The Pressure of Darkness

by Harry Shannon

  SIXTY-EIGHT

  Dr. Mohandas Hasari Pal sat calmly among the stacked, putrefying bodies of plague victims, stoned out of his mind, preparing to inject a fatal dose of heroin. He had covered the basement area with gasoline, adding to the already stultifying stench of offal and decay. When Indira walked into the basement he roused himself long enough to speak.

  "I asked them to leave you naked."

  She challenged fate. "If I am to die, I wish to be clothed."

  Pal shrugged. "This does not matter. I am far from being able to respond to your sexuality at this point, although it surprises me that Gorman has not seen fit to partake of it along the way."

  "Gorman is a pig. He raped me."

  Her expression was so bland, so defeated that Pal coughed and barked a dry laugh. "Oh, that's good. And I hope he was quite perverse."

  "He was."

  "Where is he now?"

  "I told Gorman and Nandi to wait outside."

  "Ah."

  She crossed the floor, nose wrinkling, barely able to contain her revulsion. She studied him and the expression on her face was a complex mixture of shock and bravado.

  For Mohandas Pal sat naked and cross-legged among the stacked dead. He was indifferent to the stench of rotting flesh, vomit, blood and emptied bowels. He looked around, dreamily. "The left-hand path carried to its logical conclusion," he offered. "There is nothing in life or death that should shock us, nothing we cannot incorporate. It can all be absorbed."

  "And this is how you assure yourself of immortality?"

  He patted something resting by his thin, hairy buttock. It was a canister wrapped in plastic. "No, this is how I become immortal." Pal raised something that looked like a garage-door opener. He pushed the button.

  Indira heard a whirring coming from the ceiling. She looked up and saw that the braced roof of cement, wood, and dirt had a long chimney of sorts and that a glass panel was sliding away. It hid a chimney that rose all the way to the starry night sky. Pal twisted something near the canister and a balloon began to inflate. "This is my present to the world. It will be followed shortly by several other gifts, presented to the nations by my designated successor Mr. Gorman. Oh, I assure you my dear. My name shall be long remembered."

  The balloon filled up and the doomsday device began to levitate. Indira moved to the right, away from the doorway. Pal followed her with his eyes. Meanwhile, Jack Burke eased into the room. He stayed low to the ground and approached Pal from the opposite side.

  "Shall I trust you?" Pal kept his eyes fixed on Indira. "You wouldn't lie to me, would you dear?" He called out. "Mr. Nandi! Come in here!"

  Burke could not believe his eyes. The area reeked of gasoline, filth and rotting meat, and the scene was eerily reminiscent of his nightmarish experience in Djibouti. Pal, covered with gore, even began rocking and giggling, a man in the throes of sensual ecstasy. Burke shook off déjà vu, closed the gap, but somehow Pal sensed something. He released the lethal balloon device and groped for a nearby cigarette lighter, intending to immolate the room.

  Burke was torn for a second, stared as the virus carrier floated upward toward the skylight. He moved toward it just as Pal's hand grabbed for the lighter. Changing gears in mid-air, Burke kicked the lighter away, vaguely aware that the remaining drugs Pal was intending to inject were also on the same small metal tray. Pal, seeing him, dropped into a kind of comical shock, jaws open and his eyes sprung wide.

  "You?" Then Burke jumped as high as he could. He grabbed for the canister of virus beneath the balloon; got it with one hand but came down awkwardly and lost his balance among the bodies. To his horror, the virus escaped his grasp and floated upwards. Burke, mind working feverishly, backed away. Pal was shouting in triumph. The balloon carried the device relentlessly higher. It bumped into the ceiling, appeared to be stuck for moment, but then drifted into the open chimney. It moved up toward the bleak night sky.

  Burke raised his pistol.

  Pal screamed, "No!"

  Burke aimed and fired. The canister exploded. A fine mist of the intensified, deadly virus drifted back down and covered the room.

