Shadow of Chaos - First Chapter

Read the first chapter of Shadow of Chaos, by Tim Mendees right now!

Rage against the creatures in this post-apocalyptic cosmic-horror soon. Releasing on July 11, for you to consume.

Chapter I

The Undesirables

March 19th 2127 – Zone 51 – South-West Sector:

Johanna's heart pounded just as hard in her chest as her feet pounded the sodden pavement. She and her fellow fugitive ducked around the corner of a crumbling building to evade the sweeping lights of a passing drone. The black and yellow automated enforcement device circled the weed-choked forecourt of a derelict petrol station before resuming its pre-programmed flight path. After a tense few moments, the group exhaled.

“Come on, we only have a short window before it returns.” Johanna beckoned Sam to follow as he darted back onto the street. They had been planning their escape from the Zone for weeks and she had diligently memorised every patrol pattern of the myriad drones and Enforcement Patrols between their domicile and the boat. They were on a strict schedule, and any deviation, no matter how slight, could prove instantly fatal.

It wasn't safe to be out after dark in Zone 51. Firstly, the blanket curfew mandate decreed that anyone caught out of their designated habitat between 22:00 and 06:00 would face harsh penalties. The only exception to the rule being those that held the correct pass. Unfortunately, Johanna and Sam didn't have the correct pass, no citizens of Zone 51 did. The only people allowed on the streets during the hours of darkness were the enforcers and representatives of The Global Arms Federation, the all-powerful conglomerate that owned the shrinking spit of land formerly known as Great Britain. The second reason for Johanna's acute state of panic was the others that prowled at night.

Outside of the miles of steel and glass egg-boxes that passed as homes, the restricted areas of the sector were stalked by things far worse than gun-toting guards and buzzing drones. Not that the overseer of the zone cared; what was one missing worker now and then? As long as the wheels of industry turned and the profits kept on rolling in, where was the harm in a little population control? If anything, the lurking threats aided his cause. By promising to keep them safe if they stayed in the designated areas, he could deter anyone doing anything as foolish as dreaming of freedom.

Johanna and Sam were dreamers...

“Hang a left, down the alley,” Sam panted in Jo's ear as they reached a crossroads. “With any luck, we should get out ahead of the next patrol.”

Jo hesitated. “Are you sure? I thought we had to go right?”

“Nah, that takes you close to one of the drone release hubs, we'd be bloody mad to go that way.”

“We are bloody mad to be out here, full stop. Still, no option, right? It's now or never, right?”

“Right,” Sam said, grabbing her arm and running ahead, “now, let's move before we get shot. It ain't safe to stand around yapping.”

Nodding to herself to convince herself that they had made the right choice, Johanna broke into a run and quickly overtook her companion. Not that it was much of a choice to begin with. Nobody would choose to be on the streets this late and they had no other options. Only when it was dark, and the fog had rolled in off the swollen sea could anyone move freely. This was the moment when the omnipresent electronic eyes would finally be occluded enough for someone to pass unseen and unnoticed. Her barcode, like many of her fellows, read undesirable; if caught, she would be sent behind the wall far south of the father country in the west. Exiled behind miles of concrete and steel, bullets and barbed wire. Nobody returned from the restricted zone ... not alive, anyway. Unlike Sam who had punched his shift leader, she never did find out what made her undesirable in the first place. Not many people did.

The streets towards the docks swam with a filthy concoction of stagnant seawater, rotting fish and rat droppings. A furry horde was never far away in Zone 51. Samuel Jacobs, her companion on her midnight flight, had sworn that he saw a rat king of immense size the last time he had been scavenging down by the docks. The former spring welder had claimed that the horrifying amalgamation of conjoined rodents was comparable in size to a small tractor. Just the thought of it made Jo wince, all those individuals stuck together by grime and grease, all those minds controlled by a single ravenous voice ... it sounded far too familiar for comfort.

Sam and Jo had chosen to finally make a break for freedom after months of living in the restricted zone. They had both been branded undesirable and scheduled for exile but had managed to escape when their transport broke down. After weeks of trying to find a way out, Sam had finally managed to scrape together the bribe required to book their way onto a refuse liner, one of the colossal ships that would be regularly loaded with the sector's accumulated detritus then sailed out of the former Europe and into the free East. Once in unregulated waters, it would be dumped on the nearest patch of land that didn't belong to The Imperial Corporation of America and Europe. Out of sight, out of mind. Somebody else's problem. Nothing outside of the ICAE's autonomous zones mattered. It was a small wonder to most that everything outside of its borders hadn't as yet been subjugated or blasted off the map completely. Such was the mentality of those in command.

This near-mythical utopia, the free East, was their ultimate destination. Both runners had family there, though whether they still lived was unknown. Communication to places outside of the Zone was strictly forbidden. When their loved ones had been deported for various imagined infractions, they had both wept, fearing tremendously what would become of them. In retrospect, they should have been worrying about what would happen to those that stayed, those privileged few allowed to be the workers and drones of the GAF. To the leadership, they were nothing more than tools to be used up and then discarded, mere grist to the mill.

Many places in the once green and pleasant land were now underwater. The Chief Executive Officer of the Imperial Corporation didn't believe in global warming hence the world didn't believe in global warming; whatever he said had to be taken as gospel. Chapter and Verse. Unfortunately, the gallon of water in both of Sam's work issue boots could testify to the reality of climate change. What parts of the zone that weren't swampland or filthy quagmire were a soulless hunk of concrete and steel. Everything was grey, cold, and solid, there were no curves or undulations to the architecture, only sharp right-angles, a topography you could cut yourself on. The brutalist-revival in the latter years of the last century had done away with anything remotely picturesque. Green and pleasant land? Grey and ugly land, more like.

