5

Chapter 5 of Disease

Zeus will not intervene. Zeus cannot intervene. The tales and stories of the gods have become myths and legend, and the shattering of that will shatter the human mind. They cannot have their legends destroyed, for their legends give them hope in a way that no story can. Men can become these sources of hope through their deeds. Robert Thurman is now only a story.

But soon he will become a legend.

Robert’s head was spinning as he walked through the gloom, which was not a good thing in a deep cave. Every little bump and rise threatened to upset his balance, and throw him into the depths of the abyss.  Every twist and turn brought new phantoms, new shadows to his vision. The single flashlight that he had, used in conjunction with the goggles produced eerie green images of his dark surroundings. The cave walls were made of hard black stone that was cool to the touch, but every now and then it would seemingly transform into dusty sandstone walls. Robert wondered about this. How deep was he going? How far under was he already?

An uproarious laugh echoed through the tunnels, breaking the deafening silence. Robert started so badly he dropped his flashlight, and it would’ve rolled away save for the skeleton that lay before him. Robert screamed, an unearthly howl escaping from his terrified lips, as he cowered back from the corpse. It was not very old, and the pungent scent of decay still clung to the bones.  Robert forced himself to get a grip, and he slowly walked over to the bones to pick up his flashlight. The moment he bent down, he heard a slight click overhead, and he ducked down onto the ground, hitting so hard he smashed his chin on a pebble. He felt a sharp thunk on the wall next to him. Afraid of more incoming unknown objects of danger, he lay on the floor, breathing heavily, for a few minutes.  When nothing else passed by him, he stood up shakily and looked at the wall beside his personage.

Two fletched feather arrows were still quivering in the soft rock, having sunk all the way to midshaft. Robert stared at the arrows for a second, and then slowly lowered his gaze to the skeleton on the floor. Sure enough, it had an arrow sticking out of its broken eye socket, almost penetrating the back of the skull. Robert pulled the arrow out of it to inspect the making. It wasn’t an old-fashioned arrow, but a smooth, graphite shaft with what looked to be a steel head.

Robert was terrified and intrigued at the same time by the weapons, but his instincts told him to push on. So he shouldered his rifle, stepped over the body, and went on, all the while listening for more traps and arrows.

“Heh-heh, come on little rabbit. The fox has a fun little game for Robby to play, and Olga can come too.” The voice came out of the darkness, and another cackle resounded through the gloom. Robert nearly stumbled again. Th3e voice was the same voice that woke him on the first day of his arrival at the institution, the same one that had started his adventure. The voice had been of an insane man, looking for a prisoner that no one would miss.

Robert doubled over from lack of breath, and gasped for air. The realization hit him hard. There were absolutely Hungered in this place. Or, at least, a very large one. That was their plan! The Hungered had captured Robert and everyone who had survived, put them in this prison, and made them believe that they were in a mental institution.

With supposed truth and adrenaline running in his veins, Robert picked up the pace. He began jogging through the tunnel, until he reached a fork in the road. He made a mark on the wall, and jogged down the left tunnel. Instantly, the air seemingly thickened, and a sickly sweet smell filled the air. Robert began coughing and hacking from the smell of it. He quickly doubled back to the fork, thanking his lucky stars that he managed to get out of there.

“Awwwwww, Robby left the fox’s game. Oh well. I guess the fox will just have to try again. Good job, little rabbit.” The voice crooned, then quickly slipped away. Robert whirled around, listening for any sound or movement. The voice sounded so close, it was as if it was right next to him. There had to be some way that Hunt was able to talk to him and know what he was doing. Some way.

He continued down his path, all the while scrutinizing the darkness for Hunt. He stopped every now and then to listen, but it was always to no avail. Hunt was a ghost, a phantom. There was no way he was going to be found in his home, so Robert would just have to find his lair. Easier said than done. The caves were like an enormous labyrinth, tempting him with possible success, only to open into dozens of splintered passageways.

Robert had been walking for seemingly hours when the first Hungered jumped out at him. There was no sign, no hint. He simply turned around a corner and he was there. The Hungered was as disgruntled a one could be, with matted black hair and a grimy face. He was dressed in the tatters of a prisoner’s jumpsuit, with a brown loincloth to cover up his sensitive bits. The Hungered smiled for a split second, revealing jagged teeth, before he lunged at Robert. Robert simply pointed his rifle and fired.

