by Mike Duran
“Lived here?” Birch said. “What else lives here?”
“Shut up, will you?” Cali took several steps towards Birch before Djema reached out and stopped her.
“They don’t know, Birch,” Djema answered. “No one knows. Not yet, at least. But they sure want to know. Maybe they could use it for military purposes. Something to turn against the Earthers. Who knows? The brass went back and forth. Half of them said we needed to pull out. Isolate Graviton. Cordon it off, say it was contaminated or something. Label it another Area 51 or cattle mutation quarantine. Something. Anything. But the other ones, the ORSAG hardcores, said if we did that, it would violate basic creedal tenants. Everything has an explanation, they said. There was no phenomenon, no devil big enough that couldn’t be understood. And eliminated. So they kept sending them.”
“Devils?” Birch said in disbelief. “But we don’t… how can there be devils?”
“I don’t know, Birch.” Djema’s features had softened. “I really don’t know. All I know is I didn’t want this assignment from the start. I tried to tell myself it was all a lie. But in the back of my head, I kept thinking the rumor was right, that this was a suicide mission. Call me superstitious, religious—whatever. All I know is that we were doing okay. We’d made it this far into the cemetery without any problems. We were gonna make it out, I kept telling myself. We would be the first Four to get out of Graviton alive. And then, this.”
We stood glancing between ourselves, attempting to piece together this new information.
Finally, Birch spoke. “You.” He pointed at me. “Maybe it’s you they want.”
“Wait a second,” I objected.
“That’s right, Captain,” Birch said. “He's the only one who saw it. The... thing. Remember? He’s the one who told us to come here. Maybe he’s the one they want.”
“They who?” I glared at Birch. On the periphery of my vision, the shadows seemed to billow. “I warned you guys about what I thought I saw. It was some form of spirit. That's what I said. You’re the ones who chose to come down here in spite of that.”
“Yeah, but you’re the one who brought it on, talkin’ about demons and devils and—”
“You don’t believe in them,” I objected. “Remember? None of you do. So what does it matter? What’s the problem?”
“Enough!” Djema rose up, apparently regathering her strength. “No one’s to blame. Got it?” She took a few steps forward and scanned the group. “Our orders are to detect latent energy forms and vacuate this area. But there's nothing here.” Djema motioned to the interior of the mausoleum. “Nothing but a tomb and some weird drawings. That’s it. The scans came up empty and the squall is about passed. So, you know what I say?” She wiped sweat off her brow. “I say we suit up and get the hell outta here. While we still have a chance.”
“Amen to that,” Cali said, moving towards her gear.
A wave of relief washed over me. Over all of us.
We began hastily gathering our belongings. Perhaps all those ominous premonitions were nothing more than psychic blowback from my own internal misgivings. That wouldn’t be a revelation. Either way, I was with the others in wanting to get as far away from Graviton and its weird legends as fast as possible.
I straightened my neural vest and located my pack. As I went to it, I stopped in my tracks for a low rumbling had begun. At first I thought it was distant thunder. Yet the sound seemed to be coming from beneath us. Were the others hearing this, feeling this? I looked up in attempt to gauge their responses. When I did, a stony grating sounded. Immediately a sweet, yet noxious smell filled the air. Our lamps flickered off and on. An electromagnetic pulse? What had caused that? What was happening? I gagged at the smell and was about to turn to the sarcophagus, for the sound appeared to be coming from there, when motion wheeled overhead. A shadowy black form splashed the ceiling. Yet when I attempted to focus on it, I was struck by a wave of vertigo. Apparently, the others had as well. Someone was on their knees, yelling. Another laughed. A momentary chaos seized us. I tried to steady myself as the chamber tilted crazily. For a second, my conscious mind winked on and off.
Snapshots of images riffled through my brain—
crosses
blazing apocalyptic landscapes
glistening thorns
bloated pods
—then everyone was staring into the shadows of the ceiling. The laughter had stopped. Birch staggered to his feet and bleated something. Then he retrieved the lamp and swung its beam toward the ceiling. Simultaneously, another heavy grating sounded. I turned just in time to see the sarcophagus lid thud to the floor.
