Two Miles Down

by David McGowan

  “Yeah, you wanted to meet Rosselli, so we ought to get you to him. We’ve got work to do.”

  “Absolutely,” Gabe said, moving away from the overhang and back to their side. “Right, Bodge?”

  “Absolutely,” Bodge parroted.

  They moved quickly through the Cotton Cave, Gabe amazed by how few men seemed to be left. There couldn’t be more than fifty, and most of them stayed inside their shelters. Some of them called out as they passed, asking for food, but Carmichael told them not to answer, to just keep moving.

  As they passed the halfway point, he saw a few out of their shelters, probably going to or returning from the water pipe, with no clue it was where the sickness originated. He tried not to focus on them. He was busy trying to spot the ‘S’ carved into the rock above Soames’s old shelter. He didn’t see it, and soon he heard the trickle of water coming from the pipe that marked the end of the Cotton Cave.

  Before they reached it, a tall man stepped out in front of them, blocking their way. The man was clean-shaven, and he smiled when he saw Carmichael and Steele.

  Carmichael greeted the man, and then turned to Gabe. “Gabe, Bodge, meet Rosselli.”

  THE ATMOSPHERE INSIDE Leader’s compound was as thick as it had been the last time Brett was inside. That time, he hadn’t been alone when he went in, but he had when he left. He’d wondered how he was going to get past the Rebels, but the guards had gone toward them, meaning a path had opened up for Brett to run down. Despite turning their heads to see who it was that moved stealthily toward Leader’s compound, the guards continued toward the Rebels when they saw it was him.

  He’d made it back, and now he stood, breathing the atmosphere of intimidation and unpredictability.

  Leader stood in the corner with his back to Brett. Or Thirty-Nine. In here, he must be Thirty-Nine.

  Leader had stood silently for what seemed like forever, ever since Thirty-Nine had revealed his knowledge of the Rebels, explaining how he’d come across the scene of the fight, had found the dying Seventy-Six, had learned of the Rebels that were headed for the compound, and had carried out the mercy killing at Seventy-Six’s behest.

  Perhaps he shouldn’t have told Leader he’d been responsible for the death of one of his men. It had been upon hearing that part of the story that Leader had turned away and walked to the corner of the room.

  Thirty-Nine remained rooted to the spot, in the center of the room, surrounded by the white walls. Listening to the occasional distant explosion, wondering how long the guards and the Rebels outside would simply stare at one another without one group deciding the time for looking was over and the violence began.

  He didn’t dare speak. Leader was about as likely to explode as one of the bombs he had his men digging toward. No, Thirty-Nine was prepared to stand and wait. He held his arms behind his back, the middle finger of each crossed over the index finger, hoping he would make it out alive, too frightened to tell Leader the Rebels were almost upon his compound.

  He’d thought Leader would be delighted with him for bringing back news of the Rebels, but there was something going on inside Leader’s mind, and he didn’t like it, despite not having a clue what it was. If he told him they were here, that it had taken him too long to get the information he’d been sent to gather and return with it, well, his future wouldn’t be too bright.

  But what more could he do? He’d served Leader as best he could, trekking almost to the farthest point of the SUIC, struggling through the Water and Gypsum chambers, and returning with the information he’d been tasked to find. And still, it seemed it wasn’t going to be enough. There’d been no thanks, no gratitude, no rice.

  He fixed his eyes on the back of Leader’s head, then quickly dropped his gaze when Leader turned and stalked in his direction. He leaned close to Thirty-Nine’s ear and whispered, “Did you hear it?”

  “Did I hear what, Leader?”

  “Did you hear it when they opened the shaft? They opened it, and they left it open. Why do you think they would do a thing like that?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Leader waved a piece of paper in Thirty-Nine’s face. It was so long since he’d seen one that it took him a second to register what it was. Then, he said meekly, “Maybe they heard the explosions, or, you know, measured them. They might be coming in to kill us all.”

