by Dyrk Ashton
Zeke swallows hard. The possibility of prolonged mortal danger might be something everyone considers at one point or another in their lives, but now they’re living it, on this very day.
Fi puts the flashlight in her back pocket and takes Edgar’s hand in both of hers. “Then help me understand, Uncle. What’s this all about? What’s really going on?”
Edgar is struck by Fi’s proximity. Her tender touch. But mostly he’s moved by the sudden realization of just how grown up she is. What happened to that troublesome child with the unruly hair? Where did she go? So quickly? “I...” He doesn’t know where to begin.
Fi considers, My uncle, lost for words.
Suddenly the earth shakes as if a giant has stomped the ground above--the result of the first detonation at the house. Dust falls. The lights flicker and go out.
“Bloody hell.” Edgar switches on his electric lamp, snatches the guitar case strap from Zeke’s shoulder. “Quickly now!” Bypassing the ladder completely, he steps over the edge of the shaft and drops into the darkness below.
* * *
Peter is just entering the tunnel from the wine cellar when the first explosion hits. The ground jerks, loosing bricks from the ceiling. He runs, sliding the haversack more securely onto his back. With the second explosion the cellar door blasts apart, sending splintered shelves and shattered bottles spraying into the tunnel behind him. The concussions continue. The tunnel begins to collapse.
Peter hits the ground and slides feet first to a shaft with no ladder and drops down. He lands in a passage lined with cut stone. This one is crumbling as well. He sprints, knocking falling rocks out of his way, hurdling rubble. He reaches another downward shaft and dives in head first. He hits the floor in the lower tunnel, rocks crashing around him, and bounds to yet another shaft. He stumbles over a slab and somersaults in. Fifty feet he falls, the walls collapsing around him, and splashes hard into a foot of water. And so does all the stone from above.
* * *
Edgar holds the lamp high to provide light for Fi as she climbs down the wrought iron ladder. A blast rocks the tunnel and the ladder snaps loose from the wall.
Zeke, shining his flashlight down from above, shouts, “Fi!” She screams on the backward falling ladder. The top slams into the lip of the shaft, jarring her loose from the rungs. Edgar drops the lantern and catches her in his arms.
“Hurry lad!” shouts Edgar, setting Fi on her feet.
Fi pulls her flashlight from her back pocket and shines it up the shaft, calls out, “Come on, Zeke!” while Edgar retrieves his lantern.
Zeke shoves the back end of his flashlight in his mouth and swings down onto the tilted ladder. Awkwardly but quickly he steps down the rungs like steep stairs and jumps the last few feet. Mol bounds down easily after him.
Another massive concussion. Edgar hands Zeke the guitar case, shoves him and Fi in the direction they need to go. “Run!”
They do, splashing through puddles, as fast as they can while burdened with their packs. A section of the tunnel caves in behind them.
“Bear right!” Edgar calls out, bringing up the rear. “Go right!”
Fi and Zeke sweep their flashlights through the thick, billowing dust. Mol, now leading the way, barks up ahead. They find the tunnel and dart into it. The earth all round them rumbles and shakes.
“Now left!” Edgar yells over the din. “Left!!!”
They dodge falling rock and almost pass a small entrance, but again Mol barks a signal.
“Fi!” Zeke grabs Fi by her pack, shoves her into the tunnel and bounds after her. He looks back to see the entire passage closing in like the throat of an enormous beast. A boulder falls right at him. He twists and it grazes his backpack, nearly knocking him to the ground. He catches up to Fi and sprints with her. “Run Fi! RUN!!!”
But Fi is running, all the while fearing she’ll trip over her own blundering feet like those stupid girls in the movies. Don’t fall! she pleads with herself. Please don’t fall!
Mol barks wildly, urging them on, but they can’t tell from which direction in the rumbling quake and opaque dust.
Zeke pushes on blindly, his lungs burning. The muscles of his legs are on fire. They’re going to give out any second now and he’ll be buried alive, he just knows it.
Suddenly both of them are grabbed up by powerful arms, pulled into another tunnel and carried, feet dangling behind them, faster than they could ever run themselves. The walls fall in around them.
