Armageddon Heights (a thriller)

by D. M. Mitchell

  ‘Yeah, him too. Tie them all up and bring them with me. Jesus, it’s too hot for all this!’ he complained. ‘I was having a nice little nap. You know how I hate having my sleep disturbed.’

  ‘And the vehicle, sir?’

  ‘Camouflage that and the motorcycle over there till we get time to look over them properly, when it gets cooler. Put some men on it to guard it. I’m going to talk with this lot and then I’m going back to bed.’ He paused by Lauren Smith. She was shivering as if cold. ‘I’d like her in my bed tonight, too.’

  She was hauled away protesting by two men, much to her husband’s obvious distress, and Wade caught sight of a trapdoor opening in the ground down which they descended. So that’s where they came from, he thought in a daze as he was dragged to his feet and taken towards the cleverly concealed entrance, noticing before he reached the large metal trapdoor how more of them were opening up across the land. The men drifted away to vanish from the desert surface as quickly as they’d appeared. He followed the man they called Cain as he turned to climb down the makeshift ladder.

  The man Samuel Wade knew only as the murderer John Travers.

  The man he had vowed to kill.

  The square opening, framed with jagged teeth of rusted metal, lay as dark and as ominous as the gaping maw of some great beast about to devour him.

  26

  What New Mad Hell?

  They descended twenty feet or more, the air decidedly cooler below ground than that of the baking surface of the desert. Samuel Wade’s eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, adjusting from the glare of the sun to the dimly-lit interior of the pit. He had no time to take in his immediate surroundings as he was bundled roughly along from behind, taken down a narrow, uneven corridor seemingly cut out of solid stone, the low roof held in place by rust-bloomed steel girders. Every now and again a crudely manufactured oil lamp, mounted on an equally crude wall bracket, flickered spasmodically, almost nervously, throwing out precious little light to see by. There was a stale, curiously damp smell about the tunnel, but there was no sign of water marking the dry rock surface. As they traversed the long tunnel, at various points taking dog-leg turns – reminding Wade of the layout of First World War trench systems – he noticed side tunnels spiking off from what must be the main artery, lit with the same thinly spread lines of oil lamps and leading God-knew-where.

  Every hundred yards or so the tunnel opened out into a wide, domed chamber, what appeared to be an air duct leading out to the surface to draw down air. There was always the throaty growl of an engine working away somewhere, an air pump, Wade surmised. And within these domed structures more open trapdoors that led downwards, presumably to yet more levels that looked just like this one. Out of the darkness more bearded men appeared, all dressed similarly in leather and fur, most of them armed. They stopped what they were doing to watch the procession. Wade noticed the rancid reek they gave off – a noxious blend of months-old sweat, urine and the rotting-meat-stench of badly-cured leather

  But if that smell was bad, the smell of the next group he was able to detect a good five minutes before he saw them. They were in the next domed chamber, about ten of them, every one of them stark naked, their filthy, sweat-drenched emaciated bodies with spindly legs caked in streaks of dried excrement, were chained to each other. They worked with picks and shovels at the wall of the chamber, widening it, it appeared. They did not pause to observe the marching prisoners, for there were vicious-looking armed guards watching over them, and to a man they looked cowed by fear, their heads and shoulders drooped, their eyes all but dead. They stopped work and automatically, obediently, faced the wall as the man called Cain approached and walked by them.

  What new mad hell was this, Wade thought? He glanced back over his shoulder; the woman called Keegan was directly behind him. Her face gave nothing away. But she stared hard at him all the same, as if wishing to impart something by sight alone. Amanda Tyler, tearful and shivering, though holding up relatively well all things considered, shuffled in front of Jack Benedict, who looked close to breaking point, patently worried about his young wife, who had disappeared ahead. Wade was told to face front again and he did so, steeling himself for what might lie ahead.

  They reached a point where the tunnel came to a dead-end, in the wall ahead four steel-faced doors, and they were ordered to an untidy halt.

  ‘I want to talk to these two,’ Cain said, indicating Wade and Keegan. ‘Take the others to the holding cells.’

  ‘What are you going to do with them?’ Wade asked.

  He was hit on his wounded arm with a rifle and he collapsed breathlessly onto his knees, the rocky floor unforgiving.

