by Jeremy Bates
Then there was the Australian woman named Tami from Perth. Hanns claimed he didn’t touch her. She simply dropped dead when he cornered her. There had been no marks on her corpse, and Zolan supposed she’d suffered a massive heart attack.
Zolan hadn’t known about any damn video camera then. If I had, he would have retrieved it—and he likely wouldn’t have been in the mess he was in now.
Jörg emerged from the shaft, stormy-eyed and excited. With Hanns dead it seemed he had usurped the position of alpha male. Karl came next, then Lorenz, Erich, Leo, Franz, and finally Odo, the slowest and stupidest of the bunch, but as resilient as a pit fighter.
They milled about, shoving each other, making the noises they made, brimming with manic energy.
Pointing first to the wet footprints, then down the tunnel, Zolan shouted, “Geh! Geh! Geh!”
They took off like a pack of wild dogs on the hunt.
Chapter 74
They were dead. All of them. Pascal, Rob, and now Danièle—dead.
I tried not to think about this as I fled down the crumbling and rock-strewn hallway. I kept the torch ahead of me and above my head so the smoke didn’t waft back into my face. The flames bounced shadows off the stone walls and filled the air with a sickening tar-like stench. The only sound was my labored breathing and my feet splashing through the puddles that dotted the chalky gray ground.
A passageway opened to my left, a gaping mouth leading away into blackness. I veered into it, hoping to zigzag ever farther through the underground labyrinth, praying it didn’t lead to a dead end. If it did, I would be trapped. My pursuers would catch me. Smash my skull into bits like they did to Pascal. Set me on fire like they did to Rob. I couldn’t fathom what they did to Danièle, but judging by her screams, I suspect she got it the worse.
I wanted desperately to believe that this wasn’t the case, that Danièle wasn’t dead, and for a moment I allowed my imagination to run wild with fanciful speculation, because I hadn’t actually seen her die…
No—I heard her. She was gone, she had to be, and I was next, as doomed as the rest of them.
Still, I kept running, I kept putting one foot in front of the other. I was too afraid to accept the inevitable and give up and die, too hardwired to survive, even though there was nothing left to live for.
I opened my mouth and yelled. I hated the sound of it. It was shrill and broken and full of pain, what might come from a mongrel dog beaten to within inches of its life. My disgust with myself lasted only a moment, however, because seconds after the wretched moan tapered off, a riot of savage cries erupted from behind me.
So goddamn close!
The cries rose in a crescendo of frenzied bloodlust. Terror blasted through me, but I couldn’t make my legs move any faster. They were cement blocks. I felt as if I were running in the opposite direction on a moving walkway.
Suddenly the ceiling and walls disappeared and a vast darkness opened around me. While looking up to gauge the size of this new chamber, I stumbled over unreliable ground, lost my footing, and fell upon a mound of rubble. The torch flew from my grip and landed a few feet ahead of me. I stared at the polished rocks illuminated in the smoking flame until I realized they were not rocks but bones. Human bones. Skulls and femurs and tibias and others. I grabbed the torch by the handle and thrust it into the air.
Bones and bones and more bones, for as far as I could see.
I shoved myself to my feet, took several lurching steps, as if wading through molasses, then sagged to my knees. A centuries-old femur splintered beneath my weight with a snap like deadwood.
The sounds of my pursuers grew louder. I refused to look back over my shoulder. Instead I clutched at the bones before me, my fingers curling around their brittle lengths, pulling myself forward, my legs no longer responding at all.
Finally, beyond exhaustion, I flopped onto my chest and lay panting among the thousands of skeletonized remains as a sleepy darkness rose inside me.
They don’t smell, I thought, bones don’t smell, funny, always imagined they would.
And then, absently, in a back-of-the-mind way: I don’t want to die like this, not here, not like this, not in a mass grave, I don’t want to be just another pile of nameless bones, forgotten by the world.
That video camera.
That fucking video camera.
