Shadows of Tockland

by Jeffrey Aaron Miller

  “Do you remember the way back to the lair of this creature?” Cakey asked. “This brain-worm queen.”

  David mapped it out in his head. Through the guard station into a wide, open room. Then down another corridor into the place of the dead. He recalled seeing many, many soldiers along the way and felt a curious electricity dancing on his skin. They were doomed, Cakey and he, so wonderfully doomed.

  “Yes, I think so,” he said.

  “Good. Direct me.”

  “What are we gonna do when we get there?”

  “Wake ‘er up.”

  “And then?”

  Cakey grinned. “And then we see what happens.”

  They reached the empty guard station. David pointed toward the door that led into the wide, open room, but as they turned in that direction, a different door opened up, framing a pair of soldiers. They seemed curious but not alarmed. Apparently, sporadic gunfire in the hallways was not an immediate cause for concern in this place.

  Cakey, rather than opening fire, spun on one heel and tossed Captain Helt at them. The unconscious body, flopping and flailing, slammed into them, and they both fell, landing on their backs in the next room, Captain Helt sprawled sideways across their hips. As they struggled to make sense of this strange turn of events, Cakey leapt into the air, drew his legs up and landed on top of them, driving his knees into their faces. A crunch of bone, snapping noses and breaking teeth, and their bodies convulsed.

  David, still not quite fast enough to keep up with Cakey even in his electric state, scrambled after him and disarmed the men, while Cakey picked up Captain Helt. The room beyond the door was some kind of a waiting room, plastic chairs lining bare walls. Cakey shouldered his rifle and dragged the unconscious men farther into the room. Then he piled plastic chairs on top of them, like some strange makeshift bier, and went back into the guard station.

  “Are they dead?”

  “Dead enough,” Cakey said, shutting the door. “Lead on, Disturby.”

  They turned back to the other door and found it open. A wide-eyed soldier stood there, holding the door with one hand, clutching a pistol in the other.

  “Don’t move,” he said. “I’ll shoot.”

  Cakey glanced at David and smiled.

  “Good luck trying to hit destiny with that shaky hand, soldier,” Cakey said and let Captain Helt slip to the floor.

  The soldier cocked the hammer. Cakey rushed at him, then ducked suddenly and somersaulted. The gun fired, hitting the floor right where Cakey had been a fraction of a second earlier. David fired his rifle, but his aim was terrible. The bullet pinged off the door and ricocheted into the wide, open room beyond.

  It little mattered. Cakey came up beneath the soldier, grabbed his arm, lifted it above his head and brought it down against his thigh. In one terrible cacophony of cracking and crunching, the forearm bones snapped and the shoulder dislocated. The pistol fired again, hitting the wall, and dropped from numb fingers. The soldier screamed—a bloodcurdling sound, hoarse and warbling—so Cakey drove an elbow into his throat to silence him.

  Beyond the door, David caught movement, black uniforms, black guns. Though the firing of weapons had not drawn a lot of attention, the awful scream might as well have been an alarm blaring. David ran over to the door and slammed it shut, then leaned against it.

  “A whole bunch of them just spotted me,” he said.

  “Back up, kid,” Cakey said. “They’ll shoot through the door. It’s metal, and it might be bullet proof or it might not. You don’t want to find out the hard way.”

  David stepped away from the door. Cakey picked up the soldier—blood ran from his mouth; the blow to his neck had crushed his windpipe and potentially severed arteries—and set him against the door. Then he backed toward the waiting room, motioning for David to follow him.

  Someone tried to open the door, but it bumped against the body. Cakey raised his rifle. The door was forced further, and a face, shoulder and arm appeared, a burly man trying to force his way in. Cakey gave him a dainty little wave and shot him. David, weary of the sight of blood, covered his eyes and did not see the soldier fall.

  “Buck up, kid,” Cakey said. “We got a lot more Tocklanders to wade through.”

  Cakey grabbed Captain Helt by the arm and dragged him into the waiting room, then beckoned David in after him. They closed the door and propped a plastic chair against the handle to brace it. In the guard station, they heard more soldiers forcing their way in.

