by The Behrg
As she moved closer to those rust-stained bars, the abhorrent reek only grew stronger. It was the stench of death. Breathing through her mouth, she peered through the bars into the swollen blackness beyond. She couldn’t help the rhythmic pounding of her heart as its pace continued to increase.
Every man I send in does not come back alive.
Who was this man, this Shaman, and what had her father wanted with him? His knowledge? Or was there something darker Dugan had been seeking? Something … forbidden?
She swat at the arm aiming to shove her through the open gate, choosing to step through unassisted. The iron bars clanged closed behind her.
“Good luck, princesa,” Gutierrez said, handing the syringe through the bars. “Try not to scream too loudly.”
He turned, leaving her alone in the cell.
Alone with a monster.
She faced the darkness of the concave chamber, her heart pattering, but with a warm confidence swarming over her. This was company she was used to keeping.
Verse XIII.
Light burst around Dugan as if time had paused at the center of an explosion. Colorless and without warmth, the light was like a blank slate; a painter taking his labor of love and dashing over it with broad strokes of white paint. It’s only purpose, to erase all that existed before.
His footfalls pounded against the hard pavement. As he ran, he realized he had no shadow, ahead or behind him. He glanced about at the metal railings and covered canopy, the jeeps and burning shells of what remained of the Humvees; even around his men — not a single shadow existed anywhere in the carport. There was only light.
Blinding.
And hungry.
The light existed in a plane that defied both logic and nature. There was no source. Unless you considered the Shaman.
Dugan was suddenly thrust back into the moment following his healing. The Shaman had laid his hands on him, liquid fire pulsing through his head. And then Dugan had awoken to a realm surrounded in arcs of glowing white light.
Glimmers, he remembered.
Each floating wisp could have been one of a hundred tiny florets blown off the head of a Taraxacum, or dandelion, that had gone to seed.
“The Fabric. The Glimmers,” the Shaman had called them. “He will destroy them.”
But this light was different. If the Glimmers were the fabric of Creation, then this light was its polar opposite, intent only on rending and destroying.
“Over here!”
Dugan turned toward the voice. Rojo stood just beyond the first row of vehicles, lifting a heavy slab of metal from the ground. Chupa leapt into the hole, a splash following his disappearance. Kendall knelt beside Rojo, peering into the depths of some pit.
“No way, man,” Kendall said.
Sparks rang off the muddied red Jeeps to their side, bullets intended for fleshier targets.
Chupa’s voice echoed up from the drum he had leapt into, though with the ringing of gunfire, Dugan couldn’t make out his words.
“Go!” Rojo ordered.
Kendall slipped his body through the gap in the ground, a shout and splash trailing after.
“Dugan! Oso!”
Dugan changed his course, jaunting toward the man. Just ahead of him, Oso tripped over a snaking coil of hose and fell, skidding on the ground.
The fall saved his life.
Two muzzle flashes burst from the other side of the carport, one shattering the window of the Jeep that Oso would have been in front of.
Dugan sprayed his rifle in the direction the shots had come from, hoping it would buy them time. Not until afterward did he fully register the image of the man with a kaleidoscope held to one eye.
Not a kaleidoscope, a thermal imaging FLIR monocular. And there was only one person who would need to cover but one eye in this raging light.
Cy.
Having rolled into his fall, Oso came back up in a crouching position. Rather than leaping down to safety in the pit, he held a hand out to Dugan, ready to usher him in.
Dugan covered the distance quickly, emptying his remaining clip in the direction of the traitor, before joining the other two men. He paused at the lip of the hole, almost surprised at the darkness within. The contrast to the bright air around them was nauseating.
“It’s a holding tank, for run-off water,” Rojo said, his eyes shut tight, for what little good it would do him. The veins in his neck were taut from holding the weight of the lid so long. “Get your ass in there!”
The air rising from the tank smelled more of oil than water, but it wasn’t the only reason for Dugan’s hesitation. “We’ll be trapped.”
