Star Water Superstorm

by David Cline

  Amara let out a long breath but was frozen in place. Both of Wilkin’s fists were clenched as he tried to endure the pain of being hunched over in the cramped space.

  Wood waved them forward. “Let’s move along before they return to have a closer look,” he whispered.

  They crawled slowly along the narrow catwalk. Wilkins wheezed from behind but there was nothing either Wood or Amara could do to ease the journey for him.

  They soon crossed into the room beyond. There were no lights visible below the metal grate. Wood stopped and listened but not a sound escaped the gloom beneath him. He crawled silently forward, keeping a hand on either side of the catwalk to stay centered. He pulled the headlamp out of a pocket and turned the dim red light on. Behind him, Amara and Wilkins were looking anxiously around.

  Wood tried to peek through the panels but could not see anything. The light only reflected off the dusty metallic mesh. He sat in silence for a full minute before he reached down and got a fingernail under an edge. He pivoted and laid on his stomach to grip both sides of the ceiling panel. The last thing they needed was to drop a heavy object into a silent mysterious room.

  Wood straddled the catwalk and gently raised the metal grate, sliding it backwards. He paused and listened. When he could not hear anything, he lowered the light with his right hand and clicked it on. The space below looked emptier than the room they had just climbed out of but the distance to the floor was the same. Wood leaned forward but did not see any shelving to help him climb down. The thought of dropping 12 feet onto solid stone made his legs ache.

  “Let’s use this,” Amara whispered. She opened the pack and withdrew the orange webbing they had used earlier traversing the abyss.

  “Webbing is like duct tape,” Wilkins whispered, scooting a little closer. “We can utilize it in almost any situation.”

  Wood tied one end around the catwalk and lowered the other through the opening in the ceiling. He tightened the headlamp around his forehead and quickly lowered himself down. The moment his feet touched rock, he crouched and pulled the luger up. The room was small. It was square with a large metal door on the far side. A waist-high table lined the perimeter.

  Wood walked to the wall where he had seen the cables pass through from the other side and followed them to large computers whirring in the darkness. The covers were off exposing all the components inside. A few tiny LED’s blinked on the motherboard. Four RAM memory modules stood parallel to each other. The CPU with the heat sink assembly reflected harshly in his light. With shaky hands, Wood rotated the entire assembly to face him. Near the top were two empty USB ports. He withdrew the extra flash drive Danville had prophetically predicted they might need and inserted it into the top port. The light flashed on indicating a successful connection.

  “You think anyone will see us in their network?” Amara whispered.

  Wood looked back and saw Amara and Wilkins had joined him.

  “Even though the monitors are through this wall, Wilkins and I took out the two guys who might have noticed something amiss. I imagine Danville is sneaky enough to remain inconspicuous while in their system or at least disguise himself as something benign. Those soldiers that busted in looking for us probably don’t even know the difference between a modem and a router.”

  Wood walked over and enveloped both Wilkins and Amara in his arms. “Somehow, we ended the cold war without firing a shot, and now we have managed to plug Danville into their network without firing a shot.”

  “Let’s save the group hug for when we are safe on the surface again,” Wilkins said. He pulled away and checked to ensure there was still a bullet in the chamber of his gun.

  “Where do you think this leads to?” Amara asked, pointing across the room. “This is the first door I have seen in this entire cave network. I bet it’s off limits to most personnel working down here.”

  “That is good for us,” Wood said. “Let’s hope it’s somewhere out of the way.” He pressed an ear against the cold surface but could not hear anything. The steel deadbolt was heavy and clanged loudly when it opened. Wood paused and then cracked open the door. The outer passageway was dark. “Turn off your light,” he whispered over his shoulder. In the darkness, Wood swung open the door wider and listened. He did not hear anything but the slow drip of water somewhere down the passageway. “I think our streak of luck is holding.”

  They passed through the door and paused just outside.

  “Where to?” Amara asked.

  “The nearest exit. Let’s get back to our boat and cruise back to San Bariloche post haste.”