Chapter 75
ZOLAN
Jörg and Karl and the others were waiting impatiently for Zolan at the entrance to the mass grave. Will had dried sufficiently and no longer left any footprints for them to follow, especially not over the pell-mell bone repository. They didn’t know there was only one direction in which to proceed, because he had never allowed them to venture to this side of the pool before.
Zolan passed through their ranks and entered the vast chamber first, sweeping the flashlight from wall to wall.
Empty.
He started forward slowly.
Chapter 76
I lay perfectly still and listened. I heard my pursuers not far away. They sounded like feral animals. But what were they doing? Why had they stopped?
Suddenly a white light cut through the darkness. Footsteps followed, bones splintering. I held my breath.
Were they coming toward me?
Had they noticed where I’d dug?
I was a sitting duck.
I tensed, waited for one of them to cry out.
None did.
The footsteps passed close by, one set after the other, continuing in succession for what seemed like far too long. But then they began to fade.
I waited a full minute before shoving the layer of bones off me. I sat up and used Danièle’s matches to relight the torch I had snuffed out. The room was deserted. I tried to stand, toppled over, tried again, and succeeded. I lurched through the bone field back the way I had come. As soon as I reached solid ground I stumbled on legs that felt like slats of splintery wood. I pinballed from wall to wall, believing the next step would be my last, or the one after that.
Abruptly a childhood memory appeared in my mind’s eye. I was running along one of my favorite bike trails, carrying Maxine on my back, ducking overhanging branches, jumping roots, skipping over tire ruts.
I often biked there with my best friend, Stevie, but that Sunday afternoon in mid-August of 1997 Stevie bailed on me, so I invited Max along for the first time. Although the trail was in Ravenna Park, in the middle of U-District, it felt like it was in a sprawling, isolated forest, for conifers and old-growth trees towered above us, the canopy blocking out the sky, creating a premature twilight. With me leading the way, we weaved down into the ravine, spraying through foot-deep brooks and crunching over rotting deadfall. Some of the hills were a pain, and I was always puffing for breath when I reached the top. But, surprisingly, Max never walked her bike up them; she likely wanted to prove to me she could keep up, so she would be allowed to come back.
We were about an hour along the trail when the accident happened. I was zipping down a gradual incline, getting air on small jumps, glancing back to see if Max was doing the same. She wasn’t; her tires remained firmly on the ground as she tackled each peak and trough. Even so, about halfway down, she picked up too much speed and lost control. Her front tire caught a rut, then hit a root. Her handlebars jerked, and she crashed through the thick vegetation for about twenty feet before plowing into a large tree. She suffered a greenstick fracture in her left leg, though all we knew right then was that her leg was bloody and bruised. She was crying, as much out of fear as pain, I suspected, but eventually I coaxed her onto my back. I must have carried her for two kilometers before we emerged from the park behind a 7-Eleven. The employee on shift called our dad, who picked us up and took Max to the hospital.
The memory left as abruptly as it came, and the stone hallway refocused around me. However, I must have gotten a second wind, because I was now moving at a good trot and arrived at the foot ladder a minute later. I took a moment to catch my breath, then gripped the ladder’s upright
s and shifted my feet onto the rungs. I climbed one step—and hesitated. I looked into the black shaft below me.
No, I thought. Danièle was dead. She had to be. I heard her screams. They were the screams of someone having a dagger plunged into their chest. She was dead.
But what if she wasn’t?
She was. Had to be.
But what if she isn’t? You left her once, you didn’t have a choice, but you have a choice now.
“Fuck,” I mumbled.
I stabbed out my torch on the wall and started down.
Chapter 77
DANIÈLE
Danièle’s left hand felt ten times its original size and pulsed with electrifying pain, as if it had been pricked with a thousand different needles. The skin on it was already bubbling with large, clear blisters, especially on the palm and between the fingers. She wondered if she’d ever be able to use it again, but that was only a passing thought, because she had much more immediate concerns.
Like the four zombie-bitches standing watch over her.
