Weeping Season

by Seán O'Connor

  IN THE SEWERS

  DARKNESS FESTERS

  HOPE IS ALL YOU HAVE

  IF YOU DRAIN YOUR FEARS…

  Sewers? I’m in a sewer? In a forest? Oh, sweet Jesus, no. Her toes curled at the thought of what she might be standing on, and she had to cough out a lurking gag in her throat. If she started vomiting, she’d never stop. She remembered she was against a timer, but couldn’t figure out what she had to do. Then something clattered above and behind her. A steel sheet dropped across the tunnel, blocking any chance of escape. But that was nothing to what came next – a gushing noise filled the room, growing in volume until the ground shook and a double waterfall of brown liquid cascaded from the vents. What the hell? It swept across and around the space in expanding waves, crashing against each wall and soaking all in its way, including her.

  There was no escaping it. All she could do as it rose was stand back against the metal sheet – the only surface not covered with rot. Her absolute fear of germs froze her in place as the fluid built up around her. The stench of shit and piss was so intense, she had no defence against its effects and puked the previous night’s meal into the mire. As she snorted and coughed the bile out in an effort to catch a breath, the swirling torrent took her feet from beneath her and she went under, her scream cut off by a mouthful of sewerage. The taste and texture was so foul her throat spasmed and she was convinced she was about to die, choking and gagging as the current dragged her around in a blind panic.

  Then reality struck. She had to get above it. If she didn’t, there was no hope of survival. She kicked with all the energy left in her and broke the surface, realising when she shook the filth from her eyes that the gap to the ceiling was critically small.

  She used her arms and legs in a frantic effort to stay up, the gap diminishing until she had just enough room to keep her mouth and nostrils free. “Help! Somebody get me out of here? Help me!”

  Nobody was coming. Richard, so close, would have no idea what she was going through. If she didn’t do something about it, she would die in this chamber of faeces. She took a deep breath and let the current take her, kicking off a wall to propel herself deeper in an effort to search for something that could help.

  She opened her eyes, but visibility was minimal. All she could do was reach out and kick until she connected with a wall, feeling along until she touched the floor. But she couldn’t go any further. She had to get air, as foul as it was. Otherwise her lungs would explode and she would die. Simple as.

  With her heart pounding through her head, she kicked up with all her might and banged her head off the ceiling, but she had just about enough room to breathe, holding on to one of the vent grills to stop the current dragging her under. On the second plunge, the current proved too strong for her to remain in one spot for long enough to explore. Panic gripped her again as her chest tightened under the immense pressure, and she was convinced it would implode and cave in on her. She had to get air.

  As she prepared for the third plunge, she knew it would be the last one. If she didn’t succeed, she would surely die, for the gap to the ceiling was almost closed. She sucked in one final breath and propelled herself down, keeping her eyes open as she let the current take her around the room. There had to be something. Why the hell bring her in if there was no hope? Then, as if out of nowhere, she remembered the final words some poor soul etched into the wall. Drain your fears. Drain your fears!

  A visual of her as a toddler in the bath flashed across her eyes. She used to request the stopper be yanked while she stayed under to watch the bathwater flow down the drain, kicking against the current, knowing her parents got great amusement out of it, too. Little did she know those childish antics would someday prompt her to do something that could save her life.

  She kicked and fought against the current and forced herself onto the floor, crawling along as she dug her hands into the muck. Time is running out, Stacy, time is running out. Chunks came loose, but all she could feel was tiled flooring. At least she’d got to that. Her lungs ached from the pressure, screaming for air. No more time! Then her fingers grazed something different – round – possibly the top of a rubber stopper. She pulled at the shit and dirt until she felt the round stopper, all the while struggling against the current.

