CRY FEAR

by Mike Morris

  17

  Jack

  Jack was outside with Nial when Edward arrived with thirty men. Jack spotted Robert with his hammer, Alan next to him, Christoph and Duncan too. No one was taking any chances.

  "You found something, boss?" asked Edward.

  "Inside," replied Nial. "A hole in the ground. Looks like Alexis and his men were dragged down there. There was a girl upstairs on the third floor. She'd been turned. Killed one of the lads I'd brought over with me, David. Jack killed her."

  Edward nodded at Jack. "Good work."

  Jack shook his head. "I just got there in time. That's all."

  The priest smiled. "That's all you ever have to do."

  "Send some lads up to get the bodies," said Nial. "Wrap them up carefully. I'll take the girl to the council tomorrow and make them see what we face."

  "Will do," replied Edward.

  Nial ran his eye over the men Edward had brought with him. "We'll send twenty down the hole, armed to the teeth and with plenty of torches to light the way. We need to know what's down there and hopefully get our boys back."

  "Leave it with me." Edward headed back to the others and began assigning tasks.

  "How're you doing, Jack?" asked Nial.

  "I'm doing good, sir. All things considered."

  "You can go back to the monastery with Thomas and Erik if you want. Get some rest. It's been a hard few days."

  "I'd rather stay here if I can, sir." Jack rubbed his neck. "I'd like to go down the hole with the search party. I know it's likely that Alexis and the others are dead, but I left my brother with the Nostros once. I don't like the idea of leaving anyone behind."

  "Good man. Go with Robert, then. You two work well together."

  "Thank you." Jack headed over to join Robert, feeling better, like he belonged. It was a dark time they were in, but he was glad to be fighting by Nial's side, happy to be part of his team.

  "You're always where there's trouble," said Robert as Jack joined his team. Steve and Guy were with him. "Starting to think you might be unlucky."

  Steve laughed and slapped Jack on the back. "He's still alive after a lot of shit. Seems to me he's fucking charmed."

  "Hear you killed a Turned in there," said Robert.

  "She was just a kid. Maybe ten, maybe younger," said Jack.

  Robert spat on the floor. "Bastards don't care. We're all meat to them."

  "Robert!" Edward waved them over. "You're first in."

  "Of course." The big man hefted his hammer up. "Time to go to work, boys and girls."

  They marched into the building. Torches had been set up around the atrium, banishing some of the gloom. Jack led them through to the main room. That too had been cleared and torches set up. The black hole stared at them as they approached. Two priests stood on either side, holding torches, while two others had ropes wrapped around them, ready to drop the other ends down into the dark.

  "Torches go down first," said Edward. "Give you something to see with. Then you drop two by two. I don't want you to go exploring, just secure the immediate vicinity. Once you've done that, we'll drop more men down and move on from there. Got it?"

  "We'll make it nice and cozy for you," said Robert.

  "Keep your eyes open down there," said Edward. "And do it to them before they do it to you."

  The big man laughed. "Every fucking time."

  The torches were dropped. They all watched them fall, twisting into the dark, stopping a short distance down. Jack guessed it was fifteen feet or so. Not too bad, but bad enough. The ropes went in next. Robert grabbed one and swung over the edge. Jack took the other. He tried not to think about what he was doing, tried to ignore the dryness in his mouth, the fear that this was going to be it, the one that killed him. He wished he'd seen Lin, wished he'd gone back to see Brendan. And then he dropped over the edge, legs swinging into thin air, down into the dark.

  Robert was already down, hammer ready to break some skulls. Jack dropped down beside him, drew his pistol and picked up one of the torches. He waved it about to get a better idea of where they were. It was a tunnel, man-made with stone walls and stone ceiling. It wasn't a new construction, though. Mold and moss covered most of the walls. Some bricks lay scattered around Jack's feet, fallen from above when whoever it was had dug through. There were no bodies. And no one waited for them. No monsters.

