by N. M. Brown
“Is this as far as you’ve gone?” The Chief asked, looking around the room with keen eyes.
The big oil drum that had been the cults cooking pot had tipped over at some point, sickly thick liquid spilling over the edge. Piles of blankest had been left behind tucked into tight corners and it was easy to see they’d been used recently, the rumpled mess indicative of untidy children. The walls where everyone stood, were all curved and irregular, except for the far side, where a large hole gapped into nothing. Everyone stayed far away from the hole and its foul smell.
Of course, what drew everyone’s attention however was the lump in the centre of the room. Covered by a Rescue Team’s coat, only tiny bare feet and tiny, dirty hands stuck out from the edge leaving no question of what was underneath.
“No Sir. A few men stayed here while we continued. However, after following the white crosses on Detective McQueen’s orders, we-… we found…” But the poor man couldn’t finish.
Sensing the struggle, the Chief nodded allowing for the sentence to go unfinished. “I see.” Stepping out of the circle, he approached the covered body and the Doc followed.
“Was the body like this when you found it?” She asked and Echo watched her carefully lift the coat off the body and set it aside.
However, no matter how professional everyone was, nothing stopped the gasp of horror as the little girl’s body was revealed. On her back, arms splayed, she looked like she’d just been knocked off her pink bike, all the ready to get back up a play. There was no pink bike though, no concerned parents or overprotective, older brother. It was just her, sticky blood and ashened face.
“Where are her eyes?” Armstrong asked, cutting through the silence.
“Taken.” A flat whisper came from McQueen who looked on through dead eyes.
“Taken? By who?” Armstrong demanded; his voice heated as he felt for the first time the sense of helplessness around King Shade’s actions.
“Him. Their leader.” McQueen answered coming back to his senses. “He takes their eyes so they’re dependent on him. They cook and clean and do all his dirt work for him.”
“The Murmur Maids you spoke of?” The Chief questioned, still knelt by the body. When McQueen nodded, he turned back to the Doc who was giving the girl a quick examination. “Well Doctor Cassidy? What are we looking at?”
There was a tremble to the Doctors hands, but Echo was impressed when she didn’t start to breakdown. Instead her voice only wavered slightly “She is around five years of age, of an Asian decent and died due to a stab wound to the side.”
“And the eyes?”
“Taken with a curved knife from the look of the scars.” The Doc wobbled, taking a step back to rejoin the circle, keeping her distance. “The wounds look healed, but they show signs of infection. I-… I can’t tell much else until-… until she’s taken above.” It was then that the Doctor croaked. A sob bubbled from her lips and despite clamping her teeth around it, her shoulders shook.
“If you need to step out Doctor, one of Squad A will take you?” But she was already shaking her head at the Chiefs offer.
“No. I can stay. I must. She-… She needs to be looked after.”
Accepting that answer, the Chief addressed the Squad Leader. “Take your men through the rest of the tunnels. Take only those who volunteer. This, it seems, will not get any more pleasant.”
“Of course, Sir. All my officers know what’s expected of them. I can assure you-,” A sudden sound, nothing more than padded footfalls on sand made everyone stop in their tracks, and all guns were suddenly pointed at the darkened hole.
Echo froze where she stood, ready to make a break for it if trouble arouse, but as their torches were lifted towards the intruder, a collective gasp snapped around the room.
“Johnny?” McQueen breathed beside Echo as he recognized the haggard face, and sure enough as he stepped into the room, a small boy followed. “Mitch?”
Blinking hard against the harsh lights, Johnny’s eyes filled with tears and his body sagged. Licking his cracked lips, he pulled his brother close and together, they trembled like autumn leaves. “We’d like to go home please?”
◆◆◆
Echo had never seen such a flurry of activity in such a small room. Suddenly Doctor Cassidy was dry eyed, examining the two boys like they were prized artefacts. Armstrong muscled his way forward, and with little tact, had bombarded the boys with questions before spiriting them away to the surface, ready to claim his fame and fortune for finding not one, but both Bell boys.
"They made it." McQueen smiled, watching Squad A take them up and out, followed by a stretcher holding the Murmur Maid. In all the commotion, Echo had tucked herself in a corner and waited, wondering when the penny would drop. Of course, it hadn’t, so she would have to do it for him
"Well, one might have done, if he's lucky." Folding her arms as she felt McQueen bristle.
"They'll both make it. They’re both back with their families now." McQueen argued with a snap
"No, they won’t." Echo huffed, feeling her own body begin to sag like Johnny’s. She was bone tired, but she didn’t want to sit on the bloody floor or lean against the stained walls. So, instead she stood irritated and annoyed, rocking on her feet trying to stay awake. "In case you forgot, Johnny is addicted to Dixie, a drug that only Shade knew how to get. Shade, who is probably already setting up his new empire somewhere else, won't be giving out that out anymore."