  With her last vestige of strength, she gripped the ring and pulled it out. The suction was instant and she braced herself with legs apart as the sewerage rushed from the chamber. But she couldn’t wait. She powered up, screaming inside against the maddening urge to suck in anything to fill her strangled lungs. I can’t hold it. I can’t hold it! As she drove up, she opened her mouth – she couldn’t help it – and gawped, just as her head broke the surface. A mix of rancid fluid and air raced into her lungs, but it was enough to pull her body off the edge. She coughed and gagged, then sucked in another lungful, her feet hitting the floor as the liquid level continued to decrease. She thought her head was going to explode with the pressure as she choked and spluttered between each panic-filled breath. Then something flashed, catching her eye, and she screamed as she dived into the remaining sludge to grab the silver token. Her fingers touched it, but the current had it and it pinged off the portal and disappeared with a sucking sound that felt like her whole being was being pulled into the end of the world.

  She ended lying exhausted on the filth-covered floor, shaking all over, gasping for breath and retching in equal measure, snorting and coughing to clear her nose and throat. The worst thing was her inability to rid her mouth of the taste. It filled her in the most horrific way imaginable. But, in reality, the worst thing was the vision of that silver token vanishing into the darkness. Why didn’t I see it? Why didn’t I grab it?

  A voice broke the silence, but she had to shake her head to clear her ears and make out what it was saying. It was calling her number, and sounded like it was coming from one of the vents. She knew without doubt that it was The Host. Any hope she had that she’d done well in simply surviving and could return to camp to sleep was dashed when the voice told her she’d failed the objective and an extreme penance would have to be paid. With that, she just gave up. Better to be dead.

  TWELVE

  Block 18 was a relatively peaceful place after darkness fell and this night was the mildest since they’d arrived in camp, with the rain finally stopping and the frost staying away. Participants had the opportunity to dry their bedding and clothing, and although they went to bed hungry, for the most part, they slept soundly.

  Stacy’s failure was not begrudged.

  At first, Tom was angry that the camp would go without decent food, but when Richard returned with the broken woman held underarm, any festering resentment dissipated.

  Stacy was visibly shattered, physically exhausted, and drained of any sense of inner strength. If Richard hadn’t held her up, she would have collapsed in a trembling and incoherent heap. The woman had, for all intent and purpose, given up, and was now nothing but an empty shell.

  Carol and Charles put her to bed straight away and tried to comfort her, but their compassionate efforts to coax her back into the real world were wasted.

  Richard could only impart the sparse details Stacy had mumbled when she’d crawled from the tunnel, covered in shit and stinking like a sewer. The camp were aware from The Host that she’d failed the objective, but they saw from her condition that her efforts must have taken her beyond her strengths. Whatever happened down there – the exposure of her darkest fears – had more or less broken her mind and left her almost comatose.

  The scene was too much for some. Richard needed space and leaned against a tree on the fringes of the camp, staring off into the dark woodland. A little earlier, he’d seen Tiff and Nabil making themselves scarce, too. He hadn’t expected to see Stacy in the state she’d appeared in. Now that he thought of it, he hadn’t known what to expect. Any notion of decent food, or even the penalty to come, disappeared at the sight of the poor woman and her deepening torment and depression as he’d struggled to help her bac
k to camp. What a day. He needed sleep if he was to continue tomorrow with any chance of surviving. At least the rain had held off. With dry bedding, a decent sleep might be on the cards. He needed to make the best of it because he had no doubt time was running out for them all.

  With the fire’s flames still licking at the darkness, it didn’t take long for him to slip into a deep, dreamless state, until the camp was awoken with loud screams and horrific moaning. He shot up and looked around to hone in on the sounds. Others seemed to be doing the same, but with the screams echoing off the trees, and the place in darkness, it took a while to figure out.

  Campmates called out, asking to see if anyone knew what was happening.

  Carol rushed past Richard and stopped at Stacy’s bed. “It’s not Stacy. No change from earlier.”

  “Over here,” Charles shouted. “Come quick.”

  Richard ran over – number Two was awake. When he looked at her leg, he had to turn away to avoid the stink. Fuck! That smell could only mean one thing – infection had set in so deep the pain had become unbearable. The poor woman howled and screamed, and despite Carol and Charles’ best efforts to comfort her, she seemed to get worse with every passing second. The more they tried, the worse she reacted. She flung herself off the bed and twisted and rolled around the clearing like a woman under demonic possession. Richard grabbed and held her head as firmly as he could. It was all he could do to prevent her ending up in the still-hot embers.

