The bridge was a gruesome scene. A pile of corpses was stacked methodically in the exact center of the bridge. Blood flowed freely, though some bodies showed not a mark. Some were little more than a gory pulp, sometimes the limbs were ripped off and stacked. All-in-all, every single person died a different, yet equally gruesome, way. And there, at the pinnacle of the mountain of bodies, was Alec Lekkas, his skin black and blue and bloated. They had ruptured every blood vessel in his body and let him bleed to death from the inside. The ghosts surveyed the damage, looking pleased with the results.
In unison they turned to look at the forward instrument blister, an assortment of different panels and wires which were now covered with blood. A light sobbing could be heard, though it was obvious it was trying to be suppressed. Hiding beneath the controls was a young woman, who had witnessed the massacre and had done her best to hide herself from certain death, though the ghosts could feel her presence. She was on the verge of trying to scratch her eyes out with her finger nails. She had delicate features, and fair complexion, though it was marred by tears, fear, and a lot of blood, though none her own. They chuckle to themselves and phase through the bulkhead. Unbelieving at first - surely she should be dead, should have died with her comrades! - she scrambles over the consoles and to her feet and hesitantly, at first, walks to the door leading to the outside. Her pace increases until she's at a dead run, through the door and the anteroom, down the hallway, running to escape memory, escape the pure terror and homicidal glee she had seen. She trips on what appears to be a wrench, which she picks up and keeps running. Anything to guard from memories and ghosts, even if it doesn't do much against either.
About a hundred yards down the corridor, she came across a lone marine, who looked more than a little spooked. "Thank god," he said with relief, "I was beginning to think I was the only one still alive!" She didn't hear him however. All she saw was the ghost's face, mocking here with a Corsair's body. My god, it was awful! She swung the wrench with all her might at the Corsair, hitting him in the head, screaming as blood covered her, screaming and sobbing. He lay there, his head a bloody pulp, brain matter sticking out the top and leaking fluids, but ghost gone. Ghost gone. Laughter goaded her to run faster - it was still alive! Onward she ran, now looking for someplace to hide. Into a locker room, she beat at the padlock on the first locker with the bloody wrench until it fell off, opened it, only to see a ghost waiting. Screaming, she slammed it shut and ran back through the door and down again. This couldn't be happening!
Further and further, she tried the next locker room. In this one, all the lockers had no locks, though she paid it no mind. She ripped open the first one and saw the same thing she had seen with the Corsair marine - the ghost had taken another Corsair over, and hid him in the locker to wait for her! Swinging again, he died much like his predecessor. Then she saw the lockers opening, with much the same result. Ghosts everywhere. Panicking, she reached down and drew the hand gun from the Corsair she had just killed, pulling it out of the holster and firing wildly, the Tizona-model pulse shots ripping through bodies. Laughter. Had to stop the laughter! Tempted to just turn the gun on herself, to stop the madness, something took control of her arm and moved the gun away from her temple. The ghost was in her! It's at that point where she gave up, and broke down crying, while the ghosts around her laughed endlessly, taking joy in her pain and terror.
The laughter slowly faded away, leaving her to weep, balled up, while surrounded by the bodies of her brethren that she had killed herself.
"Curse this!" Carmelo hit the duct's wall with the stock of his gun. Irritated he tried to look around back at his men, but the tunnel was too small to maneuver. He sighed heavily. "Move back. There's no way in from here."
As the group backtracked to the duct's exit an eerie feeling hit them all. The breathing sound that followed made them stop to listen. It was unworldly. It sounded like nothing any of them have heard before and it was all around them, reverberating inside the metallic walls. They all got nervous and some started moving faster, eager to find the exit.
"Curse me! What the hell was that?" the man behind Carmelo lingered.
"I have no flipping idea!" Carmelo said impatient. "Whatever that was, I don't want to fight it from here. Move!"
The duct was connected to a ventilation shaft coming from the upper sections of the ship. As the last man crawled back out of it and reached in for his vest, they heard desperate cries and gun shots coming from inside that shaft.
Carmelo paused to listen while his men shared puzzled glances. "The bridge. It has moved to the bridge! Let's go!"
As the realization of that sort of mess reaching the ship's command center came, the group went from an accelerated march to a frantic run. Carmelo took point as they reached the spiral stairs leading to the upper levels.