Realization hit McQueen like a slap to the face and his jaw dropped in understanding. "They're going to watch their son slowly die and Mitch... I don't even know if he took it.” He said softly to himself before shaking his head, drawing on a minute amount of optimism. “Maybe Cassie will figure Dixie out and be able to make a diluted version, like we planned. They can ween him off and-,”
Echo snorted cutting him off, "In twenty-four hours? Don’t hold your breath Queenie. That’s the walking dead you’re watching.” Letting out a hysteric laugh, Echo gave up and sat on the lip of the dark hole. “And if Cassie makes it for Johnny, why does he get it? What about every other child in the Under-ert hiding from Shade, wishing to go home? Are you going to find them fast enough, get this fake-Dixie to them soon enough?” Echo rubbed the back of her neck feeling the grit on her skin and the tightness in her back. “There are going to be a lot of more dead kids by this end of this Queenie. Don’t let all your guilt eat you up on this solitary boy.”
“You’re a cold-hearted bitch, you know that, right?” McQueen breathed, his voice a locked cage of rage and regret.
“Do I ever.” But there was no ice in her voice to meet his fire. She wasn’t in the mood.
Watching the forensic teamwork, the Squad Leader, - Hookson Echo thought she’d heard - came out of the tunnels, speaking in low tone to the scientist as he passed. Looks of dismay and disgust swept from face to face and it was clear the news wasn’t good. More bodies were to come. Stepping around, Hookson did a double take, before approaching them both, a look of determination on her face.
“Detective McQueen. Ms. Headly” She nodding in greeting. “I wanted apologize for what was said earlier. You weren’t lying, that is clear now and it was unprofessional for myself and my team to suggest otherwise.”
“Its fine.” McQueen waved away with a thankful smile. “It was an outlandish tale. I'm just sorry it happened at all. This place…”
But nothing else was said. Everyone knew what this place was and there was no singular word to describe it.
“Well, again I’m sorry.” Hookson said, passing them a smile “I have to commend you though, sticking so close to this latrine.” Gesturing to the darkness behind them, Echo felt the cold open-air tickle up her spine. “When we first entered, the smell was so bad none of us dared go near. I guess the whole place smells just as bad now and you two smelt like it to begin with.”
Echo applauded the women’s attempted at some dark humour to lighten the mood, but her idea of a dark joke was much more twisted. “It’s
not a latrine.”
Hookson tilted her head in confusion. “It smells like a latrine.” She argued, seeing McQueen’s face furrow as he too wondered what Echo was talking about.
With an exasperated sigh, Echo pointed to the Leaders hip, spying the thin cylindrical tube. “Can I use that flare?”
Weary, the leader almost took a step back. “An open flame with so much methane and oxygen around can cause an explosion. We’ve avoiding using any flares.”
Eyes rolling and nibble fingers snapping out, Echo scoffed as she struck the end of the flare alight. “Then it’s a good just its not a latrine.” And with a gentle toss, Echo threw the smoking stick into the pit.
End over end the flame span, the eerie red glow cast shadows against rocky walls until it clattered to the ground with a hollow clink. But the flare didn’t rest on hard rock, or soft sand or a landslide of pebbles.
What it illuminated was so much worse.
XXXIV
McQueen remembered how the flare flew out of Echo’s hand. He remembered how it span end over end in a curving arch. He remembered the hollow clatter as it hit the bottom and came to a stop. He remembered all that, but still his mind refused to process what he saw. Eyes gazed into the hole, waiting for it all to make sense, for the picture to be disillusioned and become something else. But the longer he looked, the more clarity he received and what he’d eaten earlier clawed up his throat.
“What in God’s name…” Hookson breathed as the smoke began to billow upwards.
With silent fingers, Echo slipped another flare from the Squad Leaders leg and sparked it to life. McQueen begged her not the throw it; to allow this nightmare to hide in the shadows, but his voice remained dead behind his teeth. Nothing stopped her as the second flare went end over end once more and clattered to a stop ten feet from the other. Nothing new was revealed, but truth stuck home.
“I wish I could agree and say it was a shit dump.” Echo whispered as Hookson and McQueen stood by the open hole. “But I think we can see that it’s not.”
And it wasn’t. McQueen slowly, piece by piece processed what he saw.
In the darkness, McQueen's mind noticed other things like the sewage tunnel that would have cut right through the middle that had collapsed. He noticed the damp walls and the sudden scurry of rats that fled from the light, but while half his mind registered the room, the forefront of his brain skipped like a broken record, trying to catch onto reality, but missing every time.
“I-… I have to get the Chief.” Hookson breathed and without a backwards glance hurried for the exit.