Someone in a Requiem uniform was descending into the ancient coffin.
1.3
“Retig!” Cali turned around, looking at Djema. “Was that Retig?”
I was attempting to steady myself. Yet I was unsure whether the motion had been in our actual surroundings or in my own head. Djema yelled something. She was staring at the ceiling and fumbling for her sidearm.
My consciousness blinked on and off again, and I realized I was standing at the sarcophagus, bracing myself against its cold stone surface, peering into its shadowy interior.
“Did you see him?” Lincoln practically choked out the words. He glanced back at the spot where Retig had been. Seeing it was vacant, he approached with his pistol drawn, pointing it into the sarcophagus. “Did you see him?”
“Who?” My voice seemed distant. Disembodied. “No. I-I’m not sure.”
“He climbed in there. Stand back.”
But there was no sign of Retig inside the sarcophagus. I was about to tell him that when Birch yelled. “What was that? Did you see it?”
He and Djema were not looking at us, but at the ceiling. Birch’s light beam rested on a dark liquid, a moist splatter that glistened across the ornately paneled architecture.
“It was right there!” Birch scoured the ceiling with the light, but nothing else was visible. “Somethin’ was there. You saw it, right? Holy shit. Captain, let’s get outta here. Now!”
“What about Retig?” Lincoln approached the sarcophagus. “Where the hell is he?”
Djema stood blinking, attempting to make sense of whatever she’d seen on the ceiling. Or thought she’d seen. She kept her pistol out, turned her attention our way, and stepped toward the sarcophagus. Birch followed, mumbling aimlessly to himself, and shone the light into the crypt.
The sarcophagus was empty.
I was about to release a gasp of astonishment when I noticed that on one side of the coffin, a gaping crevice had been bored. Mounds of earth and moldering clay filled that side of the sarcophagus, and below it, what appeared to be a tunnel coiled into darkness.
“He went down there?” Birch shone his light into the hole. “Why? What the hell was he thinking?”
“Retig!” Djema shouted into the tunnel. “Retig! Are you down there?”
“Why would he do that?” Lincoln asked.
“Where does it go?” Cali asked, peering into the sarcophagus. “What's down there? Retig! Hey!”
But there was no answer, just the soft pulse of cool air from the aperture.
Cali reached into the sarcophagus and scooped some of the earth into her hand. “It’s like... worm castings. Like something dug its way up from below.”
“Captain,” Birch pleaded. “This is not right. It’s unnatural. This whole place. We gotta get outta here, like you said.”
“And leave him?” Djema glared at Birch. “Get ahold of yourself, soldier.”
She snatched the lamp from him, leaned over the sarcophagus, and shone its light into the tunnel, studying what lay below. “Looks like a path of some sort,” she said. “Enough for one wide. It curves under, eastward. Hard to tell.” She straightened. “We gotta go down.”
We glanced among each other, fear glinting in our eyes. The surface of Graviton Cemetery was awful enough. How much more might its subterranean belly be? But Djema was right—we couldn’t leave him, we had to go
down. And we all knew it.
“RoZ.” Lincoln finally said. “We can send RoZ down.”
The beetle bot, a small drone that we used to scout dangerous and difficult to reach parts of the graveyard, had been kept in Retig’s pack. As soon as we realized this, we turned one of the lights to the spot where Retig had been. Luckily, his pack lay on the floor. However, its content were scattered. Even worse, the drone lay in pieces.
“It's crushed,” Lincoln said.
“He crushed it?!” Birch went over, knelt down, picked up some of the pieces, and let them sift through his fingertips. “He didn’t want us to follow him. Oh, God. What is happening?”
Lincoln said soberly, “Or maybe he did want us to follow him.”
“I am not going down there,” Birch said, flinging the parts to the ground. “He should go down there!” He pointed at me. “He’s the reason we came down here in the first place. He’s the one they want.”
