by Glen Krisch
"They're going to kill us," she said angrily.
"If we let them." He tried to sound more courageous than he felt. A rock blurred by his shoulder, cracked against the wall behind them. The man who threw the rock wore an unabashed grin. Cooper's courage was swiftly fleeting. There was no place to hide, no way to scurry up the walls without being attacked and thrown back down to break their necks.
Jane inhaled sharply. He followed her line of sight to the gathering people, now standing three deep all around them. Of all the people, one person focused Jane's attention.
The woman stood out as she had when Cooper saw her in the normal aboveground world. Luscious lips painted red, flowing hair catching and holding the dim surrounding light. An alluring figure, yet one glinting with barely controlled anger.
Thea Calder.
She saw that they had taken note of her, and it seemed as if the crowd did also. There was a temporary ebb in the volume of the throng, broken when Thea bunched up her fists and stormed off, the crowd parting before her like a split seam in fabric. The crowd roared as if making up for the momentary quiet, before finding a steady static hum.
Slurs and spit and more rocks hurled into the pit. Cooper and Jane huddled low, covering their heads with their hands and forearms. This caused another roar to ripple through the crowd, this one tinged with laughter.
Yes, yes you are getting to us, Cooper thought.
A voice cut through the rest. Confident, somehow mirthful, Cooper recognized the voice from his dreams, and just recently, as the leader of the bounty hunters. Ethan Cartwright. "You two make a wonderful couple, I've gotta give you that. Ted Cooper. That's a white man's name. You have your white skin, your greasy white man's hair. You have white man's money, yet, you're a nigger. How about that, friends? Vic Borland heard it from his own mouth. That'll show you what they'll do, what they'll try to get away with. But it never works out the way they want, taking and taking and taking some more, taking right from the white man for his own. It never works.
"And you, Jane Fowler, cowering in filth with your arms draped over a nigger, when all these years you wouldn't let a white man come within an arm's length. Toiling along at your pathetic farm since your husband's demise, all these years acting more a man than not, not even attempting to keep your place. Makes you question things, folks. It surely does. What really happened to Dwight Fowler? How convenient a death he had. You, taking up his plow, his sweat and toil, taking up the burden of your land as if you were a man. Makes you wonder if Jane Fowler would rather take up with someone of the fairer sex, doesn't it?"
A grumble flowed through the crowd, agreeing with their leader. She no longer looked at the crowd. She dipped her face to her palms, sobbing.
"These two are vermin. Deserving of each other, deserving the same fate--"
Ethan's speech became a garbled scream. Cooper looked up and saw someone attacking him. A long knife handle protruded from Ethan's neck, and a group of angered men were prying the attacker away from their leader.
"This must end!" the attacker shouted, his voice drowned by the shocked clamor of Ethan's followers. Cooper saw clearly the gray wispy hair cut in a blunt Magee haircut, and the angular frame of an old man unfamiliar with manual labor. But he'd never seen such rage in the man or the vigor in which he moved. Dr. Thompson lunged with a blood-soaked hand for the knife sticking from Cartwright's neck. His fingers closed on the slick handle and held. The doctor's eyes lit up in triumph as he twisted the blade and tugged the wound wider.
"I will end this, Ethan. Even if I have to cut your head from your shoulders!"
Ethan's eyes boggled as his blood poured down his front. Thompson yanked back on the knife and a crimson spray arched down into the pit. He struck again near the original wound, driving the blade to the hilt. The room was strangely quiet. Ethan's followers stood back, unsure what to do, or perhaps even glad for the attack. Many in the crowd stepped away, as if it were possible for them to be sickened by the sight of blood.
"This must end! You--"
Ethan mustered his strength and punched the doctor in the Adam's apple, silencing him. Thompson went over in a heap, grasping his crushed throat. Two of the Borland brothers rushed over and grabbed the doctor by either arm, securing him long after any practical need. The old man's face was creased with veins, his skin darkening to purple as his air flow ceased.
Ethan took hold of the knife handle and pried it from his neck. Blood dripped steadily from his drenched shirt, but his strength never appeared to ebb.
