Beyond Perdition, page 27
It took a few seconds to establish that the man really was there and not another figment of Logan’s drug-induced imaginings. A strike with butt of the firearm quickly confirmed the man’s existence. A sharp jolt of lightening pain struck through Logan’s jaw emanating quickly through his cheek and the lower parts of his right orbital bone. He had felt this pain before back when balance was a foreign concept, equilibrium a distant stranger. When, in days of blissful inebriation, devoid of decorum, he was continually greeted by the pavement or the gutter, face planting the concrete. This time there was no numbing of the pain, no alcoholic anaesthesia. The pain was real. His eyes watered. A sickening feeling lurched up from his stomach forcing him to disperse the contents of his gut onto the tracks.
When he finally stood, having cleared the teary film from his eyes, the armed individual was joined by two other men, faces concealed by black balaclavas, modified M16’s slung over their shoulders.
‘Found him on his own, no tools, nothing.’
‘Trying to escape were ya? Take him to the east tunnel. Join him to the work crew there and double the quota. Son, you chose the wrong day to mess with me.’
Logan tried to respond but the pain was so intense, he found it impossible to speak. He was quickly dragged by two of the guards down through several dirt tunnels. A string of exposed bulbs trailed through the passage revealing bare-chested individuals working on the quarry. Some were in heavy shackles, only those moving between dirt piles with the wheel burrows or distributing the canteens and rice bowls were unfettered. Their faces, morose, streaked in dirt, like improvised underground camouflage. Even though they were hard at work, Logan could feel their eyes on him, staring intently at the new addition to their workforce.
‘Take the pickaxe. I don’t know what they had you doing before but this is just a simple tunnel extension. Remove the offending boulders, load them on the carriers and repeat the process till day’s out, I’ll be back to check on your progress, oh yeah, I almost forgot.’ The guard lifted a pile of rusted chain from the ground, trailing ten meters from another worker.
‘Mark my words.’
The guard located the clasp and secured it roughly around Logan’s right ankle.
‘Back to work...’
From this position, it was almost impossible to see the other chained individuals. Their hammer and axe blows rang out in a percussion riff, letting up only when loosed boulders came away and fell into awaiting containers. Logan gripped the axe handle, a million and one thoughts swimming through his mind. Where was he? Who did the guards work for? And how the hell was he going to get out of this?’
CHAPTER 22
A SLAVE TO PROGRESS
1
The first few strokes had been a shock to the system. A painful recoil effect travelled from the wall through the axe head and into his stiffened muscles, jarring the biceps and triceps. Eventually, Logan got a rhythm going, inadvertently syncing it with the neighbouring hammer blows. The bulb above his head was buzzing loudly, threatening to go out at any moment. A cluster of moths had gathered by the protesting light, taking turns to land and alight from the heated glass. Coupled with the sounds of work, the moths were the only constant as they fed their insatiable curiosity. Logan had mentally tallied at least two thousand blows and yet still the stubborn boulder in front of him was refusing to budge. The pain in his face had eased off replaced by a dull ache in his arms and shoulders. He could feel his strikes weakening as the reverberations tore through his body.
About an hour in, someone had come by with a flask but had permitted just two short sips before they moved on down the line. Logan had lost ten times as much from the perspiration. His mouth reacted little to the lukewarm water, seeing it more like a tease than any real sustenance. Everything was a tease. The shackles allowed a few steps to be taken in either direction giving the short-lived illusion of freedom before the iron tore into the ankle bone.
The boulder, though inanimate stood defiantly, refusing to be loosed from its soil encasing it. The overhead bulb blinked on and off taunting the frenzied moths creating a sequence of dark shadows and light beams across the tunnel. It was this black, this torrid darkness that engulfed his every being like some sort of palpable despair or perceptible depression.
The portly guard, at last, returned, his backup nowhere to be seen. He inspected the walls, the mounds of dirt by Logan’s feet, the streaky bandanna of sweat across his forehead.