  ‘Keep quiet, Wade,’ Keegan advised quietly.

  He looked up at her from the corner of a still-watery eye. She appeared curiously composed. Wade was hauled to his feet and the two prisoners were bundled through a door and into another corridor beyond, this one far neater in appearance, better lit, and, strangely, there was even paint on the walls. A light-blue colour. A guard stood by a door – this door unlike its counterparts being wooden; aged, polished oak, something you’d ordinarily expect to see inside a stately home, Wade thought, not deep down inside some kind of crude subterranean complex. The guard unlocked the door and stepped smartly to one side to allow access to Cain and the two prisoners.

  ‘Leave me alone with them,’ said Cain, waving Wade’s and Keegan’s guards away. ‘They’re not going anywhere in a hurry. Come,’ he beckoned his prisoners, ‘welcome to my humble office. Take a seat.’

  Wade was in agony from his beatings, his legs feeling like they were made of rope and were about to buckle beneath him. He sat down heavily in a plush, padded armchair. It was a second or two before he could fully take in his surroundings.

  The room was huge, again carved out of solid rock, but with the walls hammered smooth and painted in relaxing tones of yellow and blue. There was a mixture of furniture dotted around, most of it antique, highly polished and cared for, books lining a bookcase, vases and various ornaments placed discreetly and carefully about the room, large woollen rugs under their feet, a candle-lit chandelier above their heads with the majority of its crystal beads missing, a marble fireplace dominating one wall. The whole came satisfyingly together and signified someone in this place had taste.

  Cain saw Wade looking at the fireplace. ‘It’s for show, of course,’ he said. ‘No chimney. But there again all this is for show. It always was. Even before the Fall.’ He noticed Keegan was still standing. ‘Sit,’ he said, in a tone that didn’t invite her to challenge it. She found a chair and did so, slowly lowering herself into it.

  ‘What are you going to do with the others, Travers?’ Wade asked, hiding the fact his body was giving him hell.

  ‘Whatever I want,’ Cain replied flatly. He frowned. ‘Who is this damn Travers you keep talking about?’

  ‘Don’t piss up my back, Travers,’ Wade said, flinching as pain shot through him. ‘I know who you are. How we all got into this and what the hell is going on here, I don’t know. But you’re John Travers all right. You killed my wife and daughter, and when I get out of these…’ He lifted his hands, now tied with pieces of wire which were digging relentlessly into his flesh causing fresh bleeding. ‘…I’m going to kill you.’

  Cain didn’t seem in the least perturbed. He stood with his hands behind his back studying his captives closely.

  ‘He’s not Travers,’ Keegan explained.

  ‘I know Travers when I see him,’ Wade responded. ‘I’ve known the man years…’

  ‘And I’m telling you he’s not. You’re mistaken.’

  ‘Save your little domestic for later,’ Cain said. With a languid, almost big-cat-like movement, he went over to a cabinet and took out a bottle and a glass. He lifted the bottle high, held it up to the light of a lantern and looked at its golden contents. ‘So little left to enjoy,’ he said. ‘Alas my stocks are fast diminishing, unless we can lay our hands on fresh supplies. The Fall has a lot to an
swer for…’

  ‘The Fall? What is that?’ Wade said.

  Cain ignored him and poured out a small measure of the alcohol. He placed the bottle back in the cabinet as if it was a precious piece of porcelain. Sipping the drink carefully he faced Wade again. ‘I’ve not seen clothes like that except in pictures,’ he said, pointing the glass at Wade. ‘And that vehicle, too. A bus, yes, but so unlike any I have ever seen. Who are you? Where do you come from?’

  ‘Fuck knows,’ said Wade acidly. ‘Why don’t you tell us where this hellhole is?’

