Sometime later we turned into a branching tunnel and left the hazy walls behind. Now we marched along cut stone slicked with dripping lichens glowing with a sickeningly bruised light. Things skittered along the walls, running the shadows like roaches with the dry-twig scratching of insectile legs on stone. My skin crawled as I thought about the hordes just out of sight.
It got worse as we progressed. Where I’d only caught hints of movement before, now I saw them openly scuttling across the walls or darting across the floor. They looked like cockroaches, but only as Hell could twist them, dark brown and beetle-like with pulpy human heads that tracked us as we moved.
Every step down the tunnel brought more of the bugs and every revelation was worse than the one before. At first it was just one or two that stalked us, twisting their heads and watching our progress while keeping pace along the walls. Every few feet we traveled brought more of the Hell-bugs out from hiding. They huddled together in small groups, rustling wings under carapaces, shaking twig-like legs and whispering.
They could talk. That was the tipping point, the point where mere revulsion slipped into fear. Those disgusting human-faced roaches could speak. We couldn’t understand them, their tiny voices were too small to discern individual words, but the combination of thousands blanketed the tunnel in hostile whispers.
We hunched together and picked up our pace as a few of the braver bugs launched themselves into the air. They darted in between us, zooming in crazy buzzing circles about our heads, darting from one wall to the next as if they were passing messages in the dark.
This was going to be bad. It wasn’t just my paranoia talking. There was something decidedly hostile about the Hell-bugs movements. It reminded me of warrior tribes gathering their courage before a strike; counting coup.
Ramirez was the first to break. He was always the neatest of us, his hut on base always the cleanest, the tidiest. I’d always thought it was the web he used to draw nurses inside, but I realized it was something more. Some people can’t abide disorder and bugs are an affront to their world. It wasn’t just about scoring with the ladies, deep down, bugs gave him the creeps.
He swatted at a particularly nasty creature that was circling around his head. The impact sent the Hell-bug screaming towards the walls and Ramirez clutching his hand. “Fuckers wings are like razors,” he moaned.
The buzzing and whispering immediately took on a darker tone. The walls were now heaving with armored little bodies shaking their legs while more took to the air. Ramirez ground another under his boot. “Die you bastard!”
It screamed like a baby wailing when it crunched. The effect on the other Hell-bugs was immediate. For a moment the whispering subsided and all we heard was our labored breathing and the scuttling of dry legs on stone. Then all at once the whispers started again. One word chanted over and over, “Die, die, die.” The Hell-bugs attacked.
Most surged down the walls in a living carpet while hundreds more took to the air. Within seconds there were thousands, tens of thousands surging towards us from all directions. Bender shouted ‘Run,’ but we didn’t need his urging. Where a few of the bugs weren’t a threat, in their thousands they were deadly.
We ran blindly through clouds of razors, swiping and cursing as we tried to keep them off our faces. Clothes flapping in tattered shreds as blood coursed from dozens of wounds, some small grazes while others felt like slashes to the bone. The ground erupted in pops and screams, like we were running across a field of living bubble-wrap. We slipped and slid, but no matter how many we squished they kept coming.
Our only advantage lay in speed and we poured it on. I nearly tripped and fell when I first stepped onto solid ground unslicked with pulpy Hell-bug remains. We ran for at least another mile until the stone turned to grit under our feet and we’d left the thundering of the Hell-bug army behind.
When Thomas finally stopped to catch his breath, we fell around him panting and gasping, grateful to be alive. “God damn, I hate bugs!” Ramirez cursed. Everyone broke up. We couldn’t help it. It wasn’t funny, but we couldn’t stop laughing. It was manic, bordering on hysteria; survivor’s joy.
It didn’t take long for the pain to strangle our high. Most of our wounds were superficial, thin cuts and bites that were more painful than damaging, but there were several serious lacerations. Stevens had a long gash stretching from the corner of his mouth to his left ear where a Hell-bug had slipped past his flailing hands. Ramirez sported two punctures on his upper thigh that looked serious, though he swore they wouldn’t slow him down. My left shoulder looked like a cutter’s wet dream, but it was still functional. The important arteries don’t run up top, but it still bled like a son of a bitch.