Then they feel fresher air on their faces and are thrown forward to tumble over and over each other, flashlights flying out of their hands as the passage behind them caves in completely, buffeting them with forced air and debris.
* * *
The quakes decrease in magnitude and finally stop. Illuminated by a flashlight lying on the floor nearby, Fi coughs and pushes Zeke off of her. He rolls to lie awkwardly on his backpack like a tipped-over turtle. He realizes he still has the guitar case gripped in one hand and gently sets it down.
Mol hovers close while Fi gets to her knees, shrugs her pack. She puts a hand on Zeke’s chest. “You okay?”
He wipes the grit out of his eyes, breathing heavily. “Yeah. I think so.”
The dust is receding, sucked away by a subterranean breeze. Fi picks up the flashlight, aims it at the clogged tunnel entrance--and is confronted by an extremely familiar but entirely unexpected sight.
“Mrs. Mirskaya?”
Vest, blouse and long skirt soaking wet and covered in dirt, the stocky Russian widow has her hands firmly planted on her hips and a look of harsh disapproval on her face. “Fiona, what did you do?!”
Fi is flabbergasted. “I... What are you doing here?!”
Mrs. Mirskaya points an accusing finger. “I should ask you same thing!” She descends upon Fi, her countenance softening considerably, snatches her up and crushes her in a hug. “I am very happy to see you, moya solnishka (my little sun).”
Fi can’t get her mind wrapped around the fact that Mrs. Mirskaya is here. Mol barks in greeting.
Mrs. Mirskaya releases Fi and gives him a cursory pat on the head, “Da, da. Good Molossus,” then frowns at Zeke, lying there on his back.
“Oh,” says Fi. She helps Zeke to his feet. “Mrs. Mirskaya, this is Zeke.”
He offers a hand. “Very nice to meet you, ma’am.”
Mrs. Mirskaya crosses her arms, eyeing him critically. “I know who is Zeke.”
“What?” Fi asks. “How does everybody know about him?”
Mrs. Mirskaya shrugs. “Edgar tells me.”
Fi jerks suddenly, “Edgar!”
“He was with you?” Mrs. Mirskaya asks.
“Yes!” Fi shouts, frantically sweeping the beam of the flashlight.
They’re in a circular chamber, approximately forty feet across and five stories high. At various intervals between here and the ceiling are walkways that circle the walls and cross the chamber itself, connecting tunnels at other levels with ladders and switchback stairs of various materials and construction. The walls and domed ceiling are reinforced concrete, and from the tunnel entrances look to be several feet thick. Two other passageways lead from the bottom level, where they now stand. One angles sharply off the chamber and upward into the surrounding earth. The other dips downward.
But there’s no sign of Edgar.
Zeke retrieves the other flashlight and finds himself on the edge of a pit in the center of the room. He aims the light to reveal narrow stone steps spiraling down into dark running water twenty feet below. “Oh...”
Fi runs to the blocked passage where they entered. “Uncle?!” Mol barks, echoing her concern. She whirls on Zeke, blinding him with the flashlight. “Did you see him?!”
He shields his eyes. “I didn’t. He wasn’t behind us!”
She spins back to the rubble and screams, “Edgar!!!”
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
Flowers & Figs 14
Fi screams again, her voice ringing through the tunnel hub chamber, �
�Uncle Edgar!!!”
Mol barks at the walkways above. There’s a clank of metal, then “Swing Low, Sweet Chariot” being whistled softly. Fi trains the beam of her flashlight on the sound. A weak glow of light appears.
“I’m here, dear,” says Edgar, carrying his electric lantern down a set of iron stairs.
Mrs. Mirskaya breathes with relief and Mol barks. Fi sprints to Edgar. She doesn’t think about it, just catches him in an atypical but enthusiastic hug as he comes off the bottom step.
“Oh God,” she gasps, tears trailing through the grit on her cheeks. “Don’t do that!”
“What’s that, dear?” Edgar asks, patting her awkwardly on the back. “Become separated from you, or come back?”
Fi pulls away and smacks him on the chest, sending up a puff of dust. “Asshole,” she utters, then hugs him again, pressing her face to his jacket.
