Whirlwind

by David Klass

  The guard holding my right arm begins trembling. He does his best to hide it, but he soon turns pale and starts breathing in gasps. I glance at the guard on my other side. He’s clutching a small crucifix.

  We reach the round door. Neither of them wants to touch its metal handle. I hear something stirring inside. Is it singing? No, it’s some kind of oscillating whisper.

  The guard on my left reaches out with the tips of two hesitant fingers and pulls the door open, and we enter.

  It’s a large and well-lighted chamber, about the size of an ice rink. But it’s not ice that glimmers under the bright lights. It’s water—shallow water, in a deeply recessed pit. The colonel has his own wading pool.

  Spigots are mounted on opposite sides, and twin streams of water arc out of them and splash down ten feet to the surface of the pool in a continuous liquid whisper.

  I look down into the pit expecting to see caimans or clouds of toothy piranhas, but it’s just clear water, empty as a bowl of broth.

  A narrow footbridge spans the pool. On the far side of that bridge I see the colonel. He’s now wearing plastic bags over his boots and a shower cap on his head.

  A dark figure stands behind him. I can’t make out the man’s features—he’s wearing a black mask.

  My two guards are holding their breath. Neither of them can take their terrified eyes from the glistening pool.

  The colonel utters a dismissive command, and the two guards bolt back out the door and slam it shut behind them.

  “Welcome,” the colonel says. “We can continue our conversation here without any disturbance. I guarantee you no one who knows of the existence of this room is likely to intrude, at least willingly.”

  “I saw your guards nearly piss their pants,” I tell him. “What the hell is down there? The creature from the black lagoon?”

  “Not a bad guess,” the colonel says with a chuckle. “I really can’t blame my guards. They grew up near the forest and the horror stories of childhood never fade.”

  I peer down into the pool. The surface eddies as if something invisible is swimming beneath. “Horror stories about what?” I ask. “Ghost fish?”

  “A horror that is not supernatural but is far beyond your imagination,” he assures me. “But we were discussing my plans for the Amazon. You were wrong about the rain forest being the lungs of the planet. That was a phrase popularized twenty years ago, but even the scientists of your time have already discredited it. Lots of oxygen is produced here, but so is plenty of carbon dioxide.”

  “Probably from all the fires you help start,” I suggest, straining to get a look at the dark figure behind the colonel. I’m pretty sure he’s wearing a black cowl. Is he a torturer or executioner? Perhaps he’s some kind of sadistic fish or animal trainer whose expertise involves unleashing whatever monstrosity swims in the pool below.

  “The Amazon plays a far more complex role than just being the lungs of the planet,” the colonel explains. “It’s more like a giant air conditioner, with a benign effect on global climate. It’s also a major repository of fresh water, which will become the most vital resource in the years ahead. And like the coral reefs that my son was so fond of, the Amazon is one of the earth’s irreplaceable breeding grounds. Its diversity is without parallel.”

  “So what happens when you destroy it?” I ask. “You switch off the air conditioner and dry up the fresh water?”

  The colonel shrugs. “The mathematics of forecasting environmental destruction over a millennium are beyond you. It will be easier for you to think of it this way: strange as it may sound, the planet has a consciousness.”

  I think back to the moment I held Firestorm in my hand, and felt the anger of the earth seething out from the mysterious gem. “I sort of know what you mean. But what does that have to do with the Amazon?”

  “Your father and Kidah are trying to awaken and enlist that consciousness in their cause—to create a partnership in order to defeat me. I won’t let that happen. Sure, the damage I’m inflicting on the Amazon will have detrimental effects a thousand years from now, but it’s also a blow aimed squarely at the meddling consciousness of nature itself. I’m making it back off, so that we humans can fashion our own destiny. None of which will affect your world in the slightest. In your lifetime, the climate changes won’t kill you. The dearth of fresh water won’t hurt the richest countries. Nor will you miss the variety of frogs and snakes and beetles in this wilderness. So even if I win, you personally have nothing to lose. Which brings us to the question at hand. What shall I do with you?” He lets the question hang in the tangy air.

