Chapter 7
“It has a trap door on it,” Andy said.
We were standing over a mound of earth and rocks, long since grown over with ample greenery, with a trap door in the center of it. The trap door on the top looked solid and was secured by a large padlock. If one had the inclination, you could get a few strong men together and move the rocks without worrying about the trap door. I fumbled eagerly in my pockets.
“Do you have it?” Martina coaxed.
“Yeah, give me a second. Here it is.” I held up the key.
“Well, don’t just stand there, try it!”
Everyone held their breath as I tried the key. The lock was wet and covered in mud. I had to clean it off before even trying. There was still some mud in the slot, so the first time I tried, it didn't work, but the second time a soft click released the lock. My first reaction could almost be classified as disappointment; this key held such mystery, now it turned out to be only a small element in the mystery, taking us into a crude hole in the ground. I almost laughed as the key turned and opened the trap door. The door creaked as Andy and I pulled back on it, the piercing sound grating on my frayed nerves, as if warning us not to go any further. A little warily, Martina shone a light down the hole.
“Well, what do you see?” Andy asked.
“A big hole, a big deep hole,” Martina said. Her voice echoed from the hole. You could tell the depth from the little pebbles that fell endlessly down, slight echoes of the tiny projectiles could be heard.
“Let me see,” I said.
Martina moved aside. It was a deep hole alright, but at least there was what looked like a crude, but solid, ladder leading down.
“Well, who wants to go first?” asked Martina.
“Shine down the hole,” Andy said, grabbing his gun and backpack, climbing intrepidly down the hole without so much as a moment’s hesitation. He kept climbing down, getting smaller and smaller. Martina looked at me as if to say, “Does it go forever?” when the sound suddenly changed. Andy’s feet no longer sounded like they were on crumbling earth and rock, now there was a metallic echo.
“Well, check it out!” Andy said.
“What, what do you see?” I yelled down.
“Looks like back home.”
We climbed down about fifty feet before we could see Andy standing there. He had taken out his flashlight and was shining it up at us. At the bottom, there were metal shards all around. The wooden stairs led down into a metallic, much more sleekly styled horizontal tunnel; the crude tunnel going down burrowed its way through the covering of this more modern tunnel. The four of us stood together, shining our flashlights.
“Does this look familiar?” Andy said.
It certainly did. It was exactly like the tunnels at the Earth station, and for that matter, the space station as well. You shone the light down one end of the tunnel and it continued on beyond what the naked eye could see. The other direction was blocked completely. The tunnel was crushed with tons of earth and rocks breaking through it, completely impassable. Near the bottom of the ladder were two ancient flashlights. Martina tried one. It worked, shining only a dim light, but still enough to light the complete blackness of the tunnel.
We continued down the tunnel, the familiar metallic foot-clomping sounds echoed as we walked on the floor grating. It was like home, except for the eerie darkness, only the bouncing light of our flashlights to show us the way. For a second it reminded me of my night patrols in City Central: the erratic lighting, the claustrophobic feeling, and also, the desperation.
After walking a couple of minutes, we found a control panel for lighting.
"It doesn't work," I said, tapping the control panel.
"Can't say I'm surprised," Martina said.
There was a tenuous balance as we walked down the metallic tunnel; fear of what awaited us on one side, eagerness to discover on the other. I walked in front, trying to move quickly, but also trying to tread lightly.
“What’s that?” Martina asked, pointing to a new passageway. I shone the light. The new passageway was really just an entranceway to a maintenance or security room.
“This is the exact same kind of maintenance room like in the Earth dome,” Martina said as she looked around.
Andy choked as he opened a rickety broken door to a storage closet, dust billowing up around his airways.
“Damn, this place is a mess,” he said.
“Look, someone was here recently,” I said, pointing to the remnants of some bread and vegetables lying on the ground. “This couldn’t have been here too long; it didn’t have time to rot yet.”
“The terrorists definitely came by here,” Andy said.
“It’s not like they have much choice,” Martina said. “This seems to be the only place they could have come from this tunnel and the other direction is completely destroyed.”
