by Gene Curtis
Chapter 18
So that is what it is
It is often unexpected when destiny reveals itself.
Everyone who was close to Mark, and knew his thoughts, was taking turns at reading what he was sending. Nick was standing watch now. “He’s got warm clothes on now and he has eaten. He’s wondering what to try next.”
Mrs. Shadowitz went to the easel and wrote:
We’re working on what to try next.
Most of the council is reading about
past attempts at getting people out.
We are not going to give up.
By the time that the new message was finished, Mark had gotten the large lantern out of a duffel bag and was taking a closer look at the room. He found an area, just out from the wall, where a lot of stuff had been haphazardly strewn. There were old weapons, some tattered leather clothing, a few stones with pictographs and a hodgepodge of other things. He hadn’t found them before; because he was too close to the wall and his penlight didn’t give much light. He examined the artifacts at length to allow whoever was reading his thoughts to see what he saw.
A couple of hours later, on another area of the wall, he found some writing that looked like what he had seen on the stone in the museum. It read, “Walk through a door before it closes.” He stared at it for a long time so that the others could pick up on it.
He was getting hungry again. He turned around to rest his back on the wall and slide down to sit on the floor. As soon as his back touched the wall, the door opened. Mark tumbled backwards into the next room. He landed on his back. The floor was not hard. It was squishy and crunched under his weight. He turned sideways to look at the floor. A palm-sized maroon and black bug screeched in his face. The floor was alive.
The smell of decay made him want to puke. He focused farther away and saw masses of brown house roaches scurrying toward him. They were climbing over larger roaches that were red with brown stripes. He put his hand underneath himself to get up. He put his weight on his arm and his hand sunk almost a foot, crushing the roaches into a mass of green and brown slime. He rolled over and tried to get to his knees. He sunk half way up to his thighs.
He finally did manage to stand up, and he saw millions of cockroaches rushing toward him. The noise was horrendous. Their primitive thoughts were invading his mind. He felt an overpowering urge to eat. He had to act fast. He put the jacket hood up. He tied it tight under his chin as the roaches swarmed over him. Some had managed to get inside the hood before he had tied it closed. He swatted, with one hand, around this neck and hood to kill the ones that had gotten in. He used his other hand to keep them brushed off his face. The light vibrated on the floor as myriads of roaches passed underneath.
A seeming eternity passed before he could pick up the lantern again. The glass was hot enough to keep the roaches off it. The roaches were knee deep around him. Every slippery step crunched a thousand or more bugs as he made his way around the wall, brushing or shaking the rank creatures off with every step, looking for where the next door might be. Roaches swarmed over him. Occasionally, one would manage to get into his nose. He had to wait for them to get down to his throat before he could hack them up and spit them out. He made his way around the wall, crunchy step by crunchy step. The roaches started to thin out. Thousands would stay behind to gorge on their dead.
The disembodied voice entered Mark’s head again. “You’re so lucky. Almost everyone else came in here starving and without much protection. They would eat the little buggies by the hand full. They’d swallow ‘em whole, only to have them crawl back up later. All the while, the little critters were swarming all over them, getting into anywhere that they could. Roaches like to crawl into holes.”
Mark suddenly felt tremendous pain in his left ear. One of the roaches had gotten into his ear and was walking on his eardrum. He grabbed his ear.
“YEOW! Oh God! It hurts! It hurts! It hurts!”
He slapped his head and hopped around. He ripped the hood back and dug his finger into his ear. Nothing he did worked. He dropped to his knees and screamed again. The pain was so bad that he finally did puke. Thousands of scurrying roaches piled onto the newly laid feast.
The pain in Mark’s ear was so intense that he thought that he was going to pass out. He desperately tried to keep the roaches off his head. It was a losing battle between the pain and the roaches.
* * *
In the museum, Nick still had the watch. “Oh man! He’s not in the main room anymore. He’s covered with roaches. They’re everywhere. They’re getting in his nose and mouth. Oh! It hurts! It hurts! It hurts!” Nick dropped to his knees and vomited, projecting a slimy brown stream onto the floor. Those nearby gagged and retched. Nick was experiencing Mark’s predicament through Mark’s own thoughts and feelings.
* * *
The vile bugs were still swarming over Mark. The wall in front of him disappeared. He got back to his feet and stumbled through it into the next room. He was still covered with swarming roaches. He shook and brushed the roaches off. It didn’t do any good. He brushed some off; more took their place. He still felt nauseous from the pain. He looked around and saw thousands of beady, red, feral eyes staring at him. It was rats. Ragged, ravenous and rank, they all pounced at once.