  “Might need to take a bit of a detour,” Cakey said, glancing around the room.

  “What if the soldiers go down the corridor and find Belle and the others in the cell?” David said.

  “I’m sorry to say, she’ll have to fend for herself,” Cakey said. “Look, we’re committed to destiny now. All of us. From this point on, whatever happens, happens. That’s how destiny works.”

  That didn’t comfort David at all. He wanted to return to the cell and protect her, but Cakey grabbed his arm and propelled him across the waiting room. David tried to stop himself but tripped over his own feet and fell on top of the pile of plastic chairs in the middle of the room. Chairs scattered in all directions, clattering across the tile floor. One of the men buried underneath moaned loudly. This had the effect of turning the soldiers in the guard station in their direction. The door flew open, and black uniforms entered the room.

  Instinctively, David picked up one of the chairs and threw it at them. The two lead soldiers opened fire on the chair, and David flattened himself against the floor to avoid the hail of bullets. Then Cakey was upon them. He had been standing to one side of the door, so the soldiers entering the room did not see him immediately. Two stood just inside the waiting room, two were moving through the door, and two more remained in the guard station. Cakey leapt upon the nearest soldier, ripped the rifle from his hands, even as the soldier was still firing upon the pieces of the chair. Instead of turning the rifle around, however, Cakey dumped it on the ground and slammed his hand into the solder's throat.

  He dropped, choking and clutching his neck, and the soldier next to him, seeing him drop, turned and brought his rifle up. Cakey grabbed the barrel before he could fire and pulled the rifle toward himself. He spun, drawing it past his body, and as the soldier opened fire, the bullets hit the far wall. Cakey then drove his elbow into the soldier's eye. He screamed and thrashed, dropping the rifle and grabbing at his face.

  As this was happening, David grabbed his gun, rose to a crouch and opened fire on the door. The soldiers standing there, both focused on Cakey, trying to find an opening to shoot at him, did not notice David. They fell back, bullet-ridden, never knowing who had shot them. At this, the remaining soldiers in the guard station turned and fled.

  “Don't let 'em get away,” Cakey said. At the same time, he grabbed the back of the soldier's head—blood and goo running from his eye—and brought his knee up into his face.

  David hopped to his feet and moved back into the guard station. He saw the fleeing soldiers racing into the wide open room and opened fire, but the rifle was pointed low. He hit one in the leg but missed the other completely. One went down, the other fled across the room, screaming for help, his shrill voice echoing down corridors.

  “He got away,” David yelled.

  Cakey appeared, lugging Captain Helt over his shoulder, his rife back in his hand. He walked over to the door into the wide open room, took a deep breath and looked at David.

  “These guys aren't as tough as they look,” he said. “They’ve had a lot of practice shooting unarmed prisoners, methinks, but not a lot of experience in real combat. We’ve caught them off guard, so let’s keep the momentum going. Crazy up a little bit, Disturby. You're gonna need it.”

  David, whose blood was on fire, stared at Cakey. If he got any crazier, he might warp his mind forever. Cakey, seeing something in his eyes, smiled and nodded. Then he turned, kicked the door to the wide open room all the way against the wall and charged out. David rushed after him. />
  The room was rectangular, maybe thirty feet across by forty. Doors lined the walls and many of them were open. Soldiers were passing through in all directions. Tactically, the only advantage David and Cakey had was that the door to the guard station was in a corner, so they had no enemies at their backs. The fleeing soldier dashed through the passing crowd, screaming at anyone who would listen. Slowly, as if awakening from a dream, soldiers turned toward Cakey and David, pistols were drawn and rifles slipped off shoulders.

  David dropped to a crouch and raised his gun. But Cakey, with a shriek, rushed at the enemy, opening fire. At the same time, he launched Captain Helt at them. This served as enough of a distraction that the soldiers hesitated to fire. By the time they returned fire, two had already fallen, and Cakey was in their midst. The captain landed in a heap upon the bodies. Shots were fired, but they went wild. And then Cakey lunged at a soldier, knocked the man's rifle out of his way and drove his knuckles into his windpipe.

