Respirator 50%
Mo stared at the orange superimposed numbers floating before him and raised a hand to swat them away. Unable to contact the intangible alert, his fingers passed through and his arm fell to his lap with a thud. His movements were sluggish, as if his limbs had suddenly acquired additional mass and therefore, a greater gravitational influence.
“Display down,” he said, and the warning vanished from the visor’s surface. Even his speech sounded heavy and slurred. He almost felt intoxicated and smiled at the thought.
With a loud declaration, he said, “I could go for a drink.” Mo half-expected a reply from the corpse in the next room. With considerable effort, he rose from the floor where he’d been sitting, stumbled to the suite-connecting door, turned the knob and pressed inward. The body was still there, lying face-down, the carpet beneath its head stained with time-darkened blood.
The Watley look-a-like had entered his room during the night. Mo had been shocked by the being’s ability to mimic the appearance of his partner; it hadn’t been an exact likeness, but enough of one to fill Mo with a horrific wonder. He guessed it must’ve been the one that had touched Watley earlier in the hallway. Mo had been prepared, however, for possible intrusion and shot it right in the face. It had required a second round to finish it off. Then, after the vine detached from the humanoid and withdrew from the room, Mo had reinforced the barricaded door.
Swooning and feeling disoriented, Mo leaned against the door frame for support. In a moment, the slight lightheadedness vanished, and he looked upon the cadaver again, noting the deterioration of the creature’s head. The top half of the skull had crumbled away and spilled onto the carpet like a spilt pot of soil. It seemed the creatures lost their substance once the vines departed. He supposed the tendrils not only directed the Humanoids’ movements but also provided the necessary nourishment for the body to maintain function.
He closed the door and wedged the chair back beneath it. Glancing at his own room, vacant and dusty, Mo felt as if he’d been scooped up and deposited in a barren world, devoid of any natural life besides his own. There was plenty of unnatural life; it was out there, just beyond the door, teeming in the shadows. He could almost feel it unfurling and slinking about in the dark.
The windows were rattled by a gust of wind, giving Mo the impression that this unnatural lifeforce was incensed by his thoughts. He unholstered his sidearm and aimed at the windows.
Just the wind, Mo. Relax.
He moved to the dirty panes of glass, careful not to get too close. Golden light fought through the grime-filmed blinds, illuminating miniscule floating specs in the air, and he feared it might reveal his presence to anyone or anything that potentially watched from the dark recesses of the neighboring parking garage.
The previous night had brought pitch darkness. There were no ambient light sources. No glow of parking lot lamps spilling through the windows to brighten the space. It had been a wonder that Mo had been able to detect the humanoid that had infiltrated the room. Still, Mo wondered if electricity in the hospital might still be flowing. From time to time he believed he heard a faint buzzing from somewhere in the building. Was it the presence of an electrical current moving through hot wires in the wall? A trace reminder of the former normalcy of life?
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
This thought reminded Mo of walking through the city, past the amber-lit windows of sidewalk cafes and shops. Of Christmas shopping during the hustle and bustle of the holiday season. Strolling along the packed streets while holding hands with Lacy.
Lacy.
Picturing his wife’s face, Mo received a surge of adrenaline and suddenly felt himself again. Although his room provided safety, it would only be a temporary haven. It had become a prison, but the fear of leaving this room and suffering a fate similar to Watley’s had almost paralyzed him. Mo wondered where his partner had gone, then decided it didn’t matter. He was gone. All that mattered was getting to Lacy.
Mo readied himself to leave the room. If he could somehow get past the things in the hallway and get to the cycle, he could begin searching for Lacy.
He reached for the key to the cycle and found it missing from his suit’s leg insert. He must’ve left it in the adjoining room.
Shit!
Withdrawing his sidearm, Mo opened the door connecting the rooms and was swallowed by a black haze. He stepped back, waving his hand before him and the mist swirled and billowed. It quickly consumed the room and Mo again felt the disorientation he had earlier experienced. He fought to keep his wits and stepped toward the door once he felt confident nothing was waiting to attack. The mist faded slightly, as the addition of the unaffected room’s air acted to dilute its potency.
Crossing the threshold, Mo aimed left, then halted. The corpse had undertaken a drastic metamorphosis in the short time since Mo had last seen it. From the thing’s head, which had fallen inward down to the base of the neck, rose a thin, crusted stalk that connected the corpse to the ceiling. Here, it sprawled out like a web of vines grasping the plaster, with more of the stalk rising farther out of site. A sinister thought pervaded Mo’s mind.
It’s relaying my position to whatever’s controlling it.
Maybe that was crazy. Maybe not.
He acted before he lost the ability to think clearly. Swiping the key from the counter, he stepped backward, shutting the door. As he surveyed his surroundings, he noticed the ventilation grate on the opposite wall and wondered how he hadn’t seen it before. It might be large enough to accommodate him. He could follow it to another room, or maybe a stairwell, drop down and make a break for the ground floor.
A tremor permeated the building and Mo felt it in the floor. Outside in the hallway came a frenzy of activity. Something lumbered close by and slammed into the door, shaking its frame. Mo thought of Lacy and began tearing at the grate.