"Steady now lads," Krank commanded, watching Jake and James carefully position Art's makeshift stretcher, so his head could be slid into the same cube that had just fixed the bone in his arm. "What I think you'll need to do fellas, is keep hold of the tail end, to ensure his head is cubed," he instructed.
Ebbe had hoped to prop the stretcher between the columns that housed each black cube. But they were too far apart, and Ebbe was convinced the area she wished to heal needed to be contained within the dark space contained within. With no real tools at their disposal, a manual solution was all they could manage.
"You sure you can keep him still?" Ebbe pressed, "I don't know what would happen if he was moved." Before thinking she had no idea what would happen even if he is kept perfectly still.
"We got him," Jake replied bluntly, his steely eyes confirming to Ebbe his resolution more than the words. That was as good as it could be. DIY brain surgery. That's what this was. But Ebbe was defiant in her decision to pursue the idea. The man had had a bullet lodged in his brain for goodness sakes, and since then, he had been bumped and jostled about. His chances, even with immediate medical care, were slim to none. Now, the best anyone could truly hope for was a vegetative state. But maybe, these curious blocks of shimmering black, these cubes absent of light, maybe they could offer an otherworldly cure. Ebbe had reached in and sought out the materials required to fix Krank's arm, and the proof it had worked was right in front of her. What difference was a brain? It's just neural tissue.
Yes, but, to fix the bone in an arm, she needed bone. Extracting that from the man who had trapped them down here was one thing. To do what she was planning was to condemn another human to death. Could she truly do that? At first, the thrill of thinking she could cure the incurable had been fuel to her fire. The breathtaking complexity at work within the cubes was overpowering, overwhelming, and intoxicating. The moment she had seen Krank flex his arm, she had felt power such as she'd never known, and she wanted more.
"Ebbe? All ready girl?" Krank beamed, bringing her out of her own thoughts.
"Sorry?" she answered.
"Our man is in position. Time for the magic show," he grinned excitedly, clearly also gripped with the thrill of it all.
Ebbe sucked in a deep breath of still, tasteless air and nodded. Eta and Xi, the Greek letters, were again to be her goal. Most of the cubes had contained different letters, some had been identical pairs, such at the one she was about to insert her shaking hand, and the one Art was placed like a patient getting a CAT scan.
"Eta," she mumbled, staring into the void, her hand hovering over the surface.
"What's that love?" Krank responded uncertainly.
"A metric tensor Chum old boy," she muttered, her eyes fixated on the lifeless black cube, "it's the geometry of spacetime. It's beautiful," she added.
Krank swayed his head up and down in the approximation of a nod, lips pursed, before turning to Jake and James, and shaking to say he hadn't understood anything she'd just said.
"It's as if I can just reach in here and choose the DNA from any time and space I wish," she marvelled, eyes wide, face frozen.
"Ebbe?" Krank stepped towards her with concern, arm outstretched.
"Don't move," she shouted, waving an arm at him without turning. Krank froze on the spot, face dropping into confusion.
Ebbe ended her hesitation and plunged the tips of her fingers into the inky black. There was the letter, as before, floating, if that was the right term, within the cube. How it appeared as your hand entered the device, and why it was a Greek alphabet, Ebbe didn't really understand. Was it an alien technology? But why the human language?
No time for such musings woman! Focus on the task at hand.
With a deep inhale, Ebbe focused on Art.
A surge of electricity coursed through her veins and she found she was inside the sub-atomic particles that were Art. Lightning flashed, once, twice, three times. It didn't just flash, it sought her out, fired through her, seared her. But she became the lightning, until it died out, and it was dark. There was something foreign sitting in the black. The storm still surged far in the distance, snaps of synaptic lightning bolts firing. Bang, snap, crack. Yet, it was fading away, no longer the crack and snap. I need to extract these protons, neutrons and electrons, they aren't us, she thought, as her, as Art, as everything. They are holding the storm at bay. We need the storm to survive.
Without extracting her left hand, she slid the right into the opposite cube, her eyes looking straight ahead without seeing. The letter was grasped instinctively and the collective her, saw the basement, saw Anthony was no longer there. Two new bodies were lying opposite Shark man. None were Anthony and so she was out of the basement and into the corridor. Another body, not Anthony. She was the house. The house could not see Anthony inside it. But it could see him outside.
Ebbe was the moist early morning air. Anthony told the air to check the bushes. The air was already rustling the leaves, dancing around their stalks, and sending chills down the neck of the man staring down a sniper rifle at Anthony. The air sank into the man and knew he was preparing to shoot. He was aiming at Anthony, and Anthony was smiling and waving.
The foreign particles lodged within Art, we don't want them. We need to repair. Replace the neurons.
A finger pressed against a trigger.
Ebbe felt the ground rumble, begin to shake violently, before the white walls and floor cracked and tumbled away from her. A muzzle flashed and the smell of gunpowder and burning flesh filled her nostrils. A bullet burrowed it's way into the back of her skull and lodged itself in the parietal lobe. Her vision blurred and faded, blood oozing from the back of her skull. She tried to lift a hand a check the entry wound, but her limbs were weighed down by imperceptible bonds. A hazy blackness drifted over her, as she felt her lifeforce ebb away. It was so blank, so meaningless.
Blackness.
Friday, 22 August 2014
Monday, 18 August 2014
Chapter 13 - Part 2
Anthony raised his hands and stepped out from the hatch.
"All right, all right," he spat at an unseen captor, turning his head to look back down into the hole. "I'm going as fast as I can," he grumbled, stumbling over the lip of the opening.
In the few seconds this ruse had afforded him, Anthony had clocked three men in the corridor. Two had been watching as he stepped out, their guns trained on his head the second it was visible. The third seemed to be sitting with his back to the hatch. He suspected his charade had about ten seconds max before they rumbled him. That left the concern of the third person. Dealing with two armed men was possible, but a third man could just shoot him by the time the second man was disarmed. Anthony, in the few seconds he had left, had a snap decision to make; continue with the current plan, or retreat.
"Okay I'm clear. Let them go," he shouted back into the basement, infusing his voice with a quivering fear.
The guard to the left of the hatch took the bait and peered down, curious to see what might be happening.
In a second Anthony had sent an elbow into the nose of the man who had never taken his eyes off him since he'd emerged. Not pausing, he launched his body at the other guard, and winded him with a knee to the stomach. A swift palm to his throat left him incapacitated. Anthony then grabbed at the knife strapped to the guard's combat jacket, and slit the leather gun strap, enabling him to slip the semi-automatic weapon away and turn it to face the third man. Much to Anthony's surprise, he did not appear to have reacted to the commotion behind him. Tentatively Anthony tip-toed up to the man, still wary of who else may be nearby. A gentle prod with the muzzle of the gun on the nape of his neck gained no reaction. Lucky for you, pal, Anthony thought, any wrong move and the trigger would have been pulled. He crept cautiously to the left, keeping his focus directly on the sitting figure, the gun primed to shoot with any untoward movement.
The grotesque face that greeted him confirmed that the third man was no threat. His nose was crushed inward, his right eye socket empty. The upper lip had been ripped away, exposing his upper jaw. Poor sod looked like he'd been dropped from a great height and landed somewhere unfriendly. Probably one of the external guards, that, as Anthony had guessed, had been lifted upwards during the event.
