The Creation: Let There Be Death (The Creation Series Book 2)

by The Behrg

  “I’ll go,” Chupa said. “I’m not afraid.”

  “I need someone to stay back with the vehicle and the priest. To meet us when we get out. You and Zephyr will both be staying.”

  “Like hell!” The words were like a gunshot. Zephyr tromped back over, decimating the foliage beneath him. Chupa backed away, taking Dugan’s notebook, but not wanting to be a part of this conversation.

  “You won’t make it.” Dugan grabbed the larger man by his injured arm.

  Zephyr shook him off, his entire frame shaking. “I’m a Navy Seal. I may be the only one who makes it.”

  “You were a Navy Seal,” Dugan said. “Now you’re just a cripple.”

  Zephyr shoved Dugan hard in the chest, rocking Dugan back. “We already had this conversation.”

  “That was before we knew we’d be swimming through an underground river. Look at you — you’re so weak and lightheaded you’ll pass out before we’ve gone twenty feet down that tunnel! I won’t make you —”

  “No one’s ever made me do anything, Dugan. And no one’s ever stopped me from doing what I want. That ain’t about to change.”

  “You’ve forgotten your place. I make the decisions for this team, not you. And this decision affects everyone. One slip up in there and it means all of our lives, so no, you’re staying. I’ll tie you to the jeep if I have to.”

  Zephyr gave no warning, no change to his posture or demeanor that might have hinted at his intention. One second he stood across from Dugan arguing, the next — he was charging. A bull, with only one thought on its mind. Dugan registered the attack but only had his Glock halfway raised by the time the larger man plowed into him. The gun flew from his hand, the momentum driving them both back. There was a single moment where gravity seemed to waiver as they hovered near the edge of the cenote, and then they were airborne.

  They hit in a flurry of water and body parts, Dugan’s goggles ripped free in the commotion. Everything went instantly black. He kicked upward, waiting for the water to break. When he finally emerged, he had to convince himself he could actually take a breath — the darkness above the water was no different from the depths below.

  Dugan heard a splash nearby and lashed out toward it, meeting only water. “Where are you, you son of a bitch?”

  The noise from the settling water was dizzying in the darkness, sounding both close and far at the same time.

  “No, don’t shoot!” Dugan heard from above. “They’re too close.”

  “I’ve got him!”

  Conflict broke out above, in what sounded like a fist fight.

  “Zephyr?” Dugan shouted.

  Nothing. And then, “Stay where you’re at, Oso!”

  Dugan turned toward Zephyr’s voice, remembering that the native was already in the water.

  “You take things too personal, Doog,” Zephyr said. “Leech, even Cy … They weren’t betraying you. It’s not about us or them, your team versus the rest of the world. It’s just self-preservation. Pure and simple. Same reason you’ve been after this Shaman for so long.”

  “You don’t know anything,” Dugan said.

  “What, you want to convince yourself you’re doing this for your daughter? Fine, sing yourself a lullaby, but it’s the same bullshit. Preserving your line, your offspring. We’re all animals, Dugan. All we want is to survive. Some of us are just better at it than others.”

  “Dugan,” Chupa called down from up top. Two flares came aglow, though the light they cast barely lit the arms that held them. Dugan knew what the man was asking — whether they should gun Zephyr down or not. But Dugan hadn’t yet decided.

  Survival.

  It was what they were after; what everyone was after. Even those who had enslaved themselves behind a picket fence home working an eight-to-six job. Every gainful hour of employment amounting to another notch on the security blanket that meant their family could survive another week, another day, another hour. A loaf of bread, a gallon of milk, new shoes, schoolbags, tire rotation on the family car; everyone kills to survive, whether they realize it or not. Most are just slowly killing themselves.

  “I’m no threat,” Zephyr said, almost reading Dugan’s thoughts. He must have guessed the others were waiting on Dugan’s deliberation. “Not to you, anyway. But this Shaman owes me. You owe me.”

  Cicadas crooned an almost electric sound, vibrating in the air. The only noise that carried above the water lapping against the sides of the cenote.

