Road to Abaddon

by Vincent Heeringa

  Silas nodded at one of his men, “This is your moment, Thomas. Do us proud.”

  The man with short blonde hair and a narrow nose pulled off his backpack and assembled a rifle, methodically clipping the metal segments into shape, with a scope on top and the last piece, a silencer, screwed into the long, thin barrel. All done, the sniper shimmied back up the knoll where he took a great deal of time to settle himself. It was getting lighter, the morning sun brightening the clouds on the western sky. The light made Nassim nervous.

  “Come on,” she whispered.

  The words had barely left her lips when Thomas squeezed the trigger three times in close succession.

  “Bingo,” he said, slipping back down.

  They moved fast, weapons ready, charging the guard post. Silas moved like a jackal, bouncing off the rocks. It was as if he belonged to the desert. They had trouble keeping up and arrived panting and ready for a fight but found Silas prodding the remains of the three men, lying in a crumpled heap, their brains splayed up the side of the stone walls.

  “Told you,” said Thomas who’d jogged up, his rifle neatly packed away. He looked relaxed.

  Silas turned to the captive. “Is this all? Are there any more men and guns between us and the gate?”

  “No,” he stuttered. “That’s all. No more.”

  But Silas grabbed the man by the throat and stuck his machine gun in his ribs. “Don’t lie. Tell me. Who else stands between us and the tunnel entrance?”

  “Just one sentry. He’s hidden in the wall. Sits above the gate,” the man stammered.

  “You see,” complained Silas to Nassim in an exasperated voice. “You just can’t trust anyone to tell the truth round these parts,” and pushed the man to the ground and pointed his gun.

  “No!” said Nassim. “That’s enough for one night. Let’s just tie him up. He told the truth.”

  Silas hesitated, the gun hovering over the man’s head. “Alright your majesty, as you wish. You do it,” and he tossed Nassim his backpack. “Meanwhile, Thomas, would you deal with the sentry, please?”

  Thomas nodded and slunk into the darkness. The next time they saw him, he was leaning against a metal gate with a cigarette on his lips and a body at his feet. He looked like a cat that’s brought its prey to the back door.

  The gate to Abaddon was opening.

  Chapter 24 - Abaddon again

  Afiz was relieved to see Nassim as the raiding party emerged from the morning gloom. He’d been busy, stacking the black-robed bodies in a pile and rolling the barrier off the road into a neat crevice using a complicated system of pulleys and chains. Beyond the barrier the road stretched on like a long, black tapeworm, but a side track into the rocks suggested the way to the secret gate lay through the low, craggy hills.

  The vehicles, though, found it hard going and before long Nassim’s truck sunk in soft sand and they were forced to cover the convoy with camouflage and proceed on foot. Flanked by Silas’ armed gang and with Afiz, as always, at the rear, the children’s army trudged, carrying as many weapons and ammunition as their little shoulders could bear. After an hour they took a short break in the shadow of an overhanging cliff.

  “Not far now, I reckon,” said Silas, breathing. He’d carried more than most and threw his cache at Nassim’s feet.

  “And then what?” asked Nassim. She cradled a gun in her lap, still nervous about the idea of following this criminal back to the prison he’d dumped her at in the first place.

  “Then it’s unknown territory for both of us,” Silas replied and swigged on a bottle of water.

  His nonchalance bothered her. She couldn’t tell if it was bravado or genuine confidence. What did he know that she didn’t? She studied his face again, but there was nothing to betray his true motives, no involuntary twitches or shifty looks. His leathery skin reminded her of a snake; all he needed was the beady eyes, but instead they were deep brown pools, with long lashes and angled brows that gave him a sorrowful look, like an old bear. He must’ve been a beautiful child, she thought, and for a moment she wondered what kind of mother had suckled him and how she’d slipped from his life.

  A scout interrupted her thoughts. “We’re close, another kilometre,” he said, panting. “Thomas is there.”

  Silas turned to Nassim and bowed, as if giving her the stage. So this is it how works, I’m the puppet Queen, she thought. But she obliged and stood on a small rock and called the group together.

