The Music of the Machine (The Book of Terwilliger 2)

by Michael Stiles

  When climbing didn’t work, he tried jumping again. When jumping failed, he tried climbing once more. After that, he fired some shots into the air from his pistol. That made his ears ring, but otherwise achieved nothing. When he ran out of ideas, he screamed for help. Maybe the VC would find him and assume he was one of their own. It had worked before. But no one answered. He sat down in the disgusting water and looked up at the blue sky, only a few feet above his head. He must have fallen asleep. The next time he looked up, the sun was shining into the hole. It was unbearably hot. He rested his head on the slime-covered wall and drowsed for a while. Then he woke up and tried in vain to climb out again.

  He attempted calling Les on the radio and received no answer. It was the first time he could remember trying to call Les and getting no response. He shouted for help some more, knowing that even if someone was nearby, the sound of his voice probably wouldn’t carry far from the bottom of the hole. He said several prayers to whomever was listening. After that he sat there despondently, feeling the warmth of the filthy water on his skin. Dehydration was already getting to him. The sky was slowly growing darker. Night would be coming soon. He was going to die.

  “Les,” he whispered. “Help me out of here, man.”

  The next time he dozed off, he dreamed of someone who looked familiar. His brains had been scrambled up ever since that bullet had hit his helmet, but he was sure he could remember the man’s name if he thought hard enough. It was the man who had sent him here to die. The one who had sent Danny to search for the green monkey. He wished that guy was down here in this hole instead of him. What was his name?

  He slept again for a while, a hot and unpleasant sleep filled with frightening dreams of giant geckos that wanted to eat him. Somewhere amid the dreams he found himself back in a familiar place—a place where he had been with friends not long before. It was a hilltop overlooking a forested valley that was dominated by a single, massive tree in the middle of a broad clearing. A chilly breeze blew his hair back, so much cooler than the hot, stale air in the hole he was stuck in. The sky was a deep shade of purple, filled with brilliant, colorful stars. Clouds were rolling in from the horizon, blotting out a few of the stars. There was plenty of light for Danny to see clearly, even though the stars couldn’t possibly have produced enough light to see by.

  He recognized this forest, in the way that he sometimes experienced a vague sense of déjà vu. He’d been here before, several times. The specifics were lost in a haze somewhere deep inside his brain. He was supposed to meet someone here—several people—but he could not remember who they were.

  A man stood a short distance downhill, looking down into a wide, dark hole in the ground. The man had thinning red hair with a large bald spot on top, and he wore a gray suit that badly needed to be pressed. The suit was almost the same color as his neatly-trimmed beard. He might have appeared quite unremarkable if Danny had seen him on the subway or walking down the street, but in this remote wilderness he seemed strangely out of place. He looked up and was visibly startled to see Danny.

  “Who in blazes are you?” the man snapped.

  Taken aback, Danny needed a moment to remember his own name. “I’m Danny.”

  “You’re not supposed to be here.”

  “I don’t even know where here is.” Danny didn’t appreciate being snapped at.

  The man in the rumpled suit sighed. “You’re one of his friends, aren’t you?” He phrased this as a statement rather than a question. “This isn’t a safe place. A storm is coming.” He looked up at the clouds, which were rolling in fast. “Someone is trying to attack Terwilliger’s mind. You won’t want to be around when he breaks through.”

  “Who’s attacking? And which side are you on?”

  “The three-headed man. He’s a nasty son of a bitch. I’m not on his side, so I suppose that means you can consider me a friend.”

  “Well, you’re not very friendly.”

  The man sighed. “I don’t mean to be short with you. Something bad is coming, and I can’t have you here while I’m trying to defend his mind. My apologies, but you’ll be going now.”

  Danny felt himself being flung with great force out of the forest and into outer space. The colorful stars spun wildly around him, blurring into a purple fog. Then he was somewhere warm, looking out of a porthole at a vast ocean of deep, dark blue. A man’s head, silhouetted against the blue, was looking in at him. “Holy shit,” said the silhouette. “Guys, there’s somebody down there!”

