by Tony Bulmer
“You don’t say,” said Congo, trying to sound like he gave a damn.
Stay away from the edge, it is dangerous up here, especially with this wind, the rocks can be icy any time of year, so slippery you could go skating on your ass and be over into Hell’s Kitchen before you even know it.”
Congo took a step backwards, then another. The view was certainly impressive—mile after mile of blackened lava rippling away almost as far as the eye could see, hemmed in on all sides, by perilous, cliffs rising vertically towards the sky. This wasn’t a place for sightseers. This was a hellish, broken place, balanced dangerously on the very edge nature. Congo surveyed the scene. There was something about this crater that invoked a chilling and unnatural sensation that curdled the blood. Staring at this hideous Martian landscape, it was
easy to imagine they had been transported back in time a million years, or blasted to some distant planet, where the only means of governance was an icy and remorseless wind that blew eternal.
“They say that the wind is a sign of the goddesses displeasure,” said Kāeo
“What has she got to be displeased about?” asked Congo, “You ask me these Islands have had things pretty easy, anyone ever tell your goddess that huh?”
“The Haole come—the breathless
outsiders—and they suck the living mana from the goddesses homeland—such a misfortune will bring down a terrible curse upon us all.”
“A curse huh?”
“You doubt the power of the goddess?”
“You can think and talk any kind of hoola-‐ skirted hoopla you want Professor. As long as it keeps those tourists buying souvenirs, it doesn’t make a damned bit of difference to me.
“You have no soul Congo, perhaps the spirits of the mountain have stolen it from you already?”
“Now why in the wide world would they want to go and do a thing like that?” sneered Congo, his eyes drawing thin and contemptuous.
“You are a conspirator, friend to the Haole—the spirits feed off energy Congo just as the parasite complex of Deng Tao feeds on the energy of these Islands.”
“It’s too bad you were never on board with the project Professor.” Congo unbuttoned his jacket and reached out his Glock. He always kept a round in the chamber, so he had no need to pump the slide He simply pointed it at Professor Kāeo and
said, “All that tribal mumbo-‐jumbo doesn’t fool me for a second Professor. I had you down as a Government man from the get go. I knew you wouldn’t be able to leave your precious
observatory, no matter what the price.”
“There are things that are beyond the world of money Congo.”
“Too bad you will never live to see them then, isn’t it? If you had played along, you could have been a part of something big, something beyond the limits of your pathetic world of subservience to the gods of government.”
“Death holds no fear for me Congo, my spirit lives eternal. You may commit your act of sacrilege upon the slopes of this sacred place, but your malfeasance will carry a price that your world of money will be unable to meet.”
Congo nodded. “Nice speech, now back up. You are going to take a tumble and it is not going to be pretty, so you better save that hot air you are pumping out for the journey down.”
Kāeo looked slowly left and right then back at Congo, there was no fear in his eyes, just the quiet acceptance that death was close. Knowing he had no options, he said, “You aren’t going to shoot me. You would never get away with it. The authorities will come looking, and when they find out what you have done, you will be ruined and damned.”
“I am the authorities,” said Congo. “There won’t be anyone to find you, save that cute little goddess you keep talking about. But, I am guessing she is going to have other things on her mind these next few days, if you know what I mean.”
“It is never too late to turn back the tide of
evil Congo, there is still time for your soul to be
saved,” Kāeo paused then said, “I have seen the
white dog of Pele stalking the lower slopes, it is an
omen Congo, a warning to all of mankind.” “You are just too smart for your own good
aren’t you Professor, and that is why you are going
to have to die.” Congo raised the gun and fired. The
wind carried the sound of the gunshots far to the
south. Panicked, the Professor stumbled
backwards, examining his chest, puzzled that he
could see no sign of damage, frightened that in
these, his last moments of life, his spiritual
assuredness might be taking flight, heading south
over the unending waters of the Pacific. Strength!
He must stay resolute, or his weakness would
condemn his soul to an eternity on the mountain. So be it.
If the gods deserted him, science would
reach in with the black hand of finality. No matter
how it ended, everything would be all right. Except things weren’t all right.
In these, his last tortured moments,
professor Kāeo lost his footing, and tumbled
backwards, falling awkwardly on the mangled
rocks. Winded, he turned to face Congo with
accusing eyes. “—You didn’t shoot me,” he
managed at last.