As the crow flew, Jo and Sam didn't have that far to go. The docklands were only across the former town, and before the mass-industrialisation of Cornwall it would have taken less than an hour. Now, however, they were lucky if they made it in a day. They had to lie low during working hours as the drones and enforcers would be out en masse, but they had a place in mind for that. Sam's contact in the GAF knew all kinds of useful things, for the right price, of course.

The alley that provided temporary cover for the two escapees eventually opened out onto what was once a pub carpark. Sam was old enough to remember the sounds and smells of the old drinking establishment. His mind reeled as he remembered the taste of the drinks, the laughter and camaraderie; there had been good times before the merger and Zone 51 was born. A wistful smile spread across his gaunt features. Johanna spotted her friend's distracted look and gave him a gentle squeeze on his overall-clad arm.

“Sorry. Memories.” He smiled. “Maybe we can get a decent pint out East?”

Jo returned his smile and gave him a look of hope that spoke volumes. “Yeah, hopefully. It can't be any worse than the swill they serve up in the cantina.”

“Ooh, hark at her. When did you manage to sneak into the cantina?”

“I didn't, I know a guy that works on the delivery wagon. Things fall off the back of it from time to time, if you get my meaning?”

Sam chuckled under his breath. “That says it all, don't it? Not even the beer is worth nicking. You wouldn't believe what I had to pinch to get us on the boat.”

“What did he want this time? I seem to remember he wanted synthetic chocolate when he got you off a week of toilet detail.”

“Two loaves of long-life bread and some imitation cheese.”

“And you nicked it?” Jo was shocked. “You're seriously telling me he had you risk getting shot over a bloody cheese sandwich?”

“Look, it's a hefty chunk of his weekly ration, he said. Apparently, he can't stomach the Grey Bar, it goes through him like a laxative.” Sam grabbed his stomach dramatically for emphasis.

Jo nodded sadly. “I get it, he's not alone in that department, my sister was the same, one bite and she was doubled over.” The majority of workers had to make do with the blocks of unidentified protein that the GAF dealt out at the local ration centre. Standard issue protein bars contained all the vitamins and minerals a healthy worker needed to keep themselves fit and strong, but God help you if you were allergic to artificial flavourings or preservatives.

“Come on. It's not that far now.”

Eyes darting from left to right and back again, they gingerly edged around the corner. Jo had taken point as her eyesight wasn't quite as damaged as Sam's; she had never been drafted to the factory that handled lead. They had advanced less than fifty yards when a sharp slam not far ahead signalled that they were not alone.

“Shit,” Jo whispered, “ghosts, get down.”

Crouching low behind a row of rusty dustbins overflowing with festering refuse, Sam and Jo did their best to become invisible. A door to one of the old shopfronts that had comprised what was once a picturesque fishing town had swung open to reveal two spectral figures stepping out into the gloom. Gun-barrel-mounted torch lights cut through the murk like knives, the ultra-high beams glaring off the fog, bathing the area in terrible shadows that loomed and stretched. One of the figures was muttering to himself about the rats breaking the spectral illusion.

The two stout enforcers had just finished checking the sub-sector for undesirables and were due to clock off shift at the hour. Clad in luminous yellow hooded uniforms that stood out in stark contrast to the dark of the night, the two men paused on the threshold and shone their lights up and down the narrow street. What little moonlight there was filtered through the miasma and twinkled off the reflective strips on their chests with a sepia lambency. The fact that the enforcers stalked the night like phantoms, coupled with their general appearance, was why the populous called them ghosts. Some people called them Caspers, but Jo had no idea why. Still, it annoyed them which was reason enough to persist.

Sam and Jo held their breath and trembled as the two enforcers stomped in their direction The tension was nerve-racking; one false move or stray gasp could prove fatal. Most enforcers shot on sight. Perversely, the penalty for shooting an innocent was far more lenient than the one doled out to enforcers who allowed a fugitive to escape. It was a case of law enforcement taken to the extreme. They were so close that Jo could smell the machine oil on their multi-purpose firearms. The standard-issue boots worn by the approaching Caspers slapped the standing water, each footfall sending sharp jolts of panic through Sam and Jo. Enforcer boots were a far cry from the standard work-issue Frankenstein boots worn by the public; they were strong, durable, and comfortable. The last thing either of them wanted was one of them coming down on their heads.

Sam felt a sharp pang of cramp in his left calf. He wasn't as young as he used to be, and years of backbreaking work, manufacturing the latest in weapons technology, had taken its toll. As much as he wanted to dance about and shake the knot from his leg, he couldn't, it would mean death for both of them. The enforcers were so close that Jo could hear them talking. Their gruff voices cracking wise through their protective masks about kicking in some undesirables the night before. The overseer would be pleased. Perhaps they would get a bonus? In this totalitarian state, brutality wasn't just encouraged, it was rewarded. After what felt like an eternity, the enforcers passed without incident.

“Jesus, that was close,” Jo whispered.

“Yeah, I thought we were goners for sure,” Sam hissed through pain-gritted teeth as he tried to massage his muscle back to life. “There's even more ghosts around than usual. I'm one-hundred-percent certain they weren't scheduled to be here.”

Jo hummed thoughtfully. “Possibly, I wonder why?”