“There’s nowhere else to go!”
As more bullets raked the ground closer to them, Dugan felt Oso grab him by the forearms and drop backward into the hole. Dugan’s shin banged into the edge of the lip as he was pulled through, dropping into a free fall.
They passed through the riser, the area around them opening up into the wider underground tank, air turning cool. Then they hit.
Dugan’s outstretched arm and head barreled into a body, the collision wrenching his back out of place as he was turned over end before submerging into the filthy water. His foot connected with someone’s face, and then he was turning himself about, treading water. Cries and shouts were quickly squelched as what little light came from above closed off.
Like being entombed.
“Make way,” Rojo said.
The heavy cover of the tank rattled with a deep metallic thrum as they were cast into complete darkness, a welcome respite from the light. Then Rojo’s body joined the mass below, part of him rolling off Dugan’s shoulder, someone else taking the brunt of his fall.
“Quit grabbin’ ass,” someone shouted.
“You’re drowning me!”
“Get ahold of an edge.”
“There are no edges!”
Fists and elbows flew in the dark, water churning with the commotion. Some of it splashed into Dugan’s mouth, a disgusting concoction of gasoline, runoff water, and whatever bacteria had taken hold in these depths.
“Who has a light?” Dugan said, jostling at the bodies surrounding him.
“I’ve got a lighter,” someone said.
“Don’t even think about it,” Dugan said. “You shoot off a spark down here and we all go up.”
“Some hiding place,” Chupa said. Dugan could always identify his accent.
“Would you rather be blind up there?” Rojo shouted back.
“Remains to be seen,” Chupa replied.
“Here, I got, uh —” A ray of light suddenly shot out from the dark. “There.” Kendall turned the small flashlight toward Dugan and the others, each of them covering their eyes or looking away.
“Not in the face, man,” Rojo said.
“Enough. Hand me the light.”
Kendall hesitated only a second before reaching his long arm out over Chupa’s head. Dugan grabbed the small cylinder, pointing it at the smooth surface of the tank around them. He couldn’t tell if the water they were swimming in was black in color or if it was just from the contrast. Either way, the oily sheen at the surface was a sure sign the water was contaminated with petroleum spillage. That, and the fumes tickling his nose and throat.
“You put us in a freaking coffin,” Kendall said.
“Quiet,” Dugan said. “Someone see how deep this goes. Check all the walls, see if there’s an offshoot or —”
“There’s no offshoot, Dugan. These things are made to prevent leakage. You have to pump this shit out,” Kendall said.
“I’ll go,” Chupa said. He flipped over in the water, kicking off of Rojo as he dove downward.
Water dripped from Rojo’s glistening beard. “I didn’t know where else to go,” he said.
“Unh-unhh.”
Dugan flashed the light on Oso, who growled with the only sound he could make. The native who spoke like a bear pointed upward with his lips and Dugan raised the beam to follow his line of sight. A thrum reve
rberated from the tank’s lid above.
Chupa came back to the surface. His retching cough reminded Dugan of what he used to live with on a daily basis. “Oh, man, that is foul.”
“Quiet,” Kendall said.
“There’s no exit. We’re trapped,” Chupa confirmed.
“Shhh.”
A scraping sound, like metal grinding against stone, silenced the group, then light appeared at the top of the riser. Dugan turned off the flashlight.
“Hey boys.”
Cy’s voice boomed through the tank as if it were the voice of god. Considering their lives were in his hands, he might as well have been.
“You know, you weren’t supposed to run out into the light, but you never were one to do what people expect, were you Dugan?” After a moment, he continued, “I can hear your breathing; there’s no need to pretend you’re not there. Unless Oso’s the only one who survived the fall? Wouldn’t that be ironic.”
“What’d they promise you?” Dugan asked.
“It’s not like that. I’m sure you’ll find that difficult to believe, but it’s true.”
“You muku traitor,” Kendall shouted.