  They risked some light and consulted the map and compass.

  “I would rather face what we know than what we don’t know,” Wilkins said. “I vote we try and exit the same way we came in. We just need to find a way back to the train tracks incognito.”

  Everyone agreed and they inched forward. The ceiling was low, and the walls were narrowly spaced apart like a dungeon in an old castle. Up ahead, the tunnel ended, and they slowed. Wood heard heated voices but could not tell how far away they were. He leaned out and surveyed the scene.

  “We are on the far side of the balcony above the open space where the forklifts are,” he whispered. “I don’t think it’s going to be easy getting back to the tracks. There are a lot of people out there. It sounds like a large audience before the start of a show.”

  “Should we try our luck back the way we came?” Amara asked. “Maybe there will be a way out.”

  Wood shrugged.

  “Are the only stairs the ones we came up on the opposite side?” Wilkins asked.

  Wood peaked his head around the corner and saw stairs descending back toward the main level. “No, there is another flight nearby.”

  Wilkins looked back and forth between Wood and Amara. “I don’t want to speak for the group, but I am ready to get out of here.” He gestured back the way they had come. “The idea of getting lost forever in an endless labyrinthine of tunnels half a mile underground makes my skin crawl. I would rather take our chance now.”

  “I have grown most weary of this place,” Wood said.

  They both looked at Amara who had a gun in both hands.

  Her fiery eyes darted back and forth between them. Then, she switched both safeties off with her thumbs. “For death and glory,” she said.

  Wilkins limped over and gave her a violent hug. “My kind of woman.”

  “I think our best bet is to sprint to the stairs and then hug the wall directly below us all the way around to the tunnel,” Wood said. “Stay in the shadows and out of sight from anyone up here. From there, we run for our lives.”

  Amara nodded. “Let’s do this.”

  The three of them rounded the corner and sprinted to the stairs. They closed the distance in less than five seconds and hurried halfway down where they were hidden from view. Wood took the opportunity to check both lugers and ensure the extra magazines were easily accessible if needed.

  Amara descended all the way and suddenly spun around. “We have two people approaching down here.”

  Wood and Wilkins hurried down and leaned against the blind side. Wood heard approaching footsteps and hurried voices.

  Amara climbed a few stairs and crouched down with both pistols pointed. “You guys do your macho thing. Don’t make me use these or it’ll be Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid all over again.”

  Wood saw the shadows first and held his breath as two men rounded the corner. Ahead of him, Wilkins was a blur of movement as he lunged forward toward the first man. For an instant Wood and the second man’s eyes met. Time seemed to slow as Wood recognized each emotion as his expression changed. First there was surprise, then confusion, then understanding, then rage. Wood closed the distance and blocked a frantic punch. He gripped the back of the man’s head by the hair, pivoting his body and then smashed his face against the rock wall. There was a loud crack and the body slumped. As the body hit the ground, Wood released one more vicious punch. Soon, both men laid u
nconscious, side by side.

  “The double tap?” Wilkins asked, wiping blood from his hand onto one of the man’s shirt. “You’re getting weak in your old age.”

  Wood smiled tiredly.

  Amara stepped over the bodies and looked out across the huge cavern. “I don’t see anybody else from here. Now is as good as a time as ever.”

  They emerged around the corner and ran under the balcony toward the back wall. Wood scanned the open space but saw no movement. All activity had been halted, no doubt to aid in the manhunt. They hurried ahead and began to make the wide arc toward the train tunnel. Every hundred feet they would run across the entrance to a storage room marked with a German word. Each time, Wood just hoped no one was looking their direction when they passed by. They were about three quarters across when someone shouted and absolute pandemonium broke out.

  “Run!” Wood screamed.

  They sprinted for the tunnel. Wood chanced a glance backward and saw figures emerging from every direction. Over the roar in his ears, he heard the intercom erupt with another message in German. He guessed they were telling everyone to converge on their location. It took the buzz of a shot just missing his head to realize they were under fire.

