by O.G. Gough
The Russian stopped typing, “Ser-gei!” He banged his first onto the desk. “Sergei Pavlovich! Imbecile.”
“This is me command center.” Frank walked to the center of the room, turning to face Chris. “Pav is in charge of the techno stuff.” Then he nodded at Roy. “Roy, security.”
Chris looked over at Roy. The lower half of his bare gut hung out from under his shirt that was a size too small. Jeans in their usual position—half way down his ass. Pathetic. He turned his attention back to the crazy Russian. “What’s he doing?”
“METI.” The Russian stopped what he was doing to get involved in the conversation. “Messaging to Extraterrestrial Intelligence.”
Chris listened carefully to understand his thick, Russian accent. “Like SETI?” Chris asked, referring to the government agency: Search for Extraterrestrial Intelligence.
“HET, HET!” He said “no” in his native Russian. “American stupidity,” he said to himself. “We’re not searching!” He cleared his throat. “Using advanced algorithms and binary code—a mathematical language—we sending message to ETs.”
“What are you messaging?” Chris enquired.
“Declarations of war,” Frank interjected.
“Not like the pussies over at SETI,” Roy added, trying to sound intelligent and be involved in the conversation.
Chris frowned. “Isn’t that kind of dangerous? And wouldn’t it take years for it to reach its intended target? Do you guys even know what you’re really doing?”
Pav grabbed an open bottle of vodka, knocking back a gulp. He sat forward on his chair. At last, someone smarter than the two Australian idiots. “These satellite dish, too small to do anything with any significances.” He nodded his head back and forth trying to think how to explain what he did and find the English words. “With all together we making a small Allen Telescope Array; but we’re not trying reach outer space.”
Pav scooted across the room on his chair. He reached the monitor with the weather map and pointed at it. “We track reported sighting and send message directly to source, inside atmosphere.”
Chris shot a look back at Frank with a... “are-you-serious!” expression on his face. This shit is getting crazier by the minute, he thought.
“We knew we’d get them to come back eventually—and we were right,” Frank said, overjoyed. “This is your chance to get your boy back; and my Emma.”
Roy and Pav nodded their heads in agreement. Chris looked around the room at the three men. He shook his head. This didn’t make any sense at all. “You’re wasting my time.”
Chris turned to walk out. Roy stood up straight and moved to block Chris’ exit.
Chris rubbed his bruised cheek. Clenched his fists by his side. “Get outta my way, Roy, before I roll your fat ass down those steps, so help me God,” he said through clenched teeth.
Roy raised his chin, very smug, ready for a fight.
“We found one,” Frank spoke up, “and this ...”
Chris spun around to see what Frank was talking about. In his hand he held up a small item, wrapped in a cloth. Chris inched forward to investigate. Frank slowly unwrapped it, revealing a small, oval item, about the size of an avocado: jet black, very smooth, like a water-washed creek stone. Faint symbols decorated the outside: squiggly lines, circles, triangles. Maybe alien words.
“We found it this morning.” Frank held it out closer toward Chris. “It was where ya encountered them last night. We figured it must have dropped it when ya hit it with the truck.”
“How do you know all that?” Chris asked.
“Cop scanner,” Roy interjected.
Chris reached out his fingers to touch the item. Frank quickly covered it again. “We’re not sure what it does. Pav is gonna take a look.”
Chris looked up into Frank’s eyes. “You said you found one?”
Chapter Twelve
The Hunt
Piled-up, large rocks blocked the cave entrance. No one was going in or out, without some heavy lifting. Frank, Roy and Chris stood in front of the crude, rock wall. They made Chris carry all the climbing gear and supplies in a backpack. It reminded him when he was back in the National Guard boot camp—carrying backpacks and taking orders. But he had to do whatever it took to find Shawn. If he didn’t, how would he live with himself? How would he face Kate?
Frank and Roy were ready for a fight, shotguns loaded. The sun was getting low in the sky. In a few short hours, night would be upon them.
Chris dropped the backpack to the ground. “How do you know it’s in there?”
