by Casey Eanes
"Do NOT break the mirror, Bronson, or it will be your life!"
Bronson lowered the sidearm and stared at himself in the mirror. It was spotless. Among all the dust, mold, and rot the mirror looked as new as any Bronson had seen.
"I'm sorry, sir. It's just that I thought I saw someone."
"I assure you we are quite alone down here." Seam's voice grew calm. "You only saw your reflection...I'm just glad you didn't destroy it." Bronson nodded, but could not shake the feeling off of another presence with them. As if someone else was watching them.
Seam spoke, "We need to transport it back to Vale immediately. Bronson could see that the craftsmanship of the piece was ill suited for the decorum of the High Hall. It was odd, really. To come all this way only to fetch something as plain looking as this mirror.
"Very good, sir."
"We will need to take it up together slowly. It is heavier than it looks."
"Sir, forgive me, but should I call in for some more men? I would hate to have you strain yourself in your recent condition."
"If I wanted a convoy up here, I would have one. Now help me."
With that the two made their way back out of the temple, mirror in tow.
As soon as they exited the temple, Bronson thanked Aleph, pausing to breathe in the cool, fresh air. He experienced enough of this night, and he hoped never to have another like it. What if this was going to be a normal occurrence during Seam's reign? These odd, late night excursions.
If the extraction of the mirror was all that transpired that night, Bronson would have laughed the entire experience off. He could have easily chalked it up to the eccentricities of the new king. A man seeking a memento of an encounter with his lover or some other nonsense. These inadequate stories which could have served Bronson well vanished as Seam laid the front end of the mirror down into the truck and let himself in the vehicle.
"Let's get back to Vale."
"Yes, sir." Bronson was pushing the long, thin mirror into the enclosed bed of the convoy and tucking it into safety when he saw her and shock hammered through his entire body.
There before him was the most exquisite woman he had ever seen, staring up at him from within the mirror. Her eyes were a cold blue, and to Bronson they reminded him of an ocean; not soft, but strong. He stared at the woman in the glass, petrified, trying to make sense of the impossibility. She stared back at him and her mouth formed the beginning of a smile. Bronson's anticipation to see such beauty was palpable. Everything in his body wanted to see that smile.
Her lips parted in a slow showcase, not of the pearly neat rows of snow white teeth that Bronson expected, but instead a forest of daggers, serrated and ravenous, the headwaters from which a crimson river of blood freely poured out.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Willyn exposed the dark innards of an abandoned shack as she darted her flashlight through the old cabin’s front door. The hovel’s floorboards were broken and jutted up like jagged teeth. Willyn and Luken found the building after trailing a fresh set of prints through the thick jungle on the island.
As Willyn eased into the shack she called out to Luken, “I know someone was here recently.” Luken pressed through the door as Willyn continued, “Even if it is not Shepherd, you have someone camping out on these islands.”
“I’m sure you’re quite right,” Luken muttered, eying the structure. His gaze lingered on the holes in the floor.
A long gush of wind blew through the trees, and a clap of lightning announced the arrival of a coastal gale. Rain drops galloped across the roof, building into a steady roar.
Luken groaned and looked back out into the jungle before closing the door. “Doesn’t sound too good out there. I suggest we stay put. We can keep searching once the storm passes.”
Willyn threw up her hands, but said nothing.
“I know what you are thinking, but we already lost his trail. We’ll pick up the pieces once this storm blows through. Besides, you wouldn’t be able to find your own face out there.”
Willyn kicked at a piece of broken floor before picking it up and tossing it to Luken. “Well, if I have to sit here wasting time I might as well be warm. You do have matches, right?”
***
Booming explosions of thunder rattled the loose timbers of the cabin. Willyn looked out of a small, dirt-streaked window and watched trees bending beneath the powerful winds. Rain threw itself horizontally, and with each rush of wind the ramshackle hut moaned. Several drops of rain fell from the thatched roof only to be swallowed by the white sand that made up the floor of the cabin’s back room where the two started a small fire.
“You should get away from the window. Our sea-storms are nothing to tempt.”
Willyn lingered and stared out into the night. She closed her eyes and tilted her ear to the glass. Her shoulders relaxed and a faint smile crept over her face.
“It sounds like war.”
Luken’s face twisted as he answered, “And that is a good thing? You know, it is dark but I can see you smiling.”
“Sort of. I am used to it. The thunder, it sounds just like artillery fire. You are pretty safe if you have artillery backing you.”
Luken chuckled, “Well leave it to a Grogan to enjoy the sound of explosions. Where I come from, when you hear that sound it means you are dead.”
Willyn shook her head and her smile disappeared as she slid onto the floor next to the fire. She wrapped her arms around her legs and squeezed her knees into her chest.
“I just said I am used to the sound. Better to relate to the sound than fear the fact that this horrid little shack will probably fall in on us any minute.”
A small smile grew on Luken’s face as he looked at her. “So you are scared of the storm?”
Willyn shook her head, “You are impossible. Just let me think in peace.”
Luken reclined on the sandy floor and stared into the fire. “As you wish.”
