“That’s right!” agreed Merle, slamming the book closed and wedging it into an inner pocket of his dark outfit. “Come on tin head. We need to search the rest of this place. You wouldn’t happen to know…” he was interrupted by a voice from the hall.
“What is going on here!” demanded the newcomer. Merle spun at the words and saw a security guard holding a tray containing dirty dishes and some folded clothes. The guard dropped the tray and reached for a nightstick on his belt. “You just stay put, now,” shouted the guard.
“P.C. input command: subdue aggressor,” yelled Merle.
It could have been the tone in Merle’s voice, or perhaps the robot’s elation at replenishing his rag supply, but for once he did not argue. His telescopic arm shot out and encircled the guard around the neck. Reeling in his victim, he brought the man up to the desk. The guard struggled and beat on P.C.’s arm with his club. When he was close enough, P.C. relieved the man of his weapon.
“Guard Godle,” said Merle, knowingly. “Making your nightly rounds, are we?” Merle waddled over to the tray the man had dropped. He kicked aside the tea cup and the broken plate, and lifted a buttoned shirt in one hand and a pair of pants in the other. Both of the garments were soiled with yellow dust. Merle nodded to the man as he held out the shirt and the left sleeve that was pinned to the shoulder. “The jig is up.” he said to the man. Godle ceased his struggles and stared at the dragon with a defeated look. Merle tossed him the handcuffs. “Put these on your wrist, and secure yourself to that desk.” P.C. eased his hold on the guard, and the man did as he was asked. “We’ll be back for you, later. Come on, P.C.” He did not wait to see if the automaton was listening. He was already flying back toward the lower tunnels.
* * * *
Merle re-entered the lower evac chamber cautiously. He had seen the bright light, through the glass of the door, from up the hallway. Much to his satisfaction, Johnny and Stoneman still held their ground in the lower tunnel. It was apparent the authorities were closing in though, as now some sort of spotlight filtered into the plant from P.C.’s tunnel entrance.
“Stay back or this guy is getting dunked!” shrieked Johnny. He stood behind Stoneman and was peeking between the golem’s massive legs. Stoneman had positioned himself defensively in front of the opening. The golem’s right arm was extended over the pool of water, the bound Marcus clenched tightly in his grip.
“Please!” shrieked Marcus. “I just want to go back to my cell!”
“Relax, Mr. Quail,” came a voice from the tunnel entrance. “Nobody wants you to do anything you’ll regret.”
“Regret?” shrieked Johnny, “I’d love to do it, Officer. Just give me an excuse. You see these bruises all over my face? HE DID THIS TO ME!” as hard as it was to believe, Johnny’s voice climbed in pitch.
“Calm down, Mr. Quail. About that pie you wanted, it was strawberry, correct?”
“THAT WAS STRAWBERRY RHUBARB!” screamed Johnny. “NOBODY CAN BE THIS INCOMPETENT. I WANT MY PIE AND THAT JUDGE THAT SENTENCED ME HERE IN FIFTEEN MINUTES, OR PRINCESS HERE IS GOING TO BE TAKING A BATH!”
A muffled conversation took place in the tunnel and then the voice echoed back to Johnny. “These things take time, son, you did say fresh pie, and it’s not strawberry season.”
“Okay, I’ll give you that,” agreed Johnny. He thought on it for a minute. “I’ll take apple. You have twenty minutes, and not a second more.” He looked over as P.C. closed the door behind them. “Hey Merle!” He waved, a grin splitting his face. “I’m getting us pie!” Merle returned the wave as he headed for the stairs and the second door at the back of the chamber. P.C. followed closely and the negotiator’s words carried up to them as the dragon opened the upper door.
“Is that green apple or orchard red?”
“Golden apples, you buffoon! Quit stalling. We all know, golden apples make the best pie.”
The door closed behind them, and Merle raced down the hall. They passed the switch room Godle had used to evacuate the chambers, and carried on past a maintenance closet. The short hallway ended at the next water chamber. Like the evac chamber before it, this fourth chamber contained a brackish pool of water, an identical set of steps, and another exit. Crossing the chamber and entering through the door, a short hallway between this chamber and the third chamber housed one other entrance. A sign on the door read ‘security,’ and the light above the door was blinking red.
