Deep Cut

by Nick Sullivan

  Shining the powerful beam down into the ravine, he searched for any sign of the tall man, but the rain and swirling mists kept the light from reaching very far. He knew his instrument had struck home, tasting flesh. If it was a deep cut, the fool would bleed out… if he wasn’t already dead, smashed on a rock somewhere down below.

  Forget him! a voice from within said. He is done for, and you still have work to do. Though you cannot see it, the moon is full and the time is right!

  “But, where shall I perform the ritual?” he asked those he served, remembering he had never settled the issue of where the summit was.

  It matters not. This whole mountaintop is your altar. Now… find her.

  The Servant headed toward where he had heard the girl cry out, Boone’s dive light in one hand and the machete gripped tightly in the other.

  No, no, no, no… he can’t be dead. Boone! Emily wept as the scene kept playing over and over in her head: the sickening thunk as the machete struck his side… the pools of light from the two flashlights catching his long arms flailing at the rain-filled air as he fell backward and vanished over the edge.

  Now, a light was moving, headed toward her. She was crouched beside the yellow building at the base of the communications tower and she quickly ducked around the side of the building. The door on the side facing the trail had been locked and she’d been looking for another way in, when the sounds of the fight had drawn her back toward the trail. A sob rose in her throat and escaped her lips.

  Stop! You’ve got to be quiet now. She looked again at the building, debating going all the way around to see if there was another door or a window, but she realized that if she got inside, all she’d be doing would be trapping herself. You have mobility. You can outrun him. You can escape around him, get to the stairs. She peeked around the corner. The light was swinging to and fro as Aidan searched for her.

  No… I can’t run. Boone may still be alive. I have to hide… evade. If I can get around him, maybe I can get back to where Boone fell. The other light will still be on the trail; it should be near there. Glancing toward the back of the building, she spotted a metal ladder leaned against the side. An idea bloomed and she dashed for the ladder, climbing quickly to the roof of the blockhouse that served as the base of the massive tower. Looking up through the rain, mists, and dark, she could only see a short way into the internal catwalks and ladders that ran up its spine. The steel girders creaked and moaned above her head and a gust of wind staggered her, blowing her ponytail horizontal. Climbing up that would be very dangerous in these winds, she thought. But she did so anyway. Just enough so that she could see the approaching flashlight.

  “Hey! Hey, you barmy bastard!” she yelled, competing with the shrieking wind, and gripping the rungs tightly to keep from being blown off.

  The light swung up and found her.

  “Lot of trouble getting me up the mountain, yeah?” she shouted at the top of her lungs, all the while thinking through the mad ravings he’d shared with her on their trek up the steps. “And you timed it for those voices, didn’t you? The ‘appointed hour,’ blah, blah, blah. Too bad I’m gonna cock it all up for you. I bet your little volcano worship codswallop won’t work if I kill myself before you chop my noggin off. I’m gonna climb to the top and jump!”

  “You won’t do it,” the man shouted. “Come down from there before you hurt yourself.”

  “Oh, yeah, I wouldn’t want to slip and chop my head off!”

  “Come down from there! Emily! Come down.” The flashlight swung around the base of the building as he searched for how she’d gotten up there. It tilted back up at her. “You must… you must fulfill your purpose!”

  She couldn’t see his face and it was hard to detect nuance in a shout, but she thought he might be wavering. “Why don’t you fulfill it? You got a hard-on for apocalypse, why don’t you just choose yourself!”

  There was a pause. “That’s not…” Aidan’s voice trailed off. Another pause, then some muttering that Emily couldn’t pick out from the howl of the wind. Then, his voice returned, full of renewed purpose. “No! It must be you! It will be you!”

  “You want me? Come get me, you twat! You killed my man… I have nothing left to live for!” She then made a show of climbing higher.

  “No!” the man roared, dashing toward the building, his flashlight vanishing below the roofline.

