I pressed Erin for details, but she could not say more, only that it had been a momentary shadow that swept through the corridor like a little girl, though she could not be certain, the clothing unclear, the face indistinct, perhaps five or six years old, and the direction she indicated was precisely the corridor marked on the map as the nearest exit. That corridor was only a few steps away from me, and in such a sealed and silent underground structure, if someone had truly run past there, it would have been impossible for there to be no sound at all, yet she insisted she had heard nothing, only seen the shadow flash by, and I do not like anything that can move through open space without leaving the sound of footsteps, especially after so many things today have already slipped out of control. I suggested we take a longer route and approach the exit from the other side, because walking a few extra minutes is safer than stepping directly into the unknown.
Erin agreed immediately.
Carter, however, stared at me for a moment and said I had changed, bringing up that year in high school when we took his father's pickup without permission and floored it along the county road until the patrol lights flared behind us, and we thought we could shake them off until we were forced to stop on the roadside, and the next day both sets of parents were called to the station, his father silent the entire way home, my father taking away my car keys for the entire summer, and yet at the time I had laughed and said it had at least been worth trying. He said I had never taken the long way around before.
I did not answer immediately, because that memory remains sharp, and back then when we lost we faced nothing more than grounding, fines, and the loss of privileges, whereas now what we gamble is whether the exit will collapse and whether that soundless thing in the dark will suddenly appear in front of us, and these two risks are not on the same scale at all. I told him that back then we gambled inconvenience, now we gamble our lives.
Carter held my gaze for a moment, then tightened his sling and said we would go my way, but if it turned out to be nothing more than a false alarm, I owed him a drink. Erin reminded us that standing there arguing would not improve the situation. We moved toward the corridor anyway, Carter in front, Erin in the middle, I covering the rear, the flashlight angled low to illuminate only the steps at our feet, the passage gradually sloping upward before turning into stairs that carried us into denser air, the walls pressing in with dampness, the ceiling lowering enough to make one aware of how much soil and rock were piled above.
Carter suddenly stopped.
Erin ran into his back, I reached out to steady her, and when I looked past his shoulder into the beam of the flashlight, his face had already gone pale.
He said we had to turn back. Carter's voice changed abruptly, telling us to retreat, blocking us behind him and Erin, and the flashlight beam could illuminate only a short stretch, revealing that above the stairs lay an open space, and before I could clearly see what he had seen, instinct had already prepared me to pull back.
At that instant I felt something cold press against my back, not a blow but a contact, the chill driving down my spine straight into the bone like a current of cold electricity detonating along my nerves, my body losing control as I lunged forward and knocked Carter and Erin down with me, the narrow upward-sloping corridor sending the three of us tumbling and sliding into the hollow at the top of the stairs. The cold vanished almost as quickly as it came, yet left behind a sustained trembling, my jaw tightening, my limbs stiffening, not the numbness of ordinary shock but a cold spreading outward from deep within the bone. When we forced ourselves upright, I finally understood why Carter had told us to retreat.
Ahead was a vast space, half natural cavern, half reinforced structure, the rock walls slick, portions of the ceiling lowered, clusters of enormous bats hanging densely inverted above, far larger than common species, their wings folded like rows of heavy black drapery, and when disturbed by our intrusion they slowly unfurled, exposing sharp teeth.
The bats' faces were grotesquely shaped, diamond-shaped ears standing upright, rounded heads, short broad muzzles, forelimbs disproportionately long so that when the upper arms, forearms, and elongated fingers extended they nearly defined the entire wingspan, teeth thin and sharp, claws curved and powerful, and during my service on remote engineering assignments I had encountered similar large predatory bats belonging to a rare aggressive branch recorded only in isolated regions, known to attack livestock and occasionally even medium-sized animals.
A colony of this scale is uncommon, usually inhabiting abandoned structures or deep caves, and I had assumed they were no longer present in this region, yet an entire group had occupied this abandoned underground facility, using the ventilation shafts as entrances and the stone chamber as a nest.
There was no time to hesitate.
