Andy swept his flashlight around the cavernous room. Steel girders rose like ancient columns amongst corridors of warehouse shelves lying shattered in ruin. A stout office building had been crushed by a fallen shelving unit, its roof caved, its doorway barricaded by a tangle of blue-painted steel beams. So deep underground, it was cold, but not damp. Fine clouds of soot billowed with each of their footsteps, leaving prints behind. The air was musty, a layer of grime stuck to Andy’s skin, sifting through his nostrils. Andy tied a balaclava over his mouth as Clara did the same. He spotted two faded oval grooves in the soot. He shone his rifle’s torch ahead of them, following a pathway through the wreckage as the trail veered right into a heap of collapsed shelves, broken boxes and shattered glass. “Footprints,” he said.

“Yeah, they’re old.”

“They look fresh to me.”

“I don’t feel a draft,” Clara said. “It’s not like snow, where it falls every so often. These tracks could be years old, and they’d probably still appear fresh.”

“Hm,” Andy pursed his lips. “Good point.”

Unusual pale sticks jutted out beneath the collapsed shelves, covered in a fine layer of soot which piled up on the top-side of its surface like black snow. Andy tapped one of the outstretched sticks, knocking the soot off. An outstretched finger poked out of its dust-thin grave. Andy scanned the derelict shelves, his torchlight disappearing into a knot of shadows inside the rubble. Andy squinted. The blackness inside seemed almost palpable, like a bunch of snakes uncoiling before his flashlight.

“This way,” Clara said, stopping at a metal railing ahead of him.

There was something unusual about the floor beyond the railing. Andy’s flashlight didn’t reflect off it properly, as though there was some light-absorbing liquid on the floor. As he strode beside Clara, he understood why. A chasm opened up beneath them. There were two more balcony levels circumventing the chasm’s walls before it reached the ground floor. Everything was dark with soot, except for a tiny red light permeating from the ground floor. “All this for lava lamps?”

“They must have been quite popular.”

“I remember my friend had one.” Andy scanned the chasm’s walls, trying to judge its depth. “He said it had real lava in it, thought that was really impressive. Took it to school one day. Got bullied pretty bad.”

“Why?”

“Because…” Andy shrugged. “He stood out.”

The silence of the warehouse settled upon them. Andy shifted his assault rifle in his grip, looking back the way they’d come to check they weren’t being followed. Everything outside of his flashlight’s beam was utter darkness, except for the faint red glow at the bottom of the chasm.

Clara retrieved a box from her backpack and attached it to her belt. “I’ve been waiting to try this out. Bought it back in Quadra. I keep packing it, but not having a use for it.”

“Go on then, what is it?””

“Motor powered grappling hook.” Clara fitted the four-pronged spike into the ledge beneath the railing, then wove between the bars to the other side. The spikes clamped down on the surface like a dog’s jaws. Clara tugged the rope, then looked at Andy. “Let’s hope it’s not a dud.” She winked, then jumped backwards off the ledge.

The wire whistled as she plummeted through the warehouse cavern. Andy leaned over the edge, watching her headlamp dim as she descended like a falling ember, then abruptly brighten as she landed and it reflected off the ground floor. The mechanism whirred up the chasm, echoing off the walls, slowing as it neared the railing clamp.

Andy’s radio crackled to life. “Clip it to your belt,” Clara said.

Andy looked at his belt. Over the years, as he grew skinnier, he’d had to poked two extra holes in the tattered leather to hold his jeans up. He didn’t fancy trusting his life to the fabric. “Can I just hold the box?”

“Andy, you can barely do a pullup. Sure you want to risk it?”

Andy cursed, slinging his rifle over his shoulder, strapping the box to his belt. Climbing through the rickety bars, he kicked the grappling spikes to make sure they were secure, then knelt and clutched the device to his hip. “What if it doesn’t take my weight.”

“You weigh less than me.” Clara radioed. “Come on.”

Taking a swig from his hip flask, Andy gazed over the ledge. The bulb of Clara’s headlamp gazed back up at him. He wouldn’t want his sister thinking he was a wimp now, would he? Taking a deep breath, Andy leapt backwards and fell to his death.

Or so it seemed for about ten seconds, while Andy screamed and flailed his arms, until the mechanism finally compensated his weight. The air soared in Andy’s ears as he clenched his teeth. He landed on his feet and unfastened the device. Clara helped him with the straps. Her headlamp shone in his face as she smirked.

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

“I’m hungover,” Andy said.

“Oh yeah? Does that make you scared of heights?”

“I’m not scared, apprehensive at best.”

Clara fiddled with the controls. “Mind your head.” The gears spun inside the grappling mechanism, pulling the hook towards them. It landed on the floor nearby, kicking up a plume of dust, and snaked back inside the chassis. Its spikes had retracted so that it was a smooth cylinder, safe to touch. Clara attached the device to her hip, patting it affectionately. “Might come in handy again if you’re lucky.”

Andy unslung his rifle and surveyed the chasm. A large double door marked ‘Construction’ led underneath the warehouse above. Andy coughed into the crook of his arm, spitting phlegm on the floor.

“Air quality is bad,” Clara said, adjusting her balaclava.

