Cryptic

by DA Chaney

  Groaning, he rolled over onto his chest, wiped his face dry on his coat sleeve and pushed himself up onto his knees. His body shook hard, urging him to roll into a ball and rest, but he pushed his fatigue and throbbing wounds aside. Looking out of the open carriage door, he scanned the area.

  The compartment shook as a heavy weight leapt from above. His eyes widened in shock as he saw a pale white figure on four legs streak through the tall unkempt grass and disappear through the bushes before he could get the best look at it. He was able to still hear Guliana calling out faintly, and it prompted him to get moving. She was still alive. He crawled to the door and pushed his legs out; boots first. They wobbled when he stood, threatening to buckle as he laid a palm out against the exterior of the carriage to stabilize himself before he fell over.

  Unsure what he was stepping out into, he braced for an attack. He dug his fists at his sides and tightened his arms, prepared to use them for whatever attack came. He knew it was likely that he could be cut down where he stood, as defenseless as he was, but he had no choice. Looking and smelling something like a beaten beggar stumbling from a brothel, he lifted his head to stare the threat down.

  When none came, he relaxed slightly and had a better look around. The carnage in the area was like something he’d expect from a battlefield. The gore was scattered around the carriage in thick, stringy, wet clumps of blood, manure, and horsetail in every direction as if there’d been a black powder explosion. Unrecognizable chunks of viscera dripped down the carriage exterior, slipping down and hanging from the driver’s seat. The stench in the air was sickly sour and thick. Bile rose in his throat and his eyes grew involuntarily wet as his body heaved the contents of his breakfast beside the gore stained carriage wheel.

  Collapsed to his knees in the dirt, moisture dripping from the tip of his nose, he lifted his heavy head and caught sight of his cane lying on the ground. Jolted, he darted forward, rushing across the space between the wheels to grasp it. Pushing backwards just as quickly, he jumped to his feet, turned, and began to run. Ignoring the dizziness in his head, his only thought was to find Guliana now. Throat tight with uncertainty, he held the cane like a sword and darted through the long grass towards the thick brush beyond.

  Conor had no way of knowing how many there were…or even if he was capable of saving her, but there was not a bone in his body that wouldn’t try. He pushed past the bushes quickly, ignoring the sting of leaves slapping his face. Rushing through them, he almost lost his balance and fell forward into the yawning wide hole on the ground. Flailing wildly, he used the cane to regain his balance.

  Conor took in the sight but didn’t quite understand what he was looking at. Dirt was piled on the side of the hole as if it’d been dug from the underside up. When he caught a flash of cloth and the underside of black boots before they disappeared completely in the hole, his mouth dropped open in shock. Swearing, he looked around. There were four other large holes; wide enough to fit people through them if they crawled, but each impression had been filled with dirt. This one had not.

  A rush of anger and adrenaline spiked through his body, and without any thought to his own well being, he dropped to his knees. Thrusting the cane ahead of him, he squeezed into the yawning hole in pursuit of Guliana and the attackers. Utter darkness closed in around him as he moved forward. The tunnel gave off a cold chill that felt oddly relieving to his overheated skin.

  Grunting with the effort that it took, he continued to move forward; chasing them down using the tips of his boots, his knees, elbows, and the leverage of his cane to propel him onwards. Mimicking an inchworm, he grasped and pushed as he went along. Energy being depleted, his body gave him little gratitude for the prolonged strain that he was putting himself through.

  It wasn’t long before the air became thicker as he crawled, becoming difficult to catch his breath the way his lungs demanded. He forced himself focus on the attackers instead of where he was and what he was doing. Whatever these things were, they had presumably made off with three grown adults silently and had slaughtered the horses. They hadn’t left whole carcasses behind which meant they must be carrying their bounty. The way he’d seen his tormentor move, on four legs like that, it had a definite subterranean advantage over him despite the burden of dragging what they’d taken.

