Chapter 12 - The Gates Of The Silo
The police cruiser tore up the winding asphalt of Route 9, its high beams cutting through the dense, unnatural green fog that clung to the dark pine trees lining the highway. The engine whined under the strain of the steep incline, the tires throwing up loose gravel as Arthur navigated the hairpin turns at breakneck speed.
In the rearview mirror, the shadows leaping from tree to tree kept pace effortlessly, their low, grating screeches echoing over the sound of the screaming motor.
"They're getting closer!" Arthur yelled over the engine noise, his eyes wide with terror as he checked the side mirrors.
"Don't slow down," Harold warned, leaning forward to keep his balance as the cruiser fishtailed around a sharp curve. "The gate is just past the crest of this hill. Look for the rusted chain-link fence on the left."
Arthur gripped the steering wheel tighter, his foot jammed hard against the floorboards. As the cruiser crested the hill, a rusted, overgrown perimeter fence loomed out of the fog, its double gates hanging open on broken hinges. Beyond the fence sat a massive, decaying concrete structure shaped like an old grain silo, surrounded by military warning signs that had long since rusted away into illegibility.
"That's it?" Arthur asked incredulously, steering the cruiser directly through the ruined gates and slamming on the brakes as they skidded to a halt in front of a heavy steel blast door embedded in the hillside.
"That's it," Harold confirmed, opening his door and stepping out into the freezing, fog-choked night, the deadman’s frequency clutched firmly in his hand.
Arthur killed the engine and scrambled out after him, the cold air hitting his lungs like a knife. The silence here was absolute, save for a low, rhythmic thrumming sound emanating from deep beneath the concrete floor—a physical vibration that rattled the teeth in Arthur’s skull.
"Help me with the manual latch," Harold ordered, jogging over to a heavy iron wheel recessed into the side of the blast door.
Arthur rushed to his side, throwing his weight against the iron spoke. With a screech of rusted metal that sounded like a dying animal, the wheel began to turn, sluggishly at first, then faster as the internal gears engaged.
Suddenly, a loud, metallic clang echoed from the top of the silo above them. Arthur froze, slowly lifting his head. Perched on the edge of the decaying concrete roof was one of the creatures—a towering, multi-limbed nightmare of gray chitin and shifting muscle, its eyeless head tilted directly toward them as it emitted a low, vibrating click.
"Arthur, keep turning!" Harold shouted urgently, throwing his entire weight into the wheel.
Arthur didn't hesitate. He screamed with the last ounce of his strength, spinning the iron wheel until a loud pop echoed from within the mechanism, and the massive steel blast door swung inward a fraction of an inch, revealing a pitch-black staircase descending into the bowels of the earth.
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"Go!" Harold commanded, shoving Arthur toward the dark opening just as the creature on the roof let out a deafening shriek and launched itself downward into the fog.
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