by G. P. Moss
The sand is dry right at the edge. Rags is further up but after another minute, runs back to us, looking happy - maybe he’s eaten something or is just enjoying the scenery. The tide is now a few hundred yards out. I want to walk over the wet sand.
All around are tiny worm-like creatures. I’m fascinated. I move further out.
As Storm shouts, my right foot sinks into the ground. I scream but she’s already running. I’m losing my balance. I sink further, up to my knee. I can’t break free. I’m panicking. It’s hard to breathe. I bite my lip, tasting the blood. I’m petrified. I’m sinking further. She’s almost reached me.
Rags is here first. He grabs the waistband of my trousers and starts to pull. I don’t move but I don’t sink further. Storm throws rope. I wrap it around - it’s tight. The end is over her shoulder. She digs in deep - heaves. Rags also pulls. I start to move, slowly, further out. Thankfully, my boot is still attached to my foot. I’m out. I roll, moving away but unsure of the surface – any of it.
We walk back quickly. My arms and back are sore from the pressure of pulling. I’m grateful that nothing’s broken. We reach the top of the beach. Looking back, I shake my head, acknowledging my carelessness, my stupidity. Storm grins.
“Quicksand,” she says.
I’m shocked. Focus, Mercy. It was a lesson - one I won’t forget. We don’t explore any further. Storm starts to climb as I follow - Rags is already at the top - a natural climber. As we reach the halfway point, he starts barking – a rough warning that something’s wrong. We stop so Storm can load Ghost. There’s not much room to move.
There’s a roar from the top. Rags is snarling, now yelping. Two straggle-haired, hate-filled faces appear at the top of the cliff. They look over, seeing us. One of them drips blood – it’s from Rags, I just know. They’re holding chains, thick, silver metal links wrapped around their fists.
Storm fires a bolt, hitting one of the Subs in the front of his neck. He falls, bouncing off the rock beside me, still holding the chain. His enraged companion snarls, dirty white foam filling his mouth as he swings the deadly links. We’re too far away. Storm fires a second - he turns and it misses. He disappears.
It’s a risk but we move quickly. We’re at the top now and the Sub is twenty feet away. Rags is on the ground - he’s crying in pain, hit savagely by a chain. The Sub bares rotten, dripping teeth. Storm raises Ghost but I put up my hand to stop her. Drawing the sword, I arc, right then left. The Sub advances. I feel a fury rise inside me - confusing but all-consuming. My eyes burn with tears. We rush at each other - the chain swinging wildly.
I need to be careful. I’m too angry, it’s too quick. The steel links whish past my ear. I dart to the side, arcing from left to right. The sword cuts into his midriff. He staggers - it should be enough. It’s not enough for me. My rage engulfs me. I raise the sword. He looks furious but not scared. I bring it down so hard it cuts straight through his neck, sticking in the ground.
I’m shaking. I turn and run to Rags. Storm stares, open mouthed. There are no others. They came from nowhere. They came from somewhere. I look at Rags. There’s a deep gash on his right side. I take some leaves from my sack. He’s quiet - licks me once. He’ll be okay.
My heart races fast, beating an unnatural rhythm. I get to my feet. My right foot throbs from the quicksand. I look over the edge of the cliff. A Sub lies at the bottom, his head twisted at the wrong angle. The angle doesn’t matter so long as he’s dead. Storm hurries down the cliff - she wants her bolt back. Good - her frugality may save our lives. Again. I feel so sick that my stomach empties without warning. Raw acid burns my throat. My head feels heavy, like it’s on the wrong body. Something’s wrong.
There’s a broken fence post nearby. I pick it up, throwing it further along the cliff edge in a flash of temper that confuses me further. Rags sits quietly. I march over to the other Sub, start pulling him by his feet. He’s heavy, even without his head. I drag him unceremoniously, without respect - only hatred - the same he felt for me and for Rags. It’s a new feeling, one I can’t stop. I don’t want it to stop.
This moment. It fits. It doesn’t fit. I stop around fifty yards past the point where Storm descended. I look down, across to where she’s climbing again. I go back for the Sub’s head, kicking it with my left foot until I reach its body. I briefly look at the face - it’s still angry, even in death. They’re the only features I can describe – twisted and angry. I pour a little fuel on the head and body.
