The Tomb (Repairman Jack)

by Wilson, F. Paul

  "See you soon," was all he could say.

  He began to row out into the bay, keeping his eyes fixed on Gia, only occasionally glancing over his shoulder to make sure he stayed on course toward the black hull of Kusum's ship. The thought that he might be going to his death occurred to him, but he let it pass. He would not admit the possibility of defeat until he’d done what he had to do. He’d set the bombs first, leaving enough time to find Kusum and settle up.

  He did not want Kusum to die in the blind, indiscriminate, anonymous fury of an incendiary explosion. Kusum must know the agent of his death...and why.

  And then what would Jack do? How could he go back to Gia and say those words: Vicky is dead. How? Almost better to be demolished with the boat.

  The pace of his oars increased as he let the rage mushroom out, smothering his grief, his concern for Gia, consuming him, taking him over. The universe constricted, focused down to this small patch of water, where the only inhabitants were Kusum, his rakoshi, and Jack.

  30

  "I'm so scared!" Gia said as she watched Jack and his rubber boat melt into the darkness. She felt cold despite the warmth of the night.

  "So am I," Abe said, throwing a heavy arm over her trembling shoulders.

  "Can this be true? I mean, Vicky is missing and I'm standing here watching Jack row out to a boat to take her back from an Indian madman and a bunch of monsters from Indian folk tales." Her words began to break around sobs that she could not control. "My God, Abe! This can't really be happening!"

  Abe tightened his arm around her, but she took scant comfort from the gesture.

  "It is, kid. It is. But as to what's in that ship, who can say? And that's what's got me shook. Either Jack has gone stark raving meshugge—and comforting it's not to think of a man that lethal being meshugge—or he's mentally sound and there actually are such things as the monsters he described. I don't know which frightens me more."

  Gia said nothing. She was too occupied with the fear that clawed ferociously at the walls of her brain; fear that she would never see Vicky again. She fought it, knowing if she let it through and truly faced the possibility that Vicky might be gone forever, she would die.

  "But this I'll tell you," Abe went on. "If your daughter is out there, and if it's humanly possibly to bring her back, Jack will do it. Perhaps he's the only man alive who can."

  If that was supposed to comfort Gia, it failed.

  31

  Vicky sat alone in the dark, shivering in her torn, wet nightie. It was cold in here. The floor felt slimy against her bare feet and the air stank so bad it made her want to throw up. She was utterly miserable. She’d never liked to be alone in the dark, but this time alone was better than with one of those monsters.

  She’d just about cried herself out. She had no more tears left. Hope had grown when the monster climbed the ship's anchor chain, carrying her with it. It hadn't hurt her yet—maybe it just wanted to show her the boat.

  Once on the deck, the monster did something strange: It took her to the back of the boat and held her up in the air in front of a bunch of windows high above her. She had a feeling somebody was looking down at her from behind the windows but she couldn't see anyone. The monster held her up for a long time, then tucked her under its arm and carried her through a door and down flights of metal steps.

  As they moved deeper and deeper into the ship, the hope that had sprouted began to wither and die, replaced by despair that slowly turned to horror as the rotten smell of the monster filled the air. But it wasn't coming from this monster. It came from beyond the open metal door they were heading for. Vicky began to kick and scream and fight to get free as they moved closer, for she heard rustling and scraping and grunting sounds coming from the darkness beyond that door. The monster didn't seem to notice her struggles. It stepped through the opening and the stench enveloped her.

  The door clanged behind them and locked. Someone or something must have been standing in the shadows behind it as they’d passed. And then the monsters were all around her, huge dark forms pressing close, reaching for her, baring their teeth, hissing. Vicky's screams faded away, dying in her throat as an explosion of terror stole her voice. They were going to eat her—she could tell!

  But the one who carried her wouldn't let the others touch her. It snapped and clawed at them until they finally backed away, but not before her nightie had been torn and her skin scratched in a couple of places. She was carried a ways down a short corridor and then dropped in a small room without any furniture. The door had closed and she’d been left alone in the dark, huddling and shivering in the farthest corner.