That's the best bloody news for days, Anthony snorted to himself, if this bugger had gone on a flying trip, so had anyone else outside. Now there was a little time to get sorted, he concluded. Ebbe and the others weren't coming back out from the basement entrance, so that would suffice as a cell for anyone left alive. A quick pat down revealed no evidence of ID or an employer. It was a faint chance, but Anthony never made assumptions.
After relieving them of their weapons and radios, Anthony unceremoniously dumped the two guards into the hatch, not really caring what damage the fall could do. Work for scum like Atkins and think yourself lucky you're not dead, he figured.
Now fully armed, Anthony started to feel normal again. I wonder how extensive and powerful the gravity event was, he pondered as he began a security sweep of the farmhouse. Before heading outside, he needed to be sure no bugger would come bursting from the house all guns blazing. With simple efficiency he secured the building within two minutes. Not another soul. Anthony paused in the front room and stared at the monitors, trying to assess the surroundings. One of his questions was answered, the Land Rover was lying on it's side, with what looked like the door twisted underneath. The extent of the damage was difficult to assess via the CCTV, but it confirmed that the event had extended far enough to lift the weighty vehicle from the earth. Anthony wanted Ebbe here now, to coldly explain the cosmological cause of such phenomena. She seemed to understand more about all this shit than anyone. The brass knew something. Whoever had sent Atkins knew something. But if they had understood it the way she did, would they have used her simply as a pawn to get entry into the basement? Probably, Anthony snorted with derision. The guys in chance had a way of misusing their greatest assets, and putting their eggs in the wrong baskets. You didn't get into power by being the smartest, but by being the most ruthless. Smart people had to hide in farmhouses, under threat of imminent assassination.
Too much thinking buddy, he chastised, wary of time slipping by. Ebbe was somewhere below his feet, and the best he could do for her now was to get back to base and find out who or what was operating the cogs in this particular machine. The sons of bitches clearly came in some sort of transport. Hopefully they didn't all end up on their sides like the old Landy.
With one semi strapped across his chest, a second grasped in his hands, a pistol strapped to his thigh, and a knife slotted into his sheath, Anthony furrowed his brow with determination and made his way to the front door.
The CCTV had not revealed any obvious sign of life in the immediate surroundings. That made him nervous. It would be much better to have seen a body or two lying face down, having suffered a similar fate to the guard, still solemnly guarding the basement hatchway. If not that, guards patrolling, or hiding in the shadows. But both were notable by their absence. Anthony feared this meant there were no such guards, but instead snipers who were well out of sight, possibly far away enough to have escaped the weightlessness. Too many damned unknowns were piled up on this balls-up of a mission. Anthony hated being in the dark. It was dangerously close to losing. Anthony didn't like losing.
There was no way around it. He would just exit the building as if he was the boss. His prisoner ruse would fail in the scope of a sniper, primed and ready to splash his brains on the driveway. The ruse now was to be disconcertingly confident.
The fractured wooden door creaked open and Anthony strode out, back straight, guns at his side casually. His assessment of the exterior via CCTV had already informed his route. He did not show surprise as seeing the toppled Land Rover. He barely gave it a glance. Moreover he looked into a thicketed area to the far right and gave the area a smile and a nod. If there were a sniper, that's where he'd be. There were several trees tall enough to provide a good view of the whole house and driveway. Plus, with the thick foliage, enough cover to hide. Not too close, but close enough that if sniping became impossible, such as a close quarters fight, he could bail on his rifle and get to the fight on foot within minutes.
That right buddy, Anthony smiled to the potential sniper, I'm the fucking boss and nobody shoots the boss. Something else stirred Anthony's courage further. It was an odd, immeasurable sensation that Ebbe, somehow, was watching. Logic and common sense told him that was ridiculous, yet he couldn't shake the feeling.
"Ebbe," he said out loud, wanting to externalise his thoughts, "if you're watching, check the bushes at 2 o'clock and sort any son of a bitch who may be about to crack my skull open would ya?" Curling his lips into a foolish smile, he told himself off for letting all the spooky business turn him into a crack pot. A week ago I'd have kicked my own arse for thinking such hippy crap, he cursed.
No bullet yet. Brain was still intact. Skull was not shattered. Moreover the cool morning air, thick with moisture, was invigorating. What did his mum used to call it? The breath of God? That was it; she used to say God was blowing away the night, and just like when you blow with your lips pursed, the breath was cool. She said, once the darkness had been blown away, God let out a sigh, and warm breath would replace the cool.
God had done a good job of clearing the night this morning. Anthony could see no apparent clouds in the heavens, only pastel blue from horizon to horizon. He paused in his tracks, staring up, the concerns over the guards, or the sniper temporarily forgotten. His eyes scanned back and forth intently, his face wrought with bemusement. If it was morning, if there were no clouds, where was the sun, peeking over the horizon to the east? Where was orange, red, dark blue, and shades within? There was simply blue. One shade. From east to west, from north to south. The sky was merely a blank canvass this morning, upon which the artist had yet to start.
Ebbe, Ebbe, where are you woman? Nothing makes sense any more. Was it even morning? He had assumed as much only due to the blue sky and the light mist lifting from the surrounding fields, having deposited jewels of dew upon the blades of grass. But the scene was frozen. It was as if he were walking through a paused nature documentary.
Shaking his head in frustration, effectively trying to fling the bafflement aside, Anthony forced his focus back to the potential, unseen threat he could still be walking towards. The consolation currently, was that every footstep took him closer towards the bushes, theoretically meaning he was one step further from being shot. If he was going to shoot, why not earlier? If he was waiting, it would soon be too late, Anthony would be too close for a rifle shot.
The lack of either surviving members of Atkins' team, or their bodies, was still playing on his mind. Had they simply flown off and never returned? Just what had happened whilst they were duking it out below? Unknowns, and unknown unknowns. All bloody useless. Anthony could extrapolate information from most combat situations. This one was unreadable. As blank and illogical as that stubbornly blue sky above him.
Rather than get concerned about that again he focused on the tree he suspected the sniper would be ensconced. It was a chunky oak with plenty of thick branches to provide support for a man and his weapon. If there were a sun he would be looking out for a glint of glass from the scope. But there was nothing, and wishing for tools you did not possess was not wise.
More steps. Still no bullet. Within a few steps he would be too close for a sniper rifle.
Three. Two. One. Anthony broke out into the best approximation of a sprint his tired legs would allow. If, for some reason, the sniper had been waiting for him to get closer, Anthony wanted to be upon the tree as swiftly as possible. He had already concluded that the only thing he could expect in this mission, was the unexpected. So although he expected there to be a sniper, what that ultimately led to was hard to quantify.
Within a minute he reached the gnarled trunk of the oak, half smothered in a creeping vine, slowly extracting the life from the leviathan.
"Throw down your weapon," Anthony hollered, having already spotted a foot peeking from the undergrowth. No response, no movement, no noise. "I said thrown down your weapon,or I'll shoot," he yelled again. Nothing. "God damn it," he cursed. Why didn't anything work as it should any more? What kind of moron stares at his enemy through a rifle for ten minutes without shooting, then refuses to act when threatened?
