Pitch Black

by Frank Lauria

  “Assailed my fragile sense of security,” Paris intoned. “That’s what.”

  “What’re you goin’ on about?” Shazza demanded indignantly. The wild-haired mercenary stood up, her green eyes blazing. “That child’s been with me for . . .”

  They all saw it. The sunlight blinked as someone passed outside the cracked hull. Paris felt a surge of nausea.

  “Zeke?” Shazza murmured.

  No answer. Audrey sprang silently to the side of the hull and put her eye to a crack there. She saw Zeke in the distance. He tossed his shovel aside and started toward the ship. Then she saw something else.

  Audrey whirled back, her lips mouthing a silent alarm. “Riddick!”

  Heartbeat booming inside his skull, Paris started to tremble. With catlike quickness Shazza snatched the war-pick from his numbed fingers and bounded to the main door. She crouched there, poised to strike. Audrey followed, holding a hunting boomerang. Only Paris couldn’t move, eyes bulging from his chubby face as he watched the sun beams blink on and off, one by one, marking Riddick’s approach.

  Paris felt his legs buckle as the shadow blinked closer.

  Suddenly a shape appeared in the doorway and Shazza swung down hard.

  “No!”

  Audrey’s cry diverted Shazza’s blade. It missed by inches. All three stood frozen, staring at the total stranger in the doorway. Half-naked and half-mad with pain, the man’s face and chest were badly burned. His eyes rolled wildly inside his red, blistered face and he stumbled inside, still clutching the emergency release handle of his cryolocker. He lurched toward Shazza trying to embrace her.

  “I thought . . . My God, I thought I was the only one who . . .”

  Phlup! Phlup! The familiar spitting sound of a magnetic pistol punctured the horrified silence. The man gaped at Shazza in total amazement as he saw bone chips and chunks of brain matter spatter her bosom. Then he realized it was his brain decorating her skin.

  The stranger sank bonelessly to the floor, revealing Zeke in the background, his pistol leveled. When Zeke saw Shazza’s expression he understood what he’d done.

  “Oh lord . . .” Paris gurgled, trying not to vomit.

  “It was just somebody else,” Audrey said in a hushed voice. “From the crash. Just another survivor . . . like us.”

  Zeke rushed inside. “Cripes galore,” he muttered, checking the body. He glanced up at Shazza. “I thought it was him—the murderin’ ratbag,” he rasped, voice heavy with regret. “I thought it was Riddick . . .”

  Not more than twenty yards away—concealed behind a shadowed bulkhead—Riddick watched intently. He knew what it was like to kill someone by mistake. But he really couldn’t be sympathetic. After all, he was Zeke’s intended victim.

  Anyway, he had more important things on his mind. Eyes narrow behind his dark goggles, Riddick stared at the group bent around the dead stranger. This means he’ll have to bury another body, Riddick calculated.

  His gaze focused on something he coveted very much. As soon as he starts digging, I’ll take it, Riddick promised, gripping his hand-hewn knife.

  For a long time, Riddick stood in the darkness, watching Zeke struggle with the stranger’s corpse. And as he waited, Riddick’s goggled eyes never left the breather unit clamped in Zeke’s mouth.

  Fry moved carefully inside the abandoned space skiff, checking out the essentials. The working parts seemed to be in order, but time had eroded some of the grav-belts and passenger pods. The cryo system was basic but functional enough to get them to the shipping lanes.

  “No juice,” Fry reported, testing the energy units, “Looks like it’s been laid up for years. But we might be able to adapt . . .”

  “Shut up!” Johns snapped.

  Angrily, Fry moved to the door and saw Johns facing away from her, his head cocked, as if listening. He turned and shrugged. “Sorry. Thought I heard something.”

  Fry stepped outside. “Like what?”

  “Like my pistola.”

  For a long moment they both stood listening. Then Johns started trotting back toward the ship. Before he had gone ten feet, Fry went after him . . .

  The good news is I left one grave empty, Zeke thought grimly, pulling the sled across the sandy terrain. The stranger’s body seemed heavier than usual. Maybe because he was tired. Or maybe because he had killed the wrong man.

  Zeke didn’t dwell on the question. Poor bugger would have croaked soon anyhow, he reminded. Still, it disturbed his professional standards. A man in his business couldn’t afford mistakes like that.