  ‘Hellhole?’ Cain smiled. ‘I should be offended. This hellhole is home. It’s all that’s left to us since our forefathers in their infinite wisdom chose to trash the beautiful one we had. See,’ he said, nodding at the yellow and blue walls. ‘All that is left of England’s green and pleasant land, of Constable’s cornfields, of Gainsborough’s blue skies, my crudely painted walls a poor replacement for the colours we, as children of the Fall, are destined never to see.’ He strode to a bookcase and opened the glass-fronted doors, Wade noticing how one of them had a crack that ran the entire length of the rippled glass. Now that Wade looked more closely, he saw that the bookcase was in a poor state of repair, almost rotten in places and patched up. Cain removed a large book and held it up. The book was an encyclopaedia, worn, faded and it looked to have been singed by fire at the edges. ‘You know as well as I what I mean. All we have left, spitefully taunting us, are the images of what has gone; pictures in books. And even those are rare things.’ He put the book back without opening it and closed the door softly on it. ‘But it is all we have to remind us who we once were, who we can be in the future. It will not be my future. It will be so far away it belongs to someone else.’ His face hardened again and this time he regarded Keegan. ‘I’ll ask you again, which regiment?’

  ‘I don’t belong to any regiment,’ she returned.

  ‘Where’d you get that weapon? The machinegun. Those handguns.’

  ‘I can’t remember.’

  ‘Is there more like it where they came from?’ he persisted.

  ‘I can’t remember.’

  His lips became twin lines of determination. ‘I can make you remember.’ He walked over to her, untying her hands and taking out his revolver. ‘Take off your tunic.’

  She lifted a brow. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I say so.’

  Reluctantly, she rose to her feet and unfastened her upper combat fatigues, stripping them off and dropping the jacket and bullet-proof vest to the ground. Beneath all this she wore a simple tight-fitting black T-shirt, sweat-soaked, that emphasised the swell of her bosom. ‘Satisfied?’ she said, folding her arms.

  He struck her across the mouth with the pistol and she staggered backwards clutching her jaw, blood pumping out of a cut lip.

  ‘Don’t be so eager to be sassy. You’ll not last long in here with a mouth like that.’ He sat down opposite her, lecherously admiring her slender form. Wade was surprised to see how small she really was beneath the padded tunic, but her arms were muscular and well-honed, her stomach flat. ‘You both know how to handle weapons. You’re soldiers, the pair of you. Where there are two there are more. You are after our stockpiles, right? Fuel, food, heating.’

  ‘We’re after finding our way home,’ said Wade. ‘Sorry to disappoint.’

  ‘When will they attack?’ Cain persisted.

  ‘There are no others,’ said Wade.

  Cain called to the guard outside. He came through the door. ‘Kill the other prisoners,’ he said casually.

  ‘No!’ Wade said. ‘I’m telling the truth; there isn’t any army about to attack you. Tell him, Keegan…’

  But Linda Keegan stared furiously and silently at Cain and dabbed a hand to her swelling, blood-smeared lip.

  Wade rose to his feet. ‘Tell him, Keegan!’

  ‘Maybe there is. Maybe there isn’t,’ she responded, licking her lip.

  ‘For fuck’s sake, Keegan…’ Wade gasped. ‘Look, Travers – Cain – there isn’t anyone else out there but us.’

  ‘Go ahead, kill them if you must,’ said Keegan. ‘What do I care?’

  ‘Christ!’ Wade burst. ‘Listen, Cain, don’t do it. Don’t kill them. I’m telling you the truth.’

  Cain picked up his glass again and took a gentle sip, looking them both over intently. ‘You’re either very brave or very foolish. Both of you. Do you know who I am?’

  ‘I know you, Cain,’ said Keegan. ‘You command this entire territory. Ruthlessly, pitilessly, it might be said.’

  ‘I’ll take that as a compliment,’ said Cain. ‘Then why play games with me? You know what I am capable of. You are nothing to me. I can snuff you out like that…’ and he clicked his fingers.

  ‘You’d like more weapons like that machinegun?’ said Keegan.

  ‘That would keep you alive. For now.’

  ‘I can show you where there are similar weapons, ammunition, grenades, and rocket-launchers. All this in exchange for our freedom. Mine and my companion’s here,’ she said.

  ‘And the other three as well,’ Wade interjected.

  ‘Forget the others,’ said Keegan bluntly. ‘What about it, Cain?’

  ‘Keegan, so help me God…’ Wade said, glowering at her furiously.

  ‘Shut up!’ Cain roared, musing over Keegan’s proposal. ‘I can simply torture you and get the information that way. I don’t need to bargain with you.’