  Leader laughed. He laughed so hard he doubled over, then he walked two laps of the room, still laughing. Eventually, he returned to stand in front of Thirty-Nine, and said, “No, that’s not it, but what would it matter if they did? Half the Regulars are dead, and most of my men. How many do you think are left? Thirty? Twenty?”

  Thirty-Nine kept his silence.

  “No, that’s not it.” He waved the paper again. He smoothed it out on Thirty-Nine’s chest, then read from it.

  “‘Subject initials: JG. Proved innocent of crime attributed. Subhuman status: REVOKED.’”

  The words danced in his mind as he put the pieces together. They’d opened the shaft and left it open. Leader had a piece of paper that said someone down here had been stripped of their subhuman status. That meant that person was considered human again, and that could only mean...

  “They’re coming down here to take someone out,” Leader screamed. “And they think no one will have a damned thing to say about it.”

  “Where did you get the paper?” he asked instinctively, not thinking whether the question was an impertinent one.

  “It drifted down, when they opened the shaft. One of the soldiers must have dropped it. If you really must know, I sent a guard down there to check why they hadn’t closed the shaft, and he found it. Now he’s probably out there infecting the few men I have left.”

  “When are they coming?”

  Leader, too preoccupied by what might be about to happen, didn’t seem to have noticed his insolence in directly addressing him without permission to do so. “I guess soon, don’t you?”

  He nodded, trying to take it in. It had never happened before, certainly in this SUIC. Once you were condemned, you were condemned for life.

  “The Rebels will be dealt with. They’re not a problem.”

  He nodded dumbly. What had seemed so important minutes before was now little more than a side issue, a minor inconvenience.

  Leader turned and walked away from him, and he felt the atmosphere change, felt the mood in the place darken. He sensed the explosion coming before it happened, and was unsurprised when Leader yelled, “This place is mine. Mine to do with as I please. Fuck Soames and his deal. Fuck all of them.”

  “Soames?”

  “I won’t let them take this man out. Go out there and dig the shaft. Find the bombs, detonate them.”

  “Detonate them? There must be another way to stop them coming in. I could go to the dig sites, tell everyone to stop digging and come back here. We could fight them.”

  “Fight World Alliance soldiers? There aren’t enough Gang left.”

  “But – ”

  “Are you saying you’d rather I called in a guard, have him do to you what he did to Forty?”

  “No.”

  “Then do as I ask, and you’ll die in glory. A hero to your brothers.” Leader reached up and placed a hand on each of his shoulders. “A hero to me.”

  He turned his back on Thirty-Nine. There was nothing left for him to say. His mind was made up.

  Brett Birtles, Thirty-Nine, turned and walked away. He’d survived another face-to-face encounter with Leader, but now he was a dead man walking.

  “HOW MANY MORE?” CARMICHAEL asked.

  “There are no more dead,” Rosselli said. “Those who are sick, they are waking up.”

  “Really?” Steele asked.

  “Yes. We will survive this sickness and go on.” Rosselli hugged each of his men in turn, then told them to get some rest.

  His soft Italian accent was smooth as cream. His clean-shaven face was a thing of beauty, his round almond eyes somehow calming.

  Carmichael an
d Steele left them. Gabe watched them go before turning back to Rosselli. “They told me you weren’t in the Cotton Cave. That you were keeping away because of the sickness.”

  “For a time, I was. But the men who were sick are recovering. We need to get back on our feet, back to the best life we can have. We must be careful of the rats, from now on. They need to be cooked over a fire before they are eaten.”

  “I’m good at catching rats, for eating,” Bodge interrupted.

  Rosselli beamed at him. “Well, my friend, you will do well here, with us.” Gabe began to speak, and Rosselli switched his attention from Bodge to him.

  “I don’t think it was rats. I think the water coming from the pipe was contaminated by something. Gang didn’t get sick, and they eat plenty of rats, but they don’t drink the water from that pipe.”

  Rosselli considered this for a moment. “For two weeks, it left a strange aftertaste in the mouth, and some thought there was a, how do you say, cloudiness to it.”

  “And now?”

