‘Maybe Al-Qaeda’s selling puppies on the black market to fund the jihad.’
‘Funny.’
Shuster tried to figure how many creatures one cage might have accommodated, but without knowing the size of one of them, it was tough to crunch the numbers. If the other six containers were of the same design, he guessed that the mystery brood could conservatively number in the thousands.
‘Who could have built this?’ Ramirez asked.
Shuster shook his head. ‘Got me.’
‘Creepy,’ Ramirez muttered. He sidestepped the corporal and paced slowly along the aisle, trying to make sense of it all.
Standing outside the container, Private Holt swept his disbelieving gaze over the sophisticated installation that had been constructed inside the cave. Definitely no small operation. Just how deep beneath the mountain was he standing, anyway?
He peered through the container’s door and could see Ramirez and Shuster pacing back and forth along the centre walkway. Then he turned to see what the Kurd was up to. Not far from where they’d entered the cave, Hazo was using a flashlight to inspect what looked like a hole in the wall. The surrounding blackness made it appear that the interpreter was floating in space.
‘Everything all right over there, Hazo?’ he called out, his voice echoing through the cave.
Hazo signalled that he was okay.
Then the ventilation system’s motor turned off with a loud
thunk
, startling Holt.
‘Hey,’ he called into the container. ‘Did you guys switch the air off?’
‘No,’ Shuster called back. ‘It’s probably on a timer. Nothing to worry about.’
‘Right,’ Holt said, calming himself. But when the fan whirred to a stop, other sounds masked by the humming motor suddenly came to the foreground. It took a moment for his ears to adjust, but the sounds were definitely there - subtle scratching noises. The vast space made it difficult to discern where they were coming from, but they seemed loudest towards the rear of the cave. ‘Guys, I hear something weird out here.’
No answer.
‘Guys?’ He peered into the container and could see Ramirez talking to Shuster, bitching loudly. The sounds persisted. Scratching. Shifting and shuffling. Holt aimed his M-16 towards the disturbance, moved the light slowly from right to left through the soupy darkness, but saw nothing.
The more he listened to the sounds, the more he tried to convince himself they were nothing at all. Probably some other piece of machinery buried deeper in the cave that was in need of a little grease.
Holt moved stealthily down the excavated path, pausing outside the door of each container and glancing into its interior. There was no movement inside any of them. What exactly were these things? he wondered.
As he cornered the final container, the noises grew louder. Much louder. He deliberated on whether to investigate or turn back. Then his light settled on a wide opening in the cave’s rear wall.
He stood perfectly still and angled his right ear for a better listen.
Now he was certain that the noises were coming from inside the burrow. What if the terrorists were holed up in there waiting to make a move?
He looked back and saw Ramirez coming out from the first container, Shuster right behind him. When Ramirez didn’t see Holt, he got nervous and began hunting the darkness with his light. ‘Holt! Where’d you go?’
‘Over here,’ Holt called out quietly, reluctant to draw attention to himself so close to the tunnel.
Ramirez shined his light directly into Holt’s eyes. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Hey! You’re blinding me!’ Holt said in a loud whisper.
The light diverted away.
‘Sorry.’
‘I hear something over here,’ Holt said, rubbing his eyes. ‘I’m gonna check it out.’ He blinked a few times, but Ramirez’s light had spotted his vision.
‘Go ahead … I’ll be right over,’ Ramirez said, peering into the other containers as he drew closer. He waved agitatedly for Holt to move on.
Reluctant, Holt levelled his rifle and advanced towards the opening. Once inside, he hesitated and shone the light into the tunnel. The passage looked similar to the one that had brought them into the cave - a wide conduit cutting through rock with a quarter of a metre to spare overhead. The ground pitched steadily downwards into a sharp bend that curved out of sight about ten metres from where he was standing. Whatever was causing the disturbance was definitely in there.
‘Damn.’ Despite the subterranean chill, he had to wipe sweat from his forehead. Wait for Ramirez. Not safe. Wait for Ramirez … his mind kept repeating.