  “Hmm. I see how it is.” Zephyr inhaled a large breath, blowing it out slowly.

  “I can’t trust you in there,” Dugan said.

  “Thought you said I wouldn’t make it.”

  “You won’t.” Dugan brought his arm up then down, in a quick slashing motion. Immediately the air erupted with gunfire. Tiny sparks flashed from above, the water churning into a tiny rapid.

  The display ended almost as quickly as it began. Dugan let out his breath, surprised by the emotion that gripped him. It was a call he had never wanted to make, but it was one that had persisted in the back of his mind ever since he had brought the Seal in.

  If I thought I could control you, I wouldn’t have hired you.

  His words to Zephyr earlier had been true, but they also hadn’t conveyed the full truth. There was a reason Oso stuck by Dugan’s side. One day, Dugan had told the native, Zephyr will try to kill me. It’s your job to know which day.

  “Rest of you mukus alright?” Rojo called down.

  “You get him?” Dugan asked.

  “Pretty sure we got him.”

  Oso splashed at the water, calling Dugan with his gargle-like growl. With one arm outstretched before him, Dugan swam toward the noise in the dark.

  “Geronimo,” came a call from above.

  The flares arced down toward the water, though Dugan was still unable to make out the man holding them. He heard the splash, followed quickly by a second. The flares resurfaced, tiny bulbs fighting against the darkness.

  The lights grew closer, suddenly appearing next to Dugan as if they had teleported across the water. The hint of Kendall’s face was visible in their glow.

  “Where are your goggles?”

  “Somewhere beneath us.”

  “You want mine?”

  Dugan grabbed one of the flares. “I’ll be fine.”

  A face materialized next to Dugan, causing his heart to leap momentarily. “Woah, it’s just me,” Rojo said. He held a tranquilizer dart out for Dugan. “In case our quarry isn’t as passive as we hope. Plus Chupa can track where we’re at and follow us from above. I know I’d prefer finding a different exit.”

  Dugan nodded, taking the dart. He noticed a bruise forming on Rojo’s left cheek.

  “Don’t worry, we’re good,” Rojo said.

  “Yeah, that was just a love tap,” Kendall said.

  The tension coming off Rojo said they were anything but good. His whole team was falling apart, but Dugan only needed to hold them together a little longer. Oso suddenly appeared between the other two, his long hair curling out along the water like a swarm of serpents.

  “Four men to take on a bloody army,” Rojo said.

  “I feel bad for the army.”

  It was the right thing to say, Dugan’s words easing not only the tension between the men but the anxiety of their upcoming swim. Oso clapped both men on the shoulders, each of them giving their version of a smile.

  As they swam toward the moss-covered side of the cenote’s wall, Kendall stripped off his shirt and pants, tossing them out into the darkness. He then instructed them on how to prepare for the dive. “You want to train your body to expect less oxygen. A few minutes of light exertion but slow your breathing. Just concentrate on the air coming in, then letting it out. Real slow. And use your diaphragm. You can trick the muscle, not the lungs.”

  Rojo looked like he was hyperventilating, breathing short breaths in and short breaths out.

  After what felt much shorter than it should have, Oso made a circular motion
with one hand, then pointed down at the water. He slipped beneath the black pool like a wraith.

  “Guess we know who’s leading,” Rojo said.

  “Follow my light,” Kendall said to Dugan, then dove down with a violent kick.

  Holding the other flare, Dugan sucked in what might amount to his last breath and dove beneath the surface. The light from Kendall’s flare glowed dimly ahead. It was time to see exactly what they were made of.

  Verse XXVI.

  Faye’s progress through the tunnel was hampered by the limp body she dragged behind her. Every instinct screamed at her to run, leave the Shaman, and find some corridor or forgotten offshoot to hide in, but she knew her survival ultimately depended on his safety. Or at least having the option of taking that safety away.

  If required, she had no qualms in doing exactly what Sir William had done the night before: threaten to kill the man everyone was after.

  God, had that only been last night?