One of the men shoved Kendall beneath the water. The quickest way to silence him.
“You and I alone, Dugan,” Cy continued. “It was never about the money. We were always in this for the same reasons.”
“Your sister,” Dugan said.
“And your daughter,” came the booming voice back.
“But we’ve finally found what we’ve been looking for, Cy. Why would you do this now?”
“You’ve let things get too personal. I don’t care about the Shaman. I only care about the cure.”
“The Shaman is the cure!”
“This isn’t a negotiation. You’re not going to change my mind. Stanton could care less whether I bring you in breathing or as a corpse, so I’m the only way you get out of this alive. And you are the only way the others get out alive. I have no desire to see any of you hurt, I really don’t. You know I respect you, Dugan. But I can also see when someone’s being blinded to what’s right in front of them.”
“You’re the only one who’s blind!” Kendall said.
“Shut up,” Rojo shouted, trying to shove Kendall beneath the water again.
One look from Dugan silenced them both. “You wouldn’t risk bringing the others out with me. Not alive.”
“I’ll bring you out — all of you — but you’re not leaving the Facility,” Cy said. “We can’t afford to risk your life chasing after a man we no longer need.”
“But we do need him! I’m no longer healing, Cy. Ask Morley. Hell, ask Shannon!”
“I don’t need more lies and tale spinning.”
“This is the truth, Cy!”
“Then tell me this, why are you so hell-bent on going after him? Is it really to reclaim the Shaman or is it to rescue your daughter?”
Dugan hesitated in answering.
“That’s what I thought.”
“What’s your sister’s name?” Dugan asked.
“I’ve told it to you before. Guess it wasn’t important to you.”
“What’s her name?”
“Why?”
“So I can add her to my book. Because I swear to God, if we achieve immortality as a species I will guarantee your sister is the last human being to taste death. A brutal, tortured, extended death.”
“Swear to your Shaman, not God. At least then it’s to someone you believe in.”
“Look around you,” Rojo suddenly shouted. “Whatever’s happening is bigger than Dugan being healed, Cy. This light? The tepui? You can’t deny whatever this is.”
“Sorry, Rojo, but right now Dugan’s our best chance. The world’s best chance. Now you can all tread water till you drown or we make an agreement.”
“You knew we’d end up in here, didn’t you?” Dugan said. “You knew we’d come into the light when those doors were ripped free, that we’d seek whatever solace we could find. Did you move one of the vehicles so that the entrance to this tank was visible?”
“Two of them, actually,” Cy said. Dugan imagined the man smiling. “I herded you, no different than herding the Makuxi.”
“You learned from the best.”
“I am the best.”
“But did you foresee me having a lighter?” Dugan snapped his fingers, signaling the men. Oso beat them to it, handing one to Dugan with a knowing look.
“Well, like I said, we don’t need you alive.”
“I’ll take us all to hell before we submit to you. And the amount of oil and fumes in this water? I hope you can pull what you need from me out of the ashes that remain.”
“Come on, Dugan, this is stupid. We want the same thing! A cure.”
Dugan glanced at the men around him. It was on their faces. Defeat. But they would let him decide whether they lived or died, whether they submitted or went up in flames. He was suddenly intensely proud of his men, of what they had built, of what they had become.
“Okay,” he said, but his words were drowned out beneath the roar of a shotgun.
A second blast sounded from above, followed by a body covering the light from the tank’s round opening. It was like an eclipse of the sun. And then that body dropped toward them, the light rushing in to take its place.
Blood and gore rained down from above, preceding the inevitable splash. This time everyone moved back against the tank walls, avoiding the body that smacked into the water. Cy hit face first, his body floating before slowly sinking beneath the watery tomb. He never resurfaced.
A shadow spread above them. Against the backdrop of light, it was impossible to see any features beyond the silhouette of a man. Until a booming voice shot down the walls of the tank.
“Morley said you might need a hand.”
“Zephyr!”