  Burke and Indira were now infected.

  Pal shrugged. He laughed softly. "No matter. Gorman will see to the rest."

  Burke spat on the ground. "I already killed Gorman, Mo. And my partner killed Nandi. Your fucking dream dies with you."

  "So you got here anyway, Mr. Burke, how resourceful of you." Mo Pal shook and rocked and laughed, hugged his own naked, hairy knees. He had gone completely mad. "But now you will both die here with me tonight, too, no? You and our beautiful slut."

  Indira was sobbing. "You bastard, you fucking bastard!"

  "Indira, leave." Burke motioned her out of the room. She did not want to go, but saw something primeval in his dark eyes. She backed away rapidly, shaking her head, both terrified of death and disgusted by her arrogant husband and what he had become.

  Meanwhile, Burke reached down to the floor and picked up the butane lighter. "I need to burn as much of the bug as I can, Mo." He stomped on the vials of painkiller scattered across the cement floor, crushing the glass. "You're going to get part of your wish, I suppose. But you'll still be alive, and without an anesthetic. Think of yourself as an honored wife."

  Pal's eyes registered his fate, then terror. He sank into complete despair. He senselessly slapped his own face, like a man struggling to wake up from a nightmare. "No, no, no!"

  Burke stepped away, flicked the lighter and tossed it onto the pile of corpses. The various dried body fluids smeared on the concrete retarded the spread of the fire, so there was no real explosion. Pal moaned in fear. He tried to rise, but his legs had either gone to sleep or deserted him. The white flames spread into a smoking curtain several feet high and equally thick. They approached to lick hungrily at his rapidly blistering flesh. His shrieks of agony echoed through the concrete tomb.

  Burke slammed and locked the door behind him.

  He and Indira rode back up the elevator. Pal was still screaming. Indira covered her ears. Meanwhile, Burke contacted Bowden on the headset. "We're coming to get you, buddy."

  "No, you're not. The door is locked."

  "Scotty, don't give up."

  "Clock is ticking, dude. And what these timers don't blow, I intend to take care of personally. Get your ass back to the LZ."

  "Scotty, we got exposed."

  "What?"

  "The virus. Both of us have been exposed."

  "Shit."

  "Yeah." They reached the lobby and trotted to the entrance. "That's just how it went down. So we may as well come and check out with you, buddy." Both Burke and Indira were weeping.

  "No," Bowden replied. He moaned once, clearly in great pain. "Go up, my man. Go out there under the stars and be together. Just wave the chopper off and tell Father Benny to go home. Have him tell Cary to napalm five square miles and worry about the consequences later."

  "Scotty . . ."

  "Go, man. Just be sure my kid gets that money."

  "I will." Burke checked his watch. There was no more time. He looked up and pulled Indira to him. "I guess this is it. Sleep well, brother."

  The voice was faint, couched in static. "Yeah, Red. The same to you. There are three minutes left as of right . . . now."

  Precious seconds were ticking by. Burke and Indira crossed the open area. They reached the wall. Burke helped her up onto his shoulders. She caught the rope and clawed over to the other side. Burke followed, still hearing Scotty's ragged breathing in the headset. He was losing ground.

  Burke scrambled rapidly up the rope, ignoring the pain of his cuts and bumps and bruises. Even a few extra moments of life with Indira suddenly seemed terribly important, and he could not bear the thought of losing them. To his own amazement, he was no longer afraid of dying, just of being without her when it happened.

  "One minute."

  Burke dropped to the other side. He took Indira by the hand and they raced across the mesa toward the LZ. Sh
e stumbled and fell once but he picked her up and encouraged her to keep going, while in the headset, he heard Bowden's now whispery countdown get to 'twenty.'

  "Run, run!"

  Burke urged Indira forward. When Bowden finally reached ten, he pulled her to him and they both lay face down in the dirt.

  "Brothers, Burke." Then Scotty chuckled morbidly. "What the fuck. Blast off."

