It's impossible. Simple as that. Impossible and yet, here it was, deep beneath the plain old English countryside of green grass, bush lined patchwork fields, winding roads, copses and sheep, was a technological anomaly.
Ebbe had found the very breath in her lungs practically sucked out by the shock. The vast expanse of crisp white walls, tunnelling into infinity in every perceptible direction. Her mind immediately began to calculate possibilities; nuclear bunker, government warehouse, weapons storage, underground power station, but none seemed to fit the inhuman perfection surrounding them. It was alien to her eyes. Instinctively she stretched out a pale hand and ran it across the nearest wall.
She expected it to be cold, but it was stranger than that, for it didn't really have a discernible temperature. It made no sense to her, it was just there, solid and impossibly polished, but neither cold, nor warm. Her skin felt it, but felt nothing. Perturbed, she swiftly withdrew her slender hand and turned back to see Krank grinning at her broadly.
"Magnificent ain't it?" his voice died as soon as the noise had escaped his lips,
"I don't know," came Ebbe's honest response. Yes, it was magnificent, but she didn't know what 'it' was, and until she knew that, it was a magnificent nothing. Her mind was already processing the fact that sound was dead against what appeared to be a highly reflective surface.
"This is just the fucking cloakroom love! Wait until you see the control room," Krank enthused.
Ebbe nodded, trying to keep calm, not trusting herself to continue talking until her mind her settled. Crazy thoughts were starting to wind their way through her synapses and they concerned her, primarily because whenever that happened it usually led to trouble. A crazy thought about the data from the moon landings being manipulated, a crazy thought about the stars being extinguished, about a global government conspiracy to control the online data flow. She hated the crazy thoughts, because they were usually correct.
Now, she was beginning to suspect that, just as Krank had suggested, this space, that right now appeared infinite, was only the tip of a enormous iceberg. She suspected that even Krank, who had obviously been here before, still had no clue just how labyrinthine this place was. Her mind had instantly begun to calculate and she saw no reason why this place didn't just keep on going, on and on, deep beneath the Earth, deep into the Earth. Through and through. It made no sense, of course; it was utterly insane, beyond comprehension, utter fantastical drivel. But Ebbe was never one to dismiss a theory just because it was too fantastic. The fact that we are all made of stardust that has existed for billions of years is fantastic, but it is also true. Dismiss the extraordinary at your peril, she reminded herself. Press on, seek out the truth, see what there is to see, for Anthony, for Art, for Sam. For Sam.
Krank hadn't even noticed that Ebbe had yet to follow his lead and was already fading into white nothingness. Ebbe gestured to Jake and James to stay with Art before hastily heading in the direction Krank had vanished.
In seconds she was startled to find herself bumping right into him, standing impatiently looking out into the white void. It was as if he had been obscured from view until the very last second.
"Steady there missy, no need to crowd me," he thundered with good humour, before fixing her an icy stare, "brace yourself sweetheart, you ain't seen nothing yet."
He smiled and placed his hand upon a barely defined panel. A yellow glow surrounded his hand for a split second, before the panel faded back to bland gloss white. Silently a slice of black appeared in the wall opposite ,and Krank strode in, vanishing as if he had dropped into a pit on the opposite side.
Fearlessly Ebbe followed and was surprised to find she was now standing in another perfect white room. She turned to look through the doorway she had entered and saw only black. In her mind she questioned whether the previous room even existed anymore. Dismissing such thoughts as too hard to quantify at this stage, she turned back to see Krank standing in front of an endless array of black cubes, all topped with translucent grey spheres. The more Ebbe stared at the spheres, the more she questioned whether they were spinning, or if it was a visual trick of the eye.
Krank spread out his trunk like arms grandly and gestured at the cubes with a grin.
"I know what you're thinking," he paused for effect, "what the fuck?" He let out a booming laugh, "am I right?"
Ebbe nodded. Crude as it was, that summed up her myriad thoughts rather neatly. Silently she stepped up to the third cube and sphere along the row. She peered into the grey sphere and realised the apparent spinning was actually a shimmering, barely imperceptible to the naked eye, but definitely there nevertheless. She began to raise her right arm tentatively, but changed her mind swiftly.
"Go ahead," she heard Krank say.
"What?" She replied without turning, hypnotised by the phosphorescent sphere.