They’re close to the edge now. Throwing a little tinder on the Sub, there’s a whoosh as it ignites. I roll body and head off the edge using the post. The fireball slams, bounces, cracks off rock after rock. It’s at the bottom. The sickness has gone. I feel better, much better.
Storm reaches the top. She’s not grinning.
“Why, Mercy?”
I stare at her.
“Because I had to, that’s why,” I say, before turning away.
“We do things because we have to, to survive! Showboating with optional extras is not the way!” She’s not shouting. Her voice is measured, but angry. “We can’t waste resources, it’s all I’m saying.”
I look at her. I feel calm. It’s me. It’s not me. I feel different, stronger. I stand tall. And nod.
“Okay,” I say.
She grins. “Come on, the sea will take those two. Somewhere horrible. And wet!”
I laugh, for the first time. We decide to follow the cliff top path. It becomes clear before long that coastlines are not geometric lines. We can’t follow the beach as it breaks at regular intervals - fine for when the tide is out, fatal when it’s in. Storm says some tides come in as fast as galloping horses. There were horses in the valley, when I was younger - they became sick and died.
Sometimes we need to go inland a little way, keeping the beach in our sights. We cover a lot of ground but we’re careful. Loose rocks can twist ankles. I feel lighter. My long arms are firmer, more defined. They just feel that way. Lithe. Powerful.
There are buildings further inland, the same military types we saw before. We ignore them, passing concrete steps. There are more as we travel further on, leading down to the beach - or that was their original purpose. They’re split, crumbled – certainly unsafe. Buckled, rusted railings lay nearby.
We’re close to our destination. I see shapes in the distance – larger, spread out like a town - along the coast and inland too. It must be the place. The name is Eastsea, the town where Alex lives. I was so scared of reaching this place. Now I’m ready, to move forward. To make a difference, or die. Rags was hurt badly but he doesn’t complain. He’s the best. We march on.
Chapter Ten
There’s a different smell in the air. Acrid. Smoky. Storm shades her eyes from the blinding sun, as she points ahead.
“Fire,” she says, quietly.
Massive swathes of huge flame spreads for miles. We’re not close enough to see if it’s controlled or not. The last town we noticed had similar but this is much larger. I guess at Sub defences. I hope I’m right. It’s an unwelcoming sight but we need to get there - find a way in. Find Alex. My whole life I’ve been told to trust no one. None. No exceptions.
We push on. Ghost is fully loaded. Its pulley mechanism is fast and reliable. It has a three-bolt top loaded magazine, an ancient design from Japan. Unusual - our guardian angel.
It looks like the wall of fire stretches a good mile or so, maybe more. We should find out soon enough. If there’s that much fire, it surely means massive danger. I can’t see anything. Subs. Hounds. It doesn’t mean they’re not around. Makes me wonder though. We know they attack each other too. Something binds some of them - a pack mentality. A pack where everyone’s a violent lunatic. Apart from in the forest, the others have been twos, fours. In the valley, they were loners. Eventually. A combination of being killed and killing each other - once they’d had the rest of us. Focus, Mercy. I am. I’m focussed.
I touch the tags, squeezing them tight. The metal digs into my pa
lm. It feels good, sharpening my mind. We’re about half a mile away. Nobody knows us there. They may not be too friendly. They probably won’t trust us. Like we won’t trust them. I need to see some of them - see what they look like. Their clothes, hair, weapons. There are plenty of rocky outcrops to our left.
We’ve been travelling around twelve hours - we need to look for shelter. I hope this is the right town. If it is, it’s not bad. Five days may turn into six. But we’re here. It’s been a long last stretch. The coastline. On and on. The tide is coming back, ruling out the beach as an option. Storm mentioned caves. She saw them before, on the beach when she was a young child – perhaps there’ll be some here.
We need to get as close as we dare, then shelter. There are only two options. Approach the fire and risk being burned. Or killed. Or both. Or, come in from the sea. The beach. They’ll have it covered. Those are the only two options. The tide will be in for twelve hours, maybe a bit more - unfortunate timings, but the Moon rules. At first light, we will need to move fast. As fast as we dare. While it’s slippery, or sinking. I’ll be more careful this time.
