by Ansel Gough
Roy’s wide hips scraped the rough tunnel sides as he dragged himself forward on his large stomach, the pressure on his gut restricting his breathing. The taste of stirring dust clung to their dry throats like thick paste. The bulky backpack full of gear Chris had to drag with him wasn’t helping either.
The men slowly inched forward in the dark, dragging themselves face down, in single file. The entrance behind them slowly became a distant, dim light. The thought of losing sight of that glimpse of light drove a degree of fear into all three men. Chris thought about cave divers who explored underwater caves, lost their way, ran out of oxygen and were never seen again. Except they would run out of food and water. But the end result would be the same. It would be a friggin’ miracle if any of them were ever seen again.
The cave gradually descended into the earth, the passageway so long their lights couldn’t see the end. They pressed on, through the darkness.
All the movement kicked up dust, getting into Chris’ lungs. Stopping to take a breather, he wiped his brow. The rock walls were close. He had never been claustrophobic, but this was a new level of confinement. Chris grabbed a handful of red dirt and tossed it over his shoulder towards Roy. “Aren’t you an asthmatic?” Fat bastard.
A barrage of profanity splattered under Roy’s breath. He wheezed, struggling to keep up.
Chris’ mind suddenly switched to tactical thinking—if something came at him from the front, he would be pretty helpless. Getting that fat ass Roy to back up would be almost impossible and the opening was getting further and further away. Tactically speaking, this was a position of disadvantage. They would be better off waiting it out, or even smoking it out. At the very least, come in with tactical gear: night vision, assault rifles, tear gas.
Too late now.
If anything happened to him, Kate and his two girls would lose another man of the family and not have a clue what happened. It would break Kate. It would be the end of her.
Right now this wild-goose chase didn’t seem to be getting him any closer to finding his son, but he was out of options. These two crazy bastards and the Russian were his only lead right now. He would have to put up with the craziness for a little longer. After all, what if they were actually right?
“Are you sure about this?” Chris tried to turn back to look at Frank, but the small opening restricted him. “If this collapses, we’re all dead men.”
Chris felt a nudge on his foot. That was the only answer he was going to get. He started to move again, dragging himself along the cave floor.
After what seemed like hours, but was probably only about thirty minutes, the cave started to widen. It opened up to a large cavern. Water seeped through the rough, rock walls, forming small puddles of water amongst the stalagmites, protruding from the rocky ground. Stalactites lined the cave ceiling. The fresh smell of wet earth filled their noses. The light from their flashlights moved around the space. Bits of rock sparkled in the light. It was awe inspiring.
The three men stopped to admire their surroundings.
All of a sudden, movement caught the corner of Chris’ eye. He spun, shining the little light.
A large snake, at least eight feet long, slithered up the side of the cave wall. He was startled by the massive reptile. Its massive, pale-cream body, reddish-brown stripes and piercing, yellow eyes would be enough to make most men run for their lives.
“Relax, fancy boy, it’s just a tree snake,” Frank said in a demeaning manner.
Chris backed up a little, even more on edge now. The snake’s scaly, slimy-looking skin gave him a shiver. He didn’t like snakes and this was the biggest one he had ever seen. “If it’s just a tree snake, what the hell is it doing down here?”
Frank chuckled at Chris’ concern and pressed on, pushing past.
After a short pause, and realizing the harmlessness of the snake, he followed the two men.
At the other end of the cavern, the cave split in two directions.
“Has anyone thought about what we should do if we actually find this thing?” Chris questioned.
“We take it alive.” Frank gripped his double barrel a little tighter. His mouth said one thing, but his body language said another. He was fighting within himself; whether to just put a cap in its ass or bring it home.
Frank waved his hand forward. “Roy, go left.” He looked over to Roy. “Take the Yank. I’ll go right.” Roy numbly obeyed.
***
Roy’s boots splashed water up on his jeans as he walked through the small puddles. He held his gun by one arm, pointed out in front of him. The flashlight moved side to side down the tunnel. Chris followed behind, keeping his distance. He didn’t want to be too close to the untrained fool with a gun.
Every so often Chris checked his six, making sure nothing was coming up the rear; this was a bad situation: no recon. Blindly going into unknown territory, against an unknown opponent.
“Rancid?” Roy called for his dog in a subdued voice.
Let the enemy know we’re here, stupid. So much for a surprise attack, Chris thought.
“Rancid?” Roy called again.
“Hey! Asshole,” Chris called in a raised whisper. “Shut up! Your dog isn’t coming back.”
Roy spun around. He didn’t want to hear that, especially from a Yankee. He raised his gun, pointing it at Chris’ face. “I do what I want”—real smug—”when I want.”
Chris slid one of the backpack straps off his shoulder, ready for a fight. Roy was more of a liability than an asset. Something had to be done.
Roy chuckled. “What? Whatta you gonna do about it?”
Chris slipped off the other strap, and without warning tossed the backpack at Roy’s face.
