The Sunken City Trilogy

by Phil Williams

  The monstrous shape burst across the end of the tunnel and continued, gone in a flash.

  Barton frowned as the sound of the monster died down. It was replaced by footsteps ahead, and the chatter of two men.

  “Told you, just a sickle,” one of them said.

  “No, I’ve still got a reading. To the right.”

  Barton braced himself again; the two men stepped into view at the end of the tunnel. One of them had what looked like a radar dish out in front of him. The other, more tense in posture, had both hands on a pistol held at his side. One thick, one thin. The one with the scanner lowered it and waved towards Barton.

  “There he is!” he said. “Hey, you there! We’re here to help.”

  Barton looked back the way he’d come, then towards the men. They were approaching him.

  “Christ, are you okay?” the thinner one asked, gawking at Barton’s injuries.

  The glo was fading. Barton’s focus was growing weaker, the sounds less clear. Now that he’d been reminded of his state, and seen two ordinary people from the ordinary world above, all his strength and resolve seemed to be fading. He heard himself murmur, “My daughter...”

  “Yeah, we’re getting them all out, don’t you worry,” one of the men assured him.

  Barton shook his head. They wanted to stop him. To take him out. He tried to move away from them but swayed. One of the men shouted something and he lashed out. Suddenly they were both on top of him, trying to hold him still. He threw a punch that connected, but it wasn’t enough. They were swearing, flapping at him as he broke free. He made it two paces, maybe more, but the effort made his head spin. He fell to the side, hand on a wall to support himself. Then he slumped forward, crashing into the floor. As his consciousness faded, he heard one of them approaching. “Christ, we need a medic.”

  Holly heard a commotion somewhere ahead and paused. If those were shouts, her daughter might be in trouble. Or it might be something else, drawing her into danger. She started to skirt the sound, through tunnels that seemed to run parallel, without getting too close. She listened carefully for more.

  At a doorway that ran towards the noise, she stopped and found a drop, a ledge looking over a brick courtyard below. There was a sound below like a pig sniffing for truffles. A large creature shuffling about. She leant into the room, looked down and immediately regretted the decision.

  A creature that looked like a four-foot hairless man with spiky bones exposed along the length of his spine was crouched over something else; a heap of gore and fur that might once have been a creature but that was, in this instant, nothing more than a bloody mess. It was still moving. A pawed foot twitched and a round eye, part of what must have been its head, looked fearfully up towards her. The thing crouching over it was feeding, its snout rooting into flesh, splashing blood to the sides.

  A hand clamped over Holly’s face and pulled her back, held her tightly enough that her scream was muffled. A man’s voice whispered, “Best not to disturb it, come.”

  He frog-marched her down the tunnel without removing his hand. She did as he bid, stiffly walking, eyes ahead. They reached a corner and he said, “I’m going to let you go. Can you be cool?”

  She nodded.

  He released her and she jumped away and turned back in one motion. Her index finger was up and pointing, ready to scold. Casaria’s usual charm was somewhat diminished by the blood caking half his head and shirt. Still, when she saw his smile Holly found herself conflicted, halfway between fear and thankfulness.

  “Where’s Pax?” he asked.

  Holly resisted answering, with questions of her own. “Who are you? What happened to you?”

  “I’m here to help,” he said, then repeated, “Where’s Pax?”

  Guilt suddenly rolled over Holly and she threw her hands up, despairing. “I don’t know! I don’t know where I am, or where anyone else is – I left my daughter, I wanted to help – but I left her, oh God, I’m a terrible person –”

  “All right, all right.” Casaria closed his eyes. “Let’s get you out of here, at least. Christ.”

  He gestured for her to follow, with a dirtily bandaged hand, and walked ahead. She rushed to his heel as he continued without looking back, barely seeming to register her presence. He knew these corridors, she could see. She asked, “What are you doing down here?”

  “Came to save you, didn’t I?” he replied, though he hardly sounded happy about it. “When did you lose the others?”

