“Okay, I guess it’s on.” Crix looked pumped. He felt a tingle of energy travel through both arms.
“That’s my boy,” Krath was pleased. “Now, let’s get ourselves thrown into level four and have a little fun in the process.” He charged out of the barracks like a wild animal going on the hunt.
Crix and Kerriah followed shouting and screaming as they embarked on their rampage of intentionally destroying equipment and disrupting workflow. They pushed the limits of their chaos just to the edge of not drawing Marck fire but instead had the guards clanking after them in an attempt to subdue the new troublemakers. For a short while, the three actually had a little fun for the first time in many days as they executed their plan at the expense of the Marck guards and sent them running in circles. The other prisoners stopped and watched as well as they could in the darkness, listening to the three have fun tormenting their jailors. A smile cracked across the faces of many; most prisoners of Dispor had not had a reason to smile for years, but that day, the strange threesome was their unlikely heroes.
Then at once, they converged together and stopped, crouching down, hands on their knees, to catch their breath. The guards swarmed in, knocking them to the ground and placing proton shackles on their legs and wrists. A commanding officer strode in and ordered them immediately to level four. He stopped in front of Krath and looked into his eyes, the red glow reflecting off Krath’s black eyes.
“Not this one, take him to Sintor,” the Marck captain ordered.
“Wait . . . Krath, nooo!” Crix shouted as they dragged Krath away. In the distance, he could hear Krath yelling.
“Hang in there, buddy; hang in there for your—” His voice went quiet; their uplifted spirits suddenly soured by the unexpected detour in their plans.
***
Dragged away, Kerriah and Crix found themselves in a rusted and stained elevator marked with a sign, which dangled from a broken chain that read “Caution! Scab Hive!” Six guards surrounded them with weapons drawn as one unshackled and tossed them each a small pack and a long spear, which had an energy charge at the tip.
“You will kill no less than four scabs per day to receive your rations. You will load them on the delivery crate with your number. When we receive your quota, we will send back your rations. Fail to meet your quota, and you will starve,” the Marck captain explained as he shoved them on the elevator and activated a lever sending them below to the hive level.
The elevator screamed as corroded metal ripped against itself, sending them further into the depths of Dispor.
“If we work together, we will survive this. We will find Creedith; just stay close,” Kerriah shouted above the noise as they put their backs against each other. Crix’s heart raced, and he started to come to terms with his mortality and the odds of their survival.
CHAPTER 19
K erriah?” Crix turned to look at her in the faintly illumined box.
The elevator’s screams quieted to a churn, and moisture filled the dry air. She turned around, and he lightly placed his hand behind her neck and into her soft hair, pulling her into him. His mind was a blur. He pressed his lips on hers. It was an awkward moment at first, but she did not pull back. She placed her small hand on his lower back and wrapped her leg around his. He lifted her from the ground, fully partaking in this intimate moment. She felt safe and empowered; her heart beat faster. They both understood it would take their complete trust and love for each other if they were to find a way out of Dispor alive.
The elevator slammed to the ground, and they quickly moved with their backs against each other in a defensive posture, unsure of what to expect in the darkness before them. The air was thick with humidity, and an underlying stench crawled like scurrying rodents into their lungs, weighing heavy with each breath. The pungent stench was a mix of acetone and rotted garlic. The smell was almost dizzying from its hazardous toxicity. In the distance, there were numerous hissing and squeaks, along with wings pattering in the air as if a flock of birds was suddenly disturbed.
“I can’t see anything down here. It’s nearly pitch black. How the heck do they expect us to kill these things?” Kerriah complained.
Crix dug around in his pack and found what felt like a light emitter. He activated it, and an intense beam blasted out and illuminated the area. Kerriah looked at him with a half-smile from the corner of her cheek.
“Oh, that’s how.”
The large, domed cavern moved from wall to ceiling as if water was rippling across it in every direction. “What the heck?” Crix strained to get a better look at the walls. Flat, scaly creatures with long, forked tails swarmed the walls and ceiling crawling atop each other, in some cases, three layers deep.
“Well, look on the bright side; looks like our quota should be easily achievable.” Kerriah meant for her statement to be sarcastic, but her voice carried with it a noticeably worried undertone.
The cavern took a steep dip off to their right side and disappeared in the darkness. The floor was smooth with a layer of slime, which made it difficult to walk. They remained frozen, motionless, for a little while, trying to get a sense for the scabs, whose activity had begun to settle since the elevator had dropped them off and disrupted the area.
“I think we should move deeper in and start looking for Creedith,” Kerriah whispered, pointing her spear in the direction of the right side slope.
“I’ll go ahead while you watch my back. Let’s move slowly, and maybe we can avoid getting these things too excited,” Crix hastily volunteered, not wanting her to take the dangerous point position.
They stepped lightly as they moved into the open area. The scabs hissed and squirmed around anxiously as they walked through the cavern. Crix and Kerriah occasionally paused to allow the scabs to settle back down and then moved ahead slowly once again. The slow stop-and-go pace made the time drag on, and they were unable to gain any significant distance. Something fluttered by, brushing across the top of Kerriah’s head, and then across the back of her legs. “Crix, did you feel anything brush against you?”