“Can you do Godle?” asked Merle, breathing heavily from the strain of all the flying.
“What… is… going… on… here!” demanded P.C. in Godle’s voice. “You… just… stay… put… now.” He swaggered up the hall, as if he was going to beat on Merle with his imaginary nightclub.
“A simple yes would have sufficed,” barked Merle. “P.C. input command: open this door by emulating security guard Godle.” The light turned green and the door clicked at P.C.’s intonation. Merle shouldered into the door, and it flew inward. Inside the room, a dozen small global views replicated various black and white scenes of the plant. A larger color globe showed a reporter outside of the water treatment facility. Dozens of officers were milling about. Merle swallowed and realised the compound was indeed secured from the outside.
Numerous machines whirred and beeped from every nook and cranny of the small office, and a figure was seated at the room’s only desk, his back to the door. Merle noticed a large glass bottle on the left of the desk. It contained a small ship. The seated figure was ignoring the G.V. units and very carefully tugging on a length of string as he pulled the mast and sails into position within the bottle.
With a look of sheer triumph, Alex Potty Senior spun in his seat to welcome the intruders. “Merle, my boy,” he called, while waving the dragon in with his only hand. “I’ve been having so much fun, watching your exploits tonight!”
18
Willie’s Garden
Roget scampered onto the ledge at the cave front. It took several heartbeats for his eyes to adjust to the gloom of the fissure. Beside him, the fire popped, spitting a handful of sparks. The sound of the raindrops pattering on the ledge, matched the beat of his racing heart.
“Willie,” he growled, sighting the bowman stretched out on his bedroll. His knife came up, and then he turned, his eyes resting on the rock that landed by his boot. More pebbles fell from above and he looked up in time to see a boot descending for his face. He swayed to his left, and Garrett’s foot took him in the shoulder. Roget lost his knife, and both men tumbled from the ledge.
Entwined together, the men bounced down the grade and came to a skidding stop against the pile of brush Garrett had collected for firewood. Roget ended up on top and he brought his forearm down into Garrett’s cheek. Garrett bucked the man off. Rolling with the momentum of this movement, Garrett was able to stand. He spun and kicked, but Roget had also half stood by this time. Roget caught Garrett’s foot, and Garrett’s other boot slipped on the wet rocks. Down he went. Roget was on him in the blink of an eye, delivering punches aimed at Garrett’s face. One of the blows caught Garrett on the nose, and stars exploded in front of his eyes.
Searching with his good hand, Garrett’s fingers flexed amongst the slippery stones. Coming up with a baseball sized rock, he slammed it into Roget’s cheek, knocking the other man from him. Roget reeled with the blow, his hand shooting out to the brush pile to steady himself. The limb he latched onto snapped off, and he fell to the wet ground. With surprise, he realised he now had a club.
They closed with a ferocity that only killers know. Both men understood that only one of them would come out of this alive. Roget’s club caught Garrett on his broken wrist, and the man screamed in pain as the bones ground together. Roget wasted no time, and his stick thumped into Garrett’s shoulder, pushing him off balance. Roget’s boot followed, but it was now Garrett’s turn to catch the kick. He turned the man’s leg aside and launched himself at Roget. He aimed for the man’s face with his left fist, but missed. Both men, once again, tumbled to the gro
und.
They rolled back and forth for several minutes, and then Roget got his stick below Garrett’s chin and onto his throat. Roget pushed down, his weight cutting off Garrett’s windpipe. Garrett resisted, but his shattered wrist gave out. Suddenly, the stick snapped and Roget fell forward. Garrett seized the opportunity to help the man along with a thrust of his knees. Garrett fought to take in air, his hands involuntarily kneading at his injured throat. He swiveled on his back so that he faced Roget as the other man once again found his feet. Roget was smiling, when he turned. It took Garrett a second before he noticed the man held a hatchet clenched in his fist.
