Chapter 13 - Part 1

"It's a goddamned bullet!" Krank's deep guttural voice exclaimed, the bass dampened by the lack of echo.

Ebbe rubbed her head and blinked, trying to adjust to the blinding white light, unable to see where the mountainous man was.

"What is?" she mumbled, her voice sounding coarse and alien.

"Ebbe!" the voice exclaimed, followed seconds later by his beaming face leaning into view, as if he had been right beside her the whole time, somehow masked from view. "Jesus, Mary and Joseph, you gave us a bloody good scare. How do you feel?" 

Ebbe rubbed her temples and stretched, pulling herself into a siting position. Her instant reaction was to say she felt rough and tired, because somehow that's how she thought she ought to feel. But she felt strong, rested, calm, and confident. It was as if she had a received an injection of adrenaline and endorphins, mixed with a few shots of vodka. A large hand was offered to help her off the slick white floor, but she refused it, and lifted herself off the floor with ease.

"I'm okay," she offered, preferring not to discuss the finer points of her unexpected health. "You were saying?" she asked, opting to deflect the question.

"Yes?" Krank replied blankly.

"Something about a bullet?" she pressed, curious to know what he had been looking at.

"Oh! Hell, it's over here," he gesticulated clumsily to the small black object wedged into the wall, close to where you might expect to see the ceiling in the average house. "It shot out of the bloody cube, and whacked itself into the wall. Whaddya say about that?"

Ebbe didn't say anything. It didn't make sense, but what did these days? For the bullet to have made it's way from the basement, to this room, would involve some sort of space displacement, on a scale that would surely tear the structure apart. It's akin to having a wormhole open up in your living room, simply to use as a waste bin. Yet, what had happened, had clearly happened, evidence of this was embedded in the otherwise pristine wall. 

"James, Jake and Art?" Ebbe suddenly thought to ask. 

"Here!" James piped up, though it was hard to discern from where, when the sound just died at source. Ebbe turned 360 degrees, only to find the trio seemingly right where she had been previously looking. 

"This place," she started.

"We know," Krank replied before she could finish. "Disconcerting ain't it!" He strode over to the cubes and waved his hands over the shimmering black objects, "it's why no one ever stays down here too long, drives you crazy! Bad enough sitting up in the house above it. Something," he paused, pulling his hand away from the cubes suddenly, as if he had burned himself. "Something unnatural". 

Ebbe stared at the shimmering blocks of pure black, hypnotised, her mind calculating furiously. She had seen the Greek letter lambda inside the cube she had used. That had been used to denote many concepts in science, but the one that struck her was a subatomic particle. These were particles smaller even than an atom, at a quantum level, where matter and energy behave very differently. Could it be that these objects were some sort of quantum control panel? If so, what on Earth did they control?

"What on Earth?" she repeated her thought out loud, an idea beginning to form. 

"What's that love?" Krank responded.

"What on Earth? On Earth!" she repeated.

Krank shrugged,  before wincing at the pain this re-ignited in his broken limb. 

"Fuck!" he cursed, "forgot about that bastard."

Ebbe slowly walked up to the furthermost cube and gently waved her hand through the black mass. She took a moment to assess the sensation, before moving on to the next, repeating the same experiment.

"What's she up to?" James asked, pointing Krank to her methodical actions.

"Hey, hey, lady! Last time you did that we all ended up dancing a merry jig on the ceiling! Don't be jabbing any more pretty little hands in to those things!" Krank shouted, trying to sound angry, but actually sounding scared.

Ebbe didn't react, continuing her meticulous, short survey of each cube, one by one. 

"What the hell?" Krank grumbled, as the group watched her vanish from view as she side-stepped to yet another cube. He turned to James, who shrugged, before gesturing to Art, as if saying he had been assigned to protect him, and nothing else. Krank, rolling his eyes, turned to Jake.

"Don't ask me buddy. The bitch is crazy if you ask me," he paused and twisted his face into a smiling grimace,"it's why I like her."

Krank threw his head back in despair, and was about to head in her direction, when her voice seemed to emanate from the walls.

"Come over here," Ebbe gestured to him.

"What?" came Krank's blunt response.

"Just come here man," Ebbe replied irritably, "I want to try something."

"What?" Krank queried suspiciously. 

As abruptly as she'd vanished, her petite frame re-emerged from nothingness deep within the room. With an impatient wave of her hand, she gestured to Krank to head her way. With a heavy sigh he nodded back, before turning to Jake and James.

"Hold on to something fellas. You know, in case she sends us, up," he said with a comical frown, before he turned tail and reluctantly made his way deeper into the room.

"Lady," he boomed as he approached, "this better be good,"

"Oh, I think it is," Ebbe replied, "give me you arm."

Krank eyed her suspiciously. 

"Please tell me you're not going to do what I think you're going to do," he grumbled, refusing to offer either arm.

"I don't think you could even comprehend what I think I'm going to do. Now, stick your arm up here you oaf," she retorted, patting the base under another identical black cube.

