The Dark Descent

by William Oday

  And that was it. Nothing more that I could see and no place to hide anything I’d missed.

  “Let’s go,” I said as I turned around.

  Grizelle sat in one of the seats with a loud exhale, like maybe she’d given her all to get that far and she’d never rise again. “Go if you must. But leaving now means you will learn nothing.”

  I cut the exit short and spun to face her. “What can I learn by staying?”

  “Only what the flame reveals.”

  I stared at the flickering flame and noticed another scent. Below the sharp cinnamon. Her. The rotten smell of an unwashed body. It permeated the place. Like she’d become a part of the shop.

  And then it hit me.

  “Are you a mystic?”

  She chuckled softly. “I once thought I was.”

  “Were you right?”

  She scowled and her lips drew back revealing a mouth missing most of its teeth. “No. I was never a mystic because I was never a charlatan. They wear wraps atop their empty heads and employ dazzling lights and gaudy finery. All to convince simpletons that they have the gift.” She turned and stared right at me. Her blind eyes seeing through me like I had never felt before. “I require no such artifice. Now, sit! Or leave!”

  I handed Martinez my rifle and sat down in the other seat.

  Grizelle grinned.

  And cold fear cascaded down my back.

  30

  “You are brave,” Grizelle said. “I’ll give you that. Why have you come to see me?”

  “Because Crypto sent us here. I thought maybe you’d outfit us with some weapons or gear or something. Something useful.”

  She stared off to the side. “And now that you know I have nothing like that to offer? Why are you still here?”

  “Because I want to know.”

  “Know what?”

  I swallowed. Revealing my memory loss wasn’t something I wanted to do. It was like playing poker and explaining one of your tells to an opponent. It was a voluntary admission of weakness. And anything this woman learned would undoubtedly find its way to Crypto’s ear.

  But the draw of discovery was too great to ignore.

  “I want to know things that I currently don’t.”

  She snorted. “You’re starting to sound like a mystic.” She turned her head and seemed to stare at something on the ceiling or beyond. “But what if you don’t like what you discover? What if it’s better not to know?”

  “From where I’m sitting, knowing is better no matter what.”

  After a long moment, she nodded. “Okay. The girl must wait outside.”

  “I’m not going any—” Martinez said.

  “Martinez, please.” I said.

  She blew out an annoyed breath. “Fine. But check your pockets when you’re done.” She brushed the curtain aside and returned to the front of the store.

  Grizelle extended her hands across the table. “Give me your hands.”

  I did as instructed, reaching across the small table so she wouldn’t have to meet me halfway.

  Her skeletal fingers wrapped around my wrists and turned my palms up. She settled her icy palms onto mine. “Now look into the flame. Don’t try to see anything. Don’t project into it. Just be. Just observe the flickering light.”

  The previously languid flame began to dance and twist back and forth.

  “Breathe in.”

  I inhaled.

  “Hold it. And now breathe out.”

  I exhaled.

  “When thoughts arise, acknowledge them and then release them. Let your mind drift. Letting go, continuing to breathe, in and out.”

  The connection between our palms began to warm.

  “Watch the flame. Let it surround you. Become you. Breathe in the warmth. Let it fill you.”

  She led and I followed, deeper into the light.

  Warmth, turning into heat.

  Surrounding and penetrating.

  The flame became me, or I it.

  From far away, a voice whispered. “What does it say?”

  …

  I dropped the sheet of paper that was the daily threat report and pushed back from the Resolute desk.

  Over the past week, the daily reports had become carbon copies with wording that rarely changed.

  Imminent threat. Recommend martial law. And then all of the suspicions and justifications to enforce a crack down on the bunker.

  And it went without saying that the heavy stick wouldn’t land evenly across all the levels. No, the lower levels would feel the brunt of it. Of that, I had no doubt.

  General Curtis had become a rabid dog straining to break the leash and sink his fangs into the enemy. As much as I’d tried to make him see the folly of such an approach, it was no use. He was a hammer and all he understand was how to pound a nail.

  He was a problem.

  One I hadn’t come up with a solution for.

  Not yet.

  And we were running out of time.

  Speaking of the general, I glanced at the clock on the far wall of the Oval Office. He was ten minutes late and he was never late to anything.

  As much as we found ourselves on opposite sides of the table, I respected his dedication to the security of the bunker. Hard-nosed, unforgiving men like him were a necessity in troubling times. In all times, but especially in the troubled ones.

  I tapped the intercom on the desk to page my secretary.

  “Yes, Mr. President?”

  “Have you heard anything from General Curtis? He was supposed to be here ten minutes ago.”

  A brief pause.

  “I’m sorry, but we haven’t received any communications about the delay.”

  I gritted my teeth but made certain not to take my frustration out on the wrong target. “Let me know when you hear something.”

  I clicked off the intercom, interrupting the courteous reply mid-sentence.

