by N. M. Brown
“Only one way to find out.” Echo replied, equally pleased that she could be one step closer to normality again. Slithering like a snake, she could just squeeze through, the rough sides cutting at her skin. Thankful she was quickly out on the other side and into a dark, damp room. She could smell the stale air and felt the warmth from her bones being seeped into the concrete around her. The soft sound of dripping water reached her ears and Echo could see a set of iron stairs that marked the start of a descent.
“Can you see anything?” McQueen called and shone his phone torch after her. It illuminated little, but it was all Echo needed.
“Footprints.” She called back. “Two sets. One is bare feet, the other is a shoe and a sock.”
“Mitch.” McQueen conclude, more than excited and suddenly the light was gone. “This is it. I need to call Hale; tell him we have a direct lead.”
“And waste time?” Echo questioned, crouching by the tunnel hole. “We have no idea where we are Queenie. It could take an hour to find signal, then another hour for your partner to find us.”
McQueen didn’t answer but Echo knew he was trying to justify wasting than much time. It was protocol to inform his partner, but Echo was not losing this momentum because of the ridged fist of the law.
“Look, Queenie. What are you going to even report? ‘Uh, yes sir, we’ve found a shoe that could or could not belong to the missing kid, and we’ve found a hole, which they could or could not be in.’ They’re not going to buy that shit.” McQueen let out a grumble from deep in his chest but didn’t tell her she was wrong. “We’ll go in, we’ll find the kids, snap a picture and, ta-da, we’ll have proof. These poor, defenceless kiddies will be saved, and you’ll be branded their personal hero.” Echo proclaimed in a whimsical voice.
“That is very unlikely.” McQueen said in a gruff voice. “Hales knows me, he knows I wouldn’t call in with a random hunch. He’ll come and in a few short hours, we’ll have a rescue mission under way.”
“A few short hours Queenie? Do you think Mitch has a few short hours?” She pushed, “Look, I’ve been down there, remember, that’s why I’m here. It’s…” Echo swallowed as she was lashed with memories, each on churning her stomach. “It’s cruel and brutal down there. I promise you. Mitch doesn’t have hours.”
“Echo.” McQueen stressed, “I can’t leave my partner out of this. I need to report in.” But Echo could feel she was wearing him down. Temping him with each second that passed.
“Come on Queenie.” She cooed. “Today, I’ll be your partner. We’re here. We have the means and the motive to see what’s at the end of this tunnel.” The Detective growled and Echo was starting to enjoy every time he did it. “One quick peak… one quick look around…” She teased. “Think of it as a side adventure; we turn up with nothing, no one will know the difference. Besides, let’s not forget you don’t believe there’s a child cult down here. It would be a shame to call in back up and for this is all a waste of time…”
After a heartbeat too long, Echo could have sworn up and down the words ‘Fuck it’ were uttered from the good Detectives lips, but she could have been mistaken. ‘Duck it’ was just as likely, as was ‘chuck it,’ but while she debated, the grouch himself started to crawl through the hole.
“I want to make this very clear.” McQueen grunted as he pull himself through and clambered to his knees, “I don’t think this is a good idea. If we get lost, no one knows where we are.” And if Echo didn’t know better, she might have thought there was a little bit of panic in his voice.
“Don’t like small spaces Queenie?” She asked innocently.
With a frown, McQueen straightened his dirty coat and held the phone torch a loft. “I don’t like not following protocol.” But there was a twitch in his shoulder he just couldn’t shake. It was comical to Echo, but she didn’t push it.
“If you say so.”
Looking around, Echo got a better look at the room: a concrete square, barely two feet across, littered with broken bits of wood and junk with no windows and only the staircase in one corner. It took all of two seconds for McQueen to examine it as well. “Well, this place is a dump.”
Echo nodded in agreement and looked around the room but even with more light, she already felt her hackles rising and the need to protect her back with the wall. “We should get moving.”
Stepping forward, McQueen shone his light on the stairs, and it was swallowed by the never-ending darkness. There was clearly only one way to go; down.
“Ladies first.” McQueen outstretched a hand, offering Echo to lead the way, but she was not going first. Frist to go, first to fall, first to be trapped, first to die.
“Sorry, Queenie, but it will always be beauty before brains.” And she gave him a hard, push towards the stairs and after only a second hesitation, he began his decent, Echo a few paces behind him.
XXIV
They hadn’t been walking for long. The staircase they’d found spiralled downwards so much, McQueen thought it might never stop. Fortunately, it did, but he didn’t like their new prospects anymore down here. The darkness clawed at his phone light and in its dim glow, he couldn’t see much. Looking around it only seemed to be a disused service tunnel - for what he wasn’t sure - which just begged the question again, why wasn’t he down here with Hale, a rescue team, council workers and most importantly, a map?
