Road to Abaddon

by Vincent Heeringa

  Matilda tossed the keys onto the dirt and ducked below the parapet just as a bullet flew over Nassim’s head and buried itself somewhere inside the guard post.

  “I surrender!” Matilda’s called. “Don’t shoot me!” And her pistol sailed over the ledge too and landed at Nassim’s feet. It was old and rusted and looked like it hadn’t tasted gunpowder for a while.

  Nassim pounced on the keys and had them turning the lock before anyone changed their minds. She edged inside. On her left, a door opened to steps that spiralled up to the guard post. She ran up with Afiz close behind and emerged on a small landing, the courtyard window to the left and narrow bench with a pitcher of water and a hookah pipe to the right.

  “There!” shouted Afiz and he pointed to a bead curtain that still twitched. They ran through and entered a bedroom with ornate carpets on the wall and a huge bed with a fur spread. Against the wall a writing desk was covered in books and papers and on the wall behind were maps and pictures of old-fashioned battles with horses and muskets.

  And they saw Matilda, hiding between the desk and the bedside table. She was shaking.

  “It’s alright Matilda,” said Nassim, crouching down. “We’re not here to hurt you. Whose room this is?”

  “This is his room,” she said, scowling.

  “Bonaparte’s?”

  “Yes. And don’t you go touching his, um, his,” she was reaching for the right word. “Research! His research, it’s precious.”

  The research was a pile of scribbled notes and pictures torn from old books. It all seemed to be about a short, fat man who wore tights and a sideways hat. In one image, he was astride a rearing horse, its mane flaring in the wind. In another, he stood with his hand stuffed into a white shirt. He wore a blue jacket with gold epaulettes and a magnificent star-shaped pendant on his breast. Napoleon Bonaparte, Emperor, read the caption.

  Nassim turned some of the pages and saw the man being crowned by a priest dressed in robes with golden edges. In another he lounged on a low couch, surrounded by half-dressed women holding fruit. “A little man with big ambitions,” she muttered, thinking about the dwarf wobbling on his wheels with a knife in his throat.

  She examined the rest of the room. On the other side of the bed was a sofa and behind were red drapes that hid the sandstone walls. A bedside table was covered tattered hard cover books arranged for decoration. The cave had a homely feeling.

  The only anomaly was two iron rings bolted into the stone floor. Nassim touched them and then glanced at Matilda’s arms. She noticed bruising on her wrists.

  “He made you his slave, didn’t he?” she said.

  Matilda pushed herself further into the corner. “Did not!” Her face twitched and she rubbed her wrists. “Not a slave! Nobody’s slave!” she said.

  Nassim exchanged a look with Afiz, as if to say this could get out of hand. She extended a hand. “That’s right, you’re no one’s slave. You’re free!” she said breezily. “Come on, let’s get out of here. I’m ready for a drink. How about you?”

  Matilda looked at the hand with narrowed eyes. “Nobody’s slave!”

  “Nobody’s slave,” Nassim repeated. “I’m leaving. Coming?”

  Matilda rocked backwards and forwards on her heels. And then hesitated, as if something or someone took hold of her. Brushing the hair from her face she smiled and said in a plain voice. “Yes, yes I am.”

  Nassim grinned. Matilda was disturbed. But her resolve impressed Nassim.

  There was nothing more to see in Bonaparte’s chamber, so she held Matilda’s hand and descended the spiral ramp to meet the rest of the gang at the tunnel entrance. They were agitated, itching to get into the caves.

  “Let’s go!” cried the twins and they pulled Nassim’s sleeves.

  “Hang on, wait,” she said. “We don’t know what’s down there. It could be booby trapped or guarded.”

  “I know what’s down there,” said Matilda. She spoke clearly, her voice deeper and more mature. “I’ve been there. When they first caught me. They took me to a cell with everyone else.”

  “You hear that?” said Jasmine, looking at her sister. “Maybe our mummy’s there! Nassim, please, let’s go. Let’s go find our mummy!” and the two started off down the tunnels as if they were running home.

  “Wait!” Nassim said. “Matilda, what’s down there?”

  Matilda looked nervous, as if sharing a secret. “It’s a prison. Lots of prisons.”