Hundreds of rats swarmed over him. He didn’t know which was worse, the putrid smell of decay from the roaches, or the acrid, piercing odor of gallons of rancid rat urine mingled with the puss from festering boils that matted their fur.
Their combined squeals of delight pierced his head. He felt the roach that was in his ear climb out. The pain in his ear subsided, but the squeals of the rats weren’t much better. In his mind, he felt their bitter desire to eat. To his surprise, the rats weren’t attacking him. They were after the roaches. He looked back at the door from where he had come. Thousands and thousands of roaches were emerging through the door. Rats pounced and devoured them in a futile attempt to satisfy their insatiable need to eat.
It occurred to Mark that perhaps the doors in the rest of the labyrinth only opened once a month. The rats had to be starving. They were going after the quick and easy meal. He knew that he had to find the next door and get through it before it closed. He didn’t want to be stranded in a room full of voracious rats for a month.
The impish voice laughed in Mark’s head. “Oh, I love rats. They’ll eat anything. It don’t matter if they’re full or not. If it’s food, they’ll eat it, dead or alive. Listen to them sing. They always sing when they eat. It’s so lovely to hear them sing. You’re going to be a nice buffet.”
Mark searched the wall. He found the writing that said, “Walk through a door before it closes.” It was on the far side of the cavern, away from where the rats were swarming. All he had to do now was to wait for the door to open, if it hadn’t already. He turned to watch the rats. Time passed ever so slowly. They had finished their feeding frenzy. The squealing noise stopped. They turned, en masse, toward Mark.
* * *
In the museum, Tim ran to Nick. He put both hands on his shoulders to steady him while he got to his feet. “Nick, you need to get out of here and clear your mind. I will take the watch now.”
“No… I want to stay.” Nick was still woozy from the experience.
“Okay, just go to the rest room and clean up first.”
Tim closed his eyes and tuned into Mark. “I am not getting him as strong as I was before.” He took a couple of steps, carefully avoiding the steaming mess on the floor, turned and walked toward the exit.
“There he is. He is in a room full of rats. They are eating the roaches. Oh… now they have turned on him.”
* * *
In the rat room, they began slowly at first. Mark started inching his way backwards toward the next door. He was desperately trying to think of what to do. He looked over his shoulder at the door. It was still closed. He suddenly remembered the meal
packs in his pockets. He grabbed one, tore it open and flung it at the encroaching pack of death.
A lot of the rats stopped to devour the meal pack. Most kept coming. Mark threw several more meal packs at the tide of demise. That seemed to stem the surge, for the moment. He looked over his shoulder. The door was still closed. The rats were starting to pick up steam again. He looked over his shoulder again and fumbled for more meal packs. The wall disappeared.
* * *
“Good thinking, Mark. Done like a true Magi.” Tim was talking out loud to himself. He raised his head to explain to the group that was listening. “He used meal packs to slow them down. He is in the next room now.” Tim edged out of the museum exit to follow Mark. He needed to stay relatively close so he could pick up Mark’s thoughts.
* * *
Thousands of rats poured through the door, behind Mark, into the next room. Mark shifted his attention, briefly, from the rats to scan for whatever peril this room held. The floor was covered with snakes.
“Snakes are so beautiful. Look at them, so many different kinds. They all have one thing in common, though. They are all fiercely protective and they don’t like anything that is warm blooded. I’ll lay odds, a hundred to one, that you don’t make it to the next room without dying at least once. Snakebites are so nasty. Being squeezed to death is even better. What do you say; care to make a friendly little wager?”
Mark watched as snakes coiled at his feet. Many had already struck at the rats and were slowly swallowing their meal. “You don’t have anything to bet with. You’re just a voice.”
“I could take you through the next hundred rooms, if you win. What would you be willing to bet that you will?”
He carefully stepped over several of the snakes that were eating. “How many rooms are there?”
“On this side, three hundred and thirty three.”
He took out the staff and used it to carefully slide snakes out of his path. “What would it take for you to just shut up and go away?”
“I’m afraid that I can’t do that.”
Mark moved slowly and used the staff to clear another spot to step. “What’s in the next room?”
“I can’t tell you that, either. Care to take a guess?”
“Ah, probably something that eats snakes and people.”
* * *
Tim said, “Snakes this time. You are doing it right, Mark. Move slow and easy… slow and easy.” Tim moved up the hall toward the stairs, each step calculated and careful, mirroring what Mark should do.
* * *
For Mark, it seemed like it took forever to reach the far wall. He scanned for any indication of the door and couldn’t find it.
“Gotch ya! The door ain’t here.”