“I really don’t think we should be down here,” He spoke his uncertainty, but he should have remembered who he was with.
“Oh, don’t be such a baby.” Echo snorted, and gabbed his hand, shining the light at their feet instead. “Look, still loads of footprints. We’re heading in the right direction.” And, for the most part she was right. The prints were easy to spot; the dirt freshly scuffed, and the thick layer of dust had been disturbed. If it hadn’t been for McQueen’s phone however, which so far was keeping its battery life, he wasn’t sure how they could have travelled in the dark.
“Right.” McQueen breathed and he again thought of the mess this case was becoming. One dead child, a dozen missing children over ten years ago and now two disappearances, both from the same family. How could so many children be down here for so many years? How could they all go missing and not ever their bodies be found? And what percentage of Echo’s rambles were true; was this a cult? And this Shade; who was he and what was his background?
“What do they do with the children?” McQueen asked, creeping slowly through the dark corridor. There were branches of different corridors, even the odd doorway into another room, but he and Echo remained on the muddy footprints. “You said you were down here for weeks, what did you do?”
Echo remained quiet, so much so, McQueen wasn’t sure she’d answer, until she huffed a noncommittal grunt. “Nothing.”
“What do you mean ‘nothing’?”
“Nothing,” She repeated. “You just played, or slept, or fight or … play.”
“There has to be something more.” McQueen shook his head as they continued to move. “There’s no reasoning to steal children with no gain. Maybe you didn’t see it when you were down here, maybe the missing children were sold as they grew up?” McQueen theorised.
“Yer, that’s not what happens.” Echo answered.
“Then what?” McQueen stopped and span to face her. “Stop hiding the truth Echo. If you know what happens, tell me. If fact, you should have told us before. Why is it always the same with you? You could help us with a case and you just-… hold everything back.” McQueen asked in anguish.
“Because there’s-,”
“Nothing in it for you.” McQueen spat finishing her sentence, unsurprised. “You hide facts, hide the truth and then when you do spill, its crazy nonsense like: child cults and this Shade, who has no other reason for stealing children other then ‘letting them play’?” McQueen laughed, mocking Echo.
“You’re a real piece of work, you know that Queenie.” Echo hissed, squaring up to him, ready to go. “You’re happy to think outside the box when yo
u need guidance; begging the bastard upstairs for help, but the minutes anything becomes a reality, oh you back right off. Children go missing, yes that normal. Children leered by narcotics dressed as sweets; yes possible. But God forbid it’s for nefarious reasons like a cult.” Echo scoffed.
“Then tell me the truth.” McQueen screamed. “Why lie about it? Why does this Shade take children? What does he use them for, where do they go, why have none of them been found?”
“You want to know where they go Queenie?” Echo asked, her voice already building up for the grand reveal. “You really want to fucking know? Fine, here’s the truth. They-,”
At the sound of stone rubbing against stone across the floor and Echo stilled, McQueen too and between them the world stilled. All through their progress down the dark twists and turns, McQueen hadn’t heard anything more than rat claws scurrying away and their own heavy breathing. Rocks didn’t fall without being pushed. Pebbles didn’t scuttle without an outside force…
“Stay behind me.” McQueen whispered tucking his phone away and reaching round for his gun; his fingers itching for the cold steel butt. But he grasped at empty air and suddenly McQueen felt bare and exposed. He had no gun. It was lying in that damn park somewhere, empty of bullets and attached to so much paperwork.
“Don’t move.” Echo said through unmoving lips and McQueen felt he could do nothing but listen.
They were at a cross section, multiple tunnels leading in many directions, empty rooms holding dead junction boxes and miles of cable. Frozen and blind, they listened for a pin to drop and as more rocks scraped across the floor, the cold, bone tingling chill of being watched slipped up McQueen’s spine. Every corridor echoed and there were too many possibilities to count; trying to pinpoint where the sounds came from became impossible. That was until the eerie glow of fire began to rise around them.
First, they were a far-off hue through a fog, the dust in the air clouding them, but as the firelight grew, so did the undertone of babble. It was no human language McQueen knew; the chattering of teeth and low, animalistic growls forming no sentences or words. It was like wolves in an icy plane, there communication basic and wild.
McQueen felt Echo seize up as she scooted closer to him and when the stench of unwashed bodies hit them, she hissed. McQueen didn’t know how he knew, but it was a smell that was distinctive. It was the stench of survival.
◆◆◆
A child.
Small and hunkered down, the kid was naked. Dirt covered him head to toe and there was some sort of paint streaked beneath his eyes. Rotten teeth hung from his mouth and there were multiple scars dotting his skin. He rocked on his feet in anticipation and the flaming candle he held swayed with his movements. McQueen didn’t dare blink, his mouth dry with fear, as where there was one, there were several.