"Fella! This is your final warning." Again, nothing. Anthony raised a gun and primed it to shoot directly into the foliage at the approximate position the sniper's head ought to be, Anthony was not one for idle threats. If he says he will shoot, he'll shoot.
But the gun was lowered. It wasn't right. It was bloody foolish and Anthony had to check it out.
"I'm gonna regret this," he told himself, before releasing his weapon and grasping at a low lying branch. With a few grunts, he pulled himself up the tree and peered through the dark green leaves, trying to discern the figure of the man he had partially spotted below. There! A limb resting upon a thick, twisted branch extending towards the drive. Andrew twisted his body and dropped a toe onto the joint, where the branch merged with the trunk. A quick kick to the foot garnered no reaction.
Jesus, maybe he's only here because he fell here after the gravity returned. Maybe all the bodies he was expecting to see had been dropped into the trees and bushes! Shaking away wild theories that had no evidence to back them up, Andrew carefully stepped further out onto the limb. Wary of toppling over, he balanced on his worse-for-wear legs, and leaned over the torso of a sturdily built man. He could see the man had his fingers grasping a long-range sniping rifle, his face propped against the scope, as if he were about to release a killer shot. Curiosity building up to bursting point, Anthony leaned further forward, straining to see the man's face.
The face was pale, eyes open, still staring vacantly into the distance. But there seemed to be light in the pale green orbs. These were not the eyes of a dead man. Anthony held a shaky hand close to the sniper's nose, swiftly withdrawing it when he felt a hint of hot breath upon his cold digits. Anthony withdrew and stood to the back of the branch, steadying himself against the rough bark of the trunk. What the hell was going on? He stared at the motionless man, unable to comprehend. His eye was attracted to a dark patch of matted hair in the rear of the skull. With shaking hands he leaned back over and gently rubbed the skull with his thumb. There was a bullet hole! Anthony stood back up with a start, almost toppling from the tree in the process. He turned to looked behind, concerned about another sniper, a rival team perhaps. But all he could see was thick branches and foliage. Nobody could see into the damn tree. And the sniper would have known if someone was in the tree long enough to move away from his gun. Besides the bullet hadn't even passed out of his skull, that was evident from his brief look. Even a stray bullet from another sniper would have torn part of his face out.
Somehow this highly trained sniper had been victim to an attempted assassination twenty feet in the air, by an invisible assailant, who hadn't bothered to stay and finish the task at hand.
"All right, all right," he spat at an unseen captor, turning his head to look back down into the hole. "I'm going as fast as I can," he grumbled, stumbling over the lip of the opening.
In the few seconds this ruse had afforded him, Anthony had clocked three men in the corridor. Two had been watching as he stepped out, their guns trained on his head the second it was visible. The third seemed to be sitting with his back to the hatch. He suspected his charade had about ten seconds max before they rumbled him. That left the concern of the third person. Dealing with two armed men was possible, but a third man could just shoot him by the time the second man was disarmed. Anthony, in the few seconds he had left, had a snap decision to make; continue with the current plan, or retreat.
"Okay I'm clear. Let them go," he shouted back into the basement, infusing his voice with a quivering fear.
The guard to the left of the hatch took the bait and peered down, curious to see what might be happening.
In a second Anthony had sent an elbow into the nose of the man who had never taken his eyes off him since he'd emerged. Not pausing, he launched his body at the other guard, and winded him with a knee to the stomach. A swift palm to his throat left him incapacitated. Anthony then grabbed at the knife strapped to the guard's combat jacket, and slit the leather gun strap, enabling him to slip the semi-automatic weapon away and turn it to face the third man. Much to Anthony's surprise, he did not appear to have reacted to the commotion behind him. Tentatively Anthony tip-toed up to the man, still wary of who else may be nearby. A gentle prod with the muzzle of the gun on the nape of his neck gained no reaction. Lucky for you, pal, Anthony thought, any wrong move and the trigger would have been pulled. He crept cautiously to the left, keeping his focus directly on the sitting figure, the gun primed to shoot with any untoward movement.
The grotesque face that greeted him confirmed that the third man was no threat. His nose was crushed inward, his right eye socket empty. The upper lip had been ripped away, exposing his upper jaw. Poor sod looked like he'd been dropped from a great height and landed somewhere unfriendly. Probably one of the external guards, that, as Anthony had guessed, had been lifted upwards during the event.
That's the best bloody news for days, Anthony snorted to himself, if this bugger had gone on a flying trip, so had anyone else outside. Now there was a little time to get sorted, he concluded. Ebbe and the others weren't coming back out from the basement entrance, so that would suffice as a cell for anyone left alive. A quick pat down revealed no evidence of ID or an employer. It was a faint chance, but Anthony never made assumptions.
After relieving them of their weapons and radios, Anthony unceremoniously dumped the two guards into the hatch, not really caring what damage the fall could do. Work for scum like Atkins and think yourself lucky you're not dead, he figured.
Now fully armed, Anthony started to feel normal again. I wonder how extensive and powerful the gravity event was, he pondered as he began a security sweep of the farmhouse. Before heading outside, he needed to be sure no bugger would come bursting from the house all guns blazing. With simple efficiency he secured the building within two minutes. Not another soul. Anthony paused in the front room and stared at the monitors, trying to assess the surroundings. One of his questions was answered, the Land Rover was lying on it's side, with what looked like the door twisted underneath. The extent of the damage was difficult to assess via the CCTV, but it confirmed that the event had extended far enough to lift the weighty vehicle from the earth. Anthony wanted Ebbe here now, to coldly explain the cosmological cause of such phenomena. She seemed to understand more about all this shit than anyone. The brass knew something. Whoever had sent Atkins knew something. But if they had understood it the way she did, would they have used her simply as a pawn to get entry into the basement? Probably, Anthony snorted with derision. The guys in chance had a way of misusing their greatest assets, and putting their eggs in the wrong baskets. You didn't get into power by being the smartest, but by being the most ruthless. Smart people had to hide in farmhouses, under threat of imminent assassination.
Too much thinking buddy, he chastised, wary of time slipping by. Ebbe was somewhere below his feet, and the best he could do for her now was to get back to base and find out who or what was operating the cogs in this particular machine. The sons of bitches clearly came in some sort of transport. Hopefully they didn't all end up on their sides like the old Landy.
With one semi strapped across his chest, a second grasped in his hands, a pistol strapped to his thigh, and a knife slotted into his sheath, Anthony furrowed his brow with determination and made his way to the front door.
The CCTV had not revealed any obvious sign of life in the immediate surroundings. That made him nervous. It would be much better to have seen a body or two lying face down, having suffered a similar fate to the guard, still solemnly guarding the basement hatchway. If not that, guards patrolling, or hiding in the shadows. But both were notable by their absence. Anthony feared this meant there were no such guards, but instead snipers who were well out of sight, possibly far away enough to have escaped the weightlessness. Too many damned unknowns were piled up on this balls-up of a mission. Anthony hated being in the dark. It was dangerously close to losing. Anthony didn't like losing.