The gunshot roared in the small space, reverberating off the walls and causing Robert to fall on the ground in agony, his ears covered by his hands. The Hungered wasn’t so lucky. The bullet took him directly in the heart, killing him instantly. His body slumped to the ground, whatever light left in his eyes extinguished. A hissing sound filled the air.

“Oooooo that was not nice, little rabbit doctor. The fox doesn’t like that. You should play fair, like all the sinners down here.” The voice mocked. Robert lay on the ground in the fetal position, hands over his ears as he huddled. The noise had been unlike anything he had ever experienced. It was earsplitting, even more so than the alarm in the lab the day it all went wrong.

Steeling himself, Robert picked himself off the ground and searched through his pockets. True to his word, the Warden had given Robert everything he needed. That included a set of earplugs. He inserted them into his ear, stepped over the dead man, and took off down the passageway. He wanted to be out of this place as fast as was humanly possible.

Unfortunately, that required finding his way out of this horrendous labyrinth.  The tunnels seemed to keep going on and on, never ceasing. Robert kept going around in circles, as evidenced by his continual encounter of the dead Hungered and the marks on the wall. Luckily, the voice was silent as he traveled through the buried facility, leaving Robert to his memories of the post-Burst confusion.

The day that AD-952 was first shot into the sky, Robert had been working at home on the family bills, marveling at how much they seemed to be paying for simple utilities. He was almost ready to flip the table, dashing its contents everywhere, when he saw the flash of the little rocket shoot up into the sky.  It flew for a few seconds, a little white dot against the azure skyline, then it burst into a million pieces, scattering the little pollution-eaters into the white clouds. Instantly Robert could see, from his Chicago skyline apartment, the smog begin to deteriorate. He cheered loudly, and could hear the other tenants doing the same all throughout the building. His wife came home and they celebrated with champagne while Jessica was off at a friend’s house

It was the next day that it all went wrong.

On Robert’s drive to work, he began to notice how dark and ominous the clouds were above his head, and how far they spanned across the now gray sky. He wasn’t the only one. During rush hour, people were getting out of their cars to stare at the clouds. Soon the rain came down, and the chaos began. It started slow, just a few drops, but then it really began to come down. People spread their arms out at first, hoping to catch a little of the moisture; but when the first drops hit, a huge cry began to rise out of the crowd. People scrambled to get back into their cars, as the ravenous rain fell. Robert couldn’t tell what was the problem, so, like the brilliant scientist that he was, he stuck his hand out into the rain.

Instantly, a searing pain spread across his hand, like a thousand fire ants devouring his flesh. He immediately pulled his hand back into his car, but that didn’t stop the pain. Feverishly digging through his glove compartment, he managed to locate the small bottle of hand sanitizer he kept in there. He rubbed it all over the contaminated hand, ignoring the new pain that blossomed because of his wounds. The burning pain subsided quickly, and Robert heaved a sigh of relief. He looked down to inspect his hand

His hand had become one of raw, glistening skin with blood seeping out of multiple wounds.  The bacteria had eaten away the flesh down to the muscle, and it hurt like the devil. Robert cringed to think of the people who had been completely out in the deluge. There might not be anything left of them, if he had that much pain from a second of exposure.

His hand. Robert quickly shined his flashlight on his hand, looking for the signs. Sure enough, it was pink and puckered, showing that new skin had grown over recently. The pain he had felt on his first day at the institution had been AD-952. But why had it stopped so quickly? His hand had hurt for barely a second. Why had the agony not lasted longer?

“That’s right, my little rabbit. Question the things you know. Question everything. Because what kind of stupid world would we live in if we knew everything?” The voice crooned out, sounding louder and closer than usual. Robert whirled the flashlight around, searching for the supernatural being. What good was his mind if every thought was open book? He vowed to locate the maniac.

“Don’t worry, little Robert. You won’t find me, so there’s no use looking. You can swing your little light as much as you want. You’ll never get to me.”

Robert doubled his pace as he ran through the tunnels, searching for his target. He stepped over dozens more bodies, and sped past an equal number of traps. Unfortunately, his hectic cadence cause him to trip numerous times, falling several feet before he could pick himself up and start anew. It became a feverish chase, as Robert sought to find Hunt while listening to the crooning of the very phantom he was searching so desperately for.

Almost at once, the tunnels stopped completely, and Robert found himself in a dilapidated washroom, with dusty washing machines strewn about randomly within the room. Robert tiptoed cautiously through the area, shining his flashlight into every crevice. Rats scurried about, their miniscule paws making an eerie clatter in the echoing room.

