Burden of Sisyphus

by Jon Messenger

  Though his featureless face betrayed no emotion, his gravelly voice contained excitement. “It looks like we may’ve found a way out. It looks clear ahead.”

  “Then what are we waiting for, Boss?” Pain flared in Tusque’s back. He, more than the others, was eager to leave the city and find proper medical care. He started to step onto the street when a glossy black hand fell on his chest.

  “Wait,” Ixibas said.

  “Why?” Hollander caught the excitement emanating from Tusque. “We’re this close. We can see the way out of the city. Why not take it while the sun’s still up.”

  “The Seques are intelligent. Are we in agreement about that?”

  They nodded.

  “Knowing they have a limitation about being exposed to sunlight, don’t you think they’d come up with a way to keep us in the city even when they were asleep? Don’t you think they expect us to make a run for it?”

  “I’m looking down the street,” Pateros said, looking around the corner. “I don’t see anything. There are no barricades to climb over. They don’t even have a barrier at the end of the road like when we first entered the city. Maybe they didn’t expect us to choose this route for an exit.”

  “They funneled us here,” Ixibas hissed in frustration. “Of course they expected us to come this way.”

  “Sorry, Boss, but I can’t wait.” Tusque stepped into the open street. “I’m hurting, and I don’t know how much more running my body can handle. Either we get out of the city now, or you’ll do it without ol’ Tusque.” He walked down the road toward the city’s edge.

  Without a backward glance, Hollander and Pateros fell in step behind the limping teammate.

  Ixibas shook his head in irritation. “Stupid.” He stepped into the street. “Wait up. I’m coming, too. I want you to remember I said this was a bad idea.”

  “Duly noted.” Hollander scanned the sides of the road for an ambush or trap. No one knew what to expect. Though they were eager to leave the city, they couldn’t ignore the fact that Ixibas was right. It was too easy.

  They walked in silence for half a mile to the edge of the city before Tusque started rambling, to himself as much as anyone else, “I wonder how we’re going to let the ship know we’re alive and ready for pickup.”

  Ixibas shrugged and scanned the road ahead. His eyes fell on the destruction around them—broken windows, smashed vehicles, and cracks in the pavement.

  Looking closer, he saw a series of cracks to their left extended just over a foot on the ground before stopping. A few feet beyond, another pair of cracks extended a similar distance and stopped. The ground was undamaged.

  Slowly turning in a circle, he scanned the rest of the road. In a concentric circle around them, cracks emanated no more than a foot before disappearing, as they approached the foci on which the group stood.

  “Nobody move!” His growled words startled the others. “It’s a….”

  Tusque stepped heavily, as he stopped his forward momentum. Beneath their feet, the ground shook from the impact, as if an earthquake was centralized beneath them. Hollander and Pateros spread their stance, trying to balance against the shaking.

  Ixibas watched in horror, as Tusque stumbled and backpedaled toward the other three. As he stepped heavily on his wounded leg, it buckled under him. He fell backward into the middle of the group like a collapsing mountain.

  As he crashed to the road, the fake covering broke loose and fell inward. The faux stone covering shattered, as fabric enclosed all four of them. Together, enclosed by shards of stone and gray cloth, they fell nearly twenty feet into a dark pit.

  They landed on the packed dirt floor with a heavy thud, their limbs entangled and buried in the heavy tarp. Ixibas dug his claws into the tarp and tore a hole through it to emerge in a dark passage. Above, light fell down to spotlight them, casting a faint glow in the tunnel that extended in both directions.

  “…trap,” he said, finishing his sentence far too late.

  The others, emerging from the tarp, looked around. Aside from pillars of light from above, the tunnel disappeared into the darkness beyond where they stood.

  “Where are we?” Hollander shook concrete dust from his hair.

  “We’re in their home.” Ixibas walked to the nearest wall and ran his clawed hand over the surface, tracing long claw marks with his own sharp fingers. “They dug this.”