  “I’m sure you’ve already decided.”

  “Not completely,” he admits. “To work things out, we need to come closer, metaphorically and literally. So, young Jack, why don’t you take a few steps onto that footbridge?”

  “Not till you tell me what’s in the water.”

  “I thought you might hesitate. Perhaps this will change your mind,” he says, and pulls the black hood off the man standing behind him.

  48

  It’s not a torturer. Nor an executioner.

  As the dark cowl comes off the immobile figure, long auburn hair cascades down. A pretty face looks back at me expressionlessly. Pale lips part but cannot speak. Two frightened hazel eyes plead for help. It’s P.J.—he’s hypnotized her or drugged her so that she can’t move, but I can tell she knows I’m there.

  “P.J.!” I cry out. “Are you okay?”

  “She’s fine,” the colonel assures me. “She struggled a bit, which made bringing her safely into this room rather difficult, so I restrained her for her own protection.”

  For a second I lose control and nearly try to jump across the pool at him. “Let her go, you spidery bastard, or I’ll rip your heart out, if you even have a heart.”

  He looks back at me, and places one hand behind P.J. “As a matter of fact, I do have a heart,” he informs me, “and it beats in pretty much the same rhythm as yours. The blood that flows through my veins is every bit as warm and red as your own. And there was a woman a thousand years from now whom I loved as much as you love this bright-eyed gamine, but she was taken away from me forever by your father and his so-called noble warriors.”

  The colonel’s voice remains soft, but his tone sharpens to a knifepoint. “And I had a son with that woman, whom I loved despite his many faults. The impetuousness of youth, unease at the weight of the crown, all these I understood and forgave. My son was also taken from me—he died a cruel death, falling from a great height into a molten furnace. I believe you know the details. So yes, I had a heart, as capable of love as your own, but you and your father have already ripped it out by its roots and I’m tempted right now to return the favor.”

  He grabs P.J. by the back of the neck and pushes her forward a step. “Walk onto the bridge, Jack, or I throw your ladylove into the pool.”

  “Don’t you dare hurt her!” I shout, and my desperate plea bounces in crazy echoes off the stone walls.

  “It’s very simple—you walk or she swims.” He shoves her again. Her toes are now just inches from the pit. There’s no time to argue, no time to think. I step out onto the bridge. It’s narrow, but as long as I’m careful there’s really no danger of falling.

  “I knew you wouldn’t disappoint me,” the colonel says. “Contrary to what geneticists claim, I’m convinced bravery is an inherited trait. Your father remained defiant even when he was at my mercy, as you are now. Keep walking.”

  I move my arms out wide from my body, and rivet my eyes to the narrow beam. It’s not wood—it’s hard and shiny, like a plastic. I take a few more cautious steps. My right foot is numb and it’s difficult to balance. I’m a third of the way across now. I try to ignore the water beneath the beam, but I can’t stop myself from stealing glances. It swirls and gleams.

  “You’re wondering what’s down there,” the colonel says, and it’s not a question. He knows exactly what I’m thinking. “What did you expect when you walked i
n?”

  “Piranhas,” I say. “Or caimans. It doesn’t matter.”

  “It may matter a great deal to you,” the colonel corrects me. “People have so many misconceptions about painful deaths. What they fear most is what they should fear least. Trust me, I have experience in these areas.”

  “I’m sure you do,” I admit through gritted teeth.

  “A school of piranhas would tear you apart in seconds. The agony would be mercifully brief. Caimans drown their prey, which is a pleasant death in relative terms. What I have here is of a different order entirely. You see, a truly painful death depends on two factors—slowness and method. And then, of course, there is the intangible of mental suffering, and particularly of fear, that can add immensely to physical pain. Take another step, please.”

  Is it my imagination or is the smooth beam beneath me narrowing? Either that or my feet are growing larger. I take a small step, now moving much more slowly and carefully. The colonel’s voice pierces my concentration.

  “Experts on vampire bats like to claim that they are the only animals that feed exclusively on blood,” he says. “They’re almost right. In the entire world, there is only one other such creature. Westerners dubbed it the vampire fish. But the natives here call it the candirú.”