“I daresay that’s the first time you’ve ever called me such a derogatory epithet. To my face, that is.”
Fi steps back, hanging on to his sleeves. “Sorry.”
“Rubbish. It’s long overdue, if you ask me.” Then he adds tenderly, “I’m just happy to see that you are safe.” He looks over the group--Zeke, Mol, and then his eyes light on Mrs. Mirskaya. “All of you.”
He hands the lantern to Fi, removes the strap of the long bag from his shoulder and sets it on the floor, then shrugs the shield case and leans it against the wall.
“What was that?” Zeke asks. “It couldn’t have been an earthquake, could it?”
“No,” Edgar replies, taking the lantern from Fi. “Explosives. The house, I’d say. Kleron’s doing.”
Fi lowers the shirttail of her scrubs, which she’s been using to clear the wet dirt from her eyes. “They blew up the house?”
“That would be my guess,” Edgar says, lowering himself to sit against the wall.
“What about Peter?” Fi asks. “You think he’s alright?”
Zeke stops shaking dust out of his hair, ashamed of himself. Even though they were mostly destroyed already, the first thought that came to mind was, all those guitars.
Edgar answers, “Milord is always alright.”
Zeke makes a feeble attempt to remove his pack but gives up, leans back against the wall and slides into a sitting position. “Is there another way back? Should we see if he needs help?”
“If he is delayed, there’s nothing we can do to assist him, believe me. Don’t you worry, he’ll turn up.” But his eyes meet Mrs. Mirskaya’s and there’s something in his voice that isn’t entirely encouraging.
* * *
Dust settles in the deep tunnel where Peter fell, revealing a wall of stone and earth, slanting from the ceiling into a foot of water. It is completely silent.
boom... ever so slightly the stones vibrate, dust curling lazily.
boom... a few pebbles are displaced.
boom... the water ripples at the sound. The sound of pounding deep within.
* * *
Zeke has finally squirmed out of his pack and sits leaning against it next to Fi. Arms wrapped around her knees, she’s listening to Edgar and Mrs. Mirskaya converse heatedly in Russian on the other side of the chamber.
Edgar speaks Russian. More she didn’t know about her uncle. And now Mrs. Mirskaya, the eccentric babysitter and friend of the family she’s known forever, is in on it too. Whatever it is. Who are these people? Have they been lying to me my entire life? She doesn’t know what to think or believe. Could my whole life be a lie, too?
Though she understands a little of the language, they’re speaking too fast and hushed for her to make out much. She can tell he’s catching her up on the day’s events. Peter comes up a number of times and she hears the names of Kleron, Maskim Xul, Cù Sìth and Zadkiel, which surprise Mrs. Mirskaya, but nothing compared to her shock at the mention of Mahisha and Tengu-Andrealphus. Now they’re arguing about something and Mrs. Mirskaya appears to be gaining the upper hand--which isn’t at all surprising.
Mol nudges her shoulder. He’s a bloody mess, singed and lacerated, hunks of hair missing, but he isn’t bleeding anymore and doesn’t seem to be in pain. Tough old dog. Fi throws an arm over him and holds him close.
Zeke chews the last of an energy bar and takes a sip of water from a plastic canteen, both of which he found in his pack. “So, your uncle speaks Russian,” he says.
“Apparently,” Fi snaps back.
“You didn’t know?”
“Nope.”
“Oh.” He’d feel like the odd man out, even sorry for himself, if it wasn’t for the obvious fact he isn’t the only one having his world turned upside down. Absolutely crazy, impossible shit, all of it, and he still can’t believe most of what’s happened, but it’s got to be even worse for Fi.