The first spiral, leading to the fourth level, had no traces of fight whatsoever. However, nothing in their training had prepared them for the slaughterhouse they found as they reached the fifth level. Floor, walls and ceiling in the final segment of the spiral were all sprayed with blood. The anteroom which led to the bridge, and held some of the secondary telemetry equipment, was a mess of corpses. The consoles were ruined. Some broken by impact or gunshots, others soaked with blood. The slashed and mangled corpses of their operators were all over them.
"My God!" one of the marines whispered.
One of the bodies had bled so profusely, the panel under it short circuited. It's limbs jerked with the electricity. It looked like a puppeteer's doll. A mixed smell of burnt circuitry and dried up blood arose with the smoke. Carmelo swallowed back the bitter taste coming from his throat and went to where the corpse laid. His second, Ismael, followed him ready to provide cover. Carmelo made a sign to the rest of the group to stay put at the spiral. As the two neared the corpse, the fumes gave place to the distinct smell of fresh blood and flesh.
Ismael, noticeably upset, nudged Carmelo and asked, "Hey, man. What are you doing?"
"If we leave it like this it will end up in a fire. We don't need that."
Carmelo grabbed the corpse by one of its shoulders and pulled it back from the console. It shifted and fell to the ground facing them. It had no face. Where it should have been there was only a blood mess of torn up skin and shattered bones.
Ismael cursed and turned away from it. At the same time, a spark in the panel activated the door to the bridge. Ismael breathed in deep to try and control his stomach. He wasn't prepared to see the pile of corpses inside the bridge, let alone the bloated Captain surfacing from it with his dead bloodshot eyes gazing him. He curled over his belly and threw up.
As much as it annoyed Carmelo, he couldn't blame the man. He breathed in hard himself; half angered, half sick. He shifted his gaze from the scene and reached for the bloody console, for the control to close the door. It worked. He grabbed Ismael by the vest and pulled him up.
"Come on, man. Get your act together. This isn't over yet." He patted the man on the back, making him move, and turned to the rest of the group. "Alright, people. Let's finish this."
The ghosts walked down the corridors that led to the stern of the ship. The trail behind them was one of destruction and death. Vince dragged a crying man by the collar, much like a bored child would drag a ragged doll around the house. To the man, he and Renato communed unintelligibly between themselves, oblivious to him or to anything else.
The corridor led to a locker room fourteen people had found to hide in. The atmosphere inside the room was one of fear. Its occupants looked around for strength, but there was none to be found. All of them had witnessed the murderous rage of the apparitions and none was able to put aside the terror from the slaughter. It had shattered their hopes of making it out of the ship alive.
Nobody said a word. Nobody moved. It was so quiet one could hear the air being breathed in and out fast by nervous nostrils. In fact, it was so quiet it felt like even the heartbeats could be heard.
Vince and Renato had already noticed the room. It glared to them like a lamp lit in the dark would to a moth. Had they had mouths to water, the emanations of fear coming from the room would have produced a juicy taste of raw, tender meat around their tongues. However, the satisfying sensation barely compensated for the sickening ticking of the fifteen hearts inside.
They stopped. The man in Vinces possession whimpered. Everyone inside the room shifted nervously.
What was that? One man asked in a tone so low it was barely a whisper.
"There is someone outside, a woman replied in an even lower tone, her words being more read from lips than heard.
Please, let me go... A hurtful plea came from the corridor.
Oh, my God! Thats Enriq... The same woman identified the man before she was muted by two pairs of hands over her mouth. She had spoken too loud. The two people who did it faced her with desperate eyes.
She nodded and gave them an assuring look that she wouldnt do it anymore. As they let her go and she crawled to the man by the door.
Thats Enrique. We have to let him in, she whispered by his ear.
No, don't open the door. The man beside them begged.
Its alright. The man by the door put his hand over the other mans shoulder to reassure him. He then pushed the woman back, making room for him to reach the lock.
He started turning the wheel, trying to find a way for it to make as little noise as possible. Still, as metal rubbed against metal, the lock chirped and screeched. It was low, yet a distinct noise. Each time the wheel turned, it felt like a weight was added to the chests of everyone in the room; they could barely breath.
The man at the door opened a small slit and looked through it. He couldnt make out a thing, so small was it. He widened the slit a bit. He could make out the corridor, but he didnt see anyone in it. He decided that it was good enough an opening should there be anyone nearby trying to get in. He looked back to the rest of the people in the room with a mix of helplessness and confusion.