  Now that he was among them, they were afraid to shoot, knowing they might hit their own. Cakey used this to his advantage. He kept himself close to his enemies, weaving in and out, crushing throats, gouging eyes, breaking noses. He used his elbows, his forehead, his knees, his fists. Sometimes he used their own appendages against them, grabbing one man's forearm and driving his elbow into another man's face. He was right about these men, David thought, they were not battle-hardened. The strength of Tockland was sickness, not military might, and it showed. Slow to react, fearful, confused, and Cakey’s violent confidence overwhelmed them.

  David watched all of this in a daze. General Mattock had called him a dancer of death. But, no, this was the real dancer of death, flowing like water through a room of armed men, and they dropped one by one, broken and moaning, bleeding, arms sticking out at strange angles, eyes missing, teeth missing. More soldiers entered the room, drawn by the screams. David opened fire on them and drove them back.

  “Which way, kid? Which way?”

  David blinked. Cakey stood now on a floor carpeted with bodies. He dug Captain Helt out of the heap, flipped him over his shoulder and hurried back to David.

  “This way,” David said, and led him to the next door.

  Finally, someone set off a real alarm, and it began to wail throughout the building. David and Cakey slipped through another door and into a narrow corridor. Around a corner, they found themselves in the drab gray room with its rows of concrete slabs. A body lay on one of the slabs, a massive thing covered by a black cloth, one fat hand poking out.

  “This is where they brought Karl,” Cakey said. “After they killed him.”

  “Yeah, I think so,” David said, his eyes fixed upon that fat hand, one finger wrapped in a dirty bandage splinted with small sticks. And what should he feel, seeing Vern laid out, cold and dead? Should it satisfy him? Should it take away the years-long burden? It did not. He felt only a twinge of sadness and a flutter of fear in his belly.

  “Which way, kid?” Cakey asked.

  David turned away from Vern and pointed to the door on the far side of the room—a door with no handle or knob. “That's where we met Mattock, through there.”

  “And this is where Captain Helt fulfills his destiny,” Cakey said.

  He dumped the captain’s body on the ground, grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him over to the door. Helt was as lifeless as a doll, his eyes half-shut, mouth hanging slack. If he wasn't dead, he was very close. Cakey pressed the palm of his hand against the door. In response to his touch, there was a soft click and the door swung open, revealing the tiled room, the contraption and the drain hole in the middle of the floor staring up like a dead eye. The room was empty, but behind them, around the corner, the sound of many booted feet and shouting voices could be heard.

  David entered the tiled room first, swinging his gun left and right, moving low. Cakey came next, dragging Captain Helt.

  “Let's go quick-like,” Cakey said. “All of Tockland will be upon us soon.”

  David led him to the dais and the curtain. He swept the curtain aside, his finger on the trigger, ready to fire at anything that moved, but the alcove behind the curtain was empty, filled only with shadows. They used the captain's palm again to open the next door, and David tensed, expecting to see Mattock standing just beyond, black cape and dark scowl, weighted down with weapons. But the room with the plush couches was also empty. Vern’s recliner was tipped on its side, the cuffs open and the cushions soaked with blood. David could see a trail of blood drops leading across the room to the door and the dais.

  Cakey set Captain Helt down on a seat in front of a table—the captain’s face flopped onto a plate of half-eaten peas. Then he pushed one of the larger couches in front of the door.

  “Maybe that'll slow the Tocklanders down for a couple of seconds,” he said. “Show me the way to the queen, Disturby.”

  David pointed to the long, black tapestry with its field of stars. “Behind there,” he said. “That’s the creature’s room.”

  Cakey smiled and clapped his hands. “Isn't it glorious?”

  “What? Isn't what glorious?”

  “All of this, my friend.” He patted David on the back. “All of this.”

  “I...I don't...Glorious is not the word I would use, no.”

