The blows began to fall, fists smashing against his forehead, nose, lips, chin; glancing blows to his ears, a punch to the throat. Fists struck his chest and abdomen, exploding the breath from his lungs. His body rocked, pain blossoming and expanding.
His back was wet. He had reached the water they had been drinking. And with every blow his world became darker, the tunnel of his vision retreating.
The last thing he saw was a guard shoving between the attacking Chosen, raising his gloved fist. It flashed down and darkness fell.
***
Manolo woke as cold wetness enfolded him, the shock of it pushing a scream from his lungs. The sound of it was strange, muted, and an explosion of bubbles roared from his mouth. He thrashed around but hands gripped him tightly and he couldn’t free himself. He gulped water and began choking. Fear lashed him.
And then he was being lifted out of the water, gasping, coughing, spluttering, life-giving air filling his lungs. He glimpsed a large span of ripple-covered water, a shore that stretched out to his left and right, and far ahead, on the opposite side of the lake, a dark, looming forest.
A guard spoke in Spanish: “You have been blessed in the tears of The Ones Below. Such is the cycle, such is the way.”
Something hard hit the back of his head and he fell into darkness again.
***
Manolo woke in fits and starts. The world swayed around him, topsy-turvy. He felt pressure around his forearms and ankles. His body sang and pulsed with pain. He moaned, blinked, and caught a glimpse of bars. Something moved beyond the steel, a massive thing with a long, circular body and a wide head. It watched him pass, weaving slowly from side to side. Hissing.
More cells passed on either side and some of the things he saw hurt his mind and made him feel an incomprehensible fear.
He closed his eyes, accepting the pain. It scoured away the images of the terrible things he had seen in the cells and eventually he managed to wonder about his fate. Lifting his head took a lot of effort and when he opened his eyes again Manolo saw guards; four of them, carrying him by his legs and arms.
The ceiling above them was rough-hewn rock and stained with jumping, flickering shadows. The air smelled of dust and blood.
Manolo moaned again and one of the guards spared him a quick glance. He was surprised to see sadness in the man’s lined face.
Eventually the ceiling changed, sloping higher, and he saw smooth walls, a smooth floor, and flat slabs set into the walls.
Jagged figures had been carved into the slabs.
Two guards stood at a section of the chamber where the floor met the ceiling. They struggled with a familiar container. When they tipped it blood slopped and flowed out, falling into an open gap between the floor and wall.
The guards released him without warning and he struck the floor. The back of his head struck the stone and his vision flashed white. When he could see again, one of the guards was reaching for him.
Manolo tried to bat the hand away but he was so weak that his hand only twitched.
The guard looked into his eyes and said, “Such is the cycle, such is the way.”
Manolo’s eyes widened a moment before he felt the blade kiss his skin and then slice into his throat.
Pain lanced through him, blinding him, stunning him with its ferocity. Warm wetness. Blood, his blood, spilled across his chest and spurted against the guard’s grimacing face. The guards pulled him upright and set him against one of the slabs, holding him so that his blood painted the slab and the stone floor red.
The scene darkened around him and he heard the wet, desperate gurgle of his own breathing. He glimpsed another, larger open space where the floor ended and the wall began. He looked into the space, saw the great chasm with its rough walls, lit by distant, immense flames.
Something . . . something massive was at the very bottom.
Something that moved. Turned.
A hand.
He looked at an unimaginably massive hand.
The guards tipped his body into the space and as he began falling, his last thought was: The Ones Below.
BIOGRAPHY: Dave de Burgh is a bookseller and writer living in Pretoria, South Africa. His work has been published in AfroSF, eFantasy, eSciFi and the forthcoming African Monsters. His novel, Betrayal’s Shadow was re-published by Ticketyboo Press on the 1st of December 2015, to be followed by the sequels in 2016 and 2017. Dave is an avid reader, writer, Pekingese-dad and Star Wars fan.