“See any footprints?” Andy said.

Clara scanned the chasm floor. There were no corpses, no evidence of life. A ring of office rooms surrounded the cavern, their windows cracked and stained brown, blinds drawn to obscure their interiors. A pale red light hummed from inside one of the rooms. Andy approached it, checking the door. It opened easily on its hinges. Clara took point beside him and they swung inside.

Three rows of white plastic tables faced a podium, shining in their torchlight, masking the red glow at the back of the room. Behind which hung a vacant computer monitor flanked by cartoonish posters clung crumpled and faded on the walls. Andy stalked towards the light, rifle at the ready. Rounding the row of tables, something huddled in the corner of the room: a small glass cylinder full of clear liquid with a blob of red wax at its bottom where a light shone through its body.

Andy lowered his rifle. “Is this it?”

“I think so.” Clara unshouldered her rucksack onto one of the tables and unzipped the main compartment. “I’ve made enough room for three of them, if we strap two to the sides of my bag.”

“Think we’ll find three?” Andy said, approaching the lamp.

“Be good if we did. We could keep one for ourselves.”

As he bent to touch it, the lamp seemed to pulsate. Andy paused, then a thought occurred to him. Clara had said that they were alive, right? Could this lamp be the one?

“Barry?” he said, kneeling beside the small lamp. Its light grew stronger. The red waxy substance at its bottom swelled and began to bubble. “Barry, is that you?”

“What are you doing?” Clara stood over his shoulder.

“I think this one is Barry, their leader, from the cartoons.” Andy pointed at the posters on the walls. “Weren’t you paying attention on the escalator earlier?”

Clara scowled, but didn’t have a comeback. Barry’s metallic base gleamed in Andy’s headlamp. Black cables ran from his metal torso like the legs of an octopus. Andy held a gentle hand out towards the lamp, patting it on its metal lid-like head. “It’s okay, we won’t hurt you.”

“Andy, grab the lamp,” Clara said bluntly.

“He seems lonely. It’s okay fella, we’ve come to rescue you.”

“You’re pretending to have empathy for that thing, right?”

Andy’s jaw dropped as he turned around. “Pretending?”

“Is this a bit?”

“A bit what?”

“You know what I mean. Are you joking?”

“No, he really does seem afraid.”

Clara narrowed her eyes. “I really can’t tell.” She turned and walked over to the window, peering out of the blinds. “Stick it in the bag once you’re done playing.”

Andy went to pick Barry up, but the metal was hot to touch, even through his padded fingerless gloves. The fake lava inside was forming squidgy bubbles, which rose towards the top of the lamp, only to cool and fall back down again. Each new bubble rose a little higher, shone a little brighter.

“There’s another red light outside,” Clara said. “Didn’t see it before. Maybe it just came on. Andy, are you done yet?”

“It’s pretty hot.” Andy searched the room. There was a jacket on the floor next to the podium. Andy grabbed it, shaking loose the skeleton trapped inside. Bones clattered onto the carpet atop a clean cartoon poster hiding beneath the body, preserved by the shelter of the jacket. There was writing on the back, scribbled in a thick red felt tip.

Clara picked the poster up and read aloud. “They have taken the bridge, and the second warehouse. We have locked the doors, but cannot hold them for long. The ground melts, wreathed in the magma of our making.”

Andy wrapped Barry in the jacket and picked him up. The lava inside his glass body sloshed around as Andy carried him like a baby over to Clara’s bag, and dropped him inside.

“We delved too deep, and unearthed a demon in the depths of our greed,” Clara read. “We cannot get out. A shadow moves in the dark.”

Loose cables draped over his improvised cot, making it difficult for Andy to zip the rucksack back up. He rathelled the cables up, but they sprang back, fighting against him. It gave Andy flashbacks of setting up Christmas tree lights as a kid.

“We cannot get out…”

A blob of lava inside Barry’s container raced towards the top of the cylinder. As soon as it touched the metal cap, Barry burst to life. Cables shot up Andy’s arm like snakes. Andy jumped back, letting his rifle hang on its sling, drawing his 9mm pistol. He aimed it at the bag, but Clara caught the muzzle.

“What are you doing? I’ve got a lot of valuable stuff in there.”

“Barry’s attacking me.” Andy lurched away, and Barry came toppling out of the bag onto the floor, still attached. Andy stood on Barry’s metal torso and wrenched his arm free of the wires, but then they wormed around his boot, tying knots in his laces, grasping his ankle. “He’s a feisty one.”

“Stop messing around, you’ll break it.”

“It’s not me! He’s alive!” Andy tried to kick the lava lamp off him, but Barry clung on.

A boom shook the walls. A metallic crashing echoed in the warehouse above them. Red light shone through the gaps in the window’s blinds, lighting the room in a warm glow as though a bonfire had been lit outside. Clara ran over to the window while Andy drew his combat knife and sliced through Barry’s wiry limbs. The lamp’s light flashed with each slice, his glass body vibrated like a shiver. Andy cut the last grappling wire and wrapped Barry in the jacket and dropped him into the rucksack, zipping it tightly

“Andy, we’ve got a problem.” Clara cocked her submachine gun and slung her rucksack over her shoulder. “They’re coming.”