The Thingy

I glared across the room, greeted by the eyes of my fellow outpost crew. Out of the four of us in that room, one or more wasn't who they said they were. The cold, Antarctic wind outside was a chilling reminder that we were alone. Alone with an unstoppable force we couldn't completely understand, and had every intention of taking us over one by one.
It's been twelve months since me and the boys were dropped off by the last helicopter. In the most remote part of the world, Antarctica, we had no connection to the internet whatsoever, so we therefore couldn't be kept up to date on the latest trends. Who's our current president? Which celebrity passed away this year? What memes have been born? These are all questions we wouldn't know the answers to for another month, when we make it back to the mainland... at least, that was the plan. Before that "thing" showed up.
It started a week ago. During the night hours, some giant rock or whatever crashed into our radar room, destroying whatever possible contact we could've had with the outside world. After we hosed down the destroyed room and patched it up, we found some strange, orange goop oozing out of one of the meteorite's pores. One of the outpost crew members, oddly enough, felt compelled to stick his finger in it and lap it up.
"Shit's good, my dudes" he casually stated. Suddenly, he collapsed to the floor and began convulsing violently. His body began to rapidly mutate, hands and arms forming out of every part of his body, many of his limbs stretching in ways they weren't supposed to.
"B-b-BONE HURTING JUICE!" was all his five mouths could spit out before he exploded into an orange, gory spectacle. I should've tried shielding myself. We all should've. But no. The orange goop got all over us, and some presumably got in our mouths. Out of the twenty of us in that room at the time, a decent percentage were infected.
What complexed us the most was what that man said: "Bone hurting juice". None of us knew what the hell that meant, but maybe he could've been referring to what he just lapped up? None of us realized it at the time, but this was the first symptom of "its" presence.
The first sign something was off, from my point of view, was when I was hanging out with a couple of my friends, Bennings and Fuchs, in the lounge room.
"Hey," Fuchs blurted out suddenly. "I'm gonna go grab a Budweiser."
"Yeah," Bennings responded. "So you can crack open a cold one with the bois?"
We both gave Bennings a confused look. He eagerly stared at both of us, almost as if he was expecting us to laugh.
"Erm," said Fuchs. "What were you referencing, man?"
Bennings rolled his eyes and leapt on top of the nearby night stand, crouching and entering a chicken stance.
"WhAt weRe yoU reFeReNCinG MaN?" He shrieked, his speech noticeably distorted and inhuman. Fuchs and I were taken aback by this, and we both looked at each other, not sure how to react. Bennings, stumbling, fell off the night stand and landed in front of us with a crash. His eyes were bulging out of their sockets, and he looked as... alien as the thing that the guy who ate the orange goop became.
"You've gotta be fucking kidding," Fuchs said, backing away with me in fear.
What was left of Bennings was a writhing mass of flesh, spitting out occasional references to things we didn't understand. We had to leave him in that room, and I still don't know what happened to him after we left.
The following week was a nightmare. Left and right, my fellow outpost members were turning into these "things", and none of us knew what was happening for a while. Our lead scientist, Blair, eventually did find out what was happening four days after the initial incident, and what we were told wasn't good. People were being infected by what he referred to as "cancer", and whoever was infected became controlled by an urge to spread this cancer to others. Whoever was infected didn't show signs of it until this disease completely assimilated their cells, and what was left of them wasn't in any way human.
Blair was our only hope in finding a way to stop the spread, but it was already too late. Instead of mutating, he began a violent rampage in an attempt to stop us "meme-loving fucks." We unfortunately had to knock him out and lock him in a shed outside, killing any chance of him helping us.
After Windows, our only chef, offered us "covfefe" with a side of "Szechuan sauce", the remaining fourteen of us came to the realization that if we were being fed this cancer, we'd all be infected. Windows' violent explosion into orange goop confirmed our suspicions. Mac was better anyways. 
Ten of us succumbed to the cancer within the next three days. With only four of us left, we had to do something drastic.
And here we are. Three of my outpost mates sat at different seats in the small room, glaring at each other as I held the flamethrower in front of the four petri dishes filled with our blood, a metal spork in my other hand.
"You sure we can trust you, Mac?" Childs asked.
"If I was infected, I wouldn't want to torch the people I could spread the disease to," I responded, heating up the spork with the flamethrower's weaker settings. "If Blair's notes are correct, a 'thing's' blood reacts violently to intense heat."
Clark snickered.
"If we wanted to kill the cancer, we could just have it listen to my fire mixtape."
We all turned our attention to Clark. Without hesitation, I blasted him with a long burst from the flamethrower. His inhuman screams were louder than the crackling of the flames, and he leapt through a nearby window, collapsing in the snow and exploding into that familiar orange goop. We didn't say anything and continued with the interrogation. Garry grabbed a couple pieces of plywood and started covering up the broken window.
"Alright," I continued. "Let's confirm what I already know." I dipped the heated spork into the petri dish with my blood in it. No reaction other than a slight sizzle.
"So," Childs says. "You're a normie, like us."
I almost blasted him but, unlike all of the other references, this was one that I got. I trusted Childs.
"That makes one of us," I said, heating the spork up again and dipping it in Childs' petri dish. No reaction. Now on to Garry's petri dish. Once again, no reaction.
"Whew," Garry sighed. "#Blessed."
A couple beats pass, and Childs and I turn our attention to Garry. We both came to the horrible realization that this test isn't working as his whole body contorts into another horrible creature. I unleash the flamethrower's power on him.
"pretty lit tbh fam" he screeches, dying. Only Childs and I remain. Like the dumbass that I am, I accidentally hit one of the posts holding the roof up while torching Garry, and the whole base is now on fire.
"Well," Childs started. "What now?"
"We wait."
"For what?"
"For the Boss Baby to come by and help us finish our 3AM fidget spinner challenge."
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