by Piers Platt
Fuck. I’m gonna get lost in here.
Then he heard something. Far away, and muffled, but just barely audible. Falken froze, listening.
Shouting.
His head snapped around, looking back down the hallway he had first entered. Falken set off at a run, stopping from time to time to listen, and then continuing on. He dashed down a flight of stairs, and heard a roar of cheers, quite close this time. The stairs ended at a landing, with a door. Falken pulled it open.
He had emerged onto the wide, circular balcony ringing the great magnetic disk at the heart of the facility. Inmates lined the balcony, their backs to him, oblivious to his arrival as they cheered on the action below them.
I’m too late.
Falken stepped closer, and the disk came into view. Archos stood in the center of the disk, his face contorted in rage. He held Weaver up by his shirt collar – the little bookkeeper looked barely conscious, his feet hardly supporting him at all. Falken could see blood streaming from Weaver’s battered face.
“This! This is what happens to people who defy me!” Archos shouted.
“Kill him!” an inmate yelled.
Archos ignored them. “Where is it?” he asked Weaver.
Weaver coughed, and more blood dripped onto his coveralls. “I told you. It’s on the other island.”
“Bullshit!” Archos punched him, landing a vicious hook on his jaw that twisted Weaver’s neck cruelly. “I knew a man once that visited that island. There’s nothing there at all. Are you done lying now, little man?” he asked, pulling Weaver close. “Or should I knock some more sense into you?”
“Please,” Weaver gasped. “Please … no more.”
“Then tell me where the ship is,” Archos seethed.
Weaver shook his head, mumbling.
“Speak up!” Archos bellowed.
“Lookout Hill,” Weaver managed.
Archos’ eyes narrowed. “Lookout Hill …?”
“But the joke’s on you,” Weaver said, cracking a thin smile. “You need the captain’s keycard to initiate the launch.”
“Who has the keycard?”
“Not me,” Weaver said, coughing weakly. “And with all the time it took to drive here, they’re ready to launch by now. You’re too late.”
An expression of panicked fury crossed Archos’ face. He drew back his fist.
“Archos!” Falken’s voice thundered out across the room. Archos looked up, and locked eyes with Falken, who had stepped forward to the balcony railing. The inmates near him regarded him warily, and Falken saw one slip a stun-glove on.
“Welcome back, Bird-man.” The warden let go of Weaver’s shirt, and the smaller man stumbled away, collapsing onto his knees by the edge of the disk.
“The ship hasn’t launched,” Falken said. “And I know where that keycard is. I’ll tell you. But you’ve gotta fight me for it.”
“Why would I do that?” Archos asked, gesturing to the inmates crowding the balcony around Falken. “I think we’ll just capture you again and torture it out of you.”
“You could,” Falken said, with a shrug. “But that would be the second time you’ve refused to fight me. And I wonder if all of these men – who’ve proven their own worth on the disk, time and time again – if all of them would continue to follow someone like that. They might see you beating up people half your size but refusing to fight an even fight, and start to think they have a coward for a warden.”
Archos’ eyes narrowed, and Falken saw a vein on the older man’s neck throb.
“They might think their warden isn’t a warrior at all,” Falken said. “Maybe all those scars on his chest are just lies. Maybe he’s just a scared little boy, abandoned and alone on an alien planet, slowly going crazier by the day.”
Falken pushed the plank down off of the railing, and it fell into place, linking the disk with the balcony. Two inmates moved to block his path, but Archos spoke first.
“Let him come,” he growled. “The man wants a fight, and a fight he shall have.”
Falken crossed over to the disk, but he ignored Archos, instead hurrying over to Weaver’s side.
“Hey. You okay?” he asked, kneeling next to his friend.
“Falken? What are you doing here?” Weaver asked, frowning in confusion.
“Getting you out of here,” Falken said, pulling the bookkeeper to his feet. He guided Weaver back across the plank. “Someone take him to the gate, and let him go,” Falken said.