“Ooooo, Mr. Rabbit found the Washing Room. Good job, my little guy. This is the room where we wash away all the blood on our hands. It’s the room where we wash away our sins. Maybe you could wash away something too.” The voice sang, echoing across the walls. Robert ignored, inspecting the room from wall to wall. There were old clothes with a rank smell in the machines, crusted with a dark substance that Robert could only guess was blood.  There didn’t seem to be any threats in the room; however, there didn’t seem to be a way out either. Robert didn’t want to go back into the tunnel he came from, back to the endless darkness.

“Don’t worry, little Robert. You can find it. The Sinner’s trail. That’s where I go. But don’t corrupt yourself. Stooping to my level only makes it harder to kill you.” The voice cackled like a witch, and the room instantly became silent. The scurrying of the rats became louder and louder, until Robert could feel then running against his legs. He gasped, backing up against the sea of vermin, who all converged on a single machine. They were going through the open door, and disappearing into the void that lay inside it.

The Sinner’s Trail. Robert thought, as he steeled his nerves and followed the sea of rats. He peered into the machine, looking past the swarm of beady eyes and fur, to see a little light coming from far beyond the rim of the machine.

He looked at the rats questioningly. “He really wants me to go in there?” He asked, peering at the tunnel.

“Oooh congratulation little rabbit! You’re talking to animals! We’ll make a madman of you yet.” Hunt cried, voice blasting through the room.

Robert kept staring, urging himself to clamber into the machine. Finally, he steeled himself and fired a few shots to scare away the rats that were at the mouth of it. They scattered like a bunch of ants, allowing enough to room to enter the decrepit washer. Space was extremely tight, but Robert managed to, ever so slowly, struggle his way through the passage. He began to grow increasingly uncomfortable, both because of claustrophobia and because the rats were starting to trickle back in. Their vulgar, furry bodies scurried up and down Robert’s legs, making his flesh crawl. He had to stifle several shrieks through the course of his crawl.

Eventually though, he made it through the tunnel and found himself in a ramshackle kitchen, with old stoves and food racks strewn about. The funny thing, Robert thought, was that there was no food at all. The place had been picked clean, without even a stain to mark its presence.

But what use was the food to Samuel Hunt, a reported cannibal? He had plenty of food, what with the missing prisoners and all. To what use was the food put? He supposed that Hunt might have eaten it all, but that seemed unlikely. The Warden had told Robert that the bones had shown up only a few days after Hunt’s escape. What could the explanation be?

“That’s right, Mr. Thurman. Now you’re asking the right questions.”  The voice said gravely, every hint of insanity gone from the tones. The voice, Hunt’s voice, was now cold, calculating, and every bit stable. “What indeed. What could the explanation be for dehumanizing a man so? Or why would a normal, steady man pass himself off as a raging psychopath? Now you’re starting to act like the scientist you once were. That, Mr. Thurman, is truly worthy of praise.”

The voice was gone, leaving Robert standing in the kitchen in shock. What had just happened?

Abruptly, a clatter arose from outside the kitchen. Robert swung his rifle up and spun all around, looking for an intruder. Footsteps started coming towards him, echoing, just like every other sound in the dark cave. Robert’s hair stood on end as he waited and waited for the disturbance to show itself. The light of his flashlight cast shadows all throughout the space, distorting Robert’s perception and creating phantoms. Robert almost wanted to dive back into the tunnel to escape the ensuing monster. But he forced himself to stay still and wait. As he stood there, shining his flashlight at a horrendously cracked window, he could see a person walking cautiously to the door, holding his or her own flashlight aloft. Ever so slowly, they turned the handle of the door, and it creaked open. Robert tensed, ready for a skirmish, but immediately relaxed in shock when he saw who it was.

“William???” He shouted, eyes wide with surprise.

The British man was equally equipped, with exactly the same gear that Robert had received; however, there was one difference. William had a red bandage wrapped around his left bicep, and it was oozing blood. Bad. William’s face was pale, and he looked as if he’d seen a ghost.

“… Robert?” He asked, fear and awe creeping into his voice. “Is that really you?” Robert looked at him quizzically, cocking his head to the side.

“Of course it’s me, William. What happened to your arm?” He countered, striding over to the man to take a look. William stopped him, though, and sat down on the ground, putting his head between his knees. His body wracked with sobs, William looked into Robert’s eyes.