"What if I refuse?" Krank asked impudently. 

"Arm," Ebbe replied, jabbing a finger at the white base, above which the shadowless cube hovered.

Rolling his eyes, Krank resignedly offered his right arm, pausing before shoving it directly into the cube. 

"The other arm, idiot," Ebba scolded, shaking her head. "What the hell am I supposed to do with your good arm?" 

"I don't know do I?" Krank grumbled, before grabbing his limp left arm, pausing before daring to lift it, "Ebbe, what are you?" She jabbed her finger at the base, causing him to break his sentence. "This better be bloody worth it," he grumbled, before grasping the broken limb and lifting it onto the based with a strained shout. "Jesus Christ!" he exclaimed out loud, biting his lip at the pain. 

"Now stay still," Ebbe commanded.

"Really? I was thinking of doing bloody river dance love!" Krank replied sarcastically.

Ebbe didn't hear. She was focused intently on the next cube down. With the care of a surgeon, she slowly slid her left hand into the dusky cloud. Within the murk, she could see the free-floating Greek letter Eta appear, just as it had moments earlier. Focusing hard on Krank's arm in her mind, she grabbed at the letter, just as she had when the base's gravity had vanished. 

Last time, it had been as if she was part of the basement, as if she was all the matter contained within that room. Now, she was inside Krank, in his blood, in his bone, his marrow. It was deeper than that, she was within the atoms that bonded together to make him. This time, there was no danger to distract her, no gun pointed, no bullet. There was flesh and bone. It wasn't that she was within him, she was him. The sensation was impossible to comprehend. Ebbe could no longer sense her own body, even the thoughts that had been her own seemed lost. What had she become Krank for? Why was she here? 

She sensed damage, and she recalled seeing a broken arm. That was it. She was there to repair the snapped bone. But she didn't know if she could. Or How. A transfer of energy. A transfer. That's what she had planned. To fix something you need to replace the damaged parts. 

For a second she released the phantom letter gripped within her left hand, and in the same instance, was pulled out of Krank, and was standing where she had actually been standing all along. Fighting the wave of dizziness that had floored her the first time, she immediately thrust her right hand into the adjoining cube. Another Greek letter, Xi, floated almost imperceptibly into view and once again Ebbe took hold. She needed someone who she didn't care for. All she could think of was Shark man. Immediately she found herself back in the basement. But not as part of it, this time she was within a body, as she had been with Krank. She was bound to the sub-atomic particles that made up this body, and yet she could see through his eyes. They were looking up at Anthony, poised at the top of the basement steps. She sensed that in his hand was a gun, pointed directly at Anthony. 

Wasting no more time, Ebbe slid her left hand back into the first cube and grabbed Eta again. Double concentration was required. Her mind felt as if it were divided perfectly in half. She was no longer Ebbe, but Krank and Shark man. Not their thoughts, nor their motions. She was simply a sub-atomic passenger, unable to influence their actions. 

All she needed to remember was the break. Even at the smallest scale, the snapped bone, the torn flesh within, was identifiable. Now the swap. 

Ebbe couldn't hear if Shark man shouted, swore, or whether he remained conscious. But the micro-second she rended bone and flesh from within him and used it to re-bond the broken radius bone within Krank, she was thrown out from them both, as if she was ejected from both cubes. Stumbling backwards she tumbled to the glossy ivory floor, her head reeling.

"What have you done?" Krank exclaimed out of her sight, "Ebbe? What? How?" 

His towering frame honed into view, and he offered her his left hand, his teeth showing in a wide grin.This time Ebbe opted to accept and allowed herself to be pulled up. But he didn't let go, and pulled her in for a crushing squeeze.

Finally releasing her from his bear hug, he practically dropped her back to the floor, where she landed with a surprised stumble.

"You bloody legend," he beamed, flexing his hand and swinging his arm, testing it out. "How in the bloody name of all things blessed did you do that?"

Ebbe shrugged, unable to offer anything that would even approach Krank's scientific understanding. She stared at the cubes, debating whether she should truly try what she was contemplating. 

"I think," she started, having finally made her decision, "I can save Art."

Chapter 12 - Part 2

Anthony landed back to the scarred earth with an unceremonious smack to the face. An electric shock ran from his head, through his spine and dissipated as it reached his awakening legs. His vision blurred, with white dots flashing in and out, the basement a shapeless mash of grey and brown. Blood oozed from his bruised nose. Nevertheless he forced his pain-racked body to claw itself in what he estimated was the general direction of the stairway.

If whatever had happened down here, had also happened up top, chaos could be reigning, and that would be an opportune moment to make haste his escape. 

Somewhere in this God forsaken room that bastard Atkins was also going to be suffering from a similarly painful fall from the ceiling, albeit without Anthony's previous wounds in addition. But Anthony didn't care to wait for his senses to recover so he could properly check. If luck was on his side, the psychotic bastard had been impaled on some sharp debris. 