  With a disheartening feeling in his chest, Conor knew he faced another dilemma as he struggled to keep going. He didn’t actually know what he was planning to do when he caught up with them. Engage in a tug of war in the tunnel with Guliana’s possibly unconscious body? Poke his attacker to death with the tip of his bloody silly cane? The questions and mocking answers swirled at him. All he knew for certain is that he had to catch up. As impractical as his rescue would likely be, that part mattered first. He’d have to figure out the rest later.

  Struggling, his muscles screaming, the rich scent of soil filled his nostrils when he took his next breath. Particles floating in the dense air from the previous travelers was now being sucked into his mouth. Clearing his throat, he pressed his head close to his chest to avoid the plume and tried to ignore the multiple aches and pains all over his body.

  Conor groaned knowing that if something were to come at him in the tunnel, he’d have no strength to fend it off. Then in an unintentional event of fate, his body simply refused to go any further and he sagged weakly against the dirt floor to rest. Trying to avoid breathing in more dirt, he pulled the shirt beneath his jacket up more fully to cover his mouth. He had no choice other than to stop- at least for a moment, that’s what he told himself.

  So he rested. Tuning his ears to pick up any sudden sounds of movement around him. There was nothing. No sound at all, save his own bodily noises as he sought to calm his racing heart and give himself a minute to relax. He didn’t want to admit defeat, and grew concerned when despair started to creep into his senses. Expelling a large breath, he raised his head and pushed with all his might to resume moving. It took tremendous effort and his arms shook with fatigue but he made himself to push onward.

  Dirt sprinkled down as his hair brushed the top of the tunnel. Keeping his eyelids halfway shut, he managed to keep most of the dirt from getting into his eyes. It sprinkled down over his cheeks and clothes as he passed through; molding everywhere his skin was damp. He had to catch up. He felt a cold ache settle in his stomach as he feared for Guliana’s safety.

  Conor moved blindly that way until suddenly there was no earth beneath him and he fell straight downwards, crashing onto a hard, earthen-packed floor below the tunnel. Losing the small amount of air he’d had in his lungs, he gasped like a beached fish on his back. When he came to his senses, he realized that he was curled up and shivering in a cold place with a dim light radiating from somewhere behind him. Blinking, he turned his head, feeling the sore muscles protest with the movement. His scalp felt as if it was on fire, and a persistent dull ache throbbed unevenly in his head.

  Drip, drip. His ears seemed to focus on it in the darkness. Water? It could be, but he couldn’t see it and be certain. “Ms. Robbinbury? Are you here?” His voice cracked on the whispered words.

  He was getting all too familiar with the pain that shot up his back when he adjusted his position and sat up, but he winced just the same. The air was cool seemed to float on a breeze and lick his sweaty face. He turned his head toward it and noticed a strong, unfamiliar taste in his mouth. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he felt around and discovered the cane lying by his side; he wrapped his fingers around it, glad not to be completely unarmed.

  He tried standing, but it felt like the ground beneath him had come alive under his feet and he staggered as his vision spun like a child’s toy. Falling to his knees, he gagged when his stomach churned. He quickly decided that standing, for now, was not going to work. But he’d be damned if he couldn’t crawl, and with much less discomfort, too. It gave him more of a sense of accomplishment than just lying there crumpled on the ground. So that’s what he did.

  If he didn’t
feel the loose dirt against his palms as he shifted forward, he might have thought he was crawling on fine marble. It was so cold. Almost like ice. But when he lifted his shaking hands, they were not wet.

  He crawled toward the light, squeezing through a jagged hole he found in the wall, and stopped midway through, legs dangling on the other side. There was some kind of pool in the floor of the earthen chamber. Even though it seemed impossible, it must have connected with a light source from somewhere above ground, because the pool was glowing a soft crystal color. It looked like something out of a dream. He shook his head to make sure the vision didn’t disappear. He was satisfied when it didn’t.