Two were overweight, one average, one skinny, though they all resembled each other. This wasn’t surprising given they were related through inbreeding. Their ragtag clothing was filthy and torn, and their elbows were black, stained permanently, Danièle presumed, with dirt. These observations, combined with their undead stench, made her wonder whether they had ever bathed in their lives.
They watched Danièle, barely blinking. Their eyes shone with a dull luster—dull but not dumb, for they were cognizant enough to understand Zolan’s orders to keep guard over her and Katja. They wouldn’t even let her soothe her hand in the cool water of the pool. When she attempted to stand to do this, the skinny bitch shoved her roughly back to her rear.
Katja sat quietly next to her, staring at the ground for the most part, like a kid who knew she was in deep trouble and didn’t want to make it any worse.
Danièle tried not to think about Will, but it was a futile attempt. She still couldn’t believe he had abandoned her the way he had. She was so furious with him she almost wanted Zolan to catch him…almost. Because she knew she couldn’t blame him. If their positions had been reversed, she would have done the same as he had—
Will emerged from the shadows like a wraith.
Were her eyes playing tricks on her?
Could that really be him?
Yes! Because Katja, gasping in excitement, saw him too. Yet before Danièle could tell her to shut up, she blurted, “Will!”
The four women whirled around, amazingly quick for such despondent creatures. They shrieked and raised their bone-weapons…and everything that followed happened very fast.
Danièle rocked forward, grabbed the ankle of the bitch closest to her with her good hand, and yanked. The woman lost her balance but didn’t go down. Hopping on one leg, she attempted to kick free. Danièle tugged again, this time dropping her. She landed on her chest. Danièle scrambled onto her back. Her body, wiry and powerful, thrashed violently.
“Katja!” Danièle shouted. “Help!”
Chapter 78
KATJA
Katja didn’t know what to do; she was frozen with conflicting loyalties. Danièle wanted her to help attack Toni. But she couldn’t do that! Toni was her aunt. She’d helped raise Katja from birth.
Toni twisted and knocked Danièle off her.
Screeching, she raised her bone.
Katja leapt forward and grabbed the shaft, just above where she held it.
Toni whirled toward her, hissing her name.
Katja tugged the bone free and stumbled backward.
Chapter 79
I overwhelmed the two fat women with brute force, smashing through their raised femurs with mine and landing critical blows to their skulls. The skinny one, however, got behind me and leapt onto my back, her arms and legs locking around me. She bit me above the collarbone, tearing out a chunk of flesh.
Bellowing, I dropped the femur, reached over my shoulders, grabbed her with both hands by the greasy hair, and launched her into the wall. She hit it hard but recovered quickly, pushing herself to her hands and knees. I drove a foot into the back of her neck and heard a popping crack. She expelled a drilling shriek that splintered into something inhuman. She dropped to her chest and jerked her head back and forth, still shrieking, though unable to move her body from the neck down.
Chapter 80
KATJA
Katja knew Romy must be badly hurt because of the sounds she was making, but she didn’t understand why her aunt was just lying there. Nevertheless, if she didn’t quiet down, Katja’s father was surely going to hear her and know they were escaping. He would come back with the others and catch everyone again.
Understanding this, Katja rushed beside Will and grabbed Romy’s long hair in her hands.
“Get out of the way, Katja!” Will growled. He looked as angry as she’d ever seen anybody, and she knew he was going to stomp on Romy’s head the way he’d stomped on Hann’s.
Katja ignored him and began dragging Romy toward the water. She feared Will would stop her, but he was already turning his attention to the struggle between Danièle and Toni.
“Katja!” Romy hissed between her shrieks. “Hilf mir!”
Her German wasn’t very good, not like Katja’s father’s or Katja’s herself, she only knew a few basic words, and they were usually garbled by her pronunciation, but what she said now was easy enough to understand: “Help me.”
Katja kept dragging her toward the water.
“Hilf mir!”
“I am!” she shouted.