THE BET
Amy Grech
David Sheffield, a lanky sophomore, clutched a knapsack full of knowledge as he took long strides through the crowded hallways of Albany High. His small, brown eyes darted from side to side, searching for a clear path as he hurried to his next class.
Jim Hanson, a short, stocky senior, leader of the pack known as The Black Death, watched him like a hawk circling his prey. He yearned for the taste of sweet victory his encounter with David would surely bring. Jim tapped John Roth, a burly gang member, on the shoulder and whispered in his ear.
John grinned and rushed over to David, who stopped walking and stood his ground when he saw him approach.
“What’s up, John?” David shoved his hands into his jeans’ pockets, trying to look casual.
“Meet Jim behind the tennis courts at three. He’s got an offer you can’t refuse.” John slapped him on the back.
David cringed, dreading the worst. “Count me in.”
“Be on time—Jim hates to wait.”
He nodded. “Don’t worry, I’m always early.”
John rolled his eyes. “Later, Sheffield. I’ll let him know you’ll be waiting.”
David walked to his English Literature class quickly; puzzled—he had no idea why Jim picked him—he didn’t consider himself Black Death material. He wondered if he was the victim of a cruel joke. Curiosity got the better of him. David dismissed his skepticism as nervous excitement.
John headed over to the lockers where Jim and the other members of The Black Death stood to deliver David’s reply. “He’s thrilled you picked him. He wants to meet up after school.”
“He’s probably scared shitless right now,” Jim said, grinning. “Let’s go have a smoke.”
Jim led his gang out to the deserted football field. The Black Death sat in the center of the grassy area near the train tracks that ran alongside the school. Each of the six members removed a Marlboro and a red Bic Lighter from their sleeveless denim jackets. They lit their cigarettes, took a drag, and pocketed their lighters.
“Have you boys thought about how we should break in our last recruit, David Sheffield? We need another member.” Jim studied his disciples. “That way we’ll have seven, one member for every day of the week.”
Everyone exchanged glances and nodded.
Keith Travis spoke first: “We should tell him to ask Sara Parker for a date. She’s the prettiest girl in school. He won’t stand a chance.” He ran bony fingers through his spiked, brown hair.
Jim shook his head. A shiny switchblade sprung from the pocket of his jeans. He admired his reflection in the flawless metal, where dark blue eyes shimmered on the smooth, sharp blade.
“That’s cruel. We all know Sara gave you the cold shoulder, Keith. Remember, David is really smart. He’d never fall for that.”
John punched Keith. “There’s one important rule: The dare must be fair!”
Keith rubbed his sore arm. “Okay, okay, you made your point.”
Brian Nicholas tossed his smoldering butt into the tall grass behind the football field. “Make him tread water for thirty minutes.”
“You’ve got to be kidding!” John chuckled.
Dan Troteli chimed in, “Yeah, David’s a weakling. He’d drown in no time.”
Brian winked. “That’s the idea, numb-nuts!”
Peter Baker scratched his head. “Let’s make good use of his genius instead.”
“What do you have in mind?” Keith gave Peter a dirty look. “David’s a geek! He’s only good wit
h books¾he hasn’t got life skills.”
“That’s not true, Keith.” Jim cleared his throat. “I’ve seen him outrun you dozens of times when you tried to chase him. Hey, that gives me an idea. I’ve got a dare for David that’s both challenging and fair.” He lit another cigarette and blew a stack of wobbly smoke rings skyward. “Let’s make him stand in the middle of the tracks that run alongside the school without moving until the nine-forty-five is about to hit him.”
No one had any say once Jim made up his mind.
Now David’s fate was sealed.
***
At two-fifty-eight, David wandered over to the green fence that surrounded the tennis courts and waited for Jim to show. He knew fists would fly. Not his, he didn’t believe in violence. Besides, his scrawny arms were no match for his idol’s massive biceps.
Jim showed up at three o’clock. He spotted David¾an easy target¾leaning against the fence, looking anxious.
David watched him approach and took a deep breath. “What’s up, Jim? John told me you wanted to meet up.”