  "I want to go home!" she moaned.

  She sensed movement outside the door, and the things out there seemed to go away. At least she couldn't hear them fighting and hissing and scraping against the door anymore. After a while she heard another sound, like a chant, but she couldn't make out the words. And then more movement out in the corridor.

  The door opened. Whimpering with helpless terror, Vicky tried to press herself farther into the unyielding angles of the corner. There was a click and light suddenly tilled the room, blazing from the ceiling, blinding her. She hadn't even looked for a light switch. As her eyes adjusted to the glare, she made out a form standing in the doorway. Not a monster—smaller and lighter than a monster. Then her vision cleared.

  It was a man! He had a beard and was dressed funny—and she noticed that he only had one arm—but he was a man, not a monster! And he was smiling!

  Crying with joy, Vicky jumped up and ran to him.

  She was saved!

  32

  The child rushed up to him and grabbed his wrist with both of her little hands. She looked up into his eyes.

  "You're gonna save me, aren't you, mister? We gotta get out of here! It's full of monsters!"

  Self-loathing engulfed Kusum was filled as he looked down at her. This child, this tiny innocent with her salty-wet stringy hair and torn nightdress, her wide blue eyes, her eager hopeful face looking to him for rescue—how could he feed her to the rakoshi?

  It was too much to ask.

  Must she die, too, Goddess?

  No answer came, for none was necessary. Kusum knew the answer—it was engraved on his soul. The vow would remain unfulfilled as long as a single Westphalen lived. Once the child was gone, he would be one step closer to purifying his karma.

  But she's just a child!

  Perhaps he should wait. The Mother was not back yet and it was important that she be a part of the ceremony. It disturbed him that she hadn't returned. The only explanation was that she'd had difficulty locating Jack. Kusum could wait for her...

  No—he had already delayed well over an hour. The rakoshi were assembled and waiting. The ceremony must begin.

  Just a child!

  Stilling the voice that cried out inside him, Kusum straightened up and smiled once again at the little girl.

  "Come with me," he said, lifting her in his arm and carrying her out into the corridor.

  He would see that she died quickly and painlessly. He could do that much.

  33

  Jack let his raft butt softly against the hull of the ship as he ran through the various frequencies on his beeper. Finally he heard a click and a hum above. The gangway began to lower toward him. Jack maneuvered the raft under it, and as soon as it finished its descent, reached up and placed the crate of bombs on the bottom step. With a thin nylon cord between his teeth, he climbed up after it, then tied the raft to the gangway.

  He stood and watched the gunwale directly above him, his flamethrower held at ready. If Kusum had seen the gangway go down, he'd be on his way over to investigate. But no one appeared.

  Good. So far, surprise was on his side. He carried the crate to the top of the gangway and crouched there to survey the deck: deserted.

  To his left the entire aft superstructure was dark except for the running lights. Kusum could be standing unseen in the shadows behind the blank windows of the bridge
at this very moment. Jack would be exposing himself to discovery by crossing the deck, but it was a risk he had to take. The aft compartments were the most critical areas of the ship. The engines were there, as were the fuel tanks. He wanted to be sure those areas were set for destruction before he moved into the more dangerous cargo holds—where the rakoshi lived.

  He hesitated. This was idiocy. This was comic book stuff. What if the rakoshi caught him before he set the bombs? That would let Kusum off free with his boat and his monsters. The sane thing to do was what Gia had said back on shore: Call in the Coast Guard. Or the Harbor Patrol.

  But Jack simply could not bring himself to do that. This was between Kusum and him. He could not allow outsiders into the fray. Gia wouldn't understand it; neither would Abe. He could think of only one other person who would comprehend why it had to be this way. And that, for Jack, was the most frightening part of this whole thing.

  Only Kusum Bahkti, the man he’d come to destroy, would understand.

  Now or never, he told himself as he clipped four bombs to his belt. He stepped onto the deck and sprinted along the starboard gunwale until he reached the superstructure. He’d been along this route on his first trip aboard the ship. He knew the way and headed directly below.