Distracted, Roy tried to knock the pack aside with his arm. Chris seized the opportunity and lunged at him, grabbing the barrel of the gun and reefing it from Roy’s sweaty grip.
It happened so quickly and smoothly, Roy, for a split second, was left stunned.
Chris’ left followed quickly, striking Roy in the throat with an open hand jab, knocking the fat bastard on his ass. Water soaked through Roy’s jeans as he sat on the cold rocks. He gasped and coughed at the same time, grabbing at his throat with both hands. Cold water pricked his skin through soaked jeans.
“Were you teased a lot as a kid?” Chris smirked. “Jelly belly. Rolly polly. Fat bastard.”
Roy rolled over to his hands and knees, half waterlogged. It was the only way he could get up. Cold water ripples licked at his sagging stomach as he struggled to stand. He took a deep breath, trying to recover.
“Did you cry yourself to sleep?” Chris continued the taunt. “Wet the bed as a teen?”
“Son of a bitch wants to play rough, eh?” Roy gritted his teeth together and got to his feet.
Stumbling a little in the shallow water and almost completely losing his balance, he spun to face Chris. He breathed as though he had just sprinted two hundred meters. He shone the flashlight in Chris’ eyes. That was all he had left.
Chris did a quick once over of the gun, ignoring Roy. He knew guns. Not only did the National Guard training prepare him for combat, but he hunted as a kid with his father, eating what they caught, and he carried on that tradition with his son. The son he may never see again. Hopefully he would find a way to bring him home. He closed one eye, looking down the iron sights. “Can you shine that light here for me?”
Roy wasn’t sure what to do. He had lost his gun in a matter of seconds. He didn’t know what this guy was cable of.
“Your sights are out of alignment,” Chris continued.
Roy clenched his fingers, making a tight first. He was pissed and this guy was toying with him. He quickly searched the shallow water for a loose rock—one he could use to smash Chris’ face in.
While Roy looked down, Chris moved in, kicking Roy in the chest with a front push kick. Water from Chris’ boot sprayed on impact.
Roy stumbled back, arms flapping, trying to keep balance. He landed—hard—on his bac
k. The cold water soaked his shirt as he lay in the pool of water. Completely soaked and fuming.
Chris rested the gun on the cave wall, ready for what was going to be a school-boy brawl.
Roy slowly got back to his feet. He wasn’t ready to give up. He was too dumb for that. He rushed toward Chris. A wild bull. No skill. “Charge in and hope for the best” was his motto. If he could, he would drown this American prick and leave him down here.
As he closed in, Chris shot forward, wrapping his arms around Roy’s waist. He put Roy down hard in the pool of water, landing on top of the fat man. Chris was going full contact, mixed martial arts style on his ass.
After the initial shock on being slammed to the ground, Roy started to freak out. He squirmed, trying to get free. Chris sat on top of him, letting him panic.
Chris let go two stiff punches, connecting with Roy’s face. Roy unsuccessfully tried to cover with his arms locked in front of his face, then rolled to his stomach in an effort to hide from the onslaught. Big mistake. Chris punched him a couple more times in the back of the head. He slipped his right arm around Roy’s thick neck then quickly locked him in a half-nelson sleeper hold.
After a moment of squirming, Roy went limp.
Chris rolled him on his side in the recovery position. He checked his pulse and breathing to make sure he hadn’t killed the poor bastard. He was okay. Just asleep. Chris didn’t have a choice. This was serious. He couldn’t have a fool down here with him. They were potentially facing an enemy no one had ever faced.
***
Chris cautiously moved through the dark space. It was pitch black. No daylight. Just the light from his small flashlight. Wherever he pointed his light, the gun barrel followed. His head on a swivel.
Using some duct tape from the backpack supplies he had fastened the tactical light to the end of the barrel. Roy’s gun was locked to his right shoulder, his pointed index finger safely near the trigger. He crouched low as he moved quickly; no Roy to slow him down.
Water droplets fell more and more from the moist cave ceiling. Water splashed around Chris’ calves. It was becoming a little hotter and more humid. His clothes clung to his sweaty body.
A shiver moved down his spine. A gut feeling that danger was approaching. Maybe it was a foreign smell in the air that only his subconscious could detect. Chris stopped in his tracks. He glanced behind him; only the dark cavern. His attention snapped to the front again. His little light moved around the tunnel. The light rested on a few large stalagmites. A perfect place for cover.
The cave seemed silent. Only the sound of water dripping from the ceiling. He could hear his own breathing. He looked closer at one of the rock formations. It didn’t look right. Was something hiding behind it? He couldn’t tell.
He squinted his eyes. Something was jutting out to the side. A leg maybe? He kept the light on the unknown object. It didn’t move. He was out in the open. It had the advantage of cover. Chris immediately dropped to one knee—a smaller target.