"Kenny, who hangs about near the old war memorial, says that it's because of the lurkers. He reckons that there are shit-loads of them down by the docks." Sam stood up and arched his back which cracked noisily. "We'd better be careful."

Jo checked that her boots were fastened tightly in case they had to run for it. “Have you ever seen a lurker?”

"What, me? Nah, I'm not even sure I believe in them. I think they are another boogeyman dreamt up by the propaganda bureau to scare us into obeying the curfew. It's like all that crap about anthrax and crow pox they spout every time someone in charge fucks something up. It's all sleight of hand. Nothing more than a distraction."

Jo looked pensive. “Lenny says he saw one, said it was the size of a GAF transport truck.”

“Yeah, well, Lenny's full of shit.” Sam brushed the moisture off his balding pate. “The guy's been drinking meths for so long he doesn't know what bloody day it is most of the time.”

“I hope you're right, I really do.” Jo looked around; the coast was clear. “Come on. Let's get out of here before they come back.”

Jo was slim and athletic and looked older than her twenty-four years; life in Zone 51 aged you quickly. If the pervasive damp, malnutrition and punishing working hours didn't do it, the acid rain would. It played havoc with one's complexion. She had been born in Zone 51, in what is now the north-west quadrant, a place formerly known as Manchester. Jo had been raised and prepared for a life of vital work in one of the vast, hive-like education centres that peppered the zone, primed with everything a growing girl needed to make it in the neo-capitalist world.

A large wall blocked any further progress in their current direction. They needed to navigate what was once the old town, a deserted rabbit warren of abandoned shops, overflowing bins and savage feral cats. Jo checked the corner, it was clear, the only movement coming from a large rat foraging in the window of what was once a flower shop.

Jo made a low noise in the back of her throat.

“What's up, don't like rats?”

“It's not that. I just realised I've never seen a florist before. A real one, I mean. I've seen them in old movies and shows, sure, but never in real life. Come to think of it, I can't remember the last time I saw a real flower.”

“We don't have them in the Zone. The Overseer replaced them all with plastic ones decades ago. Since the creation of the oxygen plants over in Zone 53 we don't need foliage, decorative or otherwise.” In fact, Mr Sanderson, Zone 51's Overseer had waged a personal war on flowers early in the Zone's inception. They grew outside and weeds sometimes found a way in, sure, but not so much as a daisy had been intentionally grown inside for decades. Plants were inefficient, plus, one of his Pharaoh hounds had hay-fever so they had to go.

“Yeah, but they’re pretty and smell good.” Johanna shrugged.

“Yeah, I'm old enough to remember when you used to get freshly cut flowers in vases on cafe tables... It feels like a lifetime ago.”

“It was.” Jo smirked and gave him a playful nudge. “Come along, old father time, let's get out of here and go and smell the roses.”

Sam and Jo stealthily skulked down the street, hugging the wall and using the fog for cover. Scraps of ancient posters and flyers flapped as a breeze whipped in from the coast carrying the pungent aroma of putrefying mackerel and decaying seaweed. As they approached the next junction everything went horribly wrong. A solid crack announced that something was ahead of them. Another noise echoed off the filth encrusted walls as a heavy steel shipping container was overturned and tossed aside as though it weighed nothing.

Tekeli-li!

Jo froze, grabbing Sam by the arm as a shrill piping echoed down the street. It was followed by a disgusting slurping noise and the agonised howl of a canine. The two friends were stunned stiff. The dog wailed pitifully as its bones cracked and ground together. They couldn't see what was devouring the poor animal, but it sounded huge and glutinous. It piped and slurped, sucked and hissed in an obvious feeding-frenzy. Mercifully, the dog quickly died and ceased its blood-chilling cries. Worryingly, though, the creature still sounded hungry as it started to sniff around the container for another tasty morsel.

Jo motioned with her hand to move back slowly; any loud noise or sudden movement could mean disaster. Sam slowly started to edge back down the alley. He had started to sweat profusely, and hoped to God that the creature didn't hunt by scent. The formless monster roared as it sent a skip hurtling across the alley, smashing it into the building opposite and collapsing a portion of the crumbling red-brick wall. It fell inwards taking out the joists. With a tremendous clatter, the upper facade fell into the skip sending a plume of dust and debris into the atmosphere where it mingled with the fog to decrease visibility even further.

As Sam and Jo squinted through the airborne grit, they finally caught sight of something oozing out of the shadows. It was colossal. A formless mass of roiling protoplasm festooned with questing pseudopods, baleful eyes, and lamprey-like mouths that manifested at will. Colours shifted and swirled on its enormous oily bulk. As they watched on, unable to move, the creature started to change form. A massive ropey tentacle sprouted from the side of the beast and commenced groping obscenely around in the debris... It was hunting.

Sam started to back away following Jo's lead, but one of his boots scuffed the cracked Tarmac. The creature shuddered and one of its multitudinous eyes locked on the panicked couple. Throbbing hungrily, it shifted its attention to their warm bodies. Changing direction, it let out another shrill cry. Jo gagged; the stench of its breath was stomach-churning, somewhere between a living charnel house and a festering lagoon. Sam could feel nausea building from deep within his gullet as the stink ticked his gag reflex. Several more tentacles and fronds violently burst from the gelatinous mass as it reared back and prepared to strike. Jo prepared to meet her maker.

Things were looking bleak when help came from an unlikely source. Between them and it, a door was flung open and slammed against the wall. It was the two patrolling Caspers. The not-so-friendly ghosts, alerted by the noise, burst from the door of an old workshop with their weapons drawn and their itchy fingers on the triggers of their oversized rifles. They levelled their weapons at Sam and Johanna, not bothering to check their six.

