Catarina nods. “Quieter the better.”
“Okay,” Viktor says, “under the bridge, into the drain tunnels then... down.”
“Down,” Caleb says.
Jack says, “How far?”
Caleb squints. Stares up into the buzzing lights. “Few hundred feet. Maybe more. Its burrow is the size of a four-story building. One that covers a square city block.”
Jack lets out a whistle. “This should be entertaining.”
Elie says, “How big is this thing, anyway?”
Caleb, Jack, and Catarina say in unison, “Big.”
* * *
They prepared for war. The boys haul their bags upstairs into the kitchen. Elie and Viktor lean against the counter. Share a glass of whiskey.
Catarina comes in from the living room. She’d been upstairs, trying to console Dierdra to the best of her abilities. But the Svoboda mother just stared out the window.
The day fades fast. Clouds pregnant with precipitation hang in the sky.
“I think it’s gonna snow,” Catarina says.
Jack puts a hand on her lower back. “Bit early for that, though stranger things’ve happened.”
Viktor gives the empty whiskey glass to Elie. He heads upstairs, to his wife, who he desperately needs to hold. He can’t stand around. Watch as his children march into combat. For now, better not to see it.
The young war-ready Trinity watch him leave.
Caleb sets his pack down. It’s heavy with medical supplies and a trusty crowbar. “I don’t want to leave at first dark. Two or three in the morning is better, when the streets are quieter.”
Jack and Catarina nod.
Elie pours himself another drink.
“You should spend some time with him,” Jack whispers to Catarina. “Never know.”
Catarina grunts in agreement. Goes to her father’s side. The two murmur in hushed tones. After a moment, she leads him to the living room for some privacy.
Jack lights a cigarette. Sits next to Caleb at the table. “You worried?”
Caleb drinks from a mug full of hot chocolate. “Nope. And that’s the weird thing, isn’t it? I should be shitting my pants. But I’m just—”
“Strangely okay with all this.”
“Yeah.”
* * *
Elie meets his daughter’s eyes. He knows she’s taking this time away from the boys to say goodbye. And his heart aches. Especially because she looks so goddamn much like her mother.
Her mother, his love, who never even had that chance.
Catarina reaches out for his arm. He lets her take it. She forces him to hug her. To wrap his arm around her.
“I’m not sure you need that anymore,” Elie says. He tries not to cry.
Catarina stays quiet. She holds her father’s arm.
Elie sighs.
They sway back and forth. Like a father and daughter sharing a precious wedding dance before she leaves for another man’s embrace. But Elie had been there first. And he does not like any of this.
Elie had been the one to care for her and carry her. To tuck her in and bandage her knees when she fell. To kiss booboos and get the knots out of her hair.
Now, what was he consigning her to? What was he giving her up to?
Elie says, “Jack’ll take care of you. I always liked him.”
Catarina sniffles. Buries her face in Elie’s chest. “Do you remember what you used to tell me when I was little? When I was scared?”
Elie looks down at his daughter as she pulls herself away. There were twin spots from her tears on his shirt. He says, “I’m not sure I do, honey. Why don’t you remind me?”
“You always told me that no matter what, the good guys try. Even if they can’t win, they try.” She blinks. A tear curves down the side of her face.
Elie grins. He cups Catarina’s cheek. Plants a kiss on her forehead. “Whatever you do, never say ‘Goodbye.’”
Catarina hugs her father hard enough to hurt them both.
* * *
Jack changes his clothes. He realizes that while the cargo pants might provide more room to carry things, their looseness also means he might get snagged on obstacles underground. So he switched into snug jeans.
Caleb and Catarina say farewell to Viktor and Dierdra upstairs.
Jack has no intention of doing that. He doesn’t want to torture them or himself any more than necessary. He’ll be back. He can talk to them then.
He waits in the kitchen. Puffs away on another cigarette. His hat sits back a little on his head. He slides on his holey, bloody brown leather jacket. The nametag is still there.
HELLO MY NAME IS: THE MAN WITH NO NAME.
