Two Miles Down

by David McGowan

  They weren’t getting out of here.

  He thought about Soames’s gun. It had been a kind of holy grail to him, the thing he’d thought would tip the odds in his favor. He still wanted to reach it, to feel the weight of it in his hand, but for a different reason. There was no life down here, no future, no purpose. But there was a way of controlling one’s destiny.

  He would find the gun, he would take Bodge to a quiet, undisturbed corner, he would apologize for not finding him a better life, for not helping him to escape. Then he would use it, first to end Bodge’s misery, then to end his own.

  At the end, he would have control of his destiny, and he would do the best thing, for them both.

  THE FOUR REMAINING Rebels walked in darkness. They were almost upon the White Wall Chamber, and they were tense. After the battle with Gang in which Ball and Madeley had sacrificed their lives, they’d searched the SUIC for other Diggers, hoping to boost their numbers. It seemed there weren’t many Gang left, which was a good thing, as it meant there weren’t many they had to fight. They did have to fight though, killing four men who were loyal to Leader, despite everything he’d done to them.

  A fifth man had almost ended everything, when he’d clambered up into the hole he’d been digging and pulled a cord that had detonated a bomb. The blast had brought down the ceiling and blocked the tunnel behind them, entombing the man. It had also taken two fingers off Thompson’s left hand, but they’d been able to stem the bleeding and had pushed on, still a group of four.

  Now, they finally saw the edge of the White Wall. They inched forward to peer around the wall’s gradual curve and saw four guards blocking the entrance to Leader’s compound, the glow from a lit torch burning nearby. They ducked out of sight.

  “Why are there four of them?” Evans asked.

  “Shh,” Vincent admonished, then replied in a whisper, the four Rebels putting their heads together. “There are normally only two on each entrance, right?”

  “How are we going to get past four of them?” Thompson asked, clutching his wounded hand protectively at his midriff.

  “Something must have happened at the other entrance, the one inside the Cotton Cave,” Connor said, nerves evident in his voice. “Maybe the sickness killed all the Regulars, so Leader doesn’t need guards on the other door.”

  Vincent shook his head, spattering the others with beads of sweat. “There might not be anyone on the other door to the compound, but we’d still have to get past those guards to get to it. Looks like this is it, fellas.”

  Thompson drew himself up and pushed out his chest. Then he stooped, picked up a clump of dirt from the ground, and smeared it over the cross on his forehead. The others followed his lead, the act of disrespecting the Gang insignia dumping adrenaline into their bloodstreams.

  They joined hands at Thompson’s request, forming a circle, and Thompson whispered. “We might not all make it through this. Hell, none of us might be alive a minute after we confront those guards. I’d understand if any one of you were too scared to go through with it, but I’d still have to kill you.”

  The sound of running feet echoed from the tunnel they’d not long exited, and they shrank back. The same man who’d detonated the bomb that had almost killed them all rushed past without noticing them in the darkness, running to the guards’ position and speaking urgently, waving his arms around to demonstrate that what he was saying to them was serious. Thompson heard mention of Leader and Rebels.

  “Shit,” Thompson muttered under his breath.

  The guards ushered the man inside Leader’s compound, one of them leaving his post to go with him. He’d inadvertently done them a huge favor, taking the number of guards on the door down to three, and making their fight a little easier.

  “Come on,” Thompson said, starting forward. “And good luck.”

  “IS THIS IT, GABE? ARE we here?” Bodge danced from foot to foot, excited at the sight of the curving white wall. His limp was gone now; Gabe didn’t know whether that was because his sprain was healed, or because he was distracted from the pain by their proximity to the Cotton Cave.

  “Almost,” he replied. “Keep your voice down so I can listen.”

  Carmichael and Steele stopped just ahead of him and turned to watch as he pulled down his mask and tilted his head, pointing an ear at the ceiling.