“Stop right there!” the larger of the two bellowed.

Sam's hands instinctively reached for the skies. You can't survive in a police state as long as he had without learning how to surrender.

Jo, slack-jawed in fright, pointed past the two enforcers at the gathering mass. “Look out!”

“Do ya think I just fell off the gun truck or something?” the second enforcer snarled. “Get on your knees, undesirable!” he commanded as he pumped his rifle with a resounding clack! Anyone out after curfew was automatically an undesirable to most enforcers, so he didn’t need to check for a barcode. It made life so much easier. Shoot first, look for a reason later.

The creature turned its attention to the enforcers and began to surge in their direction. Alerted by the foul slurp of the beast's movement, the first enforcer spun on his heels. His eyes popped out of his head as he spotted the encroaching terror. It moved with an awesome fluidity and speed for a creature of its tremendous bulk. Roaring in panic and disbelief, the enforcer unloaded his clip, his rifle's muzzle flashed as he pumped round after round into the unstoppable monster. As the hollow click of an empty chamber rang out, the creature, completely unaffected by the onslaught, went on the offensive. With a whip-like crack! a tentacle lashed out and wrapped itself around the enforcer's waist. His water-resistant uniform melted to atoms as the screaming enforcer was completely absorbed by the shimmering horror.

Screaming a torrent of invective, the second enforcer opened fire, but it was no use, the creature didn't even flinch. Ripples of bright colour appeared on its surface as one by one the bullets were absorbed. Returning to her senses, Jo grabbed Sam by the collar and pulled him with her as she darted down a smaller alley that ran off to the left. As they sprinted as fast as their heavy boots would allow, the sounds of the second enforcer's painful demise surged around them.

Tekeli-li!

A tremendous bellow announced that the creature was in pursuit. It flowed around the corner, hitting the left wall like a tidal wave. It flowed and surged, rippled and oozed as it quickly closed the gap between them. The alley was a dead end. Sam and Jo almost collided with the filthy brick wall as they tried to escape.

“Fuck,” Jo cried. “We're trapped, there's no way out!” In moments they would become the creatures' next meal...

“Hey,” a voice called out from above as he tossed down a knotted rope. “Up here, quick!”

Quickly, Sam and Jo pulled themselves up towards their unknown saviour. Upon reaching the aperture, they were pulled through and collapsed in a heap as a heavy metal shutter was slammed down with authority.

“It won't get through that... I hope.” A large Caribbean man in grubby overalls smiled down at them benignly. “Jesus, that was close!”

“What the fuck was that?” Jo cried hysterically, instinctively scuttling backwards on her haunches away from the unknown man.

Dwayne, their saviour, shrugged and held out his large, calloused hand. "Folks call 'em lots of things. I think the current term is Lurker, though I believe it's called a shoggoth. You'll have to ask Ben, he's the expert on these things.” Once Sam and Jo were back to their feet, Dwayne led them across what was once the storeroom for an old antique shop. "The whole area's crawlin' with 'em at night. They live in the sewers and don't like light much, so you never see 'em in the day ... at night, they're deadly."

“But what are they?” Jo asked, a note of hysteria in her voice. “Are they some kind of weapon or experiment gone wrong?”

“I'd say 'God knows' but the fact is, the big man probably hasn't got a clue either. I can't imagine The Almighty having anything to do with such a creature. No sane God created something like that.” Dwayne pulled open a heavy fire door to reveal a living area decked out with antique furniture and drapes. It was like walking into Oscar Wilde's boudoir.

Reclining on a chaise-longue was an elderly man smoking a pipe while a rough-looking gentleman sat stripping down a battered AK-47 in an old wing-back chair. The third occupant of the room, a girl of around sixteen, still dressed in her education centre jumpsuit, paced and chewed a wayward strand of her ratty blonde hair. Dwayne walked over to the girl and smiled at her softly. He replied a solemn, “No. I'm afraid not” to her whispered question. She began to sob and raced off through a second door that led away to a couple of small bedrooms.

"That was Jane," Dwayne explained. "Found her wandering 'round down by the water a couple of days back. She lost her family in the fog. I had just been out lookin' for 'em when I heard all the commotion. Good thing I was passing, or you'd be lunch about now."

"Shit," Sam said softly. "Poor girl, and thank you."

"No problem, us undesirables gotta stick together, right?" Dwayne smiled then pointed to the man with the gun. He hadn't even looked up since they had entered the room. "This here is Max. Don't expect much conversation from him. Max used to be an enforcer, until the overseer had his tongue cut out when he questioned a kill order. He was branded undesirable and hunted like an animal. I found him in a right old state and brought him to Benjamin here..." He indicated the old man with the pipe. "Ben took us both in, this is his place, it has been in his family for generations. The stubborn old goat refused to leave when the town was cleared... I think they forgot about him."

“Pleased to make your acquaintance.” Ben sat up and extended a shaky liver-spotted hand. “Benjamin Edwards, at your service.” He talked in cultured tones and looked like the remnant of a bygone age.

Sam and Jo, in turn, shook the man's hand. He smiled benignly and took a puff on his pipe.

“So, where were you guys headed?” Dwayne asked. “You really shouldn't be down here at night; if the lurkers don't get ya, the Caspers will.”

“We have a passage arranged on one of the turd-trawlers to the east,” said Jo. “Sam managed to bribe us aboard with a cheese sandwich, if you can believe it.”