That night. The blood. The bodies. The child strung up like chicken in Chinatown. Patrick and the spider. The Slender Man. The bullets he put into all those wretched monstrosities.
Three has to answer for that.
The only bright spot is his Red.
And Caleb.
And Catarina.
He wants to add his parents to that list, but there’s something in the back of his mind telling him—
Elie’s got the shotgun in his hands. “Jack.”
Jack stabs his cigarette out. “Yeah.” He reaches for the new belt and holster he bought from the gun store. He loops the belt around his waist. Ties the holster low on his leg. Very much like The Man With No Name. Very much like Roland. Two heroes he feels he can rely on. He cinches the leather tight, but not quite tight enough to hurt. “Need something?” He waits a beat. “Or is there something you need me to say?”
Elie grips his shotgun. “Catarina.” His knuckles turn white.
“Catarina.” Jack exhales. Crosses his arms. He bites his lip. Arches his eyebrows. “I love her and she loves me.”
“I know. That’s not what worries me.”
“What worries you is my brother and I are hell-bent on this and nothing is gonna get in our way.”
“Something like that.”
“Does it worry you that your daughter’s the same?”
“It goddamn does. You three have something in common. I don’t like it.”
Jack hushes himself. He stares at his feet. “I’m not replacing you, Elie. I’d never want to. Never even try. But this has to be done. This is our fight. Not my mother’s. Not my father’s. Not yours.”
Elie grips the shotgun tighter. He thumbs the hammer on his piece. It’s a nervous reflex.
And a really stupid one at that.
With the horrible speed that promises to end countless lives, Jack draws his machine from its holster and cocks it. He holds it against Elie’s forehead. Jack’s a blur. The entire fluid motion took place between the blink of Elie’s eyes.
“Don’t ever ready a weapon with intent in my presence,” Jack says. Cold. “Even if it’s just bluster. Don’t. I love your daughter and I love you by extension, but I will put you down if you move against me.”
Elie drops his gun. Puts a hand to his mouth.
Jack lowers his machine. Snaps out of the ever-present Red. “Sorry.” Now he’s ashamed. “I’m so sorry, Elie. I’m so goddamn sorry. I can’t always control it.”
Elie shakes his head.
Jack rests a hand on Elie’s shoulder. “I know what you want me to say, and you should know well enough that I would never let anything happen to her.” Then, understanding how dangerous he can be, like reading Elie’s thoughts, “If I stray from the path, I’ll guide the bullet into my own brain.”
Chapter 22: Ten Fathoms Deep on The Road to Hell
The children leave amid glances, hugs and fears.
Snow tumbles lazily from the night sky.
Jack sees his mother and father in the second floor windows of his house. They’re illuminated by the lights in the master bedroom. They’re weeping. Wiping their faces.
A quiet minority in his brain tells him to run back and comfort them. The rest of him is beyond any of that. He has something to do.
Caleb keeps his parents’ words in
the most protected place of his heart. The safest place. The place that will let him use those words later.
Catarina, like Jack, has no goodbyes to say. Elie didn’t have any speeches for her, but she carries his love, and that’s enough.
Nobody makes any attempt to complicate the language of the End.
Jack, Caleb, and Catarina hike to the water. If Caleb is right—and he always is—they’ll find the entrance to Three’s lair there.
Jack says to Catarina, “You say all you needed to say?”
“Yeah.”
Jack looks to his younger brother. “You?”
Caleb says, “The words are in a secret place inside. But I never said ‘Goodbye’... I never wanna say that.”
Jack grunts. He wears a long green trench coat to keep himself dry and his machine hidden.
Caleb and Catarina make do against the cold and the wetness. They huff along with their packs and the hoods of their sweatshirts up.
They hit the river’s edge under the titanic Verrazano. The sewer grate Caleb promised is there. They stay below the headlights of the cars that speed along above them on the Belt Parkway. Jack pulls out bolt-cutters and gets to work. He snaps the lock and chain on the storm drain. pulls the swiveling steel open.
They shut the grate behind them. Re-seal it with a spare chain and lock.
