I struggled a little bit with this chapter. Writing about death, especially from the point of view of the dying person, made me dwell on things I'd rather not think about. Hope you like it.

CHAPTER 8: The Mind Flayer

Bob Newby hated horror movies, hated scary things. He still hid behind the sofa watch Doctor Who, the Daleks gave him the creeps. It was one of life's great ironies that he was now in a horror, only it was no movie, and the horror was very real.

Mike was out in the corridor, trying to get past the guards screaming that it was a trap. Bob went out and dragged him back in. It was too late. Sirens started, flashing orange lights came on, then the screaming started. It was a sound Bob would never forget as long as he lived. The scream of absolute terror, the scream of death.

Mike claimed they needed to knock Will out. He was danger to them. He could communicate with the shadow monster, give away their position. Bob was getting frantic, they didn't have time to mess about, but Joyce prepared a syringe. She tested Will first, to see how much of her boy was still in there. He took a little too long to recognise his mother. She administered the sedative.

Now they just had to get out. But how? A kid, a single mother, and a shop manager? What chance did they have against the flesh eating monsters?

As if in answer to a prayer, the door burst open and there stood Jim, carrying a big gun, looking tall, powerful and every inch the hero. How could Joyce possible resist? Hell, Bob was a little turned on himself.

Dr Owens stood behind Jim. He led them upto the main security office. At least they would be able to track the monsters' movements. There was bad news. The lab was on lockdown, emergency power only, the external doors locked. Someone had to go down to the generator room, turn the main back, reboot the system and unlock the doors.

Jim volunteered but Bob stopped him. Rebooting computers wasn't easy, if you did it wrong the whole system could go down. Jim was many things but well versed in BASIC he wasn't. Dr Owens didn't know either. Bob was their only hope. He spent most of his life around technology. Jim tried arguing again but Bob shot him down. There was simply no other way.

He turned to Joyce. She hugged him to upset to speak.

"I'll be okay" he reassured her. "Bob Newby. Superhero"

This was his chance to be a real hero. He'd come to realise something. The hero wasn't always the tough guy with a guy. The hero didn't always get the girl. One thing all heros had in common, they did the right thing. They didn't cower in corners when things got tough. They stood tall and did what needed to be done. That was the type of hero he wanted to be.

Bob and Jim dragged a dead security guard on the emergency stairwell. They took his access card, gun and walkie-talkie, Bob trying to keep the vomit down the whole town. Jim gave him a quick lesson on handling a gun. Safety on. Safety off. Point and shoot. Easy enough. There was an awkward silence. Bob broke it.

"If anything should happen..." he started.

"I'll get them out" Jim promised.

The two men wished each other luck and seperated. Bob headed downstairs, his heart pounding. What if he encountered one of those things? Dr Owens' voice over the tannoy system was reassuring, but still, all Bob's senses were on high alert.

In the generator room, he flicked the switch to turn on the main power, then sat at the computer terminal and set about rebooting the system. His fingers flew confidently across the keyboard. This was his world, his kingdom. Jim could investigate dark underground tunnels, and lead people through buildings overrun with monsters, but Bob could handle the technical stuff. They were a bit like James Bond and Q. Bob smiled despite himself.

Finally, he unlocked the doors, as he was about to leave Dr Owens warned him that the creatures were gaining on the other. Bob had a light bulb moment. Sitting back down he activated the sprinklers on a lower floor, distracting the creatures and buying the others some time.

Making his way back Bob appreciated Dr Owens' guiding voice more than ever. He didn't feel so scared and alone, until the voice announced that a creature was heading his way. Bob panicked, only then noticing his empty hands. He'd left the gun behind, such a rookie mistake. He was helpless.

Dr Owens told him of a nearby broom cupboard. Bob could have happily kissed the good doctor in that moment. He climbed in and closed the door except for a tiny crack to look out of. He could hear the drooling snarl of the creature, it's paws on the floor tiles, getting closer.

When he saw it, Bob's blood went cold. Not even in his worst nightmare could he have imagined such a monster. He held his breath while it passed, hoping it couldn't smell fear.

He waited until Dr Owens gave him the all clear before leaving the cupboard. He knocked over a mop, it landed with a clatter that sounded more like a gunshot in the empty corridor. The creatures roared.

Shit!

Bob ran, charging up the stairs, ignoring the pains in his legs, the stitch in his side. The door to the ground floor was one flight up. Freedom! Sweet freedom! He barreled through the door and beheld a beautiful sight.

Joyce! Waiting for him, smiling with relief. Bob returned the smile thinking if he died right now, he couldn't have a better last image.

The creature hit him with the force of a sixteen wheeler, sending him flying. He landed on his back, the creature on top of him. He knew, as certain as the sun rises each morning, he was going to die. He heard Joyce scream, the sound of gunfire. Jim, the hero, a little bit too late.

As Bob Newby died, his last thought wasn't of the monsters tearing into his flesh but Joyce Byers smile.

End of chapter 8