There was no way around it. He would just exit the building as if he was the boss. His prisoner ruse would fail in the scope of a sniper, primed and ready to splash his brains on the driveway. The ruse now was to be disconcertingly confident.
The fractured wooden door creaked open and Anthony strode out, back straight, guns at his side casually. His assessment of the exterior via CCTV had already informed his route. He did not show surprise as seeing the toppled Land Rover. He barely gave it a glance. Moreover he looked into a thicketed area to the far right and gave the area a smile and a nod. If there were a sniper, that's where he'd be. There were several trees tall enough to provide a good view of the whole house and driveway. Plus, with the thick foliage, enough cover to hide. Not too close, but close enough that if sniping became impossible, such as a close quarters fight, he could bail on his rifle and get to the fight on foot within minutes.
That right buddy, Anthony smiled to the potential sniper, I'm the fucking boss and nobody shoots the boss. Something else stirred Anthony's courage further. It was an odd, immeasurable sensation that Ebbe, somehow, was watching. Logic and common sense told him that was ridiculous, yet he couldn't shake the feeling.
"Ebbe," he said out loud, wanting to externalise his thoughts, "if you're watching, check the bushes at 2 o'clock and sort any son of a bitch who may be about to crack my skull open would ya?" Curling his lips into a foolish smile, he told himself off for letting all the spooky business turn him into a crack pot. A week ago I'd have kicked my own arse for thinking such hippy crap, he cursed.
No bullet yet. Brain was still intact. Skull was not shattered. Moreover the cool morning air, thick with moisture, was invigorating. What did his mum used to call it? The breath of God? That was it; she used to say God was blowing away the night, and just like when you blow with your lips pursed, the breath was cool. She said, once the darkness had been blown away, God let out a sigh, and warm breath would replace the cool.
God had done a good job of clearing the night this morning. Anthony could see no apparent clouds in the heavens, only pastel blue from horizon to horizon. He paused in his tracks, staring up, the concerns over the guards, or the sniper temporarily forgotten. His eyes scanned back and forth intently, his face wrought with bemusement. If it was morning, if there were no clouds, where was the sun, peeking over the horizon to the east? Where was orange, red, dark blue, and shades within? There was simply blue. One shade. From east to west, from north to south. The sky was merely a blank canvass this morning, upon which the artist had yet to start.
Ebbe, Ebbe, where are you woman? Nothing makes sense any more. Was it even morning? He had assumed as much only due to the blue sky and the light mist lifting from the surrounding fields, having deposited jewels of dew upon the blades of grass. But the scene was frozen. It was as if he were walking through a paused nature documentary.
Shaking his head in frustration, effectively trying to fling the bafflement aside, Anthony forced his focus back to the potential, unseen threat he could still be walking towards. The consolation currently, was that every footstep took him closer towards the bushes, theoretically meaning he was one step further from being shot. If he was going to shoot, why not earlier? If he was waiting, it would soon be too late, Anthony would be too close for a rifle shot.
The lack of either surviving members of Atkins' team, or their bodies, was still playing on his mind. Had they simply flown off and never returned? Just what had happened whilst they were duking it out below? Unknowns, and unknown unknowns. All bloody useless. Anthony could extrapolate information from most combat situations. This one was unreadable. As blank and illogical as that stubbornly blue sky above him.
Rather than get concerned about that again he focused on the tree he suspected the sniper would be ensconced. It was a chunky oak with plenty of thick branches to provide support for a man and his weapon. If there were a sun he would be looking out for a glint of glass from the scope. But there was nothing, and wishing for tools you did not possess was not wise.
More steps. Still no bullet. Within a few steps he would be too close for a sniper rifle.
Three. Two. One. Anthony broke out into the best approximation of a sprint his tired legs would allow. If, for some reason, the sniper had been waiting for him to get closer, Anthony wanted to be upon the tree as swiftly as possible. He had already concluded that the only thing he could expect in this mission, was the unexpected. So although he expected there to be a sniper, what that ultimately led to was hard to quantify.
Within a minute he reached the gnarled trunk of the oak, half smothered in a creeping vine, slowly extracting the life from the leviathan.
"Throw down your weapon," Anthony hollered, having already spotted a foot peeking from the undergrowth. No response, no movement, no noise. "I said thrown down your weapon,or I'll shoot," he yelled again. Nothing. "God damn it," he cursed. Why didn't anything work as it should any more? What kind of moron stares at his enemy through a rifle for ten minutes without shooting, then refuses to act when threatened?
"Fella! This is your final warning." Again, nothing. Anthony raised a gun and primed it to shoot directly into the foliage at the approximate position the sniper's head ought to be, Anthony was not one for idle threats. If he says he will shoot, he'll shoot.
But the gun was lowered. It wasn't right. It was bloody foolish and Anthony had to check it out.
"I'm gonna regret this," he told himself, before releasing his weapon and grasping at a low lying branch. With a few grunts, he pulled himself up the tree and peered through the dark green leaves, trying to discern the figure of the man he had partially spotted below. There! A limb resting upon a thick, twisted branch extending towards the drive. Andrew twisted his body and dropped a toe onto the joint, where the branch merged with the trunk. A quick kick to the foot garnered no reaction.
Jesus, maybe he's only here because he fell here after the gravity returned. Maybe all the bodies he was expecting to see had been dropped into the trees and bushes! Shaking away wild theories that had no evidence to back them up, Andrew carefully stepped further out onto the limb. Wary of toppling over, he balanced on his worse-for-wear legs, and leaned over the torso of a sturdily built man. He could see the man had his fingers grasping a long-range sniping rifle, his face propped against the scope, as if he were about to release a killer shot. Curiosity building up to bursting point, Anthony leaned further forward, straining to see the man's face.
The face was pale, eyes open, still staring vacantly into the distance. But there seemed to be light in the pale green orbs. These were not the eyes of a dead man. Anthony held a shaky hand close to the sniper's nose, swiftly withdrawing it when he felt a hint of hot breath upon his cold digits. Anthony withdrew and stood to the back of the branch, steadying himself against the rough bark of the trunk. What the hell was going on? He stared at the motionless man, unable to comprehend. His eye was attracted to a dark patch of matted hair in the rear of the skull. With shaking hands he leaned back over and gently rubbed the skull with his thumb. There was a bullet hole! Anthony stood back up with a start, almost toppling from the tree in the process. He turned to looked behind, concerned about another sniper, a rival team perhaps. But all he could see was thick branches and foliage. Nobody could see into the damn tree. And the sniper would have known if someone was in the tree long enough to move away from his gun. Besides the bullet hadn't even passed out of his skull, that was evident from his brief look. Even a stray bullet from another sniper would have torn part of his face out.
Somehow this highly trained sniper had been victim to an attempted assassination twenty feet in the air, by an invisible assailant, who hadn't bothered to stay and finish the task at hand.
Sunday, 10 August 2014
Chapter 13 - Part 1
"It's a goddamned bullet!" Krank's deep guttural voice exclaimed, the bass dampened by the lack of echo.
Ebbe rubbed her head and blinked, trying to adjust to the blinding white light, unable to see where the mountainous man was.
