Dr. Smith listens intently. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think I spotted the faintest flicker of empathy lurking behind his cold expression.
Saul steps forward to interject. “We’re not asking you to question God’s existence. We’re not even asking you to question His motives. We’re saying your interpretation might be off. God is infallible; man is not.”
Dr. Smith falters again, his face cracking even more. At this point, the fury has disappeared completely.
He’s deep in thought now, genuinely touched by our words. “I’m in awe,” Dr. Smith finally observes, chuckling to himself. “The devil has a very clever tongue. In my younger years, I might’ve gotten swept up in that. Unfortunately, you’re too late.”
“It’s never too late,” I plead.
Dr. Smith laughs. “No, I’m afraid it’s literally too late. I pushed the security alarm the second you came down those stairs.”
My blood runs cold. “What?”
“They’ll be here any time now,” the doctor continues. “You didn’t really think I’d have some come-to-Jesus moment, did you? Jesus is already guiding my hand.”
A wave of crushing defeat overwhelms me as I recognize the awful truth. We’re trapped.
I have no doubt Willow will be gone forever this time, diligently scrubbed from the depths of my mind. She’ll be cast into an endless nothingness, some faint yearning I’ll never quite put my finger on.
Dr. Smith glances at Saul, eyes fixating on his backpack with sudden curiosity.
“Open it up,” my therapist demands, lifting his gun just enough to remind us it’s there.
Saul lowers his bag, bringing it around front and unzipping the pouch. “It’s nothing,” my friend assures.
“Careful now,” Dr. Smith continues, noticing the tank of Saul’s flamethrower. “Bug killer? How’d you know?”
Saul nods, shooting me a quick glance.
Dr. Smith laughs, lowering his guard for a moment. “Trust me, you’re not going to kill those things with a chemical you’d find at the hardware store. They’re tough little critters.”
Without warning, Saul pulls the trigger of his makeshift flamethrower. The weapon is pointed sideways, angled away from any particular target, but the plume of fire and heat is so powerful it causes Dr. Smith to stumble back in shock.
There’s an earsplitting bang as he reflexively fires his weapon, a bullet rocketing into the glass habitat nearby with a hearty crack. A deafening crash of glass follows shortly behind, but I’m too focused on rushing Dr. Smith to give it a second thought.
I leap through the air and tackle him with all my weight, somehow managing to knock the gun from his hand and shove him against the wall.
At this point, I have two distinct paths. I could go for Dr. Smith’s weapon, or I could dash into his office and slam the door behind me. The answer seems obvious, as I’m not interested in leaving Willow and Saul to fend for themselves, but I quickly discover another factor is at play.
A cascade of sloppy, gurgling squeals fills my ears.
The tank may have featured several partitions, but the front was constructed from a single pane of glass that now rests shattered on the floor. The bulbous worms within are now crawling forth, rolling over the ledge and plopping to the ground with alarming speed.
I glance at Willow and Saul across the room, watching as they back toward the opposite door. We’re separated by a scene of utter chaos, but at this point there’s not much we can do about it.
“Go!” I cry.
Dr. Smith rushes for his weapon as I retreat into the office, throwing the metal door shut just in time to see my companions do the same on their side of the chamber.
I back away from the door as frantic yelps begin erupting from the opposite side. As the squealing creatures grow louder, so does Dr. Smith, and soon enough his voice transforms into a muffled jumble of desperate prayer.
Another gunshot rings out, then another, each bang prompting me to jump in alarm. I stumble a bit as I back into the desk behind me.
Dr. Smith’s voice quickly grows more frantic, transitioning from anxious speech to shrieks of utter terror. Whatever’s happening on the other side of that door sounds horrifically painful, a chaotic blend of stabbing proboscis, crawling wet invertebrates, and the frenzied stomps and kicks of Dr. Smith as he struggles to keep them at bay.
Eventually there’s a loud thump as what must be the doctor’s body collapses to the floor. His screams have devolved into guttural, heaving groans, animalistic and sloppy in a way that’s difficult to imagine for this straitlaced blowhard. He retches loudly as the crawling, squishing noises slowly fade away.
Then, silence.
I think about calling out, making sure Saul and Willow are safe and sound in their opposing chamber, but there’s too much space between us. I’d need to head back through the middle room.
Instead, I get to work searching this office for another exit. It doesn’t take me long to find a row of switches built into the side of the desk, each one labeled with the name of a specific chamber in this underground lab.
Some of the switches are illuminated, glowing yellow. I can only assume this means the deadbolts they control are active.
I get to work turning off the hallway locks, hopefully allowing the prisoners to make their escape. I notice one of the levers is marked with the label LIGEIAN TANKS. This must be connected to the chamber I just escaped from.
“Rose?” a weary voice suddenly calls out from behind the door, causing my breath to catch in my throat.
I freeze, every muscle in my body clenching tight.
“You left me in here with those things.” Dr. Smith screams, then repeats himself at an even more manic pitch. He’s furious with anger and struggling to comprehend the audacity of his former patient. “You left me in here with those fucking things!”
The light below the metal door shifts as I hear Dr. Smith climb to his feet. I can hear him shuffling toward me, prompting an immediate flip of the LIGEIAN TANKS switch as I throw the deadbolt tight.
The door handle jerks once, then again with even more force.
“For he is the minister of God to thee for good. But if thou do that which is evil, be afraid!” Dr. Smith screams from the other side.
There’s a loud bang and a blinding flash. I jump in alarm as a well-placed bullet tears through the lock and shatters it completely. Seconds later, Dr. Smith throws his weight against the door, slamming it open as he stumbles into the room with an awkward stagger.
The man’s clothes are covered in a haphazard assortment of small tears, the holes soaked with glistening spots of fresh blood. There’s a circular wound on the side of his face, as well as on his right hand just above the tightly gripped pistol. His glasses are shattered, but they still rest precariously upon his nose.
A single, straggling worm hangs lazily from the doctor’s side, its proboscis still not ready to let go.
Behind Dr. Smith, the floor is littered with tired invertebrates, the pale creatures much less aggressive than they were just moments earlier. Their football shape has altered slightly, flattened out like a well-squeezed tube of toothpaste. They chortle happily, satisfied and sluggish.
“For he beareth not the staff in vain!” the doctor continues, a fire in his eyes as he lifts his weapon and points it directly at me.