  “Ages ago. I left markings in the walls, but they disappeared.”

  Casaria hummed, not surprised.

  “There are things down here,” Holly told him. “Terrible things, lots of them. We need to be very careful.”

  “Sure. We don’t have far to go.”

  “Thank God.”

  “Casaria?” A portly man in a tatty suit plodded into view, low on breath, unsurprisingly considering the state of him. A young fellow in a leather jacket appeared behind him, looking miserable. “You found another one!” The bigger man hurried towards them, waving his free hand; Holly saw he had a pistol in the other. She took a step behind Casaria for cover. The man huffed, looking at his gun, “Oh, don’t mind this, ma’am, it’s for your protection. Casaria, what were you thinking, coming down here?”

  “Doing your job for you, evidently,” Casaria said. “Now you can take her back to the surface and I can keep going.”

  “Absolutely not. You need to get out of here, now. You’re in enough trouble as it is. What happened to your face?”

  Holly frowned at Casaria, not liking where this was going. She reflected that the filthy bandaged hand and bloody face might have been clues as to him being bad news.

  “Worry about it later,” Casaria said. “Did you bring the weed, Landon?”

  Holly was about to exclaim in shock; none of them looked like pot-heads. Maybe the younger one. But Landon thrust his hands onto his hips, puffing himself up, and said, “You’re out of your mind if you thought Mathers would even entertain the idea.”

  Casaria gaped at him. “They’re in the heart of the thing. And I have something that can help. You want them to just outrun it?”

  “You couldn’t have seriously thought it was an option,” the leather jacket sneered. “Even if we knew what the machine did, why would we risk damaging the praelucente?”

  “Because we need to!” Casaria snapped, marching towards him with his finger stiffly pointing. The young man retreated, fumbling for his gun, a moment from lifting it.

  Landon stepped between them. “You need to leave.”

  “So you can do what? Create a distraction by wobbling your lard?”

  “We already found a man, we’re pulling him out. Given his state, I’d say it’s a big gamble that the others are even still alive.”

  “They are!” Holly blurted out. “My daughter – and the girl. You have to find them!”

  All three men turned to her. Their expressions said her desperation was clear.

  “This is a mess,” Landon said.

  “Take her out of here,” Casaria said, “and give me your gun.”

  Landon eyed him. His hesitation was enough for Casaria to take charge. He ripped the pistol from Landon’s hands and turned back the way he had come. Landon watched and didn’t protest. He turned to the young man and, in an attempt to save face, snapped, “Go with him, I’ll take care of the others.”

  The leather jacket hesitated, too, but rushed after Casaria.

  “This way, ma’am,” Landon said, holding a thick arm up. She followed, with one final look back towards Casaria. Landon’s laboured breath got heavier as he walked, from discomfort, it seemed, as well as poor health.

  “Will they be okay?” Holly asked. He did not reply.

  They turned a corner to where Barton was lying. Landon started, “You can help me –”

  Holly shot ahead with a cry, running to her husband’s side. “Diz!”

  23

  Pax and Grace pressed themselves up agai
nst the far wall as more light seeped through the cracks around the door. Something thumped against it, like an enormous beast knocking to get in.

  “What are we going to do?” Grace whispered.

  Pax was out of ideas. The monstrous electric creature was filling the tunnel beyond their only exit. Even if they could get past it, there were creatures surrounding the whole thing. Had they been in its inner circle ever since she killed the sickle? Had they run the wrong way, and cut a path towards the inevitable ever since?

  The door banged again, shaking on its hinges. Sparks of electricity flickered through.

  “It’s not going to hold,” Grace said.

  “It’ll hold,” Pax told her. “It has to.”

  She knew it wouldn’t, staring at the shaking door. And no one was coming to save them. The only option was for one of them to save the other.

  A plaintive howl rolled past Casaria and Gumg.

  “We’ve saved two people, isn’t that enough?” Gumg said, struggling to keep pace as Casaria strode ahead. Casaria did not reply. “We can get all the information we need from her, leave the others down here, deal with the aftermath when the horde has moved on.”

