~CHAPTER NINE~

"Think they're having any luck?" Dahl asked Strand and Larsen.

"Well, the power's still out, so no," Strand replied.

They were all huddled together to conserve heat. Each of them was dressed in several layers and a big coat, and Strand held a lantern as extra heat. They leaned on each other's backs, and they all held a gun. They were not going to take any chances.

"It's an American idiot, a cripple, and a holy roller," Larsen spat, "what do you think?"

"Okay, seriously Larsen?" Strand snapped, "There is possibly a monster on the loose, and were freezing to death, and your main concern is your hatred of those three? Really?"

"Um, guys..." Dahl said quietly in an attempt to ease the tension.

Larsen scoffed and replied, "Oh, 'really?' Okay, how about this: who have Russell, Berg, and you protected? No one! Under Russell's command, Karlsson, Lehto, and Smith have died! Not to mention, he didn't save Pedersen, Eriksen, or Olsen, either!"

"Really, guys, let's stop this..." said Dahl again.

"Larsen, Pedersen was locked in his lab, and Eriksen attacked Russell and Cooper!" Strand yelled.

"And what about Olsen, huh? Or Karlsson? Or Lehto?"

Strand did not have a good answer, and he knew it. So he remained silent. Larsen noticed this.

"Yeah. Thought so, Strand."

"Guys," said Dahl, "this is pointless! Are you two done?"

They both nodded.

• • •

"How long has it been?" Russell asked Berg.

Berg looked down at his watch and answered, "Eight minutes."

Russell leaned back on the wall. They were both sitting on the floor of the destroyed HQ. Russell was making a Molotov Cocktail, and Berg was fiddling with a piece of glass.

"The suspense is killing me," Berg muttered.

"Yeah," agreed Russell.

There was a palpable feeling of tension in the air—both Berg and Russell felt uneasy. Russell was beginning to regret that he wasted his flask on a Molotov instead of whiskey. However, part of him felt like he was going to need it. He also had a bag packed with leftover dynamite. If that thing came back, Russell was not going to go down without a fight.

Berg prayed to God at least a dozen times. He was a very religious man, but never had he meant it so much in a prayer. Russell mentally prayed. It was his first prayer in nine years, but by far his most meaningful. As the air became colder, Russell began to do push-ups to keep warm. It did not help much.

It was only a minute later that Cooper returned, a graceful stride in his step. He came to Russell and Berg and said, "No luck, guys."

Russell noticed something odd. He asked, "Cooper, where's your cane?"

"What?" Cooper stammered, his face dropping.

Berg also noticed something strange, but it was different. He said, "Yes, and weren't you wearing a coat earlier?"

They continued questioning Cooper, and cornered him.

"I'll ask again," Russell said firmly, "Where's. Your. Cane?"

Cooper let out a shriek high-pitched enough to shatter glass and split in half vertically, revealing a two-mouthed, brown, slimy body. Cooper's skin peeled off, and the thing sprouted two tendrils and eight hairy legs. Russell fired his shotgun, but the thing left to ceiling before he could hit it. It shrieked again and began crawling upside-down, straight toward where Strand, Larsen, and Dahl were.

Russell fired his pistol at one of its legs, causing it to fall to the floor and keep on running, still shrieking.

Berg took out his walkie-talkie (Russell and Strand had the others) and yelled into it, "STRAND! RUN!"

Strand heard the message, and was confused until he saw the thing turn a corner and start crawling towards them, leaving a trail of slime and blood, and flailing its tendrils in different directions, letting out a scream that sounded in part like Cooper.

Strand and the others popped up and bolted in different directions. It wasn't long until everyone was scattered and alone.

Russell locked himself inside of a broom closet and stopped to catch his breath. His wallow-talkie was broken, and he was out of ammunition. The only thing he had left were flares and dynamite.