  She tried not to think about how that decision had ended for the Englishman.

  Based on the direction the guards had come from, and the gradual descent of the slope she remembered trudging down, she felt it wiser to go deeper into the mine than head back up. There’d certainly be less men this way and, if she was lucky, they might find a back way out. So far she hadn’t heard any footfalls, but it would only be a matter of time before they came again to check on their prize.

  She ducked her head below a knob of solid rock in the ceiling. Her lower back strained as she moved forward in a half crouch, holding the Shaman by his armpits. His feet dug a trail of dirt behind them that might as well have been a big neon sign exclaiming, ‘They went this way!’ She hated not having a plan, not knowing where she was going or what she hoped to accomplish. Or if there was even a reason to keep trying.

  Faye jumped at the sound of bars rattling. She lost her grip on the Shaman and his body slumped to the ground. The belligerent noise came from down a short alcove hidden in shadows. She hadn’t even realized it was there.

  “Ayúdame! Ayúdame, ayúdame!”

  Help me.

  “No me dejes aquí!”

  The voice was a woman’s. Broken. And filled with a hopelessness that resulted not from hours or days in a cage, but weeks. Months. Maybe even years.

  Faye felt a cold chill crawl down her bones.

  That would have been me.

  “Shhh. Silencio,” Faye said, worried that the woman’s cries would attract attention. Her words only caused the woman to yell that much louder. She had to keep going; there was nothing she could do for this woman anyway, not while the Shaman was unconscious.

  “No, no, no … no me dejes!”

  Don’t leave me.

  Desperation personified.

  Faye picked the Shaman back up by the armpits, his head lolling back and resting against her legs. She dragged him toward the passage, her eyes taking a moment to adjust as they plunged into shadow.

  What was she hoping to accomplish here? She couldn’t help this woman!

  A gate appeared, its bars cemented in rock. Two arms stuck out from between the slots; pale, dirt-stained skin, so thin the bones bulged from the flesh. The girl’s face appeared, pressed flush against the gate. Her small nose protruding between the bars. She was young, her gaunt face stained with the tracks of tears, thick lines that might never wash away. Her lips were cracked, open sores leaking puss and fluid. What little Faye could see of her hair was in tangles.

  Faye didn’t bother wiping at the tears that trailed down her own face. And then she caught her breath, noticing what the girl had no chance of hiding. Despite her malnourished and thin body, her belly stuck out like a bowling ball had been fitted beneath her rags.

  She was pregnant.

  That would have been me.

  “I don’t have keys,” Faye said in Spanish, motioning toward the lock on the gate.

  The girl glanced down at the Shaman’s unconscious form.

  “Do you know him?”

  The girl shook her head.

  “He’s our way out. Us. But I need your help in return.”

  Blank eyes stared back at her. If Faye hadn’t known better she might have thought the girl didn’t speak Spanish. Time to try another way in.

  “What’s your name?”

  The girl spoke in a quiet voice, so different from the raised pleas so recently shouted. “Lilana.”

  “It’s beautiful. Your name. And you. I’m Faye. I’m here to help, Lilana. Do you know the way out?”

  Lilana shook her head.

  “No. That’s okay.”

  A fresh tear ran down the worn track on Lilana’s face. She seemed unaware.

  “I’m going to leave this man here, by your …” Faye pointed at the bars, not knowing the word in Spanish. “But I need you to tell me, to yell for me, if he starts to wake. Or if you hear someone else coming. Can you do that?”

  The girl’s stare was empty.

  “Lilana! Can you do this for me? For us?”

  She finally nodded.

  Faye dragged the Shaman’s body over to the gate, propping him up so that the girl could reach her arms out and take hold of him if need be. She hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

  “Watch him. If he moves …” Faye bent her arm and tucked it beneath the Shaman’s neck, holding it tightly. “Understand?”

  Lilana nodded, though she looked anything but assured.

  “You’ll be fine. I’ll be right back.”

  Faye began to leave when the girl cried out. “No me dejes. No me dejes!”