  Casaria kept his eyes ahead, only walking faster.

  Gumg broke into a trot to catch up. “He had this on him, might interest you.” Casaria gave Gumg a look as the younger man pulled a bag from his pocket. They stopped. Casaria stared at the glowing sack of mud. He reached, but Gumg dropped back, keeping it out of range. “Government property, now. You want to see what this is capable of, we take it back to the Ministry.”

  “You’re raising your own bar in stupidity. We need that right now,” Casaria said. “Where did you even get it? Who had it?”

  “The other one we found. Barton, I guess. Don’t know what he was up to but if you’d seen the state of him. Man, you’re not using your head. This girl isn’t worth losing your job over. Or worse.” Casaria raised a fist, but Gumg was ready. His pistol was up, and though he took a fearful step back, he was resolute. “I’m doing you a favour. Think about it. You’re not following protocol, breaking half a dozen rules with no upside for the Ministry. With this, with that machine, you can actually get ahead. Just play ball. What’s this girl worth?”

  Casaria turned away again; there was no time to argue. “We need to keep moving.”

  The sounds of the myriad creatures were getting closer.

  “I oughta leave you down here with them!” Gumg called out. He could not, though, and Casaria knew it. The younger man rushed after him, but was not giving up. He said, “We can go as far as the break line. Hit a few of the creatures and give you an idea of how bad this is. But that’s it. Then you have to admit it’s over, turn back. Even if we could get them out, what’d be the point? The Ministry won’t let them walk away.”

  Casaria gave him a sideways look. He wasn’t sure, now, if he had an answer himself. Gumg was right. Saving Pax, and trying to free her, could spell the end of his career. It would lead to questioning and imprisonment, at best. In all likelihood, she would have to disappear. The thought of her ever joining the Ministry, after what she’d already done, was impossible. And even if she escaped their wrath, what then? She’d betrayed him from the start, and she was dangerous to the Sunken City. What use was she? Why did he care?

  He shook the thoughts from his head. He cared precisely because she didn’t. She’d defied the Ministry. And she’d reached out to him for help. He cared because this was his domain, and he was the sheriff down here. He wasn’t going to let these monsters, or Ministry bullshit, get in the way of him doing his job and saving her. He’d figure the rest out later.

  Turning another corner, they were both struck momentarily still by a tremendous fluttering, as though a cluster of bats had just taken flight. The noise grew louder, rapidly approaching.

  “What is that?” Gumg asked.

  “You should know,” Casaria replied, readying both hands on the pistol.

  Gumg cleared his throat before venturing a guess. “Wormbirds.”

  They flew into the tunnel, a flock of skeletal creatures with jagged, leathery wings. They fanned out across the ceiling, knocking into each other, ferociously swarming towards the men. Their curved bone-like beaks snapped with a war cry sharper than a pack of dogs barking.

  Casaria stood his ground and started shooting, the pistol erupting in electric blasts that disappeared into the flock with explosions of feather and bone. Gumg looked over his shoulder, ready to run. Casaria shouted, “Stand your ground!”

  Gumg did as he was told and started shooting too.

  There were dozens of them, spread too wide for each shot to catch more than one or two at a time. As they got closer, the dark flock’s detail became more apparent, white eyes flashing and tendrils dangling from their bellies, their noise roaring into a din. Gumg let out his own escalating shout of defiance. When the flock flapped within a few metres of them, Casaria saw Gumg’s foot shift, the young man ready to run. Casaria turned his gun. One quick blast to the younger man’s knee.

  Gumg looked up in disbelief, more shocked by the betrayal than the pain. His leg was all but severed below the knee as he crumpled to the floor, mouth dumbly open, asking why? Casaria snatched at his pocket to take the bag of electric weed and leapt out of the way as the birds descended.