Luck. That was never something to rely on in Anthony's experience. It was a nice thought, but he knew that no such thing had happened. The best case scenario was more likely he had temporarily been knocked unconscious by the drop. Right now that was all the damn luck Anthony needed. Whatever had happened to send the pair drifting skyward had been his true saviour. It had briefly evened the battle ground. 

Anthony reached the foot of the stairwell and finally decided it was wise to check his rear for the enemy. His eyesight was starting to clear; the damned stars flashing in and out were still there and his head was throbbing like a son of a bitch, but focus and clarity were returning. 

His instinct had been spot on. To the far right of the room he clocked the crumpled figure of Atkins, face down and lifeless. The light in the room was too dark to discern any more detail. Had he been more physically sound Anthony would have gone over there and finished him off. A swift crack of the neck would do the trick. But right now every vestige of his energy was required to scale the staircase and tackle whatever, or whoever, was at the top. 

The sudden flash of a gun muzzle exploding towards his face, only metres away, made him scramble backwards with a startled shout. 

Realising he had held up his hand in a futile gesture to block the impending bullet that was about to pass through his skull, and splatter his brains against the back of the basement, Anthony lowered it, to face the man who had killed him. But no such man was standing on the stairs. No man, no gun, brains intact.

Sure, sure, my brains haven't been separated from my skull, but something screwy is happening up there. You're seeing things you stupid bastard. Too many knocks to the old noggin has dislodged something. Just what you need. 

There was no time to go crazy. Get up the damn stairs. Get out of this house, and then see if you're losing the plot. 

"Come on legs," he commanded out loud, comforted to hear something as ordinary and every day as his own baritone voice echoing back from the stonework. Much to his delight, his limbs seemed to respond to orders as well as his subordinates, and his knees creaked into action. Shakily he managed to crouch first, then stand tentatively. 

This is a huge improvement, he concluded, standing for the first time in hours. The view from the floor was proving tiresome. Now to get these bastard pins to shift my arse up these steps, before any chance of escape expires. 

Despite the sensation of red hot pins stabbing into his flesh, Anthony forced his unhappy legs to step up, one at a time, each footfall causing a shockwave to shudder up from his calves, past his thighs, and congregate in his groin. 

Each step was excruciating, like experiencing powerful electric shocks every time his soles made contact with the concrete. Focusing on the effort was only making matters worse, so Anthony did what his training told him to do, forget the pain, seek out absolutely anything else to occupy his mind with. 

And all Anthony could think of was Ebbe. Had she got to safety? What had she found hidden in the depths of the earth? But one thought took precedence over all others. Had she saved him? As he trudged up another step, the image of a gun exploding in his face flashed before his eyes again. 

Atkins had shot at him. The gun had fired. The bloody gun had fired at Anthony nearly point blank, just before they had dropped to the floor. Had he escaped death due to the sudden drop? Another footstep, another gun flash. Step, flash. The recurring image was replacing the pain of his body. Again and again he was shot. 

Anthony had to pause and take stock. The image of being shot was almost worse than the searing hot needles bringing his flesh back to life. At least the pain was a reminder he was alive. The gun shot was a reminder that he ought not be. What the bloody hell had happened? 

Ebbe! It was her wasn't it. Anthony tensed up every sinew in his body, clasping and unclasping his fists tightly, forcing the blood the pump a little faster through his veins. I'm alive because of that woman, he told himself. The free floating, the vanishing bullet, all a miracle provided by that infuriating woman who knew too much. 

Seems I should live a little longer then, he chuckled to himself, if only to return the favour, and ask her how the bloody hell she made a bullet vanish. That was it, that was enough to reinvigorate his fatigued muscles. There were a few more steps to go, and Anthony found he had unexpected vigour to stride up these remaining stairs, and reach the exit. 

Anthony ran through a variety of potentials as he stared at the last barrier between this tomb and the outside world. There could be a hundred troops up there, ready to shoot anyone exiting the hatch who wasn't wearing their colours. There could be. But Anthony didn't think there was. Atkins was a man who trusted few people. His team would be no more than twenty. The problem was, Anthony had been unable to do a proper head count down below, so although the team had been depleted, there was likely at least ten men left up above. But, they wouldn't all be poised at the hatch, ready with an itchy trigger finger. There would be others outside, guarding the building, keeping a lookout. There would also be at least two waiting in the vehicle they arrived in. 

Time is wasting away Anthony old man, if the boys upstairs experienced the same crazy shit you did a few minutes ago, those outside may have found themselves drifting towards the stars. The fall back to earth for those outside could have been enough to incapacitate. That could have reduced the threat by about four men. Atkins' men would not be phased enough to stop guarding the hatchway though. Anthony concluded he had two to deal with in the first instance.

Exiting unarmed, the enemy on the high ground, body not in anything approaching top nick. Not good odds. 

I guess there is one way, Anthony mused, a wry smile spreading across his face. 

And with that he pushed the trap door open, letting it swing back with a loud clack.