"What is?" she mumbled, her voice sounding coarse and alien.
"Ebbe!" the voice exclaimed, followed seconds later by his beaming face leaning into view, as if he had been right beside her the whole time, somehow masked from view. "Jesus, Mary and Joseph, you gave us a bloody good scare. How do you feel?"
Ebbe rubbed her temples and stretched, pulling herself into a siting position. Her instant reaction was to say she felt rough and tired, because somehow that's how she thought she ought to feel. But she felt strong, rested, calm, and confident. It was as if she had a received an injection of adrenaline and endorphins, mixed with a few shots of vodka. A large hand was offered to help her off the slick white floor, but she refused it, and lifted herself off the floor with ease.
"I'm okay," she offered, preferring not to discuss the finer points of her unexpected health. "You were saying?" she asked, opting to deflect the question.
"Yes?" Krank replied blankly.
"Something about a bullet?" she pressed, curious to know what he had been looking at.
"Oh! Hell, it's over here," he gesticulated clumsily to the small black object wedged into the wall, close to where you might expect to see the ceiling in the average house. "It shot out of the bloody cube, and whacked itself into the wall. Whaddya say about that?"
Ebbe didn't say anything. It didn't make sense, but what did these days? For the bullet to have made it's way from the basement, to this room, would involve some sort of space displacement, on a scale that would surely tear the structure apart. It's akin to having a wormhole open up in your living room, simply to use as a waste bin. Yet, what had happened, had clearly happened, evidence of this was embedded in the otherwise pristine wall.
"James, Jake and Art?" Ebbe suddenly thought to ask.
"Here!" James piped up, though it was hard to discern from where, when the sound just died at source. Ebbe turned 360 degrees, only to find the trio seemingly right where she had been previously looking.
"This place," she started.
"We know," Krank replied before she could finish. "Disconcerting ain't it!" He strode over to the cubes and waved his hands over the shimmering black objects, "it's why no one ever stays down here too long, drives you crazy! Bad enough sitting up in the house above it. Something," he paused, pulling his hand away from the cubes suddenly, as if he had burned himself. "Something unnatural".
Ebbe stared at the shimmering blocks of pure black, hypnotised, her mind calculating furiously. She had seen the Greek letter lambda inside the cube she had used. That had been used to denote many concepts in science, but the one that struck her was a subatomic particle. These were particles smaller even than an atom, at a quantum level, where matter and energy behave very differently. Could it be that these objects were some sort of quantum control panel? If so, what on Earth did they control?
"What on Earth?" she repeated her thought out loud, an idea beginning to form.
"What's that love?" Krank responded.
"What on Earth? On Earth!" she repeated.
Krank shrugged, before wincing at the pain this re-ignited in his broken limb.
"Fuck!" he cursed, "forgot about that bastard."
Ebbe slowly walked up to the furthermost cube and gently waved her hand through the black mass. She took a moment to assess the sensation, before moving on to the next, repeating the same experiment.
"What's she up to?" James asked, pointing Krank to her methodical actions.
"Hey, hey, lady! Last time you did that we all ended up dancing a merry jig on the ceiling! Don't be jabbing any more pretty little hands in to those things!" Krank shouted, trying to sound angry, but actually sounding scared.
Ebbe didn't react, continuing her meticulous, short survey of each cube, one by one.
"What the hell?" Krank grumbled, as the group watched her vanish from view as she side-stepped to yet another cube. He turned to James, who shrugged, before gesturing to Art, as if saying he had been assigned to protect him, and nothing else. Krank, rolling his eyes, turned to Jake.
"Don't ask me buddy. The bitch is crazy if you ask me," he paused and twisted his face into a smiling grimace,"it's why I like her."
Krank threw his head back in despair, and was about to head in her direction, when her voice seemed to emanate from the walls.
"Come over here," Ebbe gestured to him.
"What?" came Krank's blunt response.
"Just come here man," Ebbe replied irritably, "I want to try something."
"What?" Krank queried suspiciously.
As abruptly as she'd vanished, her petite frame re-emerged from nothingness deep within the room. With an impatient wave of her hand, she gestured to Krank to head her way. With a heavy sigh he nodded back, before turning to Jake and James.
"Hold on to something fellas. You know, in case she sends us, up," he said with a comical frown, before he turned tail and reluctantly made his way deeper into the room.
"Lady," he boomed as he approached, "this better be good,"
"Oh, I think it is," Ebbe replied, "give me you arm."
Krank eyed her suspiciously.
"Please tell me you're not going to do what I think you're going to do," he grumbled, refusing to offer either arm.
"I don't think you could even comprehend what I think I'm going to do. Now, stick your arm up here you oaf," she retorted, patting the base under another identical black cube.
"What if I refuse?" Krank asked impudently.
"Arm," Ebbe replied, jabbing a finger at the white base, above which the shadowless cube hovered.
Rolling his eyes, Krank resignedly offered his right arm, pausing before shoving it directly into the cube.
"The other arm, idiot," Ebba scolded, shaking her head. "What the hell am I supposed to do with your good arm?"
"I don't know do I?" Krank grumbled, before grabbing his limp left arm, pausing before daring to lift it, "Ebbe, what are you?" She jabbed her finger at the base, causing him to break his sentence. "This better be bloody worth it," he grumbled, before grasping the broken limb and lifting it onto the based with a strained shout. "Jesus Christ!" he exclaimed out loud, biting his lip at the pain.
"Now stay still," Ebbe commanded.
"Really? I was thinking of doing bloody river dance love!" Krank replied sarcastically.
Ebbe didn't hear. She was focused intently on the next cube down. With the care of a surgeon, she slowly slid her left hand into the dusky cloud. Within the murk, she could see the free-floating Greek letter Eta appear, just as it had moments earlier. Focusing hard on Krank's arm in her mind, she grabbed at the letter, just as she had when the base's gravity had vanished.
Last time, it had been as if she was part of the basement, as if she was all the matter contained within that room. Now, she was inside Krank, in his blood, in his bone, his marrow. It was deeper than that, she was within the atoms that bonded together to make him. This time, there was no danger to distract her, no gun pointed, no bullet. There was flesh and bone. It wasn't that she was within him, she was him. The sensation was impossible to comprehend. Ebbe could no longer sense her own body, even the thoughts that had been her own seemed lost. What had she become Krank for? Why was she here?
She sensed damage, and she recalled seeing a broken arm. That was it. She was there to repair the snapped bone. But she didn't know if she could. Or How. A transfer of energy. A transfer. That's what she had planned. To fix something you need to replace the damaged parts.
For a second she released the phantom letter gripped within her left hand, and in the same instance, was pulled out of Krank, and was standing where she had actually been standing all along. Fighting the wave of dizziness that had floored her the first time, she immediately thrust her right hand into the adjoining cube. Another Greek letter, Xi, floated almost imperceptibly into view and once again Ebbe took hold. She needed someone who she didn't care for. All she could think of was Shark man. Immediately she found herself back in the basement. But not as part of it, this time she was within a body, as she had been with Krank. She was bound to the sub-atomic particles that made up this body, and yet she could see through his eyes. They were looking up at Anthony, poised at the top of the basement steps. She sensed that in his hand was a gun, pointed directly at Anthony.