  Emily immediately scampered back down the tower, dashing across the roof to the side furthest from the ladder that led to the ground. She sat her butt on the edge of the roof, squinting through the rain into the darkness. Far in the distance, a glow. The other torch. That’s where Boone fell. Emily looked down. She couldn’t see the ground in the pitch black, but the roof wasn’t very high and with all the rain, the mud would soften her fall. Grabbing hold and twisting around, she dangled her bare legs into the night air, locking her eyes on the spot across the roof where Aidan would climb up. She didn’t have to wait long as a bright light illuminated the top of the ladder and she could make out the sounds of a rapid ascent, as his boots clanged on the rungs. She let go, dropping through the rain, her green tennis shoes burying themselves in the muck.

  Emily dashed for a nearby tree, slipping behind it and looking back at the building. A bright light was now climbing the tower above the roof, just as she’d hoped. The wind and rain and clouds… even with a light he can’t see very far. He thinks I’m higher up! Turning back toward the distant glow on the trail, she broke into a run.

  Meh!! Wind. Rain. MEHHHHH!!

  “Jesus…!” Boone came to with a jolt as something licked his cheek. His sudden movement startled the little goat and it bounded away through the brush. He sat up, wincing, trying to decide which hurt more, the sharp pain at his side or the dull pain in his head. I hit my head on a tree or something when I fell… managed to grab hold of a root before I blacked out. This recollection came to him as a fuzzy near-dream. The wind was howling around him, moaning through the trees. He was lying in a thick stand of leaves and water-logged moss—the lush foliage of Mount Scenery likely having saved his life. Helps that this wasn’t actually a cliff… more like a steep slope.

  Emily!

  Urgency flushed the woozy lethargy from his brain and he immediately began to climb, ignoring the aches and pains as he clawed his way from root to trunk to rock. How far did I fall? In the dark, the rain sheeting down, it was impossible to see very far. He paused, digging into the pockets of his shorts for either his or Emily’s phone. His fingers found one, and as they closed around it, he became aware of something in the pocket below it, one of the outer cargo pockets he almost never used. Boone had a flash of memory of the one time he’d put his wallet in there by accident and hadn’t found it for days. Dragging the phone out, he turned on its flashlight feature and retrieved the object.

  Chad’s chainmail glove. Why is…? Boone suddenly remembered: after that lionfish hunt gone wrong, he’d found it under a bench while preparing the boat for storage. I shoved it in that outer pocket and completely forgot about it. Tucking it back into the pocket, he raised the little phone light above his head, trying to see the top.

  “Oh, thank God, thank God! I thought you… Boone!” The voice from above had begun as a harsh whisper but emotion pushed stealth aside as Emily cried out.

  “Emily! Are you all right?”

  “Asked the man who fell off a cliff.” A flashlight shone down, and Emily’s voice spoke beside it. “Looks like that nutter took your torch—this one’s his. Are you hurt? Can you make it up?”

  “Yes… to both…” Boone grunted. He was happy to see he wasn’t far from the top, and knowing Emily was alive reinvigorated his muscles. “The killer… is he?”

  “I’ve sent him on a wild goose chase…or… goose climb. But I don’t know how long it’ll take before he catches on.”

  “Well… it’ll take me a while to get up there, so go hide until�
�”

  “Oh, sod off, Prince Charming, I’m not going anywhere. Loony McLoonface had a bunch of goodies in his backpack. Here.” A length of nylon rope smacked Boone in the face. “Woulda tossed it sooner but I had to tie it off.”

  Boone pocketed the phone and grabbed hold, hauling himself along the line. “Have I mentioned that I love you?”

  “Oh, a bunch of rope gets you going, eh? I had no idea you were into that. Now quit fannying around and get your arse up here so we can go back down the mountain.”

  Boone thought as he climbed. Beside him, a little river of water sluiced down the slope above, carving out a trench in the mud. “These winds are just the outer bands… it won’t be long before we get hit with the heavy stuff.”

  “How long?”

  “I don’t know. But if we try to get back down the mountain, I don’t think we’ll make it. The steps will be waterfalls by now. Also… Em, I gotta be honest… I’m… I’m not feeling my best.”