  When he reached the gravesite, Zeke took three deep hits from his breather before unloading the body. He lifted the sun tarp and hooked it on the sled’s rear spar. The tarp provided shade while he filled in the grave. But it also blocked him off from the ship’s view.

  Wrestling with the stranger’s dead weight proved taxing. As soon as Zeke set the body down at the grave’s edge he took another long hit from his breather. As he started to roll the body into the grave Zeke noticed something he hadn’t seen before. There was some kind of opening at the bottom of the grave. A tunnel.

  “Now what the bloody hell . . .”

  Zeke hopped into the grave and crouched down at the mouth of the tunnel. There seemed to be some sort of open burrow beyond. Zeke unhooked his handlight and poked it into the burrow.

  He never had time to turn it on.

  Something hot whipped through the gloom and slashed his leg. As Zeke fell, his pistol blasted a defensive arc. It didn’t work. Another slash cut his wrist and the pistol fell from his nerveless fingers.

  Zeke clawed and rolled, fighting to escape, but it was too late. Something had him by the ankles. He felt himself being dragged deeper into the burrow . . .

  Riddick witnessed most of it. Concealed behind a large pinnacle, he saw Zeke stop, lift the sun tarp, and unload the body. All that time Riddick remained focused on Zeke’s breather.

  Until Zeke dropped to his knees at the grave’s edge.

  Riddick’s senses began to buzz like bees in a bear’s cave. His skull swelled with frantic energy as Zeke suddenly jumped down into the grave. Riddick’s trained instincts went into action. Without hesitation he left his hiding place and ran toward the gravesite, dagger ready. He’d been waiting for a chance like this.

  Then he heard the magnetic pistol spitting wildly, and stopped short. When the shooting stopped Riddick edged closer.

  The grave was empty.

  Except for the bloody strands of flesh.

  Paris, Audrey, and Shazza also heard the shots. They all looked back, but the sled’s sun tarp screened off their view. Immediately, Shazza began sprinting across the hard-packed ground to the gravesite.

  Panting breathlessly, Shazza reached the sled and slapped the tarp aside. She froze, face-to-face with Riddick. He was standing on the other side of the grave, his bone shiv raised like a salute.

  Shazza glanced down into the grave. And she began to scream . . .

  Riddick started running the moment she screamed.

  He didn’t know why he simply didn’t kill her, but he had learned to trust his instincts. There was something bad back there—something extremely lethal.

  Takes one to know one, Riddick thought mirthlessly, his lungs flailing in the thin atmosphere. Doggedly, he pushed forward, weaving through the dense line of pinnacles. Thing to do is find cover and regroup, he told himself. But Riddick knew there was something back there he couldn’t handle. Not alone.

  Blazing pain dropped him to his knees.

  Riddick’s battle skills understood before his brain comprehended. He rolled as Johns’ baton whipped down and slapped the weapon aside. Then he sprang to his feet and snatched at Johns’ shotgun. Unfortunately he missed. Johns didn’t.

  The lawman clawed at Riddick’s goggles and connected. The moment Johns pulled them off, Riddick was helpless. The blaring sunlight exploded against his exposed vision like a nuclear blast. Shiv blindly slashing empty air, Riddick fell back.


  Johns pounced like an enraged beast. Unable to see, Riddick tried to shield himself against the blows whacking his unprotected body. But it wasn’t enough. Johns swung down hard over and over, smacking ankles, knees, back, kidney . . . anywhere Riddick rolled, Johns was there.

  “Want me to X your vampire ass? That it?” Johns grunted, baton rising and falling like an axe. “Cuz you are testing me, Riddick! Same crap—different planet. As God is my secret judge, you are sorely testing my righteous good nature.”

  Agony ripped through Riddick’s flesh and his brain began to spin with nauseating speed. Suddenly more hands were beating him, pushing him toward the sickening blackness. He tried to see but when he opened his eyes blinding pain seared through his skull like a laser. Through the shrieking confusion he heard the woman’s voice.

  “What’d you do with him? You bloody sick animal! What’dja do with me Zeke?”

  “C’mon, Riddick,” Johns rasped, his pounding baton punctuating his words. “Tell us a better lie!”

  “Ease up! Ease up! Shazza!”

  Dimly Riddick recognized Fry’s voice.