We hug the clifftops for a few hundred yards. I can see better now - how the fire curves at the cliff side, as if the defences are tightened at the most vulnerable points. Something surprises me. There are no patrols, beach-side. I quickly understand. The beach breaks up constantly, rock formations extending out to sea. Not too far but far enough to be cut off if they misjudge the tide.
Over to the right are a couple more of those domed huts. Military. The afternoon runs on. Soon we need to find some shelter. It becomes clear we can’t approach the fire - it’s too high. We haven’t seen any people yet. It’s a town so they probably have guns and perhaps other stuff that Johnny talked about.
We approach one of the buildings – it’s a long shed, topped with a domed roof of grey corrugated iron. It looks old. I mean ancient. Rags stays close but not in my way. The sword is drawn. Ghost is tucked tightly at Storm’s side. It’s more accurate from the shoulder but any danger here is likely to be at close quarters.
There’s no padlock – the entrance is wedged shut. We pull. Both heavy steel doors are stuck. Storm takes some rope from her sack. The door handles are also solid steel. They’re small though - not much space to thread and loop. She forces it through the narrow gap. It’s tied.
We drop the sacks, placing the rope over our right shoulders. Heave. Our boots dig in. Luckily the ground is hard. It doesn’t shift - not an inch. Rags grabs it in his teeth, closer to the doors. I hope his teeth don’t snap it. No, he’s not stupid. All three of us pull, heaving in rhythm. It starts to move, slowly. It drags out until there’s a gap, just over a foot wide. It’s enough. Storm recoils the rope. I grab the torch from my sack, passing it to Storm. She’s in. Rags follows.
My senses are suddenly assaulted in a mist of fear. I can hear them. Hounds. They’re running, pounding over the ground from out of nowhere. I’m in. The door is open. We pull on a horizontal bar to shut the door. It’s moving up and down - it won’t stay still.
The Hounds are almost here - I can smell them. As we pull, the bar lifts. We hold it tight, pulling again with all our strength. It starts to close. We can see them. Cut, rotting noses, purple-red eyes, snarling, foaming fang-teeth. Faces of death. The door is shut.
We collapse, exhausted. We can’t rest. We need to secure the door, somehow. Small gaps in the steel sections allow some light in, but not much. I wind the torch - thank goodness for this. Attached to the doors are vertical bars reaching from floor to ceiling. Steel poles lay on the floor nearby. We slot them through, driving them home.
Through the doors, the Hounds rage. They’ll give up soon. I hope. We’re safe. Kind of. Or trapped. Now we’re in, I pray it’s just the three of us. There’s a desperate snarling, a rough, determined scratching. Even Hellhounds can’t compete with steel. It goes quiet.
I crank the torch. The shed’s larger than it looked from the outside. I don’t think about being trapped - we need to use this time to rest, not to worry. It’s dry. Inside the steel frame there’s boarding on the walls and the floor. Broken tables. Chairs. Mainly wood. We can see the end - there are no doors there. What kind of structure is this? Why would a large domed shed be here? It makes no sense.
We walk the length of the building - a hundred yards or so. At least we’re alone. Pieces of old olive-coloured webbing litter the ground, alongside ragged bits of thin, tough carpet. I place my palm on the far wall. This is boarded too. I turn as I hear a noise, twenty yards back. Rags is scratching. Storm calls me over.
“There’s something here.”
I focus the beam downwards. There’s a small brass ring. It’s dull, hard to see at first, under the torn carpet. A joint for cabling, maybe? I can’t see a break in the floor. I trace my finger near the ring. Nothing. As I widen the angle there’s a slight difference. My finger traces the tiny groove. It’s now a square. I look at Storm - this is a compartment. Or a door.
She nods. I try to pull again. Still no movement. Storm retrieves the rope again. I think it’s too thick. She tries the end but it won’t go through. She puts it in her mouth, squeezing the strands with teeth and saliva until it’s thin enough to force through, quickly tying a knot. I take the rope.
