by Brian Bakos
“Come on, Dye!” Bel’s voice snaps at me. “You’ve got to lead us, we can’t see well enough.”
I look over at my comrades. Bel’s fierce, determined glower matches the red NSP eagle on his jacket. Trynka’s eyes blaze with hatred. Even Sipren is animated and fierce. Then something in the periphery of my vision grabs my attention – it’s Omzbak, moving along the ledge I have vacated, far advanced from my previous position.
“Follow me!” I command.
***
Something akin to fear possessed Omzbak as he hurried along the ledge. The sensation rather surprised him, as fear was among the emotions that seemed to have died on that horrible day two years ago.
But he felt it now. He was being pursued by an enemy of astonishing capabilities, who could see well enough down here to pick off Number One with a single shot – the tall blond kid. Omzbak cursed himself for underestimating his opponent.
Well, he still had an ace up his sleeve, and this time he would not fail.
Along with his fear came a gnawing curiosity. Who were these people chasing him, and how did they get in here? He knew that one of them was a girl. She’d be a local, probably, but who?
Then something clicked in his mind, a memory of a farmhouse they’d once raided. Two children, a young boy and an older girl, were present when they’d apprehended the collaborator. Comrade 19 had had to get rough with the mother when she tried to interfere.
Of course – that must be who the girl was! She’d settled the score with Comrade 19 and learned from her how to penetrate the hideout. But what of the others?
What would motivate a group of Mag toughs to throw in with her? The usual way those bastards treated local girls was to rape and then shoot them. But they were all operating together like a military unit. Why?
He’d not gotten a close look at the enemy, but that tall blond one seemed familiar somehow. No ... he was just another Mag vermin, probably getting his rocks off with the girl. Or maybe he was somebody Omzbak didn’t want to recall.
No matter, whoever the blond might be, he’d meet his end soon enough, along with all the rest. Where Omzbak led, there would be no return. Before the sun reached its zenith today in the outside world, all scores would be settled.
He thought of his deputy commander, his oldest and most reliable comrade. He sorely missed Number One’s capabilities, but he felt no sense of personal loss. Sympathy was another emotion that had died two years ago. Besides, Omzbak had seen the look on Number’s One’s dead face, and he envied it.
***
We move for an indeterminate time along a wide ledge with jagged cliff face on our left and sheer drop offs to our right. I catch glimpses of Omzbak ahead. He seems to be moving with some difficulty, favoring one leg. Despite this handicap, he maintains his lead. He knows this route better than us and is taking maximum advantage.
Occasionally, he turns and fires a burst from his submachine gun, but he’s out of effective range. I respond with rifle shots. He’s moving too erratically and taking advantage of the natural cover too well for me to score any hits.
We must not let him out of our sight! Our big advantage – Omzbak does not possess a rifle. His lethality is limited by the range of his machine pistol.
Who is this man I am trying to kill?
I have chased him into the very bowels of the earth, risking my own life and expending those of my comrades in order to get him. He’s taken on almost superhuman dimensions, a perverse force of nature. Yet, he almost seems a pathetic figure, trying to escape our vengeance on his game leg.
I have no room for pity in my heart, though, only a cold-blooded desire to rid the world of this monstrosity. He’s the man who murdered Stilikan; that’s all I need to know. Once I have finished with him, God can sort out the mysteries.
The ledge abruptly narrows, leaving space for only a single person to cross. This narrowing seems to run about 25 meters. Beyond it, I can see Omzbak scrambling away.
“I’ll go first,” Bel says. “Cover me from here, Dye.”
“Yes ... go ahead.”
Bel ventures out alone onto the ledge, crouching low, submachine gun at the ready. I aim my rifle toward Omzbak’s retreating figure, thinking to hurry him along with a shot. But I decide against the risk of startling Bel out on the narrow path.
Bel reaches the other side and takes up position behind an outcrop. I motion toward Trynka.
“You next.”
Moving with the grace of a mountain cat, Trynka makes her way rapidly across and joins Bel.