  Ahead of them, three figures emerged from under the last arched entrance separating them from the train tunnel. Wilkins was ready and emptied both magazines. The barrage found their mark and the three men went down. Wilkins vaulted over the bodies with Amara hot on his heels. Wood dove amongst the bodies and grabbed the assault rifles and extra magazines they had been carrying.

  “Keep moving Nick,” Wilkins screamed.

  Wood looked out across the cavern and saw a small army sprinting toward his location. There must have been 100 people in the assault. Bullets ricocheted all around him. His nostrils stung with gunpowder. His ears ached and his adrenaline surged. He stumbled forward and tried to sprint and crouch at the same time.

  Wilkins and Amara had reached the tunnel and were both firing wildly into the wave coming toward them, trying to cover his retreat. With one last dive, Wood found himself safe behind the thick cave walls of the tunnel.

  “You’re an idiot,” Wilkins yelled over the incessant discharge of firearms. He knelt beside Wood and took one of the automatic rifles, checking the chamber. He stood and helped Wood to his feet. “Let’s see if we can stop the charge and then run for Chile. No way we are going to fight through that group to our boat. Looks like an entire company of soldiers is coming for us out there.”

  Wood and Wilkins replaced Amara at the corner of the tunnel. Wilkins crouched and Wood stood over him both with rifles pointed.

  “Fully automatic,” Wilkins said. “Wait until they get a little closer.”

  “Tell me when.”

  There was a brief pause. “Now!”

  Wood and Wilkins opened up. They raked the rushing flank with 30 rounds each. Bodies dropped everywhere. Screams of alarm and death filled the air. Those still alive sprinted sideways or dove behind their fallen comrades for cover. When Wilkins’ rifle clicked, indicating the magazine was empty, he passed it to Wood and withdrew two lugers. He paused for a second, breathing hard, and then stepped around the corner and fired at the men creeping along the walls toward them. “Reload those rifles,” he yelled.

  Wood sprinted toward Amara, who guarded their rear flank with the third rifle and he smashed in two fresh magazines. When he looked up, Wilkins was sprinting their direction. “Time to run for it!”

  The three of them set off down the tunnel limping forward as fast as possible. Wood and Amara covered their front, continually sweeping the rifles back and forth. “Shoot at anything that moves,” Wood managed to say between pants. Every few moments Wilkins spun around to cover their retreat.

  “Let’s just hope we slowed them down enough to give us a chance,” Amara said.

  After a few minutes with no sign of the enemy, they slowed down enough to catch their breath.

  The sudden silence felt eerie to Wood. The visible adversary, even if shooting at you is always better than the invisible one. The dead sprint with only the two headlamps lighting their way had caused Wood’s temples to throb. Both his hands shook uncontrollably.

  Ahead of him, Amara suddenly stopped and put her hand up.

  They killed the lights and listened.

  “What is it?” Wilkins whispered.

  “Do you feel that?”

  Wood’s ears still rang, and he found it difficult to concentrate in the dark. He thought he heard a low-pitched hum but could not tell if it was a side effect of the subterranean battle. He searched with his boot until he felt the rise of one of the tracks. It was vibrating.

  “Train is coming,” he said.

  Amara groaned. “Do we know from which direction?”

  They paused and listened.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Wilkins said. “Only death waits for us back the way we came. Let’s press on and dare to hope.”

  Wood turned the headlamp back on and glanced at the tunnel walls. “We are in the tight section,” he said. “We need to go.”

  The distant squeal of heavy wheels on tracks galvanized them into action and they set off at another dead sprint.

  Wood’s heart pounded. His legs felt heavy and cumbersome. His lungs constricted making each breath harder than the last.

  Without his own light, Wilkins was forced to do his best across the uneven ground with the bouncing flashes all around him. His foot caught an edge and he went down hard. Wood dragged him back to his feet before his momentum had stopped and dragged Wilkins forward.

  The unmistakable sound of an approaching locomotive now roared behind them. At least it was coming from the right direction.