“Yeah, that’s right. I’m here to offer you a chance to join The Black Death.” Jim grinned. “If you’re up to it.”
“What do I have to do to become a member?” His Adam’s apple bobbed like a frog trapped in his throat.
“Prove yourself.” His dark blue eyes burned with fierce intensity.
“How am I supposed to do that?” David asked, puzzled. He focused on Jim for a second then directed his gaze downward to his feet, afraid that if he stared at Jim he would seem too bold.
“Take a chance and win. If you lose, you won’t live long enough to live it down. Meet me in the parking lot at nine o’clock tonight, if you’re up to it.” Jim’s long red hair flickered like fire in the wind.
“I’ll be there¾I love a challenge.” David nodded and turned to go. He knew Jim wanted to see him make a fool of himself, but David didn’t mind, because if he pulled the stunt off he would finally earn some respect.
Jim sped off in a black Thunderbird with a bumper sticker that read: IF YOU DON’T LIKE MY DRIVING, DIAL 1-800-EAT-SHIT.
David started his navy blue Mazda 626, checking cautiously for traffic before heading home. Along the way, he wondered what Jim had planned: Does he want to drag race, or will he make me stand in front of his car while he speeds around the lot and tries to stop before my face collides with his windshield? Does he expect me to beat the odds, or does he want the odds to beat me?
When he stepped inside the house, David walked into the kitchen to answer the phone. His mother called to see how his day was. He wanted to tell her the leader of The Black Death told him to meet him in the parking lot at nine o’clock, but David decided not to mention it. He knew she wouldn’t let him go if he did. The gang had a bad reputation; the police were after at least three members for armed robbery and the mutilation of several defenseless animals. He told her he got an ‘A’ on his English Literature exam instead.
Then David went up to his room and took a nap.
David stood in the middle of the train tracks by Albany High School, while Jim stood off to the side, grinning.
David saw the train’s headlight in the distance. A bolt of lightning flashed in the sky; followed by the roar of distant thunder. A deluge of rain began to fall, drowning his fear.
As the train sped down the tracks, the thunderclaps grew louder and louder, until they were deafening. David clasped his hands over his ringing ears, trying desperately, to muffle the maddening sound. When the nine-forty-five overtook him, the sound of screeching metal brought him to his knees . . .
The front door slammed, waking him from a sound sleep. His parents had returned from work. He heard his mother whine because he forgot to lock the door again. His father told her to quit complaining. David rolled over to glance at the clock next to his bed, seven o’clock.
He went downstairs for dinner. His parents had Chinese food waiting in the dining room. His favorite.
He took his usual seat at the table and polished off his Wanton Soup in record time. “Hi, Dad.”
His father smiled in between sips of soup. “You mother tells me you got an ‘A’ on your English Literature exam. Congratulations. You’re a regular Hemingway.”
David nodded. “Thanks, Dad. I try my best.” He shifted in his seat, trying to get comfortable. “Mom, can I go over to Peter’s house after dinner?”
“What for?” Mrs. Sheffield sipped her Martini.
“We have a math test tomorrow. He asked me to help him study.”
“All right, but don’t stay out too late. It’s a school night.” His mother smiled and set a full plate down in front of him.
David nodded. “You won’t even know I’m gone.”
After dinner, he went back up to his room and sat on the bed to think. He looked at the clock, eight-twenty-five. David looked out his window while he convinced himself that a chance to join The Black Death by Jim was worth it. He didn’t think the train in his dream would outrun him, if Jim really did want him to play chicken. At least he hoped not . . .
***
At eight-fifty-seven with minutes to spare, David pulled into the empty lot. He wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans, got out and sat on the hood of his car; he found its warmth oddly comforting. Seconds later, a black Thunderbird came to a screeching halt inches from his legs.
Jim cut the engine and hopped out.
“Did I scare you, Sheffield?”
“Yeah, you caught me by surprise.” David couldn’t stop shaking. He looked down and noticed that one of Jim’s sneakers was untied. David decided not to tell him—it might be fun to watch Jim trip over his own two feet.