  Behind them, in the tiled room, they heard the slamming of a door—either a door being opened so hard it banged off the wall or some force hitting it to try to break it down. Cakey jumped, clapped his hands again and ran across the room. He grabbed Helt in passing and slung him over his shoulder. The captain had one last important task.

  “What if the captain doesn't have clearance to open this door?” David asked, as Cakey brushed aside the tapestry. “What if it only opens for Mattock?”

  “Then we'll have to wade back into the sea of Tockland soldiers and find Mattock,” Cakey said. “You up for that?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Cakey pressed Helt's palm to the center of the hidden door. It clicked and creaked open.

  “Well, there you go,” Cakey said, entering the next room. “Destiny has spoken.”

  Distantly, they heard another loud thump, followed by a clatter and a din of voices. The small circular room was quiet, the air oddly still, filled with the earthy stink of the creature. David pointed out the panel of button on the wall on the far side of the walkway.

  “One of those opens the hatch,” he said. “I don’t remember which one.”

  Cakey motioned David into the room and shut the door. Then he set Captain Helt against the door, propped him up, folded his hands together on his lap and patted him on the cheeks.

  “Thanks for all your help, Captain,” he said. “You’ve done a good and noble job.”

  He followed the walkway around the room and approached the panel, studying the array of buttons. David came up beside him. Half a dozen buttons of varying sizes with no indication of what they did. Cakey shrugged and pressed one. Nothing happened. He pressed another, and the hatch on the floor began to rise.

  “That's it,” David said.

  Outside the room, they heard the voices drawing near, the tramp of boots, furniture being shoved rudely aside. Cakey stepped up to the handrail to examine the pool beneath the open hatch. And there it was, the creature, grayish humped back rising out of the slime. It shuddered at the sudden exposure, oozing fluid from its warty flesh. Cakey knelt down and reached through the bars, scooping up some of the liquid, letting it ooze between his fingers.

  “The source of healing,” David said, kneeling beside him.

  “Cerulean water,” Cakey said, his voice soft and haunted.

  “What's that?”

  Cakey dumped the liquid back into the pool.

  “Aren't you going to drink some, just in case?” David asked.

  “I don't think I need to,” Cakey said. “I’m not sick. I don’t think I can get sick. I think the liquid doesn't just cure the infection, I think it creates long term immunity.”

  “How do y
ou know—?”

  Something banged into the metal door, jostling Captain Helt’s body. His hands slipped off his lap and his head rocked to one side.

  “We’re all armed,” someone shouted from the other room. “You’re outnumbered. Surrender and the general might decide to be merciful.”

  Cakey rose, leaned over the handrail again and studied the humped back.

  “He called it the queen of Wormwood,” David said. “A burning mountain fell from the sky, and this creature was inside of it.”

  “Maybe others like it fell in other places,” Cakey said. “You suppose that's possible?”

  “I guess so.”

  “And maybe one of them fell in the Suceava River just outside of the village of Kurpmignid in Romania,” Cakey said. “And maybe that's why the worms can't do anything to me.” He lifted his hand, slick with blue slime, to his lips. “Destiny, I want to lick your face for all your perfect ways.” And with that, his tongue flitted out and touched the tips of his fingers.

  “What do we do now?” David said, as the soldiers thumped against the metal door. “We’re trapped in here.”

  “We’re not trapped. The Tocklanders are trapped.” Cakey unslung his rifle, checked the magazine to make sure he still had bullets, and set the stock against his shoulder.

  “What are you doing?” David asked.

  “Time to wake her up and see what happens,” Cakey said. “I'm guessing something really, really terrible. I'm hoping. Fingers crossed.”

  He aimed into the pool, barrel pointed at a spot right along the edge of the humped back. Again, someone pounded on the door.

  “The general is coming,” a soldier shouted. “Surrender now, or your suffering will be much greater.”

  Cakey looked at David, winked, and pulled the trigger.

  Chapter Twenty Four

  Angel of Death

  The bullet grazed the creature, ripping open one of the bumps on its back—it popped like a cyst, gushing blue liquid. At that moment, the door burst open, knocking Captain Helt aside, and soldiers flooded into the room.