  The sight of the water captivated him and he crawled toward the edge. He hadn’t realized it before, but his mouth was dry as the dirt he’d crawled through to get to this point and his mouth exploded with the desire to drink from the source before him.

  It wasn’t healthy to drink water. From birth he’d been taught that it wasn’t clean to drink from. Anyone looking at him in this moment would advise him not to touch the stuff. But then, if they were lying here mesmerized by the tempting sight of something to drink, maybe they would think the same thing he was. With what he’d just been through, water was the least of his worries.

  He had to take what he could get. Tucking the trusty cane under his armpit, he fell upon the edge with a grunt bracing his elbows on the edge. Then he cupped and dipped his hands under the surface, scooping some up. He smelled nothing noxious when he sniffed suspiciously, then he tentatively took a sip.

  It tasted fine.

  Actually, more than fine. He’d never had anything so cold and satisfying in his entire life. The coldness had a stinging sensation to it, smoother than alcohol, without the thick acrid taste that ale provided. It felt completely wonderful as the icy liquid slid down his throat.

  He threw his reservations to the wind and, placing the cane beside him, flattened his body out before the gleaming water. He lowered his head to the pool. Slurping at the surface, he drank as much as his body could take and nearly let his head sink when his neck struggled to hold up the weight any longer. When his lips were good and numb, he pushed himself back and rested his forehead near the edge.

  If he could manage to hold his breath long enough to explore where the pool of water went, he’d be able to find a way out. The idea went through his mind as he laid there, body aching, energy spent. But he had yet to get a glimpse of Guliana and he couldn’t justify leaving her behind after coming so far to find her. He wouldn’t be able to forgive himself.

  He tucked himself a protective ball, feeling the cold liquid settle in his stomach like stone and spread like cold porridge. He let his mind drift as he lay there in complete exhaustion. The thought of exploring the area for a way out was tempting but he didn’t yet have the strength to pull it off. The thought of leaving Guliana behind didn’t cross his mind as he lay there squinting at the light under the pool of water.

  The corners of his mouth creased, and he closed his eyes as he played back the course of events from the carriage ride. He was only vaguely aware as time passed. It was as though he was in a fog that wasn’t lifting. Groggy, his eyes opened and he looked around.

  Guliana! His body jerked as he quickly uncurled from his position and sat up blinking. He swore, feeling deeply guilty as he realized that he might have been asleep. Bloody Christ, how long had he lain there beside the pool while she was in danger? His memory was still cloudy, but he remembered visions of blood and the horrifying echo of horses screaming in his ears.

  Cursing himself, he struck the ground beside him in shame. Here he was lounging around like he was on a bloody holiday when he had come down here to find her. It was unacceptable. He had to get moving again. He quickly found that getting moving again wasn’t easy as his body protested every move that he made. But he made it back to the hole in the wall and looked through. It was still dark on the other side but he didn’t hear anything in there.

  It had been easier to squeeze into the room that it was to squeeze back through it as jagged pieces of the wall threatened to shred his middle to pieces with one wrong move. Conor moved to avoid the scrapes, curving his back to avoid the sharp surfaces. As he slumped unceremoniously down onto the floor, his intentions, as brave as they were, evaporated in an instant. His stomach began twisting inside him as if it were laundry being rung out. He grasped his midsection, moaning as he writhed on the floor, pushing his face against the cold floor seeking solace as his forehead broke out in a fresh sweat.

  Something was grinding his guts, churning through them with devious intent. The sensation was horrendous, and he had sudden trouble controlling his bowels as something burst low in his gut. Urine and watery stool began leaking from him in uncomfortable equal measure, burning and tearing at his delicate orifices as it stained his once fine trousers. He could feel everything spread through the seat of his pants trying to find a way out of the confining material, warm and squishy as he silently begged his body to stop what it was doing. His senses were well past the strength to gag at his own stench, as he lay there mortified at his bodily behavior. Tears leaked from the corners of his eyes in shame as his bowels evacuated. He had never been so sick in his entire life. His entire body was betraying him.

