“It smells awful in here.”
“No, you can’t leave,” the major snapped. “I have orders to keep you here until I’m instructed otherwise.”
Ted Cooper yelled, “Are you fucking shitting me!? You can’t hold us against our wish, we are American citizens!”
The soldier’s face was deadpan, suddenly like an automaton. The crew grumbled. Nicolai started singing, his voice deliberately and annoyingly off-key. Although it grated on Frank Miller’s nerves and the others, Miller ignored him. Liam Murphy asked the major if he could take a dump on the ice outside.
The major said that it would be impossible in the circumstances.
Liam said he would do it right where he stood. The major shrugged and invited him to be his guest.
“Is anyone interested in shitting?” the major announced.
Red-faced Ted cussed.
The soldiers laughed at the joke.
But they could continue to explore up top, as directed by the major.
The three soldiers, now assigned to them, wondered at the sudden compliance, and the apparent good spirits of the expedition crew.
“Good show, Ted,” Miller murmured.
“Yeah, thanks.”
Miller asked Friedman for Kruger’s map. Huddled together, the group ascertained the extent of their present discoveries and how much ground they have covered.
The map indicated that there was still a lot of ground to cover. While the men devised a way around the rest of the facility, Olivia pondered over the noise from the previous night.
“How about a picture?” she said, showing them her portable camera.
“Anyone?”
The soldiers looked at each other. A small discussion in Spanish. Faces relaxed. Gun butts took seats on the floor. One managed a pandering smile. They arranged themselves in a tight row of three. Snap.
“Thank you.” Olivia grinned at the men. “This goes in the paper, how about that? You’d like to see yourselves in the papers someday, right? Heroes.”
“Yes, CNN?” asked the ranking officer.
“I work for the Miami Daily. CNN is big. News like this one would probably break on CNN, yeah.”
Olivia leaned against the wall. Behind the men, there was a doorway. It led back to the U-boat pen. Another door on the opposite side went off to the rocket room and labs. Olivia reckoned that the major couldn’t hear them here.
“Was there trouble last night?” she asked.
“Yes, one of us took ill but is okay now.”
“Oh. I heard the noise.”
“He’s possessed by the place,” the soldier said.
“What’d you mean, what place?”
“Here.”
The soldier looked at his comrades. They nod in agreement. Olivia was about to ask them to describe what happened when Miller called.
“Ms. Olivia?”
She weighed the situation, and decided it might be the only opportunity she will have to get some background into what happened in the facility. Certainly, this guy must know something.
She turned to the soldier. “Can you describe the symptoms?”
The soldier touched the corner of his mouth. “Foaming and screaming, tried to strangle the major.”
“Where is he now?”
“He’s okay. He is on guard duty.”
Olivia thanked the soldier. She rummaged in her bag and found four bars of Krackel chocolates.
“Chocolates?”
She offered three bars to them, then peeled one and chewed it. The soldiers talked among them for a moment. The lead officer asked her what her name was.
“Olivia Newton. But you can call me Olivia.”
The soldiers beamed stained chocolate teeth. “Gracias.”
“You’re welcome.”
“The word is 'De nada,’” Peter told her.
“De nada what?”
“That’s how you say you’re welcome.” Peter asked her, “What did you find?”
“Not much, only that the noise last night was one of the soldiers being sick. But I don’t understand it yet. They said something about the facility made him ill.” She looked at Peter. “Do you get what that means?”
“Nope.”
They had found another lab. This was smaller. Located along a narrow hallway lighted by large bulbs that flickered and hummed on the walls, a fire extinguisher every quarter of the way, and really low ceilings, it was difficult not to be surprised by the lab as they entered it.
There were shelves filled with jars of clear liquid. Some of them held live animals in them. Anabia Nassif gazed at one with a large cobra in it. It looked so alive. Corporeal.
Small animals, bloated frogs, gelatinous insects, skinned birds; open-mouthed, frozen in an eternal scream. In the middle of the room was a long table that stretched the length of the lab. Taps, four of them, each like a hook of sorts, were arranged along the length. Papers strewed the floor. Olivia picked one of the papers.
It was unreadable.
“German,” she hissed.
Olivia asked the marine biologist what he thought of the lab.
“I don’t know really,” he said, not taking his eyes off the jar of snake. “One minute I want to just stay and learn as much as I want to. The next I have my head spinning with the madness that was laid here, like some kind of spawn.”
The man shook his head.
He gestured with his chin at the jar on the shelf, his hands stuck in his pockets. “Just look at this. I wouldn’t even touch it, be infected with the poison of that lunacy from long ago. The madness that had the world in its grip. No, I’m not gonna touch it.”
Olivia gave the man a sideways glance and frowned. She stepped back a little and brought her camera up. The flare made Nassif turn his head. He sighed and went back to scrutinizing the jar.
The door they had come in through burst open.
One of the soldiers that Olivia had spoken with marched in. His eyes settled on Olivia.
“We need your help.”
6
Olivia Newton shot past Cooper, who was just coming in through the door. The others came after her. The soldier who had come to call for help was saying something as he marched ahead of the crew.
It took Olivia a few seconds to realize that the young man’s querulous yammering was in Spanish. He was throwing his hand up over his head, spittle flew from his mouth.
Behind Olivia, Miller was asking what the hell was happening.
They were escorted into the rocket room. The major, his face was all eyes. His sleeves had been pulled up to the elbows, his fine black hair was a tussle under his black beret. The soldiers had formed a circle. There was someone on the floor.
“Who’s a doctor among you?” He barged into the crew.
All heads turned to Anabia Nassif. The man’s shoulder went up; he stammered.
“I’m a marine biologist, I’m not a doctor,” he protested.
“Come.” The major pulled his hand.
The soldier on the floor was thrashing and writhing. His face was busting with veins, eyes popped, swollen tongue held in place by his teeth. His feet twisted and his hands were clawing at his neck. Bright red marks bled there.
His comrades restrained him with no luck.
Nassif slipped gloves he got from Nicolai’s box on. He asked the soldiers to hold the sick man tighter. He pulled the soldier's lower lids down. The biologist shook his head.
Then he touched the soldier's forehead with the back of his hand. Anabia withdrew his hand.
“He is burning up,” he said. “We need to bring his temperature down. Let’s get him submerged in cool water.”
The major shifted orders to get cold water running. They went to work. The soldiers pulled a bathtub from some bathrooms in the facility. Filled with water, they carried it into the rocket room. They stripped the thrashing guy and forced his body in.