Round 3 - George Shipley (Adam)

George Shipley approached the lab. The sound had brought him here; a keening wail that had only subsided as he approached B-142. It had started suddenly, the agony of it dropping him to his knees in the centre of his bunk where he was practicing a self-imposed exile. As he'd approached the exterior wall, he had spotted it. A block of C-4 easily large enough to destroy the laboratory building entirely. The timer showed four minutes remaining. The wail intensified. Whatever was screaming in his head wanted him to go inside. He instinctively knew that if he tried to leave, the sound would strike him down. The door was open. He went inside.

He tripped over Harmon as he entered. The man was dead, his body perforated with chunks of dense rock. Next to him was Steve, also dead. In the centre of the devastation was Miller, still standing, arm outstretched, seemingly frozen where he stood, several bleeding wounds covering his front, his face a bloody ruin. Scattered around the room were others. Donaghue lay moaning on the floor seemingly insensible, a couple of others whose names George hadn't bothered to learn or remember lay unconscious near to him. And then there was Molly Patel slumped in a corner, bones protruding from her neck, her eyes empty and glazed over. 

The wailing subsided in his head, and was replaced by a horrid buzzing sound. He became cold all over in a way he had rarely experienced. His head swam, and he forgot himself. A second later, he had carried her body out in to the snow and laid her down carefully on a drift sheltered from the building itself. Blood seeped out onto the snow. He stared down at her, and then touched her face.

"The bomb. Save him."

He didn't recognise the voice. It belonged to a woman. He stood and left Molly out in the snow. He rushed back to the building. Two minutes remaining, he grabbed Miller, who collapsed as soon as George touched him. He hoisted him over his shoulder and carried him to the drift, laying him next to Molly. Miller stirred in his unconscious state. He was bleeding, and his face would never heal right, but he would live, which seemed good enough to George.

As he entered for the third time, he looked down at Donaghue and the other two men. Donaghue was mostly conscious.

"Ah, Mr. Shipley. You're here. Would you mind terribly helping me up?"

***

6 months ago

Donaghue lay unconscious in the back of the Bell 212. Shipley had lunged for him and knocked him out when the old man had pulled the pistol on him. Whatever it was the old man had seen had scared him enough to pull a weapon on George, and so after a couple of minutes of consideration he had decided that leaving the Markham base was probably for the best. It had taken less than a minute for the old helicopter to get up off the ground, and a minute later they were on the right trajectory to bring them home.

George pushed down the voice in the back of his mind that was telling him to go back for Finn and Holness. Donaghue was a smart man. If he said they were dead, they were dead. Whatever had killed them was obviously dangerous, and with only a couple of handguns on the helicopter, George didn't feel well equipped enough to deal with a murderous unknown quantity. He would deal with the guilt for abandoning them later. In truth, he likely wouldn't feel much guilt. He hadn't picked the mission. He hadn't left them behind. He was following orders. Donaghue's orders. That's where the blame really belonged.

Something smashed into the side of the helicopter in mid air. Something heavy. All of a sudden, the Bell 212 tipped sideways, as if a great weight w's pulling down on one side of the vehicle. George panicked and attempted to level them out. He risked a sideways glance. Something large, shadowed and ungainly was hanging on to them. He saw its eyes, a solid white, and then it was gone, the helicopter rocking hard again as it left. He forced the Bell 212 into a climb. Donaghue didn't stir. VanderTuin remained dead.

***

George helped Donaghue to his feet and started to lead him out of the lab. The old man was light, like his bones were hollow. Like George could crush him with a single squeeze. He considered it, but then thought better of it. The old man might be able to tell him what had happened, as they walked, he asked.

"That stupid Miller let him out."

"Let who out?"

"Xyctexyct. He let him out, and now we're all buggered," said Donaghue. "Buggered."

"Was it this Zickateetick that killed Molly?"

"If she's dead, then yes. I'm sorry Mr. Shipley. We shouldn't have brought it back here."

"Brought what back here?"

"The statue. From Markham. It was a prison. I brought it back here and then Miller let it free. Not intentionally. He's an idiot."

"Right. Okay. Where can I find it?"

"Find what?"

"Zicklebrick or whatever his name is."

"Oh, yes. He went out to the submarine. I think he has friends under the ice. I'm sure he means to free them."

"What submarine?"

"It's just west of here. Russian."

"Right, right. I'll find it. No problem. Anything else?"

"Xyctexyct is very powerful. I'm fairly sure he'll kill you if you go out there alone."

George lowered Donaghue into a chair just inside the front door of the lab. "Well I'll just make sure I take some people from the base with me then."

"I should come along too. I know how to stop it."

"Sure, sure. You just wait here for another minute or so, and I'll come right back for you, okay?"

"Thank you Mr. Shipley."

"Captain."

"Of course."

George turned and left, closing the door behind him. He quickly hobbled over to where he had deposited Miller and Molly Patel and slumped down in to the snow bank. A scant few seconds later B-142 exploded, taking much of B-141 with it. George winced as it happened, and as debris showered down around him, and a loud alarm started to sound over in the residential blocks, he started to laugh quietly to himself. Miller stirred next to him and started to moan loudly.

"Doctor's will be along in a moment Miller. Don't you worry."