  The water beneath me swirls as if someone is twirling a straw through it. Suddenly the lights in the room start to dim. The bridge under my feet continues narrowing. When I started walking across, it was more than a foot wide. Now it can’t be more than six inches. I feel myself start to tremble, and fight against the panic.

  “Where is Kidah?” the colonel demands. “Tell me all that you know and I promise I will spare you. Deny me, and you will learn why the candirú is the most dreaded creature in this vast feeding ground known as the Amazon.”

  I look back at him, and at P.J. standing beside him, and I try to keep the terror from my voice. “If I knew, I would tell you. I have no reason to protect him. I came here to save P.J. All I know is that Kidah’s supposed to be here, somewhere, hiding. I’m sorry.”

  “Yes, you will be,” the colonel promises. “Just as the loggers can’t cut down mahogany trees until I reveal their exact locations, I can’t destroy Kidah unless you tell me where he’s hiding. I know he’s here. That’s hardly new information. But where, Jack? Perhaps if I tell you a bit more about my spiny friends it may loosen your tongue. Their scientific name is Vandellia cirrhosa. But ‘candirú’ has a much more dramatic ring, don’t you agree? They’re about an inch long. Translucent. Their fins and spines are white, so they can’t be seen in the water. But they’re down there. Thousands of them. I breed them.”

  He pushes P.J. forward, until her toes touch the edge of the pit. “We’ve reached the point of no return—the sheer precipice of the moment of truth. Walk to me, Jack. Or I shove her in.”

  49

  The light in the room is almost gone. The bridge has narrowed to less than five inches. It shimmers beneath me like an ebony ribbon tapering into gloom.

  I stop walking, stop moving, stop breathing. The room goes totally dark. I remember running through pitch-black marsh channels with Eko on the Outer Banks, and I use the sixth sense I developed there to keep from falling.

  “Superb balance, Jack. I see that darkness is your friend. I am also fond of it.” The colonel’s eyes gleam like a cat’s in the blackness. “Do you believe in an afterlife? I don’t. Once you die, you’re mud.”

  Suddenly light starts to come back on. But not from overhead. From the sides of the pool. It’s a strange light, a purplish glow that fluoresces in from the edges.

  “But while you’re alive, you’re almost akin to a god,” the colonel whispers. “And how especially sweet to be young and in love. This girl cares for you very deeply, Jack. Aware that you were to blame for her captivity, even in her moments of deepest misery, she would not renounce you. Now you can reward her. Tell me everything you know and I’ll let you both go. You can live another sixty years together in bliss. Where is Kidah?”

  “Don’t you think I would tell you if I knew?” I plead, and fear shakes like a white flag in my voice. “I don’t even know him. I’ve never met him. I don’t owe him anything. I don’t owe my father anything. He betrayed me and lied to me. I hate them all. But I do love P.J. I beg you to spare us. I’ll do anything you say. But I can’t tell you something if I don’t know it.”

  The pulsing purple light has now radiated from the edges of the pool to its center. And in that center, directly beneath me, I glimpse a churning mass. It looks like a giant knot, trying very hard to untie itself.

  “You might still be holding back from me,” the colonel growls. “Your father was capable of such strength. But we all have limits. The most primal human fear, Jack, is not being torn apart or even devoured. It’s being invaded by a foreign entity, being eaten from the inside out. The candirú is the only vertebrate that parasitizes humans. We’re not its primary food source. It likes to lodge inside the gill flap of fish. It erects a sharp spine to hold itself in place. Then it feeds on the blood in the gills. When it has sucked sufficient blood, it detaches and swims out, and sinks into the river mud to digest its feast. The fish host swims away, not greatly harmed.”

  As the purple pulse-glow intensifies, I see that the knotted mass is really the shadowy reflection of a thousand tiny fish, swarming together and breaking apart. They’re not swimming in the corners of the pool. They’re hanging out right beneath me. Somehow, they know where I am.