  There was a hitch in Emily’s voice as she spoke. “We’ll make it, Boone. There’s a concrete building under the tower. We can shelter in there.”

  Boone neared the top and Emily’s hand reached down and clasped his wrist, helping to haul him the rest of the way up. He threw his arms around her, hugging her tight. “Thank you, Em.”

  Emily gripped him tightly, speaking into his chest. “Thank you. For coming for me. I knew you would.”

  “Always.” Boone spoke into her rain-soaked hair. “Though you seemed to be doing just fine without me.”

  “Yeah, well, let’s revisit that thought if we get out of this alive.” She stopped as she became aware of something wet pressing against her. It didn’t feel like rain. It was warm. She stepped back from their embrace, shining her light on Boone’s side. There was blood. A lot of it. “Jesus, Boone.”

  “It’s not as bad as it looks but… like I said, I think a hurricane-hike down the mountain is out of the question for me.”

  “Okay. The building then.” She grabbed her captor’s backpack and took Boone by the arm, guiding him back toward the communications tower. “Now, I think, between the two of us, we can barricade ourselves in, keep Aidan out…”

  “Aidan?”

  “His name. Means fire. Never mind.” She stopped suddenly, dousing the flashlight.

  “What is it?”

  “Shh!” she hissed, reaching up to grab Boone by the hair and pull his ear down to her mouth. “I had him climbing the radio tower,” she whispered. “Made him think I was going to jump from the top. But I don’t see his light now.”

  Boone stuck his hand in a pocket, searching. “Maybe a gust of wind got him,” he said in a low voice. “Remember, the higher you are, the stronger the wind.” He unclipped his sandals, kicking them aside. His bare feet felt more secure in the muddy terrain.

  “It doesn’t matter. We need to get out of the storm.” She grabbed his arm, hurrying him toward the building. She kept her light doused, but the red lights of the tower told her where to go. “There’s a locked door on this side. Might be another way in around back—I didn’t have time to check.”

  “Head for the door,” Boone said in a low voice. He thought he’d seen movement. Maybe just a tree limb swaying in the wind. But maybe not.

  The Servant crouched in a clump of tropical bushes beside an old satellite dish, mere yards from the entrance to the building beneath the communications tower, waiting for his prey to come to him.

  He had acted out of panic before. The girl had seemed sincere in her threat to kill herself and he had climbed nearly a hundred feet before doubt set in. After a particularly strong gust of wind had blown aside the rain and mist above him—nearly blowing him off the ladder as well—he was able to see that the Chosen was not on the tower. Realizing he’d been had, he’d scrambled back down to the roof, dousing the dive light and waiting for the voices to tell him what to do.

  Rather than speak, they showed: the other flashlight, his own, moving about down the trail. Climbing down the wall-side ladder, he moved into the foliage, planning to flank the trail and beat them to the steps. He had halted when he realized they were headed this way.

  They seek shelter, the voices whispered. Let them come to you.

  And so he had, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness, keeping a healthy amount of tropical leaves between himself and the approaching light. After a moment, the light was doused.

  Patience.

  Now, shadows approached as his quarry reached the building. The Servant shifted on his haunches, tightening his grip on the hilt of the machete.

  “Flick your light on, just for a second,” the tall man said. The light came on, spotlighting the padlock on the door. The girl had the Servant’s backpack and dropped it to the side as her companion tested the door. “The door’s internal lock is open, but this padlock… I could probably break that locking plate off.”

  “There’s a window over here,” the Chosen said, swinging her light to the right of the door.

  “Looks like it’s one of those fixed types, like on warehouses. Think we’ll have better luck with the door. Lose the light.”

  The sound of the wind and rain masked the Servant’s movement as he slipped around behind the pair, raising the machete. He would take the Chosen to the rooftop and sacrifice her there. But first… to dispose of this rival. The couple were just dark shapes in the storm, but the tall man’s lanky frame was clear enough. The Servant charged, swinging the blade in a downward arc just as the shape spun around, raising a hand.

