The vatgrown was the first to fall.
They were less than fifteen paces from the lab when the Cygnan struck, and it struck fast, true, moving like a soldier. Precise and inescapable, it flexed like a weapon, separating the air between them and spreading the derivative across the deck in a flash of crimson that washed across everything, blinded the doctors, sent Tessa stumbling away, hands spasming as she ricocheted off a nearby wall, collapsed to her knees. Somewhere in the haze, she heard Jiri cry out, scream gurgling off, peaking, breaking abruptly. Darkness fell an instant later, and then she felt it, felt the way the room surged, came alive around her, around it, became part of both of them. Somewhere nearby, inches from her back, the thing chattered, hammered out a series of clicks that shot ice into her spine, made her hunch further into the wall, hands splaying against cold, malleable steel. Memories of Izzy came flooding back, ripped through her psyche like a never ending loop of barbed wire. For one terrible instant, she saw her death, saw fate unfolding around her, swallowing her as it had swallowed Izzy, leaving nothing but butchered flesh, bones, scattered memories.
And then the thing seized her.
In one swift move, she was in the air, Slamming against the opposite wall, steel flexing in surreal ripples where she hit, metal giving in thick gelatin waves. She could hardly see the thing in the darkness, but she knew it was there, could feel it pressing into her, watching her, its long, spider-like limbs forcing her further and further into the heaving steel as it inspected her, studied her. Deep within, something stirred, lit up and flared, a protrusion, a dark occlusion in the familiar lake of her mind, her soul. Lips parted, teeth coming free, baring. . . and then, inside, something shattered.
The scream came on reflex, and as the sound tore from her lungs, the thing screamed with her, hammering her with vibrations that crested cruelly, viciously. For the briefest edge of a split second, she could see into its mind, knew it could see into hers. It was like the connection she’d had with Izzy, only stronger, more brutal. Images of pain, hatred, suffering, confusion all shot through her brain, coring existence, ripping into and through each tissue-thin sheet of soul like Swiss cheese. Its mind was so utterly alien, so powerful, so structured in its own, complex, hive-like way that it overrode her senses, left her fighting on a surging sea of conflict and burnt-off emotion. All around them, the walls and ceiling began to rumble and flex in protest, reacting to the clashing instructions and fragments of mental commands that mixed and tingled through their grappling bodies, until at last something flexed so hard that it broke apart. Fire shot into the darkness, flared and blossomed like an apocalyptic flower as reality seemed to fall in around them, collapsing into the sudden, grasping singularity of her mind, its mind, their mind, drowning out everything with a deafening crash of steel and glass.
When she awoke again, she was surrounded by fire. There was blood in her eyes, aches throbbing along every nerve, across her spine, through every implant laced into her flesh. Lips parted, teeth baring against the pressure, the heat, the weight of everything that had collapsed over and around her. Trapped in the burning wreckage of the hallway, hardly able to move, she forced one grasping, beaten hand toward the still, ashen face of Jiri, crimson splashed and motionless, laying just a handful of paces away. She knew even before she touched him, before she traced a finger across his tired cheek, that he was dead. One bitter, salty tear traced the edge of each of her eyes, dropped.
Gently, resignedly, she lay her head among the gritty debris of the floor, breathed a tired sigh. She had no memory of where the Cygnan had gone, but figured it had been caught in the debris fall as well, probably crushed and killed. She hoped it had been killed– there was no way to tell, no room or strength left in her to wiggle or squirm in an attempt to see. And if it’s still alive somehow, if it escaped. . . She swallowed, panted through weak breaths. Jesus.
A lot of people are going to die.
She hesitated, closed her eyes. Why am I never one of them? She thought bitterly, and the thought carried so much weight with it, so much finality, that she bit the inside of her lip, twisted, rested her forehead against the surface of a chunk of cool, hard steel. A shuddering gasp shook its way wetly from between her lips, left her half curling into herself, unable to move, unable to face the quivering mass she had become, the gutted reality so full of death which stretched on around her, rigid and labyrinthine until it reached the predatory ice.
And then, she heard the voice. His voice.
“Major.” Myyaelae stared at her, vibrant green eyes lit with fearful neon intensity as he shouldered aside a piece of warped steel and reached for her, every inch of his golden, rippling skin blurring, lost and hazy, as if he were the fading edge of some distant dream. “Let me help you.”
“My– yaelae” She coughed, fingers moving, twisting, unfolding slow, like the movement of someone else’s digits. Fear clawed at her heart, but she pushed past it, forced herself to move, to meet his eyes. She sputtered, strained, felt his hand close gently across hers.
“Come on.” He urged, cradling her wrist as he pulled, helping her work free. “We must get you to safety before the Cygnan returns.”
Tessa glanced up, swallowed against a suddenly dry throat.
Before the Cygnan returns.
It’s still alive.
Her own words flitted back to her mind, almost as if to haunt her.
A lot of people are going to die.