The Flooding

by Sean Hancock

  I continue scanning, looking at offices, toilets, corridors, tech rooms, kitchen areas, canteens, and air vents . . . eventually, I see something that catches my eye: one of the fire escapes on Avenue B has been circled. There’s a date and time next to it: 3:00 a.m., Monday, October 14.

  I look at my watch.

  I’ve got eight minutes to get there.

  THIRTY-THREE

  It’s pouring rain, and the blustering wind has an icy bite to it. The streets of East Village are deserted and have a threatening, foreboding feel to them. For a moment, I wonder if I’ve been transported into one of my future lives—the world a broken and lifeless place—but then a passing taxi throws a puddle over my shins, and the spell is broken.

  The apartment is only one block from my destination. I guess that’s why they rented it. By the time I’m standing a few doors down from the fire exit on Avenue B, taking shelter under an awning, I’m soaked through.

  I check my watch: 2:58 a.m.

  On the way here, while crossing Avenue C on Third Street, I walked past one of the many entrances to this behemoth of a building. The logo on display was as expected, COSMOS written in white against an illuminated, starry background.

  The photograph of Rebus I found in Kaya’s shoebox was taken here. One way or another, he is going to pay for everything he has done: killing my child, snatching Ashkai and Tammuz, and attempting to sacrifice my soul. I have never hated a person so intensely, and the feeling is intoxicating, almost enjoyable . . .

  Before I left the apartment, I hurried around, looking for the gun I took from Cato, but I couldn’t find it anywhere. The weapons that had been on the table by the front door were also gone. Improvising, I grabbed a knife from the kitchen, but the truth is I’m not sure I’ll need it. Revenge courses through my veins as I surrender to the awesome power of hate.

  In the past, I would have berated myself for having such feelings and thoughts. Ashkai always preached love and compassion, but his character and motives are now under review. I want to ask a few questions before totally writing him off, but until then, I am my own master.

  I check my watch again: it’s exactly 3:00 a.m. When I look up, a black BMW pulls in, its front end pointing away from me. I duck behind a wall for cover, seeing four people get out now—Echo, Meta, Bythos, and Neith—but nobody from the driver’s side. The fire exit door cracks open. Somebody is letting them in. I wait before making my move. The tall, nerdy one is the last person to enter, so I shove him forward, slamming the door behind me.

  We are all gathered in an unusually clean and modern stairwell. The only light is coming from two narrow rows of small LEDs on the floor. Everything feels sleek and high-tech.

  The others look ready to attack, but when they see who it is, their expressions go from tense to shocked and confused. Only Meta seems unsurprised.

  “Hello, Samsara,” she says. “Pythia mentioned you might be joining us.”

  Before I can respond, the woman who opened the door—white, north of forty, with long hair that’s been dyed red—looks at my face, her eyes homing in on my left cheek, and mutters, “The mark of fire . . .”

  Bythos, who has pulled a flashlight from somewhere, speaks next. “You okay with this, boss?”

  Meta nods, and Echo shrugs as if he doesn’t care either way. The nerdy one, who looks afraid, says, “Can we just get this over and done with?”

  Talking to the redhead, Meta says, “We can take it from here.” She gestures toward the fire exit. “Thank you for your service.”

  The lady, who can’t take her eyes off me, puts her hands together and bows before disappearing into the cold, wet night.

  My kidnappers, whom I have willingly followed, are wearing dark clothes complete with tactical vests, looking like some sort of SWAT team, guns at their hips.

  Addressing Meta, I say, “What’s going on?”

  Replying on her behalf, Neith says, “We’re about to do something very stupid.”

  “This way,” Bythos says, heading down the stairs.

  Echo, also carrying a flashlight, follows. So does Neith, but he seems a little reluctant.

  It’s just Meta and me now. For thousands of years, I have regarded this woman as my sworn enemy. Now we are working together. The situation is so ridiculous it’s almost funny.

