The Aeschylus (29 page)

AJ looked up then, his gray eyes blazing. When he caught sight of Mason, he took one hand from the rope and made the little point-and-shoot gesture Melvin had done when they'd locked them in the room.

Spitting fury, Mason leveled his rifle straight at him. At that instant, the chopper rounded the platform behind him, and St. Croix opened fire.

AJ prepared to drop. He looked at the makeshift rope above him and calculated its length at about six feet.
Well, only a forty-four foot drop instead of a fifty foot drop
, he thought insanely. Then a bray of machine gun fire erupted from somewhere in the sky.

Mason lost his bead as bullets clanged off of the ground and ricocheted off of the steel. One of The Carrion shapes near him caught a stray round in the hand and dropped, following his hideous companion to the waters below. AJ could see through to the other side of the platform, the chopper hovering in the distance. Bruhbaker's men fired back in a steady stream.

The makeshift rope shook and tottered. Above him, Gideon's parka had taken a bullet, its orange sleeve sporting a tear the size of a prison snitch's asshole.

“Swing me,” he called upwards.

Gideon's face appeared. “What?”

AJ looked at the top deck where Mason was recovering. “Swing me!” he yelled again. “Get me over there!”

The rope began to sway, two sets of hands attached to the line. AJ tucked his knees to his chest and swung towards the deck, ending up about six feet away. His body rolled back in the other direction, and then he swung again.
Four feet
.

Mason stumbled to the rails, his AR-15 in hand.

AJ let go of the rope on the up-swing. He flailed through the air and slammed into the side of the deck, grabbing Mason's shirt through the rails. The big man slammed into the side and planted his feet, his rifle dropping somewhere behind him. He closed one hand around the steel bars, the other around his assailant's throat. AJ felt the cartilage in his Adam's apple crunch, the karmic reversal of his bout with Doctor Grey. Then AJ's hand groped something on Mason's belt: his
own M1911, dangling loosely in Mason's holster. His thumb slipped upwards, and suddenly, the pistol was his hand. It was so unexpected that the gun went off, firing into Mason's meaty thigh. The shot blew the pistol backwards, and it flew out of his grip, falling into space.

Mason grunted, bringing a hammerfist down like a brick.

AJ dropped into free fall, but his hands shot out and grabbed the edge of the platform, saving him by inches. He let out a gasp, hanging over empty space like a failed rock climber. Mason grinned, raising a boot to mash AJ's fingers to pulp. But then, an object clanged off of a nearby support and hit the big man in the shoulder. It looked like an empty paint bucket. The man stumbled back on his bad thigh and collapsed to the deck.

“Hey monkey man!” It was Dutch, hanging off of the clothes rope behind him.

“Hurry up! I'm slipping!” AJ called.

“Throw me the gun first!”

“What gun?”

“The one you shot him with!”

“I lost it!”

“What?”

“I lost it! Just... swing over here! Hurry!” He could already hear Mason scrambling to his feet.

“Jump!” Dutch yelled.

“I can't make it!”

“I'll catch you! Jump!”

AJ did. He threw one foot up and kicked off of the platform, using every last bit of strength he had. Their bodies snapped together, Dutch throwing his free arm under AJ's armpit. AJ grabbed at him, expecting to fall straight after impact.

But he didn't.

“Nice one! Now for Christ's sake man, get your hand off my dick.”

AJ looked down. “Sorry.” He shifted.

“Get to the rope beneath me. You're on point, Ace.”

AJ looked back at the platform. It seemed a hundred yards from where he was holding on, and he couldn't believe that he had made it.

Mason was leaning over the rails, now without a rifle
and
without a pistol. He was staring, that look of rage etched onto his face. With a final glare, he turned and disappeared from sight.

“Hey!” Gideon shouted from above. “You okay?”

AJ squirmed. “We're a little busy!”

Dutch tapped him on the head and pointed. “Think if we jump over to those crossbeams, you can climb down?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“You can stay and die, I guess.”

AJ let himself down to the end of the rope. He could hear the fabric around Gideon's coat tearing bit by bit.

