Chapter 9: The House at the edge of Town (9)
Lena ducked as the cocoon’s massive arm tore a trench through the earth where her head had been a moment earlier. Dirt and blood sprayed her boots. The tall man was already airborne again, his body bent around the creature’s grip, bones snapping and resetting with wet, irritated sounds as he was flung bodily into what remained of the porch.
The house gave up another section of itself with a tired, splintering sigh.
“This is so off-protocol,” Lena snapped.
She backed away, boots skidding on slick ground, never taking her eyes off the thing. The cocoon rippled, silk tightening and loosening as if breathing. The human limbs embedded in it twitched in arrhythmic spasms, fingers clawing uselessly at the air. The tall man hit the ground again with a meaty thud, bounced once, and rolled to a stop against the wreckage of the front steps.
He raised a hand weakly. “Still… working on it.”
Lena ground her teeth. “You’re not supposed to be working on it yet.”
The cocoon lurched toward him, dragging itself forward with both massive arms now, silk grinding against stone and earth. The pressure in the air intensified, reality thinning further, like a membrane stretched too tight.
Lena stopped retreating.
She reached into her jacket, not for a tool or weapon, but for her phone.
Her hands were shaking, not with fear, but frustration.
She glanced once at the tall man as the creature’s shadow swallowed him again.
“Hold,” she muttered, more hope than command.
Then she turned away from the horror unfolding behind her and jabbed the call button.
***
The diner was quiet in the way only late nights could be.
Grease hissed softly on the flat-top grill. A battered old speaker mounted above the prep counter played music low and tinny, something classic, guitar-heavy, worn smooth by decades of repetition. The man at the grill flipped a burger with one hand while the other rested casually on the counter, fingers tapping in time with the song.
He wore an apron stained beyond salvation and moved with the easy competence of someone who had done this exact motion tens of thousands of times.
The phone in his pocket vibrated.
He glanced at it, frowned faintly, then reached over and turned the music down with his elbow. The song cut off mid-chorus.
He flipped the burger once more before answering.
“Yeah?” he said mildly. “What’s up?”
***
“WE NEED AUTHORIZATION. NOW.”
Lena’s voice came through the phone sharp, breathless, edged with strain. In the background, something massive hit something else with a wet, bone-crushing sound, followed by a distant, muffled voice remarking, almost politely, “Ow. That was definitely a kidney.”
The man at the grill lifted the bun, checked the toast, and hummed.
“Okay,” he said calmly. “For what?”
“For this,” Lena shouted, dodging sideways as the ground buckled behind her. “For the anomaly. He’s getting rag-dolled.”
The man slid the burger onto the bun, added cheese with precise placement. “That’s kind of his thing.”
“Not like this!” Lena barked. “This is not a soft engagement. This thing is anchored. It’s angry. It’s destabilizing the area.”
He reached for a squeeze bottle. “Is he still in one piece?”
There was a pause as Lena glanced back.
The tall man was currently being used as a blunt instrument, slammed repeatedly into the ground hard enough that each impact left a shallow crater filled with blood and pulverized dirt. He waved weakly in her direction as he passed through her line of sight.
“Define ‘piece,’” Lena snapped. “Gorchov is bleeding into the lawn.”
The man chuckled softly. “Sounds fine.”
“NO, it does not sound fine,” she yelled. “You need to authorize him to use it.”
The man paused, finally, hand hovering over the condiments. “Already?”
“Yes, already,” she shot back. “This is not a drill. The breach is wider than predicted, the remnant’s fused to something it shouldn’t be, and it’s pulling mass from underneath the structure. This is not a babysitting job anymore.”
He sighed, flipping the burger back onto the grill for just a second longer. “You always say that.”
Behind Lena, the cocoon shrieked, not a sound, but a vibration that made the air tremble and the trees shudder. Gorchov disappeared beneath it entirely, dragged halfway into the silk as it tried to absorb him, his voice muffled but still annoyingly conversational.
“I think it’s… trying to keep me,” he said.
Lena clenched her fist. “You hear that?”
“I hear a lot of things,” the man replied. “Mostly grease popping.”
She laughed, a short, hysterical sound. “You’re not here. You don’t see this.”
“I’ve seen worse,” he said easily.
“You always say that too!”
He shrugged, though she couldn’t see it. “Statistics are on my side.”
She took a step back as the cocoon’s massive arm slammed down inches from her, the ground splitting open, black silk writhing closer, reaching.
“Listen to me,” Lena said, voice dropping, urgency cutting through her anger. “If he doesn’t get authorization, this thing is going to escalate. It’s already violating containment assumptions. If it adapts-”
“-then you adapt,” the man finished, finally biting into a fry and chewing thoughtfully.
“That’s not how this works!”
“That’s exactly how this works.”
She dragged a hand through her hair, blood smearing across her fingers. “You said we weren’t doing that anymore.”
“I said most of the time.”
Behind her, Gorchov’s arm burst free of the silk, elbow bending the wrong way before snapping back into place as he forced himself upright inside the cocoon’s grasp.
“Lena,” he called, voice echoing strangely from within the mass. “I’m starting to think it doesn’t like me.”
She didn’t look away from the phone. “I am begging you.”
The man set the burger aside, wiped his hands on a towel, and leaned against the counter.
“Why can’t you help him?” he asked mildly.