The silence did not last long as Willyn stared into the pulsating embers and twisting flames.
“It doesn’t add up, Luken,” she said as she threw a small timber on top of the fire.
“What doesn’t?”
“The tracks. They led to this cabin and nowhere else. They stopped here. Those tracks stopped right here. We searched both rooms but there is no one here.” Her eyes locked with his in the firelight. “Why?”
Luken lifted himself from the sandy floor and wiped his pant legs clean. He stood in silence for a few moments continuing to gaze into the small fire. Willyn examined Luken as he stood by, running something through his mind. She could not help but notice how handsome he truly was. Her logic relaxed. Stop it. You’re hungry and tired. She shook the thought from her mind. After all he put her through there was no reason to find anything about him attractive. You’re exhausted. That’s all it is.
She spoke, hoping her words would bury her thoughts. “What are you thinking?”
He glanced at her, his gray eyes shining in the ember glow. “Actually, Willyn, it does make sense. I should have thought of this earlier.”
Luken walked across the room, stamping his heel against the sandy floor. Each kick made a clunk, and a small cloud of dust puffed up into the air.
Willyn smiled at the odd display. “What are you doing? You can tell me so at least I can help.”
Luken’s eyes sparkled with interest as he looked up at Willyn and grinned. “The floors. He might be under the floor.”
Willyn’s eyes grew wide with realization.
She began stomping at the floor until she felt something strange. Her foot hit something hard and sturdier than sand, but a hollow thud accompanied the feeling. She squatted down and began to dig away at the white sand.
A wooden trap door.
She laughed at herself and called to Luken, “Hey, come look at this!”
Luken stood over her, and she looked back up at him. He quipped, “You know if he’s down there, that means I’m right.”
Willyn could not hide her smile. �
��Well, get me a light and let’s find out.”
Luken handed her a flashlight, and he opened the door with one swift tug.
Willyn lay on the ground and dropped only her head into the hole, her curly red hair hanging all around her face as she shone the light down into the opening. She looked around as the small beam of light illuminated the darkness.
“It’s a root cellar, Luken. There are barrels and barrels of stuff down here. You were right about the space under the floor. Maybe bootleggers would hide their goods here until they could sneak it inland.”
“Well, hopefully there is more than just bootleg. We are looking for a terrorist after all, not a good time.”
“There is only one way to find out!”
“Can you get down there? Is there a ladder?”
Willyn did not bother to respond as she dropped down into the cellar. The small flashlight provided a beam of reference, and as she scanned the cellar floor she saw that the trove of goods was nearly as big as the cabin above her. She opened one of the barrels nearest to her. The sweet smell of dark fermented sugarcane met her, and the glint of dark liquid bounced back her flashlight’s glow.
She called up to him, “Well, you were right about one thing!”
“What’s that?”
“Guess.”
“Bootleg?”
“Yep. Bootleg.”
She looked deeper within the dark storeroom, past the lined barrels. Something shifted behind her, a shuffle of quick movement. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end. Is he really here? She spun around and examined the corner the noise came from.
Nothing. Just more barrels and plenty of shadows.
She went back past the barrels and deeper into the dark. She could make out boxes stacked in the back corner of the room. Barrels, boxes, and provisions were everywhere, yet there was no sign of Grift.
Another sound of rustling whispered from Willyn’s left. She turned off her flashlight and stood absolutely still. The room became a midnight void, and she became stone. The small square of light from the trap door was squeezed out by the shadows. There was nothing left in the room except for Willyn and the sound of whatever was shuffling.
Luken called down to her. “What are you doing down there? Why did you turn out the light?”
Willyn turned to whisper back up the trapdoor but stopped herself as she pushed her back against the nearest wall.
A quick shift of the crates in the far corner caught Willyn’s ear again. The sound was too much to be a rodent or a trapped animal. He’s here. Her right hand dropped to her hip as she reached for her pistol. She slowly unlatched it as she pushed away from the wall and crept toward the sound. New sounds became more pronounced the closer she drew to the boxes. Wheezing. Grunting. Raspy deep breaths slowly lifting and falling. He’s hurt. He lost too much blood. He’s probably lying in the corner waiting for me to shoot him. Then another thought ran through her mind. It could be a trap. It probably is a trap.
Her left hand clutched her light as she lifted her pistol and trained its barrel on the sound in front of her. One step after another, Willyn inched closer to the strained breaths, intentionally shuffling her feet. The breathing sounds quickened, and Willyn knew her opportunity was about to present itself. Her nose caught the scent of the battlefield, infection and festering wounds. At least he isn’t dead. I would enjoy cutting off his infected arm myself. The sounds became soft grunts, almost laughter. The sickening sound of a death rattle threw a knot into Willyn’s throat as she readied herself for what was next. The darkness shattered with the sound of a crate smashing to the ground.
Gods! It’s not him!
Willyn threw on her light to see someone lunging for her. A quick squeeze of the trigger and the cellar exploded with a burst of light from the muzzle of her gun and the booming echo of the shot bouncing off the walls. Something slashed across her face as the attacker’s head snapped back and its body crumpled into a mashed coil of flesh. A warm rush of blood ran down Willyn’s cheek, and a familiar stench invaded her nostrils. She knew she had just downed a Morel.