“They who?” Lincoln asked, his brow creased in irritation.
Birch turned around and pointed at the final panel of the fresco. “Them! Or... or that squid thing. Archons. Ravers. Whatever the hell took those other Requiems, that's who.”
I suppose it wasn’t odd that no one spoke up to contest Birch’s theory. I looked across at him. I must admit, there was a certain logic to his words. Indeed, I was the one who’d seen the phantom in the graveyard above, the Type Four specter that I could not identify. And now that we’d officially crossed into the realm of the surreal and I was the expert on ghosts and hobgoblins, it was my responsibility to follow through.
I looked past them, to the carved images on the polyptych. They seemed to move in and out of focus. Yet it couldn’t be denied—the final panel looked like a Requiem unit. There were six of them, geared up, bearing an ORSAG angel. And the one in front, the central figure, was unarmed… except for a book in his hand and a small, cross-like symbol on his breast. My heart thudded in my ears. I stared. For as much as I wished it wasn’t so, that image looked uncannily like me.
But how was that possible?
At one time, seminaries expounded upon the doctrine of predestination, the belief that a man’s story is predetermined, penned by another’s hand. Indeed, even Science inferred that biology was destiny. Still, I puzzled over the possibilities here. Were the similarities simply an odd coincidence? Had our arrival been foreseen by someone? Then again, perhaps we'd created some odd time loop. Quantum vacua were rumored to have strange, subtle effects on the space/time continuum. Could this be one of them?
Either way, I couldn’t shake the feeling that Birch was right—someone wanted us. Someone was drawing us.
And I was the bait.
The others were shouting into the tunnel, attempting to summon their brother in arms. They were pushing and cursing each other. Djema threatened Birch with possible charges of insubordination. Cali raged against Retig while vowing to blast apart any spectral anomalies in her path. But I knew what I needed to do. If this moment had been predestined or predicted, then I would see it through. I would answer the call.
For once in my life, I would answer the call.
I cleared my throat and raised my hand. “I’ll go.”
Despite my attempt at bravery, I couldn't conceal my trembling. So I quickly lowered my hand. Yet I was not possessed of courage, but of madness. Nevertheless, in that, I was strangely resolved. My words seemed to stun them, for the commotion abruptly ceased and they all turned towards me.
“I’ll go,” I repeated. “I'll lead the way, at least.”
Perhaps I should not have been surprised by their apparent bewilderment. I was probably the last person on the squad they could conceive volunteering for such a mission. The revelation of my defection from the Church along with my pacifist professions gave them little choice but to be incredulous.
“What's wrong?” I said. “I’ll go. That’s what you want, right? That's what we need.”
I stared at them with an awkward combination of fear and self-righteousness.
“Look,” I said. “I get it. I've been the fifth wheel on this unit since we started. I’m the spineless preacher living in the past, going on about things you’re all too intelligent to believe in. Now, all of a sudden, you're starting to wonder if maybe ol’ Lax isn't crazy after all. Right? Maybe there's something to this vacuation business after all. Maybe there really are things like... devils.”
I removed my jacket and tossed it aside.
“What's worse, maybe I’m the only one who can protect you against them.”
I allowed my gaze to wander from face to face. Then I turned away, retrieved my backpack and removed the electronic tablet and a flask of holy water, which I stuffed into my vest pocket. I returned to the sarcophagus. They watched me.
“Birch was right,” I said. “I'm the one who saw it. So I should be the one to follow it through. I was assigned to recognize anomolies and deal with them. Last rites, exorcisms. Whatever. I just hope to God I got what it takes. And you should probably hope that too.”
“That’s right.” Birch laughed nervously. “You can go.”
“Well, he’s not going alone.” Djema scanned the members of the unit. “I want spectrals on. QVACs armed and ready. Whatever the hell is down there, and whatever it takes, we’re gonna finish this. We’re gonna find Retig and get the hell out of here. Do you hear me?”