Clack!

Max sharply pulled the bolt on his rifle, getting everyone's attention. He looked distressed and shook his head vigorously.

“What's the matter?” Sam asked uneasily.

“You didn't arrange this with a guy called Oliver did you?” Dwayne enquired.

Sam nodded in the affirmative. Anxiety chewing at his guts like a hungry rat. “Yeah... Is there some kind of problem?”

“Bastard!” Dwayne spat. He stormed to the other side of the room and punched the wall, bloodying his knuckles.

Benjamin took up the dropped conversational ball. “I'm afraid you have been set up. You see, this Oliver is something of a scoundrel. He has been running this scam for years. He will take a person's rations on the pretext that he will arrange safe passage out of the zone. He will then give them directions leading them straight into the hands of the enforcers, then he'll go to his line manager and blow the whistle.”

“That's why there were so many ghosts out tonight," Sam grumbled as the penny dropped.

“Damn that whistle-blower bastard! We should have shot him when we had the chance,” Dwayne bellowed.

Max clicked the safety once for 'yes.'

“The same thing happened to poor Jane back there,” Benjamin continued. “There's not much hope, I'm afraid.”

“Yeah... they've probably been eaten or shot by now," Dwayne said grimly.

A slam accompanied by wails of anguish announced that Jane had been listening at the door.

“Damn, I didn't realise she could hear,” Dwayne shook his head in contrition.

Max jerked the bolt sharply and glared at him.

“I know, my bad... I'll fix it.” He moved to the door calling out gently for the distressed teen.

"Tactless idiot," Benjamin muttered.

Max clicked the safety once in agreement.

“Still, he means well. Heart of gold, mouth of a moron, I find is the best way to describe our Dwayne.”

"So, what now?" Jo asked no-one in particular.

"You are more than welcome to stay here," Ben replied with a smile. "Though, if you are hell-bent on getting out of Zone 51, Max and Dwayne are taking Jane to a boat tomorrow night. You can go with them, if you so desire."

Jo looked at Max who smiled and nodded. Despite his rough looks and his automatic weapon, he had a kindness in his eyes that she wouldn't have expected.

“Would that be okay?” she asked.

Max nodded and clicked the safety.

"It's one-click for yes. Two for no, by the way. He uses the bolt as an expletive or attention-getter," Ben explained.

“Thanks, Max,” Jo purred.

"Yeah, thanks, buddy," Sam added with a nod.

Max smiled again and resumed cleaning his weapon.

As Jo finally started to relax, Dwayne returned with a daft smile on his face. “She's okay now. I told her I'd go out again in an hour when I'm sure the lurker has gone, then I let her punch me...” He let out a sigh then collapsed into another dusty chair.

“It looks like you’ll have two more with you on your exodus run tomorrow," Ben told him.

“No worries. The more eyes the better. You've seen how many eyes those damn things have so it's best to at least attempt to compete.”

“So, where the hell do those things come from?” Sam asked.

“Hell is right,” Benjamin said.

“Oh, not this crap again,” Dwayne sighed.

“Just because you can't see what's right under your nose doesn't make it crap, master Dwayne. Those creatures come from out there," Ben pointed to the sky. “From beyond our plane of existence. They are denizens of the unfathomable void.”

“Rubbish.”

“So how do you explain it, Dwayne?” Jo asked pointedly.

“Must be something the Corporation's scientists dreamt up in a lab ... some GAF weapon gone rogue.”

Ben scoffed and took a pull on his pipe, exhaling bluish smoke into the room.

Dwayne glared at the old man before addressing Sam and Jo. "Ben here believes they are servitors of some ancient god or something. I believe in science, not magic."

“What is magic but science too advanced for us to understand?” Ben smiled.

“Nonsense,” Dwayne continued. “He believes that our glorious CEO cut some kind of deal with the devil back in the day.”

"Not the devil ... close ... but far worse. The Crawling Chaos, Nephren-Ka, Nyarlathotep, call him what you like, but he makes the devil look like a choir-boy." Ben turned to Sam and Jo. "Have you ever wondered how the CEO has lived so long? Never wondered how he got so many egos to bend the knee and agree to his new world?"

Sam and Jo shook their heads.

“Of course you haven't. You have been drugged and brainwashed your whole lives. I'm not talking MK-Ultra here, this is something far more insidious. Dwayne here opted out when he discovered that the imitation chicken substitute was really bleached and chlorinated rat meat. The flavourings they pump into everything are drugs that keep you docile and forgetful.”

Sam was impressed; 'opting out' was probably the most dangerous thing that you could do in this terrible reality. Voting was compulsory and most people blindly punched the agree button and collected their tokens. Some were foolish and pushed the wrong button. This led to their barcode reading undesirable. To refuse to vote, to 'opt-out' was to paint a giant bullseye on your back. By refusing to vote you were declaring yourself as undesirable. This was seen as a sign of madness which, surprise, surprise, made you undesirable. If you didn't get shot on the spot or carted off to a Mental Correction Facility to be drugged and zapped into oblivion, you were exceedingly lucky. It took some serious balls to opt-out, and Dwayne's were made of solid steel.

When Jo became eligible to vote, she was amazed when she entered the booth. She had no idea that there was more than one option. She had never heard of the other options before, and the temptation was immense. What she didn't know was that there was, in reality, only one option. The others were dummies, put there to spot the undesirables. If she hadn't been warned by her sister before entering, she would have been branded undesirable much sooner than she eventually was.