  “We’ve come to the next stage in our quest. I’m as surprised as you in the way we’ve got here and let me take a moment to thank Silas Kabar and his men for their help. I hereby release him from the death penalty; he’s earned his freedom.”

  The grouped murmured and she noticed Afiz wrinkle his brow. She pushed on.

  “I don’t know what lies beyond this track, and I can’t promise you safety or success. I don’t know if our loved ones are alive. I don’t know if we can even get in. Whatever we discover and whoever we meet remember that we ... we are the Resistance! No more will the bandits and Metricians conspire against us. We are no one’s slaves. Together we can overcome anything!”

  To her surprise, the group cheered and the nine-year-old twins rushed up to embrace her. In the hubbub of the last few days it had been easy to forget that they were just children, so easily overcome with tiredness and despair. And so easily roused in return. It melted her heart and she crouched low and hugged them one by one.

  “Will we find our mother?” asked Jasmine, crying.

  “I don’t know, darling. I don’t know if we’ll find anyone, but we have to try,” said Nassim. Her stomach churned at the sound of her own words. She felt ridiculous. A few days ago, the idea of breaking into Abaddon seemed fanciful. Now, as they neared its gates, it felt preposterous. But the thought of Wadid and all the stolen family and friends steeled her. The alternative, to melt away into the desert in defeat, seemed equally offensive.

  She drew her scarf around her face like a mask and raised a fist in the air.

  “Let’s move!”

  The camp sprang up and followed her up the valley track. The crunch of gravel under their feet gave her a tiny jolt of confidence.

  The track meandered up a dry river bed, before snaking around tight bends and then sloping down, gently at first, then steeper. The hills crowded in and soon they were in a narrow, descending crevice that forced them to shimmy sideways in single file. Nassim squeezed through the passage first, the crumbling sandstone walls brushing her arms with dust. The passage tightened like a tunnel and then suddenly burst out into a large, naturally formed courtyard, with walls that angled inwards at the top like a cone and a smooth stone floor underfoot. Remarkably, water bubbled from a crack in a large rock in the centre and collected in a pool. It felt like an oasis.

  “You can drink from it,” said a man, giving Nassim a fright. It was Thomas, the sniper, leaning against the far wall, with a cigarette on his lips and the body of a guard at his feet. Nassim dipped a hand into the water and licked her fingers. Sure enough, it tasted fresh. “For our last supper,” she muttered.

  The rest of the troupe filed into the courtyard, amazed at the strangeness of the space. Their chatter turned to laughter as they discovered the pool and one by one they put their weapons down and splashed the fresh water on their faces. The noise annoyed Nassim and she waved her arms for them to be quiet. “This is not a picnic!” she hissed.

  Afiz and Silas meanwhile were with Thomas, who was pointing to an opening in the wall, three metres above them. Blood smeared the edge. “I tried sneaking down the passageway,” he said nodding towards the narrow gap they’d just come through, “but it was difficult to hide. So I tried from above but the ledge hangs too far over to see. The whole place is well set up.”

  “So, what did you do?” asked Afiz, reluctantly curious. It was the first time he’d spoken to the men since the ambush.

  “I went back to the guard post and dressed myself in one of their outfits and then walked in as if I o
wned the place. The guard leaned over to ask where everyone was and I shot him in the nut. He fell down here.”

  Afiz laughed and gave the body a little tap with his foot. “Nut,” he repeated, and smiled to himself.

  “Did you see anyone else?” asked Silas.

  “No, but the gate is locked. I suppose the key is with Bonaparte.”

  Thomas stepped aside revealing a steel gate blocking the entrance to a narrow tunnel. Nassim rattled the door on its hinges. It felt heavy. Without tools it would be impossible to wrench the gate open.

  “We could shoot the lock,” said Afiz.

  “You’ve been watching too many old movies,” laughed Silas. “Bullets won’t break these bolts.”

  “And we’re trying to sneak in, remember?” chided Nassim. She stood back and looked up to the window with the blood-stained ledge and asked: “Do you think the guard room and tunnel are connected? And even if they are, can we get up there?”