We dry swallowed the antibiotics Mac passed around. We had no idea what filth might be in those Hell-bug wounds, but I was sure it was nasty. Bender was unscathed, at least from the bugs themselves. I’m not sure how he did it. Maybe the damn bugs couldn’t see him when he ran. His right arm had been dead meat, hanging useless when we’d stepped onto the pathways now appeared functional at least. Good enough that he removed the tourniquet and threw it aside.
I started to comment, but dropped it before I spoke. Whoever or whatever Bender is, he wasn’t going to share it with the group. I had my suspicions, but sometimes it’s best to keep them to yourself. Surprise is an ally, but only when you hold it close. I hoped I’d never go up against him, but I couldn’t guarantee that wouldn’t be the case. The reality was slowly dawning that someday I might not have that choice. Thomas was my friend, but I’m not stupid. I could envision multiple scenarios where we’d be planted on opposite sides. When that day came, if it came, any advantage I might have was worth hording.
I pushed myself up from the floor and sidled over to Thomas. “What the fuck were those things?”
“Sins, I think, but I don’t know for sure. I’ve never encountered them before.”
“Your map book didn’t warn you?”
“It only marks the routes my father explored. It doesn’t indicate what may be traveling down them. Things don’t stay the same here Julian, even the Pathways change over time.”
I nodded, as if I understood half of what Thomas was talking about. Bender said the pathways remained, like wormholes through an apple. Thomas said they changed. I was beginning to suspect that no one really knew much about this place at all. “How much further,” I asked glancing back at my unit. “We can’t keep this up much longer, another encounter like that one and we won’t be in shape to take out the target.”
Thomas followed my gaze and nodded. “We’re close, but we’ve got the crossroads to contend with. Once we’re past, it should be a short hop to the Pools.”
“What’s waiting at the crossroads, Thomas?”
Thomas turned away and shook his head. “I don’t know. It might be nothing, but then again it might not.” Somehow, I wasn’t comforted. “Stay here, I’m going to scout ahead.”
Before I could object, Thomas was up and moving down the tunnel his sword held before him. Within moments he’d rounded a corner and was gone from sight. Bender was instantly at my elbow.
“Where’s he gone?” he asked.
“No worries,” I reassured him. “Thomas wanted to scout the crossroads ahead—
Bender’s look cut me off mid-sentence. In all the time I’d known him, I’d never seen him worried, not even as we approached Shadows Bridge. “The crossroads?” he asked. “This route takes us through the crossroads?”
“I don’t know,” I said, suddenly feeling as worried as Bender appeared to be. “He said the pools were just a short hop past a crossroads and he wanted to scout them out first. Why, what’s going on, Bender?”
“The fool,” Bender swore. “I warned him that his timetable was too tight.”
“What timetable? What are you talking about?”
“His men, the Sons,” Bender explained. “Thomas sent them to strike the cult’s stronghold in Tampa during the dark of the moon. He must have decid
ed that the only way he could lead that attack and have you strike the Pools at the same time was to use the crossroads.”
By this time the unit was getting to its feet. They didn’t know what was happening, but they knew they couldn’t sit any longer.
“What’s the problem with crossroads?” I asked. “We’ve passed dozens of them already.”
“Not a crossroads,” Bender snapped. “The crossroads . . . the crossroads between everywhere and Hell. That’s what’s up ahead.”
Chapter 32
Infernal Pathways
Near the Crossroads
Nobody swears like a combat soldier. No one needs to. A combat soldier swears not just for himself; he’s already conditioned to the idea that he’s stepping into Hell. He swears for his brothers, his unit, his platoon, company, and brigade. He swears for every man and woman that has to shrug off his blinders and face down the wretchedness of war.
Ramirez elevated cursing to an even higher level. The geyser of invectives that leapt from his mouth would have made a hitman blush. Priests have forgotten their vows under less strenuous assault. He strung together such a collection of impossibilities that it was senseless outside of the moment, but right here and now along the Infernal Pathways, it was everything that needed to be said.