The crossbeam supports were closer than the platform though, and he grabbed onto one easily. He was completely below the body of the platform now, nothing but empty air and steel beneath him. And the tentacles, of course. Before he could start climbing, he found himself face to face with a large one, almost close enough to touch. Like Jin, he could see the hideous shapes trapped inside of it, but unlike Jin, he knew the thing for what it was. Gideon had made sure to tell them
exactly
where his crew had gone.

“Uh, Dutch...”

The thing inside the tentacle moved and a slit appeared, the flesh parting like vulva. The thing beyond—not five feet from him—stirred and squirmed.

“Dutch!” he yelled.

A pair of arms shot from the inside of the tentacle, swiping the air in front of his face.

“Go! Go, go!”

Dutch got moving, and AJ followed, wrapping his arms around the steel supports and climbing down one section at a time.

“This is a bad idea,” he whispered, feeling the ocean winds whipping at his back. “Oh yeah. Definitely a bad idea.”

He heard a squeal from above and saw Gideon climbing down their makeshift rope, his face scrunched in terror. They were all on borrowed time. If Mason found a gun or grabbed one of his men, the three of them would be nothing but big, barely moving targets. That wasn't even the worst of it: the chopper was coming around.

“Nobody told me I would be climbing things,” Gideon yelled. “I hate heights!”

“Don't think about it!” AJ said, panting now. “The height's not a problem!”

“Yeah,” Dutch said. “It's more the falling, really.”

“Just hurry up!”

The sound of the helicopter got louder. The S-70 circled around to their side of the platform, sputtering and coughing smoke. It was chewed to bits, metal and shrapnel dangling in pieces from the hull. There was blood spatter near the open door, the gunner—
the cowboy
, AJ thought—long departed.

“Oh shit...”

The chopper wobbled as it flew, bending and then twisting on a path straight towards them.

“Guys!” Dutch yelled.

“Move your ass!” AJ finished. He climbed down to the next girder and dropped the last few feet to the boat deck. “Jesus, it's going to crash! Hold onto something!”

A final bray of gunfire echoed from somewhere on deck, and then the chopper spiraled into the center of The Aeschylus, metal tearing and splitting with a deafening crack. One of The Carrion shapes was chopped in half right before the rotor hit a beam and sheered off. Something caught fire and exploded. Whether it was the chopper's fuel tank or something on deck, AJ didn't know.

They held on for dear life, the world around them quaking on a biblical scale. Something big splashed into the ocean behind AJ, and he heard someone scream. Looking up, he realized the clothes rope had torn.

AJ saw Gideon dangling from one of the support beams above him. Whatever had splashed into the water was long gone.

Beside him, Dutch cupped his hands to his mouth. “Get your feet back! You can do it!”

The surviving Carrion shapes were coming, and Gideon didn't have much time. Slowly, he swung his feet to a support beam and began shuffling down, his dirty boxers blowing in the wind. AJ was almost sure that he would slip, but he didn't. The doc's arms wrapped tightly around one beam, then the next.

A wave of heat drifted down the shaft, and AJ wondered how much time they had left before the whole thing collapsed. Not much, by the looks of things.

A moment later, the doc was hovering over the boat deck, scared to drop the last few feet.

“Come on!” AJ barked. “Drop!”

Gideon looked down, then clutched the beam even tighter. “I can't!”

“Yes, you can!”

“No!”

The Carrion were slithering down the shaft behind him.

“Come on, you idiot!” Dutch yelled. He reached up and grabbed the doc by the foot.

“Dutch, you better get that boat moving, buddy,” AJ said.

When Dutch saw the things coming, he gave up on the good doctor and started sprinting towards the boat.

Gideon cried out again. One of the blackened figures was pawing at his chest hair.

“Drop,” AJ said. “I'll catch you!”

“I hate heights!” Gideon repeated.

“Goddammit, Doc! If you don't let go, that thing is going to rip your bloody arm off!”

Gideon let go.

He fell with no coordination at all, like the blind partner in a trust exercise. For a moment, AJ thought the doc was going to fall wide, but he took a step forward and caught him like a cheerleader on a pyramid jump. If Gideon had been any heavier than a cheerleader, he reflected, the two of them would have toppled into the water. AJ turned and ran with the doctor still in his arms, peddling across the deck to the boat.