Ben tapped out his pipe and started refilling it. “There are places where the old ways and religions survived. This town where you now stand is one such place. My family were devotees of gods much older and more tangible than those of our terrestrial religions; they devoted their lives to studying the old texts and scriptures. At some point, the CEO came into contact with a number of these texts and used them to invoke some help. They struck a deal, whereby he would get prolonged life and immense power. What the buffoon didn't do was read the small print... There is always a clause when you deal with the old gods ... always a price that will eventually be paid. Have you wondered why there are more and more lurkers appearing on the streets?” he was asking Dwayne.

"Well, yeah," Dwayne replied. “I put it down to being spring. Mating season, and all that.

“The veil is tearing between their dimension and ours. Soon the world will be overrun by hideous creatures and entities from the blackest pits of the universe. The commander's time is almost up.” Ben struck a match and lit his pipe. “The small print read that after fifty years of power he would relinquish his control and turn the planet over to his master and his diabolical kin.”

“How do you know this?” Jo asked sceptically.

“Because it was my great uncle Arthur who gave him the damned book.”

* * *

Dwayne had returned from his second search just before sunrise. Ben and Sam had talked while Max and Johanna tried to comfort Jane. Dwayne reported that there was indeed an influx of lurkers down by the docks, he also stated that the unstoppable creatures were decimating the enforcers. Blood and body parts joined the usual flotsam and jetsam in the standing water. Clearly the creatures were on the move; maybe Ben wasn't so wrong, after all. With this worrying thought in mind, Dwayne announced that he too was getting out of Zone 51. Ben, on the other hand, decided to stay put. He surmised that it didn't matter where you ran to, soon, nowhere would be free. Mankind was nearing extinction, and it was all because of the greed and hubris of a deluded tyrant. Max decided that he would stay with Ben, the old antiquarian was like a father to him, he took him in off the streets and helped to repair his disturbed mind. It was Ben who gave him Bessie, his beloved rifle.

The group slept away most of the daylight hours. The constant buzz of the swarm of drones outside was a constant reminder that in daylight, detection was assured. Drones did everything that the workers couldn't. They carried tools, delivered materials, and watched. They could even be used to target and destroy rogue elements. Another wonder of crowd control brought to you by the GAF. When dusk finally descended, the drones would follow the workers to the habitation centres. They would then ensure that nobody got in or out after curfew. They were programmed with the shoot to kill protocol.

Sam, Jo, Dwayne, Max and Jenny were ready by the time it grew dark outside. Dwayne and Max knew all the patrol routes of the enforcers and the lurker feeding grounds so the plan was simple; they would take the others to the garbage boat then Max would return to Ben and resume his life as a devoted watchdog. They left the sanctuary by the rope that they used to enter. Spent shell cases and the rubble of a smashed building stood as a testament of the nightmare that occurred less than 24 hours ago. There was no fog for a change and the moon hung low in the sky. It looked fat, full, and hungry, its radiance diffused through the smog, bathing the streets in a sickly yellow glow.

Moving as quickly and quietly as they could, the group took an alternative route to the one afforded to them by the duplicitous whistle-blower. Soon, they approached their biggest obstacle, the GAF administration centre. Inside the towering edifice, the big-wigs decided who to punish and who to blame when quotas weren't met. Stretching high into the sky above the South-West Sector, the green glow of the giant initials on the roof gave the streets below the appearance of a rotting carcass.

Max had taken point as they neared the corner. Quickly, he snapped the safety twice and held up his hand in a halt signal. Dwayne moved up to join him and peered around the wall. There was some kind of commotion in front of the building. Two enforcers were pointing their guns at a pair of workers that knelt before them. The duo strained to hear what was going on, though they could tell that whatever it was, it wasn't good.

“What do ya reckon, Mike?” The first enforcer was saying.

“I dunno.”

“I think we should take them in.”

“I dunno, Jim,” the second repeated. “Our shift is nearly over and you know how long the paperwork on runners takes, and we don't get overtime.”

“That's true.”

“I reckon we should just shoot them and leave them for the lurkers...”

The first enforcer, Jim, thought for a moment. “You know, I reckon you're right, I really can't be arsed to fill in the forms. Sod it... let's shoot 'em!”

The two men raised their guns to the downturned heads of the runners. More hapless dupes of Ollie the whistle-blower about to be blown away. Just as they were about to pull the trigger a shout rang out.

"Oi, dickheads!" It was Dwayne.

He and Max had seen enough; the two men jumped out from their hiding spot and hosed down the enforcers with lead. Their leaking bodies spun and danced before crashing to the floor in a bloody heap. Dwayne yelled at the two runners to bail. Understandably, they didn't need to be told twice and shot off into the darkness like a pair of startled rabbits.

“Grab their guns,” Dwayne shouted to Jo and Sam, “be ready to move. Those goons inside the tower must have heard that. I imagine a death squad is assembling in the foyer as we speak.”

No sooner had Dwayne voiced his concern, several guards, armed to the teeth, swarmed onto the streets like a horde of militant ants. Spotting the fugitives almost instantly, they fell into an attack formation and opened fire. Max quickly led the group into cover behind a raised concrete bed filled with replica daffodils and motioned at them to keep down.

“Bugger, they’re closing in,” Sam panted as he tried to figure out how to switch his rifle to burst fire mode. “We're sitting ducks here, we need to move.”

Max shook his head, pointed to his ear, then to the southern entrance to the plaza.

