Chapter 26: The Lab Infiltration - Part 2
The Upside Down breathed.
That's the only way to describe it—walls pulsing in rhythm, vines contracting and expanding, the whole dimension alive with organic wrongness.
My night vision goggles turned everything sickly green, but they let me see. The others stumbled blind in darkness broken only by faint bioluminescence from the vines.
"Stay close," I said. "Don't touch the vines if you can avoid them. Don't breathe deep—the spores will make you sick."
Jonathan already coughing, hand over mouth. Nancy pulled her shirt collar up as makeshift filter. Hopper moved with grim determination.
We emerged from the ruined lab into what should have been parking lot. Instead: cracked asphalt swallowed by vines, cars overturned and rotted, ash falling like toxic snow.
"Which direction?" Hopper demanded.
"East. Castle Byers is two miles that way." I pointed into the darkness. "Barb's at Lover's Lake, northeast about three miles. We split up when we're halfway."
"Split up in this?" Nancy gestured at the nightmare landscape. "That's suicide."
"Staying together means only saving one of them. We split or we leave someone to die."
She absorbed this. "Then we split."
"Good." I started moving, bat ready, Fight Master instincts on high alert.
Every shadow could hide threats. Every sound could be the Demogorgon. The dimension itself felt hostile—air too thick, gravity slightly wrong, every sense screaming danger.
We moved through decayed Hawkins. Passed the rotted husk of the library—walls collapsed, books turned to mulch. The hardware store reduced to twisted metal and broken glass. Melvald's General Store where Joyce worked, now a skeletal shell.
"This is our town," Jonathan whispered. "Hawkins. But dead."
"Mirror dimension. Reflection of our world but twisted by whatever lives here." I kept scanning with the NVGs. "The Demogorgon shaped this place. Turned it into hunting ground."
"Where is it?" Hopper asked. "The monster."
"Unknown. Could be anywhere. El said it hunts by blood and sound." I gestured at my bleeding shoulder. "Which means I'm a walking target. Stay alert."
We pressed deeper into the nightmare.
The trees here had died years ago—skeletal branches wrapped in vines, roots bursting through ground like grasping fingers. Everything covered in the same gray ash that drifted constantly, reducing visibility to fifty feet even with NVGs.
Jonathan's coughing got worse. "Can't... can't breathe right..."
"Spores," I said. "Dimensional contamination. Your body's rejecting it. Try to filter the air through your shirt."
He did, but the coughing continued. Hopper supported him, half-carrying the kid forward.
Nancy stayed close to me, rifle ready, finger off trigger but prepared.
"How do you know this?" she asked quietly. "About the spores, the monster, the dimension's structure."
Because I watched it on TV. Because I studied every episode, memorized every detail, prepared for this exact scenario.
"Pattern analysis. Witness accounts. El's descriptions." I pointed at her rifle. "Safety off but finger outside the trigger guard. If something comes, you'll need to fire fast but controlled."
She adjusted her grip. "You're different here. More... military."
"Context appropriate. This isn't high school. This is combat."
A sound echoed through the darkness—distant clicking, rhythmic and wrong.
We froze.
"What was that?" Hopper breathed.
"Demogorgon. Maybe half a mile away. Moving parallel to us." Fight Master analyzing the acoustics, calculating direction and distance. "Keep moving but quieter."
We crept forward. Every footstep deliberate. Every breath controlled.
The clicking faded. Came back from different direction. Circling.
It knows we're here. Hunting us. Waiting for the right moment.
My shoulder throbbed where the bullet grazed. Blood still dripping. Each drop a beacon in the darkness.
"Steve," Nancy whispered. "Your shoulder—"
"I know. Can't stop the bleeding without stopping to bandage it. We don't have time."
"But if it's tracking blood—"
"Then I'm bait. Which means you three stay behind me and let me draw it away if it attacks."
"That's insane."
"That's tactics."
We reached the split point—rusted road sign marking the intersection where our paths diverged. Castle Byers east. Lover's Lake northeast.
"This is where we separate," I said. "Nancy, Hopper—you two take Barb extraction. Jonathan comes with me for Will. His brother, his responsibility."
"I should go with Nancy," Hopper argued. "She needs backup more than you."
"You need someone who knows the lake terrain. Nancy's been there dozens of times. You haven't." I met his eyes. "Trust me. This is the right split."
Hopper hesitated, then nodded. "Radio check in ten minutes. If we don't hear from you—"
"Assume the worst and complete your mission anyway. Will and Barb are the priority. We're expendable."
"Speak for yourself," Nancy muttered.
I handed her the compass. "Points to danger. If the Demogorgon approaches, you'll know. Give you maybe thirty seconds warning."
She took it, fingers wrapping around the brass case. "How does it—"
"Doesn't matter. Just trust it."
"What about you? If you don't have the warning—"
"I've got instincts. And this." I hefted the nail-wrapped bat. "Been training for three years. I'll manage."
Hopper checked his watch. "Forty-five minutes to extraction. Then we rally back here for the return to the gate. Everyone clear?"
"Clear," we said in unison.
Hopper and Nancy moved northeast toward Lover's Lake. Disappeared into the ash-choked darkness.
Jonathan and I turned east. Toward Castle Byers. Toward his little brother hiding in a rotted fort, singing to stay brave.
"You really think he's alive?" Jonathan asked, voice cracking.
"Yeah. El was certain. And I trust her."
"Even if he is, we're walking through hell to find him. What if we don't make it back?"
Then I failed. Then three years of preparation meant nothing. Then everyone dies and the timeline collapses and the Mind Flayer wins.
"We make it back," I said instead. "Because failure isn't an option."
We walked into darkness.
The clicking returned—closer now, deliberate. Stalking.
My Fight Master instincts screamed warning. Every shadow potential threat. Every sound possible attack vector.
"Jonathan. When I say run, you run. Straight toward Castle Byers. Don't stop, don't look back. Find Will. Get him to the weak point. Push him through."
"What about you?"
"I'll handle the Demogorgon."
"Handle it? Steve, that thing is—"
"Killable. It dies like anything else. Just have to hit it hard enough in the right place."
The clicking stopped.
Silence absolute. Even the vines seemed to hold still.
It's here. Close. Hunting.
I spun, NVGs scanning the ruins around us.
There—fifty feet away, between collapsed buildings. Shape moving. Seven feet tall, hunched, eyeless face turning toward us.
The Demogorgon.
It opened its face—petals of flesh peeling back to reveal rows of teeth, throat glowing faintly.
It shrieked.
"RUN!" I shoved Jonathan forward. "Castle Byers! Now!"
He ran.
The Demogorgon charged.
Fight Master engaged fully. Time dilated. Threat assessment complete.
Creature mass approximately 300 pounds. Speed exceeds human maximum by 40%. Strength sufficient to tear through walls. Face opens to 12-inch diameter when attacking. That's the vulnerable point.
I stood my ground. Bat ready. Bleeding shoulder broadcasting my location like a beacon.
"Come on," I whispered. "You want blood? Come get it."
The monster closed the distance in seconds.
I swung.
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