by Ricky Fleet
“Here it comes,” Taren whispered.
“Stand back a little, I hate it when you get so close.”
“Sorry,” she replied, stepping back into the room.
It was always a strange sensation when the transport raced past. First the air pressure would build and make their ears pop, then it would create a vacuum which could suck a person straight into the tunnel. It had happened to a young man several weeks ago and the force had thrown him clear across the chamber. With leg broken and the bone piercing the skin, there was nothing they could do and he died from infection within a week. His body had been carried half a mile away, but Taren was sure she could smell the decay at times, wafting to them on the changing air currents. At least the poor man had ensured the longevity of his old friends by being a convenient food source for the rats.
“The aliens are trying to suck our brains out!” screamed the disturbed man, punching himself in the head. They had long ago stopped expecting him to understand that it was a mixture of headache and pressure.
“Go back to sleep, it will be gone in a few second,” shouted Zulma loudly enough to be heard over the growing roar, with no better result than the previous hundred times.
Writhing on the floor, the hysterical man tore at his face, drawing blood from recently scabbed wounds. The light intensified and the bullet shaped craft raced past, comprising over twenty sections of dull grey metal.
“That was big,” said Taren sadly, “They must be really pushing on the northern front now.”
“With any luck they will all kill each other and we can try and rebuild the world without all the hatred,” replied Zulma through gritted teeth.
As the gale diminished the two women hurried out into the tunnel to make use of the dying light. Their toilet comprised a small chute which carried the constantly flowing water which penetrated the thick walls. It tasted bitter which they all said was due to the poisonous world it came from. The truth was it was probably untold chemical pollutants, gradually destroying their vital organs. At least two of the group had started urinating blood, and those were only the ones willing to admit to the ailment. If it hadn’t been partially filtered by the ground it passed through, they would likely all be dead by now.
As Taren squatted, positioning herself as best she could over the hole, she asked, “Do you ever regret running away?”
“Never,” Zulma smiled warmly, kissing her on the hand, “They would have separated us for one.”
“I couldn’t stand being away from you,” Taren replied, fresh tears threatening to flow.
“Hey, I won’t ever let that happen, I promise.”
Taren finished and used some of the cleaner water to wash herself. It was a choice between a mild skin rash or being totally unhygienic and she just wouldn’t allow herself to become one of the ‘stenchers’. A name unkindly given to those travelling the tunnels on foot who hadn’t washed for months.
“Let’s get back, we have a busy day tomorrow going topside. It would be great if we could find some discarded food in one of the bins,” Zulma said, pulling Taren to her feet.
In years past she would have ignored people begging for change to buy food and even mock those who rifled through other people’s waste. Now the thought made her mouth water and stomach grumble in anticipation. She shook her head, feeling guilty for how she had judged the unfortunate homeless.
“What’s up?”
“Oh, nothing,” Taren sighed, “I was just thinking about how far we have fallen. We are reduced to living in squalor without light and eating rotten food or rats.”
“It will get better, it has to,” declared Zulma hopefully. The signs weren’t promising and the war machines that vied for control showed no sign of slowing down.
They were nearly at the shelter when a fresh glow bloomed around the bend over half a mile away.
“Another transport?” Taren questioned, brow furrowed.
“Impossible, it’s coming from the opposite direction.”
Understanding shattered their confusion.
“It’s the exterminators!” Taren shrieked until a hand silenced her fearful cry.
“Quiet,” cautioned Zulma, “We need to wake the others and get out of here, quickly.”
Sleep was blown off in an instant at the mention of the exterminators. The overworld rulers didn’t appreciate anyone who tried to shy away from their duty and sent the most sadistic killers into the tunnel systems to hunt and butcher anyone they could find. Disbelief paralyzed some in the group as they had never come this way before. An old baseball bat was produced, but it would be useless against the weapons of their pursuers. It had only been used once before on a pair of thugs who had tried to take some of the meagre bedding.
“Which way shall we go?” Taren asked. She was terrified and rightly so, stories travelled with people who swear they were left alive to spread word of the butchery they witnessed.
“We head west, away from the bastards and then split at the intersection. From there we keep splitting into smaller groups which will make it harder for them to track us all.”
Taren ran into the tunnel and skidded to a stop. There was light from the western tunnel, but could have sworn it had been coming from the east. Turning slowly, she could see light coming from both directions and the temptation to lay down and curl into a ball was overwhelming.
“Shit, we are trapped. Which way can we go?” Zulma asked, more to herself than the others.
“Nowhere,” replied alien guy, lucid for the first time, “The nearest access hatch to lower tunnels is more than a mile away.”
Some fell to the ground and started wailing, while others stood tall and accepted what was coming. The beams in the distance quickly found their target and started bobbing wildly as the killers started running toward their prey. As the men and women from each direction neared, they slowed their pace and aimed the composite material guns at the group. A woman stepped forward and introduced herself.