“No,” Archos called out. “The little man stays.” The warden stripped off his faded uniform coat, and tossed it over to the balcony. “I want him to see this. And when I’m done with you,” he pointed at Falken, “I’ll kill him, too.”
Falken gritted his teeth, but kept silent. He walked back across the plank, and faced Archos.
“Bad move, Bird-man,” Archos said, rolling his shoulders and stretching the cord-like muscles in his neck. “Either I kill you, or my men will. Win or lose this fight, you’ll both die.”
“After you,” Falken said.
And then, with deceptive speed, the older man attacked.
Chapter 30
Déjà vu, Falken thought. Back on this goddamn disk again, starving and exhausted, fighting for your life.
And maybe outmatched.
Archos’ initial attack had caught Falken off guard – the older man landed a solid cross on Falken’s chin before he managed to dance back, shaking his head to clear it. Falken blocked the next punch, but took a sharp kick to the shin in the process. The inmates roared their approval.
Falken tried to dodge back and buy himself time, but Archos pressed his advantage, pushing Falken toward the edge of the disk. Falken feinted with a right hook, and then punched Archos in the gut. The warden winced, but shrugged it off, and punished Falken with another strike to the jaw.
He’s just as big, and just as strong as you. And you’re gassed already from that run, not to mention staying up all night digging up half of Lookout Hill. You can’t go toe-to-toe and you’re not gonna just outlast him.
Archos swung again, but Falken dodged it and closed with him, grabbing the warden around the chest and then twisting. With a grunt, he threw the other man over his hip, but Archos rolled and came up quickly, ready for more.
Fighting him isn’t going to solve this. Even if you can beat him, his men will kill you, and Weaver, too. Think!
Archos lunged at him, swinging hard. Falken blocked two more punches, and dodged a third. Then he dropped to a knee and caught the warden’s legs behind both knees. He thrust upward, pulling up on Archos’ legs, and managed to take him to the ground. Archos landed heavily on his back, with Falken on top. They grappled on the disk, a sweaty tangle of arms and legs, and Falken had to concentrate hard to remain on top, controlling Archos and preventing him from escaping. But he could feel the strength draining from his body with each passing second.
I’m tired. And tired of fighting.
Archos kneed him in the chest twice, so Falken pushed the leg aside, and elbowed the older man in the face. But Falken’s small victory just seemed to enrage the warden, who snarled and kicked at Falken again.
Damn it, old man. I don’t want to kill you, even if I could. But you’re not going to let it go, are you? Not after I goaded you into this fight.
Falken blocked another kick with his arm, then purposefully loosened his leg, which had been pinned under Archos’ back. The warden sensed his opportunity and heaved himself up, pushing Falken off and to the side. Falken let his grip slip further, and the older man broke out fully, pushing himself up to a knee, and turning his back on Falken in the process. But Falken was ready for it, and pounced. He seized Archos by the neck, linking his arms in a vice-like chokehold. Then he stood, pulling the warden to his feet as well.
Archos let out a strangled shriek of pure rage, but Falken cinched his arms tighter, cutting it off. Tense silence settled over the watching inmates.
“I can break his neck,” Falken called out. “And
I will, in a heartbeat, if you don’t do exactly as I say. I’m taking my friend, and we’re getting out of here.”
The inmates traded uneasy looks. Falken pulled the warden over toward the balcony. “If you let us go, I’ll let Archos go as soon as we’re far enough away. No one gets hurt, and this is all over. Deal?” Falken looked around the balcony. “Do we have a deal?”
No one answered him. Falken frowned, and glanced quickly at the warden’s head between his arms. “Tell them to play ball, Archos,” Falken ordered him. He loosened his grip slightly, letting the other man speak.
Archos coughed, and then cleared his throat. “Will one of you fools put a knife to the little man’s throat already?” he growled.
“Shit,” Falken swore.
The inmate holding Weaver drew his knife, and set the point against Weaver’s jugular.