“We tracked it all mornin’.” Frank moved over to the rock wall to examine it. “We think it’s wounded, and—”
“It took Rancid,” Roy interjected, in an almost sad/angry tone. He raised his shotgun in front of him. Ready for revenge.
“He sent his dog in”—Frank looked back at Roy—”and it never came back.”
“What if it just got lost?” Chris said with a smirk.
***
Chris tossed the last heavy rock away from the entrance, slapping his hands together to remove dirt and dust.
He squatted down in front of the looming entrance. The smell of moist earth and the feel of humid air touched his face. The unknown territory and enemy was disconcerting. What kind of danger lay in front of them?
He was hesitant, giving a final look to Frank and Roy who stood over him, before entering.
A beam of light from Chris’ small, tactical flashlight shone down the small, rocky cave tunnel, illuminating never-ending red dirt and rocks. Does the red, powdered dirt ever end? Chris led the way, followed by Frank and then Roy—who could barely fit through the snug opening.
Roy’s wide hips scraped the rough tunnel sides as he dragged himself forward on his large stomach, the pressure on his gut restricting his breathing. The taste of stirring dust clung to their dry throats like thick paste. The bulky backpack full of gear Chris had to drag with him wasn’t helping either.
The men slowly inched forward in the dark, dragging themselves face down, in single file. The entrance behind them slowly became a distant, dim light. The thought of losing sight of that glimpse of light drove a degree of fear into all three men. Chris thought about cave divers who explored underwater caves, lost their way, ran out of oxygen and were never seen again. Except they would run out of food and water. But the end result would be the same. It would be a friggin’ miracle if any of them were ever seen again.
The cave gradually descended into the earth, the passageway so long their lights couldn’t see the end. They pressed on, through the darkness.
All the movement kicked up dust, getting into Chris’ lungs. Stopping to take a breather, he wiped his brow. The rock walls were close. He had never been claustrophobic, but this was a new level of confinement. Chris grabbed a handful of red dirt and tossed it over his shoulder towards Roy. “Aren’t you an asthmatic?” Fat bastard.
A barrage of profanity splattered under Roy’s breath. He wheezed, struggling to keep up.
Chris’ mind suddenly switched to tactical thinking—if something came at him from the front, he would be pretty helpless. Getting that fat ass Roy to back up would be almost impossible and the opening was getting further and further away. Tactically speaking, this was a position of disadvantage. They would be better off waiting it out, or even smoking it out. At the very least, come in with tactical gear: night vision, assault rifles, tear gas.
Too late now.
If anything happened to him, Kate and his two girls would lose another man of the family and not have a clue what happened. It would break Kate. It would be the end of her.
Right now this wild-goose chase didn’t seem to be getting him any closer to finding his son, but he was out of options. These two crazy bastards and the Russian were his only lead right now. He would have to put up with the craziness for a little longer. After all, what if they were actually right?
“Are you sure about this?” Chris tried to turn back to look at Frank, bu
t the small opening restricted him. “If this collapses, we’re all dead men.”
Chris felt a nudge on his foot. That was the only answer he was going to get. He started to move again, dragging himself along the cave floor.
After what seemed like hours, but was probably only about thirty minutes, the cave started to widen. It opened up to a large cavern. Water seeped through the rough, rock walls, forming small puddles of water amongst the stalagmites, protruding from the rocky ground. Stalactites lined the cave ceiling. The fresh smell of wet earth filled their noses. The light from their flashlights moved around the space. Bits of rock sparkled in the light. It was awe inspiring.
The three men stopped to admire their surroundings.
All of a sudden, movement caught the corner of Chris’ eye. He spun, shining the little light.
A large snake, at least eight feet long, slithered up the side of the cave wall. He was startled by the massive reptile. Its massive, pale-cream body, reddish-brown stripes and piercing, yellow eyes would be enough to make most men run for their lives.
“Relax, fancy boy, it’s just a tree snake,” Frank said in a demeaning manner.
Chris backed up a little, even more on edge now. The snake’s scaly, slimy-looking skin gave him a shiver. He didn’t like snakes and this was the biggest one he had ever seen. “If it’s just a tree snake, what the hell is it doing down here?”
