Abyss (Songs of Megiddo)

by Klieve, Daniel

  “Why?” Naithe murmured.

  “You’ll see.” I pursed my lips, taking a long drag on my cigarette; exhaling loudly. “I saw a break in the railing. My first thought was fear. I was worried that my dad wasn’t watching the road. But he was. He glanced over at my mother, and...I’ll never forget the hate in his eyes. She was totally oblivious...ranting at him about...whatever the fuck the problem was that time. But, for once, he wasn’t arguing. He just went all...quiet. But then he looked back towards me, and it was like an apology. Sometimes, when I dream about it, I can even see his mouth working around the words of it. It wasn’t for what he was about to do, but...more like an apology for not loving me enough to hold himself back anymore. Maybe I knew; maybe I didn’t. I don’t remember that part. Sometimes I think I called out. Sometimes that seems more like me from the present, trying to reach back. Dad spun the wheel and stepped on the accelerator, powering through the torn-up metal. I could see one whole side of his body shift when he did it, like he was trying to stamp it right through the floor. Y’know how sometimes I wake up screaming?” He nodded.

  “Yes.” He affirmed; his expression unreadable.

  “Every one of them is about that moment. That feeling. Suspended in mid-air; time slowing to a halt. It was like being weightless. The car just hung there. It felt like forever. But it wasn’t. It fell...pitching downwards. It tumbled a couple of times, and then smashed into this big gumtree that was jutting out at an angle. We’d picked up enough speed that they were just...gore.” I whispered the last word. Naithe balked.

  “Holy shit.” He whispered. I didn’t know how to explain to him that it wasn’t the memory that bothered me; that it wasn’t the memory that I was afraid of. I felt like trying to might have made it worse. I was afraid of his reaction to hearing the memory. And the reaction he was having was exactly the reaction I’d expected him to have: the reaction I’d expected anyone I told to have. It was exactly the reaction, that is to say, that I hadn’t told the story for fear of.

  He was looking at me like I was damaged. I could see what his brain was doing; slowly paving over all my quirks and idiosyncrasies; redefining them as the myriad products of trauma. I felt a lump rising in my throat, but I pushed on anyway.

  “I was okay. There was glass in my hair and shoes, and I had little cuts all over me. Everything ached: so much that, until I started to get used to it, I couldn’t really move. My ankle was trapped, and I had to – ” I mimed the action: grabbing my calf with both hands and dramatically pulling back: “ – get it free; cut my foot up pretty badly in the process. I don’t know how I got off so lightly. The way we hit that tree must have been one in a billion. If I’d been a few inches higher...the roof of the car, just above me, was caved in to a solid point, so...”

  “Did they have to cut you out?” Naithe asked...clearly not sure what else to say. I shook my head.

  “Like I said. Queensland’s a big place. Turns out...if a car crashes in the forest, and no one’s around to hear it...” I smiled an uncertain little smile. “Anyway. It took me a little while to realise that no one was coming. We were so far down...jammed so deep into that gorge that I couldn’t tell what time of day it was, or how much time had passed. The doors were all crumpled, and the windows were in bad shape, but there were no holes big enough to climb out through. I realised I’d have to make one. So...I looked around, trying to find something hard enough.”

  “Hard enough...?”

  “Yeah: harder than glass. It was mostly instinctive. I knew that to get out I had to break the glass, and that to break the glass I needed metal. After that it was just...autopilot, really. I got my dad’s belt off, wrapped it around my hand, and used the buckle to smash through the window. I cut my hand up pretty badly punching through. I mean...I was ten: I shouldn’t have even had the strength...but, as it turns out, desperation really does make some crazy things possible. It also makes it hard to think, though...and I climbed out without even really thinking about protecting myself. I cut up my legs pretty badly. Once I was out, I climbed back up to the road, and I just...limped my way along. I found a big stick to support myself with, and tore strips off my T-shirt to stop the worst of the bleeding. It was late evening when I finally got up to the road, so I just...followed it, step by step, until I found a house. It must’ve taken hours. I could barely walk. I told the people there what had happened. I’m not sure how much they understood of what I said...I’d lost a lot of blood. Like...a lot of blood.” He nodded. “They were very kind to me. I remember apologising – again and again – for bleeding on their couch and their carpet...but they didn’t seem to mind. But the way they looked at me...I still think about the look in their eyes, sometimes. You’re the first person I’ve told since then. The first to know the whole story.”

