The Empty Warrior

by J. D. McCartney

  And every day when he returned to the barracks he would see that his friends had grown weaker and more despondent. Even the scant amount of extra food he was able to provide from his larger ration was starting to be met with apathy. After eating, both Lindy and Steenini would lie listlessly in their bunks until they fell into sleep, which now generally happened even before the lights were doused. Both were withering before his eyes, while more and more of the Akadeans that had arrived with them from Sefforia were either killed by the lizards or simply died in the night from overwork and undernourishment.

  Time was becoming short. Not only were his friends failing, O’Keefe was certain Elorak had sent word of his presence on Ashawzut immediately upon ascertaining his identity. He was equally certain that before long the Vazileks would respond in some fashion. They would promote Elorak or transfer her, and where she went O’Keefe was sure to be forced to follow. If he was unable to set his plans in motion very soon, it would be too late.

  At last, late one day in what passed for afternoon in Ashawzut, fortune reared its propitious head when one of the guards overseeing O’Keefe’s work gang malfunctioned on the hangar floor. Its diesel stalled and seized and the lizard sat as if riveted to the stone, spitting curses at the men and flailing away at any who strayed within range of its long lash. Less than an hour later a tracked towing vehicle arrived with a retinue of dogs and lizards. It winched the broken down guard atop the low-slung flatbed trailer that it pulled before rumbling away to the repair shop.

  Apparently no replacement guards were readily available, because soon after, when O’Keefe and his workmates were taken from the floor, there was no guard there to follow behind the men. Only the dogs that normally flanked them were on their heels. The sole remaining lizard drove straight ahead, leading the way and only rarely glancing to the rear, evidently secure in the knowledge that the dogs would push along any laggards. O’Keefe was certain this would be his one best chance. It was now or never. He could search for the pistol while the guard looked forward and even if the dogs did see him, the odds were they would not understand the import of his actions and certainly they could not tell anyone about them. If none of his fellow prisoners ratted him out, which seemed doubtful as much as they feared him, the worst that could happen would be the dogs would prod him forward, perhaps with a snarl, if all the other men passed by before he could extract the gun.

  As they came closer to the end of the passageway, O’Keefe worked his way forward until he was walking almost directly behind the guard. Because the diesel fumes were densest there, only a few men were close by him. He moved farther to his right, until his right shoulder was nearly brushing against the wall as he approached the fissure where the gun was hidden. When he was able to discern the outline of the crevice ahead, he slowed his speed, putting several paces between himself and the guard. He ambled up next to the gaping crack and turned toward it, thinking he would reach inside and pull forth the gun, then stuff it into his pants while keeping it hidden from sight between his body and the wall.

  He reached into the crevice, and felt nothing. Nothing but bare rock scraped against the skin of his fingertips. He pushed his hand as deeply as it would go into the fissure, ran it painfully up and down the length of it, but there was nothing there. He looked desperately up and down the passage, thinking perhaps he had chosen the wrong spot. But no, this was where the Colt should be. He was sure of it. He had imprinted the shape of the crack indelibly onto his memory, picked it out dozens of times as he had passed by. The gun had to be there. He pushed his hand even deeper into the rock, violently enough to draw blood from his knuckles as he did so. Most of the men were past him now, and the dogs were rapidly approaching. Still there was nothing. At last he removed his arm and turned away, continuing out through the tunnel, walking just in front of the last stragglers from his group.

  He took a quick look over his shoulder at the dogs. They all trod forward with no change in their gait, but each of them seemed to be intently watching him. All four of them, every time he looked, had their eyes locked on his face. They know, he thought. Someone had found the Colt, no doubt turning it over to Elorak. The entire garrison of Ashawzut had probably been waiting to see who would come back to look for it. They likely had a video feed hidden somewhere along the corridor, monitoring the crevice twenty-four hours a day. And now they knew that the gun had been his. The only question that remained was how long it would be before they came for him. Punishment was quickly applied in Ashawzut. He would probably find himself in the arena on the morrow, but not with a chance to put a bullet into Elorak. He would be there only to die. He would be lucky to even see his friends again. Sudden, almost unendurable fear gripped his heart as if it were clenched tightly by an unseen and satanic fist.

