Seattle Run

Chapter Sixteen

Everything was so… strange.

He felt like he was floating, and when he glanced down at himself he received two shocks: first, he was floating; and secondly, his dark-blue uniform seemed to have been replaced by a diffused, light-blue glow.

What was happening?

He stared overhead, bewildered to observe a dark, cylindrical tunnel nearby. The moment he saw the mysterious tunnel, and without consciously willing himself to move, he glided toward the tunnel opening.

As he did, a sensation of extreme serenity pervaded his being.

Was this a dream?

It must be a dream.

Then why did he feel like the experience was really happening?

He shot through the tunnel at a speed defying description. A dim light became visible ahead, at the far end of the tunnel. The closer he grew to the light, the more his serenity intensified. He slowed as he neared the tunnel mouth, and he coasted out into a verdant valley. Green and lush and tranquil, the valley was exquisitely beautiful. His attention was drawn to the center of the valley, to the most incredible edifice he’d ever seen, huge beyond belief, dazzling to the eyes. The atmosphere was permeated by a soft radiance.

Where was he?

A figure appeared, coming toward him from the direction of the edifice.

He studied the figure, certain he knew who it was.

The figure was that of a woman. Her black hair flowed to her shoulders, and she wore a white, shiny, gossamer gown, the gown billowing as she moved.

His mouth dropped open.

Could it be?

She came even closer. Her brown eyes were locked on his blue, her expression one of ineffable happiness.

“This can’t be!” he blurted out when he was a few feet away.

She halted, staring at him with love and joy illumining her visage. “I’m not a ghost, darling,” she said and laughed, and her laughter was like the peeling of melodious bells.

“I’m dreaming!” he stated. “I must be dreaming!”

She shook her head, her luxuriant hair swaying. “No, dearest. This is not a dream.”

He gazed at the valley and the edifice. “But I don’t understand. How…”

“You understand,” she assured him.

“Is this what happens, then?” he asked.

“For some,” she replied.

“I never thought I’d see you again,” he told her, his tone strained.

“The Elders taught you well,” she noted. “Your Family has a better understanding of the higher spheres than most.”

“I feel… at peace,” he said.

She smiled, her teeth glistening white. “All do who enter this realm.

Immature anxiety is prevalent on the nativity spheres of time and space, but not here.”

“But I also feel somewhat uncomfortable,” he conceded.

“Only because you are here prematurely,” she informed him.

“What?”

“Your time has not yet come,” she said. “You entered the portal before your allotted interval.”

“But you…” he began.

“I was sent to greet you,” she explained. “Your guardian alerted us to your coming.”

He shook his head, confused. “I really don’t understand.”

A bright light materialized in the distance.

“What is that?” he inquired.

“Your Guide,” she said.

The light grew brighter and brighter, attaining an indescribable intensity as it drew nearer.

Surprisingly, he was able to gaze at the light without flinching or squinting. Pulsations of warmth and love engulfed him.

“Is it worth it?”

He felt the words in his head; they were not spoken.

“Is it worth it?” the light repeated.

“I don’t understand,” he stated for the third time.

“Is your life worthy of this?”

He stared at the valley and the edifice. “All of this?”

“This is just the beginning. Mortal mind has not conceived of the wonders awaiting those who survive the planetary experience.”

“So I am dead,” he declared.

“No. You are dying. You, the real one, your soul, has ascended prematurely. You must return.”

“But I like it better here,” he said, feeling so content and loved.

“Everyone does. But your time has not yet come.”

“When will my time come?” he asked.

The light did not answer.

“What should I do?” he queried.

“Return to your nativity sphere. We will be reunited as you renew your life struggle.”

“Will I remember any of this?” he questioned.

“Perhaps.”

“I want to remember.”

The light moved away.

He gazed at the woman, his emotions surging, and he went to embrace her.

She backed off, extending her arms. “Do not attempt to touch me. I am not composed of the substance you remember.”

