FREEFALL (A Megalith Thriller Book 1)

by D R Sanford

  Cullen realized that, with Loch gone, he had usurped the title of king amongst the cannibals.

  On an impulse, he bared his teeth and bellowed a roar that forced them back on each other. They feared him. Good.

  He stepped forward confidently, parting the sea of bodies with the outstretched metronome of his sword. Cullen identified the cavern’s edge and worked his way through hundreds of beasts, their temperament converted from bloodthirsty monsters to docile hounds. Some even reached out to steal a touch as he passed, yelping with excitement if successful.

  An opening gaped in the wall ahead, lit by the familiar string of dim bulbs. He backed in, trailed by the horde at a respectable distance.

  He came to a fork in the tunnel. Headed to the right and was stopped by a shriek from his followers. Cullen changed his mind, took the left branch, and found signs of his earlier passage. The remains of an ammo pack lay on the floor. No weapons, though. He slung the pack on his shoulder and padded down the tunnel.

  Before long he entered the main shaft. Past a charred mound of bodies on the right, Cullen saw the empty elevator room. Larkin had taken off to the left, and Cullen felt compelled to search for him.

  Casting a glance behind him, Cullen found the tunnel deserted. Not a cannibal in sight. He ventured down the shaft, realizing he’d been more comfortable with the horde at his back than not present at all.

  —Chapter 26—

  REST

  The battle song in Cullen’s blood quieted to a whisper. Moving slowly and hyper-aware of his surroundings, he identified the narrow passages that broke off the main shaft. He decided to follow the lights, confident that the underground tunnel served a purpose greater than a dungeon hallway.

  He surpassed the length of Maeve’s fort some time ago and figured his northerly direction had him working his way under the barracks and the ceremonial grove beyond.

  A glint of metal within a side passage caught his eye, and he crossed the way to investigate. Cullen found a dead guard inside, apparently undiscovered by the denizens creeping around the network of tunnels.

  The corpse of a fire team member sent down to clear the basement. Closer examination revealed a ragged line across the man’s exposed throat and no other obvious damage. The possible evidence of Larkin’s survival sparked new hope in Cullen.

  Stepping over the body, he bent to search for any gear he could use. A flashlight at the belt helped immensely. He pointed its beam directly at the floor so as not to attract undue attention and found nearly everything intact. The light clamped between his teeth, Cullen set about shedding his own fire-eaten, rock-torn rags and undressed the body for replacements.

  “Thanks, Larkin,” he mumbled.

  He stripped the mags from the guard’s HK carbine and checked both. All good there. He reloaded and made sure to rack a round in the chamber of each weapon. Unable to part with Loch’s sword, he slipped it through an open loop on his tactical belt. It could potentially hamper his movement, bouncing along his left thigh, but it felt good at his side.

  About to set out again, Cullen heard a faint scratch in the passage behind him. He shone his light along the floor until it rested on a cowering figure, its hand held up to fend off the unexpected brightness.

  Cullen used the temporary advantage to close in on the individual. He was shocked. Not a guard or a beast. An elderly woman lay on the floor, nursing injuries in the shadows. She twisted away from him, the extended hand her only attempt at defense.

  Little more than the deep wrinkles on her face showed beneath a scraggly mop of black and gray hair. Clothed in a voluminous robe long past its prime and barefoot, she posed no threat to Cullen.

  Cullen crouched in front of her and laid the carbine across his knees. Reversed the light’s direction, shining it below his chin.

  “It’s alright. I won’t hurt you,” he spoke in a soothing tone.

  Cullen tried to discern the extent of her injuries or lack thereof by peeking around her hand, but she only withdrew further.

  “Tell you what,” he said. “I’ll just sit back. I’m pretty darn tired and could use a break. Battling feral, subterranean humanoids and their keepers tend to wear a guy down.”

  A dry cackle from across the passageway encouraged him.

  “See, you know what I’m getting at, don’t you?” he whispered. “How long have you been down here anyway? Not long I should think, or they’d have made a meal of you by now.”