  The engine room was hot and noisy, the big twin diesels idling. Their basso hum vibrated the fillings in his teeth. Jack set the timers on the bombs for 3:45 a.m.—that would give him a little over an hour to do his job and get away. He was familiar with the timers and had confidence in them, yet as he armed each one, he found himself holding his breath and turning his face away. A ridiculous gesture—if the bomb went off in his hands, the heat and force of the blast would incinerate him before he knew it. Yet he continued to turn his head.

  He placed the first two at the base of each engine, attached two more to the fuel tanks. When those four went, the entire stern of the freighter would be a memory.

  He stopped by the hatch that had taken him into the corridor that led to the rakoshi. That was where Vicky had died.

  A heaviness settled in his chest. He still couldn’t believe she was gone.

  He pressed his ear against the metal and thought he heard the Kaka-ji chant. Visions of what he’d seen Monday night—those monsters holding up pieces of torn flesh—swept through his mind, leaving barely controllable fury in their wake. He barely restrained himself from starting up his flamethrower and running into the hold, dowsing anything that moved with napalm.

  But no...he might not last a minute doing that. No room for emotion here. Had to lock away his feelings and be cool...cold. He had to follow his plan. Had to do this right. Had to make sure not a single rakosh—or its master—escaped alive.

  He headed back up toward fresh air and returned to the gangplank. Sure now that Kusum was in the main hold, doing whatever he did with the rakoshi, Jack hefted the somewhat lighter bomb crate onto his shoulder and made no attempt to hide as he strode toward the bow. When he reached the hatch over the forward hold, he lifted the entry port and peered below.

  The odor rose and rammed into his nostrils, but he controlled his gag reflex and looked below.

  This hold was identical to the other in size and design except that the elevator platform waiting a half-dozen feet below him was in the forward rather than the aft corner. He could hear noises like a litany drifting from the aft hold.

  In the dim light he saw that the floor of this hold was littered with debris, but saw no rakoshi down there, neither walking about nor lying on the floor.

  He had the forward hold entirely to himself.

  Jack lowered himself through the opening. A tight squeeze with the flamethrower on his back, and for one awful moment he thought he was trapped in the opening, unable to move up or down, helplessly wedged in place until Kusum found him or the bombs went off. But he pulled free, slipped through, and hauled his bomb crate after him.

  Once again he checked the floor of the hold. Finding no sign of rakoshi lurking about, he started the elevator down.

  A descent into hell. The noise from the other hold grew steadily louder. He could sense an excitement, a hunger in the guttural noises the rakoshi were making. Whatever ceremony was going on must be reaching its climax. After that they'd probably start returning to this hold. Jack wanted to have his bombs set and be on his way before then. But just in case they came in while he was still here…

  He reached back and opened the valves on his tanks. He heard a brief, faint hiss as the carbon dioxide propelled the napalm into the line, then all was silent. He attached three bombs to his belt and waited.

  When the platform stopped, Jack stepped off and looked around. The floor here was a mess. Like a garbage dump. He’d have no problem finding hiding places for the rest of his bombs among the debris. He wanted to create enough of an inferno in here to spread to the aft hold, trapping the rakoshi between the forward and stern explosions.

  He stifled a cough. The odor here was worse than anything he’d encountered before, even in the other hold. He tried mouth breathing, but the stench laid on his tongue. What made it so bad here?

  He looked down before taking his first step and saw that the floor was cluttered with the broken remains of countless rakoshi eggs. Among the shell fragments were bones and hair and shreds of clothing. He felt his foot against what he thought was an unhatched egg; he rolled it over with the tip of his sneaker and found himself staring into the empty eye sockets of a human skull.

  Repulsed, he looked around…and found he was not alone.

  Everywhere he looked he saw immature rakoshi in a variety of sizes…most of them curled on the floor, asleep. One near him was awake and active—leisurely teething on a human rib. He hadn't noticed them on the way down because they were so small..