  But when the men reached the end of the tunnel and went their separate ways, the guard and the dogs paid no out of the ordinary heed to him. He was allowed to make his way back to the barracks without being stopped or interrogated. Dinner came and went without incident, yet still he was convinced that he was doomed, and no amount of attributing the feeling to paranoia would rid his brain of that certainty.

  Just before lights out, he roughly rousted Lindy and Steenini from sleep and confided his fears to them. Both seemed little surprised that he had been unable to retrieve the weapon. It seemed their lack of faith in his machinations had been justified after all. Yet when he started his goodbyes, something in them, particularly Lindy, seemed to break. “Then you’re giving up?” he asked, a plea for contradiction reflected in his eyes. “You believe there’s no chance of escape now?”

  O’Keefe was taken aback by the question. He had been sure that Lindy had already packed it in, that he was ready for death, and yet now he was practically begging O’Keefe to keep trying. Perhaps he had only given up on himself and had somehow expected more from a savage, from an aberrant more accustomed to hardship. But it made no difference now. The game was over.

  “Well, no I’m not giving up, not totally,” O’Keefe stammered, lying. “It’s just that, well, things don’t look very promising after today. I guess they never did. I mean, anything can happen, but I have no weapon, and without it we have no means to attack Elorak. And they saw me looking for it; they won’t let it pass. They are not going to misunderstand the implications of my actions either. They’re going to know that I meant to kill someone. This isn’t something that they’ll send me back to the mines for. This is sure to land me in the arena.”

  The three of them were silent for some time. O’Keefe could sense that the tiny flame of forlorn hope that his friends had each secretly held close to their hearts had suddenly been extinguished. The fleeting light that was left in their eyes died as he watched. Both of them mumbled empty platitudes about how things might not be as bad as they seemed, but it was clear that neither believed them. At length he clasped both his friends by their forearms, first Lindy and then Steenini, for a final goodbye, making them swear not to give in to the Vazileks after he was dead, and all the while knowing they had already done so. The lights went down even as he was still haranguing Lindy in urgent whispers.

  Afterward he climbed into his bunk and lay there, fear keeping him from sleep, despite his exhaustion. Instead he prayed. It occurred to him that he prayed often now, daily even, as he had on those many nights in the jungle so long ago. In the interim he had abandoned prayer; living on his own, accumulating wealth, ever prideful of the fact that he needed no assistance from any source, heavenly or otherwise. After so many years away, he thought, what right do I have to ask for aid now? The question ricocheted about his mind, refusing to leave his consciousness. And the answer was obvious. He had no right, no right at all. He should have foreseen that someday he might again have to call upon a higher power, and now it was too late. He knew there would be no one listening. And yet he continued to plead nevertheless, begging his God for a miracle. But no host of angels appeared to carry him to safety. There remained only the darkness, the dust, and the s
tench.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR:

  The Guardians

  They came for him late in the night. Two dogs entered the barracks one behind the other, pausing in the open space up front only for long enough to test the air with their finely tuned senses of smell. Then one posted itself by the door while the other padded directly toward the bunks and the sleeping prisoners. It made its way carefully between the last two rows of beds, the space between the tiers barely accommodating its bulk. But it did not have far to go. It entered only to the point that its head came abreast of the back of the first bunks, where it could put its muzzle next to the head of the now sleeping O’Keefe, and where it delivered a short, deep growl.

