Up From The Deep by Vaughn Jackson (highly recommended books txt) 📕

Chaplin met his furious gaze with one of complete detachment. “Of a squad of seven, two of us survived first contact.”

“Man, fuck you,” Thayer said pulling back for a punch.

Hicks grabbed his wrist and held it just tight enough to hurt. “Enough.”

Brannigan watched in silence. Thayer dropped Chaplin and pulled his arm from Hicks’ grasp.

“Shit sucks. People are dead. We have a mission,” Brannigan said, drawing their attention back to him.

“Yeah, a mission that didn’t involve flesh-eating bugs the size of people,” Thayer shouted. “And also, your little friend with the schematics isn’t doing a very good job either is he? I mean, a left turn being a little early or late is one thing, but not existing at all. The hell kind of intel is that?” He clicked on his comm-link. “Hey computer boy, got any information on those bugs for us? They got acid for blood or something?”

There was silence for a minute, the sound of rustling, and Skylar’s voice came over the comms. “At the depths they would have been surviving, near all that volcano material, it is possible they could have acid for blood. Or blood that is so toxic, breathing in the fumes from it could kill you instantly. What is true, however, is that you’re panicking and need to shut the fuck up and listen to Captain Brannigan.”

“Oh,” Thayer said, “oh that’s just great, Shirley Temple is sticking up for her boyfriend everyone. Give her a round of applause.” He began to slow clap loudly.

On the third clap, Brannigan’s fist cracked across his jaw.

“On your feet, Thayer, that’s an order!”

“Thought rank didn’t matter on this mission,” Thayer said, rubbing his jaw.

“It didn’t. Now it does. On. Your. Feet.” Brannigan extended his hand, but Thayer brushed it aside.

“I’m up,” he said. “What next?”

“We press on, of course,” Brannigan said dryly. “Devonte, you there?”

“Yeah,” came the sullen reply.

“No time for pity-partying, I’ll give you shit for it later. Where are we?”

“Hold on, let me check.” The sound of keyboard keys clicked loudly through the earpiece. “Your GPS signal is faint because of the dirt and metal and some other interference—”

“Maybe the bioelectrical interference of the insects…or Inkanyamba herself,” Skylar chimed in.

“But based on what I’ve got…you ended up in the right place. I put you right below Alcatraz Island.” Another pause. “The schematics I have say there should be an elevator that leads up to the main basement of the prison, but—”

“We’ll figure it out from here, kid,” Brannigan said. “Thanks. You did good.”

Brannigan put his index finger to his lips. “She’s right up there, boys. Let’s not wake her. God knows she needs her beauty sleep.”

All of the color drained from Thayer’s face, and he tightened his grip on his assault rifle. “We’re beneath it?”

“Yep,” Brannigan said. “And the way I see it is, we either go out and face big momma, or we go back and fight our way through those things.” He motioned at the door, the creatures still scraping and clicking furiously on the other side. Crossing the room, he flipped a switch and illuminated an industrial elevator so obviously lacking in any form of safety measures, Brannigan wryly thought that its kill count might be higher than his.

“Fuck me,” Hicks said.

“Another time, maybe,” Brannigan said with a grin. “Shall we?” He made a sweeping gesture towards the rickety elevator.

“Let’s not waste any more time,” Chaplin said, sliding the dubious safety chain to the side and stepping on to the elevator platform.

Brannigan followed, and Hicks and Thayer pulled up the rear.

#

The first thing Brannigan noticed was the smell, like murky brine left to sit and stew in fetid pools of garbage beneath a brutal sun. Each breath was a fight not to vomit. The second thing was the sheer size of Inkanyamba. From the videos and stories, he knew she was big, but that was an understatement. Her slumbering form towered above them. She was asleep, and each breath set the earth beneath their feet rumbling with tremors. The sharkskin scales that covered her body bristled when she inhaled and relaxed when she exhaled. Her serpentine head tucked itself away, collapsed down for protection. Covering her entire back was a patchwork of fossilized rock, and coral, and sea-life, a jagged shell that cracked and crumbled in chunks.

Brannigan was glad for the encounter with the isopods, because the smell that clung to him and his men matched the smell that clogged the air. She wouldn’t catch their scent. Not if they worked fast.

Quiet as they could, they set about planting the explosives, a blend of TNT and PETN, “for a little extra oomph”, they’d been told. Brannigan placed the explosives as close to the creature as he dared get, wiring the detonator thread back to the elevator shaft. The others did the same. When all the bombs were placed, they gathered back up at the elevator.

“Alright, boys, let’s wrap this up,” Brannigan whispered.

“Brannigan,” Devonte’s voice crackled in his ear.

“We’re almost done here, don’t worry, kid.”

“No, Brannigan, you have incoming!”

At that moment, a shrieking roar louder than any jet engine pierced the silence. Brannigan looked up to the sky and saw the devil himself, Vornax, descending towards Alcatraz Island, cloaked in smoke and fire.

“Everyone down,” he shouted, diving behind a pile of rubble that had once been a prison wall.

Chaplin crawled onto the elevator platform and lay as still as he could. Hicks slid into the remains of a cell and ducked as low as he could.

Thayer froze to the spot. He was rooted in place, shaking uncontrollably. Sweat poured down his face.

“Thayer,” Brannigan hissed. “Move.”

Vornax landed, the smell of sulfur and heat burning away the fetid swamp smell in an instant. It shrieked once more, flexing its wings before folding them flat against its back. Inkanyamba swelled in return, her serpentine neck extending and turning to regard the other creature. Her yawn bellowed like a foghorn as she rose up onto all four feet. The