"Foolish old man." Ethan kicked the doctor under the jaw, sending him tumbling back.
The doctor struggled to his knees at the lip of the pit, grasping at Ethan's pant cuffs.
Ethan squatted to the doctor's level and took hold of his chin, staring into his eyes as he suffocated.
"Do me a favor," Ethan said between gritted teeth. "Say hello to my son." Cartwright slapped Thompson and he cartwheeled into the pit, crashing mere feet from Cooper and Jane, dead on impact. Jane flinched next to Cooper and backed away from the body.
A nervous hiss passed through the crowd, but Ethan barely missed a beat. Blood flooded through his fingers as he held a hand to his neck. He cleared his throat and spit into the pit. The crowd's energy began to rise again. Ethan's voice was weaker, but still vehement: "So be done with it. The world, our Paradise, will be a better place without them. All three of them, in fact. And anyone else who chooses to stand against me will follow suit."
The words were barely out of his mouth when a renewed barrage of stones flew.
They pounded Cooper's flesh and fell dully to the floor of the pit. A large rock smashed into Jane's forehead. Her eyes rolled and she fell backward as if flung down by a rubberband. Her head bounced on the pit floor. She shuddered, then lay still. Pelting rocks stung his skin, but he still managed to crawl to her. He tried shielding her from the worst of it, hoping she hadn't received a mortal wound.
11.
They skirted around the area where Jacob and Jimmy's mother had screamed, drifting farther from the light. Jacob would have simply sprinted blindly into the fray, but Jimmy seemed to know the tunnels and the importance of stealth in such a place. He was also acting strange. Jacob couldn't put a finger on it right away. But as they moved cautiously, walking with deliberate vigilance, pausing to listen, walking another ten feet before stopping yet again, it became obvious. His brother was uncharacteristically skittish with fear. He jumped at the slightest sound, waved for their little group to lean against the wall, melting into deeper shadows. It didn't matter how he was acting, Jacob would still follow Jimmy. This was Jimmy, after all. His brother. His hero.
A pungent odor wafted through the tunnel that assaulted his senses and made him more reluctant to move. It was decay, not old and desiccated, but new, fresh and wet with rot. Ellie scrunched her face and held her nose. Jimmy seemed unfazed.
"This tunnel follows directly around to what they call their Paradise. I'm pretty sure that's where they're keeping Mom. Once we free Mom and get you guys aboveground, I'll go back and free the others," Jimmy said.
That word piqued Jacob's ear. Paradise. Down here. In the gloom, in the damp, with screams echoing down mysterious corridors. "Paradise, what's that?"
"That's what they call it. It'll be their main gathering place. Kinda like a town square."
Ellie stopped dead in her tracks. "There's others down here? Other prisoners?"
"Harold and Edwina. They're imprisoned too. I can't leave without them. Harold helped me escape from my chains."
"Let's find Mom first," Jacob said, trying to keep focus on what was most important.
"Of course," Jimmy said, then held up a hand yet again to quiet them so he could listen. When he was satisfied, he waved them on. Periodically, lighted tunnels branched away from the one they were keeping to, dimly lighting their way.
"Who are they, the others?" Ellie asked. Still swooning from the cloying stench, she spoke with her hand covering her nose a
nd mouth.
"A family. There's Harold and his daughter, Edwina. Benjamin, Edwina's husband, he was here too, until recently. I haven't seen him, not since they took him away when he tried to save me from being attacked. Harold thinks they did something to him. Something terrible," Jimmy paused, as if recalling the gruesome details. Jacob thought about the man/torso, the living person he had shoved into the pit, perhaps as much to rid his sight of him as to ease his suffering. He was going to ask his brother if the other prisoners were coloreds, but decided against it.
"But maybe he's free now," Jimmy continued. "Free or dead, either option is better than what happens down here. They've been enslaved for a long time. Too long."
"Any amount of time would be too long," Ellie said.
Jimmy looked down at her with unwavering affection. He put his hand on her head, softly, as if he didn't want to muss her hair. Jacob knew how easy it was to love Ellie's innocence and strength. She really was like the sister he never had.