“Get a hold of yourself, soldier,” Mac snapped and that too was needed. I didn’t envy Mac. We were battered and exhausted, buried deep in the underpinnings of the world, and we’d just learned we were literally on a downhill slide towards Hell. Men fracture, everyone has a breaking point and I knew we were drawing dangerously close to ours, but it was Mac’s job to hold us together. That’s what a Sergeant does, he provides focus.
“Everyone, knives out, our guns might not work here, but steel never fails. Nunez, Stevens, I want eyes on our rear. Nothing gets within fifty yards of us without me knowing about it, understand? Ramirez, gather whatever supplies you need and start building a lattice of fire in your mind. Lay down the foundational spells, build the triggers and place the hex into a holding pattern. You’re going to need to jump when I tell you to move without disrupting the flow. Don’t tell me how hard it is, just do it.”
Heads nodded around the circle. Nunez and Stevens shrugged off their packs and pulled back, Nunez staking out the rearmost position while Stevens prepared a surprise of his own. Mac waited until Ramirez started gathering supplies before turning back to me.
“Thorn, you’re with me. I’ve crawled into plenty of strange beds in my day, but don’t think I ever closed my eyes. Your tame Sinistra is playing a game and we don’t know the rules. That worries me. It’s time to get some answers and you’re going to help me get them, understand?”
“Sergeant,” I protested, “I know these men, they’re friends—
“I was in Kiev in ’02 Private. I watched the Thule roll through, saw good men turn, men I trusted, men I’d trained. Your friend has his agenda and we’ve got ours. When you’re trapped behind enemy lines the most important thing is to find your way back to safe ground. That’s our mission now. Everything else is secondary.”
“Yes, Sergeant.”
Mac looked me over for a moment, evaluating. He reached up and grabbed my good shoulder. “This isn’t your fault son,” he said. “Sometimes the Lord writes straight with crooked lines. Now let’s go see what we’re up against.”
Bender was a dozen yards away, anxiously waiting near the bend Thomas had disappeared around. Though his face was impassive, I suspected that he was aware of everything that had transpired behind him. The next few moments proved me right.
Bender started talking before we’d joined him. “This isn’t the time to question our motives, Sergeant.”
If he’d caught Mac by surprise, he didn’t show it. “I disagree Mr. Bender, I think this is exactly the right time. Your boss brought us here, right to Hell’s doorstep and now he’s disappeared. I don’t know you. I don’t know him, but I do know that the guy next door is the Prince of Lies--
“And you think we might have sold you out?”
“I don’t know what to think and that’s the problem, but I do know one thing . . . you’re not as ignorant of this place as you let on. So tell me Mr. Bender, right here and right now, I’ve got four good men with me and not one of them is going down like a sheep to the slaughter. What’s coming and how do we prepare?”
Bender’s face was inscrutable. It was those damned crawling tattoos, they tricked the eye and kept you from getting a deep read. He looked past us to Ramirez building his trance and then over to where Stevens and Nunez were guarding the rear.
Finally, he nodded. “The geometry of this place is difficult to comprehend . . .
Mac held up his hand. “Try,” he said.
“Somewhere up ahead are the borderlands. They could lie just around this corner or miles along the path . . . these things are constantly in flux. In that place the pathways are muted, they bend, they curl and blend into the landscape. Somewhere in there all the paths connect, they flow back like tributaries into a river and the source for that is the place you call Hell.”
“Mr. Sinistra is searching for that point where all the paths connect. That’s the crossroads. From there he can speed you to your destination and he and I can access ours. By necessity it stands outside of Hell, in the borderlands, on contested ground. I can’t tell you what to expect. It could lie in the middle of a battlefield or we could get lucky and it is relatively clear. The only thing I know for sure is that it will be guarded, by what or whom is unknowable. There are more factions involved than just the Light and the Dark. You may suspect Mr. Sinistra’s motivations, but I can tell you that even if Julian weren’t a part of your company, we’d need your help to break the Aqua Negra. In this thing your objectives and ours are in perfect alignment.”