Chapter 11 - Part 2

Anthony was unceremoniously dragged backwards. As soon as his right hand was free, he grasped at any loose rocks and hurriedly shoved them into his pocket. The second he'd realised Atkins was his rescuer he'd concluded he'd rather die trying to flee than be taken as a captive. He knew his limbs would not be up to supporting him so the chances of success were slim; any chance to even the odds were to be taken.

A slim, beak nosed soldier tugged at his arm and pulled him to his feet. But his legs were not willing to co-operate with this concept and immediately buckled. Beak nose just let him crumple to the floor like a ragdoll. Anthony took the chance to glance behind and check out the state of the corridor behind him.

Interesting, he thought, that beam saved my life, but if they'd dug from the opposite side the beam would have shifted first and sent half a ton of English countryside onto my noggin. Somehow he instinctively knew Ebbe would have seen the exact same thing and halted any further rescue attempt.

"Come on your lazy twat," beak nosed coughed at him, sounding to Anthony as if he were in the early stages of lung cancer.

Anthony looked up at the scowling face of the soldier and wondered if he had the energy to shove that damned nose into his brain with the palm of his hand. Still, what use would that do, one solider down, and the rest would just swarm on him. Best wait it out a little longer.

Beak nose grasped at his right arm and tugged him back to his feet and, before he could fall again, a second soldier counterbalanced his left side. The pair started to drag him back into the cellar, his feet scraping uselessly against the dirt floor.

Atkins didn't even glance at him as he was pulled past. His full attention was on the still blocked corridor, though Anthony noticed he was unwilling to step too far into the collapsed area. He was a cautious man, unwilling to place himself in harms way. He was many things, but he was not a fool. Several of his men, however, were in the corridor still trying to shift the rocks and break through to the other side.

Beak nose and his accomplice tossed Anthony to the ground at the foot of the steps. He sensed beaky was planning to make good on Atkins' instruction to reward his survival with some broken bones. Better to act now and have bones intact, than try and catch Atkins in the tunnel.

The wry smile on Anthony's face gave beak nose pause. He turned to his colleague and looked as if he may shout something by way of a warning to Atkins, still peering through the entrance of the corridor. But there was no time for such niceties.

Anthony pressed a small button on inside left of his wristwatch and the tiny silver explosive device he had scratched off his combats earlier detonated, with enough power to shift that unstable beam. Beak nose and his friend were knocked off their feet as a shock wave powered through the room, bringing with it a choking cloud of dust. Anthony didn't take the time to check if Atkins had been swallowed up by the debris. He knew, with his legs still out of action, he had seconds to act. Grabbing the sharpest rock from his pocket, he dragged himself forward, and lunged at the nearest body to his. The rock sunk into the flesh at the nape of the neck of an unseen foe. His victim began to gargle and flail uselessly, his lifeblood already pumping out fatally.

Anthony heard the click of a safety catch being removed. Using his arms he pulled himself towards the sound, rolling to the left just as the crack crack crack sound of the gun firing sent a deadly hail of bullets at his last known position. If he didn't bring his assailant down to his level in the next few seconds, he was dead.

With a swing of his arm, his hand made contact with material and he grasped tightly and tugged. He sensed the weight of a body beginning to fall. A gun fired upwards and backwards, before the body crashed to the ground. Before they could react further Anthony scrambled across the man and pressed his forearm across his neck. The cloud of dust was beginning to settle now and Anthony was disappointed to recognise his captive as beak nose, rather than Atkins. With swift pressure he squeezed the air from his lungs and beaky passed out, his body going limp. Anthony rolled off and grabbed the assault rifle that had fallen from his hands.

Now if only my damned legs could get me up those stairs, Anthony cursed. There's sure to be a fucking platoon of these bastards up there, if I crawl my sorry arse up there, I'm just going to get shot to shit. Besides, where's Atkins?

As if the thought had somehow awoken the man himself, Anthony found himself seeing double after a swift kick in the head from Atkins.

"I presume you think you've made an impact Bishop?" Atkins spat, "but you don't even understand what you're protecting. Do you? Has it ever occurred to you that you were on the wrong side? That maybe someone was hiding something here from us all and preventing an uprising that is long overdue? Who are you to help hide the truth?"

Anthony tried to lift the rifle, but Atkins placed his foot on his hand, crushing the grip away. A swift flick of his foot sent the rifle sliding up to the wall.

"Truth?" Anthony cursed, "when were you ever interested in the truth? I think you've mistaken truth for power Atkins."

Atkins laughed.

"I fear this is neither the time, nor place, for a philosophical debate my good man," and with a sneer he pulled out a pistol from it's holster. "Shame, I was looking forward to breaking you, but I can tell you would only be a liability if left alive."

The pistol was aimed at Anthony's forehead.

A deep guttural throbbing from deep within the Earth gave him pause. His trigger finger lingered ominously. Anthony knew he would have no time to roll out of the way. It was practically point blank range and the bullet would have exited the back of his skull before he'd even had the thought to move.

