Chapter 66
The Fire Temple...
Nick grabbed Derek's arm and pulled him around, snatching the precept's attention away from the enticing flames. "Exploring can wait," said the SEAL. "Come on.... We've got to find a place to rest up, before we screw up big time."
"Too right!... We're all buggered," Ginge agreed, as he glanced round. "At least we got no problems with the fuckin' light.... It's like bloody Blackpool in 'ere."
Nick cast a questioning glance in the Brit's direction. "Blackpool?" he asked absently, while he continued to scan along diamond-like walls.
"You've never been to Blackpool?... Squid, you ain't fuckin' lived.... Booze, birds, and burgers!" Ginge grinned a gap-toothed grin and allowed his memories to flow forth. "Best seaside town there is.... We got lights.... The posh types calls 'em 'illuminations'... fuckin' good rides.... You know... the 'Big Dipper'... the 'Wall of Death'... that sorta thing.... And the fuckin' tower... better than the friggin' Eiffel Tower any day."
"Think Coney Island... but English," Derek explained. "I remember chips... and donkeys...and a cold, cold wind."
"Too right, Dutch!... Chips with everything." Ginge sighed at a distant memory. "Fuckin' chips... if only...."
"Whatever," Nick interrupted the reminiscences. "Let's set up camp.... We all need the rest... Over there...." He indicated with a nod of his head. "There's an archway.... Let's check it out... maybe it'll be cooler."
Derek and Ginge followed the SEAL's lead and found a small, inner chamber, ideal for their camp. "At least the bleedin' floor keeps still," Ginge announced as he dumped his gear in a heap. "But it's still bloody hot as 'ell," he said, swiping his sleeve across his brow. "Least it's not as bloody bright." As he stooped to unroll his sleeping bag and dig out the most important items... the kettle and the camp stove... he spotted something long and dark in a corner... and reached for it. "Hey!... I found a flamin' torch.... A real one that you set on fire...."
The precept had switched off, mentally, from the Brit's ramblings and was content to let Ginge set up camp. He caught Nick's eye and the SEAL joined him. "This chamber is much bigger than I thought," he said, pulling the map from the leg pocket of his pants. "There's no indication of another exit... and somewhere that older route that Marina chose not to take must end up here too."
Nick nodded as they both examined the grubby page. "Nothing about this place was drawn in proportion.... We need to check the perimeter.... That's our arch...." the younger man said, stabbing at the diagram. "Looks like there could be another on the opposite side." Both men peered towards the far wall, but were defeated by the brilliance of the flames.
From the corner of his eye, Derek saw the SAS man walking, heavy-footed, towards the outer, burning ring. Ginge tightly gripped the unlit torch, held stretched out before him. The precept froze. Nick followed his gaze. Both men saw the pattern of the flames change. The fiery fingers began to undulate, rhythmically... hypnotically... beckoning. Their sound changed as well... from a dull roar to a lyrical whisper. The Brit seemed pulled by the fire.
An instant later, tendrils of flame snaked along the floor towards the soldier's ankles.
"Ginge!" Nick yelled. The SEAL, with Derek close on his heels, sprinted towards the redhead.
Ginge turned reluctantly at the sound of his name. His face was blank, devoid of emotion or question. They knew that he saw them, but did he recognize them? He turned back towards the flames and continued his slow walk forward.
Beneath Derek and Nick, the floor seemed to buck upwards... sending them skidding downhill... towards the fire. The SEAL used the additional momentum and threw himself at the Brit. Both soldiers rolled sideways, away from the flames. A wail of frustration filled the cavern, reverberated from the walls. Then, there was silence.
"What the fuck?" Ginge snapped, once more himself.
Derek reached the pair and pulled them to their feet. They all stared at the flames... and could see something... inside the colors... inside the heat... something living... something not human.
"For Chrissake!" Ginge squitted at the brightness, trying to see what he had seen only an instant before, but the flames were now hiding their inhabitants. "What the fuck's that?... That fire... it tried to get me!"
"I think we've found our virus, gentlemen," Derek quietly replied. "Let's step back... as far as we can."
"Too fuckin' right," Ginge agreed.
Nick patrolled around the outer edge of the flames, opposite from where they had entered. He hugged the wall... kept the feel of solid, but hot, stone on his back. His foot bumped something that rattled, and he looked down. "Over here!" he called, poking at a heavy, metal box with his toe.