Ramirez’s shrill voice called out, ‘Keep going, you pussy … I’ll be right there!’
Holt groaned in frustration. Overriding his inner alarm, he pressed onward.
This isn’t smart. You’re being stupid. Turn around … he thought.
The ground was tricky underfoot with lots of jagged edges that pushed upward like petrified fingers. Holt tried his best to dismiss any notion that they would suddenly come to life and grab at his boots.
There are no such things as demons, he began repeating over and over again in his mind. That Kurd is whacko.There are no such things as demons …
As the light rose and fell over the rough walls, Holt’s eyes began playing tricks with him, thanks to Ramirez shining the light right in his eyes. Circles of floating colours drifted like phantasms over his field of vision. He flicked his eyelids rapidly, hoping to make them go away. They didn’t.
As he followed the bend, he raised his M-16 higher on his shoulder, stared down the muzzle. Whatever was making the noises, he was certain of one thing: there were no friendly targets in this godforsaken underworld. So if anything moved - anything at all - he would shoot first, ask questions later.
The sounds intensified, throwing his senses into high gear.
Definitely didn’t sound like a machine. Or terrorist, either.
Ssssst.
Chssst.
Fffffsss.
Ssssssssssst.
He paused to crank his courage up a notch. Instead, his anxiety ballooned. The walls seemed to constrict around him as if he’d been swallowed by a gargantuan snake. His chest started heaving. He fought to catch his breath. He lowered his weapon and used his sleeve to blot more sweat from his spotty eyes.
Something tapped his shoulder from behind and he let out a bloodcurdling scream. In the same instant, he whirled fiercely and tweaked his ankle. When he tried to bring the rifle up for a shot, the muzzle hit the wall hard enough to shatter the element in his light.
‘Whoa! Relax!’ Ramirez yelled out, holding out his hand. ‘Calm the fuck down. You scream like a girl. I’m not the Boogeyman.’
‘What the fuck!’ Holt screamed. ‘Why are you sneaking up on me like that!’
‘Sorry,’ Ramirez said. ‘Sorry. Geez, you sound like my niece when I take her on a roller coaster. Take the skirt off, Sally.’
Holt took a few seconds to compose himself.
Ramirez couldn’t help but laugh.
Holt laughed too, and it felt good. ‘Scared the crap outta me, you—’
The droning from deep within the tunnel suddenly whipped up like a raging tempest.
Ramirez’s smile went flat. He took a step back and brought his rifle up high. ‘What the …’
Before Holt could turn to see what was emerging from the shadows, he saw Ramirez’s eyes go wide with terror. ‘Holy shit! Get out of the way!’
Fully panicked, Holt refused to look back. He scrambled towards Ramirez, clumsily barrelling into him when he tried to squeeze past. Both men went down.
‘What the fuck!’ Ramirez shouted, scrambling to his knees and reaching for his M-16.
Holt’s frantic hands swept the ground, probing for his weapon. His fingers registered something. But it wasn’t steel - it was spongy. And it bit him. Then came another deep bite on his thigh. ‘Ahh!’
Ramirez was back on his feet and shone the light on Holt. His blood went cold as thousands of eyes glared back at him.
Anxious to share his discovery of Lilith’s tomb with Shuster, Hazo made his way towards the cave’s centre and along the row of containers. Arranged side by side, two metres apart, the containers reminded him of railroad boxcars.
Glancing into the interiors, he spotted Shuster milling about inside the fourth container. Best not to disturb him, Hazo thought.
He waited outside.
He aimed his light up the ventilation stack that rose directly above the fourth container straight through the cave’s lofty ceiling. He traced the light down the stack to a truck-sized motor housing mounted on a sturdy steel platform atop the fourth container, directly above the door. Round amber lights blinked on its control panel. Having heard the buzzing fan come to an abrupt stop a few minutes ago, he presumed that the system had gone into sleep mode. He noticed that other critical systems hardware had been installed on the platform too; clearly, the brain centre for the installation. Bolted alongside the container’s doorway was the platform’s access ladder.