  “Kayla.” He whispered. I couldn’t look at him. “Kayla.” With enormous effort, I forced my eyes up to meet his. “I know you. Nothing you can tell me will ever change who you are to me. Do my eyes say any different?” I shook my head and smiled weakly, leaning over to hug him.

  “I love you.” I said.

  “I love you, too.”

  But they do look different. Now, every time he looks at us; every time we do something strange or abnormal...this is what he’ll think of. he’ll define me by it. If we get through this, everything will be different.

  Do you really think that’s how this is going to end, though? With Naithe and I heroically escaping the hungry jaws of the ever-widening abyss, and going on to salvage a life together? You think I’ll get a chance to agonise over whether my story changed things between us? Well hey...I admire your optimism. I’ll say that much.

  XVIII – Gestalt

  ~ Dio and Yvonne ~

  01/12/2023

  “Come on, Browning. Let’s get topside.” Smoke shoved the door open roughly, tossing Yvonne that sleek 1911-22 from back at the camp. Yvonne didn’t know how, but she could tell it was the same one. It felt good in her hand. She noticed Smoke surreptitiously locate and pocket a small USB drive. She didn’t comment.

  “You think we’re gonna have to shoot our way out?” Yvonne asked. Smoke shook her head.

  “Not if we do this right. But fuck...would you rather be safe, or sorry?”

  “I don’t do ‘sorry’.” Yvonne stated baldly, prepping the sleek pistol. “Not really much of a fan of ‘safe’, either.”

  “That’s my girl,” Smoke leaned over, gripping Yvonne by the back of the neck and pulling her into a quick, firm kiss.

  “Damn straight I am...” Yvonne inspected her gun with affection. Smoke sighed. “What?”

  “That’s just the sexiest fucking thing...”

  “So do something about it.” Yvonne smirked.

  “Don’t tempt me.” Smoke returned a hungry smile, meeting Yvonne’s eyes with a blaze of intensity. “Okay. Let’s do this. Beeline for the third ‘ancillary’ elevator; high speed, low drag. Look confident. Don’t give ‘em a reason to doubt us.” Yvonne nodded, pushing the gun into the back of her jeans and letting her thin jacket fall over the top, masking the bulge. Smoke did the same, before checking and re-checking the USB drive to make sure that she had it. The two women exited the small room and made for the elevator; their strides a perfect, swaggering match. All around them, the darkness of Palatine Hill disgorged flickering, darting shadows that attempted to catch their attention...provoking neurotic concern and adrenaline-fuelled paranoia. They both knew better than to let the illusions catch them out. They got as far as the stairs.

  “Ma’am,” a young soldier casually saluted Smoke. Her eyes narrowed.

  “What the fuck was that, Liam?” Smoke growled. Yvonne realised it was the same guy that’d met them out the front of Manus Inc. “This is game-day, kid: again, and like you fucking mean it!” Liam snapped to attention. “Better.” Smoke went to move past him.

  “Uh...Mister Wright said to – ”

  “ – Wright can eat a fucking dick,” Smoke hissed. “I don’t answer to hi
m. But you answer to me, so you’re gonna get the fuck out of our way and let us up those fucking stairs, or there’s gonna be hell to pay. Do you understand me, kid?” Liam stood deferently aside, letting them pass.

  “That’s bad, isn’t it?” Yvonne murmured as soon as they were up and out of earshot. Smoke looked over her shoulder and nodded.

  “He might be onto us. And if he is...today is not gonna be a good day to be on his bad side.”

  “Why not?” Smoke stopped, letting Yvonne draw even with her on the slick stone stairs. “I mean: why today as opposed to any other day?”

  “Okay, Eve...here’s the deal: we may be getting the fuck out of dodge before we’re eaten by the enormous fucking tree-snake that’s currently eyeing us...but I still have enough sway here to fly one under the radar. Call it a parting gift. Today is the day I wipe that smug, elitist smirk off of that holier-than-thou fuckwit’s slimy fucking face. He thinks he can screw over an ally and protect that bitch ‘frenemy’ crush of his? Fucker’s in for a rude awakening.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I just adjusted some odds. The ‘likely’ is now the ‘guaranteed’. Today is the day that Kayla Donohue dies.”