  Before, when he’d heard rumbling overhead, he’d thought it might be a new war on the outside. He’d been wrong, it had been the sound of Diggers detonating bombs. Now, he heard a different noise, but he wasn’t going to guess at its cause. He could easily be wrong this time too. It sounded like some great machine above ground, trundling along and pressing down a great weight on massive treads.

  Maybe what he was hearing was the sound of the huge crystals in the Gypsum Chamber, giving up their fight and allowing gravity to pull the weight of the earth and the rock down. That could mean a scalding pulse wave was on its way toward them, to burn and blister their skin and scorch their lungs. Or it could mean the disintegration of the SUIC had resumed, gradually encroaching on the space they were in, to eventually crush them and turn the entire place into a cemetery.

  Neither death appealed. He’d made up his mind to find Soames’s gun and end their suffering as quickly and as easily as possible, and that was what he intended to do. He’d relinquished that control in a tunnel, ten miles deeper into the SUIC than they were now, when Bodge had appeared. He wasn’t going to make that mistake again. It was all about achieving a good death now, not death by crushing, or even life, because life meant the SUIC, and the SUIC wasn’t life. No, he meant to get that gun, his holy grail, and he meant to use it.

  Before he could do that, they had to get past the guards on the doors of Leader’s compound, and into the Cotton Cave. He pictured scores of men who looked like they were sleeping but were beyond help, overcome by the so-called sleeping sickness.

  Carmichael scratched nervously at his beard. “Rosselli will be waiting.”

  “The next batch of dead will be, too,” Steele added.

  “Will we have any issues with the guards?” Gabe asked. He grabbed Bodge by the arm as a rat ran past and Bodge made to go after it.

  Steele shook his head. “I doubt it. Maybe you would if you had a cross on your head, but they don’t seem to mind Regulars going into the Cotton Cave and getting sick. All they care about is keeping us out of Leader’s compound.”

  “Okay, so let’s go.” Carmichael took a couple of steps forward, and the rest followed his lead. For the first time since Gabe had met him, Bodge walked in front of him, eager to see what was around the next corner.

  They followed the curve of the white wall and saw four guards ahead, standing with their backs to them. A lamp burned somewhere beyond the guards’ position, casting their shadows almost to the feet of Gabe and the others.

  As they approached them, Gabe kept his eyes on the ground, thinking about what he had to do and apologizing internally to his son for failing to escape this place. For leaving him an orphan in the uncertain world above.

  In front of him, Carmichael froze. Gabe, his eyes still on the ground, walked into the back of him, and he glanced over his shoulder.

  “I don’t think those are guards.”

  “It’s Thompson, Gabe,” Bodge said.

  Carmichael was right, these weren’t guards. There were only four of them now, instead of the six they’d encountered earlier, but he was certain it was them.

  The Rebels had beaten them to the White Wall Chamber.

  It seemed Thompson heard Bodge’s exclamation, because he glanced over his shoulder, and then the Rebels moved forward, announcing their presence to the guards.

  THERE WAS A WHOLE HEAP of rumble going on above Brett’s head. He didn’t think the structure was in its death throes, but that was the thing: he didn’t know. What he thought and what he knew were two different things.

  He’d thought he could be Brett again, but he knew he was really Thirty-Nine. Brett would be alongside
the Rebels he’d just watched head into the White Wall Chamber from a position behind the four Regulars, taking the action required to ensure he lived. But no, he was here, skulking in the shadows, praying the rats stayed away, and horrified the Rebels had made it back before him.

  He cursed himself for taking so long to get back. But he hadn’t had the information Leader sent him to find, not until he’d headed to the depths of the SUIC and discovered the bloody fight scene. He shuddered, recalling what Seventy-Six had made him do, the violence of it all.

  He didn’t like violence. He thought it was for people with no intelligence, people who couldn’t think their way out of a paper bag, people who had to rely on their fists to win arguments. That was how it looked like it was going to go now, as the Rebels moved out of sight, leaving only the Regulars in view.