  Steve and Guy came down next. Guy took the other torch, joining Robert while Steve took up position with Jack. They moved forward another five yards. There were some scuff marks on the ground, but it was hard to see if there were any traces of blood. Jack threw the torch another ten yards. Just more tunnel. He listened for any sound that might warn them of a potential threat, but nothing moved. He kept his pistol raised and ready, though. Steve did likewise.

  Jack heard more men drop down, carrying torches, bringing more light into the tunnel. Some welcome warmth, too. He didn't need to look to see what they were doing. His job was to watch for the enemy. The light grew as more men joined them, extending their visibility in the tunnel. Where were they? And how had the Nostros known about it? It wasn't something that was discovered by accident. The Nostros had wanted to come down here, had done so for a reason.

  Footsteps came up behind them. "Watch your backs," whispered Robert. He stopped beside them and dropped to one knee. Guy was with him, and there were another four men behind them. "We're moving on. Let's see where this goes. Same formation as last time. Me and Jack up front, Steve and Guy second, the other team follow on behind."

  One of the other men passed Jack a new torch. Time to move. Jack never liked being in the front line, but he didn't have the right to shirk the duty because it scared him. At least it was a mark of trust from Robert. A sign that he was doing okay.

  No one rushed. They walked at a steady pace, keeping noise to a minimum. Jack was on the left, torch in that hand raised and pointing forward, casting as much light as he could in front of them. He kept his other hand free so he could communicate with the others. He didn't like the thought of going down the tunnel without a weapon ready but he had to trust that Robert or one of the others would protect him. Trouble was, he knew an attack could come at any time. The torches made sure of that. Whoever or whatever was down there was going to have plenty of warning the Black Dogs were on their way, but there was no other option. The knights needed to see. It was better the enemy were warned than the Black Dogs wandered around blind.

  There was no sense of time down in the tunnel. It stretched on and on, built by God only knew who. Air came from somewhere, though. A faint breeze teased the torches with a promise of a way out — but where?

  Sweat ran down Jack's back and smoke tickled his eyes. Another foot covered. Another foot with no enemy contact. He knew they were out there, though. Hiding in the dark, waiting for the Dogs. He wished to God he was somewhere other than where he was, but wishing never changed a thing. All he could do was try to stay alive and do his best to keep his team the same way.

  Something caught his eye. A flicker at the edge of the torchlight. He signaled everyone to stop, felt Robert tense beside him. They waited, Jack's heart pounding away as he peered into the dark and strained his ears for any sounds.

  Nothing.

  He inched forward, moving the torch.

  "Careful, son," whispered Robert. Jack didn't need telling. He slipped his finger around the trigger of his pistol. Was it his imagination? Please God, let it be. He took another step forward.

  Something skittered against stone. The sound came toward him

  He forced himself to stand his ground as he raised his pistol. Even Nostros could be killed by a lead ball through the brain. If he was quick enough.

  He waved the torch again, trying to get some distance on the flickering light. Shit. Shit. Shit. He hated being in that tunnel, waiting for death to come calling.

  The noise got closer. Jack held his breath. What was it? Where was it?

  Something moved on the ground. He dropped the torch down
in time to see a rat race past. By God, it was a rat. He'd nearly shot a rat. He turned to look at the others, as relieved as he could ever remember. Robert raised an eyebrow and smiled but thankfully said nothing.

  Suddenly there was more skittering, more scratching. Jack looked back down the tunnel. The torchlight caught movement on the floor, lots of it, coming straight toward them.

  More rats. Hundreds of rats. They rushed past Jack's feet, a river of fur. They didn't stop when they reached the others, just swarmed past, shrieking. All the Black Dogs could do was stand there and watch them pass.

  When it fell silent again, Jack could see shock on all their faces.

  "What caused that?" asked Steve.

  "I've got a bad feeling about this," said Guy.

  "Shut it," hissed Robert. "Listen."

  There was a rumble from far away. From down the tunnel. From where the rats had fled. The ground shook with it. Whatever it was, it was big and loud and furious.