“At some point in the past, this passageway had to be connected to the rest of the Earth base,” I said. “They built a pretty long passageway to get all the way out here, and then they cut it off.”
“A good strategically-placed blast from any hovercraft woulda been able to cave in the tunnel like that,” Andy said.
“Sure, if you knew exactly where to aim,” Martina said. “If you knew exactly where the tunnel was.”
“So, it had to be done by World Government troops. They cut off the tunnel. I guess it must've been a weak link in dome security. The terrorists discovered it at some point and started coming through.”
“You'd have to do it to protect the Earth base,” Andy said.
“Funny that we never heard about this,” Martina said.
“We better move carefully through here,” I said.
“Will you quit saying that crap Jonz,” Andy said. “We gotta do everything carefully on this godforsaken planet—quit reminding me!”
“Yeah, yelling--that helps. Let’s get going,” I said, as we continued down the tunnel, shining our flashlights down the long narrow view.
The deafening roar of a gun blast echoed throughout the tunnel. I heard the violent projectile zing by my head.
“Lights out!” I cried.
We shut off our flashlights and all dropped to the ground. My face hit the unforgiving grating at the bottom of the footpath. It was a nice non-skid surface for your feet, but not very nice to have rubbed against your face.
“Move your head,” Andy cried. He was at the back of me, moving around. He was trying to take a shot.
“Wait,” I said, just as another bullet rang down the hallway. We could hear the sounds of excited voices down the end of the hallway. “I don’t want you shooting me up the ass, you moron.”
“Jonz, you better--”
“Shut up, all of you!” barked Martina.
She began to whisper, saying:
“Back up, stay low: into the utility room.”
All of us stayed low, fumbling through the dark until our eyes adjusted to the virtually unbroken darkness. There was a light coming from farther down the hallway. It only gave a dim light, barely enough to make out forms. We managed to back ourselves fairly noiselessly into the utility room. I was reassured that we couldn’t be heard as the voices down the hall kept talking loudly, excitedly.
I was the last one to back into the utility room. Just as I was in, a tremendous flurry of gunfire rang throughout the tunnel. I heard their excited voices again and the frenetic metallic clicking of guns being reloaded. Within a short time, the deafening gunfire started again. When they had finished emptying rounds of ammunition in our direction, again the excited voices could be heard, and the frantic click-clicking of their reloading once more.
“Not a word,” Martina whispered.
We all had our hands on our guns now. I sat up, my back to the passageway to the utility room.
There was a long silence.
Now they were wondering what they should do. It was so predictable. Their voices started slowly again. I could not make out what they were saying. I could hear them creeping down the hallway, probably hoping to find a bunch of prostate bodies. Their footsteps were very close, it sounded like there were two of them. One hushed the other; and then there was just their heavy, excited breathing and the sound of their feet on the metallic footpath. I could feel my heart pounding. I tried hard to stifle my own breathing as I saw two figures walk past. They had an old lamp, which gave off only a dim glow. They did not even notice the passageway to the utility room as they passed by.
They continued on, past us, down the tunnel, looking for bodies that weren’t there. I could feel Andy nudging me, wanting me to shoot. It would've been the smart move, militarily speaking—but something stopped me. I think it was the sound of their voices whispering as they came close. They sounded young. My hand was on the trigger. I tried to get myself to fire as they passed by, but I just couldn’t. Andy was trying to push me silently, get me out of the way. Thinking back, I guess I couldn’t blame him—we had just felt the wind of at least a couple of dozen bullets whiz by us; and these two were the ones that were firing.
They were by us, and creeping slowly. I got up to my feet and crept into the tunnel, right behind them. I could see the two shadowy figures more clearly now. They were both small, hunched over, thin figures. I could see the hand of one of them, which held the dim lantern raised in the air; shaking slightly, the tremors of nervousness, of fear. In the dim shaky light, they each had a rifle pointed down the tunnel.