Sam frowned and cocked his head to hear over the rattle of gunfire. There was something heading in their direction ... something big. “Keep down, guys. I don't think the Caspers were the only ones who heard all the shooting.”

“What do you mean?” Jo asked.

Sam and Max both pointed to the entrance as three enormous lurkers smashed through the barricades.

Tekeli-li!

As all gunfire became diverted towards the new threat, Max motioned to move while both parties were distracted. Leaping from cover amid a confetti rain of shredded synthetic flowers, the party scuttled down the street and away from danger as the lurkers massacred the enforcers. Nothing the crack team of trained killers hit the bubbling masses of gelatinous matter with had any effect. Tentacles whipped, and gaping maws snapped and crunched, making short work of their adversaries. When the last enforcer had shrugged off his mortal coil, the lurkers began to search for another snack... Unbeknownst to those in blissful ignorance to the carnage that sat inside, the doors of the GAF building stood open and unguarded. The smell of buffet dinners and warm bodies drifted into the fresh night air. Sam took a look behind him just in time to see a ravenous blob slithering through the sliding doors.

After a few minutes of frantic running, the party finally reached the docks. All they had to do was make it to the wall and jump down into a garbage boat without being picked off by one of the guards. This is when Jo stopped and held up her hand in warning.

“What is it?” Dwayne asked, fingering the trigger of his rifle expectantly.

“I don't know. It's too quiet. Where are all the guards?”

Dwayne scanned the sea wall and shrugged. “Tea break?”

“I'm serious.”

“So am I. You know how you English love a cuppa.”

“Don't be a wan—” Jo's tirade was silenced by the ominous sound of leathery wings on the wind. Big, leathery wings. “Um ... what the fuck is that?”

From out of nowhere, a bolt of lightning struck one of the large cranes on the dock making it erupt in a dazzling gout of glitter. The strange thing was, there were no clouds whatsoever. A terrific tearing sound assaulted the night as a huge tear in the fabric of reality opened above them. From out of the tear came a swarm of strangely humanoid creatures with blank faces and heavy bat-like wings.

“Dwayne, what the hell are those things?”

“Search me, Jo, I've never seen anything like it before. Just keep your bloody voice down and pray they don't spot us.”

After thrice circling the crane, the majority of the creatures flew off in the direction of the nearby habitation centre, no doubt in search of sustenance. Three remained, however, having already detected five tasty morsels below. Wheeling like monstrous vultures, the strange beasts prepared to swoop. Without a second's hesitation, Max raised his rifle and opened fire. One of the beasts was hit in the wing and spiralled into the sea where it sank below the waves. The other two dashed out of the line of fire and began to rush towards the group.

“Run!” Dwayne ordered, shoving Sam, Jo, and Jane ahead of him. They did as instructed and sprinted towards the wall and the boat beyond. The creatures dived at the two men providing a rear guard. One struck Max in the shoulder and sent him crashing to the floor, spitting blood from a split lip. Dwayne pumped rounds into the sky but missed with every one. The creatures were uncannily agile which was miraculous considering they had no eyes. Dwayne didn't have time to ponder how they hunted’ they had swiftly regrouped and were approaching fast.

Max raised himself onto his haunches and managed to club one of the gaunt creatures as it came in for another strike. The heavy wooden stock of his beloved Bessie crushed the skull of the creature with ease. It spun and tumbled along the sodden concrete dock before splashing into the sea. Dwayne continued to attempt to draw a bead on the final creature, he was dangerously low on ammunition and needed to make every shot count. While he struggled to take aim, Max leaned against the dock wall, aimed and fired. A single bullet popped the creature's head like a zit. Dwayne was impressed.

Jo, Sam and Jane had reached the wall by now, they looked back just in time to see the GAF building explode. Glass and fire rained down on the south-west sector of Zone 51. The explosion rocked the two men further down the docks. Dwayne implored Max to join them, he snapped the safety twice and smiled then motioned for his friend to go. Dwayne felt a pang of sadness as he shook the big man's hand, he was going to miss Max. With a parting salute, Dwayne ran as fast as his legs would carry him and joined the others on the wall. Joining hands, they jumped down into the festering pile of refuse below and attempted to get comfortable.

All they had to do now was lie low until they were out of Corporation waters and the automated system shipped them god-knows-where...

* * *

Morning rose over the refugee camp in Southern Australia. They had been there for three days by this point. Though fully shaken by the ordeal of escaping Zone 51, they were in high spirits. There were many people from all the late numbered zones; French people from Zone 52, Spaniards from 53, and so on. While most were traumatised, there was an overwhelming feeling of hope.

That was before the news of what happened on the day they had escaped reached them.

Television screens flickered as the CEO of The Imperial Corporation stood in front of a gleaming pyramid fashioned from glass and steel. It stood in the centre of Zone 1, occupying the foundations of what had been The White House. He faced the camera as he addressed his subjects. His speech was rambling and self-aggrandising as he thanked his country for his glorious reign. Fifty years of prosperity, fifty years of productivity, et cetera, et cetera.

Ben's words echoed in Johanna's ears. “Fifty years...”

Behind him, stood his aide, a strangely thin man, clad in traditional Egyptian robes. His eyes burned like hot coals with a ghastly orange glow. Now that their systems were free of the drugged food that had clouded their vision, they could see the man for what he truly was ... death incarnate. He had been there from the very start. Hiding in plain sight. Pulling the strings. Sowing the seeds of mankind's destruction. The CEO had been just as much a prisoner as the rest of them.