  Gumg screamed under the attack. The wormbirds covered him, in a formidable cluster, too many for Gumg’s final few shots and flapping hands to fend off. Their wings enveloped him, beaks pecking him into submission with sharp jabs. As their talons gripped his flesh and they settled, the belly tendrils stretched towards him. More and more piled onto Gumg, until he was completely hidden under the writhing mass. The whole flock was united, their flapping wings cloaking the egg-laying taking place underneath.

  Casaria adjusted the setting on his gun and aimed down at the mass. They were all so concentrated now, the task was easy. Three shots of the wider, short-range charge and the mass was obliterated.

  The pile of bodies smouldered on the floor, the stench of burnt flesh filling the tunnel. A few wings flapped up and down for a moment, and one or two of the birds fled back down the tunnel, having survived the final scorching.

  Casaria stepped over the mangled remains and continued, giving the carnage no more than a cursory glance. As he walked, he threaded the pistol through his belt and lifted the Fae device, looking for a way to open it and fit the weed inside.

  Holly’s heart lifted as they broke free of the noxious underground, with Barton dragged between her and Landon. The fresh air filled her lungs as Landon needlessly helped her up the steps, out into a grotty back alley. They laid Barton down, groaning, on the concrete. Holly took in the surroundings. There was no one else there. An army of police cars and ambulances would have been nice. Fire trucks even, blaring red and blue lights and horns. Instead she had a man who looked like an overweight office worker with a beat-up saloon car parked beyond some overflowing steel bins.

  “Where’s the help?” Holly demanded. “My daughter is still down there, my husband is in” – she threw a frantic arm towards the bloodied, swollen mess of Barton – “this state. And you’re all we have?”

  “We’ll take you back to the office,” Landon mumbled, putting even less effort into talking than he had into carrying Barton. “He’ll get the attention he needs. Help me lift him.”

  “He’ll get help in an office?” Holly said, incredulous. Landon didn’t appear to listen, puffing over to the vehicle and opening a door. “And the others? Are you going back down there?”

  “It’s under control,” he said.

  Holly stomped a foot. “My daughter is trapped down there. With monsters chasing her. Chasing her. If this is your department then you must go down there and help. Understood?”

  Landon scratched the back of his head. “I can’t leave you.”

  “I’m fine, as you can very well see. And I can keep myself more than occupied by trying to tackle whatever horror has befallen my
husband. You, however, can help below, can’t you?”

  Landon grunted, then nodded. “Okay. Yes. Of course. After we get him into the car.”

  She watched him as though searching his face for some guarantee that he would help, and in return he gave her a weak smile. She sighed and did as she was asked. Together, they lifted Barton and heaved him, with all their combined strength, up onto the back seat. As Holly got in and dragged her husband further in, his blood smearing across the leather upholstery, she fussed, “This is highly unorthodox. An ambulance would be more appropriate.”

  “We’ve got the best doctors in the city,” Landon assured her. He closed the door behind them. Holly took Barton’s head on her lap and scanned him up and down, as Landon took something from the trunk of the car. Some of Barton’s wounds, Holly could see, had already been treated, with stitches and dirty bandages covering them. Many were fresh, though; cuts and bruises over his upper body. His unthinkably distorted ankle. She tore a length of her t-shirt off and tried to reach the ghastly thing. At least tying it off might help. She paused and looked through the window. Landon moved as slowly as physically possible, back into the maze entrance, a long gun hanging by his side now.

  She was still staring when a tiny lady dropped onto the window in front of her. Holly fell back in surprise, then scrambled for the other door. She grabbed at the handle but it wouldn’t open. There was no button to unlock it. She looked to the front. A grid of metal separated her from the driver’s area, like the rear of a police car. Spinning back desperately, she found the tiny lady waving, her voice barely audible through the window. “I’m taking out the glass!”

  A small firecrack sounded: a pistol blast that shattered the glass in front of the fairy. Holly froze in fear and awe as she watched Letty hover into the car, pistol in her hand. Her heart pounding in her ears, it took Holly a moment to acknowledge the fairy’s words.