  “Shut her up, will you!” Tom shouted, clearly affected by the woman’s agonising screams.

  Charles and Carol ignored him as they helped Richard corral Two away from the fire or from smashing into beds or trees.

  Tiff, on the other hand, slapped Tom and demanded he shut up.

  Tom shoved her away, marched over to the campfire, and removed one of the circle stones.

  “Wait!” Tiff cried. “What are you doing? Tom? Tom!” But her words fell on deaf ears and Tom continued forward. With one strike, silence returned to the camp.

  The woman with the number two carved into the back of her head lay motionless on the forest floor.

  Richard couldn’t move, shocked to his core at what had just happened. Tom stood over her with the stone still in hand. He looked around and shrugged. “Someone had to do it. She should have been put out of her misery the first day she got here.”

  “And who are you to play God?” Charles asked, his chest heaving.

  “What do you propose, Chuck? We’re in the middle of this forest with nothing but a few rags. That woman needed a hospital and the fucking talking pipe over there was never gonna let that happen.”

  Richard gritted his teeth, fists pressed against his thighs. The bastard was proud of what he’d just done. The alpha-fucking-male had just sorted out their little problem.

  “We’ll bury her somewhere in the morning,” Tom said, his voice softer as he placed a hand on Charles’ shoulder. “It’s all we can do, mate.”

  With a cough that sounded more like a loud bark, Two sparked into life again. This time foam spewed from her mouth and her body went into spasm, the whites of her eyes showing as they rolled back into her head.

  “She’s still alive, you idiot,” Carol screamed. “Do something.”

  Tiffany turned away and buried her head in Nabil’s chest. He embraced her, but it couldn’t block out the woman’s awful groans.

  “Do something, Tom,” Charles demanded. “Come on, man, move.”

  Richard fought back a raging desire to roar at Tom’s seeming inability to act. The man was frozen to the spot, his eyes wide as he stared at Two twitching and squirming on the ground. He mumbled something, but all Richard could catch was – “I…can’t.” Well, I can. He ran behind the group to the campfire, found what he needed, and made his way back.

  Carol and Charles had given up trying to calm the woman – there was nothing to be done – she was uncontrollable, gagging and convulsing in the dark, on the verge of suffocation. Richard knelt beside her and lifted her head and shoulders so she lay against him. Everyone stood back, frozen in shock, until Two’s strangling cries and groans faded to a low gurgling – then silence. It was obvious that the woman’s misery had ended.

  They didn’t look at Richard as they focused on each other, no doubt with an uncomfortable mix of sadness and relief. Two’s head rested in the crook of his elbow, the cold steel of the blade lying across her throat, hot blood pouring from the gaping wound and across his lap.

  Carol and Tiff cried when the awful reality registered.

  “Richard, no!”

  He got to his feet with the knife held tight, then walked over to a slack-jawed Tom and stared him in the eyes. “You want to control everything around here, but when the going gets tough, you’re nothing more than a bottler.” He looked him up and down. “Her blood is on your hands… Mate.” He gripped Tom’s wrist, placed the bloody knife in his hand, and walked away into the pitch black beyond the trees.

  THIRTEEN

  The frost came during the night, so sudden it felt to Charles as if someone had pushed a button. As a result, the ground hardened to the extent that the task of digging became a near impossibility. Instead, Two’s body had to lay wrapped in rags where they’d placed her in the forest, not too far away, but out of sight. The group argued about the morality of the situation, but without the right tools, giving the woman a burial was simply not going to happen.

  The mood in camp had become so depleted, no one could lift their heads from their collective depression. Even when the silver cylinder rose from the ground to deliver its latest transmission, everyone just sat where they were and barely listened to the robotic words.

  PARTICIPANTS: ATTENTION.