  Meta, in this life at least, is the same age as Rosa, but it’s obvious she’s been through many more cycles than I have. I can see it in her eyes and feel it in her presence. There’s something about her that reminds me of Ashkai, although I have no idea who he is anymore, so I’m not sure what that means.

  “What’s down there?” I ask.

  “People who need our help.”

  “Ashkai and Tammuz?”

  “You ask a lot of questions.”

  “Can you blame me?”

  We go down two flights, stopping outside a huge, locked metal door. There’s an electronic pad on the wall. The nerdy one is attaching wires to it and typing something into a small portable laptop that he was carrying in a backpack.

  Echo is providing light while Bythos stands with his gun pointed at the door. Bythos, who is all man, says, “What’s taking so long?”

  Neith looks over a shoulder. “You’re kidding, right? We just got here.”

  “Leave him alone,” Echo says.

  “Since when did I take orders from you?”

  “Enough,” Meta says, and they both apologize, Echo even referring to her as “master.”

  For the next minute or so, Neith is the only person who speaks, muttering incomprehensibly. I’m left wondering why we’re going to all this trouble.

  “If you really are Meta,” I say, “and have been alive since the long ago, why don’t you just use your mind to tear that door off its hinges?”

  Without looking at me, she says, “I’m saving my energy for something else.”

  “And besides,” Neith says, turning his head, “she’s got me.”

  While maintaining eye contact, he presses a button on his computer. Almost instantly, there’s a sound of pressure being released, and the huge metal door slides left, disappearing into the wall.

  More stairs greet us, much narrower and steeper. It’s dark in there (no more LED lights), and we can hear machinery and electronics, sounds that remind me of a hospital.

  Bythos, who is taking the lead, has positioned his flashlight directly above his handgun. He looks like he knows what he’s doing when it comes to covert operations. The same can’t be said for Neith, who is just behind Echo. A moment ago he seemed fine, but now he’s nervous again.

  Looking over my shoulder, Meta says, “Neith, your work is done. You can go.”

  He turns and shakes his head. “It’s okay. I can do this.”

  The stairs go down a long way, and I can sense we’re in a very large space, like a warehouse or airport hanger.

  Bythos, focused and tough, pauses to scan the area below with his flashlight. Echo, cool and relaxed as usual, like this is no big deal, does the same thing.

  “What was that?” I say, talking to Bythos, pointing so he knows where to look. He aims his flashlight, and it finds something strange and disconcerting, downright frightening for Neith.

  We’re looking at the top of a naked woman’s head. She’s upright but not because she is standing. Or conscious. Instead, she’s suspended inside some sort of mechanical glass capsule that has been filled with a light green, gelatinous liquid. There is more than one capsule and captive . . . a lot more . . .

  After a beat, Meta says, “Keep moving.”

  “What is this place?” I whisper, but I think I know the answer. It’s a prison, one populated by souls who have been sentenced to the Long Sleep. Ashkai, who is down there somewhere, has been an inmate for almost twenty years.

  Bythos gets to the bottom first. It’s clear we are deep underground. Echo is next, followed by Neith. Then it’s finally Meta and me. We turn left and fan out, walking down a wide corridor, our flashlights revealing row
upon row of vertical glass capsules on either side of us, each one holding a human being: men, women and children, arms by their sides, palms facing outward, skin tinged green by the strange, viscous liquid. The containers, which are making whirring sounds, are obviously designed to keep occupants alive, but only barely . . .

  “There are thousands of them,” I say.

  “Tell me about it,” Bythos says, his voice dripping with disgust and anger.

  “And this is just one facility of many.”

  “Who are these people?” I ask. “What did they do wrong?”

  “They got caught,” Echo says.

  “By whom?”

  Neith, who’s nervous as hell, speaks next. “The one person who deserves to be inside one of those things: Rebus.”

  “What gives him the right?” I say, raising my voice. Before anybody can respond, floodlights start coming on. It’s such a stark contrast that I’m forced to shield my eyes. When they have adjusted, I look up at the distant ceiling and then at the two balconies on either side of us, each one filled with agents armed with guns.