Wasting no more time, Ebbe slid her left hand back into the first cube and grabbed Eta again. Double concentration was required. Her mind felt as if it were divided perfectly in half. She was no longer Ebbe, but Krank and Shark man. Not their thoughts, nor their motions. She was simply a sub-atomic passenger, unable to influence their actions.
All she needed to remember was the break. Even at the smallest scale, the snapped bone, the torn flesh within, was identifiable. Now the swap.
Ebbe couldn't hear if Shark man shouted, swore, or whether he remained conscious. But the micro-second she rended bone and flesh from within him and used it to re-bond the broken radius bone within Krank, she was thrown out from them both, as if she was ejected from both cubes. Stumbling backwards she tumbled to the glossy ivory floor, her head reeling.
"What have you done?" Krank exclaimed out of her sight, "Ebbe? What? How?"
His towering frame honed into view, and he offered her his left hand, his teeth showing in a wide grin.This time Ebbe opted to accept and allowed herself to be pulled up. But he didn't let go, and pulled her in for a crushing squeeze.
Finally releasing her from his bear hug, he practically dropped her back to the floor, where she landed with a surprised stumble.
"You bloody legend," he beamed, flexing his hand and swinging his arm, testing it out. "How in the bloody name of all things blessed did you do that?"
Ebbe shrugged, unable to offer anything that would even approach Krank's scientific understanding. She stared at the cubes, debating whether she should truly try what she was contemplating.
"I think," she started, having finally made her decision, "I can save Art."
Ebbe rubbed her head and blinked, trying to adjust to the blinding white light, unable to see where the mountainous man was.
"What is?" she mumbled, her voice sounding coarse and alien.
"Ebbe!" the voice exclaimed, followed seconds later by his beaming face leaning into view, as if he had been right beside her the whole time, somehow masked from view. "Jesus, Mary and Joseph, you gave us a bloody good scare. How do you feel?"
Ebbe rubbed her temples and stretched, pulling herself into a siting position. Her instant reaction was to say she felt rough and tired, because somehow that's how she thought she ought to feel. But she felt strong, rested, calm, and confident. It was as if she had a received an injection of adrenaline and endorphins, mixed with a few shots of vodka. A large hand was offered to help her off the slick white floor, but she refused it, and lifted herself off the floor with ease.
"I'm okay," she offered, preferring not to discuss the finer points of her unexpected health. "You were saying?" she asked, opting to deflect the question.
"Yes?" Krank replied blankly.
"Something about a bullet?" she pressed, curious to know what he had been looking at.
"Oh! Hell, it's over here," he gesticulated clumsily to the small black object wedged into the wall, close to where you might expect to see the ceiling in the average house. "It shot out of the bloody cube, and whacked itself into the wall. Whaddya say about that?"
Ebbe didn't say anything. It didn't make sense, but what did these days? For the bullet to have made it's way from the basement, to this room, would involve some sort of space displacement, on a scale that would surely tear the structure apart. It's akin to having a wormhole open up in your living room, simply to use as a waste bin. Yet, what had happened, had clearly happened, evidence of this was embedded in the otherwise pristine wall.
"James, Jake and Art?" Ebbe suddenly thought to ask.
"Here!" James piped up, though it was hard to discern from where, when the sound just died at source. Ebbe turned 360 degrees, only to find the trio seemingly right where she had been previously looking.
"This place," she started.
"We know," Krank replied before she could finish. "Disconcerting ain't it!" He strode over to the cubes and waved his hands over the shimmering black objects, "it's why no one ever stays down here too long, drives you crazy! Bad enough sitting up in the house above it. Something," he paused, pulling his hand away from the cubes suddenly, as if he had burned himself. "Something unnatural".
Ebbe stared at the shimmering blocks of pure black, hypnotised, her mind calculating furiously. She had seen the Greek letter lambda inside the cube she had used. That had been used to denote many concepts in science, but the one that struck her was a subatomic particle. These were particles smaller even than an atom, at a quantum level, where matter and energy behave very differently. Could it be that these objects were some sort of quantum control panel? If so, what on Earth did they control?
"What on Earth?" she repeated her thought out loud, an idea beginning to form.
"What's that love?" Krank responded.
"What on Earth? On Earth!" she repeated.
Krank shrugged, before wincing at the pain this re-ignited in his broken limb.
"Fuck!" he cursed, "forgot about that bastard."
Ebbe slowly walked up to the furthermost cube and gently waved her hand through the black mass. She took a moment to assess the sensation, before moving on to the next, repeating the same experiment.
"What's she up to?" James asked, pointing Krank to her methodical actions.
"Hey, hey, lady! Last time you did that we all ended up dancing a merry jig on the ceiling! Don't be jabbing any more pretty little hands in to those things!" Krank shouted, trying to sound angry, but actually sounding scared.
Ebbe didn't react, continuing her meticulous, short survey of each cube, one by one.
"What the hell?" Krank grumbled, as the group watched her vanish from view as she side-stepped to yet another cube. He turned to James, who shrugged, before gesturing to Art, as if saying he had been assigned to protect him, and nothing else. Krank, rolling his eyes, turned to Jake.
"Don't ask me buddy. The bitch is crazy if you ask me," he paused and twisted his face into a smiling grimace,"it's why I like her."
Krank threw his head back in despair, and was about to head in her direction, when her voice seemed to emanate from the walls.
"Come over here," Ebbe gestured to him.
"What?" came Krank's blunt response.
"Just come here man," Ebbe replied irritably, "I want to try something."
"What?" Krank queried suspiciously.
As abruptly as she'd vanished, her petite frame re-emerged from nothingness deep within the room. With an impatient wave of her hand, she gestured to Krank to head her way. With a heavy sigh he nodded back, before turning to Jake and James.
"Hold on to something fellas. You know, in case she sends us, up," he said with a comical frown, before he turned tail and reluctantly made his way deeper into the room.
"Lady," he boomed as he approached, "this better be good,"
"Oh, I think it is," Ebbe replied, "give me you arm."
Krank eyed her suspiciously.
"Please tell me you're not going to do what I think you're going to do," he grumbled, refusing to offer either arm.
"I don't think you could even comprehend what I think I'm going to do. Now, stick your arm up here you oaf," she retorted, patting the base under another identical black cube.
"What if I refuse?" Krank asked impudently.
"Arm," Ebbe replied, jabbing a finger at the white base, above which the shadowless cube hovered.
Rolling his eyes, Krank resignedly offered his right arm, pausing before shoving it directly into the cube.
"The other arm, idiot," Ebba scolded, shaking her head. "What the hell am I supposed to do with your good arm?"
"I don't know do I?" Krank grumbled, before grabbing his limp left arm, pausing before daring to lift it, "Ebbe, what are you?" She jabbed her finger at the base, causing him to break his sentence. "This better be bloody worth it," he grumbled, before grasping the broken limb and lifting it onto the based with a strained shout. "Jesus Christ!" he exclaimed out loud, biting his lip at the pain.
"Now stay still," Ebbe commanded.
"Really? I was thinking of doing bloody river dance love!" Krank replied sarcastically.