"I'll go," Derek told the SAS man as he escorted the young soldier back to their niche. "You finish setting up camp... as deep inside the nook as you can. We're all too tired to think straight." The precept watched Ginge return to the arch, only then did he head towards the SEAL... chastising himself.... He should have kept a closer eye on Ginge. He might be SAS... an expert at survival and clandestine war... but he was out of his depth in here.... This was a different sort of war... a different battleground with different rules. "Godverdomme!" Derek swore.... The Brit should have been watched.... His own carelessness and exhaustion had nearly cost another life.
* * *
A moment later, the precept squatted down to examine the metal container. With his knife, he carefully swung the lid open. It was empty, but the lining clearly showed where glass vials had been stored.
"Leave it for now," he instructed, as he accepted his friend's outstretched hand, helping him onto his feet. "We'll search properly after some food... and sleep." He glanced at the calendar on his watch. "This is the end of the third day.... Going back... knowing the hazards and the route... will make for a quicker return," he reasoned aloud. "We told Yusuf... seven to ten days... so, if necessary, we have three to four days to figure this out and do something.... How's our water supply?" he asked. "With this heat, we'll be needing a lot."
"We can make it, if we have to... but we'll find some," Nick assured him. "I can't believe they'd build this place and not have a source somewhere nearby.... Besides... something must be providing all that heated water in the pipeline."
"If whoever built this place needed water," Derek mused. "Come on... food, then sleep... then we worry," he said.
Later...
Searching for comfort in the enveloping heat, Derek lay on his sleeping bag, stripped to his underwear, sweating profusely. He had been afraid that the lure of the flames might prove difficult for Ginge... or even Nick... to resist, so he had stationed himself across the entrance. To shut out the light, he rested with his arm thrown over his eyes and his back turned to the flames.
After the episode with the Brit, the precept had realized the strength of the flames' beckoning call. He had felt it himself, when they had first entered the temple, but he'd been totally oblivious and had not even remembered it, until he had seen Ginge experience the same. Nick had saved them both. Now that he was alert to the power of their Siren's song, he knew how to resist.
Finally, he slipped into a fretful, dream-filled sleep. He was back home... on Angel Island. In the distance, angry waves pounded the cliffs. The House loomed above.... A driving rain beat on its leaded windows.... Dark, peaked gables rose against a black hillside.... He could see the yellow light from the library, yet he didn't know how to get there. Everywhere he turned he was blocked by water.... Curtains of rain blinded him... rain that ran in rivulets, then grew to streams, then rivers. It was cold. He needed shelter.... He had to get to the House, but he was lost... on his own island! He clawed through the tangle of underbrush, was stabbed by thorns, slipped in mud... only to be blocked by another raging flood. He opened his mouth to scream for help.... "Nick! I'm lost!... Help!... I can't see!"
The rain suffocated him. His lungs inhaled water, choking him. A flood swept over him... hurling him down Angel Island's steep slopes... over the cliff... into the raging sea. He was drowning. The water was cold... so cold.... He felt soft, sticky tendrils tickle his hand... then grasp at his clothes and hair. He fought to swim, but which way was up?... They dragged him down. He opened his eyes and saw spectral faces as they swept by, then vanished into the blackness. It was the dead... so many dead.... Julia with her luxuriant, black hair... made white and wispy... her pretty cheeks... gone cadaverous. Her skeletal hand snatched at his and was gone... to be replaced by his father's accusing face. "Why didn't you save me, son?... Why?... You 'saw'." Face after face came.... There was Willem and Naomi... people he didn't know. So many dead.... All those who had died because of him. They filled the water, floated with him, grasped him, bumped him, leered at him in silent accusation. They stretched dead limbs to grab at him and pull him down... deeper into the watery depths.
Derek had dreamed of this silent legion so many times... but now their ranks had grown.... Hasmit and Masruq... the little girl at Ma'azar. Their dead eyes joined those that condemned him. They wanted vengeance... wanted him to join them in death. He had traded their lives... brown, Moslem, tribal lives... for the lives of Nick and Ginge... his friends... white, Western lives. They closed on him, pressing him, dragging him to Hell.
"No!..." he cried. "Please, leave me alone... I'm sorry... so sorry...."
Flames!... Burning heat.... Was he in Hell?... He was alone.... The others had gone.... Each had evaporated into a wisp of steam.
Hot... so hot.... The heat wrapped itself around him, but there was no pain... no scorched, blackened skin. The flames brought comfort... stroked him... caressed him.... His body began to respond.... He sighed.... It had been so long.... His body welcomed the return of sensation.... He wanted to be touched... wanted to feel alive... to be a man again.
"No!" Derek sat up, panting heavily. He swept his damp hair off his brow and glanced around. His friends slept peacefully. He pushed the dream aside, sighed deeply, and reached for his water bottle. The water was hot, but he drank, then sank back onto the sleeping bag once more.