“You’ve got to calm down, David. You’re wound too tight.” Jim shook his head. “Let’s take a walk. It will help you relax.” He led the way, his loose shoelace flapping rhythmically on the ground, marking time.
He shoved his hands into his pockets. “Okay, sounds good to me.”
They made their way across the deserted football field to the train tracks adjacent to the school, and started walking down the center. David stared at the starry sky while Jim reached into the pocket of his denim jacket for a Marlboro and his Bic Lighter. Caught off guard, David flinched when he heard a series of faint clicks—whispers in the dark—that created sparks and eventually a flickering flame.
The tip of Jim’s cigarette glowed like a miniature sun in the darkness. “Want a smoke?” He pressed it to his thin lips and inhaled.
“No, way. Those things will kill you,” David shouted, still watching the sky. Now, dark, menacing clouds obscured the stars.
“Hey, it’s your loss.” Jim shrugged. “You don’t know what you’re missing.” He blew a stack of smoke rings at his latest recruit, who was too nervous to notice. He tossed the smoking butt onto the tracks, took the lighter out again and pressed the button, causing its flame to waver. Jim held it up to his watch, which read nine-thirty-four before pocketing his lighter one last time.
“Hey, Sheffield.” Jim tapped him on the shoulder.
David stopped looking at the sky and stared at him. “Huh?”
“It’s show time.” He stopped walking. “Are you ready to rock?”
“I dunno . . . What if something goes wrong and I get hurt? I don’t think this is a good idea.” David stopped dead in his tracks.
“Come on. Don’t be a pussy. You’ll never live this down if you back out now. Besides, if you get hurt bad enough, you’ll wind up with a wicked scar and bragging rights. What more could you want!” Jim punched David’s bony arm so hard he bruised his hand. “Son of a bitch. See what you made me do.”
“Ow! That really hurt. Why did you punch me?” He rubbed his arm and frowned.
“I wanted to knock some sense into you¾I think it worked.” Jim rubbed his aching hand. He felt it swell up.
“Sorry, Jim. I tried to get out of the way, but you’re too quick for me.” David kicked some gravel scattered across the tracks.
�
��Stand here when the nine-forty-five comes. You can’t move until the train passes the line I draw. Understand?” Jim pulled a piece of chalk, stolen, no doubt, out of his jacket and made a mark on the left side of the tracks. “Remember, don’t move until you see the train. If you do, the deal’s off and I’ll tell everyone you’re a coward.” He stood next to David and rested his foot on one of the rails, accidentally tangling his loose shoelace in the metal.
David froze and looked around. He saw overgrown bushes and brown grass on either side of him. When the tracks began to vibrate, he stared at the white line inches from his feet and crossed it, bolting from the tracks. He stood a comfortable distance away¾off to the side in the overgrown grass—close enough to see the action, but far enough to watch the train pass unharmed.
“What the fuck. You got it all wrong. Didn’t you hear what I said? “ Jim slammed his foot down on the tracks “Get back here, coward. You’re never going to live this down. I’ll make sure of that.”
David raised his right hand slowly and gave Jim the finger—it glowed in the eerie white light cast by the rapidly approaching train, like a beacon. “It looks like you’re fucked, Jim. Are you just going to stand there like an ass? Why don’t you come over here and beat the crap out of me?” He leaned over for a closer look. “Looks like you’re tied up.”
Jim stared at his loose shoelace in disbelief when he realized it had fused with the smooth shiny rail of the tracks and shrieked. “David you’ve got to help me. I’ll do anything you want if you get me out of this mess!” With a trembling hand, Jim fumbled for the switchblade in his pocket. It slipped from his grasp and clattered to the tracks just beyond his reach.
Jim saw a bolt of lightning, followed by the sound of thunder rumbling in the distance as a torrential rain began to fall . . . His dark blue eyes were awash in fear, reflected in the tarnished, discarded blade at his feet. When Jim tried to drag it closer with his free foot, he slipped in the muddy gravel and landed smack on his ass.
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