  “It’s worth a crack,” said Silas. “Gymnastics anyone?”

  Afiz and Thomas nodded. So they tried. Silas squatted down. Thomas sat on his shoulders and then both bent over so the smaller Afiz could climb over their backs and sit on Thomas’ shoulders. But as Afiz put all his weight on the sharp-shooter’s back, the three toppled over in a heap.

  They tried again and this time Afiz reached Thomas’ neck but lost his balance and rolled off. On the third attempt Afiz gingerly climbed up and sat steady on Thomas, but, as Silas tried to stand, his knees buckled and they collapsed.

  By now the others had gathered to watch. They tried again but with each attempt a foot would slip here or the balance would tip there and the stack would wobble and fall in a dusty heap. The twins clapped in appreciation.

  “Okay, okay,” intervened Nassim. “You can kill a man at a hundred metres but you can’t climb on someone’s shoulders? Let’s use one of the twins.”

  Jasmine jumped forward. “Pick me!”

  They tried again, with Thomas on Silas’ shoulders and Nassim lifting Jasmine into Thomas’ outstretched hand. For a moment the stack wobbled precariously but then Thomas pulled hard and the little girl clambered up Silas’s chest, put a foot on his throat, then in his face and, with final yank from Thomas, sat squarely on Silas’ head.

  “Ow!” said Silas. “My neck!”

  “Stop ya moaning, down there!” laughed Jasmine.

  “Okay, now get onto Thomas’ shoulders!” instructed Nassim. “And Afiz, you hold Silas steady. Here we go.”

  Afiz held Silas like a buttress while Thomas helped Jasmine get her right leg over his shoulder. Then putting one arm behind his head and grabbing her leg, and his free hand on her buttocks, he heaved her around until she spiralled onto his shoulders and sat atop, like an acrobat.

  “I’m the queen of the castle!” Jasmine said and everyone clapped as if they were watching a performance.

  “Right, now, let’s get you to the edge,” said Nassim. Gingerly, the human ladder staggered to the stone wall. Jasmine steadied herself against the rock and inched one foot to Thomas’ collarbone and raised herself until she stood fully upright. The whole stack swayed.

  “Okay, see if you can pull yourself into the hole!” instructed Nassim.

  The girl reached up and slipped her fingers over the ledge. Tiny puffs of dust billowed up. But just as she slid a second hand into position a grimy face appeared in the window followed by two fists that slammed down on Jasminee’s fingers. She yelped in surprise and tipped backwards, falling off Thomas’ shoulders and doing a complete somersault to land on top of Nassim.

  “There’s someone up there!” shouted Afiz.

  Thomas leapt from Silas’ shoulders and rolled onto the dirt. Nassim grabbed Jasmine and along with Silas they pressed themselves against the wall directly under the hole. The rest of gang scrambled in all directions, some dashing back to the narrow entrance. They cowered, waiting for gunshots.

  None came.

  They stood breathless, eyes darting between the window and the pile of weapons by the pool.

  No sound.

  “Who’s up there?” Nassim called, standing beneath the window. “Reveal yourself!”

  No one replied. There was just the trickle of the waterfall.

  “Bonaparte’s dead,” shouted Nassim. “And all his gang too. Surrender now and we won’t hurt you, I promise.”

  A small shuffling sound came from inside the hole.

  Nassim looked hopefully at Afiz who had raced to the other side of the pond and was edging himself towards the weapons. He nodded, as if to say, “keep talking”.

  “Did you hear me?” shouted Nassim. “The dwarf’s dead. And all the men. We killed them all this morning. And we’ll kill you too unless you surrender, now!”

  A small whimper came from the window. It sounded like a stifled cry, or maybe a laugh, high-pitched and feminine. Nassim tipped her head sideways at Afiz. “A girl?” she mouthed. Afiz nodded and gestured her out.

  Nassim edged out from the wall and called, more gently this time.

  “Hey, you up there. Look at me. I’m a girl. Come and see, we mean you no harm. We’ve come to set you free.”