"Touch it," he goaded, "don't worry," he added, somewhat unnecessarily, Ebbe thought.
Slowly she raised her right arm again, and, as if she were caressing the face of a loved one, she ran the palm of her hand across the surface of the sphere. In an instant the sphere presented an image, both there, and not, like a barely remembered dream.
"Pretty nifty huh?" Krank spoke, but his words sounded distant and hollow to Ebbe. She was transfixed on the ghostly sphere in front of her. The image was fuzzy, out of phase with her own perception, but she sensed she was being shown something she already knew. There was movement within the image. There was more than movement, there was a sense of familiarity, of a connection. She understood the image. It was showing her something she needed to see, because it had understood her, bonded with her.
She heard Krank say something else, but it melted away before it could be processed in her mind. She saw only the image now and although she could not discern it, she began to sense she was being shown Anthony and he was in trouble. He was going to die.
Deep within the image, part of the image and yet not actually within the sphere, Ebbe started to make out symbols that she knew. One seemed to grow brighter and pulsate. It was the Greek letter lambda. Without even realising she was doing so, Ebbe reached deep into the sphere and grasped the glowing letter. It felt solid, real and warm in the palm of her hand and instinctively she held it tight and pulled it towards the edge of the sphere.
From somewhere deep in the bowels of the Earth a deep bass began to throb. Seconds later Ebbe and Krank began to lift off the floor, though Ebbe remained tethered to the sphere by her clenched fist. She stared at it in a state of apparent hypnosis, seemingly unaware she was now several feet in the air.
"Pull your bloody fist out!" Krank bellowed in a panic, flailing uselessly as he continued to drift upwards towards an unseen ceiling.
Ebbe, eyes glazed, suddenly let out a scream before a loud crack, like a gun firing, emanated from the sphere, and something burst from it's surface, lodging itself firmly in the opposite wall. In the same instant Ebbe pulled her fist from the sphere and the deep throb from the depths of the Earth ceased. Krank suddenly found himself hurtling to the ground and he did he best to control the fall, successfully rolling to the side and suffering only minor bruising. Picking himself up he limped over to Ebbe, who was lying motionless opposite the now blank sphere.
Wednesday, 17 April 2013
Saturday, 23 March 2013
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.
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.
Monday, 4 March 2013
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."
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."
Sunday, 10 February 2013
Chapter 10 - Part 2
The walkway was unnervingly straight. Ebbe expected there to be at least a gentle curve, where the mystery creators of this tunnel hit some form of igneous rock that could not be excavated. It did not strike her as a recent creation, quite the opposite, the metal floor seemed positively ancient. Even in the dull light that emanated mysteriously from the rock walls it was clear the metal was severely rusted, to the degree that in many places it had been eaten away completely. These patches were mercifully small and sporadic, though Ebbe thought it wise to keep her eyes down in case there happened to be a bigger gap. She could ill afford to twist an ankle or worse. Such an old tunnel would not have been made with aid of modern technology that could carve through pretty much anything. Had this been the case the walls would be smooth, not rough and angular.
At first the group had remained tight knit and cautious. But as the walk dragged on interminably they began to separate. Now Krank was so far ahead of Ebbe, still bringing up the rear, that she could not see him. Only the clanging of his steel toed boots upon the decaying walkway gave away his presence. Jake and James were carrying poor Art, still out cold, with silent determination in the middle of the group. No one spoke a word. Ebbe wasn't sure if this was because no one could think of anything to say, or because any sounds reverberated around the corridor until they became distorted and tortuously inhuman, before at last fading out mercifully.
Ebbe's mind strayed to Anthony. Was he alive? There was no way he could be, surely? And even if her were, he'd be mortally wounded, or slowly suffocating to death, buried alive under countless tons of rock and rubble. The thought of his pale face gasping for air pathetically made her stomach turn and she forced herself to think more constructively. But everything she had in her mind were unanswerable questions. Callisto vanishing, the supposed V6, the sun 'switching off', the assault on this remote outpost, all planned and calculated to get into this echoing catacomb. And, Ebbe supposed, that was the ultimate question at this very moment; what the hell had Krank been protecting, and from whom?
"We're here," boomed the very man himself, as if on cue, his voice swiftly coagulating in the tunnel and becoming a ghostly reflection of the original words, slowly fading into the dark oblivion.