Ebbe didn't hear. She was focused intently on the next cube down. With the care of a surgeon, she slowly slid her left hand into the dusky cloud. Within the murk, she could see the free-floating Greek letter Eta appear, just as it had moments earlier. Focusing hard on Krank's arm in her mind, she grabbed at the letter, just as she had when the base's gravity had vanished.
Last time, it had been as if she was part of the basement, as if she was all the matter contained within that room. Now, she was inside Krank, in his blood, in his bone, his marrow. It was deeper than that, she was within the atoms that bonded together to make him. This time, there was no danger to distract her, no gun pointed, no bullet. There was flesh and bone. It wasn't that she was within him, she was him. The sensation was impossible to comprehend. Ebbe could no longer sense her own body, even the thoughts that had been her own seemed lost. What had she become Krank for? Why was she here?
She sensed damage, and she recalled seeing a broken arm. That was it. She was there to repair the snapped bone. But she didn't know if she could. Or How. A transfer of energy. A transfer. That's what she had planned. To fix something you need to replace the damaged parts.
For a second she released the phantom letter gripped within her left hand, and in the same instance, was pulled out of Krank, and was standing where she had actually been standing all along. Fighting the wave of dizziness that had floored her the first time, she immediately thrust her right hand into the adjoining cube. Another Greek letter, Xi, floated almost imperceptibly into view and once again Ebbe took hold. She needed someone who she didn't care for. All she could think of was Shark man. Immediately she found herself back in the basement. But not as part of it, this time she was within a body, as she had been with Krank. She was bound to the sub-atomic particles that made up this body, and yet she could see through his eyes. They were looking up at Anthony, poised at the top of the basement steps. She sensed that in his hand was a gun, pointed directly at Anthony.
Wasting no more time, Ebbe slid her left hand back into the first cube and grabbed Eta again. Double concentration was required. Her mind felt as if it were divided perfectly in half. She was no longer Ebbe, but Krank and Shark man. Not their thoughts, nor their motions. She was simply a sub-atomic passenger, unable to influence their actions.
All she needed to remember was the break. Even at the smallest scale, the snapped bone, the torn flesh within, was identifiable. Now the swap.
Ebbe couldn't hear if Shark man shouted, swore, or whether he remained conscious. But the micro-second she rended bone and flesh from within him and used it to re-bond the broken radius bone within Krank, she was thrown out from them both, as if she was ejected from both cubes. Stumbling backwards she tumbled to the glossy ivory floor, her head reeling.
"What have you done?" Krank exclaimed out of her sight, "Ebbe? What? How?"
His towering frame honed into view, and he offered her his left hand, his teeth showing in a wide grin.This time Ebbe opted to accept and allowed herself to be pulled up. But he didn't let go, and pulled her in for a crushing squeeze.
Finally releasing her from his bear hug, he practically dropped her back to the floor, where she landed with a surprised stumble.
"You bloody legend," he beamed, flexing his hand and swinging his arm, testing it out. "How in the bloody name of all things blessed did you do that?"
Ebbe shrugged, unable to offer anything that would even approach Krank's scientific understanding. She stared at the cubes, debating whether she should truly try what she was contemplating.
"I think," she started, having finally made her decision, "I can save Art."
Friday, 1 August 2014
Chapter 12 - Part 2
Anthony landed back to the scarred earth with an unceremonious smack to the face. An electric shock ran from his head, through his spine and dissipated as it reached his awakening legs. His vision blurred, with white dots flashing in and out, the basement a shapeless mash of grey and brown. Blood oozed from his bruised nose. Nevertheless he forced his pain-racked body to claw itself in what he estimated was the general direction of the stairway.
If whatever had happened down here, had also happened up top, chaos could be reigning, and that would be an opportune moment to make haste his escape.
Somewhere in this God forsaken room that bastard Atkins was also going to be suffering from a similarly painful fall from the ceiling, albeit without Anthony's previous wounds in addition. But Anthony didn't care to wait for his senses to recover so he could properly check. If luck was on his side, the psychotic bastard had been impaled on some sharp debris.
Luck. That was never something to rely on in Anthony's experience. It was a nice thought, but he knew that no such thing had happened. The best case scenario was more likely he had temporarily been knocked unconscious by the drop. Right now that was all the damn luck Anthony needed. Whatever had happened to send the pair drifting skyward had been his true saviour. It had briefly evened the battle ground.
Anthony reached the foot of the stairwell and finally decided it was wise to check his rear for the enemy. His eyesight was starting to clear; the damned stars flashing in and out were still there and his head was throbbing like a son of a bitch, but focus and clarity were returning.
His instinct had been spot on. To the far right of the room he clocked the crumpled figure of Atkins, face down and lifeless. The light in the room was too dark to discern any more detail. Had he been more physically sound Anthony would have gone over there and finished him off. A swift crack of the neck would do the trick. But right now every vestige of his energy was required to scale the staircase and tackle whatever, or whoever, was at the top.
The sudden flash of a gun muzzle exploding towards his face, only metres away, made him scramble backwards with a startled shout.
Realising he had held up his hand in a futile gesture to block the impending bullet that was about to pass through his skull, and splatter his brains against the back of the basement, Anthony lowered it, to face the man who had killed him. But no such man was standing on the stairs. No man, no gun, brains intact.
Sure, sure, my brains haven't been separated from my skull, but something screwy is happening up there. You're seeing things you stupid bastard. Too many knocks to the old noggin has dislodged something. Just what you need.
There was no time to go crazy. Get up the damn stairs. Get out of this house, and then see if you're losing the plot.
"Come on legs," he commanded out loud, comforted to hear something as ordinary and every day as his own baritone voice echoing back from the stonework. Much to his delight, his limbs seemed to respond to orders as well as his subordinates, and his knees creaked into action. Shakily he managed to crouch first, then stand tentatively.
This is a huge improvement, he concluded, standing for the first time in hours. The view from the floor was proving tiresome. Now to get these bastard pins to shift my arse up these steps, before any chance of escape expires.
Despite the sensation of red hot pins stabbing into his flesh, Anthony forced his unhappy legs to step up, one at a time, each footfall causing a shockwave to shudder up from his calves, past his thighs, and congregate in his groin.
Each step was excruciating, like experiencing powerful electric shocks every time his soles made contact with the concrete. Focusing on the effort was only making matters worse, so Anthony did what his training told him to do, forget the pain, seek out absolutely anything else to occupy his mind with.
And all Anthony could think of was Ebbe. Had she got to safety? What had she found hidden in the depths of the earth? But one thought took precedence over all others. Had she saved him? As he trudged up another step, the image of a gun exploding in his face flashed before his eyes again.
Atkins had shot at him. The gun had fired. The bloody gun had fired at Anthony nearly point blank, just before they had dropped to the floor. Had he escaped death due to the sudden drop? Another footstep, another gun flash. Step, flash. The recurring image was replacing the pain of his body. Again and again he was shot.
Anthony had to pause and take stock. The image of being shot was almost worse than the searing hot needles bringing his flesh back to life. At least the pain was a reminder he was alive. The gun shot was a reminder that he ought not be. What the bloody hell had happened?