Her words were met with only grumbled assent and half-hearted concession. They were spooked. We all were. And rightly so. Nervous glances were still being cast to the blot on the ceiling, the crushed drone, and the eyeless busts that silently watched on.
As much as I hoped to inspire courage in the team, dread knotted in my gut like a serpent preparing to strike. A lamp was placed in my hand. With it, I leaned over and shone the beam down into the tunnel. Despite the odd angles, there appeared a short drop to a flat, unusually smooth surface. Not quite a floor, but something definitely carved. I climbed into the sarcophagus and squat there, studying the passage below more closely. But other than the initial drop, I couldn’t ascertain much.
“It looks like… rubble,” I said. “Almost like a path cut through some kind of ruins. It’s not just earth down there. We’re sitting on another chamber or something.”
“Ruins of what?” Lincoln asked, resetting the sights on his QVAC and preparing to follow.
“I don't know.”
Djema inserted a clip into her pistol. “Doesn’t matter. We'll find out when we get down there.” She extended her weapon to me. “Here, take this.”
I looked at the gun and then shook my head. “I've gotten this far without one. Besides, I’ve got this.” I took hold of my crucifix, kissed it, and let it fall back in place on my chest. It was an empty gesture. Like so many of the rituals I performed, its tether to any semblance of genuine faith was fraying. So I added, “But you will be right behind me anyway, right?”
“Yeah.” She nodded. “Just go slow. Be aware of your surroundings. And wait for us. It could be some kind of trap.”
“A trap? By who?”
My question made her pause. Then she shrugged. “I dunno. You were the one talking about demons. Besides, there's Earther symbols outside. For all we know this could be some kind of elaborate bunker. Whatever's going on here, just be careful. We’ll be right behind you.” She adjusted the strap on her helmet and assisted Cali with her pack.
I shouted into the tunnel one last time for Retig. As I expected, there was no answer. Whatever had happened to him remained a mystery. He was, perhaps, the most stout of the entire unit. Especially wearing the T-braces and brandishing a near indefatigable moxie. Which made his disappearance even more mysterious. Had he entered this shaft of his own accord? Or had something drawn him? Or led him?
I slipped my legs through the opening and let them dangle there. I made the sign of the cross. Lincoln gave me a thumbs-up.
“When you reach bottom,” Djema said, “let us know what you see.”
I nodded.
Cali adjusted her chest armor. “Right behind you, Preach.”
Attaching the lantern to my belt, and to the other side, the tablet and the holy water, I hoisted my body free of the sarcophagus and balanced there, as if between earth and hell itself. Then I lowered myself into the shaft.
Not only was the drop not as far as I'd calculated, but my trajectory was off. My thigh met stone and, as I released my grip, I slid rather than fell and then tumbled backward, landing in an awkward heap in a hard corner. Cool air lapped the ground. I quickly rose, grappling for the lamp, only to find myself struggling to make sense of my surroundings.
I had entered, not a tunnel, as I'd anticipated, but a vast subterranean cavern. Immense blocks of stone creating mountainous piles of rubble stretched into the dark. Walls and arches, shorn from their foundations, teetered in disarray amongst the debris, remnants of some cataclysmic event. Bleached edifices of bone or marble bespoke a primordial civilization.
The ruins of an underground city.
Elongated shadows capered across this wash of stone and columns. A susurration or vague drone of insects sounded. And to my surprise, clouds appeared overhead, low gliding nimbus curling across what must have been the earthen ceiling. How could this be? Was I in a cavern or another space altogether?
I called out Retig's name, but even that seemed to require unusual energy. The world appeared to be collapsing downward here, as if gravity had been intensified, dragging everything to the earth's molten core. Indeed, my very footing seemed compromised by this unnatural pull. Even standing still, I was somehow caught in its hellish draw, incrementally sliding toward some dark horizon. Perhaps the sarcophagus had led me into a magnetic vortex. Either that, or I'd entered a parallel dimension unfit for human beings.