Boys and girl of all ages loped out of the shadows, some in rags others as naked as the day they were born. Either way, they were all in a state of disarray and the potent smell of filth began to collect in the air.
“Don’t do anything rash.” Echo hissed her voice tight with tension, despite McQueen feeling his body relax. They were just small, innocent children after all, but Echo believed differently. “Don’t drop your guard.”
McQueen steadied himself before shifting onto the balls of his feet; ready for anything.
Watching the circle form around him, he gaped at how vicious they looked. He could hardly believe what he was seeing. With a quick count, McQueen estimated there were about fifteen children drawing close, some as young as five, to older kids looking around twelve. They held sticks and makeshift weapons of all designs: bats, planks of wood, metal pipes; as well as trivial things, like sharpened shrapnel or even just rather large rocks.
“So,” He whispered, “What do we do?” McQueen didn’t dare look at Echo, but he could feel her trembling beside him. It seemed they were both out of their league. Spit suddenly flew from hissing teeth and McQueen was shocked that he flinched. “We don’t want any trouble.” He spoke aloud, but the circle continued to tighten not slowing a fraction. “We want to help.” He tried but to no avail.
One adventurous boy took a quick jump forward, jabbing his stick at McQueen’s ribs. The hardened Detective was proud to say, this time, he didn’t flinch but did find himself batting the weapon away. More hissing and low, throaty growls followed, and McQueen turned on the spot, trying to keep his eyes on all of them at once. He didn’t even know how Echo was fairing and the one second he did spare to glance at her, she wore a deathly glare ready to take on anything.
“Fff-rshhhh.” One boy smiled, stepping closer, now but an arm’s length away. Echo was standing flush against McQueen’s back. “Fffrr-sssshhh.”
“What are they saying?” McQueen asked his heart beating faster than he thought possible. Sweat covered his skin as fear quaked in every muscle and with each passing second, he desperately wished for his gun. Echo mumbled something, but McQueen didn’t catch it. “What?”
“Fresh.” She hissed with a snap. “We’re fresh meat: to play with, to toy with.” Echo huffed and kicked out viciously at one tiny girl who was getting too close. “We might be bigger versions of them, but they don’t see that. We are different, so we are bad.”
McQueen looked at the children again and saw no curiosity in their eyes, or suspicion; only wild excitement and the promise of pain. He was all ready for them to bolt, his feet itching to run at any moment’s notice...
“SHADE!” Echo’s voice rang loud and clear in the long, broken tunnel. It was a name that bounced off the walls and resonated down the tiny paths leading to nowhere. McQueen thought he might have suddenly gone deaf because as Echo’s voice repeated into silence, all he could hear was a faint ringing. But it wasn’t his imagination; the space around them was as silent as the grave. Every child had frozen and had it not been for the small flames they held; McQueen wouldn’t have even had known they were there.
“Shh-d.” A whisper broken through the heavy silence; drenched in fear like just speaking the word brought up unmentionable horrors and the presence of something greater.
“Yes,” Echo spoke again, not lowering her voice a fraction. “Shade!” A rippling wave spread out across the hordes of ravish kids and some even took a step back. “We see Shade.” McQueen wasn’t one to correct grammar, but even at Echo’s basic English attempts some of the children looked confused.
In that moment McQueen had two thoughts at the same time: the first was confusion. How could this child, Shade, install so much fear into his subjects? What could this leader hold over these children that made them cower? McQueen was curious, but more so, his need to save them became paramount. His second thought was full of pity as he watched their confusion and suspicions.
These children knew nothing, learnt nothing, and were ruled by nature alone: run here, survive there. He had no doubt each and every single child couldn’t remember their family or friends. If any of them had made it to primary school, they certainly didn’t remember that. Numbers would be foreign to them, as would places and names. He even wondered if concepts would make sense: the weather - what was sun what was rain, or emotions -who was happy, who might be upset. It seemed to McQueen the only thing they reacted to was food and fear; and Echo was drumming up a lot of the former.
“Shade?” An older boy spoke up and stepped through the throng, taking centre stage.
He had to be around the age of ten, maybe younger and held a large bat. Baseball wasn’t a popular sport in England, so McQueen was surprised by the sight of it, but broke out in sweat as he took to the nails that had been hammered into its surface. The boy wore only a pair of denim shorts that had the fly undone, only the tightness of the material keeping them up. His hair was long and matted, with beads, charms and fabric twisted through the grease and dirt. “You see Shade?”
Echo stepped up to face the boy and McQueen tried not to flinch at their sudden exposed backs. “Yes.”
For whatever moment McQueen tho
ught they might have been making progress - at least not being mauled to death by tiny children - but suddenly the boy laughed baring his teeth. It wasn’t a child-like laugh though, full of joy and happiness. It was mocking, defined by its curtness and low tones. A few sniggers followed but the invoking of their master’s name kept the smallest of children at bay.