Sudden movement in the water from behind pricked his ears; something rushed at speed. Chris spun as he stood to face the impending attack. Too late. Out of darkness, Roy body slammed Chris—both airborne—sending Chris crashing hard to the ground, cushioned only by the shallow layer of water. Water sprayed. The gun flew several feet away on impact.
Roy quickly stood over him, as fast as his fat body could, grabbed Chris by the shirt and rained down heavy punches.
Blood, mixed with cave water, streamed out of Chris’ nose and mouth as the first two punches hit their intended target. Chris covered his face as more blows rained down. Roy was in a rage—berserk—and would fight dirty given the chance. He was an experienced barroom brawler and fighting dirty was always his strategy.
Capturing a blow, intended to smash his face, Chris pulled Roy on top of him. For now it stopped the attack. Chris wrapped his arm around the fat man’s neck and wrapped up one of his arms. Water splashed as they struggled. Roy grunted, trying to break free from the hold.
Chris let fly with a couple of rapid elbows, from underneath. He was done playing with this fool. The elbows connected across Roy’s forehead, opening him up. Blood ran down his face, getting into his eyes. He reeled in pain, trying to break free from Chris’ hold.
Chris hooked a leg under Roy’s fat leg and elevated him. Roy’s bulky body almost spun in the air as Chris reversed the position.
With Chris now on top, there was no holding back; he let go punch after punch; rapid fire, striking Roy’s face. A fast and brutal whoop ass. Roy, a bloody mess.
The punishment didn’t stop until he had been punched into submission. Roy lay unconscious—bobbing in shallow water. Chris slowly stood, exhausted. He spat his blood-filled saliva onto Roy as a final insult.
The gun lay a few feet away with the tiny light shining into the blackness. He quickly moved to retrieve it.
Gun locked to shoulder, Chris pointed the barrel at the stalagmites. With the back of his arm he wiped blood, sweat and water from his face and re-focused his eyes. Whatever was there before was now gone. “Roy!” He cursed his name under his breath.
Cautiously he pressed forward—closer and closer to clear the rocks. Sweat ran down his forehead into his eye, the salty drop stinging. Wiping at it with a sleeve, he quickly returned his grip to the shotgun. He blinked to let tears flush his eye.
Water splashed from behind the rocks as Chris closed in. Immediately he sighted the shotgun on what appeared to be a dark leg. His heart pounded. Shallow breaths. He cocked the gun.
“Don’t you move!” he commanded, while circling at an angle—slicing the pie—to identify the target.
He stayed low, shifting his weight, adjusting his aim.
And then he saw it.
Leaning against the cave wall was a slender, grayish, humanoid creature. The same one Chris had hit with the truck. Except now he could see it properly. In full view. Its almond-shaped, black eyes locked on Chris’ eyes. Chris thought he could almost see his own reflection. It held its arm as though it was hurt.
Cuts covered parts of its body, highlighted by dry, purple liquid—probably its blood. The same purple blood covered parts of its silver space suit. It was hard to tell how hurt it was with all the water around and in the dim light.
The creature shielded its smooth, gray head as the flashlight shone in its eyes. Chris couldn’t believe what he was looking at. Was it real? It didn’t seem real.
He banged the side of his head with an open hand; angry, frustrated. He didn’t want to admit it, but Shawn had probably been taken by something unearthly and this creature was the proof.
“Where’s my son?” he screamed, veins popping at the side of his neck. Face red. Seeing this thing in the flesh put his head in a spin. The only way to cope was with anger. But it made him think that Frank and the crazy Russian weren’t so crazy after all.
Without taking his eyes off the freak he carefully removed his backpack. He tried to keep the gun aimed right at the creature’s head. It dared not move. He removed a rope from the backpack. This thing had to be restrained.
Looking at its rubbery skin, he hesitated, not sure if he wanted to touch it, or even if he should touch it. What did he know about it anyway? Nothing. Not to mention it was also bleeding.
Every sci-fi movie he had ever seen popped into mind. Could this thing spray acid from its mouth? Was it part lizard? He pulled his shirt over his nose and mouth. Not that it would protect him, but it made him feel better. What if this creature had some foreign disease? What if it was radioactive? This was a major discovery. Should he call a government agency? Or try to get this thing to communicate? All these questions flashed through Chris’ mind. His military training was conflicting with his one and only desire to find his son.
One thing he did know, this was bigger than four guys in the outback of Australia chasing down aliens. They now had one.
Chapter Thirteen
Hostage
Under the cover of night the thre
e men hauled the creature to the back of the Corbin house. It had been hogtied, and the backpack placed over its head. They finally reached the second shed. They carefully placed the creature on the ground. It didn’t put up a fight. It seemed too incapacitated for that.
Frank slipped a key from his jeans pocket and guided it into the lock.
“I call this me little Alcatraz,” he said, pushing the large doors open. The shed dark inside.
Eager to see what this shed had to offer, Chris started to edge forward to make his way in. What other secrets was Frank keeping?
Frank turned to Chris. “This is as far as ya go.”