“Because I can’t,” she shouted. “You know I can’t. Not like this. Not without clearance.”
A long pause.
The grill hissed.
Somewhere in the diner, a coffee pot clicked as it finished brewing.
“And if I say no?” he asked.
Lena swallowed hard, eyes locked on the cocoon as it reared back, silk stretching, preparing to slam Gorchov again, harder this time.
“Then he’s going to push himself too far,” she said. “And if that happens-”
She didn’t finish the sentence.
She didn’t need to.
The man was quiet for a moment longer than before.
Finally, Lena screamed into the phone, voice raw, cracking with desperation and fury.
“WE NEED AUTHORIZATION TO USE IT. RIGHT. NOW.”
***
The man at the grill flipped the buns.
Golden-brown. Even. Perfectly timed.
He set them aside, reached for another pair, and spoke without any urgency at all.
“Tell him to make the call.”
Lena stared at her phone like it had personally betrayed her.
“What?”
“I can’t give authorization through you,” the boss continued, already buttering the next bun.
“Has to come from him.”
Behind her, the cocoon slammed Gorchov into the ground again.
The sound was obscene, wet, heavy, final-sounding in a way that meant absolutely nothing to him and everything to the terrain.
Blood sprayed in a fan that dotted the side of Lena’s leg.
Gorchov coughed, something loose rattling in his chest. “I think… something important just relocated.”
Lena pressed the phone harder to her ear. “He is not in a position to do that.”
The boss hummed. “Sounds like a positioning issue.”
She spun in place, pacing a tight circle as the cocoon dragged itself another foot closer, silk rippling angrily, massive arms working with impatient violence.
“You want him,” she said, enunciating every word, “to stop getting used as a mallet and politely ask you for authorization?”
“That would be the ideal sequence, yes,” the boss replied.
She barked a laugh. “Are you serious right now?”
He shrugged, even though she couldn’t see it. “Rules are rules.”
“YOU WROTE THE RULES.”
“And yet,” he said pleasantly, “they remain rules.”
Another slam. Louder this time. The ground actually buckled, collapsing inward under the repeated impacts. Gorchov disappeared into the dirt again, dragged halfway under by the cocoon’s arm.
“Lena,” his voice came faintly from somewhere below ground level, “I’m beginning to suspect this thing doesn’t respect personal boundaries.”
She clenched her jaw so hard it hurt. “You hear that? He’s underground.”
“Mmh,” the boss replied. “Underground is still within cell coverage. Usually.”
She stared at the cocoon, then at her phone, then back at the cocoon.
“This is insane,” she hissed. “You know damn well why we don’t do this mid-engagement.”
“I know exactly why,” the boss said. “Which is why I’m not authorizing it mid-engagement.”
He flipped another bun.
Sizzle. Hiss. The smell of toasted bread filled the diner.
“If he wants authorization,” the boss continued, “he needs to request it himself.”
Lena’s voice dropped, tight and furious. “If he disengages long enough to do that, this thing is going to tear him in half.”
There was a pause on the line.
Not concern.
Consideration.
“Then,” the boss said calmly, “I recommend he multitask.”
She stared at nothing, mouth open.
“Multitask,” she repeated.
“Yes.”
Another wet WHAM echoed behind her as Gorchov was yanked free of the ground and flung bodily into the remains of the foundation.
Stone shattered. His body folded around the impact, spine bending like a broken ruler.
He groaned. “I believe… that was the house.”
Lena screamed into the phone. “YOU ARE UNBELIEVABLE.”
The boss chuckled softly. “You’re the one who said this was off-protocol.”
She dragged a hand down her face, blood smearing across her cheek. “You know what happens if he uses it without authorization.”
“Yes.”
“Because,” he interrupted gently, “this isn’t about what happens to the anomaly.”
She froze.
The cocoon shifted, silk tightening, the embedded human limbs twitching in agitated anticipation. The pressure in the air deepened, reality stretching thinner, like a membrane about to tear.
Lena swallowed. “Then what is it about?”
The boss took a moment to flip the burgers.
“Whether he’s still capable of making the call,” he said.
Her grip tightened on the phone.
Another slam. Gorchov skidded across the ground, leaving a dark, glossy smear behind him. He rolled once, twice, then came to rest face-up, chest caved in, blood bubbling at his lips.
He lifted a hand weakly.
“For the record… I would also prefer authorization.”
Lena snapped her head toward him.
“Can you make the call?”
He blinked at her, eyes unfocused for a second, then sharpened.
“Yes.”
The cocoon reared back, massive arm lifting, poised to bring him down again.
“NOW,” Lena shouted.
The boss’s voice remained infuriatingly calm. “You better get him on the call,” he said. “If you want me to give Gorchov authorization.”
She ended the call without another word.
The phone lowered slowly from her ear.
She looked at the cocoon.
At the ruined house.
At Gorchov, broken but very much conscious, blood-soaked and smiling faintly like this was all a minor inconvenience.
“You heard him,” she said flatly. “You have to ask.”
Gorchov coughed, spat blood into the dirt, and nodded. “Of course I do.”
The cocoon’s arm began to descend.
He raised his hand, not in defense, but in greeting, and reached shakily for his phone.
“Hold on,” he muttered. “I’m dialing.”
The arm slammed down.
The ground erupted.