Sipren looks pale as death as he scopes the way ahead; his lower lip trembles with fear. I think to order him to remain behind, but he gathers his pluck and ventures out onto the ledge. Then he, too, is across.
Now it’s my turn – the last one, just as it was at the river crossing. Similar feelings of fear and paranoia assault me as I step onto the narrow shelf. I try to ignore them, but they worm their way into my skull with terrible persistence.
What if Omzbak does have a long-range weapon stashed up there? What if he’s drawing a bead on me right this instant from hundreds of meters away? Why didn’t I send my rifle ahead with Trynka? At least my comrades might be able to cover for me.
From inside my airplane cockpit, great altitudes do not disturb me at all, but here, with the abyss yawning close by, I am terrified. A stone tumbles underfoot and my heart stops dead. I grip the rock face for dear life.
“Keep going, Dye!” Bel shouts. “Just a few more meters.”
This place is screwing with my mind. I’m no mountaineer, but I know that I could handle this situation better in the normal world. More paranoid thoughts barge in: what if there is another partisan lurking behind us in the shadows? I dare not look back and keep my eyes focused straight ahead.
But what if there is an enemy behind me? Maybe the man with the ghastly smile isn’t fully dead, after all – maybe he’s back there, lust for revenge burning in his shattered heart! Whatever presence of mind I still have is deserting me fast.
Then Bel has a firm hand on my arm and pulls me onto the wider trail. My fears vanish.
“Let’s go,” I say.
Omzbak is farther ahead now, but I can still see his figure in the distance. I pick up the pace, more confident in my own abilities and eager to make up for my poor showing on the ledge. I widen the gap between myself and my comrades.
I cannot adequately gauge the passage of time or the distance I am going, but the way is easier now. The path is wide and solid and is sloping downhill. I am in danger of running too fast and force myself to slow down.
Then I come to an abrupt halt. Ahead, the trail descends into the opening of some sort of cave or tunnel. The orifice gapes at me like the toothless mouth of an old witch. It is, perhaps, three or four meters across; I cannot tell accurately from here. It is high enough for a tall man to enter unbowed, as Omzbak is doing now.
I see him moving toward the opening; then he is instantaneously gone, as if he has been plucked from existence. I run as close to this opening as I dare, then crouch down behind an outcrop to await my comrades.
58. Dissension
The vibration that permeates this whole domain is much stronger here. It seems to be originating from that hole downhill from my position, like some beckoning, demonic voice. It seeks to capture my mind.
This increased energy brings more light with it. What should be a pitch dark cavern is filled with green-tinted illumination bright enough to read under. The light seems to be coming from everywhere and nowhere. I shudder to be alone in its presence and am greatly relieved when my companions arrive.
“What the hell are you doing?” Bel says by way of greeting. “We could have broke our necks back there; we can’t see as good as you.”
“Sorry, it won’t happen again,” I say.
“Yes, well ...”
Bel’s voice trails off as he takes in the ghastly vista ahead. The Hole gapes at us like the very maw of damnation. A strange, reddis
h glow within it flickers and sparks.
“What is that place?” he says in an awe-struck whisper.
“I don’t know. Omzbak went in there.”
Evil vibrates in the air, intimidating all of us. Trynka has lost her mask of hatred. Without it, her face is childlike and frightened. Sipren seems to be on the edge of panic.
“I’m not going in there!” he cries.
“You don’t have to,” I say. “Stay put.”
“Let’s get out,” Katella whines. “This place is ... sick.”
“Stay calm,” Bel says. “We’re all with you.”
This mollifies Sipren a little, but his eyes remain wild and fearful, like a rabbit’s caught in a snare. Bel leans in close to me and speaks in a low voice.
“He’s right, Dye.”
The remark strikes me like a cold slap.
“That doesn’t sound at all like you, Bel,” I say. “What happened to the fearless leader?”
“Maybe I’ve learned a few things.”
“Like what?”
Bel glances at Sipren, then back at me.