Frank chuckled at Chris’ concern and pressed on, pushing past.
After a short pause, and realizing the harmlessness of the snake, he followed the two men.
At the other end of the cavern, the cave split in two directions.
“Has anyone thought about what we should do if we actually find this thing?” Chris questioned.
“We take it alive.” Frank gripped his double barrel a little tighter. His mouth said one thing, but his body language said another. He was fighting within himself; whether to just put a cap in its ass or bring it home.
Frank waved his hand forward. “Roy, go left.” He looked over to Roy. “Take the Yank. I’ll go right.” Roy numbly obeyed.
***
Roy’s boots splashed water up on his jeans as he walked through the small puddles. He held his gun by one arm, pointed out in front of him. The flashlight moved side to side down the tunnel. Chris followed behind, keeping his distance. He didn’t want to be too close to the untrained fool with a gun.
Every so often Chris checked his six, making sure nothing was coming up the rear; this was a bad situation: no recon. Blindly going into unknown territory, against an unknown opponent.
“Rancid?” Roy called for his dog in a subdued voice.
Let the enemy know we’re here, stupid. So much for a surprise attack, Chris thought.
“Rancid?” Roy called again.
“Hey! Asshole,” Chris called in a raised whisper. “Shut up! Your dog isn’t coming back.”
Roy spun around. He didn’t want to hear that, especially from a Yankee. He raised his gun, pointing it at Chris’ face. “I do what I want”—real smug—”when I want.”
Chris slid one of the backpack straps off his shoulder, ready for a fight. Roy was more of a liability than an asset. Something had to be done.
Roy chuckled. “What? Whatta you gonna do about it?”
Chris slipped off the other strap, and without warning tossed the backpack at Roy’s face.
Distracted, Roy tried to knock the pack aside with his arm. Chris seized the opportunity and lunged at him, grabbing the barrel of the gun and reefing it from Roy’s sweaty grip.
It happened so quickly and smoothly, Roy, for a split second, was left stunned.
Chris’ left followed quickly, striking Roy in the throat with an open hand jab, knocking the fat bastard on his ass. Water soaked through Roy’s jeans as he sat on the cold rocks. He gasped and coughed at the same time, grabbing at his throat with both hands. Cold water pricked his skin through soaked jeans.
“Were you teased a lot as a kid?” Chris smirked. “Jelly belly. Rolly polly. Fat bastard.”
Roy rolled over to his hands and knees, half waterlogged. It was the only way he could get up. Cold water ripples licked at his sagging stomach as he struggled to stand. He took a deep breath, trying to recover.
“Did you cry yourself to sleep?” Chris continued the taunt. “Wet the bed as a teen?”
“Son of a bitch wants to play rough, eh?” Roy gritted his teeth together and got to his feet.
Stumbling a little in the shallow water and almost completely losing his balance, he spun to face Chris. He breathed as though he had just sprinted two hundred meters. He shone the flashlight in Chris’ eyes. That was all he had left.
Chris did a quick once over of the gun, ignoring Roy. He knew guns. Not only did the National Guard training prepare him for combat, but he hunted as a kid with his father, eating what they caught, and he carried on that tradition with his son. The son he may never see again. Hopefully he would find a way to bring him home. He closed one eye, looking down the iron sights. “Can you shine that light here for me?”
Roy wasn’t sure what to do. He had lost his gun in a matter of seconds. He didn’t know what this guy was cable of.
“Your sights are out of alignment,” Chris continued.
Roy clenched his fingers, making a tight first. He was pissed and this guy was toying with him. He quickly searched the shallow water for a loose rock—one he could use to smash Chris’ face in.
While Roy looked down, Chris moved in, kicking Roy in the chest with a front push kick. Water from Chris’ boot sprayed on impact.
Roy stumbled back, arms flapping, trying to keep balance. He landed—hard—on his back. The cold water soaked his shirt as he lay in the pool of water. Completely soaked and fuming.
Chris rested the gun on the cave wall, ready for what was going to be a school-boy brawl.