“Stalemate, Bird-man,” Archos chuckled. “And we both know you’re not going to be able to hold me like this forever. I can feel your arms shaking already.”
Falken looked around the room, his mind racing, searching for another idea. But he saw only the menacing stares of Archos’ crew, waiting.
“I have to hand it to you,” Archos wheezed. “It took balls to come back …” he trailed off, frowning.
Then Falken heard it, too – a sibilant, rushing sound. The gathered inmates looked around, searching for the source of the strange noise.
“What the hell …?” Archos asked.
Falken saw it first. One of the doors around the outside of the balcony bulged suddenly, as if under great pressure.
That’s the door I came through. Which leads back upstairs and outside … to the ocean.
The door held for another split second, and then tore off its hinges. A torrent of blue-black water surged into the room, spilling over the balcony and down into the pit below the disk. And following the water came a writhing, seething mass of eel-like creatures, jet-black and shiny, each twice as long as a man, and as thick as a telephone pole. An inmate near the door screamed in fear, but as he turned to run, the nearest creature struck out, lightning-quick, and wrapped itself around his legs. Then the upper half of the beast split into multiple tentacles, each lined with jagged teeth. The man’s screams were cut off in an instant, and his torso disappeared inside the creature’s maw, blood spattering the wall as it devoured him. The rest of the inmates were already running in a panicked stampede, hurrying away from the door, which was already overflowing with another surge of water bearing another tangled mass of the creatures.
Falken let go of Archos and ran for the balcony, but the plank was still up.
Fuck!
He threw himself at the gap, arms spinning as he flew through the air, and hit the bottom of the balcony hard, just barely managing to catch the metal grate between his fingers. Falken hauled himself up, elbowing his way through the panicking inmates until he found Weaver, who had been pushed to the side against the wall.
“Come on!” Falken shouted, grabbing Weaver by the arm.
He spotted a door closing behind an inmate, and headed for it, but one of the creatures slithered across his path. Falken balked, back-pedaling, but the creature struck another inmate instead, knocking him to the floor. Falken tugged Weaver past, leaping over the beast, and the two of them dashed through the door.
“This way,” Falken said.
They took a set of stairs two at a time, panting as they ran. Weaver stumbled, slowing down – Falken dropped back and took him by the elbow, pulling him upwards. Below, Falken heard the door splinter apart, and water fill the stairwell.
“Behind us,” Weaver croaked.
“I know!”
Falken pushed Weaver down the hall at the top of the stairs, and then through a set of doors into the garage. Ahead of them, one of the jeeps was already pulling out of a bay, tires squealing as the inmate behind the wheel accelerated toward the exit.
“Wait! Fuck,” Falken said. He hurried over to another truck, reaching in and turning the key. The engine turned over, but failed to start.
“This one!” Weaver said, leaning into the next jeep in line. It roared to life. “It’s the one they brought me here in.”
“Good, get in!” Falken pushed Weaver into the passenger seat, then climbed behind the wheel and set the car into Drive. He jammed on the accelerator just as the door burst open, emitting another torrent of water and black tentacles.
“Go!”
Falken drove for the exit – the first jeep was parked at the top of the ramp, and Falken saw its driver frantically tugging on the chain that opened the gate across the entrance; the gate was only part of the way up. Falken glanced in his rear view mirror: he saw several more inmates running for jeeps, and for a second, he thought he glimpsed Archos as well. Then a frothy wave of seawater filled the garage, and it was enough to convince him not to wait any longer – he roared up the ramp, swerved around the parked jeep, and crashed into the half-raised gate. The roof of the jeep caught for a second on the metal grating, and the jeep’s engine whined in protest, and then Falken heard something tear, and they were free, the wheels throwing sand up behind them as they careened through the trees beyond the facility.
“Water on the right!” Weaver warned.
“Shit,” Falken said, swerving left.
“Coming in from that side, too!” Weaver yelled.