I was right behind them and I could feel Andy just standing beside me. I pushed his arm up. He was about to shoot them. Instead I turned his rifle over. I did the same to mine, and coming right upon one of the clueless attackers, brought the butt of my gun down heavily against the back of his head. Andy did the same thing a second later to the partner; and the two of them let out gasps as they thudded to the ground. Andy and I were upon them quickly, even though it was not really a big rush. I don’t think either one of them was completely unconscious, but the blows certainly slowed down their reaction times considerably. Martina opened her flashlight. The figures, the scene, no longer a murky collection of shadows; now it was lit—and we could see the two frightened, disoriented young boys pinned to the ground.
Kicking their guns to the side, away from their flailing arms, Martina said, “Now that wasn’t very bright.”
“Kids, again! What kinda army do these terrorists have?” Andy said.
“Not much,” I said.
“We didn't know who you were—we couldn’t see—dark!” one of them jabbered.
“Shut up!” the other one commanded.
“I won’t. This isn’t what I wanta do. Now look at us,” the nervous one said.
“Shut up! What is wrong with--” His words were cut off as Andy put his hand firmly across his mouth.
“You’re the one that has to shut up.” Andy looked at the nervous one, hoping to get some information from his emotional ranting. “We should kill you two.”
“Please, no,” the nervous one said, his face contorted and sweating. “I’ll tell ya whatever ya wanta know.”
The other one tried to release his face from Andy’s grip, but he was too small despite his feistiness.
“The little bastard bit me!” Andy said. He picked the boy up with one arm and smashed his back against the tunnel wall.
“Do what you want,” the boy cried. “I do not fear the Great Satan! I have the grace of God to protect me!”
“I’ll show you what the Great Satan can do,” Andy said.
“No,” Martina said, grabbing Andy’s arm before he could hit the boy. “Take him to the utility room, close the door, so we don’t have to listen to him.
Andy picked up the boy as his arms and legs flailed. The boy was crying all sort of gibberish. The sounds muffled as Andy threw him into the utility room and shut the door behind him. Andy was worked up, his chest heaving, as he walked over towards me, to look at the nervous boy I was still holding down on the ground. The boy was not putting up a fight any more. He just lay there, looking up, wide-eyed, bleary from immeasurable abuse, desperation etched all over his emotional face; a frightened babe in the woods with nowhere to turn.
“Please, please, I never wanted this. Didn’t know whata do.”
“You were firing an awful lot of shots for someone who didn’t know what to do, you little bastard,” Andy said.
I pushed Andy’s leg away as he hovered over the cowering boy. “Enough. Let’s let him talk!”
I frisked the boy, looking for other weapons. His clothes hung on his boney frame. I did not find anything. I let him get up and he slinked to the side of the tunnel farthest away from Andy; sitting on the ground, his knees pulled up to his chin, his arms wrapped around his legs, searching desperately for some sort of security. “I didn’t know. I tell ya. We've no choice. They don’t give a lota choices. What can I do? I have nowhere else to go. I've nothing. If I don’t do what I’m told—I can’t—got no choice.”
“Listen kid, calm down,” I said.
He looked at me.
“I was hoping I wouldn’t be one of da soldiers,” he said. “I hoping I would get a servant job, or do some errands. I never wanted to be one of da soldiers. I’ll tell you what ya wanta know? Ask anything?”
“Okay, first of all,” I asked. “Why the hell were you trying to kill us?”
“I… I, it wasn’t me. I only fired when I heard all the gunfire. Didn't wanta get killed.”
“We didn’t even fire,” I said. “You and your buddy were doing all the firing.”
“I didn’t know that. I heard gunfire.”
“Whatever,” I said, not wanting to panic him any further. “Are you a terrorist?”
“A terrorist?” He looked confused. “No—we’re Holy Warriors.”
“Sounds like the same thing to me,” Andy said.
“What’s that?” I asked the boy.
“We are da spiritual workers of the world. We try to protect da world from da Great Satan, who draped da world with its shroud of death, with its bombs from da sky and its planes of destruction.”
