by Gord Rollo
“I don’t know, Henrik, but I’ve got to try. My brother’s judgment came in recently too, and the Scarlet Witch told me he’s being sent to Hell. I think it’s going to happen sometime in the next few days.”
“The vitch told you that? In person? You actually met her?”
“Trust me, it wasn’t much fun. She can torture people without even touching them. Uses her mind to probe into your head or something. Shit, that’s another problem with trying to escape; she can just think her way into our skulls and stop us dead. We’re probably screwed!”
“Not necessarily.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve never spoken to her myself but I’ve seen her hurt people the vay you describe. There’s a limit to her power though. She has to be fairly close to someone to invade their mind like that. I saw a man run from her once and by the time the vitch noticed he was sixty or seventy feet down the hallway. She grabbed him vith her mind and he started to fall but his momentum carried him another twenty feet and she lost her hold on him. One second he was holding his head in agony and the next he was fine and off running again. They caught him easy enough and he paid a horrible price for what he’d done but the point is I think she can only use her powers at close range.”
“Really? That’s great news. Gives us a chance at least. Do you know where H-Level is? That’s where they said they’re keeping Tommy.”
“Ya, it’s the eighth floor. A-Level is one, B is 2 and so on.”
“Simple enough. Okay, what floor are we on?”
“This is all crazy talk, friend. You shouldn’t even think these things. It can only end badly for you and your brother.”
“How much worse can it get for Tommy? There sending him to Hell for all eternity. Even that has to be a mistake. Tommy was practically a freakin’ saint while we were growing up. He’s a good man… looked after me my whole life so how can he get sent to Hell? It’s not fair. It doesn’t make any sense!”
“Nothing is fair; especially around here vith the vitch making all the decisions.”
“She can’t rig the judgments though, right? Obviously God or the Devil must have made that call.”
“Not always, no. The vitch can send anyone to Hell she vants if she gets in a foul mood. Sometimes the people get sent back, but most of the time Satan just keeps them. God maybe eventually corrects the error but trust me, mistakes happen all the time. If you truly believe your brother deserves a place in Heaven, then that is vere you need to take him. Get away from this evil place and deliver him to the gates of Heaven yourself. Only there vill he be judged fairly.”
It was as if a heavy weight had been lifted from Tyrone’s shoulders and the proverbial light bulb had suddenly flashed on in a huge cartoon bubble above his head. That was exactly what he needed to do. He still had no idea how he might pull off that little miracle but getting Tommy to Heaven and saving his eternal soul was definitely the plan he needed to work toward. If he could somehow succeed, it might begin to make up for the terrible thing he’d done to Tommy back in the village of Ami Ba.
“That’s brilliant, Henrik.”
“Brilliant, ya… but also only a pipe-dream, I’m afraid. Seriously, my friend, do you honestly think you’re the only one ever to try and escape their fate here in the afterlife? You’ll never get up the spiral staircase…never, and even if you did and somehow marched your brother right to the pearly gate, vat then? Chances are they’ll uphold his judgment and send the both of your right back here. It’s pointless! You’ll both end up together in Hell… or vorse yet, in the vitch’s army.”
“What’s worse about the army?”
“The army of the dead is no place for any man to spend eternity. The bottom two floors of Tartarus are ver she keeps her soldiers. A and B levels. Ven a man dies on Earth they are sent here for Judgment, ya, but ven a man dies here something awful can happen. Most of the time their soul is left in peace but sometimes it’s ripped free of their bodies and condemned forever to the soul graveyard. It’s a place no mortal has ever seen or vould ever vant to. Only the vitch knows how to find it. She keeps the souls trapped so she can command their spiritless body to do her bidding here in Tartarus. The husks of the dead rise up and valk the night obeying only her; and seeing as no one may enter Heaven or Hell without a soul they are condemned to her vickedness forever.”