‘I was expecting a lot more, you’ve barely made a dent, this ain’t a bloody holiday camp. What you been doing?’
The question was rhetorical for as soon as Logan opened his mouth to reply he was met with the unwelcoming butt of the semi-automatic exactly in the same area it had struck just hours previous.
This second blow knocked Logan unconscious. He had no recollection of being unshackled and transported to his current location.
He awoke drearily to the sound of coughing. Tapered darkness enveloped the surroundings, illuminated slightly by three votive candles, the wicks of which had almost burned away completely.
‘Fucking dust. Doesn’t matter what I do, this place is always covered in it. Oh, you’re awake, grab a rag will ya and help clean this place up.’
‘Where am I?’
‘Ha’ said the individual moving forward into the flickering candlelight. ‘They hit you proper hard huh? You really don’t know where you are? God, I hate to be the one to break it to ya.’
Logan rubbed his cheek and winced as his fingers came away with blood. Dizziness returned as if his head were slowly rising off his neck and floating skywards like a helium balloon. At that moment, the man’s voice was lost to a melee of discordant sounds erupting within his ear canals.
‘What is this place?’
The figure knelt beside Logan, letting the dancing candlelight swarm over the contours of his face. He wore a greying beard, not silver-flecked and suave but uneven and unkempt. The grey areas did not appear distinguished just untended like crabgrass in an abandoned garden. His eyes had a strange squint to them, upturned crescent moons with lids pulled down by fatigue. He might have been in his fifties but his face was a topographical map of his life, the transitioning years marked by deep-set wrinkles. Those same creases deepened and flattened with the movement of his mouth.
‘You’re in the container, well one of them anyway. It’s where she puts us between shifts. Fuck me, you really are in a bad way aren’t ya? Still, I remember my first day, I was beaten so bad I didn’t know my name. Listen you can’t go dying on me here, my last cellmate did that and they kept his body here for four days, stunk the whole place out. You ever smelt a dead man? it’s like rotten meat, fish and bad farts. How‘re you feeling? I mean other than that unsightly gash on your face?’
Logan eased himself to his feet and using the limited light peered around the cramped confines. He noticed two mattresses in the centre, what appeared to be a toilet next to a sink, and a single table with a chess set resting between two glasses of water.
‘I still don’t understand, you said cellmate, does this mean we’re prisoners?’ The question seemed redundant and yet at the same time necessary.
‘Prisoners in Ariel’s employment yes, but it beats what people are dealing with on the surface, I can tell you that now. No, I’d rather serve out my days working on the tunnels than go out there.’
‘Is that the same Ariel that people worship down here?’
The man smiled, lengthening the creases around his cheeks.
‘You’re either playing dumb and they put you in here to rat me out or... anyway don’t matter, I got nothing to hide. We don’t all praise her, as a matter of fact that’s why most of us are here. We see no reason to pledge allegiance to her. I’ve seen her type, pop up here and there claiming to have all the answers. Nothing but false prophets, but of course that talk’s blasphemous, dissenter talk, hence why me and whole bunch of my men are on work duty. Should probably introduce myself seen as you’re gonna be my bunkie for the foreseeable future. I’m Helix, captain of the Crimson Skulls, Blue field chapter.’
‘I’m Logan.’
‘Logan, as in ‘Logan’s run’. Ha, well as a Crimson Skull captain I’m obligated to ask if you’ve heard of us. We were a pretty big deal back in the day, biggest motorcycle group on the western seaboard or what’s left of it.’
‘Can’t say I have.’
Helix looked slightly perturbed, new frown lines appearing on his brow.
‘No matter’, he drew up the sleeve of his jumpsuit to reveal a large red skull wrapped by the intricately patterned body of a python.
‘The Blue Field Chapter is mostly down here in the containers, extending the subway system for Ariel’s steam fortress. She got plans to extend the rails all-round the states and she’s got a growing workforce to complete the task. Anyone who defies her orders is either shot or worse.
‘What’s worse than being shot?’
Helix went silent, his eyes staring into the middle distance.