Roy slowly got back to his feet. He wasn’t ready to give up. He was too dumb for that. He rushed toward Chris. A wild bull. No skill. “Charge in and hope for the best” was his motto. If he could, he would drown this American prick and leave him down here.
As he closed in, Chris shot forward, wrapping his arms around Roy’s waist. He put Roy down hard in the pool of water, landing on top of the fat man. Chris was going full contact, mixed martial arts style on his ass.
After the initial shock on being slammed to the ground, Roy started to freak out. He squirmed, trying to get free. Chris sat on top of him, letting him panic.
Chris let go two stiff punches, connecting with Roy’s face. Roy unsuccessfully tried to cover with his arms locked in front of his face, then rolled to his stomach in an effort to hide from the onslaught. Big mistake. Chris punched him a couple more times in the back of the head. He slipped his right arm around Roy’s thick neck then quickly locked him in a half-nelson sleeper hold.
After a moment of squirming, Roy went limp.
Chris rolled him on his side in the recovery position. He checked his pulse and breathing to make sure he hadn’t killed the poor bastard. He was okay. Just asleep. Chris didn’t have a choice. This was serious. He couldn’t have a fool down here with him. They were potentially facing an enemy no one had ever faced.
***
Chris cautiously moved through the dark space. It was pitch black. No daylight. Just the light from his small flashlight. Wherever he pointed his light, the gun barrel followed. His head on a swivel.
Using some duct tape from the backpack supplies he had fastened the tactical light to the end of the barrel. Roy’s gun was locked to his right shoulder, his pointed index finger safely near the trigger. He crouched low as he moved quickly; no Roy to slow him down.
Water droplets fell more and more from the moist cave ceiling. Water splashed around Chris’ calves. It was becoming a little hotter and more humid. His clothes clung to his sweaty body.
A shiver moved down his spine. A gut feeling that danger was approaching. Maybe it was a foreign smell in the air that only his subconscious could
detect. Chris stopped in his tracks. He glanced behind him; only the dark cavern. His attention snapped to the front again. His little light moved around the tunnel. The light rested on a few large stalagmites. A perfect place for cover.
The cave seemed silent. Only the sound of water dripping from the ceiling. He could hear his own breathing. He looked closer at one of the rock formations. It didn’t look right. Was something hiding behind it? He couldn’t tell.
He squinted his eyes. Something was jutting out to the side. A leg maybe? He kept the light on the unknown object. It didn’t move. He was out in the open. It had the advantage of cover. Chris immediately dropped to one knee—a smaller target.
Sudden movement in the water from behind pricked his ears; something rushed at speed. Chris spun as he stood to face the impending attack. Too late. Out of darkness, Roy body slammed Chris—both airborne—sending Chris crashing hard to the ground, cushioned only by the shallow layer of water. Water sprayed. The gun flew several feet away on impact.
Roy quickly stood over him, as fast as his fat body could, grabbed Chris by the shirt and rained down heavy punches.
Blood, mixed with cave water, streamed out of Chris’ nose and mouth as the first two punches hit their intended target. Chris covered his face as more blows rained down. Roy was in a rage—berserk—and would fight dirty given the chance. He was an experienced barroom brawler and fighting dirty was always his strategy.
Capturing a blow, intended to smash his face, Chris pulled Roy on top of him. For now it stopped the attack. Chris wrapped his arm around the fat man’s neck and wrapped up one of his arms. Water splashed as they struggled. Roy grunted, trying to break free from the hold.
Chris let fly with a couple of rapid elbows, from underneath. He was done playing with this fool. The elbows connected across Roy’s forehead, opening him up. Blood ran down his face, getting into his eyes. He reeled in pain, trying to break free from Chris’ hold.
Chris hooked a leg under Roy’s fat leg and elevated him. Roy’s bulky body almost spun in the air as Chris reversed the position.
With Chris now on top, there was no holding back; he let go punch after punch; rapid fire, striking Roy’s face. A fast and brutal whoop ass. Roy, a bloody mess.
The punishment didn’t stop until he had been punched into submission. Roy lay unconscious—bobbing in shallow water. Chris slowly stood, exhausted. He spat his blood-filled saliva onto Roy as a final insult.