— before he realized that he could still see, by the very dim light coming from the open portal. The open, solid portal, no longer flickering at the edges. The abyss was lit by an alien moon, perhaps; Robbie could see the first shadowy shapes running toward the black chamber, the faintest outlines of the opening ranks. Thankfully, he couldn’t hear much of anything anymore.
A man of war will bring about the end by his ignorance. It appeared that destroying the altar had made things permanent.
The first of the monstrosities swept through the door, drooling, covered in matted fur. A giant tentacle curled into the room after it, and a dozen stinging birds followed, diving into the cold black of the dead cavern, stingers whipping behind them.
Fucking Gaines, Robbie thought, hating the dead nerd deeply for the rest of his life, which turned out to be not very long at all.
THE OFFSPRING
J.H. Moncrieff
EXCRUCIATING PAIN SEARED Grigory’s limbs, shocking him awake.
Everything hurt. His lungs shrieked agony with each whistling gasp.
Look.
His eyes refused to obey his brain. The lids felt stuck, sealed. Enclosed in impenetrable, unavoidable night, Grigory’s pulse quickened until all he could hear was his blood swooshing through his body. Razor wire wound tighter and tighter around his chest with every breath.
Panic.
Not here, not now. There was no time. Though he had no idea where he was, it was obviously a life-or-death situation.
Flexing his fingers, it was as if he had plunged them into flames.
He stifled a scream, biting on his lip so hard he tasted copper.
Perhaps death was preferable.
How did I get here?
The bar. The same one he frequented every Friday night. But something had been different, hadn’t it? Yes, something had been different.
Think, Grigory, think.
A man’s features forced through the fog encircling his brain. A man with a pleasant smile. A man with deep pockets and the highest tolerance for drink Grigory had ever seen.
A new friend.
The ’keep had recognized the stranger, and spoken to him with respect, and that had been enough for Grigory, especially when the man offered to buy the first round. Grigory, whose salary was stretched to the point of snapping, could only afford a single shot. He demurred, cheeks burning as he explained his predicament in a voice barely above a whisper. He could not accept his new friend’s gift, because he would never be able to reciprocate.
The man had laughed, he remembered now, and something about the sharpness of it made his teeth ache. But not then. Then, all he’d cared about was the drinks the ’keep brought to their table. Doubles. When had he last been able to afford such luxury? He thought of Raisa, of their children, waiting for him at home, and drowned his guilt with the smoothness of the vodka.
What had they talked about, he and this stranger, this new friend? He struggled to remember, to pry the reluctant memory from his aching brain. The man had asked the usual questions, inquired after his family, his work. Nothing to raise any alarms.
With each new round, Grigory had mounted a feeble protest, a reminder that he could not reciprocate, even when his meager paycheck arrived.
“Worry not, my friend,” the man had said. “I have plenty of money.”
No one said such things in Moscow, especially now. No one had money, certainly not anyone Grigory knew. But by then, he was too drunk to care.
“You are awake.” A light shone in Grigory’s eyes, making him squint. So his eyelids hadn’t been sealed after all. It was the darkness, the impenetrable darkness. “I told them you would survive. For a reporter, you are in impressive shape.”
Reporter.
Only Raisa knew the truth of what he did for a living. Everyone else, even his parents and their friends, believed the lie. It was safer that way.
He hadn’t told this stranger. No matter how smooth, no vodka would ever lead him that far astray.
“I’m not a reporter,” Grigory slurred, his mouth slipping as it tried to form the words. “I work at the factory; I told you.”
“Oh, comrade, you need not to lie to me. After all, I am a fan of your writings. The way you speak the facts about our government; it is so courageous, so brave.”
“Where am I?”
Everywhere the light touched, he saw blinding white, shimmering.
“You are in every journalist’s dream, Gregor. You are in the story of a lifetime. Too bad you will never write about it.”
Confused though he was, Grigory realized the seriousness of his situation. It was what he’d always feared, what kept Raisa awake at night whenever he’d been late.
You must be more careful, she’d warned, time and time again. You mustn’t drink at the bar anymore. One day they will find you, and you will be killed.
Typical female hysteria. His wife’s feeble attempt to control him, or so he’d believed. Now he desperately wished he’d listened.
“Many others would have perished from exposure by now, but not you. You are too strong. How did you get so strong, Gregor?”
Exposure. In the light’s merciless glare, he caught a glimpse of his feet, bare and blue against the white. Then his legs, also bare. The fire, then, that burned his flesh was not of heat but of cold. They had stripped him of his clothes and brought him to this snow cave to die.
Raisa.
“Do not worry about your wife,” the man said, reading his mind. “She was not nearly so strong. She died hours ago.”
His throat was too frozen to emit the scream.
“And my children?”
The stranger clicked his tongue, shook his head. “You already know the answer to that. You are an intelligent man, a smart reporter. You understand we cannot leave any witnesses, especially witnesses who will one day think they should avenge their mother’s terrible death. Oh, she was in such pain, Gregor. A pity to have to destroy one so beautiful, but you hardly left us any choice.”
“Then kill me. You have surely brought me here to spill my blood, and you’ve destroyed everything that matters to me. End it.”
“Oh, it will end, but not by my hand.” The man stroked his chin and smiled. “Left here much longer, you would freeze to death. However, that would be a waste of your considerable talents.”
“Talents? I have no talents.” Still struggling to accept the death of his wife and sons, Grigory slumped to the ground, his stiff legs no longer willing to support him.
“On the contrary. Our great leader has been quite impressed with your abilities. It is too bad such a fine mind has wasted it on drivel. Your brain and your physique is what we desire. And thanks to a little something I slipped in your drink, we will have it.”
Deep in the darkness, farther than the man’s light could ever reach, came the sound of breathing. It was a grunting snuffle, like that of a large animal — perhaps a bear. Resigned to death only a moment before, Grigory’s muscles tensed for a fight. “What the hell is that?”
The stranger chuckled. “That, my friend, is your new companion. I am sure she will be very pleased to make your acquaintance. She has been quite lonely, you understand.”
As the snuffling grew louder, Grigory pushed himself off the ground, nerves twitching. Whatever this creature was, it wasn’t a bear. With every step it took, the walls of the cave shook, making snow spill onto his shoulders.
“I will leave you two alone, Gregor. I trust you will find her affection worth dying for. Your body will be sacrificed for the greatness of our empire and the triumph of our people, and isn’t that what you always wanted?”