‘You’ve obviously never met Ariel in person have ya? She’s, well, how can I put this? She isn’t one of us. She has certain powers, certain demonic powers I would say. If you’re hauled in front of her, you’d better pray she’s feeling merciful...there were sixteen of us, me and my men, caught and rounded up on a single day over a year ago, now there’s twelve. Since then we’ve been digging these damn tunnels and sleeping in these blasted containers. But you stick with me Logan and I’ll show you how to survive as best you can. Welcome my friend to Hell on Earth.’
Helix offered his hand, his nails long and streaked with tunnel dirt.
Logan took it, a limp handshake at first, then transforming it in time to a sturdy shake.
‘Has anyone ever tried to escape?’
‘To what? I told ya it’s worse out there. Anyway, it’s near impossible to get out of here.’
‘Near impossible, so it’s doable?’
‘I gotta leave a degree of chance, people have escaped Devil’s Island and Alcatraz in the past so never say never.’
Logan sat on one of the mattresses, instantly feeling the damp material through his trousers. He rubbed the welts on his ankles as he spoke.
‘I got separated, I mean when I came underground. I wasn’t alone.’
‘What happened?’
‘In two words, Devil Dust.’
Helix smiled. ‘That shit’s cut with all sorts down here, you gotta death wish or something? Listen if you’re still jonesing a hit, one of my men is a certified chemist, if you know what I mean. He’s worked out that some of the cleaning chemicals they supply us when mixed in the right quantities can give you quite the buzz.’
‘No offence, I’m sure it’s good stuff but I don’t plan on sticking around long.’
‘Heard that one before. Talk like that will get ya in the choky, just bide your time. You work hard enough and she’ll promote you to a cushy desk job or something. She’s a sucker for keeping records,
She might even have you up on her fortress doing the books.’
Logan shook his head.
‘I can’t believe this, it wasn’t meant to be like this, it wasn’t...’
‘Face it, she sees you as a defector, maybe a Triple Sixer sympathiser and here you are, no use dwelling on it.’
Logan tried lying stretched out, staring at the corrugated steel ceiling.
‘You don’t understand. Me and the people I was with, we were given a mission, a mission from God.’
‘Got myself a damn Bible basher have I? I should make something clear from the word go, I believe in God as much as I believe Ariel is the destined ruler of the World. I don’t subscribe to any of that God nonsense, I’ve seen too much to believe in him.’
‘I wasn’t a believer either but then I was in this crash and the next moment I’m waking up in a cryogenics lab run by this Nephilim who says I’m part of a Trinity born to save the world from the demonic takeover at the End times.’
‘Sounds to me like you’re still high on that Devil Dust. I’ll have my man make you a batch of something good, ease the comedown. Meanwhile, why don’t I make us some hooch, a bit of potato wine, huh? Just need a pair of trousers, a bin bag and a sachet of sugar. Won’t be ready for a while but I got ways of speeding up the cooking process, what ya say?’
‘Can’t do any harm, why not? You don’t mind if I get my head down? Today really took it out of me.’
‘You’ll get used to it and if you don’t, well, the chemist can always brew you a potion to get to the other side.’
Helix’s smile was disconcerting, his offer of euthanasia even more so if only he knew the truth.
During the night, Logan lay awake, the room spinning, swerving, tilting and whirring. Beyond the steel walls, he could still hear hammers thudding in sync against the soil walls.
‘Where are you, Karen?’ He muttered, ‘it’s like I never left the Barrens of Hell.’
Helix was awake come morning, completing a set of fifty press-ups before rinsing off at the sink.
‘They’ll be down soon Logan, better get yourself freshened up, there ain’t nothing worse than starting a shift already feeling clammy.’
Logan sat up, his joints clicking. His head pounding, his muscles aching. How the hell do you do this day in and day out?’
‘I’ve told you: the alternative, anyway your body adapts. I used to wake up unable to move, now I’m training, doing yoga, you name it. Give it a week, maybe two, you’ll see what I mean.’