Ebbe suddenly found her chest tingling with nervous excitement. The walk had become so timeless and monotonous that she had all but lost track of time. There was nothing in the way of unique landmarks to assess progress. Behind them lay the unswerving walkway, vanishing into a pit of black, and in front, the same. Now, at last, they had arrived at what she hoped was their intended destination. Ebbe wasn't sure if she was scared or thrilled to finally be seeing whatever had been so fiercely fought over. Nevertheless she didn't break her stride, soon catching up and passing the stretcher bearers, who had already stopped and laid down Art, a few feet from the towering Krank.
At first Ebbe saw nothing new. Ahead lay what could have been another hundred miles of walkway, as far as she knew, and Krank appeared to just be standing in the middle of a nondescript part of the walkway. But as she approached him she realised that the metal path to his left split off into a new tunnel. Her initial excitement fizzed away in a instant. Not just more endless dingy tunnel heading off in another direction, she signed. East instead of North.
She was about to speak and voice her distress at the thought of wandering ceaselessly without food or water down this never ending corridor when she saw that this junction led, not to more corridor, but to a hatch. Whilst still not the glowing salvation she could have hoped for, it was certainly a new development and offered the potential of a change in scenery.
Krank gestured at the hatch with his head, clearly reluctant to hear his voice morphed into the ghastly echoes again. Ebbe nodded back to him and he took that as approval for the next step. Ebbe presumed this hatch also had the biometric system that had allowed them to gain entry to the corridor. This presumption was immediately proved as Krank again placed his hand upon something to the right of the hatch. The light from the scanner temporarily blinded Ebbe, her eyes suitably adjusted for the ghostly dark glow of the rock. As the patches of white faded from her bleary eyes, Ebbe saw Krank, seemingly unfazed by the light, turning a wheel atop the hatch. With a light tug the hatch was opened and suddenly more blinding white light spilled outward. For the first time since they entered, Ebbe could see the rock corridor. It become immediately apparent that the walls, that had appeared random and coarse in the dark, were actually perfectly carved in the same pattern throughout. This entire tunnel had been excavated by some sort of machine that had left this rough, jagged, repeating pattern on the walls.
But more revelatory than this was the concept of the brilliant white light fleeing the small open hatchway. What was down that hatchway? Ebbe couldn't bear the suspense, but for a moment found herself rooted to the spot. Something deep inside told her that if she entered that hatch everything she thought she knew would be destroyed. A lifetime of knowledge would count for nothing. That scared her more than anything. Moons don't just disappear, suns don't go out like a lightbulb, and, there should not be brightly lit hatchways buried in the English countryside.
At last her muscles relaxed, as Ebbe told them she needed to get into the hatchway; she convinced her body that nothing was more important. With leaden feet she started to step forward. Krank nodded to the men behind her and she turned and added a waving gesture to Jake and James. Silently they picked the stretcher back up and made their way to the light.
Ebbe watched Krank step up and into the hatchway and disappear from sight. For a second she froze again, unable to understand the fear that was seizing her. It was only James jostling into her unexpectedly that jolted her back into action.
With slow purposeful steps she approached the hatchway, the light spilling out so bright it seemed almost luminous. With the caution of someone peering over the edge of a sheer cliff she peeked into the hole. She could see nothing but a ladder that descended into whiteness. Again she paused, feeling a little uncertain.
"Well?" Krank's voice drifted up, sounding small and hollow, lacking the disturbing echo of the corridor. Ebbe nodded in response, as if he could see.
She turned to James and Jake and gestured they ought to go first. With military efficiency James unquestioningly clambered into the hatch, before gesturing to Jake that he could lower Art down. Ebbe watched the men swiftly carry the dead weight into the mysterious white hole and vanish, all the while trying to ignore all the questions racing through her mind. How curious, she thought, that from a lifetime of looking to the skies, she was now seeking answers from deep below the surface.
Holding the thought that she may at last start getting some answers by entering the hatchway, she took and deep breath and made her way to the ladder. She gingerly clambered onto the ladder, looked down and found it disconcerting that she could see no floor. With one last glance up at the mystery tunnel, she began to slowly step downwards into the glaring white light below.
