PLAZA

by Shane M Brown

  'That's not funny, man. Just get moving before we lose the trolley.'

  That stopped Fontana's jokes. Each lifting one arm, they carried the nauseatingly-light half-corpse back into the chamber, around the trolley, and carefully up to the triangle barrier. They took position either side of the aperture so the body hung under the triangle.

  'On three,' started Fontana. 'One, two, threeeeeeee.'

  They lifted the body up against the aperture. Randerson's arms shook from the sustained effort of holding the body at the awkward angle. But not for long. The corpse wrenched with inhuman force through the hole. The man's wrist tore from Randerson's grip like a speeding truck's tow-rope had snapped taunt around the guard. The only sign the man had even existed was a residue of skin and scalp at the top of the aperture.

  Fontana edged warily away from the hole. 'Well, that clears that up. We're certainly not going that way.'

  'Yeah, we are,' countered Randerson. 'We can't risk getting lost again. We need to go straight ahead. That's our path.'

  Fontana pointed back through the hole. 'Randerson, that's some hardcore shit, right there. If we're still here when that barrier moves any second from now, it's crunchy-fucking-munchy-time. Just ask Mr. No Legs.'

  Randerson waved to Fontana's useless carbine. 'Well, if you hadn't wasted all your ammo, we could have both fired when the barrier opens. Now we don't have enough firepower to hurt an angry gecko.'

  'So what do you recommend? I figure we have less than one minute before this barrier moves.'

  Randerson glanced around the chamber. 'I'll distract it and give you a clear shot with my carbine. Trust me, I've got an idea. Help me push the trolley back.'

  Fontana helped Randerson push the gold away from the barrier. Randerson hurriedly tied something to the base of the trolley.

  Fontana frowned over Randerson. 'How are you going to distract it without being eaten?'

  Randerson threw Fontana his carbine. 'Leave that to me. You just get ready. Get in that corner.'

  Fontana took two steps before turning and shaking his head. 'Randy, this isn't going to work. Screw the gold, OK? There, I've said it. Screw it. Let's just leave it and go.'

  Rising from the trolley, Randerson turned to face the barrier. The gold was right at his back. 'It's too late for that. We're committed now.'

  'I'm not doing this.' Fontana shook his head over Randerson's carbine. 'I'm not staying in this chamber. If you want to do this, you're on your own.'

  Fontana edged towards the open barrier.

  'Stop, Fontana! If you leave now, you're killing me!'

  'Maybe I don't care about that.'

  'I'm unarmed, Fontana! You've got the only carbine!' Randerson's watch started beeping. Five seconds.

  Fontana stopped under the archway. He could take one step either way. One step into the potential safety of the next chamber, or one step back to stay with Randerson. Randerson closed his eyes as his watch sounded its final beeps. With eyes still closed, all around him he heard the stony hush of the barriers changing.

  This wasn't how he'd expected to die. He'd always imagined it might be an underground gas pocket, or electrocution, or getting crushed or stuck or lost. His mind had worked through a dozen scenarios. Those risks he'd gladly accepted while urban exploring. That was the life he'd chosen and loved. But he didn't want to die alone. Not in this place. Not by one of those animals.

  The barriers finished moving.

  Randerson had no idea what Fontana had chosen to do. Either way, the cards were dealt. Fontana had either stayed and they stood a chance, or abandoned Randerson to certain death. Randerson opened his eyes and checked. He couldn't believe it.

  Fontana was still in the chamber. He’d taken a step into the room. Back into danger. Now he was side-stepping down the wall to reach the corner where Randerson had told him to wait.

  'Don't look so surprised,' hissed Fontana. 'You've got all the extra....'

  And then the animal struck.

  All hell broke loose, and the first split-second of that hell was Randerson thanking God he wasn't facing it alone.

  #

  Fontana saw the tongue smack Randy squarely in the chest.

  The rib-cracking impact smashed Randerson backwards. Air gusted noisily from his compacted lungs. His head whipped forwards. Like a snap on the end of a gallows, he instantly jerked the other way, back towards the animal.

