AWOL

I never *wanted* to join the military, at least not in the traditional sense. I didn't want to be a hero. I wasn't a patriot. I just didn't know what else to do.

A quick Google search of "shortest boot camp" is what led me to the recruiting office for the United States Air Force. The recruiter, with his crisp blue uniform and impressive chevrons, effortlessly lured me into a signature. He barely had to lie.

I shipped off quick- the ink had barely dried and I was getting torn apart by a drill sergeant in Texas. He was a giant of a man- almost like a cartoon character. This guy packed muscle on top of muscle. The sleeves of his camouflage blouse were rolled up over biceps and looked so tight I figured they'd just explode if this guy were to flinch. His wide brimmed "Smokey the Bear" hat would jab me at the bridge of my nose as his voice cracked from screaming at whatever non-issue problem he found- mist of spit settling on my face and all the while I'd be focusing on not shitting my pants. Deprived of food, sleep, and worldly comforts I had thoughts common amongst boot camp trainees: I've made a huge mistake.

Thankfully things mellowed out after boot camp and I was slated for a job in Security Forces. I'm not a stupid guy but I'm also not a rocket scientist, so my test scores weren't competing with would-be fighter pilots. I didn't complain about my assignment. It's boring work, but easy. Stand in front of a fence with a rifle and stay awake. Check ID cards at a gate. Simple.

You get your first duty assignment after training. It's an exciting time- Security Forces are at every base in the world, so the possibilities are endless.

When my name was called a stack of paperwork was unceremoniously stuffed into my waiting hands. I eagerly sifted through my new orders. My first base: Area 73, Antarctica.

Fucking Antarctica. Great.

My heart sank along with my dreams of surfing in Hawaii, drinking beer in Germany, or eating sushi in Japan. I lost the lottery. Big time. I asked around the barracks- no one ever heard of the place. I checked online: nothing. Go ahead- you won't find anything. Check out Google Earth- you won't see it. Trust me, I looked.

I arrived at Area 73 on a Monday. Or maybe it was a Tuesday. When you're on a plane hopping airports and time zones one day blends into another. Now, make that a cargo plane with some disinterested NCO planning your travel route- it's a bad time. I was dozing in and out for what felt like days.

The hatch on the C-130 slowly dropped and I was met by blinding sleet pierced by a pair of headlights. I shouldered my ruck sack and half-ran half-slid to the idling Jeep that was waiting for me.

"Welcome to 73," was all the Staff Sergeant said before he slammed the Jeep in gear and took off.

We drove through a vast sea of snow, ice, and nothingness. I had no idea how the sergeant knew where the road was- maybe there wasn't a road. We just kept driving due east.

It only took a few minutes to get to base. Security should have been a mere formality in such a harsh frozen wasteland, but I was looking at two layers of chain-link fence, razor wire, CCTV cameras every ten feet, guard towers, I even saw a canine patrol, its fur matted down with ice. This place was a fortress.

"What… what's here? What's the mission?" I stared up through the sleet to see a miserable guard bundled up and shivering. "Nukes?"

He glanced over at me as he slowed down at the front gate, handing his ID to another guard. "That's above both of our pay grades," he grunted. "Our job is to guard a fucking door."

The windshield wipers squeaked against the foggy windshield.

"A door?"

"A *fucking* door." The guard handed him his ID back and we were driving down the ice-laden street.

We parked in an icy lot. "You'll see. Leave the ruck and follow me," he said, "I'll show you your assignment and then we'll get you settled in at the barracks."

I followed my new sergeant through the frigid winds and up to a squat windowless building. He didn't look back to see if I was following. We marched inside and punched what sounded like a complex series of numbers into a keypad. Double metal doors hissed and slid open. We stepped inside. The doors closed, and I felt us descending.

And descending.

And descending.

"How deep does this go?" I asked.

"A good habit to get into would be to not ask questions about this place. Ever. Everything you see down here is highly classified. They'll court martial you if you even talk about what you see in this place." He studied my face. "I'm serious."

The elevator finally stopped its descent and the doors opened. We stepped out into a hallway. The ceiling was thick glass- through the glass I could see murky water and bubbles. We were underwater. The hallway ended with a thick steel door. A large black "B9" was stenciled on it.

"Your new purpose in life is to stand in front of that door," He pointed a meaty finger a thick steel door at the end of the hallway. A bored-looking Airman was leaning against the wall with a slung rifle.

"Wake the fuck up, Smith. Stand up, Jesus Christ."

"Sorry Sarge," he yawned. "This my relief?"

"New guy. Show him the ropes. I have something I need to take care of-" he looked at me, "I'll be back in an hour to give you the rest of the tour." He stalked back down the hallway without so much as a goodbye. We watched him silently until the elevator doors closed.

"Did he give you the 'don't ask questions' speech?" Smith asked.

"Yeah, he-"

That's when I felt a deep rumble under the floor- in the walls- all around me. It felt like an earthquake. The lights started flickering.

"Oh fuck," Smith's face turned white.