“We must leave him to his work,” Doug said from the background.
We all looked at Doug when he spoke. It was so out of place, we were all a little taken aback, even the boy.
“You better be quiet,” Andy warned Doug.
“As you wish,” Doug said.
“Please,” he began. “I just want food and shelter. You have to believe me. Since my mother died, I have no one. They’re all gone from da poison, from da bombs I guess. I just wanta survive. I’ll show ya I wanta help. I’ll show you da gun. It's just down da tunnel.”
He went to get up, and I nodded to show him it was okay.
He led us down the tunnel a little farther.
"What if there's more of them," I whispered to Martina. She had grabbed the boy by the arm and was ready to follow his direction--but holding on to him tight.
"This mission ain't for the faint of heart Jonz. We got to get some answers somehow."
"I can't see screw all!" Andy said. We were all shining our flashlights down the tunnel in hopes of seeing any lurking dangers--but the different light danced around the tunnel--making it very difficult.
"Smoke in the air," Martina said. Through her flashlight beam you could see smoke rising.
"Makes it even harder to see," I said.
"Must be the gun," Martina said.
"I don't like this much at all," I said. "This kid's already tried to kill us once."
"There it is!" Martina declared.
Our flashlights saw what looked like a smoking gun barrel a little farther down, from where we were being shot at.
The boy broke free from Martina's grip and ran down the tunnel.
"Hit the deck!" Martina cried, "It's a trap!"
We rolled on the ground and the boy escaped, down the hallway. I dropped my flashlight and while the others dropped to the ground there was no visibility--just spastic light breaking the dangerous darkness.
"I got it!" I cried to no one in particular as I heard and grabbed my flashlight as it clanged on the metal grating. The others composed themselves and aimed their flashlight beams down the hall at the same time as me.
"D-d-don't shoot," the boy cried, "just wanta show ya da gun--dat's all!"
He was standing beside the smoking gun, set up on a tripod to fire down the hall--but the kid was in front of the gun.
"Jesus kid," Martina said, "you almost got yourself killed again."
We walked down towards where he was standing, shaking, and more nervous than ever. His hands were up in the air. Andy walked towards him, inspecting the boy and gun that was too large for him.
“We must've intercepted some more terrorists on a new mission,” Andy said.
“These kids, is that our enemy?” Martina said, disgusted. She turned to the boy. “Who sent you? Who put you on this mission?”
“Well, all of us at the holy school, we know us could be one of da chosen ones. It's considered a honour to God—so we gotta go.”
“This is an honour?” Martina said.
“Yeah. Ya'll go straight to heaven—no more starvation, no more sickness—finally happiness.”
Martina walked up to the boy. He cringed. “Listen, and listen carefully. You will tell us exactly where this holy school is, and then you will get out of here alive.”
“When ya get outa da tunnel, ya don’t go up to da city. Ya follow da river, straight, in da same direction as when ya came outa da tunnel. Ya follow da riverbank, as ya git away from da ruins of da city. It's there. Ya can’t miss it. Just follow da river, straight, same direction as when ya leave da tunnel.”
Martina shone the light in the boy’s eyes. “Okay…” she said. “Is there any more surprises down this tunnel.”
“Whadaya mean?” he asked.
“I mean like people trying to kill us.”
The boy laughed. “No, no more missions today.”
“Fine,” Martina said. “You go ahead of us. Your buddy can cool off until tomorrow in the utility room. I don’t want to deal with him. You come back for him tomorrow—not until tomorrow—understand?”
“Yeah, I understand,” the boy said. Martina pushed him in the back and he ran down the tunnel ahead of us.
**
It was almost an hour before we started hearing the singing. It was an old voice, gravelly, worn. The voice was singing about sailors out at sea; about stopping in ports and taking advantage of whatever fair maidens that were available. The song was foreign and intriguing to the ears of a space station dweller, to a young man who had spent his entire existence in a very contained environment. The song spoke of adventure, of the wide open spaces and dangers of this wondrous and dangerous planet.