  The rest of them looked at the mostly rounded tunnel. Nearly twenty feet overhead, the walls curved toward the ceiling. The tunnel ran parallel to the street, punctured with what they assumed were multiple false floors. The intense heat in the tunnel amplified the warmth of the setting sun, making the stuffy air thick to breathe.

  “They were waiting for us to do something stupid like this,” Pateros said. “We were herded like….” He stopped, because the phrase would normally have been completed with the word Seques.

  “They played us,” Ixibas said. “We were more than obliging.”

  Tusque muscled his way from under the tarp and turned on his light. The beam cast a dim glow down the hallway. “Why build a tunnel like this, Boss? It goes on forever. Was this just to catch us?”

  “No.” Ixibas’ voice sounded like rocks rubbing together. “I think capturing us was a secondary part of their plan. These tunnels are how the Seque disappear during the day.”

  “You’re saying we’re in the middle of their home?” Fear crept into Hollander’s voice. “We’ve fallen into their nest?”

  “We aren’t in the middle of their home yet, but we will be once the sun sets. Once they’re active again, they’ll flood the tunnels and find us. If we expect to survive, we need a way out.”

  “Which way is out, Boss?” Tusque turned his broad flashlight back and forth, illuminating both stretches of the hall.

  “I say we continue toward the edge of the city limits,” Pateros offered. “I’d rather not turn around and head back the way we came.”

  Ixibas followed their flashlight beams in the direction they’d been going on the surface. The lights fell short of reaching the end of the tunnel, but he shook his head. They walked for less than ten minutes before the tunnel dead-ended. Pateros and Tusque looked for weak points without finding anything. There was no hope of escape that way.

  Hollander approached Ixibas, who remained deeper in the tunnel. “You knew this would happen, didn’t you?” Bony protrusions along his face glistened with sweat.

  Even Ixibas’ glossy exoskeleton shone brighter in the tunnel’s warmth. “I had my suspicions. After all we’ve been through, I found it hard to believe they’d just let us go. If we want to escape their clutches, we need to head back into the city.”

  Hollander shivered, knowing escape had been so close. “I say we move now and fast. The sun won’t last much longer.”

  The group moved faster than before, nearly running over the tunnel’s uneven floor. The sticky air soaked their bodies with sweat, which poured into their eyes, as they hurried. Though they ran for some time, the tunnel never changed, except that it sloped deeper into the earth.

  Hope fled, as they moved deeper into the dark tunnel. Three beams of light barely illuminated the slowly widening space. What began as a twenty-foot tunnel grew to thirty and forty feet, as they continued on.

  The darkness became oppressive, and shadows seemed to move around them. The group turned left and right, trying to catch the fleeting movement at the edge of their vision. Fearing the darkness, they pushed on, hoping for an exit.

  Instead of an exit, the floor sloped suddenly, as their wide tunnel emptied into a spherical room. Pateros, leading the way, was caught by surprise and stepped over the lip of the room before realizing his mistake. His light vanished over the edge. He slid and fell down the sloping wall into the room.

  With his weapon tumbling free of his hands, his light harmlessly illuminated the wall to the right, exposing nothing of the room ahead. A wave of rotten meat assaulted their nostrils, making them gag, as the three stood on the pre
cipice.

  The wall of the round room went in a gentle slope before them to the floor thirty feet below. Lost in darkness, they heard the Wyndgaart groaning below from numerous cuts and bruises he received during his fall.

  Hollander and Tusque lowered their lights until they saw the tanned Wyndgaart on his back, one leg crumpled awkwardly under him. It looked broken, and he made no effort to stand. His feet rested inches from a dark underground lake that dominated the floor. Though the three wanted to save him, the smell of rot rolled over them again.

  “What’s that awful smell?” Hollander covered his nose and mouth with his free hand.

  “It smells terrible.” Tusque waved his hand before his face. “What makes the smell, Ixibas?” He turned to Ixibas, whose dark oval face focused on the room beyond.