"Who attacked you, Jimmy?" he asked. He wondered who could have done that to Benjamin, if the man/torso had been Benjamin.
The tunnel curved even more sharply back toward where their mother had screamed. He hoped it was the right direction. He already understood how easy it was to become lost down here.
His brother, still looking at Ellie, grimaced as he turned to face him. "Just two men. Two really bad men."
Thinking Jacob was satisfied with such a vague answer, he returned his attention to the girl. "What's wrong, Ellie? Do I need a bath that bad?"
Jacob saw a glimpse of Jimmy's old silliness.
"Don't you smell that?"
Before he could answer, a voice issued from the darkness ahead, little more than a whisper: "He took it. He took it, Jimmy. Took it from me."
Jimmy held up his arms to halt their progress.
Strides scrapped across the floor, a slow grating of bone on sandpaper. "Jimmyyyy…"
A wash of light was at their feet, a distant torch's farthest reach.
The girl stepped into the light, her face pasty white--not just pale, bloodless. Blood stained her lower half, from just below the swell of her breast to nearly touching her feet. A rent traveled the same distance through the fabric of her dress. Jacob didn't want to acknowledge this girl. That would make it all too real. Next to him, Ellie yelped as if slapped, then slumped to the floor, having fainted.
Jimmy. Poor Jimmy. He just stood and stared at Louise--Jacob could deny it no longer, it was Louise, and she was in sorry shape, and her belly was no longer taut and rounded--then his brother started trembling, finally stepping forward, catching the girl in his arms.
"Thank, God. I found you, Jimmy… He took the baby. It hurt so… s-so bad, but… but…" She shook free of his embrace, stared into his eyes. She placed her hands where they used to rest at the crest of her pregnancy, but they encountered empty air. "It was a boy, just like you wanted. A little boy, oh he's so small, and he's screaming and squalling and afraid. He needs me, Jimmy. He's going to starve, and it's so cold down here--it's freezing."
"Who, Louise, who did this to you?" His voice was quiet, yet firm, trying to console while still cutting through her shock. Jacob didn't know how Jimmy could be so rational when he himself had trouble staying upright and cognizant. "Who took our baby, Louise?"
"Banyon," she said finally. Her eyes fell to Ellie's slumped form. Jacob didn't think Louise was aware of where she was, or that she was looking at the daughter of a killer. Her eyes rolled back and it was like an invisible hand swiped her soul from her flesh. She was a thing now, an object--no longer living--merely blood and bones and wasted youth. Jimmy caught her under the arms, eased her to the floor. He kissed her closed eyelids, one after the other. When he stood, the rage in his eyes made Jacob take a step back. Rational thought was gone, caution thrown out along with it. Hands clenched into tight white fists, he headed in the direction from which Louise had emerged. Before Jacob could call out, his brother was lost in the darkness, consumed with still darker intent.
12.
Arlen snugged the dynamite bundle at the wall's base. He lit a wooden match, transferring the flame to the timing wick. Once certain it caught, he snuffed the match, then turned to walk away. The sour sulfur odor of the match trailed after him. The wick sparked and spit as it ran its length, the duration of its life a matter of a few short minutes.
13.
Jacob felt torn. Should he follow his brother? He didn't want to let him out of sight, not after fearing he would never see him again, but Ellie was groggily murmuring to herself as she recovered on the floor. He couldn't leave her, either.
"Wha… what happened?" She sat up, still woozy.
He went to her side and put a hand at her elbow to help her stand. "Are you okay? You didn't hit your head, did you?"
"No. No, I think I'm fine." Ellie saw Louise. Thankfully, when she died she fell forward at an angle that hid the worst of her wounds. Her awkward position was the only outward sign that she wasn't simply sleeping. No one would choose to sleep like that. "Oh, Louise. Who could do something like that?"
He recalled Louise's final words, but didn't repeat them. "I don't know. Jimmy went to find out."
"What do we do now, Jacob?" she asked as tears flowed down her dirt-smudged face. Jacob was tiring of seeing her cry. He didn't see it as a character flaw by any means; he simply wished she wouldn't be thrust into situations that compelled her to cry.
