Mason's Death, As Told By Mason Himself

[Nick]

This is a little side-project-type thing I put together not too long ago. It's told completely from Mason's point of view.

Mason is Rebecca's brother, and a rather good friend and ally of Sam.

This was partially inspired by the song "10,000 Days (Wings for Marie, Pt. 2)", by Tool. Namely, the line "What are they going to do when the lights go down?" As is evident, I'm sure.

Enjoy.

[Nick]

What’re you going to do when the lights go down?

It’s dark here. No, not dark. Dim.

The room is dimly lit, but it’s lit all the same. And that’s more than can be said for the twilight of everything beyond the confines of this place. This hovel. This hole-in-the-wall. This decrepit little nook of a cranny on the far edge of sanity. This sanctuary.

The generator hums quietly next to me. I emptied the last gas from the jerry can into it about an hour ago. I figure I’ve got another twenty minutes left on the clock before it dies. Half-hour at most. If I’m lucky. And then I’ll be without power. Without my last barrier of protection. That last little burning ember of hope that always seems to glimmer a few seconds longer than logic dictates it should. Without my hope.

Without my light.

By all rights, that ember of hope should’ve died out a good number of times by now. In the world of reason, I should be dead a few times over by now. But I guess I’ve had a guardian angel watching over me, or something. Some sort of shield that protects me from harm where others would fall. Where others have fallen. Some at my shoulder. Some at my feet. Point is, for a time, I almost thought I was impervious to harm. Kind of what happens when you take a bullet to the head and it doesn’t kill you. As metaphorical as it might’ve been.

The scratching starts again, like fingernails on a chalkboard, boring into my head. It emanates from beyond the door, beyond the confines of the room. The room itself isn’t that big: almost more a closet than a room. And, yet, it is my last refuge from the deluge of insanity that seems to be coming down in torrents outside. The walls are bleak in their simplicity, bearing only the marks of age and water damage: a poster next to the door hangs on the wall, dictating rules of safe conduct and hygiene and all that rot. Almost makes me laugh, given what I’ve been doing the last three years. What I’ve done in the last day. What a charade it all is, all in the sake of irony. It almost makes me laugh. Almost.

If it wasn’t for the shooting pain up my leg that keeps my face contorted in a constant grimace, I might’ve.

We figured we could get it all done in a matter of an hour or two. With the back entrance secure, and all the firepower at our disposal, we figured it’d be an in-and-out job. There might only have been the two of us, but we were men on a mission, and there was nothing that would be able to stand in our way. Not with our background. Not with what we’d each been through. Not with what we had weighting our hearts down. Not with what our minds were set on. No, there was nothing that could stand in our way. So long as we got everything done before nightfall.

But night fell. Just like it always does. We hadn’t worked fast enough: the night fell, and we were stranded in the middle of this monstrosity of a complex when all the devils and demons came out to play. The worst of the worst: unlike anything we’d seen before. We thought we could handle it, no sweat. When they first arrived, we thought their foot-troopers were trouble, but, after a while, they just kept getting easier and easier to deal with. Turns out, the closer you get to the heart of the matter, the harder it is the matter tries to fight you off. And, of course, the body always gets the most fighting in while sleeping.

We separated. Sam went to finish his suicide run. I left to draw some heat off of him. I thought that, if I got back to HQ, I could call in the cavalry, and everything would be fine. I really believed that. Of course, things never turn out the way you plan. I’m pretty sure I took some attention off Sam’s incursion. Thing is, I didn’t make it as far as I wanted to. Not even close.

Rounding some random corner, I took a spill. Slipped on what I later recognized as someone’s (or something’s) intestines. Slid across the marble-tiled floor a good ten feet on the gore. It wasn’t until about the sixth foot that the… thing noticed me. Detached from the ceiling, came leaping at me. I caught it with my shotgun right in the face, point blank, but not before it managed to take a chunk out of my right calf. And, when I say a chunk, I mean a chunk. It was – is – not a pretty sight.

And, wouldn’t you know it, them all having a heightened sense of smell (not to mention being telepathically linked), the rest of the horde came a-running. I managed to hold the rest of them off long enough to slip into this supply closet, but that was as far as I got. Tipped some shelves over in front of the door to barricade it. It was enough to keep them from breaking through, at least momentarily. It was then that I had noticed the generator, and the lights on the ceiling.