Jack frees himself from the bulky trench coat. Lets Caleb take the lead. Catarina follows the twelve-year-old.
“Love the view,” Jack says from behind her.
Catarina turns. Punches him in the shoulder.
Jack yelps. “Yeah, ow, yeah. I’m a pig. I know. Follow Caleb. Quit hittin me.”
They do. Through New York City’s repulsive sewage system. Everything they encounter is either disgusting or threatening to be: A jar loaded with some horrifying black liquid. A baby diaper, loaded. Part of an egg carton that seems ready to come alive.
Then there’s the smell. Several million people’s waste. The stink claws its way into their noses and dies and keeps stinking.
Pipes around them hiss. Drip.
Their flashlights play over the walls. Sad spotlights that send rats and roaches into frustrated hiding.
Catarina says, “Caleb, I just want you to know that I hate you for this.”
Caleb dry heaves once to the side. “I hate me, too.”
Jack crawls with his head down. Through cold piss and shit. “We got bullets, medical supplies, killing tools... But we forgot to get gas masks or face masks or something. Hell, I’d huff a hankie soaked in WD-40 at this point.”
Jack hears Caleb splash in something distinctly un-water-like.
The little Svoboda lets out an urk as he tumbles. The beam of his flashlight bounces. “Shit happens.”
Catarina pinches her nose. “Sure does.”
Jack slams himself against a wall. Pulls his Colt. Fires. The gunshot is deafening. Thunder reverberates through the tight tunnels.
The children drop and duck and put their fingers in their ears to prevent further auditory damage.
Caleb and Catarina turn their flashlights’ glare to stare at their gunslinger.
Jack shrugs. “Rat was gonna bite me.”
Catarina flaps her hands. “Holy shit Jack, seriously?”
“Don’t worry, I killed it.”
After a half-hour of crawling through civilization’s sloppy farewells, they come to a junction. There’s no going forward here. The pipes are too small for that. In the left wall is a fissure that maybe, just maybe, the kids can squeeze through.
Jack says. “Dude, I know I lost a lot of weight over the last couple years—”
Catarina says, “You used to be the sorta cute pudgy guy.”
Jack glares at her. “I don’t know if I can fit through that.”
Caleb doesn’t look at his brother. “You can.” The younger Svoboda crawls into the crack. He pushes his bag ahead of him.
Catarina winks at Jack. Then follows.
Jack grimaces. He hears his brother and his love let out distinct Whoaaaaas ahead.
“Must be a drop,” Jack mutters. Sharp points of the craggy edifice cut into him. Tear holes in his jacket’s shoulders and his jeans. He ignores the pain. The piercing points of rock as they jab at his body.
His concern is that his hat, gun, and bag make it through unscathed.
The tunnel opens up. The ground drops out from underneath him. He skids down. Fast. Rides a steep incline. He holds onto his hat. Turns himself around so that he’s sliding mostly on his boots, crouching like a surfer.
Jack tries to keep track of the time. The distance. Thirty seconds fly by.
Then: thump. He hits the ground. Hard on his butt. His flashlight skitters away.
The gun’s still safe on his hip. The hat’s on his head. Bag’s on his back.
Jack collects himself. Man, who knows what’s crawling around this far down? He winces. “Son of a dick. Should’ve gotten pads for my ass. Old gal wasn’t built for this kind of abuse.”
“Shut up Jack,” Caleb says. “Just look.”
“It was a jo—” Jack stops. Stares.
An enormous cavern yawns before them. One that stretches out for thousands of feet in front and hundreds of feet below. Caleb was right in assuming that a square-block of New York could fit inside. Might even be able to hold more.
The beams of their lights play over the cavern’s many crags and nooks. Every second exposes a new detail. Along the walls are striations in the rock that give away its age. Beige-black mica schist with pockets of twinkling garnets. Beautiful stripes. How this void of space went unnoticed is a mystery. But the rock told the tale: It has existed very much like this for millions of years.
The most frightening aspect is that large parts of it look carved. As though something had chiseled away at it long ago. Stranger still, there are hints of light all around. Yellow-green beacons everywhere.
