Katelyn.
Her father's daughter.
Epilogue
Mason.
Mason, wake up.
His eyes opened, sticky with gunk he could not blink away. He tried to get a bead on where the voice was coming from and thought it must be inside his head. That was crazy, but no news there. Less than an hour ago, he'd killed with his bare hands, and he'd enjoyed it.
Look, Mason.
Look at what lies beneath you.
He wiped at his eyes, trying to get a sense of where he was and why he was still alive. If he was still alive.
And then, he shuddered. The great black expanse of the chasm opened beneath him. Featureless. Bottomless. Opening to the very center of the earth, as far as he could tell.
He tried to twist and found something gripping his back. It felt like a large, metal claw. It encircled his waist, perfectly supporting him over the void. There was something else, as well: a metal arm was behind his head and... and something was in his brain. A metal rod with a pencil-thick needle had been jabbed into the back of his skull, holding his head straight.
He coughed something inarticulate. Saliva fell from his mouth, and he watched it trail down into the darkness and disappear.
Would you like to see?
The claw twisted, and he felt himself roll a hundred and eighty degrees. A moment later, he was looking straight up, a half moon shining a sinister light down upon him. He had fallen five hundred feet and something... something had snatched him out of the air. He remembered it, now. He remembered falling and then, very distinctly, he remembered something grabbing him. Something else occurred to him as well: he was thinking clearly. His memory of the fall itself was clouded with blood-lust and animal rage, but now... now, he could think.
Looking at his arms and hands, he saw they were still splotched, and that meant he had not imagined his time with The Carrion. His body shook with frustration.
You hate them.
They took your mind.
They took your body.
It is right to hate them.
They tried to take us.
Our people.
As they took you.
Above him, he could see a labyrinth of tentacles, massive and hive-like. They obscured the opening above, growing out the cavern walls and twisting into one another. Humanoid figures crawled along them, inserting themselves back inside at intervals. They would sleep now, for a time. They would sleep until The Carrion needed to defend itself again. If his old pal got away, he imagined that would be soon. The image brought back the idea of their resemblance to bugs, and he was reminded of how much that disgusted him. He was turning into one of them for fuck's sake.
We can stop that.
“Stop what?” he asked. Was he talking to himself, or was that voice real?
We can stop the turning.
Mason laughed, then. It was thunderous, that laugh, echoing inside the chasm and down into the abyss.
We can.
We can do the stopping.
Make you stronger.
“Why would you?” he asked. He was surely dead now. This was all a dream, a temporary distraction on his way to the afterlife, but he would play along. There are times when you might as well go the whole hog, as Reiner used to say.
Because of who you are.
“And who am I? Some kind of chosen?” he asked, still laughing.
No.
The claw tightened, spinning him again. This time it was painful, the metal crunching bone. Mason coughed and spat a wad of blood. It spun him around to face the cavern wall, to face the entities he was addressing. They wanted his full attention, and crazy or not, they had it. Because now, he hurt. Now, they were pissing him off.
We could have let you drop.
We let the others drop.
But not you.
Do we have your attention?
We have your eyes.
We want your attention.
“Ye... yes,” he said.
The rock in front of him was broken. It looked as if there was a hole, and something had crashed into it. In the darkness, he couldn't see, but it was something metal, something old. It might have been a ship.
We will do the stopping.
Then you will destroy them.
For us.
The Carrion.
What you call them.
Mason squinted, but the darkness was still too thick. “That's what you want, huh?”
First, you will rest.
You will rest a long time.
Your friends will die.
Your loved ones will die.
The world as you know it will die.
He could only stare at this.
It will be painful.
The needle in the back of his head turned, and something in his skull popped. He ground his teeth, the muscles in his body tightening.
“Why me?” he whispered. He wasn't sure if sound actually escaped his lips, but the things in the wall seemed to hear him just the same.
You are the best statistical choice.
Not special.
The best of a bad lot, as you say.
Mason tried to laugh again, but it was too painful. His shoulder ached. His ribs felt crushed, and he knew he had been shot in at least three places. Instead, he grinned, his lip bloody with teeth marks.
It will be painful, the voice in his head repeated. Will you scream?
“Fuck you,” Mason said.
Will you scream? it asked, its voice implacable.
“No.”
Screaming will violate the terms of our arrangement.
“Arrangement? Get this crap out of me, then we'll talk about our little arrangement. Capisce?”
No. You will sleep.
“Your mother's a whore.”
Will you scream? it asked a third time.
“Fuck you, no!” But he wasn't so sure any more. He was starting to think this wasn't a dream. If it wasn't, and this thing was real, he couldn't make promises. Because he knew at some point, no matter how strong you were, you just lost control of your body, and your body would scream all on its own. For the first time in as long as he could remember, he was afraid.
Let us begin.
“Why?” Mason asked.
The enemy of my enemy, it said.
It dragged him in.
And when the scalpels and joint splitters went to work, Mason tried very hard not to scream.
Acknowledgments
This novel would not have been possible without the loving support of friends and family, especially my wife Kristen, who did more for this book than I can describe. A special thanks also goes to Dave Johnson for his invaluable first draft notes, to Writer's Carnival for their support, and to Matthew Gomez for generally helping to improve my writing.
About the Author
David Barclay is the author of The Aeschylus and the forthcoming novella, The Maker's Box. He lives in the greater San Francisco Bay Area with his wife Kristen.
Website: www.david-barclay.com
Twitter: @David_R_Barclay
Wattpad: The_Raen
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Epilogue
<
center> Thank you for reading books on Archive.
The Aeschylus Page 36