  “You see!” said Jasmine.

  “Shhhh!” hissed Nassim. “What kind of prison. Is there a guard?”

  “No. Not anymore. Bonaparte was the guard.”

  That made sense. Bonaparte was a people trader, holding children in his cells. But why? Whatever the reason, it added to Nassim’s anxiety. “Look, only a few of us should go …”

  But it was too late. Afiz and the twins were already marching down the passage.

  “Let’s at least leave a rear guard,” protested Nassim, but the gang had pushed past and were following Afiz and the girls into the darkness.

  “I’ll stay,” said Thomas. “I have nothing down there. I’ll have a little rest upstairs.”

  “Thank you, Thomas,” Nassim said. Thomas slung his rifle over his shoulder and walked up the ramp. Nassim followed the others.

  The tunnel narrowed, and while it looked black from the entrance, tiny pricks of electric lights revealed rough-hewn walls and a dusty floor. The children held their weapons tight as the passage took a long left turn and began to descend steeply. A stench grew. Nassim pulled the mask over her nose. The hairs on her neck prickled.

  The tunnel snaked right and left and right again and then levelled out into a wide chamber, the lights dotted in a string like glow worms.

  Nassim was concentrating so hard that she bumped into the back of Silas. The group had stopped and were watching Matilda whisper something to Afiz who was nodding and pointing at the walls. Ominously she heard the click of a gun. It was Silas.

  She recognised the smell now. It was a human smell. Human filth and death. She’d smelt it before. In the alleyways of Cairo, where bodies were piled up and then rotted, thanks to the Contagion. She pulled the mask tighter.

  Then a cry pierced the tunnel and a rakish hand shot out from the wall. It grabbed Nassim by the wrist, dragging her towards the rock. Nassim screamed and wrenched her arm away and staggered backwards across the cavern until her back crashed into a solid steel grill. But here too boney arms and blackened fingers grabbed at her and scragged at her face and clothes. It was as if the walls had arms, skeletal limbs clawing at anything that came within reach.

  The tunnel was in an uproar. The children screamed and Silas raised his gun to shoot at whatever creatures were grabbing Nassim. But he wavered, unsure about where to aim.

  Then lights flickered on. The uproar stopped and, for a moment, everyone blinked. They were standing in a rectangular cavern, with a low roof and a string of lights like a mine-shaft. Afiz had found the switch. Along the walls on both sides were a series of caves, blocked by steel gates. And through the gates the boney arms of dirty women and children reached out plaintively. A low murmur rose to a moan as they called for help.

  Nassim and the children cowered in the centre, terrified.

  Then someone shrieked especially loud and the twins turned to each other with a look of incredulity. “Mummy?” they both said and turned this way and that to see where the noise came from. The voice called again and this time they ran to a pair of grimy hands sticking out from the darkness.

  “Mummy, mummy!” and they pulled the arms until a face appeared at the bars, tears drawing lines down dirty cheeks.

  “Help us!” the twins shouted. “The keys. Who’s got the key?”

  Nassim was jolted into to life. She felt the key in her pocket and threw it to Matilda who turned the lock and pulled the door. It creaked open and the twins ran to their mother. By now the others were rattling the gates, calling for the keys. One by the one the gates wer
e opened and the prisoners, all children and women, swarmed into the cavern and embraced each other.

  The noise alarmed Nassim. “Hush!” she hissed. “Shhhhhhhh!”

  It took a long time for anyone to notice, but Afiz and Silas finally convinced them all to sit, and they passed around water bottles and small scraps of food. Altogether about thirty new faces stared at their young liberators.

  “We’re within earshot of the Metricians. We must stay quiet! My name is Nassim. I lead this children’s army. These men are my soldiers. And now they are yours too. We have come to liberate you. Now, who here can lead this group to the surface?”

  The twins’ mother, a thin woman, stood up. “I will.”

  “Good. What’s your name?”

  “Sophia.”

  “Okay Sophia. You’re in charge. Take everyone back up the tunnel. You’ll find a friend, Thomas, and water and some food. It’s important that you remain hidden in the tunnel entrance and that you do exactly as Thomas says.”

