the aberration

chapter eight

Around and around and around it went. A persistent, monotonous hum; a gentle drone as the thing hovered meanderingly through the stillness and the quiet. On and on and on, and round and round went that glass plate.

How did it do it?

Why was it even happening?

Mike glared at the microwave as it led him without a word through the trees, glowing green in the dark like an oversized firefly, or an aesthetically atrocious fairy. Mike hunched his shoulders against the cold, his hands crammed in his jean pockets, his thin grey jumper doing little to keep him warm.

'Hey, microwave,' he called out to it. 'Where did you say we were going again?'

The microwave turned to face him, continuing to move in the same direction at a slightly slower pace. 'To a safe place,' it told him, before turning back.

'Where?'

'A short distance from our present position,' it said. 'We must not dither.'

Mike didn't even know why he was following it. In his sudden feeling of exhaustion, his brain's insistence on demanding sense from the obviously nonsensical had taken on a more passive role, and the microwave's words of warning had kept him from choosing to stray from its designated path, especially now that he could not see beyond his own feet outside the microwave's green light.

'There will be food, won't there?' he said, after a while.

'That depends,' said the microwave.

'On what?' Mike asked.

'On a lot of things,' the microwave replied.

Mike sighed and gave up. 'Just don't let me die out here,' he said.

* * *

The enclosed area on the other side of the wall was, just as Beef had seen from a higher perspective, devoid of men even as he reached the bottom of the concrete steps. The ground underfoot was mostly worn dirt, with a few patches of grass.

Beef stayed in the shadows and kept back from the direct line of sight of the blocktower's rectangular entrance, fully expecting more marines to be lurking just inside. He made his way through some stacks of broken wooden crates to the right, then edged along the face of the tower until he was at the doorway's edge.

He sprang around and aimed the pistol down the dark passageway. He stood there only for a fraction of a second before pressing his back to the wall once again, and moving gradually further in.

* * *

Amelia Muse snored gently, the only other sign of life in the oppressive deadness of their surroundings.

Simon Hyde was not asleep. Instead he was creeping towards the detective, his boots creaking with the strained caution of every step. Amelia stirred; Simon froze as she shifted. His hands hovered at his side. Then he made another step forward, and presently he was stood over her, adjusting so that his shadow did not fall over her body.

The weight of his laboured silence grew as, squatting, he lowered himself by arduous degrees, his fingers extended, his hand slowly reaching out towards her left coat pocket. With intense concentration, his fingers undid the button and pulled back the brown flap. With surgical precision his fingers then slid inside and fell around a notebook.

Amelia turned again, her body falling on his arm. Her eyes opened, widened further, her pupils shrinking as he came into focus. She reflexively pulled away; the man fell forward and with a shriek she struggled to push him off. They rolled and the detective managed to pin him down, her hands around his neck. 'What are you doing?' she demanded.

Simon gurgled his reply, his face growing steadily redder. He grabbed her shoulders and threw her off. He scrambled to his feet and staggered back panting, one hand tending to his throat. The black notebook was still in the other.

'Give that back!' screamed Amelia.

'Why won't you let me look?' asked Simon. 'Maybe I can help you!'

'Give it back!' She ran at him and swiped to retrieve it, but Simon neatly sidestepped her assault with a deft swish of his long leather coat. Amelia, however, not to be defeated, cannoned into the back of him and sent them both flying to the ground. The two of them struggled frantically as more notebooks tumbled from the detective's pockets and she fought to reclaim them all. They rolled to the shoreline, leaving a trail of the books behind them.

Through sheer persistence, Amelia managed to get the upper hand and pushed Simon into the water. As she turned to pick up her things, he grabbed her and pulled her back. The disturbed water rose with a splash, and they disappeared below the surface.

* * *

Beef sidled around a corner. He heard voices, and light spilled out into the passage from a room on the left.

'Gonna have to go out for more supplies soon,' said someone.

'How much do we have?'

'Couple days worth. At most.'

Beef heard the other man sigh. Their conversation continued in low, weary voices. Beef slipped past unnoticed.

He continued his exploration and made his way down a flight of stairs to a subterranean level below. The place was strangely quiet, subdued, only illuminated at sporadic intervals by round electric light fixtures in the walls; and so far he had come across very few other men.

He arrived at a junction in the passageway, lowered his gun and peered around another corner. He pulled back as someone approached and braced himself to take the man out should he have turned his way, but the man walked straight on. After he had disappeared, Beef started to down the way the man had come, but then stopped when he heard more voices.

'I'm telling you, he was a giant pink rabbit!' The voice, with a definite edge of hysteria, was coming from a room in the opposite direction. 'That's what he was dressed as!'

The other voice was placatory; forced calm. 'Look, this is hard on all of us, Sam. We're all stressed out--'

'I'm not crazy!' replied the familiar voice, in a somewhat threatening way.

'Mate, you need to calm down, that's all I'm saying...'

Intrigued, Beef retraced his steps and went down the other way.

* * *

Amelia fought for the surface. Once she reached it, her main concern was pursuing her deerstalker across the dark lake, momentarily forgetting about the surviving notebooks on the shore. Her coat made her heavy and her pursuit slow.

Simon broke the surface and floundered, catching his breath before he collected his senses and realised his opportunity. Dripping, he waded onto dry land and examined his own coat. His shades had miraculously stayed attached to his face.

Amelia grabbed a hold of the wet deerstalker and swam as quickly as she could to the nearest point of exit. Dragging herself onto shore, she wrung her soaked curls and examined the ruined contents of her pockets with a frown, throwing the soggy white sludge of loose pages on the ground. Her phone would not switch on. From several yards away, she scowled as she watched Simon lean over and pick up the red notebook. She started to walk around back to him, too exhausted to run.