The one thing we all learned pretty early on was that, during the day, you had a chance. But, during the night, when all the light was flipped to the other side of the planet, a snowball had a better chance in Hell than you did to stay alive. These things weren’t human, obviously, but they weren’t even remotely humanoid. Quadrupedal, maws the size of the Jaws of Life (and ten times as powerful), fangs like railroad spikes, claws like machetes, scaly skin; they just weren’t the kind of bunch you’d call over to enjoy the game on a weekend, if you follow.

I got the generator going. Managed to bring the lights up. Figured that’d keep them at bay for at least a while. Hopefully until sunrise. At least then I’d have a chance of getting out of here in one piece. Even had an extra jerry can half-full of gas to keep the baby running. Doesn’t it just go to show that the generator was almost dead as it was. Took almost all of what was left to fill it up again. But I knew it wasn’t going to be enough. It’s never enough. I’ve seen the movies, I’ve read the stories: I knew that that was it for good ole Mason.

I bandaged up my leg and did an ammo check. We were armed to the teeth when we broke into this place: explosives, machineguns, shotguns, pistols, knives; you name it, we had it. Trouble is, these bastards take a lot to go down. Especially the after-dark-er’s. At the moment, I’m down to just a handful of shells for my shotgun, two clips a piece for my Beretta’s, three grenades, and a nice pile of C4 that I was saving for the power turbines. And about ten minutes worth in the generator. And I’m all out of quarters to keep this game going. Which once again makes me ask myself…

What’re you going to do when the lights go down?

The lights flicker. Glancing up, I blink defiantly at the bulbs. “Go out, y’bastards. I dare ya.” As empty a threat as there ever was, but it helps keep my mind off of things. What am I going to do when the lights die? This here’s your gravesite, Mason. Better get used to the fact. Might as well just make the best of it while you can.

I hear a whirring from up above me. Drawing one of my Beretta’s, I bring it to bear as I aim up at the corner of the ceiling. I almost get the shot off before I hear a familiar voice.

“Mason! Mason!”

I laugh.

“Samuel Wolfe. You sunuvabitch.”

“Good to hear your voice too, buddy,” he replies, an evident twinge of both nervous and relieved laughter coming through the crackling of the intercom system.

I lower the pistol. It was just a security camera zooming in. Must be what he’s using to see in with. “What’s going on? Where are you?”

“Managed to break into a security console. Wanted to check up on you, make sure things were alright.” He pauses, his tone lowering. “Make sure you got out okay.”

“Naw,” I reply, grinning like a madman at the camera. “Found a nice place on my way out. Thought I’d retire here. Whaddya think?” I swing my free arm out, surveying my newfound property. “It ain’t much, but it should do the trick.”

Another nervous laugh. “Nice joke, buddy. But you really gotta get out of here. Activity is hot everywhere: had to bust through two of the creepy-crawlies and four of the bipeds just to get in here.”

I grin sadistically, though I can feel the sorrow creeping to the edge of my mouth. “I know, bud. Why d’ya think I’m in here?” He starts to talk, but I cut him off right away. “I got cut off, Wolfe. A whole horde o’ the shades came down on me like I was some sort o’ rare delicacy, I swear. Must taste like sugar to ‘em.” Here I lift up my leg gingerly, showing him my raggedy take at a bandage job of my calf, and giving a chuckle and grin to the camera. “One bite, and they all wanted more.”

“Oh, God, Mason…” There’s another pause. He’s debating what to do.

“Don’t think about it, Wolfe.” My expression grows stern, my voice gruff.

“No, Mason. I’m coming for you.”

I know him too well.

“Th’ Hell you are!” I get to my feet. My right leg isn’t much use for more than limping, but I manage to come just beneath the camera. “Wolfe, don’t be stupid. Use this t’yer advantage. That’s what distractions are for, dammit.”

“Mason, shut up. I’m coming for you. I’m just working out a route now.”

The bastard is persistent, I’ll give him that. Or maybe stubborn would be better.

The lights flicker again. I look up to the ceiling and notice that they’ve dimmed a bit. My stomach starts to churn: feels as if there are cold stone tablets doing somersaults in there. It doesn’t ease my mind much, nor does the growling that begins to emit from the other side of the door. But it certainly adds a sense of both urgency and dedication to the situation.

“Look, Wolfe, I’ve got five minutes left in th’ generator. If that. You won’t make it here in time.” My voice is turning soft, now. Reassuring. No sense panicking when there’s nothing else to be done. “Get it done, Wolfe. You’re th’ only chance we’ve got left. Show these alien bastards what’s what.”

He sobs. I fight back the tears. There’s nothing else to be done.