At first the group had remained tight knit and cautious. But as the walk dragged on interminably they began to separate. Now Krank was so far ahead of Ebbe, still bringing up the rear, that she could not see him. Only the clanging of his steel toed boots upon the decaying walkway gave away his presence. Jake and James were carrying poor Art, still out cold, with silent determination in the middle of the group. No one spoke a word. Ebbe wasn't sure if this was because no one could think of anything to say, or because any sounds reverberated around the corridor until they became distorted and tortuously inhuman, before at last fading out mercifully.
Ebbe's mind strayed to Anthony. Was he alive? There was no way he could be, surely? And even if her were, he'd be mortally wounded, or slowly suffocating to death, buried alive under countless tons of rock and rubble. The thought of his pale face gasping for air pathetically made her stomach turn and she forced herself to think more constructively. But everything she had in her mind were unanswerable questions. Callisto vanishing, the supposed V6, the sun 'switching off', the assault on this remote outpost, all planned and calculated to get into this echoing catacomb. And, Ebbe supposed, that was the ultimate question at this very moment; what the hell had Krank been protecting, and from whom?
"We're here," boomed the very man himself, as if on cue, his voice swiftly coagulating in the tunnel and becoming a ghostly reflection of the original words, slowly fading into the dark oblivion.
Ebbe suddenly found her chest tingling with nervous excitement. The walk had become so timeless and monotonous that she had all but lost track of time. There was nothing in the way of unique landmarks to assess progress. Behind them lay the unswerving walkway, vanishing into a pit of black, and in front, the same. Now, at last, they had arrived at what she hoped was their intended destination. Ebbe wasn't sure if she was scared or thrilled to finally be seeing whatever had been so fiercely fought over. Nevertheless she didn't break her stride, soon catching up and passing the stretcher bearers, who had already stopped and laid down Art, a few feet from the towering Krank.
At first Ebbe saw nothing new. Ahead lay what could have been another hundred miles of walkway, as far as she knew, and Krank appeared to just be standing in the middle of a nondescript part of the walkway. But as she approached him she realised that the metal path to his left split off into a new tunnel. Her initial excitement fizzed away in a instant. Not just more endless dingy tunnel heading off in another direction, she signed. East instead of North.
She was about to speak and voice her distress at the thought of wandering ceaselessly without food or water down this never ending corridor when she saw that this junction led, not to more corridor, but to a hatch. Whilst still not the glowing salvation she could have hoped for, it was certainly a new development and offered the potential of a change in scenery.
Krank gestured at the hatch with his head, clearly reluctant to hear his voice morphed into the ghastly echoes again. Ebbe nodded back to him and he took that as approval for the next step. Ebbe presumed this hatch also had the biometric system that had allowed them to gain entry to the corridor. This presumption was immediately proved as Krank again placed his hand upon something to the right of the hatch. The light from the scanner temporarily blinded Ebbe, her eyes suitably adjusted for the ghostly dark glow of the rock. As the patches of white faded from her bleary eyes, Ebbe saw Krank, seemingly unfazed by the light, turning a wheel atop the hatch. With a light tug the hatch was opened and suddenly more blinding white light spilled outward. For the first time since they entered, Ebbe could see the rock corridor. It become immediately apparent that the walls, that had appeared random and coarse in the dark, were actually perfectly carved in the same pattern throughout. This entire tunnel had been excavated by some sort of machine that had left this rough, jagged, repeating pattern on the walls.
But more revelatory than this was the concept of the brilliant white light fleeing the small open hatchway. What was down that hatchway? Ebbe couldn't bear the suspense, but for a moment found herself rooted to the spot. Something deep inside told her that if she entered that hatch everything she thought she knew would be destroyed. A lifetime of knowledge would count for nothing. That scared her more than anything. Moons don't just disappear, suns don't go out like a lightbulb, and, there should not be brightly lit hatchways buried in the English countryside.
At last her muscles relaxed, as Ebbe told them she needed to get into the hatchway; she convinced her body that nothing was more important. With leaden feet she started to step forward. Krank nodded to the men behind her and she turned and added a waving gesture to Jake and James. Silently they picked the stretcher back up and made their way to the light.
Ebbe watched Krank step up and into the hatchway and disappear from sight. For a second she froze again, unable to understand the fear that was seizing her. It was only James jostling into her unexpectedly that jolted her back into action.
With slow purposeful steps she approached the hatchway, the light spilling out so bright it seemed almost luminous. With the caution of someone peering over the edge of a sheer cliff she peeked into the hole. She could see nothing but a ladder that descended into whiteness. Again she paused, feeling a little uncertain.