There is no... He never finished the sentence.
A violent thud at the door threw the man to the ground and jolted the rest of them. Some gasped. They were still making efforts to remain silent out of reflex. As everyone shook it, they realized both the wall and the mans face were painted in blood. The door had never really been opened much by the impact as the man was right behind it, but the gap in it was wide enough for a bloody arm to slip inside. It belonged to the corpse which had been hurled against the door in the first place.
Everyone started screaming. Out of desperation, the people near the door tried to kick it back closed as they stumbled away from it, but the arm was in the way. They got all huddled in the back of the room, but the door was still open.
A woman ran to close the door. She almost slipped in the pool of blood trying to kick the arm back out without further opening the door; it didnt work. She cried as she opened the door and saw what was left of Enriques skull splattered on the floor. She looked up and saw them. The two spirits towering right in front of her. She screamed in terror and tried to run away from them; only to finally slip in all the blood, hit her head and fall unconscious.
Renato slammed the door open. The people inside looked wide eyed at the two ghosts. Some started clawing the walls and each other looking for an exit that didn't exist. Vince crossed the portal and with a wide movement of his arms the lights exploded. The room got dim. The only remaining light came from the corridor.
The ghosts joined at the portal and gazed at the people inside with crimson eyes. No living being had ever heard the squeal they produced at that moment. It transpired agony, pain and anger. It was inhuman. Their jaws deformed into two horrid hollow holes in their faces that could very well be the trumpets of hell. As desperate and doomed as the screams from the people inside the room sounded, they were but fragile whimpers if compared to the cry of the apparitions.
Renato closed the door behind him, shrouding the room with darkness. At first, the ghosts reached for the occupants and killed a couple of them ripping up their bodies and letting bloody parts spill over the rest. Disoriented by the darkness and crazed by terror, people started hurting each other, trying to fight back the threats they couldn't see.
After a while, Renato and Vince stopped and watched while the rest of them killed each other out of desperation and madness.
It was the longest three hours of their lives. Searching, deck by deck, only to find nothing, Carmelo's group quickly became anxious. There was no sign of fighting on any part of the ship but the bridge, but there was no sign of people either. As if a phantom from the ether had come and stolen them away like old tale's spoke of monster's stealing children. Carmelo tried not to recall those stories, but they arose unbidden in his mind. Soon, after so long searching, they stopped to take a break outside a locker room. One of the men, Luciano, looked down as he was unscrewing the canteen of water, and saw a faint trail of blood leading inside. Gulping down some water, then pouring some over his sweating face, he nudged Carmelo with his elbow and pointed down at the blood, hand shaking slightly. Carmelo nodded, and started turning the wheel set in the center of the door.
The door opened slowly, revealing a scene of dead Corsairs, though they were at least normal corpses, ripped with blaster shots instead of some mysterious killer. In the middle of the floor sat a woman balled in on herself, sobbing lightly, as if she had already cried herself dry but couldn't stop. Luciano walked up slowly and touched her shoulder, trying to get a look at her face. She freaked out, pulling out a gun and trying to shoot at them, only to realize that the clip was empty. Discarding it, her other hand tried to swing out a wrench, but it was too heavy for her weakened arm. In the end, she gave up and just kept crying, ignoring them.
"Angelica, is that you?" asked Luciano, with concern. "Oh damn, what did they do to you?" She shook her head strongly, as if trying to deny the memory or trying to get rid of it.
"Who is she?" Carmelo asked, leaning forward.
"My girlfriend," Luciano replied, hovering over her protectively.
"We have to move out man, and we can't take her with us, she'd slow us down too much and be a danger to us all."
"I can't just leave her! Let me stay then."
Carmelo seemed to consider it for a moment, the nodded his assent. "But keep an open comm-link. We'll be back to check on you later."
With that, the now seven-man squad set out to continue their search of the ship.
Carmelo's footfalls made empty echoes that moved down the corridor, underscoring just how alone him and his men were. It was half an hour since they had left Luciano and Angelica, and already a cold trickle of sweat ran down the his back, funneling down his spine, sending shivers in a likewise direction. The static of an open commlink played through his ears, a symphony of empty hisses, pops, and a cacophony of crackles against the silence that was the ship. Samuel, a burly man that had enough testosterone to float a boat, had point, gun held in a ready position and eyes on the search. Carmelo was second, followed by Santos, a wiry man with a runner's body. Down the line was Domingo, Anibal, Consuela (the only girl in the group, and harder than the men), and bringing up the rear was Manolo, a short and stocky man with fists the size of hams.