  §§§

  The elevator was nearing the surface. There was no changeover, this time. The ancillary elevators were smaller and sleeker, running directly from the surface and down into Palatine Hill. Yvonne’s right hand itched for the feel of the gun in her palm; the trigger under her finger.

  “Casual. Natural.” Smoke intoned, sensing her anxiety.

  “This elevator goes somewhere different, doesn’t it?” Smoke nodded.

  “Third ‘ancillary’ should come up in Trenton, New Jersey. There’s a network of tunnels running all the way from east to west and north to south. I never quite got why. Now I do. They’re collapsing the fucking United States: in a few days time, the only passages to the surface that won’t meet sea-floor will be the ones edging Mexico and Canada.”

  “Is that what’s on that USB stick of yours?”

  “That and more.” Smoke nodded, confirming Yvonne’s suspicions.

  “We made the right choice.” Yvonne murmured. “This is insanity.”

  “We made the only choice. There are some things that are just...” Smoke trailed off, shaking her head. There were...literally...no words. “I mean...I’m no angel, but...fuck.”

  “Ironically, angels would probably be fans of The Organisation’s methodology.” Yvonne shrugged. Smoke’s eyes narrowed, her mouth forming out the words: ‘what the hell?’.

  “I’m Jewish?” Yvonne reminded her.

  “Right. Sure. Israel: where, when they say ‘biblical’, they fucking mean it.” Yvonne stifled a snort of amusement.

  “What other things are on the drive?” Yvonne asked.

  “Everything I could safely pull using Wright’s login. I haven’t looked at it all, yet. There’s a fuck of a lot to sift through.”

  “How did you manage it?”

  “Getting Wright’s details?” Yvonne nodded. Smoke shrugged innocently. “I was in the CIA and I have a photographic memory. Take a guess.”

  “You watched him enter his password.” Yvonne nodded. Smoke didn’t deny it. “ See anything I should know in the short term?”

  “Aside from the whole...collapsing the United States in on itself and provoking a global state of emergency?” Smoke asked rhetorically. Yvonne shook her head, with an amazed, horrified, exclamatory sigh.

  “I don’t even understand how they’re doing this. The technology is...”

  “Yeah. I know. Like nothing anyone’s ever seen or heard of. Like nothing on this fucking planet. I mean...just the pressure alone should collapse Palatine Hill in on itself. Do you know how fucking heavy water is? This shit shouldn’t be possible.” Yvonne nodded.

  “And how do the elevators move so fast? Colorado to New Jersey? That’s...” Smoke shrugged.

  “Don’t overthink it: Like the water; like Palatine Hill; like the Continent imploding over out fucking heads right now; and like God fucking knows what else...clearly they found a way, cause – hey – it’s happening.”

  “Well at least it’ll make it harder for Wright to find us.” Yvonne shrugged. Smoke threw her an uncertain glance.

  “Maybe.” Yvonne’s eyes narrowed.

  “What do you mean: ‘maybe’?”

  “I mean – ” the elevator stopped dead. The doors slowly, smoothly began to slide open, revealing a corporate lobby near-identical to the one from the Manus Incorporated building in Pueblo. “ – Fuck. That.” Smoke hissed. “That...is what I mean.”

  “Wha – ” Yvonne paused, eyes widening. There, speaking calmly to a man in a business suit, was Wright. Patting the man on the shoulder and letting him go about his business, Wright turned – casual as you like – and raised a hand in greeting; a disarming smile spreading across his face. He reached inside his suit-jacket with his left hand, feeling for something as he began to approach them. Yvonne saw Smoke’s eyes widening in her peripheries.

  “Down!” Smoke shrieked, throwing her weight against Yvonne; sandwiching her in the front-most corner of the elevator; just out of firing range...just in time to avoid the one...two...three bullets that spun into the lift, punching through the aluminium backing. Slowly – being careful not to hit the trigger as she did so – Yvonne reached back, pulling out her Browning. Smoke got to her feet, pressing her back against the wall – making sure to stay out of firing range – and did the same. They could both hear the screams out in the lobby as personnel fell over one another in their haste to get out of the line of fire.

  “Get ready,” Smoke mouthed the words down at Yvonne. The Israeli nodded; every muscle in her body tense.