Dutch was pulling the ropes in. “You ready for the honeymoon cruise?”

“Shut up,” AJ said dropping Gideon into the boat. “I told you to get this thing started!” He scanned the upper decks for signs of Black Shadow survivors, but the smoke was too thick. High above them, a piece of the oil derrick suddenly collapsed and banged down the opposite side of The Aeschylus. The cacophony was immense. It created a terrific splash when it hit the water, sending a spray of ocean all of the way to the boat and beyond. Gideon put his hands to his ears and shuddered uncontrollably.

AJ shielded his eyes. “Dutch, get us the hell out of here!”

The boat's engine sputtered up, and suddenly they were lurching forward, the motor kicking into high gear.

“Hold onto your butt!”

They blasted through the support columns and into open water. AJ thought they were free and then heard a series of firecracker pops coming from the decks above. Two splashes, and then the shots were on the boat, kicking up sparks and splinters by his feet.

“Jesus!” Gideon yelled.

“Can't this piece of crap go any faster?”

“No, I figured I'd take things leisurely! You know, see the sights!” Dutch yelled.

AJ pushed him aside and took the wheel. Another spray of pops came from The Aeschylus, but the boat was too far now, and they didn't come close. The platform began to shrink, the boat heading further into the blue.

“We're not going west,” Dutch said. It was a statement, but AJ read the question in his eyes.

“You know why.”

“You think she's still alive?”

He looked at the hull, then back to his friend. “Doesn't matter. We'll never make it back to the mainland like this.”

Dutch nodded. He put a hand on AJ's shoulder, then went to see the doc. AJ heard him yelling at the guy to get off of the floor and make himself useful. Dutch was maybe the only real
friend he'd ever had, but if they made it through this, he thought he might have two. Even three, if they were lucky.

If.

Either way, his days of living with regrets were over.

The Island:

February, 1939

Richter stood gazing down at the path around the chasm. There were so many outcroppings, so many caves around its edge, he feared they would never be able to search them all.

“There's no sign of him, sir,” the young sergeant said. “Looks like he vanished.”

“Vanished? Oh no, I think he is here somewhere, Sergeant. The question is, where?”

The light was not making things any easier. It had been growing steadily darker these past few days, and inside of a week, the sky would be as black as the pit.

“My men have all checked in. They have nothing new to report, sir. The prisoners aren't talking either.”

Richter chewed on this. He refused to be a man who saw bad luck at every turn. Those who knew of the disappearance were already distraught, already blaming the things growing out of the deep. But if played correctly, perhaps this could be turned to opportunity.

The man who had disappeared had not been able to produce results, and so perhaps it was time to use a bit of leverage. His hand was being forced, true, but that might not be such a bad thing. He had warned Dietrich that efficiency was of
prime concern. Richter himself did not intend to be on the island forever.

Best to make the cut and be done with it.

“Bring me the lieutenant.”

Harald was dreaming of the man who would kill him.

He lay rigid on the bunk, sweating. The green army blanket which had been wrapped about him lay discarded on the floor. His eyelids twitched, his mind seeing beyond the room, into...

...
into the chasm.

He stood above it, suspended over the void. The blackness spread beneath him, as familiar as an old lover. The rocks around the edges were the same, but the things around them were not. They grew a little more every time Harald dreamed, as if time were passing within his subconscious.

Shapes began to climb over the rocks then, and within seconds, he could see that each shape was—had been—a person. Like the tendrils, they were red instead of black, exposed muscle tissue visible as they crawled to the edge. Even without their skin, he could see faces he knew. He saw his men, his soldiers. He saw his brother Burt and his father. He saw Heinrich, his dead friend from
The Adalgisa
. The captain looked up at Harald as he crested the edge, and he smiled. It was ghastly: a ghoul's grin to match a ghoul's figure. And then, he pitched himself over. They all pitched themselves over, dropping like rain into the blackness. Their screams thundered through the air, spiraling down into the nothing.

Suddenly they were gone, and Harald was alone over the pit. The quiet was worse than the din.

One more figure appeared then, striding to the lip of the void. When he came to rest, Harald could see that he was whole, not peeled bloody fruit like the others. Then, Harald remembered: it was
him
, the one who had been haunting his nightmares.