Standing squat and menacing, Ted Congo
had a thin smile on his face. “Of course I didn’t
shoot you, I was just throwing a scare in you.” “But why, why would you do such a thing?” “For a man who has the answer to
everything, you are not too smart are you
Professor?” Congo moved fast now, striking out
with a vicious kick to the professor’s stomach. As his victim curled into the punishing impact, Congo moved in, stamping furiously on the most vulnerable parts of his victims body, with a fusillade of manic blows. Finally, as the Professor lay stunned and choking blood, Congo grabbed him by the legs and half dragged, half rolled his victim to the precipitous edge of the Moku crater. Congo stood admiring his handiwork, then said, “In answer to your question Professor, I am making sure that in the very unlikely event anyone ever finds you, the terrible accident you are about to have will look just like that—an accident.”
The professor’s eyes filled with horror. Congo smiled. “That’s right, if your corpse is riddled with bullet holes it will spoil everything, and we don’t want that, do we Professor? On the plus side, you will get a close up and personal look at this precious crater of yours—all the way to the bottom. Congo craned his neck, peering over the edge, a sudden look of distaste twisting at the corners of his mouth. “You were right Professor, it is a long way down—four hundred feet at least.”
Professor Kāeo moved his lips in a silent invocation, but Ted Congo never noticed. He was too busy rolling his victim towards the yawning lip of the crater. Then, with a last brutal kick, Congo launched
the still living body of the man he had just brutalized out and over the edge of the giant crater, letting it freefall outwards and away, into the pitiless wind—falling down, like a broken, spiraling bird, battered by the jagged cliff face—then, as the eternal seconds flashed by, Congo stared, emotionless, as the broken body of a once great
man was smashed beyond repair against the icy rocks below.
30
The Pacific Standing almost paralyzed with fear in front of the gun cabinet, deep inside National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration ship Nautilus, Science Officer Kellerman heard the unmistakable clatter of feet on the stairway leading down from the upper deck. They were coming, those skeletal maniacs with the big guns and the explosive laden body belts. Kellerman felt desperation kick in. She had failed in her task. Captain Álvares had been very clear—secure the guns in the L/E cabinet. But without a key, or even an idea as to where she might find one, her mission had failed before it had even begun. Those terrorist scumbags would capture her for sure, and break open the gun cabinet, helping themselves to a deadly new arsenal they could use on their prisoners.
Kellerman knew she had to buy time, hide out and avoid capture, for as long as she could. If she stayed hidden, they might not even find her. No doubt they had rounded up or killed the rest of the crew by now, surely she was the only one left. In the confusion there had to be a chance that these ruthless men wouldn’t know how many crew-‐ members sailed aboard the Nautilus, if so, she would be free and clear. Alternatively, their inside-‐ man had fed them the names of everyone on board, and they were even now checking off names, to see if they had snagged everyone, in their sneak attack.
Kellerman shrank backwards along the darkened corridor, inching away from the sound of
advancing footfalls. She kept her back close to the wall, in order she might keep her footing, as the ship pitched gently in the grip of the ocean. She placed her feet carefully, hardly daring to breathe.
Then she saw him, a dark figure descending the stairs and after this man another, both of them with vicious looking assault rifles slung about their necks. Her fingers pressing against the wall, Kellerman swallowed down the fear and backed away, into a darkened doorway. They would cover the corridor and work through every single cabin, until they were confident there was no one hiding. Then, they would move on, further down inside the ship until they had searched every conceivable crevice.
Seeking cover in a doorway, Kellerman realized that she was now inside the ships galley. Her heart skipped faster. There were knives in the galley, all sorts of knives, and other utensils that could be used as weapons. But how in the hell do you take down a man with an assault rifle with nothing but a cook’s knife as company? Kellerman felt her stomach do a flip, as images of Heung and his broken, gore-‐splattered head flashed in on her, the sound of the skull cracking wide looping back endlessly as a torturous accompaniment. Only a few short hours ago it would have been
unimaginable to even conceive of killing another human being. And now, that past life was gone forever, swept away by a cataclysm so profound it had drawn her to the very edge of a bleak and uncertain future.