  His body flew ten feet through the air towards the archway and then wrenched to a stop midair.

  Gobsmacked, Fontana searched for what had arrested Randerson's flight.

  A rope!

  That clever bastard tied himself to the trolley! Randerson had locked the wheels on the trolley and tied himself to the gold.

  Another kind of rope stretched from Randerson's body armor back through the archway. This one was thick, fleshy, and ended in a gaping mouth that steadily eased through the archway into the chamber. Fontana aimed.

  Wait for it, wait for it, wait for it...get a clean shot.

  He watched the creature enter the chamber by degrees. Its head, then one shoulder, then the expansive barrel of its forward torso appeared in the red flare light.

  'For god's sake, kill it!' hollered Randerson as the animal closed within ten feet of him. 'Shoot it.'

  When Fontana had a good bead on about where the creature's heart should be, he squeezed the trigger. Bullets pounded into the animal's side. Fontana felt nasty satisfaction as he imagined the rounds churning flesh and perforating heart muscle.

  But that didn't happen. The animal jerked slightly away from the direction of gunfire. That was all. It was a long way from dying. His bullets must have embedded in the animal's shoulder blade or something, because they certainly weren't having the desired effect. Shrugging off Fontana's attack, the animal closed quickly with Randerson. It was just three steps away from the manically shrieking Randerson when Fontana drew his knife and jumped. He landed right on the creature's back and swung down his knife in an overhand slice. He might have misjudged the vulnerability of the creature's heart, but he knew the sweet spot that every living beast wanted to protect.

  The creature's eyestalk - a fleshy pyramid with an eyeball apex - spun away from its head.

  That hurt it.

  Randerson was abandoned instantly. The recoiling tongue dropped him to the stone floor. Randerson scuttled away and lurched across the chamber towards something. Fontana didn't see what Randerson was after, because right then the creature rolled onto its back, first pinning Fontana's boot and then rolling right over the top of him. Stunned by the crushing force, the next Fontana knew the creature was mauling him. One massive raking claw spun him on the floor and pinned him down.

  Fontana fought instinctively, thrashing and kicking and bucking and squirming like he was having a fit. He'd be damned if this thing would make an easy meal of him. He couldn't count on any help from Randy. The fool was still tied to the gold!

  The animal's missing eye was helping Fontana. Twice its mouth closed in a killing bite and missed.

  Red light suddenly flared in Fontana face.

  It was Randy. Randy had the flare. With one perfectly-timed, lighting-quick thrust, he shoved the flare straight down the animal's throat. He didn't hesitate. His entire arm was inside the animal's mouth. He jammed the flare in deep and then snatched his hand back before the animal bit his arm off.

  The chameleon back-peddled instantly, gagging at the white-hot object lodged in its throat. Fontana rolled away.

  Red glare blazed from the reptile's mouth. Its head thrashed from side to side. One claw raked its own neck. It spun and snapped its jaws at thin air as though it sensed an invisible attacker. Twice more it attacked invisible phantoms before making a sudden ramming dash into the wall. Bashing its head and shoulder against the wall, its violent solo-wrestling match led it stumbling down the east passageway. The frantic onslaught continued for as long as both men could see it. Within seconds, they couldn't even hear the chaotic display any fu
rther.

  Fontana sat up, feeling dazed, looking down the passageway after the animal. He saw where Randerson had used the flare to burn through the rope before he attacked the animal. 'Nice job with that flare, Randy.'

  Randerson nodded after the animal. 'Bruce didn't like taking his medicine, huh? See how far I jammed that thing in his mouth. It was right up to my shoulder.'

  'Yeah. Heckuva job.'

  The two men caught their breath for a minute.

  'Thanks for not leaving me,' said Randerson.

  'Yeah, well, about that....' Fontana climbed to his feet and brushed non-existent dirt off his trousers. 'You've got all the flares. I would have been walking in the dark.'

  Chapter 17

  Kline swam fast along the blue guide-rope.