  “Now there is not the aftertaste, and men are recovering. Maybe you are correct.”

  Gabe nodded. “I came here to deliver a message.”

  “A message?”

  “From Soames.”

  Rosselli stepped forward and took Gabe’s hand. “You have seen him?”

  “It was more like he saw me.” He told Rosselli how he’d been in the tunnels, searching for food, and of his encounter with Soames. How he’d shared rice and water with them in return for his message being delivered to Rosselli.

  “He is okay?”

  Gabe shook his head. “He wanted me to tell you he’d left the place he was staying, and that you shouldn’t try to look for him. He told me he was dying.”

  “No.” Rosselli released his hand, putting his own to his mouth in shock and surprise.

  “There was a collapse, after he left us. He was almost certainly killed.” He could see the effect his words were having on Rosselli. Each revelation was like a knife being twisted. The handsome Italian’s shoulders sagged, his brow creased, and he sat down on the floor.

  Gabe sat down next to him. “I’m sorry.”

  “He was a great man, although many thought otherwise. He did terrible things in a terrible world, but down here, he brought peace. He stopped the violence and the killing.”

  Bodge stood, looking on. “Have you lived here for a long time, Mister Rosselli?”

  “Almost twenty years I have paid for my crime. I took something that wasn’t mine to take. I committed an act of gross selfishness and brought shame on my family, and I have suffered every day, unable to ask for their forgiveness. For so long a time, I could not see a future, only a past. But now I am a changed man. I do not care about myself, only others.”

  Gabe rose, then offered a hand to Rosselli, who allowed himself to be pulled back onto his feet. “There was more to Soames’s message. He said it’s time for the men of the Cotton Cave to rise against Leader. He said it’s the only way to stop the digging, to stop the explosions. While Leader is in charge, the place is in danger of ruin.”

  Rosselli nodded. “I think he was correct. But the men here are so weak; I do not see how they could possibly fight.”

  “There are Rebels,” Gabe said.

  “Crossmen,” Bodge added.

  “Crossmen?”

  “Gang men,” Gabe clarified. “Men who’ve turned against Leader. They helped us get through the Gypsum Chamber. They’re outside the entrance to Leader’s compound right now.”

  “They helped you?”

  “Yes. They asked us to tell the men here that they’re coming to kill Leader. They’re only a small group. They’re hoping the men here will help them.”

  “To rub him out.”

  “Yes.”

  “The men here will not like to help Gang. But they will like to see the end of Leader. The man is inhuman, barbaric. He is a devil.”

  Gabe lowered the bag to the ground. “Here are the things Soames gave us. Rice, and bowls. I’d like you to have them.”

  “Thank you. We will share.”

  Rosselli tipped his head back and listened. Gabe did the same. He thought he could hear a siren far above.

  A concerned look spread over Rosselli’s features. “They opened the shaft one day ago. They did not send down any condemned men, but they did not close the shaft.”

  “Something is happening above?”

  “Yes. I think the explosions have angered them. Perhaps they are coming in, to discover what is happening.”

  Gabe, sensing an opportunity, rose. “I’ll go to the shaft, see if I can figure out what’s going on.”

  “There may be danger there,” Rosselli said, himself rising. He clasped Gabe’s hand. “I would prefer for you to stay. Eat and drink. You have had a long journey.”

  “I can tell them what’s going on if they come down. At the very least, I can listen. Try to figure out what they’re planning to do.”

  “You will hear nothing from two miles away.”

  “I’d still like to try.” Gabe pushed hard against Rosselli’s protests. This might be his one chance to look for Soames’s weapon, to see if there was a slim chance of escaping via the shaft. If they sent down a drone to deliver a new convict, or even World Alliance soldiers to stop the digging, Gabe and Bodge might be able to hijack it. Steele and Carmichael had scoffed at the idea, but if he could find the gun, it became an option. Without the gun, they wouldn’t stand a chance. Finding Soames’s gun took on a whole new significance now. In a world that was ever-changing, it became a symbol of hope once more.