Hurrying past the sinks and stoves, Kellerman headed for the butcher’s block, at the back of the kitchen and snatched up a wood-‐
handled meat cleaver. She weighed it
experimentally in her hand, testing it, imagining what it would be like to wield this instrument of death against another human being. She had killed already, but would she have the strength to do it again and so soon? Raising the cleaver, Kellerman made an experimental pass, as though she were striking out in anger. She tried the move again, this time backhanded, the whole time images of Heung’s sickening injuries swimming before her eyes. The cleaver was heavy, too heavy to be maneuverable. You hit someone with one of those things and you would have to get lucky the first time. If you struck them a glancing blow, or you caught them in the wrong place, they would be on you before you could take another swing. Kellerman put the cleaver down, casting it onto the scarred wood of the block with growing revulsion. Next she snatched up a wide bladed kitchen knife, twelve inches long at least, she held it up before her and the blade caught the light. She felt tempted to touch the edge to test it, but it looked razor sharp, so sharp it would slice through human flesh with ruthless efficiency. Visions of the past rose up again, preparing food for family and friends, Boeuf Bourguignon and Szechwan lamb. Then slow roasted conversations about politics and sports and a glass or three of wine, before settling down to dinner. She stared at the glittering blade. That distant life was nothing more than history now. If she used this knife as a weapon on another human being, she would have crossed the line forever, drawing down into the netherworld of inhuman beasts. There was no other option. She had to do it, kill or be killed.
The sound of cautious footfalls resounded in the corridor. Soon they would be here—two of them. Kellerman’s mind worked quickly. She figured she might catch the first assailant by surprise, leap out from some hiding place and run him through with the knife before he had time to react; but what about the second? What would he do after seeing his partner in crime run through with a twelve-‐inch kitchen knife?
Outside the door, dark shadows, elongated and misshapen, crawled across the wall. They had guns—automatic weapons and they were hunting her down. Kellerman’s stomach did a double-‐flip. She moved quickly down the side of the galley work island and clutched the big knife in readiness. She would hide, duck down until the last possible moment, until she no longer had a choice. Then, she would rise up and strike, trust her instincts to place the knife where it would do the most damage. It was her only game plan. No exit strategy, no hope of escape. Just rise up and strike, hope that the blow took her assailant down.
Perhaps the attack would give pause to the second man, before he opened up with his rifle, perhaps not. Kellerman hoped that the bullets when they tore into her body wouldn’t hurt very much, but she knew that they would. Too bad they didn’t prepare cadets for these kind of scenario’s. At the Academy, unarmed combat was precisely that. As for fire arms training, none of it was close quarters and a couple of days a month popping high-‐caliber rounds down range hardly counted for anything, not when you were trapped two thousand miles from land and with no hope of rescue.
Kellerman heard more furtive movements.
Outside in the corridor, the two thugs were
working their way down the hall, checking every
cabin as they came. In a few short minutes, they
would be upon her. She looked frantically around
the small galley for some kind of hiding place
where she might evade capture. As the desperate
seconds sped by, her eyes settled on a small gap in
the work surface that looked like it was meant to
house a trashcan, or some k
ind of appliance that
had been removed for maintenance. In the semi-‐
darkness the snug little gap was hard to see—
almost too small to fit a human inside, but she had
to make it work, any other point in the room, they
would catch her just as soon as they snapped the
lights on.
Kellerman dipped down to a low crouch
and inched backwards into the hole. The fit was
real tight, so close she almost couldn’t move. But
that didn’t matter. This tight little box might give
her the edge she was looking for. She crouched
back in her hiding place, with the kitchen knife
poised ready, locked now in a close quarters game
of hide and seek with survival as the prize. The darkness was disorientating Kellerman
felt the unbearable tension pounding through her,
every sense on high alert.
A sudden draft made her freeze—was she
imagining it? The sound of soft footfalls and the
unmistakable passage of a heavy-‐set figure
confirmed her fears. The dark figure swept past so
quickly and silently there was no time to respond.
Instead, Kellerman sucked in a slow breath, and
held it silently, not daring to exhale for fear she
would be discovered before she had chance to execute her ambush.
The dark figure halted, as though surveying the room, then swept away, just as quickly and as silently as it had arrived, and with its passing, Kellerman felt a sudden wave of euphoria rise within her. They had tried to trick her, by moving in a scout ahead of the main party. They wanted to draw her out of her hiding place, so they could move in quick and snatch her with a minimum of resistance. Well, they had failed and if she could foil their plans once, she could certainly do it again— she was in with a chance of coming through this, no matter how slim that chance might be. A new hope had risen. Kellerman breathed again, holding the kitchen knife two handed now, getting ready to run through the next person who came looking for her.