  “Mother Earth gives me the right,” a booming voice says. “You see, I honor ancient and natural laws your friends have long since abandoned.”

  Bythos is up on his toes, looking left, right, and behind. “That bitch double- crossed us,” he says. He must be referring to the woman with red hair who let us into the building.

  Still exuding peace and calm, Meta says, “Everything is at it should be,” which is exactly the type of thing Ashkai would say.

  Neith, who’s gone pale, looks petrified.

  “There’s no way out,” he says, putting a gun to his head, addressing Meta. “I can’t end up in one of those things.”

  He pulls the trigger. The sound is deafening, his body slumping to the floor in a sad, blood-splattered heap. While horrifying, there’s no time to have any feelings about it.

  I look again at the balconies, counting roughly forty agents in total. The guns they are holding shoot tranquilizer darts instead of bullets, which means Rebus wants to put us to sleep. For a very long time.

  “Old friend,” Meta says, “must you skulk in the shadows?”

  About twenty capsules down on the left, Rebus steps out, but he’s not alone. Kaya is with him, her dark, curly hair hanging freely.

  I lean to my right, whispering into Echo’s ear. “Who is that woman?”

  “She’s the whole reason we’re in this mess.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  Rebus, his eyes on Meta, says, “Last time we saw each other”—he points at Neith’s dead body—“you did that.”

  I prod Echo to continue. “She’s one of the seven oracles.” He gestures toward the glass capsules. “Five of them are locked up in here somewhere.”

  I do a quick sum in my head. “What about the seventh?”

  “She’s in the car outside.”

  I think for a moment. “Pythia?”

  Echo nods. My head explodes into a million thoughts and questions, but they’ll all have to wait.

  Meta says, “That was then; this is now.”

  Rebus smiles and turns his gaze on me. “Hello, Samsara.”

  I stare at him, my eyes beaming hate.

  Rebus points toward Meta. “Your friends did a very good job of keeping you hidden.” A pause and then: “Do you know what’s going on yet?”

  “I know you’re a psychopath who likes to kill innocent children.”

  “That was unfortunate,” he says. “But that child was not innocent.”

  Meta interjects, “How do you know? You never gave him a chance.”

  Hearing someone refer to my baby as a real person—“him”—is enough to make me want to follow in Neith’s footsteps, although of course I don’t. Instead, I use the sadness as fuel for my hate.

  Rebus loses his temper. “I’m not interested in your self-righteous, delusional fictions. I’ve had enough of those to last me a thousand more lifetimes. The child had to be eliminated, as did everyone else in that cave. You were the one who should have taken responsibility, but you didn’t. I had no choice.”

  “And what about Ashkai? You two were like brothers. Did you have a choice with him?

  For a brief moment, I see anguish in Rebus’s eyes, regret as well, but neither emotion lasts long.

  “He wouldn’t listen. We consulted the oracles again and again. They all showed us the same future.”

  “Nothing is certain, not even the prophecies.”

  “The stakes were too high to take any chances.”

  “In your opinion.”

  He nods. “Right now, that’s the only one that counts.”

  I have no idea what they are talking about, and the truth is I don’t care.

  “I came here to get my friend,” I say, remembering Pythia’s warning. “Where is he?”

  “Which one?” Rebus asks.

  “Tammuz.”

  Rebus looks at me quizzically. “He’s more important than your master?”

  “I don’t have a master.”

  Rebus nods as if to say, “I’m impressed,” and turns to his right, motioning to somebody out of view. Tammuz is shoved from behind one of the glass capsules.

  He tries to run, but Rebus, who must be six foot four, reaches out an arm and grabs him.

  “Your life for his,” Rebus says. He has a gun now and is aiming it at Tammuz’s head.

  “What does that mean?”

  “Give yourself up, or he dies a slow and painful death. One that will haunt him for eons.”