  She coughed, sounding like a cat dislodging a hairball.

  “Not long, boy,” she croaked, her voice nearly inaudible and laced with pain. “A moment’s rest. Time will heal.”

  Something about her nagged at him. However, she looked so pathetic, he couldn’t avoid feeling sorry for her.

  “Is there anything I can do? Your guess is as good as mine for how to get to safety, but I can’t just leave you to face what’s down here alone.”

  “No. Go on,” she gasped. “Leave this old lady to die.”

  The full weight of his fatigue became apparent with a growing ache in his muscles. Cullen’s throat was parched. His eyes felt as though he’d stood facing a dust storm.

  “Really, I can’t do that. This isn’t a good place to hang out, though. We need to look for a way out, and a cool drink of water wouldn’t hurt either.”

  “You are too kind,” she spoke from the shadows of her overhanging locks. “If I could walk, I would show you to the exit. As for water, I can offer you a drink.”

  She produced an earthen jug from beneath her robes, set it on the floor, and nudged it in his direction with her free hand.

  Cullen looked from the container to the old woman, his thirst multiplying ten-fold but still cautious.

  “Are you sure? If this is your only supply, I don’t want to leave you with nothing.”

  “Our time beneath the mountain is short. I won’t need it anymore.”

  Setting his carbine on the floor, Cullen bent to take the jug in both hands. It felt cool and heavy with the liquid sloshing inside. He sniffed at its rim. Odor free and harmless.

  A tilt of his head and Cullen wet his lips, felt an ounce trickle down the back of his throat.

  “Oh God, that’s good. Bless you.”

  He was about to take another drink when a shift of the woman’s robes drew his attention. A snapping sound accompanied her movement, and Cullen thought he heard a groan of relief.

  “Don’t hold back. Drink more,” she pleaded.

  Cullen gulped down the water, draining half the jug before resting it on his lap.

  “So good. I guess I didn’t know how thirsty I was. I can’t thank you enough. Are you sure you don’t want some?”

  The arm she held out of sight shook spasmodically. A faint whine escaped her lips.

  “Finish it. You need your health more than I.”

  “If you say so.”

  This time Cullen took in a mouthful, let it soak into his cheeks and ease down.

  “You are very generous, and I am fortunate to have found you. I’m pretty sure I can get by with what I’ve taken.”

  Her head snapped back. A gap-toothed grimace split her lips. The rat’s nest of hair over her face slipped aside, and Cullen witnessed a ravaged, empty pit of an eye socket transform from a black hole to a fully functioning orb.

  The evidence of magic before him caused a growl to rise in Cullen’s chest.

  “Morrigan,” he said. “That’s you under the old lady costume, isn’t it?”

  She settled against the far wall, exhaustion plain on her face, her limbs spread out and stretching.

  “Can’t fool you now, can I, Cullen?” she cackled.

  “I should kill you where you are,” he retorted, raising the carbine on her.

  “Now why would you do that, so soon after you’ve healed me?”

  Brow furrowed and wondering what she meant, he said, “You must be kidding me. The list is pretty long, I think. We didn’t exactly sit down and enjoy a picnic back in cannibal land.”
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  “Look at the positive, Cullen. I furthered your training.”

  “You seduced me—in a much more attractive form I’ll add—then decided to kill me when I passed on your offer. I find it hard to spot the positives.”

  “Don’t be so short-sighted. I’ll admit my younger sister is rather impetuous, but she meant well. Do try to imagine a world under our rule rather than writhing under Maeve’s thumb. And as for our scuffle, you can chalk that up to live-or-die experience. You will have to tap into the beast inside if you are to conquer Maeve,” she said, jabbing a crooked finger at his chest.

  “What is it with you? I don’t want to conquer Maeve. I came here to get my wife back. That’s it, nothing else.”

  She responded to his frustration, raising both gnarled hands before her in surrender.

  “You have your motivation. Fine. But do you give any thought to Maeve’s?”

  He shook his head, trying to wrest the information from his brain.