  Was this some kind of power play? A response to our last argument? The one that ended with us shouting and nearly coming to blows.

  He just didn’t understand. Force and violence were not going to solve the social unrest. They would only add to it, accelerate it. It would be throwing gasoline on a fire, thinking that was the best way to extinguish it.

  Only meaningful reform would diffuse the ticking bomb.

  But getting others in the ruling elite to understand that was proving to be a monumentally difficult task. They’d grown so insular and blind to the suffering of the Lowsiders. Perhaps they’d become incapable of understanding it.

  In some ways, I couldn’t blame them.

  They hadn’t seen what I’d seen.

  They hadn’t survived what I’d survived.

  Shouting outside and the door burst open.

  Special Agent Barrow charged in with my secretary trailing behind. “Mr. President! You’re not supposed to be here!”

  Something had him on edge.

  I circled around the desk and he grabbed my wrist and tried to pull me away. I smoothly shifted the angle to break the lock. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “We don’t have time, sir! I have to get you out of here!”

  I folded my arms across my chest. I wasn’t about to be dragged anywhere. “What are you talking about?”

  His eyes were wild, like a trapped rat deciding whether to chew its leg off to escape or wait to be squashed under a boot when the exterminator arrived. He glanced at the clock on the wall. “You’re supposed to be meeting with Crypto right now!”

  How did Barrow know about that?

  No one was supposed to know about that. And besides, I’d decided not to go.

  “There are bombs about to go off, sir!”

  “What? Where?!” I grabbed his shoulders and shook him hard. “Where?!”

  “Here! In the White House!”

  “When?!”

  “Any second!”

  “Get everyone out! Now!”

  He stood there in a daze, staring at me.

  I shook him again, so h
ard his head jiggled.

  “Move out! Now!” I spun him around and shoved him toward the door.

  He disappeared and voices erupted outside as word spread and the chaos of immediate evacuation ensued.

  I circled behind my desk to gather up a few critical documents. Documents with information that no one outside the Executive Committee knew about. And it had to stay that way, no matter what.

  I finished fishing them out of a secret desk drawer and shoved them into a folder. A last look around and I was about to join the evacuation when I spotted the framed drawing on the desktop.

  The one Hannah had done for me so long ago. A picture in crayon of the two of us. I couldn’t leave it. I grabbed it and turned—

  The first bomb went off, lifting me into the air and throwing me against the wall. My head whipped to the side and bounced off.

  My cheek on the carpet. Blood oozing out of my mouth and ear.

  The frame bent and glass shattered. I dusted off the pieces and touched the stick figure girl.

  Another bomb exploded and the lights blinked off.

  My ears rang and a searing agony lanced through the center of my brain.

  Several more bombs went off and everything went dark.

  …

  I sucked in a quick breath and yanked my hands back. My palms burned like they’d been roasting inches over an open fire.

  How did Agent Barrow know about the meeting with Crypto? And the bombs?

  He must’ve been working for Crypto. A man of divided loyalties, at the very least.

  The old crone left her hands flat on the table. The candle had sputtered out. The flame now a wisp of rising smoke that would add to the layers of soot on the ceiling above.

  “Saw something, didn’t you?” she said.

  I was still reeling from the memory, trying to piece together what it meant.

  A booming voice vibrated in the air. A loudspeaker turned up so high that it was painful.

  “This is General Curtis. There are two fugitives hiding in this marketplace. They are known terrorists and will face justice. Either bring them to me or we will burn this place to the ground!”

  Automatic rifle fire echoed through the cavern.

  “Anyone trying to escape will be shot. Bring the fugitives to me! You have five minutes or you will all die!”

  CHOICES:

  1. Surrender to save everyone else.

  2. Stay hidden and let the situation play out.

  3. Go on the attack and hope for the best.

  The group chose #3 and this is what happened next…

  31

  A minute passed and I still hadn’t decided on the least worst choice. I had no doubt what would happen if I turned myself in. General Curtis would have me killed immediately. Or, if that was too publicly messy, he’d do it later when there were no witnesses. On second thought, his abhorrent threat against everyone in the marketplace proved he didn’t care who saw what or who survived and who didn’t.

  I’d be killed and he’d paint whatever picture he needed to in order to make cold-blooded murder palatable to the other Upsiders.

  Attempting to remain hidden didn’t seem like an option that would turn out any different. Not from the perspective of how I would end up dead either way. But it would be vastly different for all the innocent people in the marketplace who’d come here today not knowing it would be their last day alive.

  How many mother and fathers, how many brother and sisters, how many children would die if I chose to hide?

  More than my conscience could bear.

  Which left only one choice.

  To attack.

  Outgunned and outmanned, and that was no slight to Martinez being a woman because I was happy for her to have my back, our chance of success was slim to none.

  Zero to none was more accurate.

  Maybe I could take Curtis down before getting taken out myself.