  The world erupted like a volcano behind them; the sandy ground trembled and shook and heaved them several inches into the air. The sky turned white and stayed bright for a few endless seconds before it darkened again for good. Burke's ears were numb and ringing. He turned her face and kissed her. They held on tight and cried wordlessly for lost opportunities. "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry," both were apologizing so rapidly it is hard to tell one voice from the other. Burke rolled three grenades between them, and willed himself to pull the pins when the first symptoms appeared. Their night vision slowly returned. They wait for death.

  The chattering of the approaching helicopter finally penetrated the hissing in Burke's ears. He changed frequency, searching for Benny, and decided to pull the pins the second this last conversation was over. Fuck waiting, it was a good night to die.

  "This is ground team. Abort. Abort."

  No response. The chopper circled and a small spot lit up the area, which constituted an odd breech of security, although after the size of the explosion it seemed unlikely to make any difference one way or the other.

  "Benny, abort. Do not pick us up. This entire area might be infected, and we have been exposed. Abort at once."

  "Negative."

  Burke shook his head. The voice was not Father Benny's. Something seemed terribly out of context. The light grew brighter. The chopper was going to touch down for a landing! Burke was horrified. He screamed into the mouthpiece. "Damn it, Benny, don't land! We are infected!"

  "Settle down," the voice said, calmly. "We have the antidote ready. Just get your ass on board."

  Burke and Indira struggled to their feet, hair flying, blinking into the blinding white glare. The door of the chopper opened and someone dropped down to the ground, someone lithe and slimmer than Father Benny.

  "Move it," Cary Ryan shouted. "We made just enough to handle this. We'll shoot up too, once we're on the way back. Where's Bowden?"

  Burke pushed Indira onto the chopper. He turned to Cary, weary face devoid of expression. "He's not coming." His voice broke on the last word. Burke dragged himself onto the right rear seat.

  Ryan grunted as he clambered into the front. "I kind of figured maybe that was the way he wanted things to go down."

  "Me, too."

  "We changed that life insurance policy. I moved it up to half a million. I asked Nicole Stryker to kick in a little cash too, and she's game. Scotty's kid will do okay."

  Burke hugged Indira, closed his weary eyes. "Good. That's good."

  "Oh, and Burke?"

  "Yeah."

  "Gina says we should both pack it in now. It's time to retire."

  Burke sighed. "I'm thinking maybe she's right."

  SIXTY-NINE

  ONE WEEK LATER

  The woman is nearing the end. Her breathing has slowed and taken on a coarse, husky quality. The two men who stand on opposite sides of the hospital bed observe her without speaking. The older man is smiling, although tears course down his reddened cheeks. He reaches down and strokes her frowning, once-pretty face.

  "Shhh, baby. Don't fight."

  Although the mind is surely gone, the body continues to struggle for air. Beside her, the younger man's face contorts. His emotions are raw, more conflicted. His eyes reveal his agony. With a Herculean effort of will he remains still and does not allow himself to intervene. And neither does Father Benny, who stands patiently in the open doorway, although it clearly wounds him, too. He mutters the rosary over and over again.

  "Just let go, baby girl."

  Harry Kelso reaches over to the end table and turns the music up. It is a CD of songs Mary loved when she and Jack were courting. "Listen to the music."

  Mary Kelso Burke hiccups a dry breath. Her torso writhes a bit. Suddenly her eyes open wide and impossibly, miraculously, appear to focus on what is actually happening in this barren, white room. The men are stunned by the vague possibility that she is actually conscious.

  Jack Burke leans closer. "I loved you, Mary." Has she smiled? Her expression softens; perhaps because some previously numb part of her recognizes either his voice or the soft, familiar strains of music, perhaps both. But Burke will never be certain. Behind them, in the doorway, Father Benny quietly begins to recite the last rites. His voice caresses her face with a melancholy whisper.