  The one at the rear pulled down a mask that had been covering his nose and mouth. It was the man he’d seen earlier. There was no mistaking the other guy, he stood almost a foot taller and twice as wide as the rest of them. These were the ones who’d given him the clue by talking about fighting, the ones who’d spurred him to go deeper and discover the information Leader had sent him to find.

  The big guy had asked if there’d be fighting in the Cotton Cave. Bunch, or Bodge. He brain-strained for the other guy’s name. Gable, John Gable, or something like that. The two who were with them, he had no clue about.

  Thirty-Nine was a chicken. Too scared to step forward, even when he saw another man go barreling past him toward danger without a second’s thought or hesitation, without knowing if he’d live long enough to get himself between Leader and the Rebels.

  The part of him that was Brett knew he had a better chance of survival if Leader was dead, but the other part? The part that had sacrificed his name to be in Gang? That was what held the rockknife in a death grip, telling him to get out there and fight the Rebels, to live up to the pledge he’d made when he joined Gang.

  It was all so messed up.

  He’d known, as sure as he knew he had two thumbs, that Gang would never turn on Leader. Known it. Because if he had ever thought it possible, he would have never gotten involved with them.

  Aww shit, who was he kidding? He’d joined Gang to stay safe. At least, he’d thought he’d be safe under Leader’s wing. How wrong he’d been. Forty could attest to that.

  Thinking and knowing, Brett. Knowing and thinking, Thirty-Nine.

  There was no going back, there was only forward. He had to figure out how to get past the Rebels and into Leader’s compound to tell him what was happening, and he had to do it now.

  He touched the cross on his forehead, whispered all power to Leader, and stepped from the shadows.

  THE MOMENT THOMPSON and the others stepped forward, the guard who’d accompanied the muscular man into Leader’s compound stepped back into view.

  The other three Rebels hesitated, looking to Thompson for guidance. He looked back at them, knowing they were no match physically for the guards. As they watched, the other man exited Leader’s compound and joined the guards. For the first time, Thompson’s confidence was shaken by what he saw. The brawny, dirt-covered figure stood next to the guards, forming a line of five that blocked the entrance to Leader’s compound.

  The odds were undoubtedly against them. When they’d been making their way through the SUIC, they’d had the element of surprise on their side. The crosses on their foreheads meant they were trusted, meant that Diggers, who were mostly in pairs, weren’t expecting a fight. To their credit, they’d all followed Leader’s rule: they’d all fought to the death to protect him.

  It surprised Thompson how so many men could be so loyal. After all, it was Leader’s orders that had killed them in their droves, and not just the order to dig. The decision taken by Leader to share the rice drops with the Regulars meant Gang had suffered and starved, yet those who were left remained loyal to him.

  All except Thompson and his brave men.

  Now, as each group waited to see what the other was going to do, he looked down at his hands, wishing there was a weapon in them.

  He glanced over his shoulder, then spoke to his troops. “Don’t start without me.” He grinned. He was ready for the fight, whatever the outcome may be. He just had one thing to do first.

  “What are you doing? Vincent asked, but Thompson was already marching away from him, in the direction of Gabe and Bodge’s position.

  When they saw him coming, saw the cross on his forehead, the two he didn’t know looked terrified and ghostly in the light cast by Gabe’s failing lighter. Masks covered half their faces, but the skin he could see was paler than marble, and their eyes were wide, unblinking.

  “You still got your rockknives?” he asked, spotting the one Bodge held as he did so. “Please, can you give them to me? I need them a lot more than you do.”

  Bodge immediately handed his over, like he was glad to get rid of it. Gabe hesitated a second, then spoke. “Only if you get us into the Cotton Cave before you start fighting.”

  The two strangers, the men wearing masks, looked at each other with wide, terrified eyes.

  Thompson smiled at them. “Good idea, the masks.” He turned back to Gabe. “Deal.”

  Gabe looked down at the rockknife tucked into his waistband, hesitating once more.

  “Have a little faith, huh?” he said, a grin stretching his cheeks. “We never let you down before, did we?”