  Would that make our sacrifice worthwhile?

  Who would still be around to make that judgement?

  Not me. Not Martinez.

  But maybe it would help nonetheless.

  The only remaining consideration was whether he was the type of man that led from the front?

  Or if he was the type that stayed safely to the rear until the action died down and all that was left was the victory parade?

  My brief encounter with him in the infirmary was all that I could remember of his character. And while he seemed like a ferocious bull then, it was easy to appear tough as nails when you were the only hammer around.

  How would he be when confronted with an opponent that forcefully resisted with skill and tenacity?

  Whatever.

  None of it mattered.

  There was no thinking a way out of this one.

  It was time for action.

  Time to spill blood until one side or the other stood unopposed on the field of engagement. Still, I would’ve preferred knowing how the gamble was going to play out.

  But was that anything new? Every soldier wanted to know the future, what the result of the coming battle would be. So long as that future was a victorious one.

  Would anyone want to know about a future that was both inevitable and ended in defeat and death?

  I turned to Grizelle. “Can you see the future in your flame?”

  A twisted frown broke across her face. “I wouldn’t be here with you today if I could.”

  “I’m sorry to bring misfortune into your life.”

  “Can you see the future?”

  “No.”

  “Then there is nothing to be sorry about.”

  “If we survive, I’d like to come back and look into the flame again.”

  Her eyes brightened and she grinned. “Oooh! He’s got a taste for it now, don’t he? Well, I’ll be here. If I’m not a pile of ash.”

  I reached for the service rifle that Martinez held out. I checked the magazine and chamber and settled my mind.

  It was time.

  “You don’t have to do this,” I said to her.

  She snorted. “Yes, I do. You think he’s going to let me say sorry and return to my post? Besides, I’m not done saving your butt.”

  I tried to smile but the burden of her impending death weighed on me. “You’re a damn fine soldier, Martinez.”

  “Save your blubbering praise for after the fight. If we die, I didn’t deserve it. And if we live, well, I’ll force myself to endure whatever flowery praise you feel obligated to spew out.”

  Like I said, a damn fine soldier.

  I slapped her shoulder and marched passed. We emerged from Grizelle’s stall and Caleb was nowhere to be seen.

  No surprise there.

  I broke into a trot, knowing Martinez would keep up. The sound of her boots hitting the ground confirmed it. The marketplace was a rat warren of narrow twisting lanes that was as good a maze as I’d ever seen.

  Still, I noticed the markers I’d filed away at each intersection as we traced our way back to the entrance. The shop with the fat man smoking a long, thin pipe. The glassy look in his eyes. The stall with a carved statue of black rock that looked like an apocalyptic god with bared fangs and sharp claws. The table with toy soldiers made of scrap metal and other odds and ends.

  We were getting close now, but also running out of time.

  I went through the details of the entrance to the marketplace as we continued on. The plan of attack would be simple considering the ticking clock and the forces under my command.

  And forces was only plural because I counted myself as part of that contingent.

  I’d take one side and send Martinez to the other with the hopes that one of us could gain a flanking position. If so, perhaps we could pin them down with overlapping fields of fire.

  There was no chance for a big victory. Not in the conventional sense of defeating or routing the enemy. But victories came in different sizes on different days and situations. Perhaps we could draw them out and give the people in the marketplace a c
hance to escape. If so, that would be enough.

  That would be a worthy victory for this day.

  Even if we died in the end.

  An amplified voice boomed through the cavern. “Time is up! Know that you all have brought this upon yourselves!”

  A smaller voice replied. A voice I recognized and responded to with a mix of surprise, relief and fury.

  “Shut your trap already, you egomaniacal windbag!”

  I turned the last corner and skidded to a stop.

  One of the last stalls before the open space and the exit corridor beyond rattled and shook. An engine roared and the entire stall inched forward into the narrow lane. It pulled out, revealing a long barricade of scrap metal. The entire storefront was attached to the front. It had clearly been constructed for the purpose that it was now being used for.

  It screeched to a stop, blocking most of the ten foot width of the lane. At five feet thick and seven feet high, it was formidable cover and a welcome development.

  A panel popped open on the near side and the owner of that voice appeared.

  Crypto.

  He sat there with a wild gleam in his eye and a megaphone in hand.

  He held it out to me.

  “You’re the spark. So light the fire.”

  32

  The twin apes appeared from a nearby stall carrying submachine guns. They hunkered behind the barricade with malevolent grins twisting their faces. They were the types that weren’t overly concerned with which side was right or wrong or what the ensuing fight might be about or mean to the winners or the losers.

  They were in it for the fight.

  Plain and simple.

  And there were times, like now, when that was just fine.

  If we had any chance of surviving, we needed every knuckle-dragging, chest-beating caveman we could get. A few more people drifted out of nearby dark corners and joined us behind the barricade. They carried various firearms and looked like they knew how to use them.