  O’Keefe was instantly awakened by the beast, as his brain had only minutes before drifted past the boundary that separates wakefulness from slumber. Nevertheless he lay frozen, with eyes closed, while the stinking breath of the animal by his bed filled his senses. Slowly he cracked one eyelid a hairsbreadth, just enough to catch a short glimpse through his lashes. He could not suppress a slight wince at the proximity of the dog’s huge head. He feared the flesh of his face was about to be torn away. But suddenly the dog, perhaps aware that O’Keefe was in fact awake, backed away a step. O’Keefe clamped his slitted eye shut once more and remained motionless, feigning sleep, hoping against hope that the appearance of the animal had nothing to do with his pistol, hoping that the dog had merely picked him at random to terrorize and that it would tire of tormenting him, hoping that it would move on to the next man. It did not.

  Impatient now, the dog approached the bunk again and deftly took the front of O’Keefe’s untucked shirttail in its teeth, and began to drag him from his mattress. Afraid that he would fall backward to the stone floor onto his neck and head, O’Keefe swung his legs down and stood, fearfully facing the big canine. But still the animal did not relent. It held fast to the gray fabric of his tank top and pulled him from between the bunks, then across the barracks floor. Its cohort approached and helped to herd O’Keefe toward the corridor outside the barracks. He was certain that Elorak and a bevy of guards would be waiting for him there.

  But he was mistaken. The corridor was empty. The dog released its grip on O’Keefe’s shirt and lay down next to him while the other sat on his opposite side. Both animals watched him intently, expectantly. O’Keefe’s heart beat wildly in his throat, each of its contractions ringing in his ears, his breath coming in shallow rasps. He knew the beasts could smell fear, and he fought unsuccessfully to put aside the dread that gripped him and set his limbs to trembling. Yet still the dogs only stared, as if imploring him in some way. At last the sitting canine batted a big paw at him, catching him in the left side of the chest and pushing him off his footing. Because the other dog lay so closely by on his right, there was no place for him to step and regain his balance. Instead his foot found only the immovable ribcage of the dog and he began to topple in that direction, falling toward the spine of the big animal. As he did so the dog began to stand, and O’Keefe fell neatly across its back, the impact painfully knocking the breath from his chest.

  Even as he lay over the animal, gasping and hardly able to move, the dog set off at a trot, while the other one followed at its side. O’Keefe immediately fell from the dog’s back, the stone floor inflicting more pain on his already abused body. He lay there hugging his gut and moaning softly. But the dogs paid no heed to his suffering. Instead one of them grabbed the back of his pants at the waistband, its sharp teeth nearly drawing blood from the small of his back, and easily lifted him into the air. It then deposited him roughly on the back on the other animal, which again began to trot away down the corridor. O’Keefe had no choice but to knot his fingers in the canine’s shaggy coat and hold on. Once he steadied himself and was able to breathe normally, he moved to dismount the dog, but was quickly discouraged from it by a vicious snarl from his mount’s compatriot. So instead he rode the beast much like a horse, only bent forward over the animal’s back, its thick fur clenched tightly in his fists.

  The dog seemed to sense that its rider was now more securely astride its back and broke from the easy lope it had been maintaining into a full gallop. The second dog easily kept pace and ran with its head and its slavering jaws next to O’Keefe’s ribs, its focus flitting systematically back and forth between the Earther and the corridor ahead.

  The rough stone walls flashed dimly by. O’Keefe had to tighten his grip for every turn and resettle himself atop the dog after each as his legs were not long enough to wrap completely around the animal’s broad midsection. His fear, however, began to recede somewhat as the canines continued to sprint through the colony complex. He did not imagine that this was how prisoners were routinely delivered to the arena. The dogs obviously had other plans and, whatever they were, what was in store for him certainly could not be any worse than what he would face if left to the lizards’ tender mercies. Even the musty odor of the dog’s coat became oddly comforting, bringing back old memories of companionship and protection. It mitigated his fear even further.