The deep bass throbbing mysteriously from far below stopped as suddenly as it had begun, and in that split second Anthony knew his time was up.

"What the?" Atkins exclaimed, waving his arms wildly, sending a stray bullet ricocheting past Anthony's ear, close enough to draw blood.

Anthony watched in dazed bemusement as Atkins began to lift off the basement floor gently, before he also began to drift upwards gently. Loose rocks and debris began to follow them in their ascent.

Atkins flailed his arms, still grasping the gun tightly, trying to steady himself as he floated close and closer to the ceiling.

Anthony quickly found that despite his legs still being dead, if he made swimming motions with his arms, he could move forwards through the air. Whatever was happening was besides the point for a moment. The fears of the unknown had to wait until his life was safe. This was probably the one chance he had and he wasn't going to waste it.

Using a breast stroke manoeuvre Anthony thrust himself directly at Atkins, who spotted him drifting towards him at the last second. Despite being clearly disturbed by his new found weightlessness Atkins swept his gun upwards and fired just as Anthony crashed into him and pushed him up into the ceiling.

The two men tussled. The gun fired a second time before being knocked free and floating off to the opposite side of the basement. Bubbles of blood floated away gracefully from the battling men and splashed against the wall. A well placed punch to Anthony's gut split the pair apart. Atkins was holding his left arm, bubbles of blood seeping out.

The pair eyed the gun, bouncing against the far wall. With a war cry Atkins pushed against the opposite wall with his legs and floated towards the gun. Anthony, unable to do the same looked around the room frantically. Atkins grasped the gun with glee, turned and fired without pause.

Chatper 11 - Part 1

"Hey Anthony," Albert shouted angrily, "what the hell are you doing?"

Anthony looked down and stared at the rugby ball clasped tightly in his hands. He looked back at his red faced brother waving furiously for him to throw the ball. Several burly men were thundering towards him, undoubtedly ready and willing to tackle him to the ground in the most excessive, and violent manner possible. 

But Anthony was distracted; something was glinting in his eye from far, far above. He had caught the curious glimmer from the corner of his eye and it had thrown him off the game. It wasn't a plane, he was certain of that. It had been too bright, too glaring. It almost seemed like a star, shimmering vibrantly in the middle of the day. 

"Anthony! You arse!" Albert screamed, finally wrenching Anthony from his daydream. Suddenly not giving a God damn about the game Anthony simply spun on the spot and tossed the ball with full force at Albert. Much to his amazement, the ball did not simply hurtle towards his brother and smack him in the face, as he really hoped it would. Instead the ball seemed to arc unnaturally and pick up speed. The ball was launching itself into space and within seconds was merely a speck on the distance.

As Albert and Anthony watched the ball vanish into the clouds with astonishment, Anthony was crushed to the ground by the weight of several hefty rivals. 

"Jesus! Did you guys not..." but Anthony found the words punched out of his lungs by yet more weight. He struggled, trying to grasp for freedom through the sweaty, heaving mass. But as he fought, it seemed only to make the remaining space smaller and tighter. The dying gaps of daylight were squeezed out and suddenly he found himself pinned down in the darkness. 

A few seconds passed before Anthony suddenly realised he was still trapped deep beneath the earth. For a moment he tried to struggle and wriggle his way to freedom, in the vain hope his dream had been the reality and he was still back at college with Albert. But he soon realised this was folly, and his mind was simply playing tricks on him. Albert was long dead and soon, very soon, he would join his twin.

Anthony halted his struggles and lay, listening, trying to discern if anyone was still trying to free him. But for now, all he could hear was his own shallow breathing, and the unnervingly rigorous beating of his heart.

The hot air choked Anthony's lungs. He honestly couldn't tell how long he'd been trapped in this rocky tomb; there had been periods of startling lucidity, interspersed with a more comforting fogginess and the occasional freedom of a dream. The moments of clarity made time stretch interminably, with nothing to judge its passing. Anthony couldn't even tell which way the rock fall had left him lying. Was he actually face down now, or lying upright? He couldn't be sure. He suspected had actually been tossed to the side and hoped that meant he was lying underneath an overhang. That was surely his only chance of survival should someone attempt to free him. Of course, if Atkins were getting men to remove the rocks, why, Anthony reasoned, would it be to save his sorry arse? It would be to get to the other side, to get into the bloody tunnel Krank had spent months protecting.

The one thing Anthony had tried to avoid was trying to second guess what was happening and why. He figured he'd sooner drive himself nuts with conspiracy theories and wacky ideas that actually work out the truth. All he knew was he'd been screwed several ways from Sunday, and, if he did survive this shit he'd sort out the fuckers who'd set him up on this wild ride. 

Thud! 

Anthony twitched. That sounded like a rock falling. He couldn't discern the direction. Usually he had a keen sense that could pinpoint a sound to within a metre of its origin. Right now, he was so disoriented, he wasn't even sure which way was up. 

Crunch!