“Don’t worry about poor ole Mason. I’ve still got a trick or two left up my sleeve.” I give a sad little chuckle, glancing back at my pack before turning back to the camera. “Get it done, Wolfe. Give ‘er yer all. I’m rootin’ for ya.”

A pause. Then: “You’re right.”

I laugh, half-heartedly. “’course I’m right. I’m Mason Darqué. I’m always right. You should know that by now.” He laughs too, through a sniffle. I smile softly. “Now run along, Sam. You’ve got a job t’ do, and I’ve got a surprise t’ fit.”

“No! No, I’ll stay with you ‘til the end!” Some last minute morals, stabbing at him hard enough to bring him to some sort of heroic stance. Dammit, Sam, why can’t you be reasonable like the rest of the world?

Then again, that’s not much of a comparative tool, now is it? Still.

“We can’t have that, Wolfe.” I offer him a simple stare. “There’s nothing else that can be done. Get it done, Wolfe. Get it done.” I smile. “I’ll say hello to Rebecca for you, Sam.” I raise the Beretta to the camera once more. “Goodbye.”

I squeeze the trigger. The camera shatters into a million pieces, amidst a strangled, crackling cry of “No”, before it fizzles out as the electronics fry and the connection dies.

Funny how, even in the most desperate of times, it’s always the simplest words that are easiest for us to say.

Turning back to the room, I holster my pistol and hobble over to my pack. The lights flicker again. The growling increases in intensity. A scratching at the door. Don’t let it distract you, Mason. They’re just playing with you. Keep working. Giving my head a shake, I remove my hands from their Beretta’s and continue over to the bag.

A minute later and the preparations are complete. And not a moment too soon, it appears. The lights are flickering almost constantly, and the growling has reached a new uproariously demented crescendo. I’m sitting next to the generator, back where I started, as it stutters and starts, draining the very last of the fuel. I have my shotgun in my lap and my grenades all lined up beside me. I’m sitting on my pack. It helps me aim higher.

My eyes are closed. I pray. Never was much of a religious man, but there’s always a time and place for such things, now isn’t there?

I’m coming, Rebecca. I’m coming home.

The lights flick off. The growling turns into a roar. I hear the door come down, their claws ripping it to shreds. They’ve come for me, come for a feast. They’ve come to partake of my flesh and tear it from my bones. That’ll only happen over my cold, dead body, but I somehow imagine that’s their intent as well.

I snap my eyes open. Got used to the dark before it got that way. I can see the glint in the first ones eyes. It is soon extinguished as a shotgun shell explodes in its face. A howl from further back in the horde as it comes rushing forward. “Oh yeah?” I yell back in defiance, picking up two grenades and tearing the pins out with my teeth. Giving each of them a heave through the doorway, followed quickly by the third one, I spit the metal rings from my mouth before screaming: “Suck on that!”

I bring my shotgun to bear. Come on, you bastards. Show me where you are.

The grenades explode down in the end of the hallway, illuminating the figures between the blast and me. I aim and fire at the closest one, ripping its foreleg out from under it, before giving another shot to its head. It goes limp as another one of its unholy kind clambers past the body towards me. That one only goes down after three shells. Two more down a third, and then I’m out.

Pulling my Beretta’s out, I start unloading shot after shot into the advancing horde. I know that there’s no way out of this. This is the final show for good ole Mason Darqué. But I can make sure that I go out in such a way that these Goddamn monsters will wish they had never crossed paths with me.

I down a few more before they reach me. I emptied my clips point blank into the forehead of one of the shades and it didn’t even faze it. It just reached up to me with its clawed hand, stuck it right into my stomach and twisted. It hurt like a bitch, I tell ya. I’m man enough to admit that I screamed. But I just breathed slowly, grinned evilly, bloody as it was, and spit in its face. “C’mon, ya sunuvabitch.” More of its kind entered the room, slowly, circling around me. I stare each of them in the face, before turning back to the one whose grip I was in. It’s baring its teeth, showing me every single, acid-lined one of ‘em. I cough up a good deal of blood, right on its face, then grin toothily right back.

“Eat this.”

I squeeze the pressure trigger I put between my teeth, and then laugh. Immediately, my pack explodes. All the C4 I was carrying with me goes up in a conflagration the size of a good ten city blocks, taking along with it a good fifth of the building, every single one of the monsters around me, and, of course, me.

What’re you going to do when the lights go down?

I’m coming, Rebecca. I’m coming home.

Goodbye.