The bats lifted in sheets, wings tearing through the air, and we opened fire almost simultaneously, the submachine guns flashing repeatedly against the rock walls, tracer rounds cutting through the darkness, numerous individuals falling while the rest scattered amid flame and glare. The magazines emptied quickly before we could reload, dark shapes skimming past our heads, claws tearing fabric, teeth breaking skin, I shielded my face with one arm while swinging the empty weapon like a club with the other, my legs kicking away shapes lunging toward me. The chaos continued until it was nearly impossible to distinguish the source of sound, and only then did the cavern gradually fall quiet.
I found the flashlight on the ground and was about to ask whether they were hurt when a rush of air descended from above and the largest bat dove silently toward me, clearly larger than the others, its wingspan nearly covering half my field of view, I had no time to evade when a burst of gunfire sounded from the side, bullets striking its body precisely, the creature crashing heavily to the ground and convulsing briefly before going still.
It was Carter, having replaced the magazine.
When my breathing steadied somewhat, I told myself the earlier sensation had likely been contact with exposed wiring and did not mention the pressing touch against my back, because I could not explain it. I asked Erin to check my back, she lifted my clothing and examined carefully under the flashlight for a moment, finding no burns but seeing a distinct black imprint against my skin, the outline complete, five fingers clearly defined, as though freshly pressed there, and colder than the surrounding flesh.
I said nothing.
There were several cuts along my arms and side, blood seeping through the fabric, Erin and Carter had also sustained minor injuries, though none serious, and Erin tore a strip from her sleeve to bind me. The wounds burned more sharply than expected, and I muttered that I had never taken injuries like this under live fire only to be torn up by animals in minutes, and even as I spoke I felt how absurd it sounded. Carter looked at me and asked why, when he had told us to retreat, I had instead rushed forward.
I tried to explain the moment as clearly as possible, saying only that I might have touched exposed wiring and lost control after an electric shock, not mentioning the sensation of being pressed from behind because even I could not explain it, and asked Erin again to check for burns, she examined carefully under the beam, her expression tightening gradually.
She said it did not look like an electrical burn. Carter stepped behind me and looked once, saying there was a black imprint on my back, small and sharply outlined, like the hand of a child. I did not respond. If something had pushed me, it had driven us deeper into the arsenal, and for the moment I was unwilling to guess at its purpose.
Carter was about to speak again when the flashlight slipped from his hand, and he lowered his voice, saying he too had seen a child's figure just now, running past behind us. Erin and I raised our lights and swept the chamber, finding nothing but bat carcasses and scattered debris. Carter swore he had not been mistaken, saying the figure had been clear, a little boy wearing dark clothing, pale-faced, running without making a sound.
Erin insisted that what she had seen earlier in the ammunition storage area was a little girl. Their descriptions did not match, and I had seen nothing except the imprint on my back. We checked our weapons, replaced magazines, and prepared to move forward, Carter pointing to one side of the chamber wall and saying the figure had vanished in that direction, then scraping moss and hardened residue from the rock with his rifle butt to reveal a heavy steel door embedded in the wall, rusted, with faded red lettering:
RESTRICTED ACCESS
"RESTRICTED ACCESS," Carter read aloud, saying the meaning was clear—unauthorized entry prohibited—and that such a door would not be installed outside an ordinary storage room unless something truly important had been sealed inside. I knocked against the steel with my knuckles, the sound dull and solid. The door panel was thick, recessed into its frame, with a compression seal along the lower edge. The external wheel had been removed, but the hexagonal drive socket remained, beneath it a row of vent channels connected to an internal pressure system. This was not an ordinary storage door but an isolation door. I had seen similar designs in old U.S. munitions depots, used to store explosives, unstable ammunition, or anything that must be isolated if compromised. Whatever lay behind the door had been deliberately locked away.
I am not interested in inventorying what is inside; I want an exit.