“My name is Major Davion,” she smiled at the cowering people, “I head up the third quadrant tunnel intervention force.”
“You mean you are a murdering bitch!” snarled one of the newer members. Weakened by starvation, his bravery disappeared and he looked at the floor, waiting for the shot that would end his life.
“You really shouldn’t listen to the ramblings of crazy people,” she continued affably, “We don’t do anything like that. We are merely here to take you topside and put you to better use.”
“And if we don’t want to go topside?” Zulma said, glaring at Davion.
“Then I guess you escape from the training schools and we have to come and find you again,” she laughed, “You would be keeping me in a job, so I should be thanking you.”
“What if we tried to escape right now?” she pressed, defiance in her eyes.
“Oh, you would be shot,” explained Davion, “Come on, you can’t blame us. We have targets to meet.”
“Rounding up starving men, women, and children. You can go and fuck your targets!” Zulma hissed and spat on the Major’s pristine uniform.
Taren cowered even more, whimpering in fear for her lover’s life. A flash of hatred passed over the woman’s features, but was quickly replaced by the disarming smile.
“There is really no need for that,” she chastised, before reaching for her radio and pressing the transmit button, “Send the prisoner transport.”
“We will never be a part of your evil regime.”
Grinning at Zulma, she replied, “I think you will find you will be helping more than you ever thought possible.”
“We will see,” muttered Zulma.
The team faced them all against the rough wall and patted them down, reaching into their loose clothes for a grope. Their intimate delving wasn’t challenged by their superior who watched with amusement. After the bat was taken, they were all handcuffed and had their feet bound with velcro straps. The familiar vibration started again and soon a single section craft rounded the corner, t
hough at a much lower speed than the military transport. As it approached, the magnetic plates adjusted to pin it in place and the squat, ugly craft hovered two feet from the floor.
“All aboard!” cried the major and her team burst into hysterics, far in excess of what the quip deserved. They knew how important it was to massage her ego.
With a hiss, a seal released and a door slid into the main body of the vessel. Inside were more uniformed soldiers and they lowered a set of steps for the prisoners. One by one the ankle restraints were removed and the man or woman reluctantly climbed aboard. Everyone in the group had been astonished by the sudden silence of the alien guy but as soon as he was hefted to his feet all hell broke loose. Lunging forward, he bit deeply into the face of his guard. Worrying the nose like a dog, he ripped it free and the man screamed in pain. Laughing like a madman, with blood oozing from his mouth, alien guy made a break for it.
“I told you that you would never get my brain!” he whooped.
“Shall we open fire?” asked one of the guards.
Before Major Davion could answer, alien guy lost his footing. The awkward gait and his handcuffed arms ended up tripping him on an overlooked bolt and he went sprawling. His head smashed into the corner of a magnetic plate without hands to break the fall and the sickening crunch echoed up the tunnel. Over the short distance it was impossible to miss the spreading blood and the twitching legs.
“He’s a goner,” Major Davion muttered, “Go and grab his body, we can still use it.”
Taren was next and Zulma thrashed against the restraining hands, “You’re all monsters.”
“Perhaps.” Major Davion nodded, stepping to the side to avoid the body as it kicked and bucked from the catastrophic brain injury.
Taren stepped up into the waiting arms of the transport guards and their leers filled her with fear. Only the knowledge that she and Zulma would be together prevented her from fainting. Drawing strength from her girlfriend, she smiled once more and was swallowed by the massive, cylindrical machine.
“Ok, pack it up, we are out of here,” Davion ordered and the remaining guards stepped into the craft.
“Wait, what about me?” Zulma cried out, struggling to stand.
Major Davion climbed aboard and pulled the steps up, before throwing a set of keys as far down the tunnel as she could.
“We don’t need you,” Davion explained.
“I don’t understand, please let me aboard with Taren and I will do whatever shitty job you want me to do,” Zulma begged.
“You silly, naive woman, she isn’t going for any training. With all the conflict, food is running low so we are collecting as many as we can. By this time next week she will be nothing more than a box of energy bars for our brave soldiers.”
“Please, no!” shrieked Zulma. Her heart was tearing into pieces and her limbs wouldn’t obey her commands to stand up.
“An army can’t march on an empty stomach,” replied Major Davion.
“Then take me too, you evil whore. If I’m going to die then at least it will be with the woman I love,” she glowered, hatred dulling the fear.
“I have another plan for you,” Davion smirked, “You see, I know that there are hundreds, if not thousands of you down here hiding. You won’t take the easy way out, you’re a fighter. I can see it in your eyes. So when you find some likeminded people and decide to try and save your beloved wife, we will be waiting.”
“And if I don’t rise to the bait?” she tried to bluff.
“As with the rest, she will be dropped alive into the boiling machine to make the flesh easier to remove. A just end to a traitor!” Davion declared with a sneer.
“I will kill you if you harm a hair on her head!” Zulma snarled.