  Gabe shook his head. “Get us past the guards, then I’ll hand it over.

  “Okay, you got it. Follow me.”

  The two masked men hung back as he passed them but, when Gabe and Bodge walked in his shadow, they followed.

  Up ahead, the Four guards and the burly man stood in front of the entrance to Leader’s compound, the three Rebels facing them in silence. A no-man’s land stretched thirty feet between them.

  Thompson walked the Regulars to the midpoint. “You guys look nervous,” he called out. Somewhere in the SUIC, that meaty, grinding noise started up again. It sounded like it was coming from beyond. From above ground. Whatever, Thompson had to keep his focus on what was happening here, two miles down.

  No answer from the guards.

  “These Regulars want to go through to the Cotton Cave.” He held a hand out, palm up, gesturing at Gabe and the others.

  One of the guards stepped forward. “Lower your masks.”

  They did as told.

  “Oh, it’s you two. I know you two, but who are these guys?”

  Bodge spoke up. “We’re looking for somewhere safe to live, that’s all.”

  The guard laughed. “Knock yourself out.”

  “Wait,” another of the guards said. “Leader told us not to let anyone into the Cotton Cave, because of the sickness.”

  “He meant Gang. He doesn’t give a shit what happens to Regulars.”

  A third guard stepped forward. “Go, before we change our minds.”

  Thompson looked at Gabe and nodded. He walked with the four Regulars, past the guards’ position, to the opening that led to the Cotton Cave. Gabe let the others go through first, then turned and handed him the rockknife.

  He didn’t speak a single word.

  ANOTHER EXPLOSION SOUNDED, and all four men flinched. But they were inside the Cotton Cave. They’d made it past the Rebels and the guards. Gabe re-lit the lighter. He was amazed the guards hadn’t noticed it. Maybe they had, but they had more to think about right now. But then, he thought, why would they? How would they know the men confronting them were Rebels? That they were there to take Leader’s life? As far as they were concerned, the men were Gang. Maybe they were there to tell Leader they’d found a way past the bombs and out of the SUIC. Or maybe the man who’d arrived panicked, seemingly with urgent news, had revealed their real purpose for being there.

  To Gabe, who’d spent so long in the dark depths of the SUIC, the small amount of light in the Cotton Cave was like a new experience. The colors, what few there were, seemed vivid. The white gypsum wall
that ran half the length of the Cotton Cave, the overhang under which the residents had hung strips of cotton to demarcate their little part of this world, even the small rocks that littered the dusty ground under their feet stood out.

  A beetle trundled across in front of them, and Steele grabbed it and shoved it in his mouth, crunching loudly.

  “I don’t know how you eat those,” Carmichael said.

  “We need every bit of protein we can get,” Steele replied, pulling the mask up over his mouth and nose. Carmichael and Gabe did the same. Bodge’s eyes roamed about the Cotton Cave, trying to take everything in.

  Gabe walked slightly apart from the others, near the overhang where various bits of cotton had been jammed into the rock. They hung down, obscuring the men behind them. The Cotton Cave was as silent as the Cemetery had been.

  They soon passed the alcove that had been his small part of this place, and he saw that someone had taken it over. There was no cotton hanging over the entrance, and he saw that the man inside looked healthy. He sat side on to them, gnawing on a rat, and didn’t look up when they passed.

  Compared to depths of the SUIC, the Cotton Cave felt cool. A warm wind blew, like a hot summer breeze.

  “I don’t remember there being this much wind here,” he said.

  “There wasn’t, until yesterday,” Carmichael answered. “They opened the shaft and left it open.”

  “They left it open?”

  The shaft was normally opened only when they were lowering a condemned man. Maybe it had developed a fault. After being operational for thirty years, perhaps it had rusted up and finally jammed.

  “Who knows why?” Steele said, seemingly uncaring about the world above and what was going on up there. “The only thing I know is we’ve probably got more bodies to move.” He spoke without bitterness, only sadness, and Carmichael backed him up.