Despite almost constant fear and wired nerves, he fell into a rhythm. He almost fell asleep, how lulled in the inactivity he was. Then, something snapped him out of it. A change in the static.
He signaled for a halt and listened. At first he didn't hear anything, but something had grabbed his attention over the commlink.
"Luciano, report," said he, a bit of fear at what he'd hear. His fears were confirmed: he heard nothing. He turned around and ran back the way they had come, the marines quickly turning and matching speeds. Down the halls, his long stride ate ground like a starving man. He crashed through a door that was open just a crack, his shoulder taking the blow. He felt what would turn into a bruise, but paid it no mind. He was back in the room they had left in ten minutes. There was nothing.
"Where the frick did they go?!" he demanded, punching the wall. There was a whimper. He stopped breathing as he listened again, this time finding it. Opening the locker, there was Angelica, her hands covering her eyes as if trying to block out a terrible memory that refused to leave, one that was imprinted on the inside of her eyelids, one that would forever haunt her.
"Where's Luciano?" he demanded. She shook her head an ambiguous 'no', either saying she didn't know where or denying what had happened. "WHERE IS HE?" He heard the sound of someone bringing up their lunch behind him, and he looked back. Everyone was staring up. Carmelo looked up, and saw Luciano. He was hanging by his own belt, eyes gouged out.
"Sweet Jesus," he said, crossing himself. He had never been a religious man, but now was as good a time as ever to start.
"We shouldn't have left them," Consuela said to herself; loud enough to make it clear it was aimed at Carmelo.
"We also couldn't have brought that girl with us. And Luciano wouldn't leave her. There was nothing we could do."
"We could have stayed here with them," Consuela retorted. "And now you're telling me that we're going to leave her again? All by herself?"
Carmelo grabbed both sides of Consuela's vest and brought her face to face with him so he could look her straight in the eye. "What I won't have is us waiting here as some unknown force come and wipe us all out like it did to everyone else we've found. If you want to try your luck with whatever it is that has done that mess back in the bridge, too bad. I won't let you. We keep on the move. Nobody else stays behind."
"Alright then... If nobody stays behind, she comes with us," Consuela turned Carmelo's words against himself.
Carmelo grunted and kicked the first thing he found on the floor in a futile attempt to fight back his own conscience. He gave up. "Mujer imposible!" He cursed. "Alright, Consuela. You win, but she's your baby now; a quiet and well behaved one. I'll give you one shot at this, but I won't have her risking the lives of everyone else here. You'll have her behave or we're all leaving her behind. And you are not staying behind with her."
"I knew you couldn't be such a bad person, jefe," Consuela held Carmelo almost managing to kiss him in the cheek.
"Get the hell out of here, you crazy chica." He pushed her aside and went to grab his gear.
Carmelo looked back to see Consuela talking soft to the girl's ear, trying to convince her into coming with them. He sighed.
"Jefe, that's a bad idea," Samuel nudged Carmelo, mentioning Consuela and the girl.
"Come with me, corazon," they overheard as the soldier woman raised the girl from the floor.
Carmelo turned back to Samuel, looking him straight in the eye for a second with an indecipherable look on his face. He then turned to the rest of the group in a tone softer than the usual, "Let's move."
There was nothing casual about the way the group moved. Since one of them had been attacked and killed, the notion of invulnerability was no more. They proceeded through the corridors step after step, double-checking lockers, rooms and any other places big enough to hold anything bigger than a child. They were all quiet. Even late Luciano's girlfriend, Angelica, was quiet. Consuela kept a wary eye on her. The soldier didn't want to risk the girl going crazy on them all of a sudden. At the slightest sign of unrest from the girl, Consuela would whisper something in her ear, reassuring her as best as she could. She also tried to keep Angelica busy by giving her nonsensical tasks as keeping track of the number of doors they had passed. It seemed to have worked with her like a life buoy would with a drowning person. As far as the rest of them were concerned, Consuela had managed to find the last portion of sanity the girl had left in her.
They heard dripping noises echoing inside a shower room they came by. The door to it was open. The group formed and converged to it with weapons ready at Carmelo's signal. Consuela had the girl stay back and promise she wouldn't forget the number, as it was very important to them. The first two men knelt by the door checking the room from outside through the crosshairs of their guns. They inspected everything up to the ceiling before entering followed by another two. The four examined every corner of the room while the rest of them guarded the door from outside. The men inside found nothing.