Now that was definitely coming from behind. He was certain he could hear voices now too. Yes! There were definitely voices and they weren't that far. Well, whoever the fuckers are, he reasoned, there's nothing I can do about it. I'm twisted, stiff and dehydrated. I couldn't even fart or curse their mother for giving them life, let alone put up a decent fight. Whoever they are, I just hope they have water and, dear God, a mattress would be mighty fine too, thank you very much, don't mind if I do.

The voices were building in volume and proximity; though Anthony could still not discern any specific words. The sound of rock cracking against rock was also getting more frequent. He couldn't help but flinch, despite the shock of pain it shot through his muscles, whenever he heard a cascade of rocks clatter and tumble. Each time he thought they would be clattering and tumbling right onto his head. Lights out sir! 

"Put your bloody backs into it!" A voice suddenly echoed into his previously private chamber with a rude and disconcerting clarity. 

"Oh shit," Anthony hissed. Hearing that voice he at least knew the name, and face, of his likely saviour, but it was not the voice he had been praying for. Quite the opposite. Because if Atkins were to capture him in this sorry state, he would undoubtedly soon wish those rocks had simply crushed the life from him. Anthony wasn't afraid of torture, nor was he afraid to die. But Atkins had a reputation. He was a theatrical, callous, sick son of a bitch. He was employed, not to extract information, but to scar, horrify and spread terror. 

Strands of weak light fell upon Anthony's face, as more rocks were removed. He twisted his neck and squinted, near blind, at the blurry, silhouetted figure that emerged and filled up the pillar of light that had sprouted. Despite not being able to discern the bastard properly, Anthony knew only too well that the figure was Atkins and that the wiry son of a bitch was grinning.

"Bishop," Atkins started with a definite tinge of smug satisfaction, "whatever are you doing lying in such a ghastly place?" With a sly laugh, the figure vanished. "Men, extricate commander Bishop. Do be careful, he may have some broken bones." There was a brief pause. "If he doesn't, do feel free to furnish him with a few, as you see fit."

Chapter 10 - Part 1

Chapter 10 - Part 1

Ebbe's eyes adjusted, to what had at first seemed the pitchest of blacks, surprisingly quickly. But as the scene was laid out before her she almost wished they hadn't. Where only moments before there had been the doorway to the basement, there was now a vast pile of rock, rubble and twisted metal. Krank and James were already frantically grappling with the uneven chunks of debris, tossing them over the edge of the metal walkway with a clatter.

Somewhere within that landslide Anthony was entombed and Ebbe could barely believe the words that therefore escaped from her lips.

"Stop digging," she yelled breathlessly.

James, dutiful as ever, turned to query her command. Krank however continued to desperately pull aside rock with his good arm with stoic determination.

Ebbe ran back along the corridor in a panic, the echo of her clattering shoes reverberating endlessly into the darkness. 

"Krank," she screamed, "God damn it man, stop!"

The vast man turned at her with a murderous glare, but immediately returned to the task at hand. Ebbe grasped at his trunk like arm and tried to pull it back, but she was simply tossed aside like a ragdoll, crashing painfully against the railing. Wounded but not defeated Ebbe stood and changed tactic. With all her might she grasped his broken arm and squeezed. Krank let out a crazed, high pitched squeal, an utterly inhuman sound, only made worse by it being repeated seeningly endlessly by the dark corridor.

At last he relented and crumbled to the floor, unable to muster the strength to push her away. 

"Woman?" He managed to spit incredulously.

Ebbe released her grip and simply gestured to the roof. Krank, wiped some tears that had accumulated in his eyes and followed her hand. 

"Fuck," he whispered, staring upwards morosely. 

Ebbe had immediately spotted the vast concrete beam that had probably once served as a support above the entrance. Now, however, it was merely balanced precariously upon the very pile of rocks Krank and James had been trying to clear. It was obvious to Ebbe that no matter what they shifted, at some point that beam, and probably anything above it, what come crashing down. At best, only Anthony, should he still actually be alive, would be crushed to death, defying the point of attempting to free him. More likely, Ebbe felt, they would all be swallowed up in the resulting collapse.

Krank dragged himself backwards, his good fist clenched so tight Ebbe swore she could see blood seep out, though she surmised that may be an injury from his digging.

"We can't just leave him," he muttered dejectedly, clearly aware that was exactly what they must do.

Ebbe swallowed hard, staring at the probable tomb of the man she had just started to think she would like to get to know better. 

"You never know," she started, her voice sounding dry and weak, "they may be able to dig him out from the other side."

"Jesus lady. Better he's dead than captured wounded by that bastard," Krank countered venomously.

Alive he has a chance to survive, Ebbe wanted to say, but instead bit her tongue, sensing any retort would only serve to antagonise Krank. Instead she wanted to get the big man moving, heading to wherever this accursed corridor led. She assumed it led somewhere worthwhile, otherwise what was all this effort for? 