  “I’m not down there,” Danny mumbled. “I’m up here.”

  “Emmett, get me a rope,” said the shadow. But Danny didn’t have a rope, so he just stared at the speaker and said nothing.

  A few seconds later, one end of a rope came tumbling out of the blue opening, splashing softly in the brown water next to his head.

  “Yo! Can you get up?”

  Danny slowly came to understand that he was not dreaming. He was looking up at the circle of darkening sky above, and a man was looking down at him. He tried to speak, but his throat was dry and he started coughing.

  “Stay put,” said the person at the top of the hole. “I’m coming down.” A few seconds later he was down in the pit with Danny. “Shit,” he said. “That’s the shittiest-smelling shit I’ve ever smelled.” A minute later he was giving Danny a leg up, and soon after they were both out of the hole. Danny took a long drink from the stranger’s canteen and then lay on the ground, breathing in air that felt gloriously cool after the hot stillness inside the oubliette. And to think, just a few hours ago, he had considered this to be a pretty hot day. The stranger quietly took possession of both of Danny’s handguns and his knife. Ordinarily this would have bothered him, but at the moment he was not overly concerned.

  His head was aching fiercely. It was a while before he was able to sit up again. The stranger waited patiently, sitting half-concealed in some tall grass as he watched for danger. “Better get out of the open,” he said.

  Danny crawled over to the weeds. His rescuer was muscular and deeply tanned, with short blond hair that seemed almost white in contrast with his brown skin. He wore no shirt, just a cross on a thin gold chain around his neck. His pants were olive-drab jungle trousers.

  “Smoke?” The stranger was offering a cigarette. Danny accepted it gratefully. “All right,” the man said. “I’ve got to go. Don’t fall back in there.” He rose to his feet and turned to leave.

  “W-wait!” Danny cried in a hoarse voice. “You’re leaving?”

  The man turned to stare at him, astonished. “You speak English?”

  “I just did,” Danny said.

  His rescuer stared at him a bit longer with his mouth hanging open, until some flies started buzzing around his head and he had to close his mouth. “Where you from?” he asked at last.

  “New York.”

  “Well, shit,” said the man. “New York.” He cocked his head to the side. “You’re not just some English-speaking Commie?”

  “If I was, I’d lie to you and say I was from New York.”

  The stranger did not think this was funny. Danny didn’t know what else to say, so he just kept looking at the man. And the man just kept looking at him, waiting for him to say something more. The bugs continued their endless drone all around them.

  “My name is Danny Chan, U.S. Army, Private First Class. Wet Dog Company. Are you Army too?”

  The man scratched at a bug bite on his arm. “You sure sound like a New Yorker to me,” he said. Shaking his head, he turned again and started walking away. Danny hurried to catch up, and they walked together toward the trees.

  “You’re dressed like one of them,” said Danny’s rescuer. “Lucky I’m the one who found you, and not one of the others. They might have just shot you in the head.”

  “Still better than dying of thirst down there,” Danny said.

  “Yeah!” He laughed heartily at that. “Guess that’s true. I’m Vince Milligrew. Just call me Milligrew. I’m not going shake your ha
nd because you’re covered in crap.”

  “Okay.” Danny noticed that Milligrew did had not responded to his original question. Was he in the Army or not?

  “You didn’t swallow any of that stuff in the bottom of that hole, did you? You’ll get sick.”

  Danny tried to remember. “I don’t think so.”

  Milligrew looked at him sideways. “You don’t think so? Seems like you’d know for sure if you did.”

  Danny shrugged.

  “Well, we’ll find out, one way or the other. If you start puking, aim it away from me.”

  Danny followed him into the jungle, and only then realized that there were three other men waiting there. Not one of them looked happy to see him.

  “This guy’s a New Yawker,” Milligrew told the others. “Don’t shoot him in the head.” Danny was grateful for the supportive words. Milligrew pulled a green t-shirt out of a rucksack and started to put it on.

  “What’s that on your arm?” Danny asked him.