  The machete came to a jarring halt.

  With the sound of the storm drowning out everything else, Boone had felt the man’s advance more than he’d heard it. On the approach to the communications tower, he’d slipped Chad’s chainmail glove onto his left hand. As Emily flicked off the flashlight, the hair on the back of his neck had stood on end and he’d turned his head to the side, spotting the flash of movement. Spinning around, he stepped into his attacker, catching the machete low on the blade in his gauntleted grip. He felt the heavy weapon bite into the stainless steel links, jarring the bones in his hand, but he grabbed hold and held the blade tight as he cocked his leg and snapped a kick into the man’s stomach. Nothing flashy, nothing fancy, just a hard and fast sidekick. As his foot made contact, he yanked the machete, pulling it free from the man’s grip. Hurling the crude weapon as hard as he could, he sent it spinning into the night, the damaged chainmail glove flying off after it.

  Emily flicked the light back on, shining it in Aidan’s face. Boone attacked, spinning an armada kick at the killer’s temple. It was a glancing blow and the man screamed in rage as he hurled himself at Boone, driving his head into Boone’s midsection. Boone grappled with him, trying to break free from the lunatic’s enormous strength. His opponent shot out a hand and gripped his throat.

  I’m too slow, Boone thought frantically. That cut may have been deeper than I thought.

  “Yaaa!” A shrill cry pierced the wind as Emily kicked the heel of her foot against the side of the man’s knee joint. Something gave and the man shrieked, swinging his left arm at her. The kick had brought her too close and Emily’s head rocked to the side as the killer backhanded her, catching her on the cheekbone. The flashlight slipped from nerveless fingers as she wobbled on unsteady legs. Stumbling three or four steps away, she sat down hard in the mud, stunned.

  Boone screamed in a primal fury, his neck cords bulging against the choking grip on his throat. Grabbing hold of the arm with both hands, he kicked his legs up, clamping them on that arm’s shoulder as he torqued his entire body, spinning the man to the muddy ground with a splash as he combined a capoeira takedown with a jiu-jitsu scissor lock. At the moment of impact, he twisted his grip with all his might and this time the man’s arm popped, dislocating at the shoulder and snapping at the elbow. Boone moved to finish him off, but his opponent was so maddened by rage and pain t
hat he lashed out with his good arm, his fingers searching for—and finding—the machete cut in Boone’s flank. The man dug his fingers into the wound and Boone felt all the strength leave him as a wave of nausea washed over him, his skin growing cold and clammy. His grip on the killer fell away.

  Useless arm dangling, Aidan straddled Boone, once more clamping an iron grip on Boone’s throat with his good hand. “I’ve just decided,” the man spat through clenched teeth as he squeezed. “I’ll sacrifice you, too. A pair, one male, one female, it’s perfect! This time it will happen! This time, the Earth will awugggh—”

  He was cut off mid-sentence by a heavy thudding sound and his head pitched to the side. Emily stood behind him, a fist-sized rock in her hand. She swung it against his head again, and Aidan swayed, eyes rolling up, before toppling to the side into a puddle.

  “Told you… rock beats… everything…” Emily gasped between breaths. She had a cut inside her cheek from the man’s punch and she spat blood into the mud, tossing the rock aside with a splash before helping Boone crawl out from under the killer. “As they say in Krav Maga… whatever works. I think Sophie would be proud.”

  “I know I am,” Boone said, gulping air and wincing from the pain in his side. It was taking every ounce of concentration to keep from passing out. “Is he dead?”

  “I dunno,” she said. “Would kinda make things easy if he was…” Just then a sizeable branch snapped with an explosive crack and spun away in the near distance. “Boone, we’ve got to get inside. Check his pockets. He said something about a pry bar. I’ll see if he’s got a pulse.”

  Boone quickly found a foot-long prybar in a side pocket of the coveralls and slid it free. “Got it.”

  Emily lifted her fingers from the man’s throat. “He’s alive. Hoo-fucking-ray. So, what do we…?”

  “Well… I’m not a murderer. And neither are you.”