  “Bodge, you want to come with me? Help me out?”

  Bodge looked at Rosselli, at the bag of rice, at Gabe. “My arm hurts.”

  “Yes, Bodge must stay here. He must rest and regain his strength.”

  Bodge looked up. “I can stay here, with you, and I won’t die?”

  Rosselli smiled. “I would like that.”

  Bodge’s grin widened. “Grandma told me I’d find a place down here where I could be safe.”

  Gabe’s mind raced. He didn’t want to leave Bodge down here, to suffer for the rest of his life. But he could do nothing without the gun. If he could find it, he could return for Bodge. Then they could go to the shaft, await the next drone. If there was no chance of escape, he could end their suffering.

  But he had to move now.

  He sensed time was running out.

  A HEAVY WEIGHT OF DEPRESSION pushed down onto Brett’s shoulders. He supposed it was his own fault, the situation he found himself in. He’d been afraid to try to survive this place on his own. So afraid, he’d joined Gang. The price for his entrance had been another man’s life, and now he saw the ridiculousness of that. He’d taken part of the killing of a Regular without really taking part. Pretending to kick him while he was down, slowing his foot at the last second, unable to hurt a man who’d done nothing to him. In the end though, this place had forced him to take another man’s life, but that man had been mortally wounded. He’d begged Brett to help him. No, he couldn’t beat himself up over that.

  He exited Leader’s compound using the tunnel that led to the Cotton Cave. As he walked beside the white walls of Leader’s compound, he felt helpless, stupid. All Leader had ever wanted was power, status. He had no feelings for those he led. He’d sent them to dig into the earth and rock above, knowing they would perish.

  He’d done it all for himself. Not for them. They would never get out of this place, and Leader knew that, but he demanded blind loyalty from his subjects, and that meant forcing them to give up their lives.

  He’d done everything Leader asked him to do, and still he found himself going to his death, sent to dig the shaft, to bring the whole thing down so everyone would perish.

  All because they wanted to free an innocent man, and Leader was jealous. Like a child throwing a tantrum.

  He could walk through the Cotton Cave and do what Leader wanted, give up his life for a madman’s whim, or he
could defy him, find a way past the brewing fight outside Leader’s compound and head deeper into the SUIC. Go to the Water Chamber and drink the water, throw himself into the murky depths.

  If he did that, all this would be over, the innocent man would be freed, and perhaps the Rebels would find a way to kill Leader. Life would go on down here, if the place didn’t crumble and bury those who were left, without his threat hanging over everything.

  He thought for a couple of moments, then headed deeper into the Cotton Cave. He couldn’t return to the Water Chamber. If he had to die, better to do it here, maybe with sunlight on his face. He was weak. He was beaten. There was no future.

  The Cotton Cave was quiet. It was a strange thing to see. He’d heard about the sickness, of course, caused by the filthy, horrible rats.

  He shielded his mouth and nose as he walked, the overhang on his right, some thirty feet away. He kept close to the white wall, so close his shoulder brushed it, feeling a warm breeze on his face. He headed toward the far end of the Cotton Cave, moving into increasing light, the white wall eventually receding behind him.

  Why was he covering his mouth, cowering from the possibility of meeting infected men, when he was on his way to a pointless death anyway?

  It was laughable, and he did laugh, but quietly. It wouldn’t be right to laugh too loudly, in a place that had seen so much suffering. Especially when he was about to entomb those that were left, to slowly suffocate. Laughing now would be cruel, something Leader would do.

  If only there was another way, something he could do that meant he could live, that those who’d survived the sickness could be spared. As he progressed past the halfway point of the Cotton Cave, he began to wonder if anyone had survived.

  A rumble came through the ground, into his feet, up to his heart. Two more Gang, killed.

  He caught a glimpse of a figure, ducking into one of the divided sections under the overhang. A few seconds later, there came the sound of an angry voice, and the figure backed out, his hands held open in apology.

  Something about his posture, the way he moved along the Cotton Cave and then back, was purposeful. Agitated, almost.