  Milligrew cursed and slapped at his arm. “What is it? Did I get it? Goddamn bugs.”

  “He’s messing with you, Milligrew,” said another of the men. To Danny he said, “Don’t joke about bugs with Milligrew. He hates bugs.”

  “Not bugs,” Danny said, stepping closer to get a better look. “Your tattoo.”

  On his upper right arm Milligrew had a tattoo. It was in the shape of a monkey, shown in profile, sitting inside a circular border. The ink appeared black, but on closer inspection Danny could tell that it was dark green.

  “He’s looking at your monkey,” said the other soldier. He pulled up the sleeve of his t-shirt to show Danny that he, too, had a green monkey on his arm. Danny had to laugh. He’d come here looking for one green monkey, and instead had found a whole bunch of them! Lester had led him to the right place after all. The other two soldiers were still glaring at him suspiciously, so he stopped laughing and looked at the ground.

  “Why do you all have monkeys?” Danny asked.

  The men all looked to Milligrew. “I’m not the guy to tell you about the green monkeys,” he said. “You’ll have to talk to Mallick about that. Tell you what, let’s get you down to the river to wash up. You stink. Emmett, take him down there to get cleaned up. And don’t get killed. This camp hasn’t been empty for long.”

  Danny felt considerably more human after washing the worst of the filth off of his body. He still stank, but at least he was easier to look at. They fed him C-rations and gave him another cigarette, and Emmett had a flask of gin that was also helpful. The men found a suitable place to camp for the night and dug holes to conceal themselves.

  Sleep did not come easily. Every time he started to doze off, he became convinced that this was all a dream. He was still in the bottom of the pit, dying of thirst. His head was pounding. Opening his eyes didn’t help, because there was no moon and it was quite dark. But then he heard the sound of snoring around him, and he thought he could hear a sentry moving around nearby, and the sounds brought him comfort. After a while he was able to get a small amount of rest.

  A misty drizzle was falling when he heard Milligrew’s men getting up. He opened his eyes and gasped at what he saw. It was still dark, but the air seemed full of colorful sparks. The sight was beautiful. The sparks were coming from the men who were busy packing up their gear and getting ready to move out. It was something he hadn’t seen since—well, he couldn’t remember how long it had been. His X-Ray Vision had returned to him. His fall into the hole must have knocked it back into his head. But his memory was still messed up.

  Danny reached out his hand and allowed some of Milligrew’s sparks to touch him. Images appeared in his mind, brief flashes of Milligrew’s memories. Nearly all of them showed the same two people: a pretty woman with auburn hair and a little girl who looked just like the woman, except the girl’s hair was so pale it was almost white.

  “Is that your daughter?” Danny asked sleepily. “She looks like you.”

  Milligrew had been busy applying bug repellant from a small container that he kept in his shirt pocket. He stopped and turned to stare at Danny suspiciously. None of the other men had heard. “What did you just say?” Milligrew asked.

  Danny blinked and sat up, and the sparks vanished. “Did I say something?” he said.

  “Yes,” said Milligrew. His eyes remained locked with Danny’s for a long time.

  “I wasn’t quite awake yet. Got anything for breakfast?”

  “Soon as we get to the city,” Milligrew said quietly, “you’re going with me to talk to the boss. You are not to play mind games with me or any of the men. I will gag you and tie you up if I need to. Are we clear?”

  Danny nodded. He was sorely tempted to make a remark that would have gotten him into trouble, but he held his tongue. Five minutes later they were on their way again, and Milligrew seemed to be in better spirits. He even chatted with Danny after a while, although at times it sounded like he was just trying to keep Danny talking as much as possible. He doesn’t trust me, Danny thought. Only Milligrew spoke to him; none of the others said a word. Danny was sure they had been instructed to let Milligrew do all the talking.

  “How long have you been in the field?” Milligrew asked him as they walked along a path, headed a little south of due west.

  “I… I don’t know. A few months. The rest of my unit was scattered, the ones who weren’t killed.”

  “You ever run into that Burning Devil everybody’s talking about?”