“I did feel something across my back, but I thought that was you.”
She swept her hand past the back of her leg. “It’s not me.”
Another flutter whizzed by their heads. She shined her light up toward the ceiling. A scab flapped by overhead. The underside of the critter had a circular opening that bulged down with dark, bristly teeth gnashing in the air. Kerriah let out a small squeal. Startled, she pushed her back snug against Crix.
“These things can fly! I didn’t realize they could fly.”
“Youch!” Crix yelled as he jumped away from Kerriah.
“What are you doing?” she asked, concerned that he had moved away from her side.
“One of them just bit a chunk out of my leg.” He shined the light down at his leg, revealing a patch missing from his pant leg, along with a small chunk of skin about the size of a large coin. “Took a good piece of me . . . nasty little suckers.” Crix tried to shake off the pain while holding pressure on the wound.
Kerriah tore a couple of pieces of cloth from the bottom of her pant leg and wrapped Crix’s wound. “We need to move quicker and get ourselves somewhere a little less hostile if there is such a place down here.” She remained steadfast in her focus.
They stuck close and moved into the depths of the virtually pitch-black hive. In an effort to avoid stirring up the scabs, Crix gave out just enough light to keep track of where they were going as they kept their distance from the scab-infested walls. There were no other signs of life aside from the thousands of unrelenting scabs that lined the walls and ceilings.
Crix shook his head, trying to clear his mind from the tipping point of his thoughts. The overlapping hiss of the scabs threatened to drive him to a hasty madness. He struggled to keep focus.
I must keep myself together for her. That was all that mattered to him at that moment, so he pushed forward, guiding the way. As they moved down the slope, the path split: one side narrowed to a
low ceiling, and the other had long tendrils cascading down from a higher ceiling. The shiny black tendrils slowly dripped water from their tips.
Crix carefully shined his light up and down both paths. “Neither of these routes look inviting.”
He focused the light up high in an attempt to see where the tendrils ended before a voice called out in a loud whisper from the low ceiling path.
“Hey . . . over this way,” the voice called. Crix whipped his light in the direction of the voice, picking up a shine against a pair of eyes. “Get that light off me and get over here!” The voice said in the same loud whisper, but now with a slight hint of agitation.
Crix and Kerriah carefully made their way over to where the voice originated from, crouching low as they entered the cramped area. There was a small hollow further within the wall where a short, square individual stood, who had sparse, wiry hair atop a muscular, square head.
“You almost made the last mistake you would have ever made a minute ago.” His voice was a bit low and crackly. “Had you shined your light up in the face of that burrower, it would have most likely been the end for all of us.”
“You mean tha—” Crix started then was interrupted by the strange individual that almost looked like a wooden block with legs.
“Yes! That was a burrower, and if you were told about them, you now realize the mistake you almost made. That one has been hanging around there for a while, I suspect, just snapping up stray scabs as they pass by. It appears to be getting enough of them down here to keep it pacified, for now, or maybe it’s just in some sort of dormant state. It’s like we have an understanding: I leave it alone, and it leaves me alone. They don’t like lights, though. A shined light directly toward its face will almost certainly cause the beastie to go into one of its legendary killing rages.”
“My name is Kerriah, and this is Crix.” He strangely looked over a Crix as though he had just seen a ghost. “Who else is down here?” Kerriah asked, shrugging off the strange look and the mention of the burrower.
“You’re looking at it. I have the whole hive to myself, and of course, that burrower if you aren’t counting the hundreds of thousands of scabs down here. Ohh . . . I’ve seen others come and go, but prior to your arrival, it was just me. Let’s get away from this area. The burrower makes me a little uneasy. I know this hive pretty well, and there is a quiet spot down this way.” He started to walk further into the low tunnel.
“Wait!” Kerriah demanded. “You say you’re the only one down here?”
He stopped and turned around. “That’s right, just me and the scabs.”
“We are looking for a friend of ours that’s supposed to be down here. He’s an Andor named Creedith.” Kerriah continued to push him for more detail.
The rugged, almost square-shaped individual looked at her with a scrunched brow. “I’m not sure what an Andor is, but I don’t think there have ever been any down here. I don’t think so.”
Kerriah let out a frustrated exhale. “Creedith! His name is Creedith, and he’s a big, strong individual with a long mane going down his head and neck.”
He rubbed his head as he looked to be in deep thought. “Oh . . . that fella. Yep, I do recall him now. Please, follow me before we get that burrower’s attention. If you’d like, we can speak of it more in a safer spot.”
He waddled away and they followed. Sometimes he crawled on his knuckles as his arms were just slightly on the larger side and longer than his legs. He grasped a heavily worn spear and wore nothing more than a well-weathered loincloth with a rag wrapped around his torso. An occasional scab flapped or scurried by, but they did not appear too interested in the three of them at that moment. As they passed by several clusters of scabs, the square-shaped stranger advised them to crawl as low to the floor as possible to avoid disturbing the scabs on the walls and ceilings. Eventually, the low path opened to an immense area filled with a chilly breeze and icy sleet raining down throughout. The ceiling was high above and not visible through the constant precipitation and the scant light of their emitters.