"Well?" Krank's voice drifted up, sounding small and hollow, lacking the disturbing echo of the corridor. Ebbe nodded in response, as if he could see.
She turned to James and Jake and gestured they ought to go first. With military efficiency James unquestioningly clambered into the hatch, before gesturing to Jake that he could lower Art down. Ebbe watched the men swiftly carry the dead weight into the mysterious white hole and vanish, all the while trying to ignore all the questions racing through her mind. How curious, she thought, that from a lifetime of looking to the skies, she was now seeking answers from deep below the surface.
Holding the thought that she may at last start getting some answers by entering the hatchway, she took and deep breath and made her way to the ladder. She gingerly clambered onto the ladder, looked down and found it disconcerting that she could see no floor. With one last glance up at the mystery tunnel, she began to slowly step downwards into the glaring white light below.
Monday, 4 February 2013
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.
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.
Tuesday, 24 July 2012
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.
"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.
Sunday, 22 July 2012
Chapter 9 - Part 1
"Like I said. There's only one answer to this," Anthony replied.
"Like you said," Krank agreed.
Anthony turned and pointed his gun at Krank.
"You'll have to die."
"Makes sense," Krank replied, unconcerned.
"How can we do this?" Anthony asked, peering through the cracked window pane, checking for signs of life.
"You wanted to see what I have in my medicine cabinet," Krank said with a grin.
Anthony nodded, before pointing his gun out of the window one last time and firing off a few thunderous rounds randomly, without even looking where he was aiming. Krank took the opportunity to stand and began to make his way out of the living room. In a split second Anthony was behind him and followed the hulking man as he wound his way through the corridor and into the kitchen. The sink was stacked with filthy, food encrusted plates, upon which flies were busily darting about. The hob was similarly unkempt, adorned with rusting metal pots and a saucepan that had a slick layer of hardened fat sitting inside.
Much to Anthony's surprise Krank made a beeline for the oven, and appeared to be turning on one of the hobs.
"No time for a bacon buttie Krank," Anthony muttered, his eyes scouring all around, his ears alert to any imminent intruders. He turned back to Krank just in time to see the top of the oven pop open with a sigh and the entire hob simply lifted like a lid, the dirty pots and pans staying in place, presumably glued on as props. Anthony couldn't help but cackle at the sight, as Krank leant in and began routing around in the depths of the oven. "A little theatrical don't you think?" Anthony said with a laugh.
"Needs must," Krank retorted, his deep voice muffled within the oven.
"Whatever you're looking for, you need to find it soon mate," Anthony hissed, his face suddenly serious. He had heard the click of the front door and knew they were going to be overwhelmed within a minute.
"Ha!" Krank cheered triumphantly, emerging from the fake oven and slamming the hob back down so it looked as unassuming as before. In his hand was a small clear, unlabelled bottle, protected with a wax sealed cork.
Both men were aware of the footsteps, at least half a dozen men from the sound of it, in the house and searching, room by room. It would be seconds before they were found.
"No time for pleasantries it seems," Krank lamented before smashing the tip of the bottle off on the counter top and gouging his neck with the shattered remains, allowing the colourless liquid to seep into the wound. Anthony stared at him, watching the blood weep out from the deep self-inflicted wound. Nothing happened and Anthony felt a sense of panic well up in his chest. Had Krank picked the wrong bottle? Were the symptoms too slow for this purpose? Goddamn it Krank, you should be prepared for any and all eventualities, how can this be part of your plan?
"What are you waiting for man?" Krank shouted at Anthony in frustration. Anthony frowned, genuinely unsure what Krank wanted of him. "Shoot me you stupid bastard," Krank screamed as the shadows of their attackers made themselves apparent on the stained wall of the hallway. Trusting Krank knew what he was doing Anthony duly lifted his handgun without further hesitation, and, just as five men burst in pointing their weapons directly at the pair, he fired. Before anyone could react, Krank tumbled to the floor like a sack of potatoes. A trickle of blood seeped out from his chest.
"Drop your weapon," one man shouted gruffly. Anthony readily obliged, knowing to do anything else would end with him riddled with holes.
