As he army-crawled through the ventilation shaft, sweat dotted Mo’s forehead, occasionally dripping onto the helmet’s visor, where it had begun to collect in a tiny puddle that sloshed around with every movement. He felt like he was roasting in the aluminum duct and had nearly succumbed to removing the bio-suit. The respirator was failing and if he didn’t reach the spare in the cycle soon, that’s exactly what he’d have to do. And that could spell the end.

There was no stealth in what he was doing; the two rifles, his and Watley’s, were strapped across his shoulders but had to be towed behind him to allow room for his arms to pull him forward. As a result, no matter how much he tried to avoid it, they repeatedly clanged against the shaft. On more than one occasion, Mo peered through a grate providing a limited view of a corridor beneath him and had seen humanoids turn with sightless eyes toward the clatter he’d caused when passing overhead. The vine-controlled things had then given chase and the sound of their collective shambling conjured the image of an entire horde following his progress through the building.

Suddenly, all at once, the Humanoids’ movements ceased. Frozen in place, they seemed to be responding to some silent command. As Mo listened, he sensed that something else was in their midst, adding a new thread of terror to this ever-expanding nightmare. He wondered if the thing controlling the humanoids had descended from its upper floor nest to confront him. He felt trapped. If he moved, he might reveal his position, but if he remained where he was, this shaft would become his tomb.

A red light beamed through the duct’s grate just ahead of him. Mo’s pulse soared as he envisioned the hulking Machine beneath him, poised to pluck him from the shaft. Instead, the grate buckled as the black globe – detached from its body – rose into the ventilation duct and scanned Mo. Through the tear, he saw the Humanoids in the corridor below, their empty eyes directed toward the sphere with what seemed to be either wonder or admiration.

The red light vanished, and words materialized inside the head. “Where is the specimen?”

Mo frowned. He hesitated, then said, “Specimen?”

The question sank into blackness, then was replaced with another. “Where is Watley?”

“I don’t know.” The red light washed over him again. Mo suspected the Machine was inspecting him for any physical indication of lying. “He was here but left. I didn’t see where he went. I was trapped by these things,” he added, pointing toward the Humanoids.

Mo stared into the Machine’s glassy visage awaiting its response. After an uncomfortably long pause, he tensed as the entire building suddenly trembled. As if responding to a cue, the light retracted and the Machine rose, smashing through the top of the ventilation shaft. Mo heard its destructive ascent into the hospital’s upper floors, perhaps answering a call from the thing living there.

The shaft, having been damaged, began to collapse and Mo scrambled past the holes the Machine had caused. He came to the next intersection, where he was forced to go left as the center and right shafts were blocked by a collection of trembling vine growth. He wondered if the tendrils could detect the slightest current of air and then relay the information back to the main stem, or whatever the hell it was that controlled them. He maneuvered past without touching the shoots and followed the shaft as it curved left and sloped downward.

Mo had reached the ground floor. The checkered view the next grate offered was dim and he could make out only vague, shadowy shapes, but they were sharp, solid angles, stationary objects; nothing moved as far as he could tell. He worked at the shaft exit and it gave way much easier than he’d expected, as though the metal had deteriorated and lost its solidity.

As his eyes adjusted to the dim interior of the room, Mo recognized large canisters stacked along a wall. He approached and inspected them by flicking on a small light on the bio-suit. The canisters were covered by the strange vegetation that had infested the hospital, preventing Mo from knowing what they held, but maybe they were flammable. A crazy scheme formulated in his mind, one that could very well get himself killed if he didn’t execute it properly.

Something pounded on the door to his right and the entire frame shook. From the space beneath, a black mist billowed into the room. Mo turned and bolted toward an exit at the opposite end. The motion caused a wave of dizziness however, and he tumbled face-first to the ground, the impact cracking the visor of his helmet.

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Shit!

The door sustained another blow as Mo struggled to his feet. His vision teetered, then steadied and he managed to exit the room. He entered a large empty space and when his sight finally corrected itself, he saw a sunlight space at the far end - the spot he and Watley had stowed the cycles. They were parked two hundred feet ahead and Mo bolted toward them as he heard the door of the other room being penetrated.

Risking a peek, Mo saw several vine-tethered figures emerge into the space with him. When he reached the cycles, he removed the key from the bio suit, inserted it into the ignition chamber and jumped aboard. The figures had gained on him faster than he’d hoped, forcing him to raise the rifle and squeeze off a shot. He’d hit the closest humanoid in the neck, and it went down. The entire building quake in response to the gunfire and Mo knew that this might be the end. Black mist began to envelope the room, entering from every crack in the walls and ceiling. Again, Mo fired, striking the second humanoid in the left shoulder. It stumbled but continued its pursuit and he finished it off with a bullet to the chest.

Mo removed his respirator, snared a replacement from Watley’s cycle, fitting it to his helmet. The digital readout on his visor displayed 100%. He removed the key from his cycle’s ignition and inserted it into Watley’s and it started. He then returned it to his. Watley had likely succumbed to his injuries or been killed by one of the humanoids; he’d no longer need his mode of transportation. Mo leaned over and hit a switch on his partner’s bike, revealing a hidden panel of buttons on which be entered a code. More humanoids spilled into the large space, hobbling toward him and the mist grew heavier.

When the code was complete, the screen on Watley’s bike read: Self Destruct Imminent. A timer counted down from twenty seconds to nineteen, eighteen…

Mo spun his cycle around and hit the accelerator, speeding out of the building. He tore down the long entrance way toward the main road.

Ten, nine, eight…

Racing past parking lots full of what looked to have once been tented makeshift trauma centers, along with the statuesque remnants of human beings, the cycle hummed along almost soundlessly. Mo checked his mirror and witnessed a thin black vapor pouring from the hospital from almost every opening.

Four, three, two…

A sharp boom rocked the stillness and was followed by additional blasts as the gas canisters likely exploded. Mo felt the concussive wave and brought the cycle to a halt so he could witness the show. While the land was cast in the reddening light of the setting sun, a bright gold cloud of fire swallowed the hospital. The cycle’s last-ditch weapon was designed to deliver mass damage and combined with the flammable gas, it had done just that, destroying much of the building.

As he was about to depart, Mo watched in awe as the projected particles of the hospital were suddenly halted in mid-trajectory, suspended, then pulled back toward the origin of the blast. There, replacing the explosion’s glow was a bright white sphere of light. The fire was pulled inward…absorbed by the orb. The debris of the destroyed building was drawn inward, consumed until at last, the white light too, collapsed in on itself.

The hospital had been decimated. Only bits of its façade remained, with twisted steel spires stabbing at the sky. Like an invisible wave travelling outward from where the orb had been, everything in the area crumbled. The tented triage centers, vehicles, parking lot lampposts…all standing structures fell to the ground in piles of dust.

Mo surveyed the inexplicable damage. The explosion itself could not have caused the sudden collapse of everything in the vicinity. Something else had stolen the integrity of the other substances, both organic and artificial. It was the absence of some lifeforce. The absence of the orb.

Mo’s attention was drawn to an object plummeting from the sky. In the few seconds he was able to observe it, the thing appeared to be a mass of some shapeless, gray material. It fell to the earth with a loud crash, directly where the hospital had stood.

Resisting the impulse to go and inspect the bizarre substance, Mo turned and sped away, fearing the exposure of some alien contagion. He imagined it penetrating the ground, infecting the land, radiating from the site of impact like a plague.