  “Just tell me . . . what?” Fry demanded. “What’s going on?”

  “Don’t you here them sounds?” Riddick groaned. “Listen!”

  “Just kill ’im,” Shazza shouted breathlessly, kicking and hitting Riddick’s curled body. “Just somebody kill ’im before he can . . .”

  Hands pulled Shazza back, but she landed one last kick to Riddick’s face. Blessedly, the pulsing agony dissolved into a deep, dreamless vortex.

  Shazza stared down at the bottom of the grave Zeke had dug.

  Twenty years, she thought ruefully. Twenty fantastic years of incredible excitement, wonder, discovery, and yes, wild romance. Twenty years of absolute trust, and unconditional friendship. Twenty years of chasing violent death and fabulous treasure on alien worlds. And it all comes down to this. A few bloody fucking entrails at the bottom of an open grave. The gruesome little pile of ragged meat was all that remained of her Zeke, her love, her life . . .

  Shazza looked up and saw Fry and Johns approaching. She didn’t want to talk to them. She didn’t want to talk to anybody. All she wanted was a chance to fillet Riddick alive, slice by agonizing slice.

  Fry watched Shazza stalk away with a mixture of sympathy and apprehension. In her present emotional state, Shazza could snap at any second. Which could get them all killed.

  But looking down at the blood-caked strings of human flesh, Fry understood Shazza completely. What kind of degenerate would do something so vicious? Fry reflected. But something else nagged at her thoughts.

  It hardly seemed possible that Riddick could have killed Zeke, hack him to pieces, and get rid of the body so quickly. She glanced at Johns. The lawman had Riddick’s confiscated bone shiv in his hand. The crude weapon shone gleaming white in the glare.

  “He used that?” Fry asked.

  Johns lifted the weapon, turning it in the harsh light. “Sir shiv-a-lot. He likes to cut.”

  “So why isn’t it all bloody?”

  Fry’s question drew an annoyed scowl. “I assume he licked it clean,” Johns said, voice heavy with contempt.

  Fry wasn’t convinced. Riddick’s clothes were also blood-free. There was no way he could have washed them clean, even if there was any water on this desolate rock. And what did he do with Zeke?

  Ignoring Johns, she turned and walked back to the ship, brain crowded with doubts.

  The cracked interior of the ship offered relief from the relentless glare. She stood in the shadows for a few moments, gathering herself. Then she moved farther back into the cargo container where Johns had secured his prisoner.

  Bound in chains, Riddick sat on his haunches in the darkest corner of the bulkhead, eyes closed tight, and head down. What Fry could see of his body was a mass of bruises, and there was a nasty swelling at his temple.

  “So where is he?” Fry asked quietly.

  Riddick didn’t stir.

  “Tell me about the sounds,” she persisted. “You said you heard something . . .”

  He didn’t move a muscle. He could have been made of stone.

  “If you don’t talk to me, Shazza’ll take another crack at it—at your skull.”

  “You mean the whispers?” Riddick’s voice had a taunting edge.

  “What whispers?”

  “The ones tellin’ me to go for the sweet spot . . .” he said, voice soft and dreamy. “Just left of the spine, fourth lumbar down. The abdominal aorta. Oh yeah. What a gusher. Had a cup on his belt. So I used it to catch a little spill. Metallic taste to it, human blood. Copperish. But if you cut it with peppermint schnapps that goes away.” He added slyly, “Course that’s more for winter. Summertime I like mine neat.”

  Fry stared at the crouched, battered figure. The son of a bitch is pulling my chain, she decided. Riddick seemed to relish playing the role of resident boogeyman.

  “Why not shock me with the truth now?” Fry asked calmly.

  Riddick shook his head in disgust. “All you people are so scared of me . . . and most days I’d take that as high praise . . . but it ain’t me you gotta worry about now.”

  If he was trying to scare her, it worked. Fry tried to bury the fear with anger.

  “Show me your eyes,” she ordered. “Show me, Riddick!”

  There was something both mocking and sensual in the way Riddick slowly raised his head and opened his eyes. His eyelids fluttered as if sensitive to even the faintest light. Then, almost shyly, they lifted.