That was what McQueen wanted to do. He wanted to close his eyes, fall to his knees and pray to God for-... he didn't know what. So that’s exactly what he did. Raising a trembling hand he lightly kissing his grime covered fingers, touching them to the centre of his forehead. “Our Father…” He hushed out, the walls swaying in front of his eyes.
“Oh, pull yourself together.” Echo murmured with a huff, but he ignored her. Staggering back, his feet found uneven ground and with a humph he crashed down to his knees, but his fingers travel to his left collar bone and then his right.
“…Who aren’t in Heaven…” McQueen spluttered out before the taste of acid shredded his throat and bile coated his teeth. “Hallow be thy name…” His spat, saliva dripping from his lips as the vomit pooled had his knees, adding to the horrendous stench. “… Thy Kingdom come… thy will be done-”
“If you’re going to prey for the dead Queenie, at least give them the honour of doing it without vomit on your chin.” She chastised and he was sure she rolled her eyes, but McQueen couldn’t see. Tears streamed down his face in silence and sobs tightened his throat.
“What in the name of Beelzebub?” A voice snapped out and with a shaky head, McQueen looked up to see the Chief striding across the room with a furious expression. “McQueen? What is it?” But the Detective didn’t know how to answer. How could he put what he’d seen into words?
Spotting the red glow, the Chief stepped up seeing for the first-time what McQueen saw. “May the Lord have mercy on their souls?” The Chief whispered and as more people peeked over the eadge, a single word was whispered lip to lip.
Bones. The entire room - no, pit, it was a pit -was stacked entirly with bones and McQueen would remember the sight until the day he died.
Sockets empty and dark, jaws open wide, it was a mass of screaming skulls. Darker stains collected in clumps; rotting flesh, the putrid smell that created the impression of a latrine. McQueen could see ribs and femurs, spines and feet. All the pieces you’d need to create a body: a person… a child.
Amongst the twisting red smoke, the pit was alive was daemons and ghosts.
◆◆◆
Out in the open air, McQueen found a quiet corner around the back of a Police Cruiser, his hands on his knees as he forced himself to breath. If he flew into a rage, he would be of no use. If he broke down a cried, he would be of no use. But alas, trying to compose himself took peace, space and silence, all three of which suffered in the presence of one person.
“There you are.” Echo huffed, stomping over, her hands tucked in her armpits as she shivered for warmth. “Are we sticking around for much longer? I’m bored and I need some food.”
McQueen slowly, with revulsion, looked up at Echo as she aproached. There wasn’t a skip in her step, or a smile on her lips, or anything to suggest her joyous mood, but it was there. She was reeling in the aftermath of her grand reveal and it made McQueen’s blood boil.
"You knew." He hissed to Echo. "You knew the bodies were there?" Despite his anger, McQueen couldn't work out why he was shocked, she never freely offer information. “All those children, all of them dead. How could you not say anything?”
“Say something?” Echo scoffed. “What would I have said: ‘Oh, by the way Queenie, just before we start dodging knives, sharp rocks and fighting for our survival, there a few extra dead bodies I need to tell you about.’” She huffed and stamped her feet. “They're dead Queenie. Nothing you could have done for them even if I had said something.”
“A few?” McQueen snapped, “A few? There are hundreds – if not thousands of bodies down there.”
But air rumbled out of Echo’s lips as she blew a raspberry. “Please. Shade was ruthless and demented but he wasn’t that bad. There’s only like-… two… three hundred bodies down there.” Echo waved her hand dismissively, and McQueen felt calmer and calmer by the second. “Look, grumble and mop in your own time, ok? I want to leave.”
McQueen stomach rolled, and he had to blink back tears of anger and frustration, but as he did, he settled. This was the truth of it. This was Echo Headly. She was cold. Distant. Evil. And he was done.
“Then leave.” A cold, dead voice came out of McQueen’s mouth, unrecognizable even to himself.
Even Echo turned to face him wide eyed. “What?”
“Then leave.” McQueen repeated. He didn’t mean to shout, but his voice grew louder and louder with eacj word. “Leave. You have no right to be here. You don’t care about any of them: the dead, the missing; any of them. So, get out. Leave”
“I don’t care?” Echo seethed, her lip snarling. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t have to help you. I didn’t want to and you knew that. I told you plain and simple, I wanted Dixie and you didn’t care. You just wanted what was in my head well- here you go. This is it. You don’t like it? Tough. I may be cold, but at least I'm honest about my motives.”
“You heartless bitch!” McQueen’s Nana would have rolled over in her grave at his language.
“And you’re a hopeless fool. You can’t save everyone Queenie.” Echo snapped. They were drawing a crowd now. Officers were slowing their steps, paramedics were stopping to tie their shoes, but McQueen didn’t care. He was at his wits end.