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Inferno - Chapter 7: A Taste of Chaos
Posted By: Skul<skulkrusha2000@hotmail.com>
Date: 30 March 2007, 12:34 am
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2235 hours, June 12, 2553 (Military Calendar) / Fire Base Alpha Zulu Foxtrot, Planet Earth
Night descended swiftly on the desert. The day's blazing heat was replaced with night's freezing cold. The marines on patrol on the outside perimeter were chilled to the bone, the cold going right through the heavy-duty armour.
Walking along the top of the perimeter wall with his BR55 gripped tightly in hands that felt like blocks of ice, Corporal Mark Stenson knew that if he could grab the freezing temperature around him and turn it into ammunition, it would be one of the most effective in existence. Armour-piercing rounds would have nothing on them. They would be armour-ignoring rounds, passing straight through the heaviest armour and settling coldly onto the flesh. A few shots would incapacitate a target while continuous fire would kill them – literally freezing them to death.
This idle thought was mostly to distract him from the cold and partly to relieve boredom. He knew he should have been alert for threats, but in all the times he had patrolled, something interesting only happened rarely. Very rarely.
There was a rustle below him. Stenson blinked out of his wandering thoughts and pointed his rifle at the sound, peering through his night-vision goggles. The desert scrub his rifle was pointed at was swaying and rustling. There was something inside it. A second later a four-legged creature cantered out on thudding hooves. On its head, two huge horns curled to face forward.
Stenson relaxed and snorted, smiling. It was a bighorn sheep feeding on the brown-green vegetation that was growing near the base. It wandered back into the desert, munching contentedly.
The sheep stopped and stood stock-still several kilometres from the base. She sniffed the air and promptly coughed, a horrible smell was in the air. Sensing something to her right, she turned her head, ears pricked, listening. She sniffed again and coughed more violently. The sheep backed away, warily. There was movement behind her. The sheep kicked her hind legs out at the presence that she knew was not another sheep. Her hooves hit thin air and she turned, head lowered, ready to plough through it and escape. She completed her turn, but saw there was nothing standing before her. Seeing her chance, the sheep started to sprint forward, but her efforts were cut short. She felt a moment of wild fear before her body was ripped in two by unseen forces.
"Sometime earlier this afternoon, Peter Dennison, Professor of Archaeology, was apparently killed in his apartment," the newscaster, a middle-aged man with slicked black hair, announced, "Michael Stanning has the latest."
The picture transitioned smoothly from the newsroom to the front of the apartment building that Peter Dennison had lived.
"He was a well-known and respected member of the Archaeology Circle. His life was unfortunately cut short at the age of thirty-five," Michael Stanning's voice – carefully kept in the neutral tone of news reporters – accompanied the images of a tall apartment building.
The camera panned its viewfinder around in slow arcs, transmitting filler shots while the reporter, a ginger-haired, skinny man with a break-like nose and wide, pale-green eyes, gave the background on Professor Dennison's life.
"He had just recently returned home from an expedition in Egypt, where several people, including Professor Dennison's colleagues, were what could only be described as 'slaughtered' in the Three Pyramids Hotel."
The screen showed a still image of Peter Dennison holding a large blue bowl with black markings on it, the last picture ever taken of him, as the reporter's voice informed the viewers of the events. There was another smooth transition from the photograph to a live feed of Michael Stanning with the apartment building behind him, lit up by external lights. In the background, three police officers were standing around the building entrance.
"It was at around seven o'clock this evening that his fate was discovered. His sister, Laura Dennison, had used her spare key to gain entrance to his apartment on the fourth floor after he had not answered the door and found what was left of her brother.
She told investigators that after she had heard about the incident at the Three Pyramids Hotel, she contacted her brother yesterday at six o'clock and had told him she was going to visit him to make sure he was alright. According to Miss Dennison, her brother sounded shaken, but otherwise okay when she contacted him from her home.
The most confusing thing for the investigators is that his body was nowhere to be found. There was only a pool of blood with his journal lying face-up in it. He had apparently been in the middle of writing, but had stopped abruptly and there are no signs of breaking and entering.
In his journal, Professor Dennison mentions some rather amazing and quite frightening experiences in the entries. We weren't told exactly what he wrote, but the expedition was mainly to find a relic – some kind of object he refers to as the 'Fire Stone'. This stone was stolen not long after Professor Dennison's return to the hotel where his colleagues were brutally murdered. Investigations are still being carried out to find out who was responsible for the killings."
The view transitioned back to the newsroom.
"We'll have more on that story tomorrow," said the newscaster, "but now, from all of us at the News Night studio, goodnight."
The screen displayed the News Night logo, which was accompanied by the news show's theme tune.
Two Corporals, Jake Penney and Kyle Lennin, sat in one of the bastions that were situated at each corner of the base's perimeter wall, which was in the shape of a hexagon, much like the ancient coastal fortress of Fort Jefferson.