She trains Ghost on the door as I squat and pull. It moves, slowly but it’s heavy. I lose my grip. It crashes back, propelling me forward. Storm looks at me, raising her eyebrows. I ignore it. Focus, Mercy.
This time I breathe properly. Huge inhale through the nose. I fall back as it slams down. It’s open. We don’t move - any of us. I move back. Taking a chair leg, I throw it in. It’s a couple of seconds before it lands. It’s not a compartment. It’s deep. We wait. There’s no response. All quiet, outside and in. Storm shines the torch around the top. And down. An iron ladder. It’s in good shape, bolted to the rock. It reaches down at least fifteen feet. If this is for storage, it’s large. There’s a gap before the bottom. Perhaps it’s a room. Or a tunnel.
I descend first. Storm covers with Ghost. I reach the rock bottom – it’s uneven but okay. She passes the torch down on the rope. This is no room - it’s a tunnel. The ceiling is high. I shine the light through. Bleak stone walls, nothing else. It veers to the right further on. She passes down Ghost, holding Rags in one arm as she descends. We’re both speechless. Storm takes the lead, carefully approaching a bend. It doesn’t divert much from a straight path. I think about the direction, to the sea.
We stop. Listen. A rushing sound. It’s faint but it’s there. I’m guessing half a mile to the beach. A long way for a tunnel. We need to decide if we’re to carry on now. We’re tired. We’ll sleep a few hours, recover, then explore properly. Night or day, tunnels are dark. We have the torch. I’ll make some light-burners too, from wood and cloth. We head back up the ladder. I close the hatch.
Chapter Eleven
I’ve rested enough - Storm’s awake too. We’re fully packed, in case we don’t return. It’s quite warm, even underground. We may not be trapped - it all depends on the end of this tunnel. There’s enough room for two abreast. Rags follows, closely. Whoever built this knew what they were doing – it feels solid, dependable, like it will hold forever. We walk carefully, watching our step as the tunnel bends slightly to the left. My heartbeat goes crazy.
There’s another ladder. I hesitate but shine the torch anyway. It looks like there’s extra boarding at the top, like it’s sealed with an extra layer. I don’t like this. I’m sweating. I force myself to calm down, control the breathing. We’re quiet. We move on.
The air is cooler - not quite a breeze but it’s a change. We stop. Listen. It’s louder now. A rushing. I think it’s the sea. We must be close. It’s still dark but I notice a difference in the wall to the right of me. I shine the torch straight at the stone. It looks like there could be another tunnel beyond the rock – a few feet across, it’s not a solid structure. We carry on straight instead. The air is becoming much cooler, carrying the eerie,
soft sound of water. There’s a shift in the darkness - it’s receding, taking some of the strain from my eyes.
The ground is a little damp now - not much but enough to know we’re near the sea. I expected more light but this comes in rays – strange pinpoints ending in larger illuminating spots on the tunnel walls. Turning a final corner, we see why the light has changed. It’s not a tunnel anymore. This is a cave. It’s wide - twenty feet across, at least. The entrance is blocked with huge, uneven rocks - we may still be trapped.
We start to climb the rocks, one of us on each side. It’s hard work - the cave ceiling is high, another twenty feet probably. We’re at the top – there’s a gap, on my side. I try to squeeze in but I can’t get through. Storm has better luck. She waits while I climb down, following her on the right-hand side. Rags looks, then follows. His feet slip but he quickly gets used to it, climbing with confidence. Storm is down the other side. The ceiling drops to a mere six feet in height. More light and, unfortunately, more rocks. This last part is thirty feet in length.
We’re at the entrance now - gaps in the rocks let us see the beach. The rocks are packed tight but they’re not cemented. Carefully, we move one from the top. It’s jagged, and heavy enough to make my arms burn. To the left is an outcrop of rock, cutting off the beach and stretching a few hundred yards out to sea.
I can’t see much to the right, except more rocks. We clamber through, dropping to the beach. I keep Rags close - my warning hand telling him not to run. He understands. A different noise. The smell of thick smoke. I hear muffled voices - difficult to tell the distance. While Storm and Rags hold back, I pick my careful way to the edge of the rocks. My heart races - again. They’re several hundred yards away, behind giant fires. Unlike normal town defences, there are gaps.