  I glance at the two balconies. “I’m supposed to believe you’ll let him go if I do that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he’s of no value to me.”

  “What about the others?”

  Rebus looks at Meta, Echo, and Bythos. “They can take care of themselves.”

  “What if I say no?”

  “Then he dies, and we take you anyway.”

  “Don’t listen to him, Samsara,” Meta says. “It’s a trap.”

  Rebus starts counting down from ten.

  . . . Nine . . . eight . . . seven . . .

  “It’s okay,” Tammuz says, trying to hide his fear from me. “I’m okay.”

  Six.

  I go to step forward, but Meta grabs my arm. “Don’t do it, Samsara. We can beat him.”

  Five.

  I turn to her. “I can’t let his life end like this.”

  Four.

  “He will be reborn.”

  Three.

  “But the experience will damage him for many lives to come.”

  Two.

  “Enough,” I say, stepping forward, grasping the knife in my pocket, walking slowly. “I’m coming.”

  Meta raises her voice, and for the first time, I sense fear in it. “He doesn’t want you, Samsara . . .”

  Pause. “He wants your child.”

  Without stopping, I look over a shoulder. “We can’t change the past.”

  “I’m not talking about then. I’m talking about now. You’re pregnant.”

  I stop in my tracks, utterly thrown and confused, especially as the words, quite unexpectedly, ring true. “What are you talking about?”

  One.

  I turn away from Meta just as a gun goes off.

  I’m expecting to see Tammuz with his brains blown out, but it’s Rebus who has taken a bullet to his right shoulder. I turn to look at Bythos. He was the one who fired the shot. He was the one who saved my friend’s life.

  Seizing the opportunity, Tammuz elbows Rebus in the stomach and sprints to his left, disappearing into the forest of glass capsules.

  I look at the men and women occupying the two balconies, but it’s too late because their tranquilizer guns have been discharged. Strangely, I don’t seem to care. For so many lives, going back as far as I can remember, I have been infertile. After witnessing what happened in that cave, an ordeal I have tried my hardest to forget, I understand
why. But now, if Meta is right, the curse has been lifted.

  My first thought was that she had to be mistaken. Then I felt something in my lower stomach, a spark of life, and remembered how Tammuz and I had sex after I killed Sergei in Viktor’s home. It was pure animal instinct. A higher force was guiding me then. I can feel its presence now.

  Right on cue, a gravelly, male voice whispers in my ear: “Your potential is limitless, Samsara. Never forget that.”

  I don’t turn to see who it is because nobody will be there. I recall the many times this sinister, dark energy has spoken to me in the past. In the beginning, communication only took place in my dreams (via what I perceived to be an imposter), but things have come a long way since then. When I have been at my most vulnerable, as I was in Kaya’s basement, this entity has given me the strength—and fire!—I needed to survive. And it’s a power that has never left me.

  I become aware of an ominous sound—the whoosh of tranquilizer darts—and brace myself.

  If only I had more time, I think, just as Meta, Bythos, and Echo crowd around me, the three of them clasping hands above my head.

  At first, I think they are sacrificing themselves. But no, they are working together to create a protective force field made of pure energy, one that has bought me precious seconds.

  “What shall I do?” I shout, speaking to the darkness within.

  “You must embrace your true nature.”

  “How?”

  “By turning away from the light.”

  As well as speaking, the entity is placing images in my mind, compelling me to remember each and every kind of suffering I have had to endure across my many lives: the times I have been abandoned and betrayed, lied to and manipulated, raped and murdered.

  My heart is burning like an inferno. If I don’t let out some of the heat, I’ll be consumed by it.

  Harnessing the limitless power within, I stand and scream at the top of my lungs, unleashing a tsunami of hate, anger, and bitterness, emotions that have built up inside me over thousands of years.

  Meta, Bythos and Echo are launched into the air spectacularly. It’s as if they had been standing on landmines. A small part of me hopes they are okay but not enough to really care. In fact, they are already forgotten as I turn my attention toward the agents on the left balcony.