“I’m counting on it,” clapped Davion excitedly, “Good luck and I’m sure we will be meeting again soon.”
With a pneumatic hiss, the door closed and the heavy plates shifted position on the wall, pushing the craft along the tunnel. In seconds the magnetic field had propelled it out of sight around the bend. The darkness grew, leaving her totally alone except for the drying blood of alien guy and the small set of keys.
Overcome with grief, she screamed into the emptiness, “Taaaarrrrrrreeeennnn!”
Malachi awoke with a strangled choke of terror. The walls seemed closer and as he finally took in his surroundings, the change of venue was apparent. He was in a private room with a single door, which was closed. The only light came from the small, square of window which was set at head height. Trying to rub his face of the cloying sweat from the nightmare, his wrist stopped dead before it got close. The thick, leather strap which held his arm firmly was repeated on each limb and he thrashed around wildly, desperate to be free of the bonds.
A face appeared at the glass and Malachi nearly passed out in relief. Shannon smiled back at him, but with a reticence that hadn’t been there before. It was as if she were afraid of him.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“Please level with me, why on earth am I trussed up like a Christmas turkey?” Malachi asked as Shannon finished her checks.
She hesitated for a moment before heading towards the doorway, unwilling to engage in conversation. The dramatic change in her demeanour scared Malachi more than the restraints. Something he had done had caused her to withdraw and erect the professional barriers which all medical staff were trained in. Considering yesterday he had been her hero and she was gushing over him, the transformation in her attitude was inexplicable. All he had done was suffer from a nightmare for Christ sake!
“Shannon, I’m sorry for whatever I did to you,” Malachi whispered, slumping back on the pillow in defeat.
As she prepared to close and lock the door, she hesitated again and turned.
“I have a few more checks to make, and then I will pop back, ok?”
Her face had softened a little and he could see her turmoil.
“Thank you,” Malachi smiled wearily.
The door closed and the lock was engaged which told him that he was considered a danger to others as well as himself. What the hell had he done during the dream to warrant such precautions? A million possibilities poured though his mind, none of them good. Praying that he hadn’t struck out and hurt someone in the throes of the horrific fantasy, he flexed his whole body one part at a time. Nothing felt bruised or sore, not even the knife wounds. Realizing the possibilities were endless and trying to narrow them down a waste of energy, he watched the door instead, willing Shannon to hurry on her rounds. Minutes stretched out and the longer he stared, the worse a growing tension headache became. When the stabbing pain became almost too much to bear, the noise of a key turning brought some relief. Shannon entered with visible reluctance and the pain was gradually replaced by gnawing fear. Judging by the apprehension on her face, wetting himself or vomiting everywhere was the least of his worries.
“I don’t really know where to begin,” Shannon explained, sitting as far away as possible in a corner of the room.
“Please tell me what I did for starters. The last thing I remember was eating yoghurt last night,” Malachi said with exasperation. He would have thrown his arms up if they hadn’t been tied to the bedframe.
“That wasn’t last night,” she said quietly.
“Huh?” Malachi was even more confused.
“You ate the yoghurt three nights ago,” she stated and Malachi’s mouth fell open, “We thought you had fallen back into a coma when you couldn’t be roused.”
“Three days?” Malachi repeated.
It just didn’t make sense; the vision had lasted in real terms about half an hour, no more. With most studies agreeing that the average duration of a dream was in the region of an hour depending on the individual, it left over seventy hours unaccounted for.
“After the first day the doctors simply advised we let you sleep, or whatever it was you were doing,” Shannon continued. Why had she placed such emphasis of the last part of the sentence?
“What I was doing?” M
alachi met her gaze.
“Nothing,” she begun, “At first.” Her eyes gave away her fear.
“Did I wet myself again? I do that sometimes during my nightmares,” Malachi admitted his embarrassing affliction, hoping to see a look of understanding on her face.
It didn’t appear, but he could see she desperately wished it were that simple. “The first thing happened when you were talking in your sleep. The curtains started to flutter and we assumed a window had been left open during visiting hours. Every single one was locked up tight but the curtains still danced around on their hooks like they were being blown about.”
“Could it have been the air conditioning?” Malachi offered, but she shook her head.
“ICU doesn’t have air conditioning, only the windows which are meant to be kept shut at all times. The strangest thing was that there wasn’t even a breeze making them move, the air was totally still,” Shannon explained.
“Is that all? An unexplained moving curtain?” Malachi blurted out and immediately regretted it when he saw her face.
“That was the start of it,” she replied, “The talking continued, but it was all gibberish. At least that’s what it sounded like. Angela was sure you were chanting or something, it reminded her of a vacation she had taken to Tibet. The monks there have a throat chant that they use to meditate and relax. You didn’t look relaxed.”
“I was having a bad dream,” Malachi said, unwilling to admit that it had involved sacrificing his wife and non-existent child to a creature not of this earth.