Suddenly the cool water shimmered around Katja’s ankles. She backed up a few more steps until it was up to her knees.
Romy was shaking her head wildly, but she still wasn’t moving her body at all. Her rounded eyes blazed and she hissed, “Katja—”
Katja released her hair and her head sank below the surface and her shrieks turned into bubbles.
“Go to sleep,” she said softly.
I didn’t know what Katja wanted with the skinny woman, but I didn’t care; the woman was a quadriplegic and no longer a threat. I turned to Danièle, who was grappling with the last remaining woman. I snatched up the femur and went to help. Danièle flipped the woman onto her back, pinning her to the ground.
Holding the bone with a wide grip, I pressed the middle of its length against the woman’s throat and leaned onto it, crushing the cartilage in her windpipe and depriving her of air. She writhed and gasped and spat until she went limp.
“Will!” Danièle said when it was over, throwing her arms around me. We folded onto the rock together.
I couldn’t believe she was in my arms, safe, alive.
“I’m sorry,” I mumbled into her hair, squeezing her tighter.
“You came back.”
“I left.”
“You came back.”
“Shit, Danièle,” I said, noticing her hand.
“It is okay.”
I sat up, easing her aside. “Zolan’s still looking for me, he’s going to come back. We have to go.” I glanced around for Katja through a film of blurry fatigue. She was by the pool, crouched next to a pair of legs that extended from the water. Had she drowned her own aunt? “Katja…?”
She looked at me. “She isn’t going to wake up, is she?”
“No.”
She began to cry.
“Katja, I’m sorry. I didn’t want any of this—”
“I didn’t either!”
I glanced at Danièle. She shook her head. I got up and went to Katja and pulled her to her feet and shushed her and stroked her hair.
“It’s almost over,” I said softly.
She sobbed, and her body trembled.
“Can you climb the ladder?” I asked her.
“I—I don’t know.”
“You need to.”
“I don’t know what to do anymore.”
“Just climb the ladder.”
“I want this to end.”
“Can you c
limb the ladder?”
“I…” She sniffed, nodded. “Okay.”
“Faster this time?”
She nodded again against my chest.
Danièle had collected one of the discarded yet still-burning torches and joined us at the pool. She waded in, apparently intent on swimming back through the submerged passage. The mere thought of doing so made me shiver.
“Forget it,” I told her. “I can’t do that swim again. I won’t make it.”
“We have to. We cannot stay here—”
“We’re going to take the ladder.”
“The ladder!” she exclaimed. “That is the way Zolan went!”
“No—I got off it before I reached the top, so did Zolan, but it kept going up, through the rock. It might lead back to all those tunnels beneath Val-de-Grâce. We could easily lose Zolan in them, and we’d be closer to a way out.”
Danièle frowned, contemplating this. “And if you are wrong, and it leads nowhere?” she said.
“I can’t do that swim again,” I said simply.
Chapter 81
I ascended the ladder first, carrying the torch, followed by Katja, then Danièle. At the lateral hallway, I half expected to find Zolan and the others, waiting to jump me, but it was all clear, and for the first time in…I don’t know how long…I felt the nascence of hope.
We were going to do this.
We were going to escape.
These thoughts spurred me on, and I didn’t realize I had left Katja and Danièle behind until I glanced down and all I could see was blackness.
“Katja?” I called.
“Coming!” Her voice was small and scared. Then she reached the torchlight. From my birds-eye angle only her forehead and eyes were illuminated—those captivating eyes of hers. Then the shadows covering her lower face peeled away, and a sadness welled inside me.
What was going to happen to her? I wondered. She thought she was going to be living with me and going on picnics and shopping for dresses. The truth was…what? The media would have a field day with her, that’s what. She’d become a modern-day carnival sideshow. She wouldn’t be able to go anywhere without attracting stares of pity and revulsion. She’d probably have to wear one of those burn masks to hide her face. She would never find love, never start a family. She would be doomed to a life of loneliness—what, ironically, I had naively believed I was saving her from.