Mark decided to turn left and follow the wall. Left looked like the door would be the farthest away. That would be in keeping with the philosophy of this sick place.
Mark painstakingly made his way around the wall. Several hours passed. He had come full circle before he realized that the floor was sand. He knew that he had made a complete circuit. He found footprints in the sand. Footprints so fresh that only he could have made them. He reasoned, “If the door is not in the walls, it has to be in the floor. If it’s in the floor, then there has to be a pit where the sand has gone through the door when it opened.”
He decided to go directly across the middle of the room. That seemed to give him the best chance of finding the door. An hour or so later, he found the pit. It was about four feet deep and filled with snakes. They tried to climb the steep sides but just kept sliding back down.
He cleared a space with the staff so that he could sit down. He ate while he waited for the door to open. He knew that it had not opened recently, judging by the number of snakes that were in the pit.
About a day later, labyrinth time, the door opened. The snakes disappeared down the gullet of the gaping hole. He waited. That gave enough time for the snakes to disperse before he slid down the side of the pit into the open door.
Gravity shifted direction again when he crossed the threshold. He slid to rest on his backside. Large birds were all over the place. They all looked like they were walking on stilts and had multiple bald spots freckled with oozing scabs. They were grabbing the snakes and throwing them up into the air. He had no idea what danger the birds posed, if any.
“He is in the next room now. Good… secretary birds. No danger, unless he gets too close to their nests.” Tim walked halfway up the stairs for the optimal spot to read Mark.
* * *
Mark walked around the edge of the wall, looking for the next door. The stilted raptors paid him no mind. They were too interested in their squirming meals. Incessant calls marked every kill. Occasionally, two birds would grab the same snake, pull and snap the serpent in half. Other birds would feast on entrails flung into the darkness.
He approached the far wall. Weak chirps and squeals started to emanate from the wall above. He looked up. There was a ledge with nests, high up, along the wall. The commotion of the birds behind him started to ebb. They were all standing stark still. Their attention was focused on Mark. The snakes were slithering off into the gloom.
He turned to look at the far wall. He could see the sign that showed where the door was. It wasn’t open. He turned back toward the birds and crouched down. A couple of the birds started, slowly, to step toward him. Others followed their lead. Still more followed those. Suddenly, the entire flock had taken to wing. Mark turned, staff and lantern in hand, and made a mad dash for the door. He at least wanted the wall at his back while he fought off the birds.
He braced himself, mentally, for the impact with the wall. He planned to turn and start swinging as hard and as fast as he could, when he rebounded from the wall. To his surprise, the wall didn’t stop him. He passed straight through it and stumbled to a stop.
* * *
Tim said, “Uh-oh! He’s too close to their nests. Get out of there, Mark!” Tim was well up the stairs now. “You are running the wrong way. What… He went right through the wall.”
* * *
Lions. They were mangy, banded with scratches and gaunt to the point of being living skeletons and they were utterly surprised by his entrance. He could feel that in his mind. They were all hungry, so very hungry. Not one, but hundreds of images filled his mind. Each and every image showed him being torn apart and eaten in a fury of claws and teeth. It was very clear how good his raggedly butchered meat would smell to them.
He turned and looked at the wall. It was solid stone. The lions were running toward him. He had no place to go. In desperation, he ran back to the wall. He touched it, and his hand with the staff passed back through. Hundreds of the large birds came through the opening. He felt the astonishment of the lions at this. They turned their attention from him to the more abundant quarry.
No more birds came through the opening. He waited a couple of moments longer before stepping back through. He walked back to the area of the previous door, unchallenged. Sliding the staff along the wall, he found the opening. Several snakes plopped to the ground. He backed up and waited for them to clear.
Running full out, he passed through the wall into the next chamber. His momentum carried him up and he thudded back down onto the stone door. He didn’t pass back through. Turning over to regain his feet, the staff touched the door. The door opened and he fell back through.
Startled by events, he paused to think about it. He decided that if he dove through the door, he would land on his feet. He tried it, and it worked.
After painstakingly making his way back to the other door, through the snakes, he laid the staff against the wall. The wall section vanished. Thousands of rats poured through the opening. The torrent became a trickle. He stepped into the rat room. Relatively few rats scurried here and there.
After reaching the next door, he cinched up his hood to cover everything except his eyes. He crunched his way through the crunchy, slimy, crawling mass. He was covered w
ith roaches, from head to foot, when he emerged into the first chamber. A meal pack enticed them to remain on the floor and off him.
He was halfway up the ladder when he remembered the artifacts lying on the floor. He went back down to collect some of them. He slung the sword over his shoulder and put a couple of the stones with pictographs in his pockets.