“I think it was the danger that first attracted me here,” he says, “like a drug, almost. But now ... all I know is that our lives are precious. If we’re to die, it must be for a better reason than this.”
He gestures toward the Hole.
“Leave that savage alone.”
“We’d get caught out there,” I reply. “They’ll likely shoot us – you said so yourself.”
“It’s a chance worth taking,” Bel says. “It’s a chance you need to take, Dye, before you go over the edge.”
I feel a powerful urge to lash out at Bel. Who does he think he is speaking to me like that? ... But I also know that he is talking sense. Trynka has figured out the situation. She grabs my arm.
“No!” She points toward the Hole. “That way!”
“Give it up Dye,” Bel says. “It’s not worth it.”
Omzbak seems tantalizingly close now. If I can just keep going a bit longer, I can get him! But another part of me knows that Bel is right. Trynka grips my arm tighter and penetrates me with a fiery gaze.
I am paralyzed with uncertainty. But one thing needs to be done, whatever the final decision is.
“We can’t turn out backs on him,” I say. “He could be waiting just inside there, ready to come after us.”
“Let’s leave him a calling card, then,” Bel says.
He pulls the stick grenade off his belt.
“Give me that,” I say. “I can throw farther than you.”
“The hell you can!”
“Don’t argue with me, Bel. Just give me the damn thing!”
I hold out my hand. Bel glowers at me for a moment, then he slaps the grenade into it.
“Have it your way, Commander,” he says.
Unbelievable! After all that’s happened we’re still engaged in a stupid power struggle. But I have no wish to dominate Bel. I only want to spare him from a dangerous undertaking that should rightfully be mine.
The grenade feels odd in my hand, like some lethal toy or kitchen implement. I can understand why it is dubbed a ‘potato masher.’ My experience with it is limited to a training film we once saw. All I know is that you unscrew the bottom cap, yank the cord and throw the thing before it blows up.
I look off toward the Hole. With the added leverage of its throwing handle, the stick grenade has a longer range than our other, more compact grenades. Still, I don’t think I can hurl it the necessary distance from this position. Another outcrop some distance ahead and to the left might be close enough, though.
“I’m going over there,” I say. “Cover me.”
“Right,” Bel says.
He readies his machine pistol and nudges Sipren hard.
“Make yourself useful.”
My comrades train their weapons on the Hole. At the first shots, I begin running like a madman.
***
My objective seems impossibly distant, stretching farther away with each step. Every moment, I fear an answering burst of gunfire that will cut me down in my tracks. But finally, I reach the outcrop. I dive headfirst behind it.
The racket of gunfire ceases, but my pounding heart makes up for it. To my utter amazement, Trynka is crouching beside me.
“What are you doing here?”
She gives me a defiant look, and I quickly realize that any reprimand is useless. Do I expect her to dash back the way we came?
I unscrew the bottom cap of the stick grenade. An almost decorative little porcelain ball with a cord tied through to it drops out. It seems fantastically out of place in this bizarre environment.
The porcelain ball looks like the chain pull of our old parlor lamp, the one with the frilly shade that stood beside Mama’s chair. I can remember her doing crochet work in that chair, adjusting the lampshade this way and that to get the best illumination. Once, when I was quite young –
“Well?” Trynka’s voice interrupts.
I crash back from my recollections.
“Cover me!” I say.
I yank the porcelain ball. At the other end of the stick, inside the explosive charge, a fuse sets into motion.
I stand up to the accompanying roar of gunfire from my comrades and throw the grenade with all my might. The thing spins end over end, like a drum major’s baton, toward the Hole. I drop back down beside Trynka.
An explosion. It seems to be coming from far away, in a different world. It gathers power – another explosion, and another. Flames belch out of the Hole and tumble toward us like an ocean wave accompanied by a ghastly, inhuman shriek. The sound almost freezes the marrow in my bones. Trynka begins to scream; we are all screaming.
Then silence, except for the sparking and hissing at the Hole’s entrance. Who made that horrible screech – Omzbak, or some primordial specter haunting this place? It’s all too much for Sipren. He springs to his feet.