  Danny had never heard of such a thing. “No. What’s that?”

  Milligrew turned to watch his face, looking for a reaction. “Somebody’s been running around wild in the jungle, sabotaging the Commies. Killing the Viet Cong, destroying supplies. He blew up a truck and mined the road around it, so the gooks got blown up when they went to see what was going on. They never catch the guy, but they say he’s one of them. A Charlie gone rogue.”

  “Blew up a truck?” said Danny.

  “Then there was a VC supply village a little bit east of here. Somebody vaporized it a few days ago, wiped the whole place right off the map. Afterward they said there was a guy who stayed in a ville nearby for a while, made friends with the people, then double-crossed them and destroyed a whole year’s worth of weapons and food. That was a major operation—fucked up a huge link in the VC supply chain out of Cambodia. All our informants have been talking about it. They all give the same description: Oriental guy, military skills, blends in with the population until he blows shit up and disappears. They call him Quy Chay. Burning Devil.”

  “That village you mentioned... Any idea what happened to the people?” Danny tried his best to sound nonchalant.

  “Dead,” said Milligrew. “Every one. Even the kids. NVA lined them up against the wall.”

  “Jesus.” Hearing that was like getting kicked in the stomach, although he tried not to show any reaction.

  They walked along in silence for a while, following the trail up a gentle incline. The canopy of trees provided good cover overhead. Emmett scouted ahead, while Milligrew followed Danny. The other two, Travis Gooch and Larry McCray, were somewhere behind, silently bringing up the rear. Danny had the feeling those two didn’t like him and were waiting to put a bullet in his back at the slightest provocation.

  “So…” Danny hated silence and always wanted to fill the space with conversation, but he had no idea what to say. “What are you guys doing out here? Some kind of mission?” They looked like military men, but they had no insignias on their clothes and never spoke of ranks or companies.

  “You could say that,” Milligrew replied. “Mallick and the Doctor sent us out to look for somebody.”

  “Who’re you looking for?”

  “Burning Devil,” said Milligrew, with an eye-roll that implied the answer was obvious.

  “Are you sure he’s real?”

  Milligrew shrugged. “Why would he not be?”

  They walked a bit longer. “This person you mentioned,” said Danny. “Mal
lick. Is he in charge?”

  “You’ll meet Mallick pretty soon. Say, why don’t you just enjoy the sights for a bit? You talk too much.” That was the end of their conversation.

  They marched through the heat of the day, stopping only long enough for an occasional drink or to water the weeds. Milligrew let Danny drink from one of his two canteens. It was starting to bother Danny that they had taken his weapons away. He had known all along that he was a prisoner, but the relief of being rescued from his hole had overshadowed everything else at first. What did it matter that he was a captive, as long as he was alive? But that feeling faded, and he became increasingly concerned about where they might be taking him. He noticed that the men were growing edgy, and a quick look into their thoughts revealed that they were coming close to their destination. Milligrew kept thinking of a man in horn-rimmed glasses, but the face was always in shadow and impossible to make out.

  It was close to sunset when they arrived at a large clearing where a dozen simple buildings had been erected. These looked like they had been put up hastily, and Danny surmised that this sizeable village had only been constructed recently. There were still fresh stumps where the area had been cleared to make room. Several trails converged on this point from various directions, and all of them looked heavily-used. One of the huts had several radio antennas sticking out of the roof. The whole village was bustling with activity; men were carrying wooden crates and other items out of the huts and loading them into a pair of trucks that were parked near the mouth of a trail from the northwest. A few of the men were Vietnamese or Cambodian, but most were Americans.

  “Gooch,” said Milligrew, “Hang out here with our new friend. I’ll get Mallick.” He headed off, leaving Danny in the company of the mean-looking Travis Gooch. Gooch did not attempt to make conversation or even eye contact with Danny, and Danny chose to honor the man’s evident wish to be ignored. They waited at the edge of the village for twenty minutes or more, watching men go in and out of the buildings. Gooch smoked a cigarette while Danny fidgeted.