  “She thinks Nora is giving birth to the reincarnation of Cúchulainn. Maeve wants to breed some kind of super soldier.”

  “Uh-huh, you are correct. She can do that with your son. Even though you are Cúchulainn reborn, your child will share enough of you to ensure he and his descendants outshine any naturally born warriors in her ranks.”

  “She can’t have him,” he said firmly.

  “Then get with the program,” she hissed. “Either you step up and destroy her, or she will sweep the ashes of you and your family to the four winds. Decide to unleash the Hound in your soul or swallow a bullet now.”

  “Back off, Morrigan,” a new voice called from the depths of the passageway.

  Cullen hastily swung the carbine in the direction the voice had come from, rocked onto his knees, and flipped on the weapon-mounted light.

  A man approached them in the darkness, arms at his sides. When the light reached him, an aura expanded, encircling his tall figure and growing to encompass the three of them. The source of the light remained a mystery.

  “Lower your weapon, Cullen,” he said. “Is that any way to greet your father?”

  ***

  Sweat rolled down Ferdiad’s brow. Straining against the plastic ties that secured him to Maeve’s chair, he struggled to hold back the scream that built in his chest. He had little hope of snapping the cords, but perhaps the antique frame would crack from the force he applied.

  Lugaid plunged his knife deeper into Ferdiad’s thigh, and he loosed epithets of rage on the hairless freak. Over the years that bastard had grown more and more depraved. Ferdiad made it clear what he’d like to do if they had two minutes alone together.

  Maeve watched his ongoing torture from the near edge of her desk, sitting on its top and enjoying the show.

  “Not so deep, Lugaid,” she instructed. “I don’t want you to nick the artery and short-change our fun.”

  “How could you ever doubt me? I’m merely searching for the lateral femoral cutaneous nerve along the—.”

  Ferdiad bellowed in uncontrollable pain.

  “There it is.”

  Lugaid hovered closer, delighting in Ferdiad’s agony.

  “One minute. Just one, and I’ll cut your eyes out and feed them to you,” said Ferdiad through gritted teeth.

  “No need for empty threats, Ferdiad,” said Maeve. “Before you die, would you mind telling me how you drew Cúchulainn to your band of rebels?”

  “I already told you, there is no Cúchulainn. You gave him a permanent death. Hell, I’d forgotten he even existed. Even though I knew him once, I can’t bring to mind his face. He’s just a myth.”

  “Don’t play coy with me. The Hound of Ulster doesn’t wind up at my door, as one of your marauders, without you being a party to it.”

  Ferdiad spit an accumulation of saliva and sweat in Lugaid’s face for a response. He earned another twist of the knife for his insolence.

  It had been so long since he’d endured such blinding pain.

  Ferdiad breathed deeply.

  Pressed harder against the arms of the chair with hopes of dislodging the joints.

  “Enough, Lugaid. If you drain him any further, he’ll be useless to carry out my plans,” ordered Maeve.

  Lugaid retracted the knife carefully, releasing a spring of blood that coursed down to Ferdiad’s knee.

  Maeve shoved off from the desk’s edge, plopped herself down on Ferdiad's throbbing legs, and brushed her hands over the stubble of his hair.

  “Never mind all this business about Cúchulainn,” she soothed. “Let’s get back to you, shall we?”

  His only response was a hate filled stare.

  “I want you to repair the damage you’ve done here tonight,” she said.

  “Not likely.”

  “Not so fast. You haven’t heard my offer.”

  “There’s nothing you can offer that will make me help you, Maeve. Go pound salt up your ass.”

  “Ouch. I don’t think that would be very pleasant. Have you ever pulled that one out of your bag of tricks, Lugaid?”

  Maeve’s pet eel grinned and shook his head.

  “Perhaps you should try it, maybe on Ferdiad here. It must sting horribly. Anyway, I was persuading you to pitch in and clean up. I recall that lovely wife of yours. The last one. Wasn’t her name Jenny?”

  Ferdiad’s nostrils flared momentarily, an involuntary response to Maeve’s painful change of subject.