Taking a moment to gather her thoughts, she tried to assess the location. It struck her that the they were cut off from any natural light and yet for every passing second, the corridor seemed to be getting brighter. There were no discernible sources of light, such as overhead lamps. It was almost as if the rock walls themselves were slowly starting to emit a glow. Ebbe was aware of naturally occurring bioluminescence, but could see nothing in this corridor that could actually be generating even this. The walkway itself could stretch to the other side of the world for all she knew. It just appeared to run in a perfect straight line and vanish into nothingness. 

Jake was squatting just a few feet down the walkway, Art on his stretcher still lying out cold next to him. She caught Jake's eye and he immediately stood to attention, much to her surprise.

"What's the plan sir?" Jake barked. Ebbe raised her eyebrows and turned to Krank, who was still staring at the rubble. 

"He's talking to you luv," Krank mumbled without even turning, somehow sensing her eyes upon him.

"What, what do you mean?" Ebbe spluttered, genuinely not understanding what was happening.

"Chain of command luv," Krank said and he turned and stood.

"Your commanding officer is MIA, his number two is lying paralysed on a stretcher and that leaves you sweetheart." Krank strode up to her

Ebbe shook her head frantically.

"No no no, that can't be right!" Her mouth dried up and her stomach began to churn as if she might need to vomit. "I'm not military. Surely you or Jake..."

"Sweetheart, my understanding is you were in fucking control of something, Jake here is just a puppet in need of a master. I'm not in your unit, Jake here is right. It's your choice." Krank offered something akin to a smile. Ebbe couldn't tell if it was a smirk or a genuine effort at affection. Either way it didn't offer her the respite from the fear she was experiencing.

She looked at James, looking timid and afraid. That she could identify with, that she could handle. Her eyes turned back to Jake, he was standing upright, looking every bit the merciless, heartless killer she had mistrusted earlier. This man expects me to command him in his military manoeuvres? What sort of madness is this? 

"Sir?" Jake barked bluntly, his steely gaze unwavering.

Ebbe closed her eyes. She saw Sam, his face beaming back at her innocently. But he faded, just as the sun had faded, he vanished and was replaced only by a dark abyss, by an all consuming darkness. Her eyes burst open and somehow the dull light emanating impossibly from the rocks seemed blinding to her. What would Anthony do she asked herself, as if she were following some sort of military self help book. 

What would Anthony do?

He'd knuckle down and get the job done. That's what. When there's no time to think, move and think on the go.

"James," Ebbe tried to sound authoritative, but it sounded pathetic to her as it bounced back to her as every sound had a frustrating tendency to do in this hell hole. "James," she tried again, injecting some bass into her voice which she felt did offer a better sense of gravitas. "You're with Jake, carrying Art. Krank, you know the way so you're, er.. in lead," Ebbe winced, thinking there was a more appropriate phrase, but struggling to pluck it from her mind. "Jake and James, you go next and I'll take the rear." 

It was all obvious, simple instructions as far as Ebbe saw it. Clearly Krank was the only one who could navigate and she wanted to have the other two in her sight. It seemed almost stupidly simplistic and she expected there to be sarcastic retorts or grumbles. But to her surprise and delight everyone just nodded in agreement and within seconds the ragtag team were actually heading away from the rubble.

Ebbe couldn't resist one last glance back in the vain hope that she would see a hand appear through the rocks and they would have the chance to pull Anthony free before everything came crashing down upon them.

For a second, she did see the hand. For a split second she knew they could save Anthony and she'd made a terrible mistake in stopping the pair from digging. In the blink of an eye she realised it was a trick of the light, or more likely of the mind. 

She turned to see her unit had already made their way into the infinite corridor. With a resigned sigh she whispered a goodbye to Anthony. And before she ran after the others, she did something that took even her by surprise. She prayed. She prayed to God that Anthony be safe. 

Chapter 9 - Part 2

"We don't have much time, these things could go off any second, and if they don't he'll soon wonder why," Anthony said by way of response.

"Much time to do what?" Ebbe quizzed curiously.

"I'll show you," Krank's voice boomed across the basement.

Anthony allowed himself a brief sigh of relief upon seeing his old friend grinning as he propped himself up against the stairs. The relief quickly subsided when he noticed Krank was holding his left arm limply. 

"Shit mate, did I break your arm?" Anthony asked crossing over to check him out.

"Nah," Krank laughed, "I think it was the third step from the top." And before Anthony could respond Krank made his away across the room with vast strides and stood in front of the far right brick wall. Anthony briefly turned his attention to Ebbe, checking how she was coping with the moment. Her pale face had clearly further drained of colour and he could see she was shaking. Tough she may be, she is still only a civi. Somehow his team visiting wasn't a total surprise. This last adventure was something else and it had obviously shaken her. Anthony debated saying something to her, to reassure, but the warm metal grenade clasped in his clammy hand told him this was not the time. She was not a woman in need for false assurances. Death was likely at this very moment and no words could change that fact. Instead he turned to his team for a swift damage check. Art was still strapped tightly to the make-shift stretcher, Jake was apparently out cold next to him and James was standing staring at the grenade in his hand intensely. One child swapped for another, Anthony sighed, but at least this one is trustworthy to the core. This assessment of the room had taken mere seconds and was swiftly interrupted by a loud clank, followed by the hiss of a heavy piston shunting a great weight. 