We crept carefully, not wanting to make too much noise, but as we got closer, the voice stopped for a second, listening. We stopped, only the sound of breathing, even Doug stopped his whispering.
“Who-who’s there?” the voice said.
We didn’t answer. We walked closer; my hand gripped my gun.
“Ju… just an old man, nobody else,” the voice said.
We shut all our flashlights. It took a few seconds for our eyes to adjust, but then I realized it was no longer pitch black. Off in the distance was faint light filtering into the tunnel, tainting the darkness. With every step we took down the tunnel, light was growing. Our flashlights were out and we could definitely see a haze of sunlight coming towards us.
"You see that," Martina whispered.
"I do," I said.
The tunnel was growing a bit wider; and now there was definitely light. Clear and circular, sunlight filtered down the shape of the tunnel--broken by something in the corner--it was the silhouette of a prone body lying on the ground. I shone my flashlight down on the silhouette. It was an old dishevelled man. His wrinkly eyes squinted uneasily into my flashlight and he said uneasily:
“Hey friend, who goes there?”
“Don’t worry, we mean you no harm,” I said.
“N-no, of course not,” he said, “I never thought that at all. I’m just an old man, minding my own business, looking for a quiet place to sleep—n-nothing to worry about here.” He kept mouthing platitudes to placate us; like we were security guards at some checkpoint.
“Like I said, don’t worry, we mean you no harm.”
“Are you gentleman holy warriors?” he asked as we tried to pass on.
“What do you mean holy warriors?” asked Andy.
“N-nothing. It’s just usually—I mean the soldiers heading down this tunnel—they’re usually the religious sort—on their quests—or crusades—or whatya call it.”
“No, we’re not holy warriors,” Martina said, “and not all gentlemen either. Come to think of it, none of us are really gentlemen.”
“Ha ha, good one Martina,” laughed Doug, then he mumbled to himself.
“What are you talking about old man?” started Andy, until I grabbed his arm.
“Forget about him. Let’s keep going. The entrance to the tunnel can’t be that dangerous if he wandered down for a nap.”
We walked towards the light. The tunnel twisted and suddenly the sunlight beamed into the tunnel. The tunnel widened into a room. The first thing I noticed was the damage. The sun shone brightly and we all squinted as we went up some stairs to a larger room. It was more like a ruin than any liveable space. Dust and rubble were everywhere. Clouds of dust billowed in the rays of sunlight, through the dirty, broken windows. On one wall, graffiti was etched in deep red paint, until somewhere near the end, when the paint colour changed to fluorescent green. It read:
Where are all the poets hiding
Have they no more pen and paper
Where is the righteous indignation
That would be so appropriate now
Who will wake the people
From their slumber of ignorance and fear
Has no one the courage
To light the path
Under the threat
Of the Neanderthal’s club?
Andy shrugged in disdain as we all read the words that hung like a bizarre greeting to this new world. Andy looked at me, shaking his head. “What kinda crap is that?”
We walked outside. The wide doorway had hinges barely hanging on to a door frame, but no door—just a wide-open view to the outside.
We were on the other side of the tunnel. I felt claustrophobic feelings drift from my lungs, from around my head. We were outside, but what was it like here? What kind of place was this? Above us was brilliant sky, the Earth atmosphere in its full glory, but the landscape bore the remnants of much violence and neglect. There were several people around us. They stared at us blankly, recognizing our difference, the fact that we were not one of them—or did they? One raggedly dressed man walked by me like a zombie. He had a deep scar which ravaged almost his entire face, from just below one eye to the bottom of his chin. I remember as he walked by, his eyes met mine. I stared at him intently. The thing that struck me was the lifelessness in his eyes. For a second, I figured he must've been blind; but he walked on, around me, clearly seeing the objects in his path. Yet he had no reaction, as if there was nothing left in life that could pull a reaction from him, nothing left that would incite emotion. It was as if too much had gone on; the results of a jaded life, only surviving; just barely alive in a harsh environment.
His blank stare spoke volumes.