“You mean like Zombies?” A flicker of a memory flashed across Tyrone’s mind, of him in a room with several dead people who suddenly started to reanimate and stand back to their feet. He’d been sure that had only been one of his nightmares after he’d been hit on the head but now he wasn’t so sure.
“Exactly. No one calls them that; in fact no one talks about them at all really, but everyone fears the army of the dead. They do horrible things to people, just to amuse the vitch, and by killing they sometimes make their numbers grow. The rumor is the vitch is building her army to one day try and overthrow one of the higher powers. Or maybe both!”
Tyrone felt his recently lifted spirits begin to sag, this new revelation hitting him hard for obvious reasons. The Marine sighed and leaned back against the hard stone wall, a look of disgust and disappointment on his face that Henrik misread.
“I’m sorry to… how do you American’s say it… burst your bubble, ya? It’s better you come to your senses now though, before it is too late.”
“It already is, actually. Now I have no choice but to try and escape?”
“I don’t understand.”
“The witch told me my name’s not even entered into the Book of Life yet, and until someone decided to claim me, she’s putting me in her army. She told her old sidekick, Luther I think was his name, to inform General Krall that I’d be sent to him shortly. I remember Luther saying he thought I was strong enough to handle the change. That mean what I think it does?”
Henrik’s skin turned a shade or two paler, his eyes opening very wide. “My god! They’re going to turn you. They can’t simply kill you because there’s a good chance you von’t come back, but the vitch has many powers and can cast a spell on you to make sure that you turn.”
“Then what?” Tyrone asked, knowing the answer but needing to hear it.
“Then she’ll use her mind probes to rip your spirit free from your body. The vitch is going to steal your soul!”
12
“At least now you understand why I need to escape?” Tyrone and Henrik had discussed the army of the dead for several minutes more and although the Marine had many more questions about these pitiful undead men he knew time wasn’t on his or his brother’s side if they had even a sliver of a chance to avoid their mutually ghastly fates.
“Of course. You and your brother need to get as far away as you can, but so does everyone else here. I just don’t see how you can succeed ven so many others have failed.”
“Not to sound arrogant, but we have a chance because we’re Marines. The Corp has a saying that goes…the difficult we do immediately; the impossible takes a little longer. Now that’s all macho bullshit, sure, but it’s also true. A Marine doesn’t care if the odds are stacked against him. Screw the witch. I ain’t going down easy and I ain’t going down without a hell of a fight. Understand?”
The young Swede nodded his head. “Take me with you then?”
“What? No way, Henrik, You said it yourself, it’s a pointless pipe-dream that has nearly no chance of us pulling it off. I can’t put you into that kind of danger. I’ve hurt enough people in my life. You seem like a decent guy, the last thing I want to do is get you involved in my family’s troubles. Besides, your judgment is coming in; you’ll be on your way to Heaven in no time. Probably beat us there.”
“I don’t know about that. I’m not vorried the judgment will go against me… vell, not too vorried, but think about it for a minute. For you to get out of this room you’re going to need my help and vat do you think the vitch vill do to me once you’re gone if you leave me behind?”
“I can get out of here without an
yone knowing you knew anything about it. Who’s to say I even spoke to you? I highly doubt this room is wired.”
“It doesn’t have to be. You’re forgetting the vitch’s powers. She can enter someone’s mind, and not just to punish people, ya? She can read their thoughts…their memories, and she’ll come here to find out vat I know.”
Tyrone recalled how the witch had said she’d known his name and rank before he’d told her, and she’d known all about his childhood and memories he’d had growing up. Had she gathered all that information from his own mind, stealing his private thoughts without him even knowing she’d been creeping around in his head? That was the only explanation that made any sense. The Marine had to grudgingly admit Henrik was probably right.
“Damn, I’ve put you in danger just by talking to you. I’m sorry, man.”
“No need to apologize. It’s not an issue unless I’m still here vaiting for her. You have to take me vith you. I can help you. I’m not a trained soldier but I know this fortress like the back of my hand. I can get us out of here.”