“We thought you were dead.” He said quietly, tears trickling down his cheeks. He suddenly lunged up, and wrapped his arms around Robert’s neck in a tight embrace. Robert staggered, but returned the gesture. Eventually, he pulled away.

“What do you mean?” He asked William, confused. “I haven’t been gone for that long. Maybe three hours at most.”

William looked at him like he was a ghost, and shrunk back towards the wall.

“Robert, you’ve been down here for two months. They found your bones at the mouth of the tunnel, just like all the others. Hunt had gotten to you.”  He squinted his eyes, shining his flashlight over Robert’s body, as if making sure he wasn’t just some apparition. Robert’s jaw dropped, and he quickly sat down as well.

“Two months??” He whispered, gasping for breath. “That’s impossible. I’ve been down here a couple hours at most! I still remember all of your confession of your condition to me, nearly word for word. I remember the look on your face during our discussion with the Warden, and Bai-“ He stopped, staring at William. “How is he?”

William smiled, putting his hand on Robert’s shoulder. “Bai’s all right. He recovered fully a couple of days after you left, and has been trying to help the administration make some sort of device, like radar or sonar, to locate something down here.” He frowned. ”But something has been blocking every signal that they try to send down here.  Any idea what?”

Robert shook his head.

“I do.” Hunt’s voice said, this time sounding like it had come from the room William entered from. Robert and William jumped up, leveling their weapons at the door. William signaled Robert, and together they opened the door to reveal a single man standing at the doorway.

He was immensely clean, as if he were going to a job interview. An interview in the depths of hell, maybe. His face was clean-shaven, without a trace of dirt or grime on it. He wore all black. Black shirt, tie, jacket, pants, and loafers.  He looked like a priest. He even smelled good, some sort of French cologne. Polo Blue, if Robert’s nose was correct. He had smelled it several time himself. Robert wondered where an insane man had managed to find a thirty year-old bottle of fragrance.

“Mr. Newcastle, I know exactly why you cannot find me in my lair.” He announced, gesturing to the walls around him. William started, looking at the man in confusion.

“How do you know my name, though?” He asked.

Hunt smiled. “The same way I know who you are, and what you have experienced. The same way I know Mr. Thurman’s pain, and what happened to his family. The same way that I know that you do not belong here. As good intentioned as you may be, you shall not be killing me today. I have far too much work to do. The Caeleste wait for no man, even one of their own. So, if you don’t mind, I will be sending you back. But by all means, try again. I may feel like letting you find us this time.” He walked out of the room and disappeared into the abyss, leaving Robert and William staring at each other in stunned silence.

“What was that all about?” William asked, lowering his rifle and running his fingers through his hair. He looked strangely agitated, and Robert could see him muttering something to himself. From his lips, Robert thought he was saying, “He knew my name. He knew my name,” over and over again. Robert looked around and gasped, dropping his flashlight in the process.

The kitchen was gone. They were standing in a room of black, metal walls with no door in sight. They both spun around in alarm, illuminating every inch of the area. No openings were present. No openings at all. Even when the sand started falling through.

As the men looked around, studying the strange cell, black dust began to fall from the “ceiling” onto their heads. As soon as it touched them, a buzzing began to sound in their ears. Robert and William both clasped at their ears, becoming dizzy and disoriented. The room began spinning faster and faster, and the buzz became faster and higher pitched. In just a few seconds, Robert and William were reduced to cowering on the floor with their hands over their ears, and with their eyes closed.

“Oh, and one more thing, boys. Don’t tell anyone what you have seen and experienced today. The Caeleste do not take kindly to revealing their methods. And a council of Gods is not a thing you wish to toy with.” Hunt’s voice resounded through the walls, and William and Robert finally screamed.

As all their fear and surprise and sadness left them in their animal cries, the pain immediately stopped. They felt as if they were tumbling down a slide, and fell on their stomachs to a hard floor, knocking the wind out of them. As they lay, trying to catch their breath, Robert perceived a change. They weren’t in army fatigues, and there was no gear attached to them. They were in their normal prison jumpsuits, and they were lying in their cell.

Bai was propped up in his bed, and his eyes rose from the large book he was reading. Great Expectations, it said. He grunted.

“Took you long enough,” He said, before turning his eyes to the tome again.

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[Cielle Merbien]

"Th3e voice was the..." Extra character in that "the".
"...could feel then running ..." Did you mean "them"?