  Abruptly his abductors halted. O’Keefe could feel the flanks of the dog beneath him expand and contract with rapidity as the animal panted. Both the beasts held their noses aloft, sampling the dry, dusty air of the caverns. Their ears perked as they cocked their heads from side to side. After a moment, they looked to each other as if sharing a few moments of silent communion, then turned as one and retreated back down the passageway. They trotted now, backtracking, stopping every few seconds to listen before moving on. Turning a corner, they suddenly broke back into a run, sure of their way once more. There were no further stops in their journey.

  In a matter of minutes they entered vast dark chambers that stank of dogs and decay. The ceiling dropped ominously close to O’Keefe’s backbone, seeming to press his chest into the dog. The beast carried him deeper and deeper into the warren until suddenly it halted and sat unexpectedly, dropping him to the floor behind it. He started to rise, but the other dog pushed him down on his back, pinning him there by pressing one of its huge forepaws against his chest. Meanwhile, his former mount had lain across his legs while a third animal he had hitherto been unaware of approached from behind and held his head to the ground by placing another large paw over his forehead. He struggled to break free but the same dog that pinned his head loosed an utterly primal, vicious snarl close by his cheek. Droplets of saliva peppered his face while sheer terror, loosed in his brain once again by the inability to move or escape, held him rigid as a statue. His awareness shrank to only the bared yellow teeth, inches from his face, that fronted the feral growl still issuing from deep in the dog’s throat. Once he was still, the animal pushing down on his chest removed its paw from his ribcage and clawed his right arm away from his body, then lay across it. The one holding his head them moved and did the same to his left arm. The huge animals were crushingly heavy, and completely immobilized O’Keefe.

  His breath came in heaves, dread drowning him in an ocean of fear. But for long seconds the dogs did nothing threatening or violent; they simply held him pinned to the floor. Again his trepidity began to wane and he glanced about, rolling his head from side to side to take in his new surroundings. He was in a darkened chamber that seemed large and had a low ceiling. It appeared to be only high enough for the dogs to move about in without crouching. By the looks of the surfaces, it had been blasted or otherwise hewn from the bedrock of the planet like every other corner of the colony complex. It appeared to be simply another nameless cavern in the labyrinth that was Ashawzut. If there was anything besides that to see, it was blocked by the bodies of the dogs that restrained him.

  He took the chance that they had calmed now that he was clearly subdued and lifted his head from the stone, craning his neck, trying to make out what lay beyond the animal that had draped itself across his legs. There, unmoving, sat a fourth canine, the uniform ebony of its coat making it nearly invisible in the gloom. Only the gray dust that clung to its fur, faintly delineating it
s form, allowed it to be seen at all in the tenebrous chamber. As O’Keefe watched, the dog stood and began to move toward him. It stepped carefully around its brothers until its head was directly over his sternum. It came close enough that O’Keefe could make out a small, shiny cube that it carried gingerly between its front teeth. The animal lowered its head until its snout was almost touching the front of O’Keefe’s shirt, and then crushed the cube. The pieces fell over his chest. Moments later a feeling of formication began to run up his neck and chin, over his cheeks, and around his ears. He began to panic, certain that arachnids and insects armed with poisons beyond his worst imaginings were crawling over his naked face. But the feeling quickly passed, and as it did, the dogs that had been holding him fast to the floor got up and sauntered languidly away, leaving him free to move. He immediately crabbed away backwards on bare feet, rump, and hands, oblivious to the scrapes the stone floor wreaked on his unprotected skin. He pushed himself frantically away from the dogs until his back was pressed against solid rock, where he paused and sat staring unseeing into the gloom, his breath coming in ragged, wheezing gasps.

  He turned to his right and a scream was torn volitionlessly from his throat. Lying beside him was a desiccated human corpse, its throat ripped away to the spine. One of its arms had been torn off at the shoulder. Looking more closely O’Keefe recognized the man’s face; it was the foreman, the trusty from the hangar who had disappeared before O’Keefe’s second day on the work detail there. Again terror flowed into his brain like a tsunami over a defenseless shore.