  An awed shiver split Fry’s belly. His eyes gleamed like luminous black pearls. Imbedded deep within the huge, shiny pupils were tiny yellow jewels that burned as bright as the twin suns outside. Riddick’s black-sheened gaze was profoundly unsettling. Like the flat, pitiless stare of a starved jaguar.

  “Wow . . .”

  The familiar voice shattered the moment.

  Fry whirled and saw Audrey lurking in the shadows. The little girl’s mouth sagged in rapt admiration. “How can I get eyes like that?” she asked fervently.

  Fry pointed at the door. “Out!”

  “Well first you gotta kill a few people,” Riddick said, ignoring Fry.

  Audrey did the same. “Okay. What else?”

  “Not okay.” Fry snapped. “Leave, Audrey.”

  Riddick continued as if he hadn’t heard. “Then you gotta get sent to some slam where they tell you you’ll never see daylight, never again. So you dig up a doctor . . . one that ain’t totally stoned and deboned . . . and you pay him 2C menthol Cools to do a surgical shine job on your eyeballs.”

  “So you can see who’s sneaking up on you in the dark,” Audrey whispered.

  “And cut his ass down first,” Riddick finished emphatically.

  Fry swooped down on Audrey and physically ejected her.

  “Cute girl,” Riddick observed.

  Fry’s voice had a threatening edge. “Let’s keep her that way.”

  Riddick settled back, liquid eyes regarding her calmly. “Well, so maybe I did X out a few lives,” he admitted. “But not this one. No, ma’am, not Zeke-man. You got the wrong killer.”

  “Then where is he?” Fry demanded. “He’s not in the hole. We looked.”

  “Look deeper,” Riddick told her.

  Then he closed his eyes and smiled. As she stood watching, he began to make clicking sounds with his tongue.

  Like the clip-clopping of hoofbeats, Fry noted vaguely. But she didn’t know what it meant.

  The scouting party wasn’t going too far.

  Fry led the way, a chain looped over her shoulder. Audrey and Shazza were right behind her, closely followed by Imam. Johns trailed them reluctantly as they marched out to the gravesite, complaining all the way.

  “I know what happened,” he grumbled. “He went off on the guy, buried him on the hill somewhere, and now he’s trying to . . .”

  “Let’s just be sure,” Fry said over her shoulder.

  “I am sure. Look, murder
s aside, Riddick belongs in the Asshole Hall of Fame. He loves that jaw-jackin’, loves makin’ you afraid, cuz that’s all he has. And you’re playin’ right into . . .”

  “We’re gonna find the body, Johns,” Fry shouted. “Christ, you’re a cop. Why do I have to tell you this? We gotta go down and find it.”

  “Hey, if you’re afraid, I’ll go,” Audrey offered.

  Fry wasn’t amused. “Nobody has to go down there but me, okay?”

  Johns caught up and pulled Fry aside. “Look, being ballsy with your life now doesn’t change what came before . . . It’s just stupid.”

  His words hit a nerve.

  Fry jerked her arm free. “What, you think I’m doing this to prove something?”

  “Well?” he sighed. “Are you?”

  Fry didn’t answer, She turned and headed toward Zeke’s grave, wavering between raw guilt and righteous indignation.

  Spurred by Johns’ accusation, Fry didn’t pause to think. As soon as they reached the site, Fry hooked one end of the long chain to her web belt, handed the chain to Shazza, then dropped into the deep grave.

  Letting her eyes adjust to shadow, Fry circled Zeke’s tattered remains and spotted his handlight. She picked it up. Broken. Then she saw it.

  There was a narrow burrow at one end of the grave. Fry looked up. The ridge of pinnacles began a few yards away. Maybe the burrow connected to the pinnacles, Fry speculated. Or maybe it concealed Zeke’s body.

  She decided to find out. Letting the safety chain play out behind her, Fry entered the cramped tunnel. A few feet above, Shazza, Audrey, and Imam let the chain slide through their hands as she crawled out of sight.

  The tunnel went deeper underground then took an uphill turn. It also became narrower. Fry glimpsed a spray of light ahead and wormed forward.

  She didn’t like tight places. It occurred to Fry that she might not be able to exit as easily as she entered. Still, she inched toward the light.

  Fry’s tenacity was rewarded. The tunnel opened into a cool chamber, large enough to stand. She saw bones scattered about the hard ground. A shaft of light illuminated the center of the round floor.