Chapter 14 - Part 2

Anthony's feet landed silently onto the dry earth, protected from the morning dew by the leafy branches he had just clambered back down from. The man above was no longer and threat. Whatever had been started, Anthony had finished. It was obvious the shooter was primed to kill Anthony and only an act of divine intervention had saved his life. But it was not right to leave the man to die slowly, perched in the treetop. A quick blade into the nape of the man's neck had ceased whatever life he had remaining in an instant. 

Maybe not a soldier's death, but better than purgatory.

The question now was whether some form of transport was further down the road, still hidden from sight. Ebbe's Rover had been dropped on its side and destroyed, what were the chances the attacking forces vehicles had also suffered the same fate? That would depend on the extent of the free floating incident. For all he knew, the event could be localised just to the area around the house, or could have extended to the whole country, or beyond. 

Anthony stuck to the treeline, hugging the shadows, keeping his profile hidden. There was no knowing what other delights Atkins had left behind. He broke into a light trot, partly to invigorate his abused muscles, partly to pick up the pace. The sooner he found a way to seek out help, the better. But where to turn? The whole series of events stank of double-crosses, triple-crosses, and cover ups.

Conspiracy theory bullshit, that's what it was, he grumbled, taking a moment to stare up at the blank blue sky, perfect as a painting, before returning his concentration to the road ahead. He sucked in deep breaths as he jogged, filling his lungs with curiously stale air. He'd tasted air like that before. It was office air. Goddamned air-con crap, recycled through the lungs of all of the sickly, pale-faced desk-jockeys that generated the supposed intel that he and his teams turned into missions. He slowed to a walk, eyes surveying the landscape with suspicion. Why did it feel like he was still in that bloody basement, trapped beneath the rubble, sucking in the dwindling air supply? 

Stopping, he spun around, inhaling the dead air through his nostrils, holding it in his lungs, savouring it like you would a cigar, before releasing it, imagining the invisible breath escaping like thick sweet smoke. 

Bad air.

Was it poison? Could all that they had experienced and seen, be part of some sort of mass hallucinogen released into the atmosphere? Was that unnatural blue above simply  manufactured by his mind? Perhaps an image, a photo, or painting he had once seen, retained in the recesses of his mind, and now released falsely to his visual cortex. 

Either that or he truly was still stuck beneath a pile of rubble, sucking up his last few breaths, brain cells dying off by their billions, his mind creating the easy escape, and the impossible sniper in the tree.

That's it, goddamn it, I'm a dying man, living out the fantasy that I escaped. He let out a little chuckle, amused by his own foolishness. 

"I suppose," he gesticulated to the bushes opposite, "I shall turn the corner and and see a fully furnished humvee, keys in the ignition, a dice hanging off the mirror," he chuckled, amusing himself, before his face dropped, his eyes frozen.

"Ebbe," he muttered. Before slapping his own face as hard as he could. "Pull yourself together Anthony," he muttered, "until you breath your last, you keep on acting like a soldier. Enough of this shit."

He turned and unexpectedly let out a thundering shout. 

"I'm not ready yet, you bastard." 

Not caring who had heard, he immediately broke into a run, rounding the corner at full speed. The thin single track road began to widen here, and the high hedges fell away, revealing the tumbling countryside of fields and small intermittent copses that surrounded the area as far as the eye could see.

No humvee, he noted with relief, vindicating his assertion that this was no dying dream. Though, he paused, he may have deleted the idea to self-vindicate and perpetuate the dream. He told himself to fuck off and continued his jog, slowing the pace a litte, eyes peeled for any unfriendlies who may have heard his outburst. 

The coast was clear, the horizon free of choppers heading in as back-up, the landscape free of any obvious sign of surrounding troops. Had Atkins come completely free of any form of back-up? Out of the corner of his eye Anthony spotted a matte black object protruding from behind a grassy knoll to the centre of a wild grass field. Throwing subtly and stealth to hell, Anthony clambered over the dilapidated fence, a piece of which splintered off under his weight, and strode menacingly across the strongly scented grass. He had already floated off the ground, been shot at point blank range, battled three armed men, and been saved from a sniper by the hand of God. These were no longer the times to be shuffling on knees and elbows. Whatever that field contained could watch him goddamn stride toward it.

His boots kicked through the tall, dry grass, breaking stems, and crushing delicate buttercups. But it felt more real than anywhere had for a long time. He could smell the sweet wild flowers gently drifting upwards, he could hear the swish of grass blades against leather, the rattle of seeds being knocked loose. Here, he wasn't being poisoned, or sucking up deep, useless breaths of stale air. 

Or was this the final stage? Was this sweet, clean meadow his walk into the valley of death? 

Something was in the field. It was real. Focus on that Anthony, focus on the object. You're not skipping into heaven, you moron. Life wasn't the fairy tales and bullshit shown in films and books, and neither was death. It was messy, gruesome and sudden. 

Ahead of him the sky finally began to diffuse into orange and yellow, and indistinct white smudges started to drift into view. Anthony paused and watched as a large yellow sun began to shimmer upon the Eastern horizon. The glowing orb breached the horizon and lazily hung just above the distant tree-line, shining warm amber light upon the landscape below. And now, even before he had reached the metallic black object, the orange highlights made it patently obvious what he could see was the landing strut of a stealth helicopter. 

When he reached the mangled wreck, it was clear the vehicle had landed in this dip, dropping off Atkins and his troop, and had suffered the same fate as Ebbe's range rover. As best as Anthony could make out, when the gravity had released its grip upon the machine, it had quickly upended itself and so dropped on its rota blades, when normality was resumed.

An upside-down 'copter was bloody useless to Anthony. 

"Well, shit," Anthony couldn't help but grumble,"now what the fuck do I do?"

"Language Anthony!" scolded an uncannily familiar voice.

He whirled around to see Ebbe, her face lit up by wide smile. Beside her stood Art, scratching his head, a lopsided grin writ upon his bemused face.

"Now I know I'm dreaming," was all Anthony could splutter.  
 

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.