  ...Kusum's grandchildren...

  They seemed to be as unaware of him now as their parents in the other hold had been last night.

  Stepping carefully, he made his way toward the opposite corner. There he set and armed a bomb and shoved it beneath a pile of bones and shell fragments. Moving as swiftly and as carefully as possible, he picked his way toward the middle of the stern wall. Halfway there he heard a squeal and felt a sudden, knifing, tearing pain in his left calf. He spun and looked down, reflexively reaching toward the pain. Something was biting him—it had attached itself to his leg like a leech. He pulled at it but succeeded only in making the pain worse. Gritting his teeth, he tore it loose amid a blaze of pain: a walnut-size piece of his leg had come away with it.

  He had a squirming, writhing, fifteen-inch rakosh by the waist. Must have kicked it or accidentally stepped on it in passing and it had lashed out with its teeth. His pants leg was torn and soaked with blood from where the thing had bitten him. He held it at arm's length while it kicked and clawed with its tiny talons, its little yellow eyes blazing fury at him It held a piece of bloody flesh—Jack's flesh—in its mouth. Before his eyes, the miniature horror stuffed the piece down its throat, then shrieked and snapped at his fingers.

  He hurled the squealing creature across the room. It landed in the debris on the floor among the other sleeping members of its kind.

  But they weren't sleeping now. The baby rakosh's screeching had awakened others in the vicinity. Like a wave spreading from a stone dropped in a still pool, the creatures began to rustle about him, the stirrings of one disturbing those around it, and so on.

  Within minutes Jack found himself facing a sea of immature rakoshi. They couldn't see him, but the little one's alarm had alerted them to the presence of an intruder...an edible intruder.

  The rakoshi milled about, searching. They moved toward where they’d heard the sound—toward Jack. Maybe a hundred of them, converging in his direction. Sooner or later they’d stumble upon him.

  The second bomb was in his hand. He quickly armed it and slid it across the floor toward the wall of the hold, hoping the noise would distract them and give him time to get the flamethrower's discharge tube into position.

  Didn't
work. One of the smaller rakoshi blundered against his leg and squealed its discovery before biting into him. The rest took up the cry and surged toward him like a foul wave. They leaped at him, their razor-sharp teeth sinking into his thighs, his back, his flanks and arms, ripping, tearing at his flesh. He stumbled backward, losing his balance, and as he began to go down beneath the furious onslaught he saw a full-grown rakosh, probably alerted by the cries of the young, enter the hold through the starboard passage and race toward him.

  He was falling.

  Once down he'd be ripped to pieces in seconds. Fighting panic, he twisted and pulled the discharge tube from under his arm. As he landed on his knees he pointed it away from him, found the rear grip, and pulled the trigger.

  The world seemed to explode as a sheet of yellow flame fanned out from him. He twisted left, then right, spraying flaming napalm in a circle. Suddenly he was alone in that circle. He released the trigger.

  He’d forgotten to check the nozzle adjustment. Instead of a stream of flame, he’d released a wide spray. No matter—it had been disturbingly effective. The rakoshi attacking him had either fled screaming or been immolated; those out of range howled and scattered in all directions. The adult had caught the spray over the entire front of its body. A living mass of flame, it lunged away and fled back into the connecting passage, the little ones running before it.

  Groaning with the pain from countless lacerations, ignoring the blood that seeped from them, Jack struggled to his feet. He had no choice but to follow. The alarm had been raised.

  Ready or not, it was time to face Kusum.

  34

  Kusum quelled his frustration. The Ceremony of Offering was not going well. It was taking twice as long as usual. He needed the Mother here to lead her younglings.

  Where was she?

  The Westphalen child stood quietly, her upper arm trapped in the grip of his right hand, her big, frightened, questioning eyes staring up at him. He could not meet her gaze—she looked to him for succor and he had nothing to offer but death. She didn't know what was going on between him and the rakoshi, did not comprehend the meaning of the ceremony in which the one about to die was offered up in the name of Kali on behalf of the beloved Ajit and Rupobati.