  After long pause a young woman’s voice trembled.

  “He’s dead?”

  “Yes. The dwarf’s dead. We killed him.”

  “And the others?” said the voice.

  “Yes, all gone, shot by snipers. We’ve come to help you. Come out and talk to me.”

  The face appeared again: round and dusty beneath short messy hair. She wore a nose stud and earrings that dangled to her shoulders.

  “What’s your name?” asked Nassim kindly.

  “Matilda,” she said, looking down at the ragtag group of children and men hiding between the cracks and against the walls.

  “Is there anyone else up here with you Matilda?”

  The girl shook her head.

  “Okay, what we’re going to do is reveal ourselves to show that we mean you no harm,” and she nodded to everyone. They filed into the open and presented themselves to the girl in the window. No one picked up their guns save Afiz, who held his pistol behind his back.

  “Now, can you see us all?”

  The girl nodded.

  “Good. Tell me, Matilda, can you open that gate down there? From the inside?”

  “No, not normally,” snorted Matilda, as if Nassim was being preposterous.

  Nassim’s heart sank. A prison. Inside and out.

  “But I know where there’s a key,” Matilda said, brightening. “I’ve seen where he hides it!”

  “Good girl! Can you find it now?”

  She nodded and was about to move away but then turned. “He’s really dead?” she asked nervously.

  Nassim looked around the children. “Kids, tell Matilda. Is the dwarf dead?”

  “He got a knife in the neck!” shouted Hannah. “And we shot him too!” said Jasmine and then they began to re-enact the rolling, arm-waving death scene of the wheeled monster.

  Matilda smiled. “I’ll get the key,” she said and disappeared.

  In a flash everyone pounced on the weapons and dashed back to crevice, elbowing each another to squeeze into the gap. Afiz and Nassim remained standing in the centre of the courtyard.

  When Matilda reappeared she held a key aloft in one hand and waved a large old-fashioned pistol in the other.

  “Where’s everyone gone?” she asked, as if she’d misplaced something.

  “In the passageway,” said Nassim, trying her best to remain calm. “They’re a bit worried you might be getting a gun.”

  “Oh,” she said casually holding up her the revolver. “I do have a gun but I’ve also got the key. Do you still want it?”

  “Yes, I do. How about throwing it down?”

  “How do I know you won’t hurt me?” and Matilda waved the gun at Nassim like it was a toy.

  Nassim scraped her foot. This could go badly, she thought.

  “Do you think I would hurt you?” Nassim
asked.

  “Everyone else does.”

  “Who does?”

  “Him. Them.”

  “I’m not like them, Matilda. Shall I tell you why I’m here?” Nassim glanced at Afiz who looked nervous and still held his pistol in both hands.

  Matilda nodded.

  “A few days ago (it was only days!) Metricians captured my brother Wadid and put him in a jail. I’ve come to find him.”

  Matilda laughed unkindly. “You’ll never get him back. No one ever comes back from … there.”

  Nassim paused. This girl knows, she thought.

  “Back from where?”

  “From in there,” and she pointed to the tunnel entrance.

  “What’s down there?”

  The girl grimaced. “People.”

  “Can you take us?” Nassim said, eagerly. Too eagerly.

  Matilda’s face soured and she pointed the gun at Nassim and squinted as if taking aim.

  “No, wait,” called Nassim plaintively. “I mean, you don’t have to come. You’re free now. Just drop down the key and you can do as you please.”

  Behind her, Nassim heard the soft click of a rifle being cocked and she thought that Thomas probably had the girl’s forehead in his sights. If she hesitated much longer Matilda would have a bullet between her eyes and the twins would be tossed up to retrieve the keys from her bloody corpse. Nassim’s heart raced.

  “Matilda, I’m counting to three. On three you’ll drop the key.”

  “What happens if I don’t?” she said, still pointing the gun at Nassim.

  “I have a gang of experienced soldiers with big guns. You have one pistol. You seem like a smart girl; you do the math,” replied Nassim sternly. “I’m counting: one, two ...”