The three of them hugged each other for luck, then opened the watertight door of the bridge. They moved single file behind Tony, each with a bottle of alcohol in their hands. First stop was the sickbay on Deck Two, where they put on hazmat suits, including full face shields. After seeing the mucous enzyme shoot across the room, Tony was very happy to be covered in something that might keep him from being digested.
That was the easy part. The suits slowed them down, and moving from sickbay to the lab was tense. The creatures had stopped making noise, which was actually worse than their terrifying screams and groans. At least when the things were screaming, the crew knew where they were. Instead, they tiptoed quietly through Deck Three all the way down to the lab. They grabbed garbage bags and filled them with bluefish filets, and then took a few filleting knives and the gaffing hook. The hook only had a three-foot staff, which would mean being way closer than anyone would want to get to one of those hideous creatures. Still, it was the best they had. They collected boxes of small, lightweight specimen bags, the type commonly used by tropical fish stores to sell pet fish. These would be filled with alcohol and serve as their “grenades.” It was their hope that the alcohol would do enough damage to avoid having to get close enough to use the gaffing hook.
With all of the fish, the gaffing hook, and two large jugs of alcohol, they moved painfully slowly to Deck Three. Once amidships, they stopped outside the door. Tony quietly tried it—still locked. He breathed a sigh of relief. “Well, if any of you have any great ideas, now’s the time.”
Theresa spoke up, now determined and angry, her fear having been replaced by hate for the things that killed Mike. “Let’s fill the bags and tie them off. We’ll bring the bait in and back away. If they come after it, we let them feed awhile, then throw the bags at them as hard as we can. After that, I guess we’re wingin’ it until we get the ballast tanks blown. Then we get the hell out of there and head back to the bridge.”
They spent the next few minutes silently filling bag after bag with alcohol, tying them off, and grabbing the next. When they had several dozen bags, they put them in two large garbage bags and slowly opened the door. It swung open in silence. No one moved a muscle. After a few minutes had past, Theresa and Jessica entered first, carrying the bait. Tony was close behind, gaffing hook in one hand, two bags in his throwing hand. They moved into the room until they could see remnants of what was probably Ted on the floor. It could have been Mike. Frankly, there was no way to know.
Theresa placed the bluefish down and moved away, and Jessica let hers hit the floor with a wet slap. The fish oils and blood ran out of the meat and spread across the floor, and within seconds, sounds filled the cavernous room. The wet, slippery sounds of slimy flesh moving across tiled floors—suction cups popping and slurping—and finally, the low moans and groans of something unearthly. The smell came next. Like rotten fish or the worst low tide. They backed up toward the door, faster and faster as the sounds grew closer.
Theresa and Jessica ran through the door and grabbed the two trash bags full of alcohol grenades as Tony stood his ground at the doorway. Ian appeared first. He was still recognizable as Ian to some degree, although his flesh was now bluish-white and slick looking, like a squid. His eyes had grown more bulbous, but remained black and lifeless. His huge tongue, bright red and slimy, hung out past his chin. He moved almost upright, but his hands seemed to hover over the floor, like he was ready to go prone at any second. The wet sound his suction-cupped feet made on the tiles was disgusting.
He approached the fish, oblivious to the crew. It dawned on Theresa: with their hazmat suits on, they probably didn’t give off any scent. They just needed to remain silent and motionless. Ian moved quickly to the bluefish fillets and shot his tongue at them as a gob of white slime hit the fish with a sizzle. His hands seemed to move across the fish for only an instant, but the razor-sharp hooks had the meat falling apart in pieces, which he slurped up into his mouth. His long, satisfied groan gave them all goose bumps.
Then Jim appeared. His appearance was extremely similar to Ian’s, although he had a bigger frame. He was older than Ian, and the skin on his dead-looking face seemed to hang from the bones. He moved straight to the fish and began devouring it immediately.
Theresa, Jessica, and Tony all exchanged glances. It was decision time: watch them eat and see if they moved away, or go to war.
Theresa thought of Mike. Smiling, wiseass Mike from Jersey. Class clown. Tough guy. He had gotten under her skin. She screamed without even realizing it and hurled the bag of alcohol as hard as she could. It burst when it hit Ian’s chest and sent out a spray of the colorless liquid. Once that first bag was hurled, all hell broke loose.
Tony threw two at once, both bags popping and dousing the two hideous creatures in front of them just as Jessica threw her bag. They were all grabbing more from the garbage bags, whipping them as hard as they could at the two stunned creatures. What had once been Ian and Jim began screaming so loud it echoed throughout the entire ship. The alcohol that hit their faces caused their slimy skin to erupt in huge red boils that bubbled up instantly and popped, sending gobs of infected bloody tissue to the floor.
Ian and Jim were blinded by the sprays of burning liquid and dropped to their knees in agony, arms flailing wildly. The three hysterical crew members threw every bag they had, and when they were almost out Tony charged the creatures like an animal himself, bringing the gaffing hook down so hard on Ian’s skull that it split open right to his mouth cavity. A huge spray of blood, brains, and God knows what splattered all over Tony’s suit and Jim’s slippery flesh. Ian dropped dead to the floor.
The howl that Jim let out was pure terror. He spit a huge gob of white slime at Tony and then sprinted away, shrieking in pain. Tony wiped off his faceplate with his gloved hand and ran to the ballast valves. Jessica and Theresa ran after him, following his instructions on which valves to pull open.
The three of them yanked open the valves and listened to the hiss inside the pipes. Once the four valves were open, Tony screamed, “That’s it! Out! Go!”
They ran out of the room, past Ian’s body. The handle of the hook stood out of his shattered skull like a harpoon in a dead whale. As soon as they got outside, they slammed the door shut and spun the watertight door closed.
“Thank God!” screamed Jessica.
“Oh shit,” said Tony. He pointed to the floor. A trail of slime and blood led down the hallway. They hadn’t locked Jim inside after all.