, Emily Kendrick thought. 

She took another step almost expecting that gravity would fail, and her boot wouldn't land with a thud.  Her heart rattled in her chest.  The sensation was like an old fire alarm. The ones her elementary school had, with a red metal dome and a hammer beating against it in a panicked tattoo.  The alarm inside of her was telling each one of her muscles to flee.  The impulse sucked the strength out of her.

The suit was slightly too big.  The heavy material dragged roughly across her knees with each step, making it feel like her feet were going to slip out of the boots.  They said the fabric could withstand punctures, tearing, and distress.  But Emily had seen the creature in action, and she doubted it would provide any more protection than a chocolate bar wrapper.

The creature was on its side in the far corner of the pen.  It was supposed to be asleep.  They had pumped the room full of gas fifteen minutes ago, and a fine mist of the potent knockout drug still hovered in the air.  It gave Emily no sense of comfort whatsoever.

Tray bumped into her, sending her stumbling.  She struggled to stay upright, her balance thrown off by the weight of the air tank.  The straps of its harness dug deeply into her shoulders as she twisted to regain her footing. 

"Sorry."  His voice sounded deep and almost manly, over the suit's intercom system.

Her mind planned on screaming at him.  She wanted to tell him to stop being such a fucking klutz.  But the only sound to make it out of her pavement dry throat was a startled eh sound.  Her knees begged to crumple, so she could curl up on the floor.

For a second, she hoped that the beast would wake up.  It would be worth it if it went straight for Tray.  It would be a small justice, payback for his volunteering the two of them for a suicidal mission. 

Why would the biggest coward in the bunker want anything to do with this assignment?  She couldn't figure it out.  She had even less of a clue why he had involved her.

Perhaps the sorry son-of-a-bitch thought he could impress her.

At the beginning of the nightshift, R.J. had called everyone together in the OC.  Emily was beginning to wonder if he ever slept.  He seemed to live down there, always busy, constantly the move between the labs and offices.

"Tonight, we will be sending a team in to collect samples from the Subject."  He made the announcement as though proclaiming the end to world hunger.

"Um, with all due respect— are you fucking crazy?"  Aikman seemed to be speaking for the entire group.  He'd certainly taken the words out of Emily's mouth.

"The Subject will be tranquilized first with an airborne sedative.  No one will be in any danger.  The exposure time will be brief – you should only be in there for ten minutes, no more.  I need two people."