Roget took one step, the gleam of victory in his eye. A blur of silver fur blocked the man from Garrett’s sight, and a musty smell filled his nostrils. The beast swiped Roget to the ground with a massive paw. Roget never managed a scream as the creature’s jaws encircled his neck. A horrible crack echoed off the hill, and Garrett backpedaled in fear. The monster turned and stood, its paws extended toward the darkening sky. A deafening howl escaped its bloody chops. An arrow whistled from the ledge above, punching through the thick silver fur. The beast yelped in pain and hurtled back as if trying to determine what had bitten it. Garrett clambered to get to higher ground. He saw Willie drop to the ledge above, all of the bowman’s strength used in that last effort to save his friend.
Crawling up the slope, Garrett ignored the pain in his arm. He was sure that, any second, the beast’s jaws would find him. The stones slid from under his feet as he scrabbled up the slope. His breathing was labored and his muscles were on fire when he finally hauled himself over the lip. Gasping for air, he stumbled to the fire and the spears leaning against the wall. Securing the nearest pole, he spun and thrust in one motion, expecting the monster to be on him.
Willie’s crumpled form was the only thing residing on the precipice. Garrett ran to his friend, his eyes searching the bottom of the slope. What he saw made him drop to his knees, his body wracked with shuddering stress. Where seconds before the beast had lurked, there now lay a naked man. Willie’s arrow protruded from the man’s shoulder. The figure rolled over and reached out to Garrett. Garrett’s gaze shifted to the other bloody mess at the bottom of the hill, but his eyes did not linger on the decapitated body. Using his spear as a crutch, Garrett made his way to where Glory Alvy lay on the wet stones of the slope.
* * * *
Glory sat rocking on his haunches by the fire, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. Beside him, Garrett administered to Willie who was stretched out on his bedroll and covered with two more blankets.
“It’s the Alvy curse,” said Glory. “It’s been passed down for genrations. Sometimes, it skips a genration, but we’s never free of it.” He looked to Garrett pleadingly. “Ya won’t tell my boy, will ya?”
Garrett shook his head. “You were protecting us all this time?”
“I believe so,” Glory nodded, and then drank from the water Garrett had supplied him.
“You don’t know?” Garrett was on edge.
“It’s different, when I change. My senses dull, and I become like the animal. I never hurt no man I ever cared ‘bout, but just ta be sure I leave fo the hills when my time comes. Those men pass true, a day after you and Willie. I could smell the bad on em. I guess, I follered em up here.”
“What if you change back into that thing again?”
Glory shook his head. “It ain’t gonna happen. I only turns with the full moon, and even then it’s spo’adic. Tonight’s the last night oh the full moon. Now that Willie has shocked me back, I won’t be changin’ agin fo some time.” He picked up a stick and poked in the fire. “My boy, he don’t know nuttin bout us changin’. It skipped my daddy, but he knew better than to leave the Lonely Wood. His own daddy, my gran-daddy, was afflicted.”
“Your boy is almost a man. Even if he doesn’t change with the moon, he will need to be warned about what could happen to his children.”
“Yessir, I reckon it’s time to splain it to ‘im.”
Willie coughed, the phlegm thick in his throat. Garrett cradled his friend’s head and held the man’s hand. The bowman did not open his eyes. “He hurt himself, falling from the rocks three nights ago,” said Garrett.
“I know’d Willie a long time,” said Glory. “And I see it’s more ‘an that. He’s dying, from the inside.”
“It’s the drink,” admitted Garrett. “That, and the fact he’s almost lost his sight. He has no purpose in life anymore. I think you’re right, he’s given up.”
“He feathered me just fine, for a man with no sight,” said Glory, rubbing his bandaged shoulder. “I’s gonna feel this for more an a spell I think.”
Willie shuddered and convulsed. He struggled for air. Garrett held tight to his friend, uncertain of what to do. He knew Willie was dying. “Damn it,” he swore. “You don’t need to go. We still need you, here. Vellia needs heroes, Willie. You’re the finest sharpshooter to ever protect the King.” Tears were streaming down Garrett’s cheeks now as he held his friend. Willie settled in his arms, but his breath was shallow and laboured.
Glory dropped his blanket and went to the two men. He knelt naked beside them and took Willie’s other hand in his own. “Willie is a hero, in these here parts. We all love him. He’s a dear friend.” He spoke softly, his eyes locked with Garrett’s. “I can save ‘im, but he can never go back.”