Jack says, “We head toward the glowy things?”
“Not those,” Caleb says.
“Wrong color,” Catarina says.
Jack eyeballs her. “And you know that how?”‘
Catarina shrugs. “Just do.”
Jack shrugs too. “Another of those wonderful Three mysteries. Beaming shit into your heads. Fuckin great. Feel free to share important intel, guys.” He pauses. Annoyed. “We’re heading down.” He reaches into his pack. Yanks out coils of rope.
Caleb cracks a chemical stick. It bursts into red brilliance. A color he demanded. “Red is right. They won’t go near it.”
Jack holds the limp rope in his hands. “They?” He tosses one at their feet. Drops another off the edge of the cliff they stand on. It travels some fifty feet down before it bounces to a stop.
A black silhouette jumps in the light and scurries away.
Jack’s ears catch the sound of legs moving. Of scuttling. Wet slithering. “What was that?”
“A big parasite,” Caleb says. “A dog’s got fleas and ticks. Three’s got these. Or had them. They’ve learned how to survive on their own.” He digs into Jack’s pack. Pulls out safety harnesses, carabiners, and the rest of the climbing gear. “It’s a whole new biome.”
“He controls em or?”
“Three doesn’t control anything down here. It’s just the native wildlife. They fear him, though.”
Jack and Catarina anchor the lines before tossing rope off into the darkness.
Catarina tests the weight.
Jack says, “We need to worry about those things?” He helps Caleb fasten his harness.
Caleb hums. Hmmm. “No idea. I just know that the light should keep them away.” He grips the rope above the rappel device on his harness with his left hand. With his right, he grabs the hanging rope behind him and wraps it around his right hip to serve as a brake.
“Should.” Jack rubs his forehead. “And you’re sure you want to go first?”
Caleb eases himself over the side of the cliff. “Yep.” He rappels down like an expert. Jumps off. Gives the
rope some slack. Brakes. Jumps off again. Down and down those fifty feet toward the faint glow of the chemical stick.
Caleb hits the ground. Unties himself.
To Jack and Catarina, he looks like a tiny stick figure bathed in red.
He waves. “Let’s go kids. Haven’t got all night.”
Catarina starts down. She isn’t anywhere near as fast as Caleb, but that’s fine. She walks backward. Slacks and brakes with her right hand.
Above, Jack lights a cigarette. Keeps watch.
Below, Caleb leans against a rock. Checks supplies in his bag. Ponders.
Catarina exhales. Slow. Continues down.
She’s happy for the brief solitude.
She reaches into a quiet mental place. A place where she’s alone. A hideout where she goes when she’s stressed. Her father’s study. She sits behind his big mahogany desk. Stretches back in his comfy office chair. There’s an antique copper lamp with a green shade to her right. She switches it on.
Bookcases line the walls. Photos abound. Images of her father. Her long-gone mother. Photos of Jack. Even one of Caleb. All smiling.
In that peaceful psychological hideaway, she reclines. Relaxes.
Just me and my brain, climbing down a cliff, not a care in the world. Take a moment. Take this moment. Let my mind wander. Who knows when I’ll have the chance again. For once, nothing’s trying to eat me.
Memories play there. Movies on a screen in her head.
Elie holding her as a toddler. Her first bike. The first story she’d read all on her own: The Stinky Cheese Man. She and Elie howling with laughter after every page. The first day of school. Her first A. Her first math book. When she met Jack all those moons ago. The wonderful, awkward glances between the two of them.
Their first kiss
surrounded by death
Them making love
surrounded by death
The screen changes. Stuttered images of decay. Flashing, grinning corpses. The wretched spider thing smiling and choking the life from Patrick with its acid webbing. The bodies of children hanging in the church. Bloodied parents in barbed wire. The Slender Man shuddering and ushering in darkness. New York City in ruins. Towers burning. Their skeletal infrastructures reaching up with desperate fingers. Clawing at the sky. The infected. Her father bleeds as something snakes its way along his spine. He cries out for her. Screams during the end of it all.
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