  The woman nodded and pulled the twins close.

  “And listen to me,” said Nassim. “No noise. No escape. No disagreements. We are not free yet. Eat and clean up. But wait for us to return.”

  The group nodded, amazed at her authority and began to shuffle to their feet.

  All this time Silas had been observing and waited till the group of prisoners was standing when he said, “Stop, wait.”

  Without explanation Silas pushed his way through the crowd and stopped in front of a young woman with grimy face and tangled hair. Silas grabbed her chin and turned her face, left and right, and then spun her around, as if she was for sale.

  “Ask this one to stay,” he said.

  “No!” said the girl, and she pulled away but Silas grabbed her wrist.

  “Let her go!” hissed Nassim but Silas pulled the girl closer.

  “The rest can go but we need this one. Trust me. I won’t hurt her. But we need her!” Nassim pulled out her gun and pointed it at Silas.

  “Okay, Sophia, take everyone,” she said. “Quietly now. Do as I say.”

  The girl squirmed in Silas’ arms as the prisoners half-ran, half-stumbled out of the cave and disappeared into the gloom of the passageway. The girl started crying and tried to bite Silas. She was desperate to join the others.

  “Tell her to stop fighting. She must stay with us!” said Silas.

  “Okay, okay. Give her to me,” said Nassim but the girl was now feral, and she thrashed in Silas’ arms. Alarmed, Nassim nodded at Afiz and together they gagged her mouth with a scarf and tied her hands and feet with a shoelace.

  “This better be a good plan!” Nassim spat at Silas, wiping the sweat and dirt from her forehead.

  “I don’t know if it’s good, but it’s necessary,” replied Silas.

  “So what is it?” she asked.

  A weariness crossed his face as if the guilt of his crimes was catching up with him. The grim, underground prison felt like a tomb.

  “I do have a plan and it requires you once again to trust me. Beyond this passage is the door where the exchanges are made.”

  “Exchanges?”

  “For women ... and girls.”

  Nassim rolled her eyes. Not again. She thought she’d left the trading games back on the road with the dead dwarf.

  “The pretty girl ... you ... I need you both to trade. It’s the only way in,” said Silas.

  “Men!” growled Nassim, and she bent low and lay her hand softly on the girl’s forehead. Her eyes were still wide with fright.

  “Men,” repeated Silas, ruefully. “Indeed.”

  Nassim sat the girl up and asked her if she could remove the scarf without her screaming again. “I promise you, no one is going to hurt you. We’re on your side.”

  The girl nodded and Nassim gently slid the scarf from her chin and offered her a sip of water. “I have learned to trust these men. Do you remember the dwarf?” The girl nodded but looked even more alarmed. “Well they killed him and all his men. And we’re about to do the same to the next lot who stop us. Would you like that?”

  The girl nodded again.

  “So we’re going to play their silly game and then we’ll slit their throats and be back with our friends before they can say boo.”

  Nassim untied her feet and pulled the girl up.

  “Alright, Silas, we’ll follow your plan but I won’t give up my weapon and I’ll not be touched by anyone! And Afiz stays at the back with a gun.”

  “Very wise, my Queen,” said Silas sarcastically. “And now if you don’t mind, at least put away your weapon and pretend to be my prisoner, there’s a good girl.”

  Nassim sighed, annoyed at the humiliation of it all and tucked the gun into the back of her belt. “Follow me,” said Silas and it was then that Nassim realised for sure that Silas had been here before. She felt for her gun and slipped the safety catch off.

  They trudged to the end of the cavern and were presented with three passageways, all dank with the smell of trouble. Silas confidently chose the middle entrance and they plunged into a steeply descending tunnel that grew narrower with each turn. The cold now bit into Nassim’s face and the rough-hewn rock scragged at her sleeves. After ten minutes of stooped walking, Silas rounded a tight bend and stopped in front of a heavy, steel door with no discernible handle or hinges. In the darkness Nassim could see Silas’ breath as he drew his finger to his lips. It was getting hard to breathe.

  Silas waited for the entire group then raised his hand to gain attention. Silently he pointed at the two women and himself and indicated they should stay while the rest retreated back down the cave out of sight of the door.