  Was it possible to get sweaty hands underwater? If it was, then Kline had them. He had never been so frightened in his life. Any second, he expected the rope to jerk freely in his hands, sabotaged from further along the line.

  And his stupid buoyancy vest was loose. He hadn’t had time to adjust the straps, and now his entire dive-set seemed to keep moving whenever he stopped.

  Obviously several people had used the navigation rope before him. Sections of the rope were cleaner where shuffling hands had wiped away the silt. Also, four dive sets were missing from the first chamber. Once Claire's party found their way out, she would be insane not to cut the navigation line behind her. Kline desperately hoped she'd panicked and become lost in the silt. He suspected she had. Seconds earlier, silt had broiled up everywhere. About a third of the way through his dive, the blue cord had disappeared in billowing silt clouds that ate visibility in every direction. He had no choice but to continue, navigating by touch with the only visual stimulus being a rare flash of light from the guards further back down the line. It felt like swimming in milky coffee. Thankfully he'd emerged from the silt cloud into relatively undisturbed water again. Just in time to find Rourke's intentional break in the navigation line.

  Kline hovered with his hand on the line’s end, shining his flashlight into the dark water.

  Ahead lay the unchartered space between Rourke's area and Ethan’s area. Rourke had claimed the space spanned ten chambers across, but Kline couldn't remember in what direction. Short on air, realizing he had no time to perform a thorough search, he let go of the blue rope and kept swimming east, praying he'd at least encounter one of Ethan’s side ropes.

  Twelve chambers later, Kline knew he'd chosen the wrong direction. He considered backtracking. He looked back and panicked. The four trailing divers had raised a silt cloud completely obscuring the way back. Now they couldn't even find Rourke's lines again!

  It was suicide to swim back into the silt without a navigation line. Every second, more and more chambers were filling with suspended silt. Should he abandon the others? Strike out on his own?

  Not yet. He had one more idea to try.

  One last hope. He had obviously overshot Ethan’s navigation line. He was inside their research area, but unable to find their exit. If he turned north or south and swam in a straight line across their area, a chance existed he would cross Ethan’s navigation line further in.

  But north or south?

  North. Kline checked his compass and finned swiftly north. The four guards behind him could either keep up or find their own way out. Their lousy diving skills had churned up most of the silt anyway.

  After two chambers, Kline snagged something with his knee.

  The navigation rope! He'd found the researchers' navigation line!

  Kline almost swam right over it.

  Ethan had anchored his line lower than Rourke's. Rourke failed to mention that fact. Kline had just assumed the two rope networks would be suspended at the same height.

  That simple assumption almost killed him.

  Grabbing the line, he pulled it gently, testing for resistance. It hadn't been cut. Not yet anyway. He was on the right track again. The four guards still trailed him, perhaps not realizing how close to suffocating they’d all just come. No wait, only three divers followed now. One was either lost in the silt, or had lost confidence in Kline and headed off alone. There was nothing Kline could do about that now.

  He followed the line fast, not caring how much silt he disturbed. His air-supply wouldn't last much longer. A few minutes at most. He hadn't started out with a full tank. The intruders had taken the tanks with the most air.

  Looking ahead, Kline saw a darkened section that looked suspiciously like...yes! The steps! He’d made it. Ahead were the steps leading up to the east antechamber.

  Kline swam slowly, approaching the steps warily, letting the excited guards overtake him in their rush to exit the water. He shared their relief, but after making it this far, he didn't want to emerge into a face full of gunfire.

  The first two guards reached the steps and thrashed straight up and out of the water. The third guard ascended beside Kline. They broke the surface together. One fluorescent lamp already lit the familiar antechamber.

  The first two guards were shedding their dive equipment. The room looked all clear. Kline turned to say as much to the man bobbing in the water beside him when it happened.

  The man erupted from the water. He shot upwards as through sitting on a geyser. His entire body rocketed towards the ceiling. When the diver reached the stone ceiling, a mouth closed over his head and shoulders.

  Kline squinted up through the spray of falling water. The man's legs kicked wildly from the mouth of a giant lizard hanging upside-down from the ceiling. Now Kline saw the animals. They’re all over the walls! At least four of them!

