The Aberration by Bard Constantine

for the other, but Fran beat him to it.  She quickly cocked it and peered down the barrel. 
    “What are you waiting for?”  Drake’s voice rose in a girlish shriek.  “They’re coming right for us!” 
    The nickel plate on the .38 glinted dully in the reddish glow of the emergency lights.  Guy managed to duck as Drake screamed and pulled the trigger. 
    Time turned to jelly.
    The retorts were unnaturally loud in the hallway; drummers pounded the inside of his skull with furious glee in time to the flashes from the exploding muzzle.  Fran joined in with a wild yell, blindly squeezing off. 
    Most of the shots ricocheted off the floor, ceiling, and walls.  Only one of the Others staggered as a pair of bullets seemed to strike it almost by accident.  It rocked on its heels, refusing to fall.  Its comrades paused, hovering as though perplexed by the steaming wounds.  Their gangly limbs never stopped moving; they jerkily bobbed up and down like a flock of agitated buzzards.
    Guy rounded on Drake and Michael.  “Were you idiots aiming at anything ?  We don’t have enough rounds to waste!” 
    Michael pointed.  “What the hell?” 
    The wounded Other tilted its head back and opened its mouth; a yawning cavity that stretched far wider than it had a right to.  Wider and wider the mouth stretched as though searching for the shriek that would not arrive.
    Rats vomited in an unceasing torrent, impossibly huge for the orifice they spewed from.   As they disgorged, the Other sagged like a deflated balloon, a grisly sack of flesh that spilled out a river of vermin.  The rank stench of musty fur wafted ahead of them and assaulted Guy’s nostrils.  In seconds they filled the hallway; their squeaks little less than growls as they scurried forward, hundreds of furry bodies and long, naked tails advanced with gleaming eyes and fur stiffly upraised.
    Drake pointed his pistol as though it still had bullets inside.  “That’s just sick!”
    Guy waited until they were almost in the lab before unloading the shotgun.  Thunder shook the hallway; red pulp spattered the walls.  The remaining rats skidded fearfully before turning the way they came.
    Drake panted wordlessly as he continued to pull the trigger despite the vacant chambers.  Their empty clicks were the only sound besides the shrieks of the fleeing rats.
    The scene down the hall was disgustingly surreal.
    In shadows and hell-colored lighting, the endless stream of oversized rats swarmed the Others as they fled back into the stairway.  The entire hallway was alive, the frantic movements only emphasized by the silence of the Others as they were assailed.
    The rats attacked one another as well, one devouring the other in seconds.  With every conquest the victor swelled in size; soon rats the size of small dogs fought on the blood-slicked floor.  Guy dug clips from his duffel bag and flung them backward.
    “Reload!  Quickly!”  He frantically discarded his empty shells and reloaded as the sounds of fighting vermin died down.
    The rat that remained was Rottweiler-sized.  Its red eyes gleamed wetly as it snarled.  The tail that lashed furiously was as thick as Guy’s arm.
    The sounds of clumsy reloading echoed behind him.  The rat seemed to sense it.  Without warning it shot forward, a dirty gray streak of matted fur and flashing teeth.  Despite the hail of bullets it barreled on, defiant even as it slipped on the bloody tiles and slid through the door.  The impact bowled them over; the entire lab was awash in the stink.
    Guy picked himself up as Fran screamed.  He placed a hand on her arm.  “It’s ok.  It’s finished.”
    “It’s still breathing…” She pointed the pistol, wavering in between edging forward and backing away.  “It’s still alive…”
    Looking at it only made it more horrific.  With its monstrous size it appeared almost alien.  Its legs scrabbled uselessly, dragging claws in chalkboard screams across the floor.  The