Carmelo noticed the mix of frustration and anger in the eyes of the four as they left the room. The group had been searching for hours to find nothing but the aftermaths of fights against some unknown force. As much as he hadn't made a big deal out of the path of destruction and death they had found up until then, it was. Whatever it was that they were up against, it was something powerful and wicked enough to turn a human body inside out and hang it for display. He reckoned Ismael understood that as well. His second was the only one who had also seen what happened to Captain Lekkas. He ordered everyone to fill up their canteens.
As the rest of the group got distracted doing as ordered, Carmelo stopped Ismael with a hand on his shoulder. He looked the man in the eye without saying a word. Ismael held his gaze with a non-quizzical look on his face; long enough for Carmelo to decide that they shared the same thought: His men were both physically and mentally tired of chasing ghosts.
As they were all gathered again, Carmelo got their attention, looking each one of them in the eye as he spoke. "We should be reaching the engine room in a matter of minutes." He produced a small piece of chalk from one of his vest's pockets and started a rough sketch of the ship's aft section on the floor. "There's a connection to a secondary service dock on the bottom level of it here." He pointed at his drawing. "If we don't find anyone by the time we reach that dock, we stop there. Understood?" He looked back up to see them nodding. Their relief was visible. Carmelo rubbed his left hand on the floor to wipe the sketch out. "Alright, let's go."
The group gained a renewed avidity to proceed. They formed on Ismael and Carmelo followed. They were moving a bit faster than before, but much more attentive to their surroundings.
*Crash!*
The noise came from the inside the shower room they had just left. They all reacted and turned back ready to fire. Then a cry came from behind them. They turned again to see Ismael being yanked from alongside the group. It was so sudden a thing they froze perplexed. All they saw was Ismael being pulled away by an invisible force; his feet barely touching the floor; his arms flailing, trying to reach something to grab on to. Carmelo ran as fast as he could to reach his second, but no man could have made it. Whatever it was that was pulling Ismael stopped for a second. Carmelo gained ground, but just enough to witness from a privileged point as his friend got pulled into a ventilation shaft above the corridor. Ismael didn't disappear at first. His weapon hit the passage and anchored him halfway in. It was so brutal a hit, though, it dented the metal outside the passage and most likely shattered his collar bone that supported the weapon's bandolier. For an instant his legs thrashed outside the shaft and his cries of pain and desperation were heard from outside. Carmelo reacted again and made his final attempt to reach him, but clawed air as Ismael was finally pulled into the shaft. His weapon fell to the ground with it's bandolier torn in two. The rest of the group finally reached Carmelo. For a few seconds they just stood shocked and helpless as the sound of Ismael's body bumping against the walls quickly became too distant to be heard.
Everyone was visibly shaken as they kept watching and listening long after Ismael was gone, long after the bumps and scrapes vanished. The ominous darkness of the ventilation shaft showed them just what Ismael had gone to - a dark place of no return. Shaking himself, Carmelo ordered that they move in a circle, Santos and Domingo both walking backwards so that they could watch every side at once. The threat was still unknown, but now was more dangerous than ever. Every sound - the ship creaking due to gravity, water dripping from a faucet that wasn't completely shut, the distant slamming of doors - was magnified in their fear enshrouded... the distant slamming of doors? What?
Everyone seemed to key in on it, the sound that showed that maybe someone was still out there. Everyone was optimistic for a while - everyone except for Carmelo, who realized that it could be terribly wrong. A trap, the creature (or whatever it was) toying with them, or anything else sinister. His mind had been shaped to believe the worst, to cope with the constant fear he had to avoid the bad surprises that would shock and disable the mind again and again. Plan for the worst, so all your surprises are pleasant ones. As such, Carmelo ordered a halt.
"Stop worrying so much Carmelo," Manolo said, disregarding the order and taking a few steps ahead. "We can't keep on like this, we need to have some good fortune, so we will."
Despite Carmelo yelling after the man, he ran forwards toward the source of the door banging. Screw it Carmelo thought, running after him. Everyone else fell into stride. They were too slow, though, and came to a place where a door was swinging wildly on one hinge, making a bang each time it contacted the frame of the door. There was no sign of Manolo.
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