  “I’m not leaving you! But I have to find a way out and I need to find the keys.”

  A tear dropped from the bottom of Lilana’s chin.

  “You are strong, Lilana. And brave. Now be strong until I get back. And stay quiet. Unless —” Faye once again made the motion of a headlock.

  Lilana nodded.

  Faye smiled. For maybe the first time since she had found herself in this horrible dungeon. “Remember, you are strong,” she whispered to the girl.

  Back out in the corridor, Faye let out a deep breath. She needed someone to remind her the same thing. She brought her hand back across the shaved side of her head. All she had lived through, all she had survived … she was not a victim. She was strong.

  I am Hari’chauk, she thought.

  She continued further into the mine.

  It wasn’t long before she slowed. Muffled whispers carried from ahead. The lights set in the tunnels were spaced further and further apart, creating long stretches of complete shadow. Faye had to walk with her arms outstretched, one step at a time, careful not to bump into a sudden curve or discover a drop in the floor. Her heart hammered in her ears, conscious of every scrape of her feet or the soft swoosh of her clothes.

  In the darkness she heard an intake of breath.

  She stopped, paralyzed with fear. At the closeness of that breath.

  “Quién es?”

  Faye moved toward the voice recognizing the cadence of another woman, albeit one who spoke with a much lower voice than Lilana. Her hands smacked into bars where the cavern wall should have been, the metal rustling loudly.

  “Aye,” someone shouted, more voices hurtling towards her.

  A spark flashed, the small flame of a match being held up toward Faye by arms that reached through bars. Faye stared into the eyes of another woman. Sores covered her face and arms, teeth missing from her slackened mouth.

  More faces crowded in next to the woman, girls — young and old — looking at Faye as if she were an apparition.

  “Take us with you,” the older woman crowed in Spanish.

  Arms clawed at Faye, forcing her to step back.

  “Help us!” … “Don’t leave us here!” … “Dios mío!”

  Cries and screams elevated in both volume and despair, several of the women clanging against the bars like maddened dogs.

  “Stop,” Faye shouted. “They’ll hear you!”

  She might as w
ell have been yelling at a tornado.

  Hands slapped at faces, each woman trying to make her way to the front. As the flame finally went out Faye couldn’t help but notice the sheer number of women whose bellies were enlarged. The cry of an infant was barely audible over the women shouting for help.

  “You have to take us —” … “Please, save me!” … “Don’t abandon us —” … “Take my baby!”

  With tears welling in her eyes, Faye continued down the corridor. First at a shuffle, then at a brisk walk. But with the voices pursuing her with every step, it wasn’t long before she was running. Faster than she had ever run in her life.

  Verse XXVII.

  The walls of the underwater cavern were covered in a spongy dark moss, appearing more like a muscle or living tissue than hard earth and rock. It was as if Dugan and his men had been swallowed and were now passing down the cavity of a long throat into the underbelly of some monstrous beast.

  Stringy ribbon-like leaves stretched upward from the cavern floor, the aquatic eel grass waving with the current. Small iridescent fish darted beneath the cover of plant life and fallen rocks, huddled in deeper shadows. The glow of the flares intensified the further in they swam, the otherworldly darkness holding no place in this Stygian environment.

  Dugan kept his mind empty, maintaining Kendall in his sights while he focused exclusively on his strokes. The current harried their movement, but the lower they swam the less of its pull was felt. He felt an urge to look back, to make sure Rojo was still behind him, but ignored it. Every second, every exertion could be spent on only one thing: moving forward.

  Time passed in what seemed an eternity of strokes. Pressure built in Dugan’s ears and chest. He felt an intense need to expel his breath and suck back in whatever was available. He let out a small amount of air, bubbles rising above him.

  The cavern narrowed, with jutting edges he had to swim around. They had to be getting close. Dugan wasn’t sure if it was the light of the flare or his vision but the color of the rocks and underwater plants had dulled into indistinguishable gray shades. It was as if he had donned his thermal goggles once again. He swam on, watching bubbles rise from Kendall ahead of him.