What the hell was that about, he wondered. More silly dreams... or premonitions... or a confusion of both. Had he once more felt the lure of the flames? "Forget it," he admonished himself, as he once more sought sleep. "Set your mind against it.... Think of something else.... The future and the past will take care of themselves."
The Next Morning...
Whatever time it really was, to the three men it was morning. They woke, prepared for the day, but none looked refreshed, as though they'd had a good night's sleep. Each kept their dreams to themselves.
"Those things...," Ginge finally said, interrupting the silence of their breakfast. He nodded his head towards the rings of fire, but averted his eyes. "Are they the fuckin' demons you guys deal with?"
"They're not the usual slime ball," Nick muttered. He, too, found his eyes drawn to the flames, but he looked over at the Brit instead.
"I'm not entirely sure what they are," Derek admitted. "They could be Marina's original creation... or a mutation that's grown and evolved in the flame... waiting for a way out. They must have thought that the things could be destroyed in the fire, and just threw the vials in... but evidently they thrived instead." The precept paused for a bite of rice. "Which means," he continued, "that fire isn't an option."
They continued to eat, while each pondered those dismal thoughts.
"OK...," Nick said, having contemplated enough. He finished the last of his tea, set his cup aside, and climbed to his feet. "Let's go see what we've got."
"Yes," Derek agreed with a weary sigh. He accepted the younger man's helping hand, rose, stretched, and cricked his aching neck. You and Ginge take the outer perimeter.... Keep close to the walls.... Check for any crevices... any potential exit... any water or even steam... any place where another box or vials could be concealed.... I'll take the area closer to the flames."
"You got no fuckin' argument from me," Ginge readily agreed, "but stay well back, Dutch.... They're evil buggers... I heard 'em... somehow... in me 'ead... and...." His words died away. "Well... it was fuckin' 'orrible... and yet I wanted it."
"Be careful, Boss," Nick added his own warning, certain it would be ignored. Careful and Derek Rayne in the same breath?... "Nah!" he murmured under his breath.
Derek hunkered down in front of the flames at, what he hoped, was a safe distance. The beings... Ginge's "fuckin' demons" or whatever they were... lay hidden within the flames, but he felt their presence. They had "communicated" with the corporal. "Interesting...," he muttered.
He slowly stretched his hand towards the heat and watched as the colors of the flame increased in intensity and brilliance. He remembered the caress of the fire in his dream and left his hand outstretched.
"Derek!... Quit foolin' around." Nick hurried towards the older man. "Come see what we found." He dragged the precept away from the flames towards a shallow alcove. A desiccated corpse lay sprawled on the floor, while another sat beside it. In a macabre, mocking posture, its hand rested gently on the other's shoulder. A revolver lay between the two bodies.
"Marina...." Derek's voice was barely audible as he knelt beside the remains. He tentatively reached towards the claw-like hand and touched the wedding band that hung loose from a shrunken finger. Reluctantly, he looked into the shriveled face. The parchment skin stretched tightly across the skull. With a gentle touch, he brushed aside the black hair that bore a streak of white. It was easy to see the cause of death.... A bullet hole pierced her temple. The precept looked at the other corpse. It too bore a bullet wound.
"Looks like one of 'em killed the other... then shot themselves," Nick reasoned.
Derek nodded sadly. He laid his palm over the withered hand and gently closed his own living flesh around the dead. He shut his eyes, searched... sent his mind outward.
Nick knelt beside him, studied his face, searched for signs of distress or pain, ready to break the contact, if necessary.
"Is he OK?" Ginge's voice was hushed, as he, too, knelt.
"Think so," Nick whispered back. "I hate it when he does this.... It creeps me out every time.... You never know who's gonna show up!"
"Vanya... moy muzh...." The precept spoke quietly. His voice was soft, with a feminine lilt. "We've failed... I was certain the flames would work... would destroy it.... Instead, they've killed us... and the evil lives on... waiting.... Sooner or later someone will come... and release it.... Dear God... forgive me... forgive us.... Please send someone... please... someone who knows...."
For long seconds, Derek stared forward, sightless, then the light returned to his eyes and he released the shriveled hand. He glanced into the concerned faces and managed a weak smile.
"They're still here... Marina and her Colonel.... They failed to destroy the
virus." His voice had returned to normal. "They underestimated it... and
overestimated the powers of this fire.... If we succeed, they'll be free....
We've got to succeed.... If this were to get loose...." He paused. The silence
lengthened. At last, he repeated, "We must succeed."
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