The Blob

digested, he’d run into just now.

They splashed and flailed through the water. When they reached the tunnel, Brian limped ahead.

“You okay?” asked Meg.

“Must have hit my leg when the bike went over,” he said.

They hurried on.

A form separated from the shadows and stood in their way.

They yelped, startled.

They almost ran into him: it was a soldier, in a white suit, laden with equipment. “I’m not going to hurt you!” he said, frightened as they.

In fact, Brian could see that there was a stunned look on the man’s face. A glaze… “It got ’em,” he said. “Johnstone and the sarge!”

His faceplate was cracked. Blood streamed down his face.

“How do we get out of here?” demanded Brian.

The man didn’t seem to hear them. “They were trying to scream… inside it. They were trying to scream.”

Brian grabbed the front of the man’s plastic suit and shook him. Then he pushed him up against the wall.

“You gotta show us the way out!” he cried.

The soldier cringed away, whimpering. Brian could see now that his arm was flopping at an unnatural angle. The man’s arm was busted. He caught a glimpse of shattered bone sticking through the plastic of the suit. “Oh, Jesus,” said Brian.

“Brian!” cried Meg, gesturing desperately back toward the junction chamber.

He looked. He could see the quick movements there, the gushing glob of the monster, pouring back through the pipes, reforming… seeking them.

The soldier caught sight of the thing as well. He stepped back, turned, and started running the opposite way, through the tunnel.

“Follow him,” said Brian. “He’ll know the way out!”

They ran, and they ran, and they ran some more. The soldier ran hard, despite the equipment weighing him down. Strapped to one side of the man was a walkie-talkie. As they ran, the walkie-talkie began to speak: “Baker Team! Baker Team! What the hell’s going on down there?”

The soldier didn’t answer. He just kept on running.

A few seconds later the soldier stopped, breathing harshly. Immediately above him a vertical shaft ran up toward the surface, ridged with a metal-runged ladder and topped no doubt by a manhole.

The way out!

“This is it!” said Brian, looking up.

Not only was there a manhole up there: it was an open manhole. He could see stars glittering overhead. And a face was peering down toward him.

“We’re coming up!” cried Brian, pulling Meg over and guiding her hand to the first rung.

More plastic-suited men ringed the manhole. And two more faces peered down. Faces that Brian recognized.

Dr. Trimble and Colonel Hargis.

And they saw him. Recognized him!

Oh, shit!

“Close the manhole!” Dr. Trimble said.

“What?” said another man.

“That’s my man down there,” said Colonel Hargis.

“We have to contain that thing,” said Dr. Trimble, looking down at Brian, cold ice in his eyes. “Now, close it off. That’s an order.”

“No!” cried Meg, as the manhole cover scratched across pavement and rattled into place.

“No!” cried the wounded soldier, seeing what had happened. “Noooooooooo!”

“Hell,” said Brian. He climbed up the ladder. He was going to push that thing off! Before they could do anything about it!

Oh, hell! He could hear a truck. They were going to put a goddamn truck tire over the manhole cover.

Sure enough, by the time he reached the top and pushed, pushed hard, the thing didn’t budge. Not a half inch.

“You son of a bitch!” cried Brian.

No good being up here. He stormed down the ladder.

Below, the soldier was fiddling with his walkie-talkie. He flicked a switch and spoke into it. “Colonel! You can’t! That thing’s down here with us!”

Brian grabbed the walkie-talkie from him.

“Trimble? You hear me?” he cried into the receiver.

No answer.

“Talk to me!”

Then he noticed a chill around his feet… a pressure.

“The water’s rising,” said the soldier. “It’s coming for us.”

Brian looked down. Sure enough, the water level was inching up, lapping now at their ankles. The soldier whimpered and fell against a wall, beginning to weep with hopelessness.

God. They were trapped. This was it, thought Brian. They were going to get eaten… dissolved… digested, just like the others.

Damn!

He looked at Meg, and she was staring at him in a funny way.

“I thought you were gonna look after yourself,” she said.

“I guess I blew it, huh.” He looked around. Shrugged. Sighed. “I’m sorry, Meg. I really am.”

“Me too.”

Then she was looking at something else.

“Brian,” she said.

“Yeah?”

She pointed down at the soldier against the wall, coming apart. “On his belt, Brian. Look!”

Brian looked.

One of the pieces of equipment the soldier carried was strapped to his belt. Brian recognized it from war movies. It was a hand-held grenade launcher. There were words stenciled along the metal side: EXPLOSIVE PROJECTILE—CAUTION: BLOWBACK.

Oh, yes! Perfect!

He looked at her. And to think he had given up!

He grinned, kissed her hard on the lips, and stooped down. He grabbed the grenade launcher and pulled it off the soldier’s belt.

“This thing work?” he asked.

The soldier nodded. With his good hand he reached up and yanked back a cocking lever. “It won’t do any good. Not against that monster…”

Brian looked up the shaft. He put the walkie-talkie to his lips, thumbed the “on” switch. “Hey, Trimble. If you won’t listen to me… then listen to this!”

He aimed the grenade launcher up the shaft.

Meg and the soldier scrambled out of the way for cover.

Brian’s finger found the trigger.

And he pulled it.

The launcher tugged like a bucking bronco on his arms, but the missile went true. In less than a blink of an eye it tore up the vertical shaft to the manhole cover at the top.

Brian stepped to one side the very instant of the explosion. Metal and broken cement rained down—along with pieces of blown-up tire. It felt as though someone had clapped Brian on his ears. They were ringing like