Mac nodded, but I could tell that he wasn’t entirely convinced. “I want to trust you,” he said. “Everything you say makes sense, but that is the heart of a good lie. Your employer’s family is connected to the Infernal Powers and by extension so is he. You and I both know that. You’re asking me to risk not only my life, but also the lives of my men . . .
Bender smiled. “There is much more at stake here than just the lives of your men. Midnight Friday is the dark of the moon. At that hour his men will strike at the heart of the Aqua Negra in Florida. Already his men are positioning themselves around the Tampa Bay docks. If you and your men haven’t cut off the cult’s connection to the Dead Pools by then, they will be slaughtered.”
I rocked back on my heels. “Thomas is planning on leading that strike?”
Bender nodded, “of course. As I said Sergeant, your objectives and ours are aligned. If we fail the Accords will fall and . . .
“All Hell breaks loose,” I finished.
“Exactly,” Bender added. “The longer we delay here the more likely that outcome becomes. Time has a tenuous hold along the Pathways. We might already be too late.”
Mac held up his hand. “We’ll table this discussion until later, but we’re not finished here. Ramirez can’t run and hold that jumble of spells in his head, but I’m not willing to drop a potential weapon, not out here. I’ll need to guide him and that will slow us down. Thorn you and Bender scout ahead, I’ll have Stevens move up to support you both. I’m keeping Nunez in the rear to eliminate surprise from that quarter. If you run into something you can’t handle, find cover. We’ll be along.”
I nodded. It was a sensible plan. Bender didn’t like the idea of slowing our pursuit, but he agreed it was better to be cautious than to charge out blind. Mac stepped back and updated the unit. Seconds later we were as ready as we were ever going to be.
Bender and I rounded the corner. The stone walls that had surrounded us for so much of our journey were replaced with a viscous luminous mist that writhed at the edge of the pathway. “Don’t look too closely,” he warned.
Easier said than done, I thought as we pushed into a leisurely jog. There wasn’t much else to look at. The groun
d beneath our feet was black and featureless, the end of our path vanished in the distance. The only thing that registered was the crawling fog bank at our sides.
Figures moved beneath the surface of the fog. A naked woman suddenly loomed ahead of me, bleeding from her eyes. A moment later and she was swallowed by the billowing mist, replaced by a scorpion the size of a horse. Somewhere a bolt of lightning flashed, briefly illuminating a blasted plain. When I looked back, both figures were gone.
Glancing back, I saw that Stevens was behind us and that Mac and Ramirez were just rounding the corner. Mac had his hand on Ramirez, guiding him while all of his attention was focused inward on the complex layering of spells. It was beyond difficult; a skill I hadn’t begun to master, but Ramirez appeared to be holding up.
“Concentrate,” Bender hissed as we jogged to the left. “Keep your eyes on the path. The walls are thin here; you don’t want to step beyond.”
I snapped my eyes back trying to concentrate, but it was impossible. All around us figures boiled out of the billowing night. Chimeras, lamias, nagas, and dozens of creatures that I couldn’t name, surged and pressed against the barrier. Lightning hissed and sizzled behind them, igniting a landscape littered with nightmare debris.
Somewhere ahead Bender was yelling, but I was too busy dodging clawed arms and whipping tentacles to pay any attention. The path wavered under my feet and I couldn’t tell if I was on it any longer, but whatever separated us from the things beyond was gone. I was sure of that. A woman with eight-ball eyes stumbled in front of me. I slashed at her with my knife as I ran past, the impact sent shivers up my arm.
I whirled around, dropped into a crouch and nearly skewered Stevens on my blade. He knocked it aside, but couldn’t slow himself before he crashed into me and sent us both tumbling into the ground. Superheated air whooshed above us as Ramirez stumbled and lost control of his spell. Fire exploded overhead shredding the mist and igniting anything unlucky enough to be standing in its way.
The Dead Pools Page 23