It took a minute for Garrett to understand. He swallowed and nodded. “Do it.”
* * * *
“I got him!” yelled Willie.
“I’m not dead,” replied Glory. He rolled over, and Willie noted the beast had transformed into his friend.
“Shush,” said Willie “or I’ll feather you again.”
“You no kill your Totuonetum,” said the chief. “You face him. You face fears.”
They stood in a field of sweet grass, the scent of summer thick in the gentle breeze. Butterflies and bumblebees drifted amongst the dozens of blooms. Overhead, the song from a thousand birds and insects filled the air. Before them all loomed the spirit tree. The gnarled bark was home to hundreds of worms and beetles; its branches sheltered the birds and the squirrels. Around the base of the tree, an uncountable system of twisted roots punctured the grasses of the hill. Mice, moles, chipmunks, weasels, snakes and many other creatures scampered or slithered throughout the knotted woodwork.
“What about that necklace you’re wearing,” asked Willie of the chief.
“I face him,” said the tanned man nodding. He pointed to the shade of the tree where a large golden cat lay in the grass. The animal’s sides pulsed in and out with the effort of its serene breath. “I only trim his claws.” The man tugged his necklace for emphasis and laughed at his joke.
A door appeared in the hulking trunk of the tree, and golden light filtered out. Despite the fact it was midday, the light from the doorway blanketed all. A figure became outlined in the golden brilliance, and then a beautiful woman stepped from the tree. She was slender with golden hair and bright green eyes. She wore a yellow summer dress and a garland of flowers in her hair.
“Mother,” cried Willie. He dropped his bow and ran to her. She laughed when he picked her up and twirled her in the afternoon sun. She cupped his face in her hands and kissed him on each of his cheeks. Tears streamed down his face and he hugged the woman tightly. She returned the embrace and it lasted for an eternity.
“You are so beautiful,” he said, “just like I remember!”
“And I am very proud of you, my Willie!” she said stroking his cheek.
“I have missed you, so much!” he exclaimed. “I wish you could have stayed with me.”
“It was my time,” said his mother. “You wouldn’t have become the man you are, if I had stayed.”
“But I missed you so much,” he sobbed, and hugged her again.
“I am always with you, Willie,” she replied, “even that time you tricked Vanrai Asimo to win the tournament. I know how badly you wanted to beat him. I was very
happy for you.”
“Really?” asked Willie, wiping a tear from his cheek, “you saw that?”
“I have seen everything, Willie.”
“My drinking,” he said knowingly, and his head dropped in shame.
“It’s okay, my love, you will never have to face it again. Sometimes our goals are lofty. It is never a failure to try, though.”
Willie looked at his friends; the little chieftain was seated beside Glory, a butterfly on the palm of his hand. “I did try, you know?” he said to them. Both men nodded.
“What is beyond the tree mother?” he asked.
“Knowledge,” she said.
“Will you take me with you?” he asked.
“Yes,” she agreed, love in her eyes, “but not now.”
“But I want to stay with you, Mom. It’s cold in the forest.”
“Then let your heart warm you and the others that must shelter there.”
Willie sighed. “I don’t know if I have the strength anymore,” admitted Willie. “I’m tired.”
She kissed his cheek. “It will only be for a little while, and then you will be with me. In the meantime, lean on your friends and support each other.”
“Yes Mom.” He hugged her, again, not willing to let her go. He inhaled her hair and she stroked his neck. At last, he stepped back, and she took him by his hand and guided him to his friends.
“Mom?” he asked as she turned to go.
“Yes, my love?”
“What is the secret to life?”
Glory stood and took Willie’s other hand. It did not bother the bowman that his friend was naked. “It’s time,” said Glory.
Willie’s mom smiled at him and held her hands out to encompass the life all around them. “Start planting flowers, now, and may your garden grow as big as your belly, so at your passing they are beautiful.”
Glory bit him on the shoulder, and Willie jumped. “Ow,” he complained sinking to his knees. “That hurt, Glory.” Glory shrugged. Willie turned to his mother as the door in the tree opened, again. She stepped into its brilliant light. “I don’t understand, Mom.”
Something Stinks in Deep Cove (The Vellian Books Book 4) Page 24