  “Ixibas?” Tusque asked.

  “Shine your light into the room,” he said softly, his voice taking on a worried edge Tusque hadn’t heard before.

  The Oterian kept his eyes on the Lithid, looking away only when his broad light was aimed into the darkness beyond.

  Their breath caught in their throat. Though the beam couldn’t reach the far wall, it showed the dominant pile in the center of the rounded chamber. Bloated bodies, swollen from heat and rot, were piled on each other. Empty, staring eyes looked down from thousands of faces that watched unseeing from the pile. Heads, mouths open and tongues lolling, emerged from the mound of corpses. Their faces were permanently locked in looks of horror that were captured when they died.

  Hands reached down in claws, rigor mortis having twisted the muscles and pulled on their ashen skin. Thick blood poured over the pile, some congealed and some still running free, from dismembered limbs and free-falling organs that spilled from torn, half-eaten bodies. Cascading down the tiers of corpses to the floor, it pooled into a lake of dark-red blood.

  Tusque and Hollander panned their lights up to expose the peak of the bodies nearly fifty feet above the floor. Dozens of freshly dismembered figures were tossed haphazardly onto the pile, their dark body armor visible.

  “It’s every person from the city,” Hollander breathed.

  “And our own friends.” Tusque stared at the torn, bloodied, armored soldiers atop the pile.

  “We need to leave here now,” Ixibas hissed, his heart racing.

  “We can’t,” Hollander replied. “Pateros is down there. I won’t leave one of our own after all we’ve been through.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” Ixibas’ voice took on a hard edge. “It’s already too late.”

  Around the room, red eyes emerged from unseen tunnels and behind the pile of corpses. First, a couple dozen sets of eyes appeared, but the number grew, as the noise of combined growls of anger filled the room. Seques crawled from their cubbies, awakened from their sleep by intruding lights and voices. Hundreds of them awoke and entered the central chamber, seeing four helpless soldiers on the far side. Having just woken, their hunger for fresh meat was great.

  “There are so many of them,” Hollander said, stunned.

  “We can’t fight that many,” Tusque said meekly. “We’re going to die, aren’t we, Boss?”

  “If we are,” Ixibas growled, “let’s make sure we kill as many of these bastards as we can before we go. Kill them all!”

  The sound of gunfire and howls of rage filled the tunnels under the city.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  The sun dipped behind some of the taller buildings, casting shadows that stretched nearly to the outpost. Outside, sitting side-by-side, Eza and Vance watched it set.

  “Sir,” Eza said.

  “I see it, too.” Vance watched the shadows grow longer, as the day faded toward night. “It’s time to go.”

  They quickly climbed to their feet and hurried inside, the door having been opened for them by those who guarded the sturdy building. Without pause, they walked to the control room, where Yen and Decker still searched through endless files.

  “We’re losing daylight fast,” Vance said, without formalities or friendly conversation. “Now would be a great time to tell me you have something.”

  Yen leaned toward the console, typing furiously. Without breaking his locked gaze on the screen, he muttered, “Almost there. Bypassing the last of the virus protocols right now.”

  “He’s been working nonstop,” Decker explained, “without sleep, breaks, or barely any food and water. He works like a man possessed, or someone with something to prove.”

  “Got it!” Yen stretched his aching back and pressed a button, executing the program he created.

  Emergency lights came on, casting a red glow over everything in the building, turning their skin amber. In the red light, their worn expressions and tired eyes made them look like animated corpses. A loud siren sounded in conjunction with a distress beacon being projected from the computer system.

  “How long do you expect this to take?” Vance shouted over the siren.

  “Not long,” Yen replied, his voice nearly lost in the din. “If there’s a ship within range, even a patrol on the outskirts of this galaxy, they’ll pick up the signal and reply within a couple minutes.”

  “And until then?” Eza asked, his head throbbing from the noise.

  “Until then, we wait.” Yen shrugged. “Any replies will come up on the display screen with a location and ETA.”