Ebbe! It was her wasn't it. Anthony tensed up every sinew in his body, clasping and unclasping his fists tightly, forcing the blood the pump a little faster through his veins. I'm alive because of that woman, he told himself. The free floating, the vanishing bullet, all a miracle provided by that infuriating woman who knew too much.
Seems I should live a little longer then, he chuckled to himself, if only to return the favour, and ask her how the bloody hell she made a bullet vanish. That was it, that was enough to reinvigorate his fatigued muscles. There were a few more steps to go, and Anthony found he had unexpected vigour to stride up these remaining stairs, and reach the exit.
Anthony ran through a variety of potentials as he stared at the last barrier between this tomb and the outside world. There could be a hundred troops up there, ready to shoot anyone exiting the hatch who wasn't wearing their colours. There could be. But Anthony didn't think there was. Atkins was a man who trusted few people. His team would be no more than twenty. The problem was, Anthony had been unable to do a proper head count down below, so although the team had been depleted, there was likely at least ten men left up above. But, they wouldn't all be poised at the hatch, ready with an itchy trigger finger. There would be others outside, guarding the building, keeping a lookout. There would also be at least two waiting in the vehicle they arrived in.
Time is wasting away Anthony old man, if the boys upstairs experienced the same crazy shit you did a few minutes ago, those outside may have found themselves drifting towards the stars. The fall back to earth for those outside could have been enough to incapacitate. That could have reduced the threat by about four men. Atkins' men would not be phased enough to stop guarding the hatchway though. Anthony concluded he had two to deal with in the first instance.
Exiting unarmed, the enemy on the high ground, body not in anything approaching top nick. Not good odds.
I guess there is one way, Anthony mused, a wry smile spreading across his face.
And with that he pushed the trap door open, letting it swing back with a loud clack.
If whatever had happened down here, had also happened up top, chaos could be reigning, and that would be an opportune moment to make haste his escape.
Somewhere in this God forsaken room that bastard Atkins was also going to be suffering from a similarly painful fall from the ceiling, albeit without Anthony's previous wounds in addition. But Anthony didn't care to wait for his senses to recover so he could properly check. If luck was on his side, the psychotic bastard had been impaled on some sharp debris.
Luck. That was never something to rely on in Anthony's experience. It was a nice thought, but he knew that no such thing had happened. The best case scenario was more likely he had temporarily been knocked unconscious by the drop. Right now that was all the damn luck Anthony needed. Whatever had happened to send the pair drifting skyward had been his true saviour. It had briefly evened the battle ground.
Anthony reached the foot of the stairwell and finally decided it was wise to check his rear for the enemy. His eyesight was starting to clear; the damned stars flashing in and out were still there and his head was throbbing like a son of a bitch, but focus and clarity were returning.
His instinct had been spot on. To the far right of the room he clocked the crumpled figure of Atkins, face down and lifeless. The light in the room was too dark to discern any more detail. Had he been more physically sound Anthony would have gone over there and finished him off. A swift crack of the neck would do the trick. But right now every vestige of his energy was required to scale the staircase and tackle whatever, or whoever, was at the top.
The sudden flash of a gun muzzle exploding towards his face, only metres away, made him scramble backwards with a startled shout.
Realising he had held up his hand in a futile gesture to block the impending bullet that was about to pass through his skull, and splatter his brains against the back of the basement, Anthony lowered it, to face the man who had killed him. But no such man was standing on the stairs. No man, no gun, brains intact.
Sure, sure, my brains haven't been separated from my skull, but something screwy is happening up there. You're seeing things you stupid bastard. Too many knocks to the old noggin has dislodged something. Just what you need.
There was no time to go crazy. Get up the damn stairs. Get out of this house, and then see if you're losing the plot.
"Come on legs," he commanded out loud, comforted to hear something as ordinary and every day as his own baritone voice echoing back from the stonework. Much to his delight, his limbs seemed to respond to orders as well as his subordinates, and his knees creaked into action. Shakily he managed to crouch first, then stand tentatively.
This is a huge improvement, he concluded, standing for the first time in hours. The view from the floor was proving tiresome. Now to get these bastard pins to shift my arse up these steps, before any chance of escape expires.
Despite the sensation of red hot pins stabbing into his flesh, Anthony forced his unhappy legs to step up, one at a time, each footfall causing a shockwave to shudder up from his calves, past his thighs, and congregate in his groin.
Each step was excruciating, like experiencing powerful electric shocks every time his soles made contact with the concrete. Focusing on the effort was only making matters worse, so Anthony did what his training told him to do, forget the pain, seek out absolutely anything else to occupy his mind with.
And all Anthony could think of was Ebbe. Had she got to safety? What had she found hidden in the depths of the earth? But one thought took precedence over all others. Had she saved him? As he trudged up another step, the image of a gun exploding in his face flashed before his eyes again.
Atkins had shot at him. The gun had fired. The bloody gun had fired at Anthony nearly point blank, just before they had dropped to the floor. Had he escaped death due to the sudden drop? Another footstep, another gun flash. Step, flash. The recurring image was replacing the pain of his body. Again and again he was shot.
Anthony had to pause and take stock. The image of being shot was almost worse than the searing hot needles bringing his flesh back to life. At least the pain was a reminder he was alive. The gun shot was a reminder that he ought not be. What the bloody hell had happened?
Ebbe! It was her wasn't it. Anthony tensed up every sinew in his body, clasping and unclasping his fists tightly, forcing the blood the pump a little faster through his veins. I'm alive because of that woman, he told himself. The free floating, the vanishing bullet, all a miracle provided by that infuriating woman who knew too much.
Seems I should live a little longer then, he chuckled to himself, if only to return the favour, and ask her how the bloody hell she made a bullet vanish. That was it, that was enough to reinvigorate his fatigued muscles. There were a few more steps to go, and Anthony found he had unexpected vigour to stride up these remaining stairs, and reach the exit.
Anthony ran through a variety of potentials as he stared at the last barrier between this tomb and the outside world. There could be a hundred troops up there, ready to shoot anyone exiting the hatch who wasn't wearing their colours. There could be. But Anthony didn't think there was. Atkins was a man who trusted few people. His team would be no more than twenty. The problem was, Anthony had been unable to do a proper head count down below, so although the team had been depleted, there was likely at least ten men left up above. But, they wouldn't all be poised at the hatch, ready with an itchy trigger finger. There would be others outside, guarding the building, keeping a lookout. There would also be at least two waiting in the vehicle they arrived in.
Time is wasting away Anthony old man, if the boys upstairs experienced the same crazy shit you did a few minutes ago, those outside may have found themselves drifting towards the stars. The fall back to earth for those outside could have been enough to incapacitate. That could have reduced the threat by about four men. Atkins' men would not be phased enough to stop guarding the hatchway though. Anthony concluded he had two to deal with in the first instance.
Exiting unarmed, the enemy on the high ground, body not in anything approaching top nick. Not good odds.
I guess there is one way, Anthony mused, a wry smile spreading across his face.
And with that he pushed the trap door open, letting it swing back with a loud clack.
Wednesday, 17 April 2013
Chapter 12 - Part 1
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.
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.
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."
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