Prologue
He awoke in a fitting cough, his lungs protesting against the musty morning air. Although he was now accustomed to artificial oxygen and hadn’t breathed in the real stuff for over seven months now, the oxy-generators had been switched off at night causing sand to collect in the filters. When the units were reactivated, the accumulated sand blew back into the chamber, aggravating the respiratory system of the unfortunate creature within. In this case, the aforementioned unfortunate was called Dave. Dave threw back the filthy sheets from the bunk and sat up, gagging from the drought of his mouth. Gazing at the ceiling of the cell, he again considered what foreign skyscape lay above.
Suddenly, the metal trap at the base of the door retracted and today’s creature entered. Dave observed with little interest as it scuttled to a corner on six legs of speed.
Recounting his first night as a prisoner, he recalled the unfounded terror of his original encounter with one of the beasts. It had entered exactly the same way as now, as they all did. The animal was violently unsettling to look at, nauseating too, like an overgrown albino scorpion. Unspeakable foulness dripped from it’s mandibles as it scrabbled across the floor of the cell.
What do you get if you cross a lobster with a maggot? It was the punch line to a cruel genetic joke.
The experience resurrected the nightmares of his youth, often brought about by the combination of late cheese suppers and science fiction.
One night, when Dave was young and his Mum had been at Aquarobics, Gwyn, Dave’s Step-Dad, had let him stay up to watch a movie. In the film, which was set in space, a man was attacked by an alien. It attached itself to his face and, no matter what the poor guy’s crew-mates tried, couldn’t be removed without causing him injury. Eventually to everyone’s relief the head-clinger just fell off and died. Unfortunately for him, what they hadn’t known was that it had laid eggs in the man’s body, and later, during dinner, a baby monster burst out of his guts like a party popper.
The first time Dave had stared into the tiny, dismal eyes of what could have been the head-clingers cousin, this time not a hokey special effect, but actually a living, breathing being in the same room as him, he was immediately convinced its sole purpose was to either eat his brain, or at least make mincemeat from his lower intestine.
Now, it was embarrassing to think how long it had taken to realise the exact opposite to be true. Letting out another dusty sigh, Dave stood up and deftly approached the beast. Rather than rearing up into a face-shredding action, as you might expect, the creature actually shrank back in fear, nimbly scuttling a retreat. Expertly, Dave darted down and gathered up the animal, his practised fingers firmly gripping between its flailing legs. Swiftly placing both thumbs on the head, Dave pressed hard. With a sickening crack, the head flipped back like a Pez dispenser. He closed his eyes, opened his mouth and holding the shell above his head, drank from it as one might a coconut. Breakfast. The creature’s innards slumped out of the cadaver, the colour and texture of raw egg white. Shovelling down the last of the goop with his hand, Dave desperately attempted to avoid vomiting; knowing the vile meal to be the only thing close to food or water he would receive that day. Conceding that he should have listened to his mother, Dave dejectedly slumped back onto his bed, another ordeal sapping a little more of his already ravaged spirit. Pathetically, shaking his head and addressing no one in particular, Dave asked aloud,
“How did I end up here?”
READ CHAPTER ONE
Suddenly, the metal trap at the base of the door retracted and today’s creature entered. Dave observed with little interest as it scuttled to a corner on six legs of speed.
Recounting his first night as a prisoner, he recalled the unfounded terror of his original encounter with one of the beasts. It had entered exactly the same way as now, as they all did. The animal was violently unsettling to look at, nauseating too, like an overgrown albino scorpion. Unspeakable foulness dripped from it’s mandibles as it scrabbled across the floor of the cell.
What do you get if you cross a lobster with a maggot? It was the punch line to a cruel genetic joke.
The experience resurrected the nightmares of his youth, often brought about by the combination of late cheese suppers and science fiction.
One night, when Dave was young and his Mum had been at Aquarobics, Gwyn, Dave’s Step-Dad, had let him stay up to watch a movie. In the film, which was set in space, a man was attacked by an alien. It attached itself to his face and, no matter what the poor guy’s crew-mates tried, couldn’t be removed without causing him injury. Eventually to everyone’s relief the head-clinger just fell off and died. Unfortunately for him, what they hadn’t known was that it had laid eggs in the man’s body, and later, during dinner, a baby monster burst out of his guts like a party popper.
The first time Dave had stared into the tiny, dismal eyes of what could have been the head-clingers cousin, this time not a hokey special effect, but actually a living, breathing being in the same room as him, he was immediately convinced its sole purpose was to either eat his brain, or at least make mincemeat from his lower intestine.
Now, it was embarrassing to think how long it had taken to realise the exact opposite to be true. Letting out another dusty sigh, Dave stood up and deftly approached the beast. Rather than rearing up into a face-shredding action, as you might expect, the creature actually shrank back in fear, nimbly scuttling a retreat. Expertly, Dave darted down and gathered up the animal, his practised fingers firmly gripping between its flailing legs. Swiftly placing both thumbs on the head, Dave pressed hard. With a sickening crack, the head flipped back like a Pez dispenser. He closed his eyes, opened his mouth and holding the shell above his head, drank from it as one might a coconut. Breakfast. The creature’s innards slumped out of the cadaver, the colour and texture of raw egg white. Shovelling down the last of the goop with his hand, Dave desperately attempted to avoid vomiting; knowing the vile meal to be the only thing close to food or water he would receive that day. Conceding that he should have listened to his mother, Dave dejectedly slumped back onto his bed, another ordeal sapping a little more of his already ravaged spirit. Pathetically, shaking his head and addressing no one in particular, Dave asked aloud,
“How did I end up here?”
READ CHAPTER ONE
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