  “Is there any way to shut off the siren?” Decker asked.

  Other survivors gathered outside the door, most with hands over their ears.

  “Give me a second.” Yen typed again.

  Within moments, the sound died, leaving silence throughout the outpost. Vance opened his mouth wide a few times, trying to shake free of the ringing that persisted even after the siren stopped.

  Though the suspense was overbearing, no one moved, as they awaited a response. Vance sat farthest from the others, lost in thought. Throughout their ordeal on the planet, his emotions had been a rollercoaster, rocketing between the extremes of hope and despair. More than once, he saw opportunities through which he bore hope of not only survival but escape, only to see them dashed by the cunning, dangerous Seques.

  Members of the team, who appeared virtually indestructible, were killed by the monsters stalking his group. It was easier, he found, to sink deeper into a dark depression than to hope for salvation.

  Once more, he sat in a room, hoping a savior would appear to snatch them from death. It wasn’t the first time he sat in such a situation, awaiting rescue. In every other instance, however, Halo was there to save him and his team. Her rescues were unerring, and Vance excelled in covert operations because of her help.

  Halo was gone. His team was scattered and mostly dead, and he was forced to rely on the salvation of a stranger, someone he never met, and, to be honest, wasn’t even sure was in space with a rescue ship. He had to admit there was a good chance no savior would come. There was a distinct possibility that, after barely slipping through death’s fingers so many times before, that he might finally die.

  Vance couldn't argue with the luck he had during his career. Many of the awards pinned on his dress uniform came from surviving situations that seemed beyond hope. In all those cases, he hadn’t survived because he feared death. He welcomed death’s embrace.

  That time was different. Dying meant sacrificing the lives of those who relied on him. In that city, he already let over one hundred soldiers die while serving under his command. He refused to believe there would be no salvation, that the men with him, who already survived so much, would die alone and forgotten.

  Vance wouldn’t allow that to happen. Somehow, some way, he would find a solution. Thus far, he realized he’d been playing the role of hero. Heroes didn’t die alone on a planet and let down those who depended on them. They found solutions. They were granted one last chance, a final option through which they could escape.

  He needed that option. He needed a ship to respond.

  “I’m getting something on the screen,” Yen said, breaking Vance from
his reverie. “Sir, it’s a ship, but you won’t believe where!”

  “Out with it!” Vance ordered.

  “It’s here, in the city, not even four blocks from where we are.”

  “Captain,” the communications officer onboard the Goliath said, “we’re picking up a distress signal.”

  “From where?” Captain Young sat forward on his chair on the bridge.

  “From Purseus II, Sir.”

  “Give me a visual.” His display revealed flickering lines of text, which his eyes quickly followed. He smiled appreciatively and muttered, “What’s your game, Vance? What are you trying to do?”

  He looked up from his console. “Helmsman, slow our exit from the system. Come to a complete stop and bring us into orbit around one of the nearby gas giants. I want to be available should those soldiers find a way off planet.”

  “Roger, Sir,” the navigator said. “Coming to full stop.”

  “”All right, Michael,” the captain said softly. “Let’s see what you’re capable of.”

  “It’s a Cair ship, Sir,” Yen said, as schematics on the responding ship flooded over his screen. “It’s being stored in one of the warehouses on the compound, straight out the easternmost door. It looks like it was powered down, but once it detected our distress call, it started powering its main system.”

  “Is it space-worthy?” Vance wouldn’t leave the safety of the compound unless he was absolutely sure of his escape.

  “Readings say….” Yen studied the ship’s plans. “She’ll fly, Sir. She looks intact.”

  The men in the room cheered, while Vance smiled. Only Eza remained somber.

  “Sir, need I remind you we’re talking about covering four city blocks while we’re exposed?” Eza asked. “We’re also losing daylight fast. If we don’t move soon, it won’t matter if we have a ship.”

  Nodding, Vance turned to Yen one last time. “What’s the designation of our savior ship?”