"Commander Bishop?" a familiar voice rasped from the hallway. Anthony's heart sunk. He despised that voice. He despised the man it belonged to. He despised everything he represented. "Lower you weapons," the voice commanded.
The men did as told and then parted without a word, allowing the tall thin man to step through grandly.
"Atkins," Anthony acknowledged, his voice low and threatening.
"Bishop," Atkins responded, "it seems you are trying to sabotage my operation." He peered down at the shattered remains of the bottle Krank had been holding and stooped to investigate. Silently he waved to one of his men, who responded by handing him a glove. Anthony watched as he pulled on the glove with a theatrical flourish and then picked up the bottle gingerly. A quick sniff of the residue and the bottle was quickly discarded, along with the glove. Atkins stood and strode up to a defiant Anthony.
"Tetrodotoxin," Atkins rasped, "how," he gave a thoughtful pause, "predictable," he finished, before turning to look at the chest wound, still oozing blood. "That, on the other hand, is unexpected." Atkins turned to another of his men and nodded to Krank's body, "check him." The man nodded, but before he could move Atkins grabbed his arm and pulled him close, "careful," he hissed, barely discernible through his thick sandpaper voice. Again the man nodded dutifully before heading over to Krank and kneeling down to undertake a quick examination. Anthony didn't take his eyes off Atkins.
After about a minute the man stood and whispered something into Atkins' ear. Atkins nodded gravely and stroked his trimmed beard thoughtfully.
"My understanding is that to open this hatchway, I need that man both alive and with a healthy pulse. My man here tells me he is currently alive, but soon to die from either toxic poisoning or your gunshot wound." Atkins paused and glared back at Anthony, who had yet to flinch.
"I guess you're shit out of luck Atkins, may as well crawl back under that rock of yours," Anthony responded bluntly.
"Yes. Yes. I could do that couldn't I?" Atkins countered, "or, and I think I prefer this option, we could make our way to that hatch anyway and see just how dead our leviathan friend truly is."
Anthony shrugged, and nodded.
"Be my guest," he replied, sounding unconcerned.
"I must admit, I am more than a little curious as to what he has been hiding from us all this time." Atkins said with a hint of genuine enthusiasm.
"Me too," Anthony muttered.
"Pick him up," Atkins barked to two of him men, peering down his nose at them, as if to remind them to be careful. He then grasped Anthony's arm tightly and dragged him towards the basement door. "Interesting fact Bishop," Atkins started, "about tetrodotoxin." He paused, perhaps expected Anthony to respond, but Anthony felt it better to leave him hanging. He wondered how long it would be before Atkins picked up that he had no intention of taking the conversational bait. Atkins was always fishing for the dramatic, the theatrical. He never did things the easy way, it always had to have some sort of flourish. That pissed Anthony off.
"It doesn't work. You take it. You die. The idea it created the zombie myth is just populist trash." Atkins finally continued regardless. Almost forty seconds he'd waited, Anthony counted. A lot can happen in forty seconds. In that time Anthony had concluded that Krank had not poisoned himself with tetrodotoxin. Atkins was right about that; the chances of surviving the toxic poison was slim, and that was with a stomach pump and a life support machine. The second was that he had definitely hit Krank smack in the middle of his metal plate and although it would have hurt like a son of a bitch, he would not have a punctured lung filling with fluids, soon to drown him. This meant that if they did get to the hatch, there was all the chance in the world that everything Krank had fought to protect was about to be revealed. Killing Krank was clearly harder than he had expected. There was only one chance left and it would be a serious risk.
They reached the basement door and one of Atkins' seemingly silent men opened the door, before stepping in and lifting the stone hatch. It was at this precise moment that Anthony made his move. His elbow found its way expertly into Atkins' kidney, sending him crashing to the floor. Before anyone could react Anthony had grabbed the gun from the nearest man to him and then shoved it back at his face, cracking the butt into the man's chin. The man who had opened the hatch lunged at him with a muted cry, but Anthony was already diving at the pair carrying Krank. With his vast bulk weighing them down, they were unable to prevent him from grasping Krank by his belt, and with all his might, leaning back and tumbling onto his back. Krank's dead weight threatened to overwhelm him but with a grunt he managed to prop Krank up with his raised legs as he fell back and quickly gravity stepped in to help, pulling the vast man's limp body backwards, over Anthony's shoulder and into the gaping hole of the basement. All heard his body tumble and crash down the stone stairs before coming to a bone crunching halt.