The cries of the men were a reminder of how close they had come.
“Good thing. One’s all I got. You grab the FLIR from the kook’s body?”
“I got it,” Chupa said, diving beneath the surface to chase it down.
“Can’t believe you mukus came out here without one.”
“Not like we had a choice,” Rojo said.
“Zephyr,” Dugan said. “Thank you.”
“Is it true what Morley said? Your cancer?”
“Gone.”
Kendall and Rojo looked at Dugan with surprise. Even they hadn’t considered the full extent of the Shaman’s healing power.
“Don’t think you’re off the hook,” Zephyr said. “I want what Cy wanted — a cure. But only that muku Shaman will be able to give me what I need.”
Would the Shaman be able to heal Zephyr like he had Dugan? Did his powers have limitations or was limb-regeneration within the realm of possibilities? Dugan didn’t know, but he also didn’t need the answer. He just needed Zephyr to believe it was possible.
“Get us out and we’ll do this together,” Dugan said.
“As long as you know we don’t stop until I’m healed. Fully healed.”
“You have my word,” Dugan said. “We won’t stop until every option is exhausted.”
“Speaking of exhausted … You got a rope you can toss us, Zeph?” Rojo asked. “These hips weren’t made for swimming.”
Verse XIV.
The native girl had finally gone quiet, crawling back into the cubby beneath the desk. The only thing that remained was her leg stretched out in front of her, extending onto the attic floor. Donavon stared at her foot. The toes were all gnawed off, the remaining lump of flesh a grotesque sight of tendons and muscle, pink flesh turned a gristly black.
Donavon dropped his gaze to his own leg. Blood already matted the wound, hardening on his leg hairs. If he moved, however, that tenuous crust broke open, fresh blood seeping out anew.
When he tried to speak, the woman shrieked, the abrupt noise causing him to fall silent. Where the hell was Kenny? Probably hitting a joint. Donavon tried to keep his eyes closed, concentrating on his
breathing. After a few moments of silence he heard the pattering of tiny feet.
Rats.
He caught movement against the far wall, stirrings at the corner of his eyes. And then he gasped at a rodent the size of a newborn, its tail almost three feet in length. It scurried out from behind the moldy side of the desk. Raised its whiskered head, scrunching its face as it pawed at its nose, then slowly continued toward the woman’s outstretched leg.
Donavon’s first impulse was to shoo the thing away, but the eyes staring back at him from within that covered space beneath the desk kept him silent.
The rat ducked beneath the woman’s leg, squeezing between her flesh and the floor and squirming out the other side. Another smaller companion peeked its furry nose around the corner, sniffing at the air. The first rat took a tentative bite at the base of the woman’s foot, near her ankle. A flap of skin tore off like peeling wallpaper.
Donavon had to cover his mouth to keep from crying out. Or throwing up.
The woman didn’t flinch or move in the slightest.
Finding no repercussion, the large rat tore in more viciously, using its front paws to bring raw meat that had dropped to the floor to its mouth. The noise alone was squirm-inducing. The second rat joined the feast, tearing a long swath of skin off. It took its prize and darted back behind the desk’s side. Its larger cousin continued gnawing at the woman’s foot, wet tromping and slurping noises that caused Donavon to shudder.
As the rat continued its meal with abandon, Donavon noticed the woman bring her upper torso slowly toward the foul creature. Then, like a spring trap, she snapped forward.
Her hands clamped down on the feral beast that tried wriggling its way from her vice-like grip. The collar around her neck jostled her head back and she instead brought the squirming rat into the depths of the cubby, raising it to her mouth.
The thing’s squeamish scream as she bit into its flesh gave Donavon a sudden and unexpected sympathy toward vermin. Bones crunched and snapped between the woman’s razor teeth, the sounds of sucking and slurping continuing far louder than when the rat had been eating.
Donavon heard the soft whimpering sound of a lost puppy. It took him a moment to realize the noise wasn’t coming from the rat, but from him.