Simon turned the book over in his hand, examining the cover, but he did not open it. He held it out to Amelia, and she snatched it angrily out of his hand and went to retrieve the others.

* * *

The source of the voices, when Beef stole a look in, was revealed to be some kind of mess or cafeteria. A dying light from the corridor flickered every minute or so, lighting up the room. The room was filled with metal chairs and tables, swathed in darkness, but the two men were in there talking. Sam was stood near the edge of the room, while his friend was sat on the table next to him.

Beef edged as close as he could to the doorway without being seen, and then, timing himself against the malfunctioning light, he slipped into the room, moving rapidly across to a table on the opposite side of the room to the men and hiding behind it. He peered over the top.

The flicker of the light revealed Sam pacing, clutching his head as if to hold in his brains. He whined. 'I can't stand this,' he said. 'It's breaking my mind.'

The other man was silent.

When the room fell into darkness again long enough for him to move, Beef crept around the edge, keeping to the wall.

'What if he's still out there?' asked Sam.

'Sam--'

'What if he gets in? What if any of them get in? Eh? What do we do?'

'Sam, look, nobody's going to get in, alright? If they do, we'll deal with them. Yeah? You're doing my head in. Seriously.'

Sam let out a noise of frustration. 'How can you be so sure?'

The other man rolled his eyes, although Beef could not see this. 'I'd say it's a pretty rare occurrence that we get attacked by pink bunnies, mate...'

'What's that?' said Sam suddenly. Other voices were coming down the corridors, accompanied by the scamper of hurried feet.

'All men alert!' someone shouted. 'Alert!'

'Shit,' said Sam. The other man ran to the door as a marine bolted past. 'What is it?' he called after him.

'Two men down!' the marine called back. 'They were on duty! Both out cold!'

As Sam listened in horror, Beef emerged from the shadows and wrapped his arm around the man's neck. The marine cried out as Beef pressed his pistol against his temple for the second time that day.

'Sam,' said Beef. 'We meet again. I never did think of a name for you, but Sam will do.'

His friend jerked around and drew the gun from his belt. Beef yanked the struggling marine into his line of fire. 'Put the gun down or I'll kill him,' he said, simply.

The marine hesitated.

'Do it, Pete!' said Sam.

'Then kick it over here and walk away,' Beef instructed.

Pete slid the pistol along the floor to Beef's feet and then retreated uncertainly, not taking his eyes off the bizarre, nightmarish apparition before him.

'Move,' Beef hissed into Sam's ear. He pushed him forward, his grip still tight, and followed Pete out of the room. 'Go,' Beef said to him, twitching his head along the corridor and slowly backing down the opposite way.

'I TOLD YOU!' yelled Sam. 'I FUCKING TOLD YOU! PINK BLOODY RABBIT, I SAID!'

Pete reluctantly ran for help.

'This way,' said Beef, dragging Sam around a corner. Unintelligible commands were shouted through the building. He heard the clatter of multiple feet set into action.

'Where are you taking me?' demanded Sam. 'You've got nowhere to--argh...'

'Shut it,' said Beef, looking around and about.

Three marines appeared around the corner; Beef fired three shots, all embedding themselves in the concrete wall, and the men stumbled backwards.

Beef reached another set of stairs and hauled his captive down with him. Sam's feet slid down the steps as he kept his footing only with difficulty, Beef's arm still tight around his neck. Beef fired another two shots up the stairwell as his pursuers made after him.

Sam choked as the intruder towed him along, marching in active strides. Two men appeared and blocked Beef's passage, ordering him to stand down. Beef shot at them, and as they recoiled he turned to see others coming down the opposite way. He was trapped.

Beef glanced at the men closing in on him, making some very rapid calculations. Then, before they could get too close, he kicked open the nearest door and threw Sam inside, firing the pistol's remaining bullets at the marines to slow their advance. Sam came running back at him and got a fist to the face. Beef slammed the metal door shut behind them, hammered down the latch and rammed the rifle snout through the open slat. He pulled the trigger and a staccato arc of pockmarks appeared in the opposite wall.

Sam tried to correct his vision. 'Who are you?' he demanded.

Beef glanced back. 'Master Beef,' he said. 'Although it's not very fair that you never answered when I asked you the same question.'

'You're insane, right?'

Beef grunted. 'Without a doubt,' he answered.

* * *

'Microwave, we have to stop,' implored Mike. 'Please. I'm really tired.'

'Fear not,' said the microwave, continuing on.

'I can't keep going,' he said. 'I can't!'

'But we're here,' the microwave informed him. 'It is just beyond those trees ahead.'

Mike looked at the kitchen appliance suspiciously. 'If it isn't,' he said, 'I'm sleeping there anyway.'

The microwave stared at him. It was really the only expression of which it was capable. 'You are quite weird,' it observed, thoughtfully.

Mike forced his limbs into motion again. The microwave led him on a little way further, and then stopped suddenly. 'We are here,' he announced. Mike stepped forward. The thing before him could only be described as a hole in the ground. It was just big enough for both of them.

'Please, descend,' encouraged the microwave.

Mike stood over it. A metal ladder was attached to one side. First seeking in vain for some kind of expression of reassurance on the microwave's blank face, and lacking a better idea, Mike carefully lowered himself into the hole, secured his hands and feet on the rungs, and descended.

The microwave hovered above him, casting almost furtive glances into the surrounding trees as Mike disappeared into the ground. It followed shortly after.