In the roughly northern-facing bastion, Corporal Penney produced a packet of chewing gum from one of his pockets and pulled out a thin stick of gum. He offered Lennin a stick, but the Corporal refused. Penney shrugged and put the packet of gum back into his pocket, chewing the stick he had withdrawn.
Penney had his back to the desert plains, as always. After two weeks of nothing but wildlife and weather, Penney had begun to be less vigilant, although he did occasionally glance over his shoulder just to make sure nothing slipped by him. However, even in the heightened state of alert, the Corporal still did not pay any more attention. He was quick to get back to his duty properly whenever he saw or heard an officer approaching.
Lennin, however, was looking out over the desert, which had taken on an almost purple colour in the night's darkness.
Something in the darkness caught his eye. He moved closer to the wide, narrow window of the bastion and looked through binoculars fitted with night-vision. Zooming in on the area, he saw a bright green spot on the ground growing larger. The Corporal switched off the night-vision and saw that the spot was of an orange-red colour, much like a hot fire. A harsh glow shone from the spot, which now seemed to be more like a hollow circle with a pattern inside. As it grew larger, Lennin saw the pattern was a five-pointed star – a pentagram.
He lowered the binoculars as the pentagram grew ever larger.
"Hey, Jake," Lennin whispered, "Take a look at that!"
Corporal Penney looked over his shoulder and froze.
"What the hell…?"
He grabbed the binoculars and focused them on the large pentagram, which was still growing and getting brighter. The two Corporals heard the shocked and confused voices of their fellow marines. They had also noticed the pentagram.
They would have to be blind not to, thought Lennin.
The pentagram, now at least a kilometre across, flickered like a great flame, bathing the darkness of the night in its fiery, blazing glow.
The marines observed the anomaly for several minutes, but nothing happened. The pentagram neither grew nor shrunk, neither brightened nor dimmed. It lay on the desert sand, seeming to watch them.
Sergeant Josh Gladstone – often called 'Gladdy', but never to his face – tried to re-establish some order among the marines, despite the fact that he, too, found his attention constantly being drawn to the pentagram. The way the light it gave off flickered and danced was almost hypnotic; like a lava lamp.
Gladdy managed to keep his attention on the marines long enough to get them back to their posts.
"Keep your eyes on the desert, marines. That… thing out there," he waved his hand in the pentagram's direction, making sure not to look, "is none of your concern. When it is, we'll tell you. Until then, I don't want any questions about it. Understood?"
The marines acknowledged him in unison.
"Those of you on patrol – don't let me catch you staring at that thing. Continue your duties."
Those walking around the perimeter gave him another synched acknowledgement.
Sergeant Gladdy nodded and resisted the urge to look over at the burning shape sitting near the base. It wasn't easy; considering he could see the light it cast reflecting off weapons and armour.
He took a deep breath and entered the base to report the anomaly.
Less than an hour later, a small team, consisting of three marines and two scientists, was sent to find out what they could about the pentagram.
The two scientists, carrying a case of analytical tools between them, followed close behind the marines who constantly surveyed their surroundings as they approached the glowing mark on the desert floor.
"This is Victor Team; approaching target now," reported Victor-One, scratching his unshaven chin.
The response was garbled and unintelligible. The marines and scientists only caught fragments of words, but no sense could be made out of them.
"Repeat, Command? You're breaking up pretty bad," said Victor-One.
Again, the response was garbled. Suddenly, the garbled words were replaced by a thousand tortured screams. Everyone cried out and grabbed their ears as the screams cut into their heads. The screams stopped as abruptly as they had started.
"What was that?" asked Victor-Two.
"Hell if I know," replied Victor-Three, shrugging his shoulders. He shook his head vigorously, "Damn, my ears are ringing."
"Let's keep moving," said Victor-One, almost impatiently. The scientists, having dropped their tool case in surprise when the unexplainable screaming started, lifted it back up and continued walking with the marines.
The team got within fifty metres of the pentagram before feeling fear steal over them. Taking another step was unthinkable; it was like trying to willingly step off the edge of a cliff – they couldn't do it.
Turning tail and running shakily on legs that had turned to rubber, the team fled from the pentagram, their hearts beating frantically in their ears.
Victor-Three screamed as he felt something wrap around his chest and yank him backwards through the air. Victor-Three struggled to free himself, realising that he was headed towards the glowing pentagram. Intense heat flared behind him, burning his skin through the armour. He felt the thing clutching his chest release its grip, but Victor-Three's momentum carried him into the raging hot heart of the five-pointed star. He landed on his back, yelling in agony and then fear as he sank into the ground. The last of him to go under was his arm – stretched up, grasping at the boiling air before disappearing in a gout of fire.
Victor-One and -Two and the scientists quickly followed him afterwards, their screams travelling distantly across the desert in the cold night air.
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