  As Kline yelled a warning, the next man was jerked from his feet. None of Kline's team had firearms. They'd expended all their ammunition getting this far. They were all effectively barefoot and unarmed.

  Screw this.

  Kline dumped the air from his buoyancy vest and sank, thrusting his palms upwards to descend faster. His forehead dipped underwater just as the shuddering slap of a muscular tongue struck the water where his head bobbed a second earlier.

  Kline descended another two, three, four meters until his knees hit the stairs again. What could he do? He couldn't stay down here for long. His air-gauge had bottomed out. His gauges showed he was just a few breaths away from running out of air and suffocating. He had to ascend or drown.

  Really, only one option presented itself. He had to try it now. Every passing second decreased his chances. He kicked off his fins so his feet fit the steps. As the fins floated away, he took a deep breath and then shook his head to dislodge the regulator from his mouth. Reaching back, he tore free the velcro flap securing the tank. The tank dropped from his back. Attached to the tank, the regulator hanging over his shoulder snaked away and disappeared. He heard the metal tank striking the steps behind him and tumbling slowly away.

  Now the clock was ticking.

  Only Kline's inflated buoyancy vent and weight belt remained. The vest tried to pull him up. The lead weight-belt kept him down.

  Committed, Kline unhooked his weight belt and pushed up off the steps. He shot up through the water. Halfway to the surface, everything above him fractured in a tremendous splash. Jumbled limbs thrashed in his path. Had the last guard dived back into the water?

  No. It's one of the animals. One of the lizards had fallen in.

  The animal hanging from the ceiling had lost its grip. It thrashed furiously. Desperately. Not desperate enough to release its prey though. Kline saw the struggling guard still locked in the animal's mouth. A blood cloud blossomed from his ravaged torso. Kline veered from the thrashing limbs, kicking hard to avoid the struggling beast and come up closer to the steps.

  He emerged into screams and hysterical cries. The first two guards were being massacred. Animals thrashed them both around the floor. One guard had already lost an arm. Research equipment and folding furniture flew everywhere as three creatures competed in the confined space over the two guards.

  Finding his feet on
the steps, Kline realized the creature in the water was drowning. Its feet were useless for swimming. The densely-muscled torsos and low slung head couldn't stay on the surface.

  Racing up the submerged stairs, hauling his legs from the water, Kline unclipped his buoyancy vest. He didn't shed the sodden weight. The vest was the most important part of his plan.

  Leaping the dive gear shed by the first two guards, Kline landed agilely and dashed across the chamber, looking for the fastest way to reach the single stairwell to the surface. Equipment lay scattered all over the place. Kline leapt over a blood-smeared collapsible table.

  The stairwell looked clear. Thank God for that. Even one creature's bulk would have blocked the stairwell and trapped him in the antechamber.

  But he wasn't clear yet. Of the four animals, only three were occupied with the guards.

  The remaining creature, its front legs on the floor and its rear legs on the wall, spotted Kline as he crossed its field of vision. In his peripheral vision, Kline saw it pivot to lock its two eye-stalks on him.

  Its mouth cracked open.

  Kline's bare foot hit the first step. Here it comes. He hugged his arms in front of his body and hunched his head down. The impact struck him squarely in the back. It felt worse than being shot in the chest earlier, like someone had slammed his back with a meaty sledgehammer. Kline's torso drove forwards up the steps. A moment later the force yanked backwards.

  But his vest was pulling him backwards, not the tongue, and Kline's plan worked. The loose buoyancy vest jerked from his back and slid down over both arms. The vest flew backwards. Momentum shoved Kline up the stairs. His arms shot forwards, catching him from face-planting the steps. Not bothering to rise, he scrambled upwards on all fours, finding his feet by the fifth step, and then racing up the stairs like he'd found the only fire-exit from hell. Outside, under blue sky, he didn't stop running until he'd hurdled three sets of low-lying ruins and stopped with his back against a large wall.

  I made it! I can't believe I got out of there!