Logan stood up with difficulty and headed to the sink. Splashing his face, he attempted to wake himself, to rouse himself from the tethers of lethargy. For a moment it worked, then the familiar pull of his eyelids ushered in a second hard-hitting round of fatigue. He caught his dishevelled appearance in the reflective steel of the sink and grimaced. Less than twelve hours working on the tunnel and he already looked like an emaciated prisoner of war.
A single loud knock shook him from his lamentations. He peered through the semi-gloom, the failing bulb birthing more shadows than light. The container door shuddered open, and there stood yesterday’s imposing and portly figure clad in a Kevlar vest and sporting his semi-automatic as if it were his child cradled in his arms.
‘Helix you’re on tunnel 51, you, I want you working on one of the southern auxiliary tunnels, follow me.’
As Logan followed the guard, he took time to survey his environ. His heavy eyes were pulsing as a result of the residual effects of the Devil Dust but if he squinted, really squinted, he could discern the endless chain gangs threading through the underground network. Further guards were posted at various points, those not carrying a gun were noting things on clipboards or reprimanding anyone caught slacking.
‘Right, same as yesterday, chain up, use the pickaxe, get through the harder rock, then use the shovel to get rid of all the under soil. I expect to see some real progress when I return, you understand me boy?’
Logan nodded.
‘What’s that?’
‘Yes, yes sir, I understand.’
‘That’s better, men shackle this one and make sure he don’t slack off or I’ll cut all your rations in half.’
2
His hand already stung from the raised callouses, he painfully gripped the pickaxe handle before aiming it towards a rough granite section of the wall. It made little impact on the stone, like felling a tree with a feather. Already his head was swathed in sweat, his heart was racing. It was noticeably harder to breathe in this section of the tunnel as dust spread unhindered from the crags and crevices on the walls and ground.
The journey here had taken approximately four minutes, give or take a few seconds. They had taken several detours in tunnels branching off east and west, a few angling upwards. He didn’t know how far down he was positioned, but reason would say that the further up he travelled the nearer he would be to the outside. Two of the slopping passages were unmanned and one of them was considerably darker due to a lack of bulbs.
The guard kept a close tab on him when escorting him to his work station so there would be no chance of veering off down one of these tunnels. The only time he was essentially unsupervised was when work was in full swing and the tunnel dust hid him from view.
The shackles were old and rusted, a couple of strikes of the pickaxe would break them. There was only one problem with this plan: the tunnel could be a dead-end, forcing him to retrace his steps, perhaps alerting the guards or other workers who were happy to snitch for increased rations. He’d have to chance it; maybe Helix knew more about the tunnel layouts seen as he’d been working down here so long, but could he be trusted? That was yet to see. Perhaps a test of his loyalty was in order before sharing this information, but what?
Logan had continued hammering whilst conceiving this crude plan and as he stared up once again at the granite, he was delighted to see had made a sizeable dent, progress, to show that sadistic, draconian guard on his return.
Logan must have been making some subconscious mental calculation for he estimated the guard took three and half hours to return. By then, the dent was looking more pronounced and a pile of dirt and granite was stacked high on the ground.
‘Well fuck me, looks like you’ve finally got the swing of it.’ The guard chuckled at his own remark, silencing the surrounding hammer blows and bringing all eyes on Logan.
‘You’re in luck men. Top-notch grub for all of ya. I mean if you can call processed meat and rehydrated noodles top-notch.’ Again he laughed mercilessly, sadistically. ‘Come on you little tyke back to your container, I never thought it possible but you’ve met the quota, I’ll see to it, it’s doubled tomorrow.’
Helix was sat on one of the mattresses, his overalls matted in dirt and what appeared to be grease. He was stirring the contents of a glass with the handle of a toothbrush.
‘Couldn’t get the sugar to settle. It’s gonna be bloody bitter if it ain’t mixed right.’
Logan eyed the orange concoction. It resembled a glass of vodka and orange neat and yet as it was gently whisked it bubbled like stomach acid digesting its quarry.