  Nassim looked at Afiz alarmingly. The boy refused to leave and the two men began a silent argument, swapping angry looks until Silas shrugged his shoulders and ordered the rest of the men away.

  Silas then shook himself calm, raised the handle of his pistol and rapped three times on the steel door followed by two more soft taps. It was a pattern.

  Nassim’s heart pumped and once again she felt for her gun. Still loaded and warm against her back, she cradled the handle and considered just shooting Silas and ending all doubt there and then. They stood for a long time, counting their breaths and watching the door. Nassim could see in the gloom that Afiz’s gun was trained on Silas the whole while.

  Then three knocks echoed through the tunnel – this time from the other side. Butterflies leapt in Nassim’s stomach. Silas raised his gun again and rapped just twice.

  Silence.

  Then two knocks came back and a bolt slid.

  Nassim’s heart pumped.

  A handle creaked and then, with a slight hiss, the door cracked open and a harsh blue light flooded the tunnel.

  Her pulse throbbed.

  Her inclination was to reach for her gun, but she steeled herself to play the part of slave and slid back into the shadows next to the trembling girl. The door continued to open and soon the entire tunnel was lit, its craggy surface appearing primitive against the straight edge of the Metrician doorway.

  A leg stepped through the door, followed by the whole body of a Metrician guard, a laser weapon in his hand and comms module plugged into his ear.

  Nassim’s pulse throbbed.

  The guard flashed a torch through the tunnel and saw two women, their hands tied behind their backs, and two armed bandits, ready to trade. The light settled on Silas’ face and the guard guffawed with surprise.

  “Well, well. Silas Kabar,” he said in a reedy voice. “I thought you were dead, along with your lord and master, Manchester Jones.

  Silas laughed, a bit too loud. “Perhaps I should’ve been, but then who goes into Abaddon to pick a fight, eh? I stayed home that day.”

  “Ha, ha, smart decision,” said the guard, who by now was flashing the light up and down the young women. “So, what have we here?”

  Silas stepped over to Nassim and placed a thumb below her chin and lifted it like he might do with a dog. She pulled away and glare
d at him. “Come see for yourself, Mr Gaddes. This one’s eighteen, unsullied, handsome. Fine cheek bones, don’t you think? Ready to be examined by the doctor.” And they both sniggered.

  “And the other?” the guard said, lifting his head dismissively. “How old?”

  “Sixteen, seventeen, too filthy to tell, ha ha,” laughed Silas. “Come see for yourself. I think the doctor would like this one especially.”

  Nassim bristled and felt the handle of her pistol between her fingers. Any more shop talk and she thought she would like to blow both their heads off.

  Silas motioned for the guard to step further into the tunnel and examine the quarry for himself. But Mr Gaddes was wise to bandit tricks and remained by the open door.

  “I’m sure she’s just what the doctor ordered, Kabar. The question is, what’s the cost?”

  “Ah well, I’m not a greedy man like my former employer. And I admit these are not finest specimens one might find, so I was hoping that we might come to a ...”

  But Silas never finished the sentence.

  Nassim snapped. She’d already noted the perfect alignment of the door’s arc with Gaddes’ torso, so she raised her boot and shoved the door with such ferocity that its edge smacked the guard hard, his head whiplashing backwards and cracking against the tunnel rock.

  It sounded like a watermelon being dropped onto concrete. Blood splattered over them and Gaddes’ body slumped to the floor.

  The men sprinted from around the tunnel’s corner and stared at the body. Then, in exactly the same tone as before, Silas continued his sentence “...that we might come to some kind of arrangement about ...”

  “Oh, shut up,” snarled Nassim and Silas smiled. He liked this girl.

  Turning back, Nassim pulled the scarf from the girl’s mouth and ordered one of the men to untie her hands. “Run!” she whispered. “Run back up the tunnel and don’t look back.” Then she kissed the girl on the cheek and pushed her. The girl staggered for a moment, unsure about what was happening. “Go!” said Nassim and shoved her again. As if waking from a dream, the girl nodded and fled.

  Adrenalin pumped through Nassim’s body. The door to Abaddon was finally open!