They haven’t learned much more about what the hell is going on, or who or what Peter and those other--things--are, but Mrs. Mirskaya (whom Zeke doesn’t think likes him very much), told them she was also attacked. Edgar had called her at the store to let her know that something terrible had happened at the hospital, but before she could leave to meet him a bunch of wampyr and werewolves (which she called vampiry and oborotni--“Chort demony! Otvratitel’nyye sushchestva!” she’d literally spat. Fi translated, something like “Damn little demons, revolting creatures!”), stormed the place with the Cerberus brothers (‘Cerberus brothers,’ if that isn’t insane all by itself). She said she put up a hell of a fight and the store was completely demolished (something about the north wind and a flood, which Zeke didn’t quite understand), but they finally overpowered her and threw her in a van. As they were driving over a bridge, she’d busted out a door, jumped to the river below and swam all the way here. There’s evidently an underground waterway that runs through the hills here to the river and she’d followed it to the well in the center of the chamber. She’d just come out and was headed to the house when the explosions started.
Zeke would think her story was incredibly ridiculous--which it is--to swim upstream in frigid autumn water, all the way from downtown, then underwater from the river to here, wearing a long skirt, no less. But that, and the fact she knows about this place, and therefore obviously knows Peter, brings him to the conclusion that Mrs. Mirskaya is one of them. He doesn’t have any idea what they are, but whatever it is, it isn’t human.
And he can tell Fi’s grappling with the same idea.
“Hey,” he says quietly.
She offers a weak smile. “Hey.”
“Looks like you really are stuck with me for awhile.” He runs a hand through his grimy hair. “Sorry.”
Fi doesn’t know if she should laugh or cry, but there’s a tiny flutter in her stomach and her heart lightens a bit. “That’s okay, I guess.” She can’t help but smile a little more. “At least you’re not too hard to look at.”
“Thanks. I think.” He manages a smile himself. “But if I look at all like I feel right now, I’m pretty sure it’s like shit.”
“Mmm, not really.” She takes in the sight of her own filthy arms and hospital scrubs, runs a hand over her head. “Me, on the other hand. Ugh.” She proceeds to redo her ponytail, shaking the grit out of her hair as she does so.
Zeke wiggles a pinky finger in his injured ear.
“How is it?” she asks.
“Annoying is all, really. And it itches.”
She offers a sympathetic smile.
“Thanks again,” he says. “If I ever thanked you in the first place. For helping me when I was trying to be Wall Man after doing that slipping thing.”
“Don’t mention it. We’d all still be there if it hadn’t worked.”
“Well, yeah, there’s that, I guess.” He pauses, takes a breath. “And, I just want to say again how sorry I am about last night.”
Fi’s surprised he’s bringing that up now--though it is very sweet. Still, she’d rather not talk about it.
“I just--it isn’t that I--”
“It’s okay, really,” Fi cuts in, trying to ease his anxiet
y, and hers. “I think I’m over it now.” His face falls. “I mean, I guess it isn’t all that important, you know? Considering everything that’s happened...” She indicates around the room. “...Is still happening.”
Zeke thinks for a moment. “Or maybe it’s the most important thing.” They gaze at each other for what seems like an age. A soft white glow rises on their faces.
* * *
The shuffle of hard shoes on stone and Edgar is standing over them with his lantern, next to Mrs. Mirskaya. He looks troubled.
“Uncle,” says Fi, “are you alright?” Edgar doesn’t answer. “Should we be worried about Peter?”
“No, dear,” he replies. “Peter is quite self-sufficient, to say the least.”
Zeke saw what Peter can do, especially how he survived the swarm of locusts. Still, he said he’d be here, and if he isn’t...
Edgar pulls up his long bag and sits on it, but remains silent. Zeke and Fi exchange glances. There’s obviously something on Edgar’s mind. Mrs. Mirskaya takes a seat next to him and clears her throat with dramatic impatience, urging him to speak.
Edgar studies his hands and begins, “I deeply regret that you two have been drawn into this. Perhaps I could have been more vigilant, better prepared.” He sighs, looks up. “But there’s nothing for it now. Zeke, you’ll have to stay with us for as long as necessary to ensure your safety. As dangerous as that may be in itself, if we were to simply let you go home, or even hide you the best we could, they’d eventually find you and interrogate you for what you might know. It wouldn’t be pleasant, and you would not survive.”
As weird and frightening as that sounds, Zeke appreciates Edgar’s candor. The truth is, if given the choice, he doesn’t think he’d want to go back. Except for a crappy apartment filled with dusty old books, what do I really have to go back to? And the only person he really cares about in the whole world is right here.