  “Now ladies...” Came the calm, firm voice...edged, though it was, with a touch of exasperation. “Is all this...really necessary? Aviary: you know there’s nowhere to run. We’ll find you, no matter where you go.” Yvonne noticed Smoke’s shoulders slump in an unspoken acknowledgement. “And Yvonne: I don’t know what malicious little lies your lover has been seeding that lovely head of yours with...but all you ever had to say was that you wanted out...and ‘out’ you would have been.”

  “He’s lying,” Smoke mouthed the words.

  “I know...” Yvonne mouthed back, tightening her grip on the handgun.

  “Now...you can believe me or not.” Wright continued. “That’s your choice. But if memory serves...I think you’re both familiar with the organophosphate compound known colloquially as ‘VX’? You, in particular, Yvonne...may have had some first hand experience with its effects? Quite an unpleasant way to die. Or so, that is, I am told.” The two women looked at one another questioningly. “You see, Aviary...the fundamental mistake you made was to assume that such eventualities as this one had not been planned for. That, of course, and to assume that an elevator was, in and of itself, a safe and defensible location. Some elevators, you see – such as the one in which you now huddle...awaiting...presumably...some sort of cathartic shoot-out where you are able to demonstrate your mettle prior to your heroic, untimely deaths in one another’s loving, tearful embrace – are, themselves, armed.” Yvonne watched Smoke’s face as the blonde’s eyes flickered shut; her teeth grinding together in self-directed frustration.

  “Get to the fucking point, asshole,” Smoke called out into the nearly deserted lobby.

  “Your wish, Aviary, is, as ever...my command.” Wright sneered. “If you would be so good as to cast your eyes to the back...of the elevator?” They did so. Through the bullet holes, both women could make out a dull, rhythmically shifting red light. Carefully angling themselves, they could make out a timer counting down – second by second – which had, at that precise moment, reached four minutes and twenty three seconds. “Once that timer reaches zero, the elevator doors will close, and a fire sprinkler in the top of the lift will activate: discharging a brief shower of liquid VX onto your persons. There will be nothing heroic or cathartic about this. The doors w
ill not reopen. You will die. You will both die, and in shivering, breathless agony. Now...Yvonne? Would you please explain to ‘operative Smoke’...what the primary difference between liquid and gaseous VX is?” Yvonne’s left eye twitched. She looked up at Smoke.

  “Gas works in minutes. Liquid on skin can take almost a day.” She clarified.

  “There’s a good girl.” Wright said.

  “Fuck this,” Smoke shook her head. “Throw out your gun.” Yvonne did so. Smoke followed suit. “There’s your white fucking flag, you sick piece of shit.”

  “Now, now...” Wright chastised, leaning into the entry to the elevator, smiling grimly at the two of them, before focussing his gaze on Smoke. “Is that any language to use in front of a lady?”

  “I’ve worked out that I actually like a little dirt on my women,” Yvonne hissed: “It’s amazing what happens when the girls you go for actually want you, too. You should try it sometime.” Wright’s expression darkened. He snapped his fingers. Two men clad in black with black balaclavas covering their faces sprung to his side.

  “Handcuffs. Now.” Wright deadpanned, motioning to Yvonne. The soldiers obliged. “Take her back down to Palatine Hill. Let her see her friend again. Give her a last meal. Because when I return, she’s going to die.” Smoke, unable to help herself, swung a fist in Wright’s direction. He deftly grabbed her wrist, twisting her arm up and behind her back, dragging her out of the lift: “And as for you, operative Smoke...” he met Yvonne’s eyes, clearly wanting her to hear what he had to say. “I’m going to take you outside, Aviary. I’m going to take you into the street, where everyone can see. I’m going to use your lover’s weapon...to put a bullet in your brain. I won’t waste time on you. I’ll save that...for your darling Yvonne. For you, it will be a quick, cold-blooded execution; just the kind that you, yourself, have proven yourself to be so very adept with: just to show you how utterly insignificant you truly are. And, my personal favourite part...is that you will die knowing – with absolute and incontrovertible certainty – that the love of your life will die soon thereafter...in unimaginable agony; by the most debased, depraved methods I am able to – with the full support and cooperation of Palatine’s staff and resources – devise.”