  The Host’s tone seemed to be growing more determined as the days wore on.

  PROGRESSION: FAILURE TO COMPLETE OBJECTIVES HAS BECOME A CONCERN.

  SUBSCRIBERS ARE WORRIED ABOUT DETERIORATING HEALTH LEVELS.

  “Oh, fuck your subscribers!” Tiff yelled at the inanimate object.

  PARTICIPANT: THREE…

  BASED ON CURRENT HEALTH STATUS YOU HAVE BEEN SELECTED FOR THE NEXT OBJECTIVE.

  REWARD: ADDITIONAL FOOD AND HEALTH SUPPLEMENTS.

  PARTICIPANT: THREE…

  BASED ON PROFILE. FEAR EXPLOITATION IS A CERTAINTY.

  Charles saw that Nabil was visibly shaken. Fear exploitation could only mean thing – his worst nightmare… Snakes. The transmission provided the trial’s location. No one in the group commented. Spirits were low all around, leaving Nabil to make his way into the forest alone, though Charles made sure to wish him well.

  The remaining campmates slowly came to life and began the ritual of preparing the basic provisions of vegetable soup, bread, and hot water that had appeared for them that morning. Though bland and boring, all agreed that it had to be eaten, being just about enough to sustain them.

  Everyone hoped Nabil would return victorious, and all fantasized about this feast they’d been promised. Their collective desire for the comfort of hot savoury food almost made them forget that they were here against their will. Almost. What if he failed? Another night without food before sleep, with only a small portion of stale vegetables to look forward to the next morning. Between their malnourished state, losing Two the night before, and their constant struggle to remember their past, it wasn’t surprising the general mood was so dark. Most of them didn’t care anymore, and Charles worried about that. They needed hope if they were to survive this place.

  He looked over to Stacy’s camp bed. She was the only one who hadn’t got up, still lying motionless beneath the pile of rags they’d covered her with the night before. While the group ate their meagre rations, he got up and walked over to her, his heartbeat thumping in his ears. Something wasn’t right. She was normally the first one up, bedding hand-washed and neatly folded. He’d hoped her horrific ordeal wouldn’t get the better of her after a night’s rest – that she’d wake up and be stronger for having come through it. But she’d taken it
hard, there was no doubting it. Maybe food would help.

  As soon as he touched her, he knew. Even through the layers of ragged cloth, she was stiff and cold as ice. Frozen. He shook her in the hope that he was wrong, but there was no arguing the reality. What lay on the bed was dead weight.

  “Oh, no. Stacy. You poor, poor woman.”

  He pulled back the rag covering her face to reveal dulled eyes staring up at him, her expression blank and lifeless. As he brushed his fingers across her cheek, his mind raced back through the darkness of his past, filling him with a pain he’d never wanted to experience again. He remembered the morning he woke to his wife lying next to him, cold, stiff, and lifeless, like poor Stacy. It was without doubt the darkest day of his life, even compared to this current nightmare. He could never forget the look in his sweet darling’s eyes. As if she’d known – had tried to connect with him as her breath left her for the last time – a lingering hint of the pain and realisation that came to her in the moment, while he’d slept. It was a look he carried with him from that day onward. All he could hope was that she hadn’t suffered, that she’d simply slipped away.

  A hand on his shoulder took him out of his past. Richard hunkered down beside him, shaking his head in a slow manner as he released a long sigh. “I thought this might be the case when I noticed you here, Charles. Fuck. This hellhole is getting grimmer.”

  Charles stood and turned to the camp. “My friends.” He took a deep breath. “I am afraid I have bad news to impart. Stacy has left us for a better world. May God have mercy on her soul.”

  Carol rushed over and ran her hands over Stacy, frantic in her efforts to find life. She pulled the rags down and recoiled in horror at the mass of frozen blood that covered Stacy and her bed.

  “No!” Her cry echoed around the camp, lingering as she raised her face to the canopy. Charles held her, his hold gentle as she sobbed. It was then he noticed the wounds on Stacy’s arms, and the knife beside her hip.