“Let me out!” he cries.
He starts running back the way we came. Bel tries to tackle him but fails.
Suddenly, the whole situation becomes crystal clear to me. Stilikan is calling from inside the Hole, urging me on to blood vengeance – Trynka has already decided to answer the call from her slain father.
Bel and Sipren are of another world; they have served loyally and must now be released. The last doubts vanish from my mind.
“Take him out of here, Bel!” I shout. “Make good your own escape.”
Bel is on his feet now, crouching behind the protection of the rocks.
“Come with us!” he cries.
“No!” I yell back. “Get going. That’s an order!”
Bel looks off toward the fleeing Sipren, then back at me. Even in the poor light I can see the rage on his face.
“I’ll do that ... and damn you to hell, Dytran!”
Then he is gone, scrambling over the uneven ground after Sipren.
I look toward Trynka. We two are the damned; the road to salvation is not open for us. I pull a little fragmentation grenade from my pack.
“Come on!”
Trynka and I run toward the Hole, zigzagging to confuse any gunfire coming our way – none does. Trynka fires short bursts from her machine pistol to cover our progress. I yank the pin out of the grenade, keeping a firm grip on the safely lever.
When I am within throwing range, I hurl my grenade and pitch myself forward onto the ground. Trynka dives down as well; we roll behind some rocks. The grenade goes off. I fear that more flames will wash over us, but nothing comes out of the Hole. It is silent as a tomb.
59. Into the Abyss
Omzbak stumbled away to nurse his injuries – and they were substantial. The blast from the first enemy grenade had somehow ignited the air, sending a sheet of flame roaring over him and causing painful burns. The flames had also detonated the booby traps he’d set, and the explosions, magnified by the fire’s power, had shattered one ear drum and partially blinded him in one eye.
His insides
felt twisted and bruised, as if they could stop functioning any time and leave him dead as a slaughtered hog. He had difficulty breathing, but mortality puffed plenty of its own frigid breath down his neck. He coughed and spat out a bloody glob.
Curse those Mag! Who was that blond one – the expert sniper and grenadier? He seemed to have the very devil inside him.
You know very well who he is, said a voice inside his feverish brain.
But Omzbak did not want to listen.
He still had two grenades and extra clips for his machine pistol. He wasn’t through yet; victory was still possible. He moved deeper into the Inner Zone, toward the horror at its core. Should his enemies follow him there – God help them.
***
We enter a sinister world of negation. The surroundings on this side of the maw are not much different from the area we have just departed, only there is less – less sound, less color, less substance. The light is dry and brittle, as is the air. It’s as if somebody has rubbed an eraser over everything. We almost seem to be moving in a world of two dimensions, like figures in a newspaper comic strip.
The immediate area is blackened and charred, testimony that a fire has raged through. There is no sign of Omzbak, except for some bloody sputum on the ground. I regard it with deep satisfaction. So, the bastard was waiting here to ambush us – and he’s injured. My potato masher must have given him a nasty surprise.
I have finally struck a blow against Stilikan’s prime murderer! No ... I must not think of Stilikan, not until final justice has been done.
Trynka is much too close. She’s almost nestled against me, making us a prefect target.
“Go there!” I command.
I point to an area behind and to the left of me. She obediently drops back, leaving the point position to me alone. We move cautiously ahead, guns at the ready. I keep my eyes peeled for any sign of Omzbak, but I know he’s not around.
I’m gaining a sixth sense down here, or maybe more than six. A darkness is entering my spirit, shutting some things down but also bringing increased awareness. It’s the darkness of ZOD, the darkness within me and Omzbak – in everyone, I think, just waiting for an opportunity to take over.
I glance back at Trynka.
She is my sister in revenge. Yet she is much more than that. A powerful attraction is developing with us. A great spark seems to jump the gap between her and me. It is supercharged by our mutual blood lust. Trynka feels it, too. Her eyes are locked on me. Strange thoughts and emotions are gaining control of us. Visions of blood.