"I… I just don't know."
Sitting close for warmth, they were as lost and tentative as two kids could ever be. Water dripped nearby, methodically, maddeningly. Next to them, Louise began to stir.
14.
Jimmy charged down the tunnel, angry at himself for destroying his life, his future with Louise, their baby. Their baby boy. A fragment of him wanted to feel proud, but the feeling was buried by the rage compelling him through the twists burrowing into the earth.
When he came to the Banyon home in the middle of the night to share one last boyhood adventure with George, he knew that Louise was pregnant. But he couldn't face reality, not just yet. He just had to go searching for the mythical White Bane.
How could I be so stupid?
He wasn't sure how long he had been hearing the sound; rage thrummed through his ears, an all-encompassing claustrophobia that made him feel submerged inside a heart's chamber, with blood flowing over his skin instead of air.
But then he heard it. A cooing sound. Cutting through the morass.
Ahead, a feeble light outlined figures with foul luminescence. A torch wavered on the cave floor, cast off and dying. A wooden door was open wide leading to an unseen chamber. He'd found the source of the stench Ellie had complained about. Living rot and corrupted flesh, she huddled on the floor cupping something in her scabrous pale arms.
She was cooing.
The incongruous nature of an inhuman beast attempting such soothing sounds halted Jimmy.
An amorphous shape next to the undead woman shifted, stepping toward Jimmy and the sallow light. The light articulated his features. Scrubby salt and pepper beard, bleary eyes, paunchy stomach, skinny limbs. Charles Banyon raised a hand to stop Jimmy, and for some reason, Jimmy stopped in his tracks. Charles looked back at the cooing form, his lips flirting with a grim smile that quickly disappeared.
The woman rocked the bundle in her arms, too quickly, too ungently. She didn't know what she was doing. Even if she wanted to, she would be incapable of giving maternal care. That particular trait was reserved for the living.
The bundle twitched in her arms, squawked pathetically, then fell silent. Eventually, the cooing stopped, too. The cold air, laden with anticipation, became still weightier with the passing seconds.
"CHRRR!" the thing grunted and stood. The bundle fell to the floor, tumbled away, forgotten. Its contents unrolled partway from the blood sodden rag, but didn't move. A tiny arm fell out, hanging at an impossible angle. "CHRRR!" she grunted again, rising to her full height.
&n
bsp; Jimmy saw her eyes (how could someone lacking a soul have such emotion, such fury?), and vaguely recalled a similar face. A face imbued with warmth and hope and tranquility. It was Charles Banyon's wife, Mabel. Long dead. No details from his recollection existed in the woman standing before him. But it was her, no doubt, and somehow she still moved. Somehow she had held his baby boy as he died. She had taken what little time his child had in this world, had looked on his face with those crazed eyes as he took his last breath.
Mabel grabbed her husband's shirt collar, pulling him close to her, as if to embrace him. She pinned him to the wall, forcing the breath from his lungs. She went at him with her long, razor-like nails, ripping fabric, flesh, burrowing rails of muscle and bone. Blood pulsed from his wounds, falling in a wash, forming a growing puddle at his feet.
He never put up a fight. His expression, while pained, never wavered as he gazed with ill-fitting affection at his wife. His life was draining as quickly as his blood.
Jimmy didn't have long. Crouched low, keeping to the shadows, he reached the rag-draped boy and rewrapped him, as if his actions could stave off the cold. He hefted the form to his body, and oh God was he a light thing! Not much more a burden than the rags themselves. Before he was seen, he turned away from the Banyons. The baby felt like bones in a sack against his chest. Hollow bird bones, undeveloped, fragile, and… dead.
He was crying. He couldn't help it. He never thought he would ever want this baby. He was too young, not sure yet what he would do with his life, but now he wanted his boy to be alive and sighing in his arms like a contented, thriving bundle of joy.
Eyes blurred with tears, he didn't want to look back. Seeing any more just might break something inside him.
But then a brief explosion flashed behind him. Loud enough to ring his ears even at a distance. It had been brief, and he did look back, and he was astonished that a shotgun blast could be so earth shaking.