Anthony swung around to see a white panel, previously hidden from sight, that he recognised to be the IQ biometric sensor panel that Krank would have used to access the entrance to whatever it was he had been guarding this past few months. A chunk of wall, approximately seven foot tall, by three foot wide, suddenly split open with a gentle sigh. Dank air gasped out, filling the basement with the scent of rust and damp. With a smooth efficiency the brick door slid outward and then to the left, revealing a pitch black tunnel. Krank turned to look at Anthony and with a face graver than any Anthony had seen him with before, gave a nodding gesture that said they ought all get through the door quick sharp.

"Ebbe," Anthony hissed, "go slap Jake and help him carry Art through. James, you wait here with me.

Ebbe jumped when he first spoke her name and for a split second he feared she had been lost to terror, but as soon as this thought had occurred, she sprung to life like a dutiful soldier and sprinted over to Jake. He next concern was that she would take his command literally. He winced as he watched this slender woman, that Jake could snap in half with one arm behind his back, duly give him not one, but two not inconsiderable slaps to the face. He couldn't help but think she had taken some level of pleasure from the act. The third whack confirmed his suspicions and also relieved him of his fears. Jake merely awoke with a start and grasped her arm tightly before a fourth slap could connect. 

"Wake up sleeping beauty," Ebbe whispered, just loud enough for Anthony to discern. He smiled briefly before the sound of the stone slab being removed above brought him back down to reality. 

"Move your asses!" he yelled insistently. Daylight spilled down the stairway and the long shadows of men made their way down the steps. Ebbe and Jake spared no further time, wordlessly grabbing an end of the stretcher each and lifting with remarkable ease. Feet emerged on the top steps, their owners immediately spotted they had been bluffed and began to sprint, stumblingly downwards. Ebbe and Jake passed Anthony with as much haste as they could muster. He watched them vanish past Krank, who glanced at Anthony knowingly before also merging into the darkness beyond the stone door. 

"Get ready kid," Anthony shouted, effectively running backwards whilst watching the men emerge at the foot of the steps. He knew James was already behind him without looking, and stepped surreptitiously to the side, so the pair were opposite each other. "On my mark," Anthony barked, watching the guns of the men rising and noting that Atkins had been smart enough not to venture down this time. 

"Mark," he shouted as gunfire blared. Both he and James released their grenades and threw themselves through into the dark abyss beyond the door. 

The grenades were already primed and detonated in mid air, before the five men who had convened in the basement had a chance to even turn and flee. The stone door that Anthony and James had tumbled through had, unknown even to them, started to close. 

The blast briefly lit up the long straight corridor, revealing dank stone walls, a pocked metallic walkway with dilapidated railings. The light died as the door was blocked by a tumbling cascade of stone, earth and mud. 

Pitch black and pure silence reigned for a second.

"Bishop," Krank shouted urgently. 

"What's happened?" Ebbe's voice echoed off the slick walls, making it impossible to tell how far along the walk way she now was.

There was no answer, only the sound of rocks and stones being pulled aside.

"Bishop? Come on man, where are you?"

A weak groan seemed to come as an answer.

"That you James?" Krank's voice boomed.

"Sir, Yes sir," came the weak but determined response.

"Help me find Bishop son," Krank urged amidst the sound of rock and earth being clawed away.

Anthony could feel something wet pooling around his right eye. He wanted desperately to wipe it away, but discovered he could not move. Goddamn it, he cursed, have I been hit by stray shrapnel and paralysed? No, that wasn't it, his feet was hot and itchy and his hand was screaming out in agony. Jesus, I'm bloody buried, he concluded. The goddamn tunnel caved in on me. Yes, he could hear muffled sounds emanating from somewhere, but it was impossible to judge distance and direction. Anthony did his best to struggle and shift, hoping that whatever mass was pinning him down was still fluid enough to dislodge. But it seemed futile. His hand winced with every minute movement and it occurred to Anthony that right now he had a breathing space, but by moving he could fill that space with earth and suffocate. 

No, his only choice was to lie here and hope that Krank was working on getting him free. But the thick, muffled sound did little to allay his fears. It seemed that something was moving in more than one place at a time. Of course, he concluded, trying to keep his thoughts lucid and his breathing shallow, it could just be Krank, Ebbe and the others all trying to shift the debris. Or it could be Krank on one end of the corridor and Atkins in the basement. 

I would rather have this be my tomb than be dragged out backwards by Atkins like a wounded rabbit in the jaws of a hound, Anthony concluded.

His hot breath was beginning to fill the small air pocket and he could sense his consciousness beginning to fade. How unfair, Anthony concluded as he slipped from one darkness to another, that I shall die, and never truly know Ebbe Nystrom.