Not again! Where are these things coming from?
Luken bellowed below, “What was that?!”
Willyn swung her light to the area the Morel had sprung its attack. The boxes scattered on the floor had been hiding the burrow it had come from. There was no visible sign of any additional Morels, but as she was shining her light through the tunnel the sound of screams pierced through the depths of the hive.
Willyn looked up to the trap door and her heart sunk as she realized there was no ladder. Another burst of shrieks leapt from the hole. Willyn shoved a barrel beneath the trapdoor and climbed on top.
She only had seconds before she would die. “Morels, Luken! Help me!”
Luken’s face appeared a few feet above Willyn, his long, muscular arm reaching down toward her. She leapt and grabbed for his arm but missed, her feet barely managing to land back on the old barrel. She drew in a long breath and focused in on Luken’s hand. She had to reach it; there wasn’t any other option. She leapt and they connected. His powerful hand locked on her wrist and he pulled her up through the opening.
Willyn slammed the trapdoor and kicked dirt over it as she scrambled for something to block the top of it. Luken joined the scramble, his face grim. The sound of thunder mixed with the torrent of screams below them, creating a chaotic symphony of fear.
Willyn felt her heart slamming against her chest. She panted for air, “I just killed a drone and I heard more behind it. Those things have burrowed into this place. We have to go NOW.”
Willyn kept the muzzle of the pistol pointed toward the small wooden door, refusing to turn her back to it. A burst of lightning cracked outside, shooting light through the room as the ocean storm continued its fury.
Luken pointed at the small window pane as nearby branches smacked against the glass.
“Let’s go, then.” Luken threw open the door just as a loud crack rang out beneath Willyn. The trap door underneath her jolted up with such force that it sent her crashing backwards. A large, scarred Morel was clawing at the opening, desperately trying to gain a hold and pull itself into the room. Its red eyes were fixed on Willyn as if it knew she was the one who killed its kin. It flashed its dagger teeth and let out a low call to its hive.
Willyn rolled from her stomach and fired a shot that ripped through the Morel’s skull and sent it plummeting back down into the shadows of the root cellar. The thud of the beast crashing into the ground below was met with more screeches and groans. A pack was underneath them now, clawing for an entrance. Luken kicked the door shut again and helped Willyn back to her feet. As she regained her footing, Willyn shot off three additional rounds straight down through the brittle wood between them and their attackers.
Luken screamed, “It’s no use! Get back to the boat!” Luken pulled Willyn toward the door. “Stay close to me. The last thing you want to do is get lost. You can’t shoot your way out of the bogs around here. They will swallow you alive. Stay close.”
He opened the door, and the two bounded out into the storm.
Willyn stumbled out behind him, struggling to keep a hand on his pack. She refused to lose him, but the stinging rain made it impossible to run without shielding her face. Within seconds, her clothes were completely soaked, and the wind bit at her skin with a terrible chill. The hot and humid jungle transformed in a matter of a few hours to a freezing wetland.
Branches slapped at her as she followed behind Luken, attempting to keep pace with his swift steps. It amazed her that Luken seemed completely unfazed by the weather that was rendering her almost immobile as she stumbled and tripped through the muddy underbrush. The sinking soil and roots twisted and tangled at her feet, and Willyn tripped over every other step. The deep mud sucked at her boots, weighing her steps, but Luken continued to run full speed ahead slapping away branches, only slowing down to call back to her.
The pair ran for a half hour without stopping, splashing thr
ough the woods in what seemed no particular direction. Willyn’s navigation skills were useless in this weather. The wind and rain mixed with Luken’s twisting path had her completely disoriented. Luken turned and shouted back.
“Not much farther now!” He pointed to his right where the trees were thinning out, no more than fifty meters away. The shoreline was barely visible through the deluge, but she could see it. Luken called out to her, “Stay with me!”
As much as she hated the boat that morning, there was nothing she wanted to see more. Willyn set her eyes onto the clearing and ran for her life. A large log lay in front of her path, and in one swift leap, she cleared it. When her feet hit the ground she panicked as the earth gave way beneath her. Her legs fell into a deep viscous pool of earth that swallowed her on impact. She had fallen into a bog. She splashed in desperation as she tried to find some footing, only to sink chest deep into thick, hungry mud. It pressed in on her, constricting her in its secure grip.
Her wet clothes became lead, threatening to pull her under. Her feet were locked in stockades that were sinking with each small movement. She screamed out as Luken’s silhouette disappeared from her vision. “LUKEN! Come back! PLEASE.” He continued to tear through the woods, unaware. The mud began to creep up around Willyn’s neck as she continued to call out for help. “Luken! Please come back!” The sheer weight of the mud made it harder to yell as it pressed against her throat. Everything was becoming difficult; it was harder to think, it was harder to scream, it was harder to breathe. Every shift or attempt she made to push out of the mud only pulled her deeper and tighter within the swamp’s grasp.