Falken saw a spit of dry ground ahead; he gunned the engine and the jeep splashed through a shallow patch of knee-high water. A black shape lashed out at them as they passed, smashing into the side of the jeep. Falken swore again and corrected their course, and then they were through, and back onto dry land. Falken dodged a tree, and pumped the brakes to slow down.
“It’s rising fast,” Weaver said, watching the water to their right as it splashed around tree trunks.
“I know!” Falken said, checking the tide in the rear view mirror. “But we’re off the damn road. If I go too fast, I’m going to wrap us around a tree.”
He slewed the wheel right, avoiding a thick copse of tree trunks, and then pulled hard left again. Ahead, Falken could see waves converging on both sides of the dry ground, threatening to cut off their escape. He swerved around another tree, and the front quarter scraped along the trunk, the hard, white bark gouging the metal deeply.
“Gotta go faster,” Weaver said, seeing rushing water swirl below the jeep.
“Trying,” Falken said, gritting his teeth.
A spray of water splashed across the windshield, temporarily blinding him.
Weaver stood in his seat, leaning forward to see past the churning waves ahead of them. “I don’t see dry ground on the other side!” he yelled.
“Shit,” Falken said. It’s going to flood the whole island. You can’t outrun it. He spotted a thick tree trunk to their left, and aimed for it. “Weaver!”
“What?” the bookkeeper dropped back into his seat.
“Get ready to climb!” Falken warned him.
He braked hard, and the jeep’s hood jolted into the tree trunk with a crunch.
“Go, go – across the hood!” Falken yelled.
Weaver went first, as the water surged around the jeep’s wheels, frothing and bubbling. Falken climbed over the windshield hot on Weaver’s heels, and heaved Weaver up from below as the smaller man struggled to pull himself into the branches. Falken saw a black mass rise out of the water through his peripheral vision – he leaped for the branches and caught one between both hands, and then hauled upward. He heard a hissing noise, and felt a searing pain along his side, and then Weaver was yelling and tugging him by the armpit, and they were safely up in the branches of the tree, above the hard bark.
The eel-like thing below wavered for a moment, as if watching them, and then it slipped back into the water. Falken and Weaver climbed up another ten feet, and then stopped, panting. From their vantage point, Falken could see water in all directions now – no dry land was visible at all. The water was several feet high and still rising, and it teemed with the
black shapes of the creatures as they slithered through the tidal surge, hunting. Falken saw several creatures feeding on low-hanging branches of trees – as he watched, they stripped the branches entirely, and then ate the wood as well.
“What the hell are those things?” Weaver asked, his eyes wide.
“I don’t know,” Falken said. “Fucking nightmares, whatever they are.” He checked his side, where a line of bloody teeth marks had scored his flesh. He winced, and pressed his arm to the wound, putting pressure on it.
“Are you okay?” Weaver asked.
“I’ll be alright,” Falken said. “Just so long as they’re not venomous, too. How’s your face?” He indicated Weaver’s face, where the effects of Archos’ beating were plain to see.
Weaver touched his face carefully, wincing. “It hurts,” he mumbled, through puffy lips. “I probably look like a real mess.”
“You’re gonna have some nasty welts and bruises in a couple hours,” Falken agreed.
“Well, ‘pain is inevitable, suffering is optional,’ as I always say,” Weaver said, trying to smile.
A noise below caught their attention – the jeep was now mostly submerged, and several of the creatures were busily shredding the seats of the vehicle, tearing them apart and eating them. Their thrashing movements shook the trunk of the tree, as well.
“They’re not gonna knock the tree down, are they?” Weaver asked, nervously.
“I don’t think so,” Falken said.
“Let’s get higher up,” Weaver suggested.
“Yeah,” Falken agreed.
Carefully, they moved along the spiral branches, circling the trunk until they were another ten feet up.
“Falken?” Weaver asked, settling himself onto a thicker branch. “Are we trapped here? Like, forever?”
Falken shook his head. “Ngobe said the tide will only be up for a couple hours. Then it should go back down again.” Falken knocked his hand against the trunk. “I think.”