  Some time later in his abject misery he grew aware of being watched. Uncomfortable, and still twitching uncontrollably in his own stinky waste, he peeled his fevered eyes open to see a man staring at him. A humiliated blush broke out over his face as he tried to come up with an explanation for his condition. He opened his mouth to speak, but his breath rasped between his lips and he couldn’t form words.

  With the dim light from the pool shining into the room, pale white skin stood out against the darkness. What…? Picking his head up weakly, Conor’s neck protested and shook at the weight as he tried so hard to focus while he had the man in his sights. Conor’s vision blurred and he saw less detail than he would have liked, though he finally realized the figure he was looking at was not a man. It was one of the creatures from above ground that had attacked them. What was it? What were its weaknesses? He was unable to hold his head up any longer and sagged back down on the ground feeling drained, but positioning his head to keep it in view.

  The thing moved, and Conor stared as best he could while one of his eyes twitched madly in its socket. His mind wanted to take action, but his body would not obey. The pale, skinny, but oddly muscular looking figure was holding something in its hands. Gnawing on something.

  A bare arm. A recognizable glove covered hand. Conor’s mind screamed as his lips trembled in horror.

  The thing that lived under the dirt longer than he had a memory to know otherwise had come into the cold room because he knew that another treat was there. Since it was probably dead from the long fall, he had planned to sup upon it while the others of his kind ate the ones dragged from above. All he had gotten was a scrawny limb, one that had already been mostly picked over and cast aside. When he had chewed through the protective covering, he had found more meat. Not a lot, but some.

  He had come through the tunnels quietly, as was in his nature, and was amazed to find the other food seemed to be still alive. This would make things that much more tasty. He sniffed the air, recognizing the foul stench, though not particularly concerned about it. Most things shat themselves before they died. The food was curled on the floor and looked in pain. The creature didn’t much care if the food was in pain or not—it was going to die one way or another anyway. Chewing off a bit of meat from the arm, he reached down and absently scratched his flaccid bits that dangled between his legs, careful not to slice himself open with his own nails.

  He moved forward watching the writhing food with a keen interest. The glow from the hole in the wall caught his attention and he glanced at it. No one went in there. The cold wet place was no good; a rotten place. They stored food here because it made the most sense to store it close to the cold wet place, because it was nicer to eat cold food than warm ro
tten food. It was just luck that the invader had landed in one of their storage rooms.

  Not entirely mindless, the subterranean species lived underground and stole food to survive. Having been driven there centuries before, they lived mostly unnoticed until they struck out for food. They were not highly intelligent, though they evolved with a sense of community…hunting in packs and looking after each other.

  The food on the floor was blubbering some unknown language, but he had no pity or remorse for it. Food was meant to be eaten. It was not his fault that the food was here. But he would reap the benefits of feasting on the food’s sweet flesh.

  3

  “Ms. Robbinbury!” Conor sobbed. “My sweet Guliana. What have you done?” Conor wanted to pick himself up from the floor and kill the vile thing. He wanted to tear its eyes out and squash them between his fingers and then beat it to death with his naked fists in a rage of injustice. His Guliana was dead, eaten by some horrid creatures under the soil. How could it have come to this? He weakly patted the ground around him and realized that he’d forgotten his cane back in the room with the pool. Shouting out at this new misfortune, he knew that he was in no condition to retrieve it—or attempt to fight off his attacker without it for that matter.

  He watched as it slunk further into the room, creeping around him like a wild dog, as he lay helpless on the floor. Tears welled and rolled down Conor’s cold cheeks, trickling into the dirt below him. He wasn’t a man who gave in to tears often but his world was crushed and he faced the realization that his life was coming to an end and had no way to stop what was coming. The emotions swirling inside him were overwhelming. He would not die this way. To be feasted upon in an underground dirt cellar by some thin pale, white bastard of a monster.