Tyrone silently thought about everything the Swedish man had said. He desperately wanted to find some alternative plan that wouldn’t put his new friend in danger but no matter how long the Marine mulled things over he knew Henrik was dead on with his assessment. Like it or not, Tyrone had to take Henrik with him.
“Okay, we do it together then. But you do what I tell you; deal?”
“Deal. Thank you. Earlier you asked me vat level our cell vas on.”
“Right.”
“This is N.”
Tyrone counted the letters out on his fingers. “So this is the fourteenth floor. Tommy is only six floors down. That’s not so bad.”
“And the main bridge over to the spiral staircase to get up out of this pit is on floor seven. That’s our only vay out of this fortress but it vill be guarded.”
“Naturally. Let’s worry about that when we get there. First things first; we’ve gotta get out of this room and find Tommy. How often do the guards usually come check on us?”
“Every two or three hours. Someone else will feed us too but that won’t be until tomorrow morning. We can start hollering and making a racket and the night guard might look through the bars but I don’t think he’ll come inside.”
Tyrone got up and walked over to the heavy steel bars and tried shaking them, even though he knew it was useless. This fortress, or prison, or whatever it was had been built to last thousands of years, maybe tens of thousands, and getting out wasn’t going to be easy. “Shit! Any ideas?”
“No, but I have something of yours that might help.”
“Something of mine? What do you mean?”
“I planned to keep them for myself but I can give them back now. I hid them when you were fighting with the guard last night.”
Tyrone was confused and had no idea what Henrik was saying. His confusion must have shown on his face so the young Swede continued on.
“This isn’t your first night in this cell. They brought you in last night, ya? You ver all beat up and bleeding from the back of your head. The guard was going through your pockets, stealing everything you had. You ver pretty out of it but you still fought like hell vith the bastard and he dropped some of your things in his hurry to get out the door. I grabbed them and hid them.”
No wonder this cell had seemed familiar to Tyrone when he’d first woken up; he really had been here before. “I remember the room but I don’t remember fighting anybody. Great news, though. What do you have?”
Henrik walked to the corner of their cell where a small mound of dirty straw had been haphazardly piled. Reaching into the straw, the Swede returned to Tyrone’s side carrying his Swiss Army knife and a plastic bag filled with a handful of small green pills. “Vat are the pills? Medicine or drugs?”
“A bit of both,” Tyrone said, retrieving his things. “They’re Binoctal tablets… some heavy duty prescription pain meds but to be honest we used them to get high.”
“Not sure they’ll help us much then, but the army knife vill, ya? There might even be a tool on there to pick the door lock vith.”
Tyrone looked at the knife and then over at the cell door. “You might be right but I’m not sure that’s the best idea. We pick the lock and sneak out, and the guard shows up to check on us fairly soon he’ll sound the alarm and we’ll be screwed. We need to get out of here quietly without having to fight our way out the fortress. To do that, we need to buy some time before anyone starts looking for us. Be nice if no alarm was raised until morning when they came to bring breakfast. That would probably give us, what, four or five hours to find Tommy and get a decent head start?”
“Ya, maybe even a bit more if ve are lucky. I’m not sure. Vat are you going to do about the night guard, though?”
Tyrone snapped open the four inch serrated cutting blade on the army knife and showed it to Henrik. “Whatever I have to do. Listen; we’re about to go to war my friend, and war isn’t pretty. Think you can handle that? If you can’t, we’re in big trouble.”
“Don’t vorry about me. I’ll be fine.”
“Good, then here’s what we’re gonna try…”
13
Boris Henkel was a greasy haired heavy-set German man who’d been a tower guard in Tartarus since a few weeks after arriving here from losing his life in a factory fire in Dusseldorf eleven years ago. Boris had been working an overtime shift when the blaze had begun on the floor above him. Before he even knew what was happening, there was a huge explosion above him and he looked up just in time to see a large hole open up in the ceiling and a heavy wooden beam falling toward his head. It wasn’t a nice way to die, but the guard had always been thankful that at least he’d been dead long before the hungry flames had found his crushed body.
