Read Online Fight the Future by Chris Carter - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Chris Carter
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appeared, framed by the life-support can-nister behind him.
"It's left the body," Dr. Bronschweig cried breathlessly. Other technicians crowded around the first, as Bronschweig began climbing up the ladder. "I think it's gestated."
He froze, squinting into the darkness below him. "Wait," he said in a hoarse whisper. "I see it—"
In the shadows, something moved. Brons-chweig held his breath, waiting. A moment later it appeared. Limned in blue light from the cor-ner, the plastic rustling as it parted and the crea-ture came through. It moved tentatively, almost timidly, like something newly born.
"Jesus Lord," whispered Bronschweig. His eyes widened in nervous wonder as he stared. Then, after a minute had passed, he took a gen-tle step back down to the ground. "So much for little green men…"
"You see it?" a technician called anxiously.
"Yeah. It's… amazing." He looked up at the faces ringed around the entrance to the cavern. "You want to get down here—-"
Shakily he began working at the ampule, trying to fit it onto the syringe and the plunger in place. He glanced back at the shadows where the creature was, and—-
It was gone. With deathly slowness Bronschweig turned, fearfully scanning the cavern for where it might have fled. There was nothing.
His hand tightened on the syringe as though it were a pistol, and then he saw it in the shadows across the cave. He stared at it for a split second, paralyzed, as its hands lifted and long pointed claws extended.
With inhuman ferocity it lunged at him.
Screaming, he stabbed out with the syringe, managing to inject some of the pre-cious fluid before the thing threw him across the length of the cave. Terrified, Bronschweig staggered to his feet and made his way to the foot of the ladder. Blood trickled from a wound at his neck, but most of the damage seemed to have come to his suit, which flapped around him like a tattered sail.
"Hey," he cried brokenly, staring up the ladder into the technicians' stunned faces. "I need help…"
He glanced behind him, searching warily for signs of the creature, then back up the lad-der.
"HEY—What are you doing?"
They were closing the hatch. Shoving it down as fast as they could and frantically screwing the locks into place, even as Bronschweig watched in disbelief. He flung himself up the ladder, heedless of pain or the blood blossoming across his white suit. He screamed, but his screams went unheard. Above him there was a dull roar, and a dark blur floated across the transparent hatch. The bull-dozer's shovel rose and fell like a striking hand, and with each blow dumped another load of earth onto the hatch. They were burying him alive.
In stunned silence he stood there, unmov-ing, unable to think, when from behind him there came a muffled sound. And it was on him, pulling him down, pulling him off the lad-der, and down into the darkness of the cave.
CHAPTER 8
SOMERSET, ENGLAND
A man stood at the conservatory window of a mansion, looking down as his grandchil-dren romped and raced, laughing breathlessly, across an impeccably manicured lawn. This was one of the few things that gave him anything like peace: sunset, and the sound of grand-children laughing.
"Sir?"
Behind him came the voice of his valet. The Well-Manicured Man continued to stare out the window, smiling.
"Sir, you have a call."
He turned to see his valet holding open the conservatory door. For a moment the Well-Manicured Man remained, gazing wistfully at the idyllic vista below. Finally he headed toward his study.
The twilight seemed deeper here, laven-der shadows darkening to violet where book-cases mounted from floor to ceiling and all the trappings of wealth lay accumulated and forgotten in the corners and on the walls. The Well-Manicured Man ignored all of these, striding to a desk by the window where a telephone blinked insistently. He picked it up, positioning himself so that he could con-tinue to look down upon his grandchildren playing tag.
"Yes," he
"It's left the body," Dr. Bronschweig cried breathlessly. Other technicians crowded around the first, as Bronschweig began climbing up the ladder. "I think it's gestated."
He froze, squinting into the darkness below him. "Wait," he said in a hoarse whisper. "I see it—"
In the shadows, something moved. Brons-chweig held his breath, waiting. A moment later it appeared. Limned in blue light from the cor-ner, the plastic rustling as it parted and the crea-ture came through. It moved tentatively, almost timidly, like something newly born.
"Jesus Lord," whispered Bronschweig. His eyes widened in nervous wonder as he stared. Then, after a minute had passed, he took a gen-tle step back down to the ground. "So much for little green men…"
"You see it?" a technician called anxiously.
"Yeah. It's… amazing." He looked up at the faces ringed around the entrance to the cavern. "You want to get down here—-"
Shakily he began working at the ampule, trying to fit it onto the syringe and the plunger in place. He glanced back at the shadows where the creature was, and—-
It was gone. With deathly slowness Bronschweig turned, fearfully scanning the cavern for where it might have fled. There was nothing.
His hand tightened on the syringe as though it were a pistol, and then he saw it in the shadows across the cave. He stared at it for a split second, paralyzed, as its hands lifted and long pointed claws extended.
With inhuman ferocity it lunged at him.
Screaming, he stabbed out with the syringe, managing to inject some of the pre-cious fluid before the thing threw him across the length of the cave. Terrified, Bronschweig staggered to his feet and made his way to the foot of the ladder. Blood trickled from a wound at his neck, but most of the damage seemed to have come to his suit, which flapped around him like a tattered sail.
"Hey," he cried brokenly, staring up the ladder into the technicians' stunned faces. "I need help…"
He glanced behind him, searching warily for signs of the creature, then back up the lad-der.
"HEY—What are you doing?"
They were closing the hatch. Shoving it down as fast as they could and frantically screwing the locks into place, even as Bronschweig watched in disbelief. He flung himself up the ladder, heedless of pain or the blood blossoming across his white suit. He screamed, but his screams went unheard. Above him there was a dull roar, and a dark blur floated across the transparent hatch. The bull-dozer's shovel rose and fell like a striking hand, and with each blow dumped another load of earth onto the hatch. They were burying him alive.
In stunned silence he stood there, unmov-ing, unable to think, when from behind him there came a muffled sound. And it was on him, pulling him down, pulling him off the lad-der, and down into the darkness of the cave.
CHAPTER 8
SOMERSET, ENGLAND
A man stood at the conservatory window of a mansion, looking down as his grandchil-dren romped and raced, laughing breathlessly, across an impeccably manicured lawn. This was one of the few things that gave him anything like peace: sunset, and the sound of grand-children laughing.
"Sir?"
Behind him came the voice of his valet. The Well-Manicured Man continued to stare out the window, smiling.
"Sir, you have a call."
He turned to see his valet holding open the conservatory door. For a moment the Well-Manicured Man remained, gazing wistfully at the idyllic vista below. Finally he headed toward his study.
The twilight seemed deeper here, laven-der shadows darkening to violet where book-cases mounted from floor to ceiling and all the trappings of wealth lay accumulated and forgotten in the corners and on the walls. The Well-Manicured Man ignored all of these, striding to a desk by the window where a telephone blinked insistently. He picked it up, positioning himself so that he could con-tinue to look down upon his grandchildren playing tag.
"Yes," he
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