Atkins picked himself from the floor, his face twisted with fury. He eyed his men menacingly before turning to Anthony, who was already standing again.
"You've just condemned you and your pals. You know that right?" Atkins rasped angrily.
"If you wanted us dead you'd have blown us to kingdom come, not knocked on the door and played peeka-fucking-boo," Anthony's replied defiantly.
"Get down there," Atkins demanded, dusting down his fatigues, trying to recover his composure.
Anthony obliged, hoping Krank wouldn't be too pissed about being chucked down the stairs.
"Like you said," Krank agreed.
Anthony turned and pointed his gun at Krank.
"You'll have to die."
"Makes sense," Krank replied, unconcerned.
"How can we do this?" Anthony asked, peering through the cracked window pane, checking for signs of life.
"You wanted to see what I have in my medicine cabinet," Krank said with a grin.
Anthony nodded, before pointing his gun out of the window one last time and firing off a few thunderous rounds randomly, without even looking where he was aiming. Krank took the opportunity to stand and began to make his way out of the living room. In a split second Anthony was behind him and followed the hulking man as he wound his way through the corridor and into the kitchen. The sink was stacked with filthy, food encrusted plates, upon which flies were busily darting about. The hob was similarly unkempt, adorned with rusting metal pots and a saucepan that had a slick layer of hardened fat sitting inside.
Much to Anthony's surprise Krank made a beeline for the oven, and appeared to be turning on one of the hobs.
"No time for a bacon buttie Krank," Anthony muttered, his eyes scouring all around, his ears alert to any imminent intruders. He turned back to Krank just in time to see the top of the oven pop open with a sigh and the entire hob simply lifted like a lid, the dirty pots and pans staying in place, presumably glued on as props. Anthony couldn't help but cackle at the sight, as Krank leant in and began routing around in the depths of the oven. "A little theatrical don't you think?" Anthony said with a laugh.
"Needs must," Krank retorted, his deep voice muffled within the oven.
"Whatever you're looking for, you need to find it soon mate," Anthony hissed, his face suddenly serious. He had heard the click of the front door and knew they were going to be overwhelmed within a minute.
"Ha!" Krank cheered triumphantly, emerging from the fake oven and slamming the hob back down so it looked as unassuming as before. In his hand was a small clear, unlabelled bottle, protected with a wax sealed cork.
Both men were aware of the footsteps, at least half a dozen men from the sound of it, in the house and searching, room by room. It would be seconds before they were found.
"No time for pleasantries it seems," Krank lamented before smashing the tip of the bottle off on the counter top and gouging his neck with the shattered remains, allowing the colourless liquid to seep into the wound. Anthony stared at him, watching the blood weep out from the deep self-inflicted wound. Nothing happened and Anthony felt a sense of panic well up in his chest. Had Krank picked the wrong bottle? Were the symptoms too slow for this purpose? Goddamn it Krank, you should be prepared for any and all eventualities, how can this be part of your plan?
"What are you waiting for man?" Krank shouted at Anthony in frustration. Anthony frowned, genuinely unsure what Krank wanted of him. "Shoot me you stupid bastard," Krank screamed as the shadows of their attackers made themselves apparent on the stained wall of the hallway. Trusting Krank knew what he was doing Anthony duly lifted his handgun without further hesitation, and, just as five men burst in pointing their weapons directly at the pair, he fired. Before anyone could react, Krank tumbled to the floor like a sack of potatoes. A trickle of blood seeped out from his chest.
"Drop your weapon," one man shouted gruffly. Anthony readily obliged, knowing to do anything else would end with him riddled with holes.
"Commander Bishop?" a familiar voice rasped from the hallway. Anthony's heart sunk. He despised that voice. He despised the man it belonged to. He despised everything he represented. "Lower you weapons," the voice commanded.
The men did as told and then parted without a word, allowing the tall thin man to step through grandly.
"Atkins," Anthony acknowledged, his voice low and threatening.
"Bishop," Atkins responded, "it seems you are trying to sabotage my operation." He peered down at the shattered remains of the bottle Krank had been holding and stooped to investigate. Silently he waved to one of his men, who responded by handing him a glove. Anthony watched as he pulled on the glove with a theatrical flourish and then picked up the bottle gingerly. A quick sniff of the residue and the bottle was quickly discarded, along with the glove. Atkins stood and strode up to a defiant Anthony.