Over the years he’d seen many a strange sight while patrolling the hallways of the upper prison cells and he’s witnessed plenty of attempted escapes but he could honestly say he’d never once seen anything like what lay in front of his bewildered eyes on Level – N tonight. He actually rubbed his tired eyes with his knuckles just to make sure he wasn’t seeing things in the gloomy darkness.
Unfortunately, he wasn’t.
Half way along the stone corridor, one of the heavy metal cell doors was hanging wide open, its steel barred frame three-quarters blocking the hallway beyond. What the hell? Boris thought in his native tongue. He knew a fair amount of English from his time here in Tartarus but preferred to use only the swear words if he could help it. In his line of work, a good hard punch or kick in the ass worked much better than words anyway. Violence, whether here or back on Earth, was a universal language.
Why is the door open? Who opened it? Boris’ curiosity soon turned to fear though, his thoughts immediately shifting to what this situation might mean to his comfy little afterlife existence. “Oh shit!”
Taking off at a run, moving as fast as his considerable bulk allowed, the night guard headed for the open cell door. He wasn’t sure which cell it was yet, or who was supposed to be inside – all he knew was if they had escaped on his watch he was in a whole heap of trouble. The Scarlet Witch would string him up by his balls.
Boris approached the doorway with caution, his electric stun stick held in his meaty left hand ready to lay a beating on anyone who might jump out at him although he fully expected the cell to be empty and its inhabitants already on the run. He’d check the room quickly, just to be sure, and then sound the alarm. Him and the other guards would catch them easily – there was no place for anyone to go – and Boris would give them a solid thrashing for causing him woe on what had up to this point been a quiet shift.
To his surprise and delight, when he peered into the cell, a young bald-headed man with a scruffy beard stood sheepishly over by the only window in the room. When the man saw Boris, he dropped to his knees and clasped his hands together in prayer. You’d better pray, you scrawny little bastard! Boris had no idea what had happened with the door but it looked like he wouldn’t
even have to raise the alarm, which would save him no end of grief. And no one would notice or care about a few more bruises on this would-be troublemaker.
The night guard walked into the cell.
Like lightning, someone charged at him from the side, wrapping an arm around his neck and jabbing the point of some sort of knife painfully into his back.
“Drop the stick, fat boy, or I’ll carve out both your kidneys,” his assailant said into his ear, digging his blade in a fraction further. Whoever the man was, he sounded like he meant it.
Boris was no fool. He released his electric stun stick and let it fall to the straw covered floor. He felt like an idiot for rushing into the room without being more careful but what was done was done. Now all he wanted to do was find a way out of this mess. If that meant letting these two fools walk away then so be it. It would make their beatings all the sweeter once they were eventually caught. He wanted to make sure they understood he wouldn’t give them any problems but the moment he opened his big mouth to say something, the man behind him moved the hand he had around his throat and slammed several small items onto his tongue. They felt like little rocks or pills maybe, but he couldn’t be sure. Boris tried to spit them out but the man had his hand clamped over his lips and wouldn’t let him.
“Spit those out and you might be joining the witch’s army shortly. Swallow the pills and do it now. I’m trying to give you a chance to walk away from this, man…I suggest you take it.”
Boris didn’t like either option but his fear of rising from the dead as one of the witch’s soulless soldiers scared him far more than whatever might happen if he swallowed a handful of tiny pills. The night guard nodded his head to show he understood, and then chewed the acrid tasting pills down. Within fifteen or twenty seconds his eyelids began to get heavy and he became light-headed. In fact, his entire body felt light as a feather, as if he could leap into the air and float on the breeze for miles and miles and miles and…