  Mary locks in place for a long moment. She seems to look deeply into her husband's damp, reddened eyes. He jumps, as if touched by an angel. Mary rolls her head on the pillow as if to acknowledge her sobbing father. She grunts and shakes a bit.

  "Sleep, honey."

  For a horrified second Burke fears she will continue to fight for life, further shattering his already tormented heart, but Mary does not. Her eyes close peacefully and a small smile curls her beautiful upper lip. Her head falls back on the pillow and her features relax. She looks just like the woman he married a few short years before.

  Father Benny raises his voice slightly. He finishes the last rites and begins the rosary. Mary Kelso Burke sinks into the bed. One last, feathery breath rattles free . . .

  The monitor flatlines. She is gone.

  "Goodbye, baby girl," Harry Kelso whispers. He kneels by her bedside and prays. Burke feels like an intruder, now. He turns to go.

  "Jack?"

  Burke looks back. He is pinned by the gratitude in his father-in-law's eyes.

  "Thank you, Jack."

  "I loved her too."

  "I know you did."

  "Goodbye."

  "Goodbye, Jack."

  Jack Burke will never remember the hug Father Benny gives him, or his long, sobbing walk down the hospital corridor, nor the silent ride in the crowded elevator, where the other passengers fall silent in shame and confusion before the intensity of his unbridled grief. The moments he spends in the lobby, turning mindlessly in circles, will also be lost to him. He will not remember stumbling into the gift shop and hiding in the corner until he is able to calm himself. That anguish will be forever erased.

  Mercifully, he will only recall that precise moment when he emerges into the bright sunlight again and sees Indira standing by the car, waiting for him, her eyes deep with sympathy and understanding, wide-open arms full of love. That is what he will remember.

  . . . and the rest of his life, from now on.

  The End

  About the Author

  Harry Shannon has been an actor, a singer, an Emmy-nominated songwriter, a recording artist in Europe, a music publisher, a film studio executive, an acclaimed author of horror fiction, and a free-lance Music Supervisor on films such as Basic Instinct and Universal Soldier. He is currently a counselor in private practice. Shannon's short fiction has appeared in a number of genre magazines, including Cemetery Dance, Horror Garage, City Slab, and Crime Spree. Shannon's horror script Dead and Gone was recently filmed by director Yossi Sasson. You can learn more about the movie at www.deadandgonethemovie.com. Harry's Mick Callahan novels' Memorial Day and Eye of the Burning Man are also available on Kindle and Nook. He can be contacted via his website, located at www.harryshannon.com.

  Table of Contents

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  PROLOGUE

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

&nb
sp; TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWENTY-FOUR

  TWENTY-FIVE

  TWENTY-SIX

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  TWENTY-NINE

  THIRTY

  THIRTY-ONE

  THIRTY-TWO

  THIRTY-THREE

  THIRTY-FOUR

  THIRTY-FIVE

  THIRTY-SIX

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  THIRTY-NINE

  FORTY

  FORTY-ONE

  FORTY-TWO

  FORTY-THREE

  FORTY-FOUR

  FORTY-FIVE

  FORTY-SIX

  FORTY-SEVEN

  FORTY-EIGHT

  FORTY-NINE

  FIFTY

  FIFTY-ONE

  FIFTY-TWO

  FIFTY-THREE

  FIFTY-FOUR

  FIFTY-FIVE

  FIFTY-SIX

  FIFTY-SEVEN

  FIFTY-EIGHT

  FIFTY-NINE

  SIXTY

  SIXTY-ONE

  SIXTY-TWO

  SIXTY-THREE

  SIXTY-FOUR

  SIXTY-FIVE

  SIXTY-SIX

  SIXTY-SEVEN

  SIXTY-EIGHT

  SIXTY-NINE

  About the Author

  Table of Contents

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  PROLOGUE

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWENTY-FOUR

  TWENTY-FIVE

  TWENTY-SIX

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  TWENTY-NINE