I heard muffled screams from inside the room- screams of raw terror. Crashing. Breaking. The only thing worse than that scream was how abruptly it all stopped.

"Oh God no. It's not possible."

"Smith, what is this place? What's not possible? What's happening?"

Another muffled crash from inside that room. A wet, desperate gurgling, and then silence.

"They found something in the ocean, man," he racked a .556 round into the chamber of his M4 carbine and started slowly backing away from the door, moving toward the elevator. "Something big. Something important."

"Something?"

*Boom! Boom! Boom!* Loud, wet thuds as *something* slammed on the metal door. It echoed deafeningly, I glanced up nervously at the glass ceiling and immeasurable tons of water it held back.

"We're invisible," Smith said. "Guards, I mean- these people- scientists, contractors, whatever the fuck they are- they talk right in front of me. All the time."

*Boom! Boom! Boom!* Small dents punched outward on the metal door as something slammed against it. I briefly considered the raw strength it would take to dent steel. I choked back a wave of terror.

We backed slowly down the corridor, Smith trained the muzzle of his rifle on the metal door.

"They talked about that… that thing. It was at the bottom of the ocean. Inside some kind of crevice. Like a cave. They used these words, man… They used words that scare the shit out of me."

*BOOM!*

"Words?" I fought the rising panic as another dent impacted the metal door.

"Like telepathy,"

*BOOM!*

"Thought transference… I saw it once… Caught a glimpse- it's in some kind of containment chamber. Like a prison cell, sort of. All glass."

*BOOM!*

"They… They… They said..." Smith's eyes rolled back into his head exposing only the whites. A thin trail of blood trickled from one ear as he staggered back down the hallway toward the metal door. He was pale, shivering, and muttering words that were incomprehensible. Like another language. As he shambled away from me and toward the metal door another trail of blood leaked out of his other ear. His shivering became convulsions, almost like a seizure. His movements were mechanical- he looked like a puppet on strings.

"Smith!" I yelled helplessly as I mashed my fist down on the elevator button over and over, willing it to come faster.

Smith pulled a keycard out of his blouse that had been hanging by a lanyard. He swiped it at the door. A light blinked green, and the doors slowly slid open. A flickering light only revealed some of the wreckage and carnage inside of that room.

Still shaking, still muttering, he turned the rifle around. He looked like he was fighting it- fighting against his own hands. Sweat poured down his face, mixing with the blood.

He put the barrel in his mouth, and I heard the crack as his teeth bit down.

*"No!"* I screamed.

He flipped the safety off.

*"Smith no!"*

The gunshot was deafening in the confines of the hallway. The top of his head vaporized. Brain, thick red pasty blood, bits of hair and skull plastered the wall behind him. A bullet fragment his the glass ceiling and water began to trickle in through a quickly spreading crack.

He remained standing for a short time, looking like a grisly Halloween prop.

Then he fell to the ground.

I could hear the elevator grinding. It was close. I was breathing heavily, trying to keep it together.

The creature stepped into the open doorway. Intelligent eyes glowed in the flickering darkness of that room. I could only catch the vaguest glimpse of it. Sickly gray tentacles hung from the gray flesh of its sagging face. Water ran down its body, pooling at its feet. It considered me- the way a predator considers its prey.

I felt a tingling, almost like a tickle, behind my forehead. It turned into a sort of scratching.

The creature began gliding down the hallway toward me, leaving a trail of murky water.

The elevator doors opened behind me, and I felt a pressure inside my head and the scratching intensified. My eyes started to roll into the back of my head when I fell backward inside the elevator, right into the sergeant that was returning. He shoved me and I fell to the ground.

"Jesus God damn-" was all he managed to get out. His Beretta 9mm pistol was halfway out of its holster when he froze.

"*HIT THE BUTTON!"* I screamed, lying on my back. *"CLOSE THE DOORS! GET US OUT OF HERE!"*

The sergeant's face reddened and then turned purple. A vein popped out on his forehead; eyes bulged from his skull. He let out a moan of pain between clenched teeth. Forearm muscles moved under his skin like snakes, but he didn't so much as flinch.

The sergeant's moans got louder. One eyeball *popped*\- translucent goop sliding down his cheek. The moan turned into a muffled scream from somewhere deep in his throat. The front of his camouflage blouse was soaked with blood that was now flowing from his nose.

I slammed the button with an open palm, and the doors closed. The sergeant fell to my feet- dead.

The tingling in my head dissipated as the elevator rose higher and higher.

That C-130 was somehow still on the runway, thank God. The pilot didn't understand why a Senior Airman was ordering him to fly the plane, but he did understand the threat of the 9mm Beretta that I had relieved the sergeant's corpse of.

If they find me, they'll kill me for what I know. I have two open warrants for my arrest- murder. They're going to pin Smith and sergeant on me. I'm sure that my story will only further advance their narrative that I just "snapped" and went crazy.

Whatever they awakened in the dark recesses of the ocean… I don't think it's going to go away.

If you feel that tickling behind your forehead. If you feel a scratching on your brain-

Run.

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