  Jack walked backward to stand with the others, never taking his eyes off the tunnel, watching, listening, waiting for what was coming.

  The rumble grew in intensity, like thunder, like the world was breaking.

  "What do we do, boss?" asked Guy.

  Robert said nothing, just tightened the grip on his hammer. A second passed, then another, and another. The noise got louder, battering their ears, rolling toward them, roaring like ...

  Shit. Jack knew. He knew what was coming their way. "We've got to move, go back. They've let the river in. They've flooded the tunnel."

  "You heard him," barked Robert. And the Black Dogs ran back the way they'd come, as fast as they could, the water racing after them.

  They weren't fast enough.

  The river smashed into Jack and Robert, sweeping them off their feet, throwing them into the others, turning them upside down, knocking them from side to side.

  The world went black and cold. Jack had no sense of up or down. His head banged against the stone wall. His back thumped against the ground. It was all he could do to hold on to his breath. His pistol was washed away along with the torch. The cold stabbed his face, crushed his lungs. He wanted to scream. The world was black. The world was death. He wished he could've seen Lin one last time.

  18

  Nial

  For Nial, the hardest part was always the waiting. He stared down into the hole and watched the flickering torchlight on the ground below. He'd counted every man as they went down below and now he needed to count them all out. He'd lost enough men already that day and he didn't want to lose any more.

  He blamed himself for David's death and the loss of Alexis and his team. They were following his orders, after all. And it was stupid of him not to realize the danger from the girl. Maybe he was getting old, because it was an obvious trap.

  "Cup of tea, boss?" Edward held out a steaming mug. "One of the lads outside's got a fire going."

  "Thank you," replied Nial, taking the cup. He cradled it with both hands, enjoying the warmth.

  "Wait till you try it before you thank me," said Edward. "Jonathan's not well known for the quality of his brews."

  That got a smile out of Nial. "It's hot. That's all that matters."

  Edward glanced over at the hole. "They've been down there nearly an hour now."

  "No word from any of the teams yet?"

  "Give them time. They're good lads — the best."

  "This job never gets easier, does it?" Nial sipped the tea, feeling it warm his throat and stomach. "Do you know, I actually used to believe we could win this war and put a stop to the Nostros once and for all?"

  Edward arched an eyebrow. "Did you?"

  "I was idealistic when I was younger." Nial chortled at the memory.

  "I'd forgotten you were young once. Hard to imagine."

  "Fuck off."

  Edward saluted him with his tea mug. "I think you're doing okay still. You wouldn't be standing here now if you didn't think you could make a difference."

  Nial took another sip. "Trouble is, I measure everything we do by the bodies of the dead."

  "Don't go blaming yourself for what's happened, boss," said Edward. "No way."

  "You know me too—"

  The rumble drowned out what else Nial had to say. The ground shook beneath their feet.

  "An earthquake?" said Edward.

  "No," said Nial. He dropped the cup and rushed over to the hole, saw Duncan looking down the tunnel at something. "What's going on down there?"

  Duncan looked up, fear all over his face. "Don't know. Doesn't sound good." He had to shout to be heard as the din got louder and louder. Something caught his attention as he looked back. "What the ..."

  Nial saw the water hit Duncan a second later, sweeping him off his feet, taking him away. The water rushed past the opening in a never-ending torrent. Nial stood there, watching, not believing what he was seeing.

  "Shit," said Edward next to him. "They flooded the tunnel."

  More men lost. Nial stood up, saw the shocked faces around him. "There must be an opening at the river. Some gate they've opened."

  "I'll get some more men from the monastery," said Edward. "We can—"

  "Nial." It was Christoph. He stood just inside the main door. "Pretty Boy's outside." He didn't need to say that it was bad news. Everyone knew it was. There wasn't any other kind at the moment.

  "Edward, come with me," said Nial and headed toward the door.