  “Obviously, I don’t stand a chance of coercing you with years of gut-wrenching agony in this life. You're too much of an old war horse to break. What I could do, however, is kill you now and bring both your souls back. Just as I promised when you ranked among my most loyal subjects.

  “What I want you to consider is, do you wish to age together through childhood and the decades to follow as reunited lovers? Or, I could bring you together once again to suffer lives upon lives of unending torture.

  “I would make sure to explain that you were the reason Miss Jenny had to endure such pain. We even constructed adjoining chambers with a plexi-glass wall separating them so neither of you would ever miss a moment. What do you say now? Are you still dead set on defying me?”

  Ferdiad’s heart pounded. His limbs shook in his renewed attempt to break free. He envisioned his hands on her neck while she grasped his forearms and hung on for the ride. Ferdiad settled in the chair, defeated.

  “I need your answer, Ferdiad. Will you hunt down your dog or betray the love of your life? Going once, going twice—”

  “You’re a cold-hearted bitch, Maeve.”

  “So I’ve heard,” she grinned.

  ***

  Dressed in a gentleman’s suit, the man claiming to be Cullen’s father seemed completely out of place in the lichen covered, dank passageway.

  He stepped forward without halting his pace and crouched before them. With the intense glow emanating from the man, Cullen found it difficult to look directly at him.

  Judging by the discomfort Morrigan felt in his presence, he assumed the newcomer was who he claimed to be.

  Lugh of the Long Hand. The Bright One. Many names described his skill in all crafts and his prowess in battle.

  Standing once more, Lugh reached to the lichen growing on the ceiling, touched the sparse carpet, and infused it with incandescence.

  “Forgive me. I believe we could use a little light to talk by,” he said.

  He glanced at the damp rock below and begrudgingly sat down to join Cullen and Morrigan.

  “Fancy meeting you here,” Cullen said. “After nearly thirty great years, you finally show up on a very shitty day. That’s some stellar timing you have, Father.”

  The last word lodged in Cullen’s throat. It hurt to even acknowledge the man. No, not a man, but a wayward god who could care less about his ill-fated offspring.

  “Don’t be too short with me, Son. The choice to desert you was not mine. Your mother cast me aside long ago, determined to give you a life of anonymity and comfort. Direct your blame at this c
reature here.”

  He pointed a finely manicured finger at Morrigan, who cringed and became even smaller in her attempt to fade into the wall.

  “What does she have to do with this?”

  “Her? Why, Morrigan is the one who envisioned your return and confided in Maeve. At the time she sought to garner Maeve’s favor, no doubt. Now, I imagine she has developed her own plans to usurp the Megalith throne and command the Families herself.”

  “Was that not your intention for Cúchulainn’s rebirth all along?” she spat back.

  “Perhaps, but I agreed to Erin’s wishes and resolved myself to wait. One in my position must exercise patience, after all. What’s one more lifetime in the scope of my existence?”

  “Terrific,” said Cullen, looking back and forth between them. “I’m just a pawn for the two of you, in your plan to topple the queen. I wasn’t exactly invited to the game, you know.”

  “You may find it hard to remember, Cullen, but I rescued you from an eternity of plummeting through the void,” said Lugh. “Do you regret the life you’ve been given? The years you’ve shared with your wife, Nora?”

  “Hardly. I guess I just would have appreciated that 'time out' my mother had requested.”

  He glared at Morrigan. The anger he felt toward her rose to a new level. If he wasn’t so exhausted, Cullen would consider returning Morrigan’s transgression, blow by blow. Helpless old crone or not, she deserved any afflictions he could dream of.

  Lugh placed a calming hand on Cullen’s shoulder. The warm glow suffused his body, lightened his spirit.

  “Morrigan,” Lugh spoke. “This would be an opportune time for you to make your exit. Be grateful my forgiveness is greater than Cullen’s.”

  The witch scuttled away, into the pitch black shadows behind Lugh.

  “In the future,” he called after her, “you may want to pick your sides more carefully, you bitter old crow.”

  Cullen rolled off his knees. Slumped down against the cold wall.