“The scabs don’t care for the extreme cold and ice, so this area is safe from them,” he hollered above the noise of sleet peppering the floor. He then waved them in his direction as he charged into the icy cold.
They followed and the breeze cut through their clothes like a thin sheet on a cold winter’s night. They made their way to a narrow cutout in the wall and barely squeezed their way through, and yet, somehow, the stout character was able to manipulate his body through the spot easily, like a square peg made of soft clay. Inside the wall was a deeply set opening, circular in shape, that appeared to be well lived in. The area seemed to be illuminated by glowing rock pieces that were carefully placed along the walls. All around them were scattered relics of minerals, tools, and the meager possessions of other inmates. The muffled tapping of sleet from the outside helped to mask some of the uneasy clamor from the creatures that lived down there.
“Welcome to my home,” he spoke loudly while standing as erect as his incongruous body allowed. “I know it’s not much, but for a Solaran condemned to the scab hives of Dispor, it’s about as good as one could expect. Besides, down here, I have no metal things pushing me around.”
Crix squinted, taking a closer look at him in the low light. “Wow . . . another Solaran! You’re the second Solaran I’ve met today, and the other was the first I’ve ever seen.”
“Well, I’ve never had someone so intrigued by me before, but here you go . . . name’s Bletto, in case you were curious.” The Solaran spread his massive arms out and twirled around to give him a better look.
His squatted mass was a result of a thousand years of evolution due to the oppressive gravity of the one-time penal moon of Solara. The moon’s higher gravity was considered an additional punishment to those sent there as prisoners so many generations ago. The people of Nathasia wanted no criminals breathing their air, so they created an artificial atmosphere on Solara and cheered as Solara’s newly located inhabitants suffered under almost one and a half times their own weight.
Kerriah crossed her arms and rolled her eyes, feeling a little annoyed. “Don’t be too flattered; less than five days ago, Crix hadn’t seen any other non-Soorakian species.”
“Well, it’s nice to get some guests, once again. The last fella I had down here didn’t last long before becoming skeletonized by a brooding mass of scabs,” Bletto cordially remarked.
“How long have you been here, Bletto?” Crix asked but really wanted to engage in a discussion of what it was like to live on a world that had almost 50 percent more gravitational pull than Soorak. Crix found himself sidetracked by the Solaran. Bletto was noticeably excited to tell his story again. He loved to talk but rarely had company, as most did not survive longer than a day or two on the level.
“Thirteen years now . . . I think.” He rubbed the back of his head, trying to think the time through. “You know, I’m not really sure. You see, you lose all sense of time down here, and the only concern you have is your own basic survival. That means hunting scabs before you get too hungry and sending the quota up the crate to get your day’s rations. And let me tell you, there is nothing to eat down here. Scabs are toxic to us, and you’d be better off to leave that burrower alone.”
“What can you tell us about Creedith? He was supposedly transferred down here some time ago.” Kerriah eagerly steered the conversation back to the reason they were there.
“There’s no one down here. I can tell you that for sure. All the others have been killed, or in a rare instance, transferred to level five.”
“Now wait a minute, you told us you did remember him.” Kerriah was becoming irritated.
“Well, my memory isn’t so good these days, but I’m really not sure. I just needed to get you guys away from that burrower.”
Kerriah threw up her hands in frustration. Crix gestured her to calm down as he approached Bletto. “Level five? I’ve never heard of a level five on Dispor. What’s level five?�
��
Bletto stared up at Crix before he settled back on a shabby blanket that he shoved under his backside, giving scant comfort from the hard surface.
“That’s because it’s not supposed to exist. The only reason I know of it is that I have seen it firsthand. It’s an unsettling place and an area I would not want to go back to ever again.”
“But you said, on a rare instance, there have been prisoners transferred there. Could Creedith have been transferred to level five?” Kerriah disputed.
“Listen, child, even if he was there, he’s no use to you now. Besides, what would you do if you found him? Escape?” He chuckled at the thought.
Crix stepped forward, pointing at Bletto with anger. “If you thought our plan was to stay down here with you until the end of our days, you’re highly mistaken.”
Bletto gave a deep and loud exhale. Having seen numerous hive prisoners become broken and die over the years, he gave little concern to his newfound companion’s bold statements. “Settle down. Let’s take things in baby steps. Get some rest. In a little while, I will show you how to kill enough scabs to make your ration quota without getting de-fleshed. No matter what you decide to do, you’re going to need your strength to do it.”
“How do we know when to send up our quota? We can’t even tell what time or day it is in this hole,” Crix asked.
“Use your stomach as your guide.” Bletto laughed. “It always lets you know when you need to work on your quota and just how hard you should be working for it.”
Bletto threw each of them a musty old blanket caked with dirt, obviously remnants of former inmates. They laid down and attempted to get some sleep, or at least as much as their minds would let them rest. In the distance, the underground ice storm tapped away at the rocks, and sporadic screeching made for restless sleep. Crix mostly laid awake, staring into the darkness, watching as shapes formed in his imagination and thinking back to Troika and lessons of wisdom from Haflinger.
Age of the Marcks Page 21