  ‘I can show you how they work, lead you to other pieces of ordnance that’ll increase your firepower tenfold. You need me for that. And you don’t need someone who’s been broken by you and your goons.’

  Cain held the pistol out at Wade. ‘You I need, for now. But I don’t need him,’ he said.

  ‘I do,’ said Keegan. ‘So he stays alive. He’s an ex-military man. You’ll need him, too, eventually.’

  Cain lowered the gun. Grunted. ‘Where are these weapons?’

  ‘In a number of boltholes scattered thinly through the land. But you’ll never find them without me. I need your assurance that no harm will come to us. And, purely because Wade here insists, no harm will come to the other three prisoners either.’

  Cain smiled. ‘I can’t give that assurance. The young women have their parts to play – fit young women like those, like you, are in very short supply here, as you can imagine. Men need their release,’ said Cain meaningfully. ‘Here they are in abundance, but, like I say, women of a certain age and usability are rare and few. Women don’t tend to last long in the Flesh Pot.’

  ‘Flesh Pot?’ said Wade. You mean a brothel?’ spat Wade. ‘You’re going to use them as some kind of sex slaves?’

  ‘Another word from you and I’ll blow your head off its shoulders,’ said Cain. He closed his eyes for a second or two, and raised his pistol again, his steely gaze fixed on Wade. ‘I could have you put to work, but I feel you’d be nothing but trouble to me. It’s not worth hanging onto you, no matter what your friend here says.’

  Seeing Cain’s finger tightening on the trigger, Keegan said quickly, ‘Aren’t you forgetting something, Cain? The Third Law…’

  Wade looked from the gun to her. The Third Law? What the blazes was she playing at now?

  ‘What do you know about the Third Law?’ Cain asked, his eyebrow lifting a fraction.

  ‘I know it states that nothing happens by chance. All things happen for a reason, and unusual happenings even more so. Our presence here, without doubt, is most unusual…’

  ‘You’re simply playing for time, trying to save your friend here. You’re also forgetting the First Law – my command is inviolate and absolute. I have the power to do as I please.’

  ‘But only with reference to the other eleven Laws,’ Keegan said.

  Following a good deal of silent deliberation, Cain placed his drink on a mahogany desk and looked up at the guard, who was still standing in the doorway awaiting orders. He waved the guard over to him. ‘Take them to a cell. Keep them there until further notice. Don’t gi
ve them food or water. It’s too precious to waste on outsiders. Same for the other prisoners.’ To Keegan he said, ‘Your friend gets his reprieve. For now. I’ll let my Magwer decide.’

  At once, Keegan’s hands were retied, Wade and Keegan being shunted from the room and swiftly threaded down dark corridors again, finally coming to a hefty door constructed in the now-familiar sheet metal. The two prisoners were pushed without ceremony into the small bare cell beyond. When the door clanged shut it fell pitch-dark. Wade could hear Keegan’s steady breathing.

  ‘You okay?’ he asked.

  ‘This is another fine mess you’ve gotten me into…’ she said sullenly.

  ‘You’re joking at a time like this?’ he said, shaking his head. ‘Hell, this just gets worse! It’s madness, all of it!’ With the combination of the unsettling dark, his bruised and aching body and a mind so torn up by recent events, he felt himself starting to hyperventilate.

  Keegan must have become aware of it, because when she spoke, her voice was level and clear-headed.

  ‘Yes, it must seem like madness, Wade. I accept that. But hang in there – you’re not mad. There is an explanation for all this…’

  ‘An explanation?’ he echoed. ‘The man who killed my wife and child is dressed like Ben Gunn, I’m in a prison in a cave system beneath a bloody unknown desert and you tell me there’s a goddamn explanation for all this?’

  ‘Yes there is. But maybe this is not the time or place for you to hear all of it.’ Her voice seemed to float out of the dark, at once beside him, and at the same time to his disorientated mind spinning all round him. ‘We’re going to get a visit from Cain’s Magwer soon. That usually ends bad. We’ll probably end up like the guy you found strapped naked to the chair with a hand grenade in his hands. It’s a typical Magwer punishment. Christ, and the crime that poor bugger committed was probably to take a sip of water too much…’

  ‘Okay, so enlighten me. What is this Magwer?’

  ‘Cain’s holy man. Of sorts.’