"Tetrodotoxin," Atkins rasped, "how," he gave a thoughtful pause, "predictable," he finished, before turning to look at the chest wound, still oozing blood. "That, on the other hand, is unexpected." Atkins turned to another of his men and nodded to Krank's body, "check him." The man nodded, but before he could move Atkins grabbed his arm and pulled him close, "careful," he hissed, barely discernible through his thick sandpaper voice. Again the man nodded dutifully before heading over to Krank and kneeling down to undertake a quick examination. Anthony didn't take his eyes off Atkins.
After about a minute the man stood and whispered something into Atkins' ear. Atkins nodded gravely and stroked his trimmed beard thoughtfully.
"My understanding is that to open this hatchway, I need that man both alive and with a healthy pulse. My man here tells me he is currently alive, but soon to die from either toxic poisoning or your gunshot wound." Atkins paused and glared back at Anthony, who had yet to flinch.
"I guess you're shit out of luck Atkins, may as well crawl back under that rock of yours," Anthony responded bluntly.
"Yes. Yes. I could do that couldn't I?" Atkins countered, "or, and I think I prefer this option, we could make our way to that hatch anyway and see just how dead our leviathan friend truly is."
Anthony shrugged, and nodded.
"Be my guest," he replied, sounding unconcerned.
"I must admit, I am more than a little curious as to what he has been hiding from us all this time." Atkins said with a hint of genuine enthusiasm.
"Me too," Anthony muttered.
"Pick him up," Atkins barked to two of him men, peering down his nose at them, as if to remind them to be careful. He then grasped Anthony's arm tightly and dragged him towards the basement door. "Interesting fact Bishop," Atkins started, "about tetrodotoxin." He paused, perhaps expected Anthony to respond, but Anthony felt it better to leave him hanging. He wondered how long it would be before Atkins picked up that he had no intention of taking the conversational bait. Atkins was always fishing for the dramatic, the theatrical. He never did things the easy way, it always had to have some sort of flourish. That pissed Anthony off.
"It doesn't work. You take it. You die. The idea it created the zombie myth is just populist trash." Atkins finally continued regardless. Almost forty seconds he'd waited, Anthony counted. A lot can happen in forty seconds. In that time Anthony had concluded that Krank had not poisoned himself with tetrodotoxin. Atkins was right about that; the chances of surviving the toxic poison was slim, and that was with a stomach pump and a life support machine. The second was that he had definitely hit Krank smack in the middle of his metal plate and although it would have hurt like a son of a bitch, he would not have a punctured lung filling with fluids, soon to drown him. This meant that if they did get to the hatch, there was all the chance in the world that everything Krank had fought to protect was about to be revealed. Killing Krank was clearly harder than he had expected. There was only one chance left and it would be a serious risk.
They reached the basement door and one of Atkins' seemingly silent men opened the door, before stepping in and lifting the stone hatch. It was at this precise moment that Anthony made his move. His elbow found its way expertly into Atkins' kidney, sending him crashing to the floor. Before anyone could react Anthony had grabbed the gun from the nearest man to him and then shoved it back at his face, cracking the butt into the man's chin. The man who had opened the hatch lunged at him with a muted cry, but Anthony was already diving at the pair carrying Krank. With his vast bulk weighing them down, they were unable to prevent him from grasping Krank by his belt, and with all his might, leaning back and tumbling onto his back. Krank's dead weight threatened to overwhelm him but with a grunt he managed to prop Krank up with his raised legs as he fell back and quickly gravity stepped in to help, pulling the vast man's limp body backwards, over Anthony's shoulder and into the gaping hole of the basement. All heard his body tumble and crash down the stone stairs before coming to a bone crunching halt.
Atkins picked himself from the floor, his face twisted with fury. He eyed his men menacingly before turning to Anthony, who was already standing again.
"You've just condemned you and your pals. You know that right?" Atkins rasped angrily.
"If you wanted us dead you'd have blown us to kingdom come, not knocked on the door and played peeka-fucking-boo," Anthony's replied defiantly.
"Get down there," Atkins demanded, dusting down his fatigues, trying to recover his composure.
Anthony obliged, hoping Krank wouldn't be too pissed about being chucked down the stairs.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)