  “In humans, on the other hand,” the colonel continues with relish, “the candirú is like a tiny kamikaze with teeth. It’s attracted to blood and urine. It swims into an orifice—the urethra, the vagina, or the anus. It erects its spine and sucks blood. But then it can’t swim out. It can only go deeper, continuing to feast on blood and tissue till the hemorrhages kill the host.”

  I can see them very clearly now. A thousand tiny snakelike shadows, coiling and untying beneath me, roiling the surface of the water with their hunger for blood.

  The bridge continues to narrow. It can’t be more than three inches wide now—the sides of my feet protrude over its edges. I keep my weight centered, and try to keep my concentration equally fixed. But that’s nearly impossible as the colonel finishes his vivid warnings.

  “And the pain, Jack! Think what it must be like to be eaten from the inside! They’re insatiable, indefatigable. Legend says that they can even swim up a urine stream. It’s unclear whether this is true, but I can tell you that natives on certain parts of the Orinoco don’t ever relieve themselves into the river. Of course, if you and P.J. were to fall into this pool, they wouldn’t have to resort to such extreme measures to get at you. You’d be coming right to their dinner table, so to speak.”

  His words stoke my rising fear, twisting it tighter, so that I tremble and have to move my arms quickly just to stay on the beam. I can picture myself dying in the horrible way he describes. And P.J., too, right next to me.

  “You may have noticed that the surface of the water is five feet beneath the floor,” the colonel drones on. “That’s for safety—I wouldn’t want any of the little devils to jump out when I come to visit them. But it also keeps anyone who falls into the pool from climbing out. The walls have been sanded down so that they’re smooth, to make sure there are no fingerholds. Once you drop in, all you can do is splash around, hip deep, and wait for them. Or you can try to drown yourself, which is surprisingly difficult. The body’s impulse to stay alive is remarkably strong, even with the certain knowledge that one would be far better off dead. Jack, if I can’t persuade you to reveal Kidah’s hiding place, perhaps someone else can. She’s been following this whole discussion. Shall I let her talk to you for a few moments?”

  P.J.’s voice is shrill and desperate, but also, even at this horrible moment, tender. “Jack, tell him what he wants! I want to see my parents again. I don’t want to die here. Whatever it is, whatever secret you’re protecting, it can’t be worth this. I beg you, please �
��”

  “I don’t know anything,” I shout back.

  “Jack, he’s holding me out over the pool!”

  “I swear I don’t.”

  The colonel’s command booms over our panicked voices: “Walk to me or I drop her, Jack.”

  “I can’t. It’s too dark.”

  “Walk!”

  I force myself to take a step. The plastic beam is an inch wide now—silhouetted against the purple pool below, it looks like a string. I’m doing a high-wire act over the most painful death imaginable. “I’m coming.”

  “Be careful, Jack!”

  I remember Eko’s training. Once I bent sand grain by grain. Once I ran at top speed through a dark marsh, avoiding branches and holes by sensing their presence. I use that extra sense now. Step by step. Seeing the wire in my mind’s eye and moving across it in measured steps …

  “Where is Kidah? Tell me and this will all be over. Otherwise I drop her!”

  “Jack! For God’s sake tell him everything!”

  “Kidah came back over the centuries to stop you.”

  “He can’t stop me!”

  “They believe he can. But they lost track of him.”

  “Why did they need you?”

  “They think I can help find him. But I don’t have a clue. I don’t know if he’s in a town or out in the rain forest. I don’t know if he’s in a cave or on a mountaintop. I swear—I don’t even know where to start looking!”

  It’s not going to work. I can feel the bridge narrowing from a string to a wire, and then to a hair.

  And he’s going to drop P.J. in the pool. I’m close enough to the colonel to sense it. P.J. feels it, too. She’s too terrified to scream out a warning, but I can hear it in her gasping breaths.

  I start to tumble off the strand of plastic at the same moment he drops P.J. Time freezes.

  I’m on the Outer Banks, on a beach, at sunset. Eko is teaching me to fly. “Steer with your whole body,” she says. “You are a point of light, moving in the darkness.”