  Christoph opened the door and Nial stepped outside. It'd gotten colder, but the snow had stopped at long last, leaving the street coated in white. He knew he'd never be able to look at snow again in the same way he'd once done. As a child, it had been magical. A time to play. To have fun with the other novices in the monastery. Then as he got older, he'd seen it as a way of God reminding the world of His majesty. Now, it would be a reminder of when the Nostros finally arrived in Arbour, the night he'd lost too many lives. With more to add to the butcher's list judging by the state of Pretty Boy William.

  He waited for Nial by the fire the lads had set up, looking far from pretty. He held a bandage over one ear that was already soaked with blood. His tunic was ripped and Nial could see bloody gashes on his skin beneath. "My God, man, what happened to you?"

  "We got jumped on Egil Street. There were some locals shouting at us, hurling abuse about searching their houses. Nothing to bother us, but then a man and a woman turn up. Locals, too, because the others recognized them. Some old bloke went up to the woman, asked her something, and she ... she ripped his throat open with her claws. That's when the other one went for us." William moved the bandage away from the side of his face. There was a bloody hole where his ear had been. "We killed them. Killed them both, but not before they did some damage."

  "How many did you lose?" asked Nial, feeling sick.

  "Eight. We lost eight knights."

  "Where's the rest of your team now?"

  "We pulled everyone back to Sigil Street. I've got a wagon ready to take the bodies back to the monastery."

  Nial put his hand on William's shoulder. "You go back with them. Get yourself fixed up." He looked at Edward. "Go with him. Find anyone who can hold a sword and pistol at the monastery and send them down here, ready to fight."

  "What about the council?" asked Edward. "They won't like it."

  "Fuck the council," said Nial. "This is war."

  19

  Jack

  Jack broke the surface of the water long enough to grab a mouthful of air and smack his head against the ceiling before he got dragged under again. It swept him along, turning him this way and that. He held on to that little mouthful of air and tried to stay calm, despite the blackness around him, despite the cold, despite the aches and pains from where he'd been battered in the flood. He ignored the burning in his lungs and the roar in his head. He had to stay alive. That was all. Stay alive.

  The water took him through the tunnels, pounding him into every turn before shooting off in a new direction. He hit the bottom,
rolled and turned and twisted and then hit a wall. He couldn't see anything so there was no warning, no way to prepare for any impact. He was slowing down, though. He was sure of that. As much as he could be sure of anything.

  He stuck out a hand, trying to feel the wall or the ceiling, maybe find something to hold on to, find a way up, a way to slow down. He had no idea how long he'd been in the water or what had happened to the others. It'd all been so fast. Where were they? Were they alive? It was so hard to think. The roar in his head was deafening. A part of him wanted to give in, let the water have its way. It would be easier. But he couldn't. He had to fight. He had to survive.

  His head broke the surface again and he managed another gulp of air and coughed out a load of water. He reached up and pressed his hands against the stone, tried to slow himself down, stop himself from going under again. He sucked in more air, grateful to relieve the pressure in his lungs. The roar in his head faded, and he could feel the first flickering of hope that he might make it out alive.

  He undid his holsters and let his pistols sink to the bottom, followed by his knives. He kept his sword, even though common sense said he should drop that too. Drowning was the greatest danger he faced.

  The current dragged Jack along, through the darkness. Blind, he used his hands to feel his way as he went. His fingertips brushed over the rough stone, his face almost touching it too, desperate to keep breathing, to keep above water.

  Suddenly, there was nothing to touch and a flash of light, blinding Jack. It was an opening. He stuck his hands up, hooked his arms against the wall, and stopped himself from being pulled on. There was a grate about ten feet above him and the night sky above that. A way out. Even his frozen brain could work that out. All he had to do was hold on and climb up.

  The water tugged and pulled at him, doing its best to dislodge Jack. The cold ate away at whatever strength he had left, nipping at his skin, nibbling at his strength, but he held on. He dug his fingernails into tiny crevices in the stone and kept his eyes fixed on the sky. He could do it. He prayed to God to give him strength.