  Amara yelled something but Wood couldn’t discern the words over the high-pitched scream of the train. Wilkins was hurt and could no longer run on his own. Wood put an arm around his shoulder and supported as much weight as he could. Amara sprinted back and supported Wilkins on the other side. They hobbled forward as fast as they could, dragging Wilkins between them.

  “A little farther!” Amara screamed.

  With all reservoirs of backup energy about depleted, Wood gritted his teeth and helped carry Wilkins 50 more feet before tripping and falling hard.

  Wood glanced back and saw the recognizable light of the train approaching. He looked around and saw they were still in the tight section of tunnel. Nowhere to hide. He looked down at Wilkins. A dazed expression met his eyes. Wood wondered if he had passed out and was just now regaining consciousness. He looked at Amara and was surprised to see a calm and steady expression as she stared down the tunnel. She looked prepared to meet her maker. Her confident demeanor somehow gave him confidence and he reached for her hand, which she squeezed tightly.

  Small debris rained down on them from the ceiling as the entire world shook. Wood held his breath and was preparing for the end when the light suddenly jarred to the right. The following concussive boom sounded like an explosion. He covered both ears and watched in wonder as the train flipped sideways and began tearing up track and rock as its momentum continued forward. A deep grinding sound filled the air as metal and stone fought for dominance.

  Despite being torn to shreds, the heavy train continued forward on its side. Wood stood and dragged Wilkins back. Amara jumped up and grabbed the gear. At last, gravity and friction brought the metal beast to a stop at the spot they had watched it all happen just moments before. The ear-splitting clamor was now replaced with cemetery silence.

  Nobody moved for a full minute. Wood closed his eyes and silently gave thanks for another chance of life.

  “We make it?” Wilkins asked.

  Wood looked down at him. He looked like he was in excruciating pain but was at least now coherent. He knelt and grasped Wilkins’ hand. “Good call with moving the tracks. It saved us. The train derailed. We made it.”

  Wilkins murmured something and nodded.

  Wood looked back toward the train with his headlamp. The mas
s of twisted metal had clogged up the tunnel like a cork. Nothing was coming for them from that direction anytime soon. He was about to pull Wilkins to his feet when he saw movement. He hurried over to Amara, grabbed one of the rifles and cautiously approached the train. The front was unrecognizable. It had been smashed like a pumpkin with a baseball bat. Wood kept the gun pointed and poked his head in. The smell of raw flesh and hydraulic fluid stung his nostrils. A movement caught his eye and he swung the rifle around. The blonde hair was unmistakable.

  “Gisela?”

  Wood heard a groan and he ventured further, ducking beneath a crumpled door. He turned his head and his light illuminated the broken form of Gisela. The triangular plow at the very front of the train had somehow been ripped off and impaled Gisela through the abdomen, pinning her against the back wall. She only had minutes.

  Wood knelt beside her. The condescension and hatred in her eyes had transformed to fear. Perhaps of her own mortality and imminent passing.

  “I’m sorry.” she wheezed. Blood trickled out of her mouth and her face was as white as paper. “I very much wished to be there for the end.”

  “Eternity isn’t a short voyage.” Wood grabbed her hand. “You could have been a powerful force for good in this world.”

  “What is good?”

  “Serving others.”

  “Can I take anything with me?”

  “All you can take with you is that which you’ve given away.”

  Chapter 36

  Chris Danville’s heart pounded. His fingers flew across his keyboard like a concert pianist. By some miracle, Nick, Adam, and Amara had managed to plug him into Odessa’s network. The user interface had been complicated and unintuitive, not to mention in German. But it hadn’t taken long to understand the organizational structure and begin to sabotage their systems.

  There was a deluge of fascinating information, which on any other day would have occupied his full attention: entire databases full of historical memos dating back to the 1930’s; Itemized lists of inventories. Right now, his attention was directed toward Odessa’s shuttle program. He had to somehow break in and divert the third and final rocket headed toward the sun. The effect of the first two had been devastating. He glanced out his office window. The normally sunny pleasant vista had been replaced with dark gloom. It reminded him of flying through a storm cloud in an airplane.