The Old One's passive expression turned to one of unbridled anger as his puppet promised to continue in office. Nobody reneges on a deal with the Crawling Chaos and survives. Finally, the Chief was face to face with someone he couldn't bully or cajole. The shadowy figure lunged for the leader, its head elongating into a huge tentacle of shadow, meat, and bone that whipped around the screaming world leader's neck. The darkness howled in fury as it crushed the life out of his puppet and dissolved his matter. The news feed flickered three times then cut to static.

Since that moment, the sky had been rupturing at an alarming rate. The ground shook, and the waters rose. The planet was acting like a snowglobe that someone had given a particularly vigorous shake. In short, the end was at hand.

One man's hubris had doomed the world.

The only question that remained was, would it go out with a bang or a long drawn-out death-rattle?

* * *

March 20th 2127 – Egypt – Irem, The City of Pillars:

Can a shadow smile?

The long game was nearing its Earth-shattering climax as the Dark Pharaoh revelled in the chaos that his plans had wrought. All those years ago, when he cut the deal with the then President of the United States of America, wheels had been set into motion that would drive humanity inexorably towards its doom. Since that monumental occasion when he was handed the bloody signature of the ambitious leader in his evil black book, every moment, every event had led directly to his hour of triumph.

It was about time...

For centuries he had lurked in the shadows, waiting for the ideal moment to reveal himself. Long before humanity learned to walk upright, he had been here, shaping reality to his own design. Ageless and deathless, then, now, and forever. The Old Ones are, the Old Ones were, and the Old Ones shall be again. Existing outside of reality, lurking on the threshold. Now, his avatars and devotees were in place like pawns on a cosmic chessboard, ready and willing to make the ultimate sacrifice for his glory.

His first manifestation had come at the end of Egypt's Third Dynasty when the usurper Pharaoh, Nephren-Ka, had summoned the God to aid in his conquest. By retrieving the shining trapezohedron and installing it in the lightless fane in Irem, the ruler created a conduit for the Old One's will. Thousands of sacrifices were bled on the black altar in return for glimpses of the future and knowledge forbidden to mortal beings. Soon, however, the servant of chaos' body began to fail and, in a masterstroke, was persuaded to allow his God to consume him. He was the first mask for the Faceless God, the first of many. One which he continued to wear to that very day. It was handsome and persuasive. Unassuming yet seductive. This particular mask could charm the birds from the heavens.

The CEO loved his aide, Neffy...

Following the fall of Irem, the Old One returned to the shadows to await a new game. The petty ambitions and desires of the ephemeral pests that swarmed over the face of this tumultuous planet weren't really his concern, they merely provided a distraction. Where most of the other Great Old Ones preferred to remain aloof and indifferent, above such things as interacting with humanity, he liked to make them dance. The ultimate puppeteer with a planet full of flawed marionettes to play with. He would make them fight, make them lie, then cut their strings when he grew tired of their antics.

From Ancient Rome to the witch cults of Europe, he set about infiltrating each and every power block. He had been a king, commander, lover, charlatan, even a child. Anything to manipulate and control. It was only a matter of time before he turned to politics. During these centuries, he had been known by many names and epithets, Haunter of the Dark, Crawling Chaos, Mighty Messenger, many names, many false faces, but all with the same design.

It was almost time for the world to learn his true name.

His once-hidden fane in Irem beneath the singing sands echoed with unholy laughter and the whines of his faithful hounds. They licked his palms as he relished the moment. It was a stroke of evil genius to turn mankind's technology upon itself. Since the late twentieth-century, advanced technology had been designed with something called In-built obsolescence, a mechanical expiry date, a devious ploy to ensure that the latest model sold. Corporate greed being taken to the extreme.

Perfection.

Once he had created avatars in key positions and his shadowy appendages fully gripped the planet, it had been child's play to rig everything to expire at the same time. Soon the drones that swarmed the skies would plummet, planes would nosedive, defence grids would fire, and chaos would reign supreme. The East would fire its warheads at the West, and vice-versa. Countries would be wiped off the map with surgical precision. Only those places that weren't a threat to his grand scheme would be spared the cleansing fire; after all, he was going to need a workforce. Humanity would fall to its knees in front of him and beg for his cold embrace.

As the multitudes outside his fane chanted and awaited the carnage to come, he allowed himself a moment of rest. The coming days would not be easy. Others of his kind would be awakened by the destruction. The stars were right, it was time for a reckoning. The veil between dimensions was tearing. The Great Old Ones were shaking off their shackles and awakening from their enforced slumber, their followers and creatures were breaking through, rising and taking control.

Soon the real war would begin.

A battle on a vast cosmic scale. Earth was an ideal staging point for the inevitable war against the Elder Gods. Its position in the universe and its soil, so rich in abundant minerals, and its people, so easily manipulated, made it the perfect manufacturing centre. As the allotted time approached, the shadow's three-lobed eye burned bright with savage intensity.

Distant explosions announced the dawn of Expiration Day.

The multitudinous Pharaoh hounds howled into the night.

The carrion beetles clacked their mandibles in exultation.

The shadow smiled.

Shadow of Chaos is releasing this July 11 - Available on Kindle Unlimited

Shadow of Chaos: A post-apocalyptic cosmic-horror series eBook : Mendees, Tim : Amazon.ca: Kindle Store

Pre-order your paperback anywhere books are sold

Shadow Of Chaos by Tim Mendees, Paperback | Barnes & Noble®

Shadow Of Chaos, (Paperback) - Walmart.com

Shadow Of Chaos by Mendees, Tim (9781998112463) | Browns Books