Carter slid the butt of his submachine gun lightly along the surface of the door as if sensing for movement behind it. Erin checked the hinges and the lower seal channel, neither of them intending to leave it alone. I compared the map again and, based on the structure, deduced that this chamber had once contained a narrow maintenance passage leading toward the ridge above. We searched along the rock wall and found only large areas of collapse, the signs of demolition clear and deliberate, the exit having been destroyed from the inside. The ventilation shaft above was curved to prevent direct external penetration, bats having used these shafts for years as access points. Even if we could climb that high, the shaft diameter would not accommodate an adult. Whoever designed this place had not intended convenient access.
I called them over and said the exit no longer existed. We either continue deeper to search for another route or return toward the tomb to deal with the threat, but we cannot remain trapped in a dead system with no supplies and no plan. The facility extends deep underground; if one exit was sealed, others were likely treated the same. Erin nudged one of the bat carcasses with her boot and said that if it came to that, we would eat the bats.
Carter immediately shook his head and said that was not an option, then looked again at the door and said perhaps it connected to an area not shown on the map. He was not wrong. The map did not indicate this chamber, and it was possible the door led to a secondary corridor. Opening it would not be easy, but it was not impossible. I had seen suitable tools in the lower ammunition sector; we needed a properly sized hex wrench. Erin said if we were going back down, we might as well change jackets, because we smelled like a biological incident site.
She was not exaggerating.
We returned to the lower storage area, found spare field jackets and steel helmets, wiped away blood and grime, and changed out of the worst garments. Carter looked at us and said we appeared as though we had stepped out of someone else's war. Near the oil drum racks I found a hex wrench of appropriate size and said this was the tool we needed, there was no point arguing further.
We retraced our steps back to the chamber, I still taking the rear position, and this time no one mentioned the child again, though none of us had forgotten. Back at the isolation door, we put on helmets and masks, chambered the submachine guns, and agreed in advance on a rotation of covering fire in case the seal released something uncontrollable. Once positions were confirmed, I slung the weapon, inserted the hex wrench into the drive socket, braced with both hands, and applied steady force. The threads barely moved at first, metal having seized after years of stillness, so I increased pressure gradually until the internal mechanism finally loosened with a dull grinding sound. The vent channels began to hiss continuously, air being drawn slowly inward as pressure equalized. The locking structure disengaged layer by layer, and the heavy steel door began to move with a low mechanical rumble.
After the pressure system completed its cycle, a sustained low release of air sounded from within, and the heavy steel door slid back along its track. I stepped aside, braced the M3 submachine gun against my shoulder, and aimed the flashlight beam directly inside, waiting for any sign of movement. There was no response. The light extended several meters before thinning rapidly and being swallowed at the edges by darkness. I signaled to Erin. She nodded and rolled a small detection device into the room. The metal casing scraped along the floor, a sound that should have echoed between concrete walls, yet the echo cut off quickly and disappeared. Environmental readings remained stable.
There was no point remaining at the doorway. Carter entered the chamber first, I followed, and Erin paused briefly at the control panel to ensure the airtight door would not automatically reseal. The chamber measured roughly forty square meters, its walls bare concrete, no shelving, no ammunition storage racks. In the center stood more than a dozen reinforced metal frames of varying sizes, some rectangular, others wrapped in additional steel supports clearly welded on later. Carter struck the nearest frame with his rifle butt, the sound dull and heavy.
"Not standard storage," he said.
I examined the bolts and weld seams, determining that the internal contents had once been additionally restrained. We pried open the first frame, and when the top was removed a dense dark mass was revealed, its surface layered and folded, neither metal nor stone, reflecting no light, only absorbing it.
The second frame contained fragments of the same material, the fracture surfaces unnaturally clean, the edges bearing slight scorching marks. The third frame contained similar fragments along with a distorted human skeleton, limb proportions abnormal, finger bones curved, joints fixed at unnatural angles. In the corner a steel document box had been welded to the wall. I forced the latch and removed the file.
U.S. Army Corps of Engineers – Vault Log
Unidentified mass exposed during excavation at depth 18 ft.
Internal structural irregularity observed.
Civilian female minor located inside perimeter. Deceased.
Reinforcement ordered. Access restricted.
Carter paused when he read "female minor."