A shrill scream rang out and Hazo spun towards it, sweeping his light side to side.
The corporal responded in an instant, bursting through the dangling plastic slats and bounding down the short ramp with his M-16 at the ready. ‘What the hell was that?’ he asked Hazo.
‘Back there.’ Hazo pointed to the cave’s rear.
‘Stay here,’ Shuster told him then bolted off to investigate.
When the corporal disappeared around the container that sat at the end of the row, Hazo decided to climb up to the control platform for a better view. Gripping the ladder rungs, he began his ascent. Halfway to the top, he paused to catch his breath.
Off in the distance, he heard Ramirez laughing; Holt joining in shortly thereafter.
Must have been a false alarm, he guessed, continuing his ascent, slow and steady.
The wheezing in his lungs had given way to something much worse. Suddenly something ruptured beneath his breastbone. Within seconds, he felt like he was drowning. He coughed violently and a hot viscous liquid swelled into the back of his throat, bringing with it the taste of copper.
Blood.
Fighting the dread that threatened to paralyse him, he spat out the vile phlegm and managed to catch his breath. Clambering topside, he was overtaken by a bout of dizziness that forced him to his hands and knees. He cleared his lungs again, spat up more blood. If he’d been sickened by the same disease that afflicted Al-Zahrani, he realized it wouldn’t be long before the lethargy would give way to complete immobility and delirium. And after that …
Hazo remembered what Karsaz had told him at the restaurant: ‘Maybe it’s not so bad that you don’t have a family of your own. Less grief and worry.’ Death was far worse for those left behind. Hazo had learned that firsthand with the loss of his father, mother and brothers.
He shone the light down at the bloody puddle glistening over the platform’s metal floor panel. Am I dying? he wondered.
When Ramirez and Holt stopped laughing and began screaming again, Hazo came to his senses. Getting to his feet, he was able to clearly see shifting light coming out from the tunnel they’d gone into. But he could only see the top of the opening.
‘Get out of there!’ he heard Shuster yell.
Hazo saw Ramirez’s helmet bob in and out of view, Holt’s next.
Three seconds later, all hell broke loose as the cave filled with the deafening
clack-clack-clack-clack
of machine gun fire and strobing muzzle flash.
Then Ramirez bolted zigzag up the path through the frames of violet light. His weapon was angled low, practically to the ground. He was yelling, ‘Get the fuck away from me, you motherfuckers!’
Hazo leaned over the platform’s safety rail, trying to discern what he was shooting at. At first, he couldn’t spot the enemy.
Then the threat became all too clear.
An undulating black wave spilled out from the rear of the cave, curling, twisting, spreading fast over the ground, as if a colossal oil drum had been tipped over to flood the space. With it came unearthly squealing that filled the cave. In the darkness the pulsing crests twinkled with countless ruby specks that shimmered like sequins.
Screaming bloody murder, Ramirez kept firing indiscriminately at the swell, but the bullets did nothing to hinder its advance. As the marine’s light traced wide arcs over the mass, Hazo’s skin crawled at what he was seeing from the top of the platform: a churning sea of eyes protruding from wedge-shaped heads; whiskered snouts; slithering, fleshy tails; rubbery bodies covered in black hair. Layers upon layers of them, fighting to the top, swallowed beneath, rising again.
Rats.
Hazo gasped. Thousands upon thousands of black rats. Their incalculable numbers were increasing by the second.
Hazo had seen plenty of vermin scavenging the waste dumps on the outskirts of his hometown, but none as large or aggressive as these. These rats seemed to be attacking Ramirez - mobilizing against him like an army.
‘Up here!’ Hazo screamed down to him. ‘Come!’ He coughed up more blood. ‘There is a ladder!’ But his weak scream was lost to the brood’s high-pitched squealing.