We moved toward the deepest part of the chamber, where the largest reinforced structure stood, its outer steel beams far thicker than the others, the concrete base radiating fine cracks. After removing the support plates, the interior mass was exposed, a single irregular dark structure, layered and compressed, fractures penetrating toward a denser core within. When the beam shifted to the right side of the base, we saw her.
A girl of about ten years old sat against the wall. The skeleton was intact, fragments of modern fabric still clinging to her, arms drawn to her chest, body angled slightly toward the exit. I lowered the light and directed it toward the floor. A series of faint black handprints extended from beside her in a single direction, pointing toward the exit, ending where collapsed steel beams and rubble blocked the way.
The passage had been sealed.
I stared at the handprints for a moment, and an image from minutes earlier flashed through my mind—Carter sweeping the light behind me, the small black handprint appearing on the surface of my protective clothing, identical in size to those on the ground. I reached back to touch my back. There was nothing.
Carter looked at the blocked exit and said calmly, "She was trying to get out."
He said nothing more.
I shifted the light back to the girl, her body still oriented toward the exit. We did not move. The chamber held only the sound of breathing and the faint ticking of cooling metal. We stood there, looking at the line of handprints that ended at the rubble. Carter stared at the girl's body for several seconds and said it might simply be an extremely well-crafted model, and as he reached out I immediately grabbed his wrist and told him to put on gloves first, because dark purple blotches covered her skin, concentrated along the scalp, back, and soles, the coloration heavy and abnormal.
Erin stepped closer to examine and did not draw a conclusion, only saying that sealed environments can preserve unpredictable chemical residues, but these markings did not resemble typical patterns of decomposition. Carter put on gloves and carefully lifted the girl's body, then frowned and said the weight was wrong, noticeably heavy for her size; I examined her skull and spine and found no obvious trauma, but at the crown and upper back there were several symmetrical, neatly formed openings, the edges smooth, as though deliberately cut and then sealed again.
We did not speculate further.
The small body remained seated, posture fixed, the skin not fully decomposed, as though time had been interrupted at some moment, and more unsettling than her condition was that we had previously seen a figure identical to her in the corridor, along with the brief handprint that had appeared on my back, and when these facts are placed side by side they are difficult to explain in simple terms. I do not easily accept things beyond reason, but at that moment no one attempted to deny the presence of anomaly. We wrapped the girl in spare canvas and secured her to a harness, the weight exceeding expectations, and when moved a dull internal friction sound came from within the skeleton.
Back in the main cavern we discussed extraction plans, all of us severely dehydrated and hungry, with no food stores, no water source, and no demolition charges inside the facility, the only viable route to the surface still being the original passage, and climbing in our current condition would carry extreme risk. A dozen or more dead cave bats lay scattered across the ground, large-bodied, clearly recently killed, we looked at one another, no one speaking, yet the conclusion was the same.
To survive, we would have to eat them.
We dragged several of the larger bats back to the storage sector, where stacks of wooden crates could be broken down for fuel, I kicked the crates apart into planks, shaved splinters to start a fire, Erin cut off the bats' heads and claws, opened the abdomen to remove the organs, then handed the cleaned carcasses to me to roast over the flame. Bat meat contains little fat, and if overcooked it chars quickly; once the flesh changed color I took the first bite, the fibers coarse but chewable, Carter watching me finish before trying a bite himself, without complaint.
Firelight flickered across the concrete vault above as we ate in silence, the air filled only with the smell of scorched meat and the faint crackle of burning wood, halfway through the meal a thick transparent liquid slowly dripped from a crack in the ceiling and landed on Carter's face, he instinctively wiped it away, a translucent strand stretching between his fingers. Before he could speak another drop fell, and this time we both looked up. Something moved between the cracks, its body pressed against the ceiling and sliding slowly, saliva gathering along its lower jaw and glinting cold in the firelight before falling in a line to the floor.
That was saliva.
"Well," he said quietly, "who's drooling on my face?" The hint of humor vanished as soon as he spoke. There were only the three of us in the chamber, Erin and I seated across from him. We all looked up.