“Can I at least touch you?”

“No,” she told him. “You must go.”

He started toward the tunnel feeling immeasurably melancholy.

“Be of good cheer!” she advised.

“I will miss you,” he said.

“Remember, the faintest flicker of faith is the key,” she stated. “And you possess more than a flicker.”

“I will see you again?” he asked hopefully.

“That is up to you.”

He drifted to the edge of the tunnel and looked back. She was standing there, watching him, a supernal vision of loveliness. If only he could have held her in his arms! “I’ll be back!” he said. “I’ll be back, Alicia!”

She smiled benignly. “I know, Yama.”

His eyes opened, and for a moment he was completely disoriented, his mind a virtual blank. Then the waves of pain hit him, agony excruciating beyond belief, racking his lower back and his abdomen. He grit his teeth, taking his bearings, realizing he was in the ground-floor hallway of the brick structure. His back was to the wall and he was bent forward at an uncomfortable angle.

Where was Rikki?

And what was that noise?

Yama glanced down at the floor. Hours must have elapsed since he’d entered the building. There was more sunlight streaming in the front doors, bathing the hallway in golden rays. Thirstily lapping at a puddle of blood to his left was the source of the noise.

A rat.

A big, hairy rat with a twitching nose and beady eyes. Its tiny tongue was licking away at the crimson pool.

Yama saw his Wilkinson on the floor to his right. Using the gun would be too noisy. He eased his right hand to the survival knife on his hip.

Slowly, gingerly, he pulled the Razorback from its sheath.

Now came the hard part.

Could he do it, injured as he was?

There was only one way to find out.

Yama brought his right arm up and around, lunging to the left, ignoring the torment as he buried the Razorback in the rodent’s neck. The blade went clear through the neck and imbedded in the hardwood floor with a thunk.

The rat squealed and thrashed for several seconds, then went limp.

Yama jerked the Razorback from the rodent, wiped the blood off on his left pants leg, and slid the survival knife in the sheath.

What could have happened to Rikki-Tikki-Tavi?

Yama stared at the front doors, noting the sunlight pouring into the building through the spaces between the frames. Rikki would never have deserted him, which meant Rikki was in trouble. Or dead.

The word triggered a reaction.

Yama suddenly recalled his strange dream in vivid detail, his forehead creasing in bewilderment. Alicia! He’d seen Alicia! And she had seemed so real!

But that was impossible.

Alicia had died, killed by a Technic assault team, a special demolition squad sent to destroy the Home while Blade was in New York City.

Yes, Alicia had died.

But if the Elders were right, if their teachings were accurate, then there was life after death.

Somewhere.

Yama frowned. He’d listened to the Elders over the years, and he had read volumes on religion and philosophy. But he’d never really given the next phase of life much thought. Oh, he’d believed, but he’d never confronted the reality. Until now.

Rikki had been right, after all. What was it Rikki had said? “You have supreme fascination with the subject of death.”

True.

How true.

Death was an inevitable counterpoint to mortal life. Thousands, even millions, feared death, dreaded the act of dying. If his experience had been real, and not a dream, then all that fear, all that dread, all the anxiety humankind ever displayed toward death was unnecessary. Totally, stupidly, unnecessary.

Death was a portal to the other side.

Death was the technique of passage to the higher spheres.

A technique, and nothing more.

Death was not to be feared. Not to be dreaded. Death was to be accepted, and once accepted to be placed in its proper perspective.

Yama made a silent vow to himself. Never again would he become worried at the prospect of dying. Never again would the likelihood of his demise upset him.

Never again!

Never more!

Yama glanced at the arrow protruding from his abdomen. The Spirit had smiled on him! The point of the shaft was not a broadhead, which would have torn his insides to shreds. The point was an ordinary target tip, small and tapered to a neat point. The arrow could be extracted without breaking the shaft! He reached behind him with his left hand and gripped the arrow near the fletching.

It had to be done.

Girding himself, tightening his stomach and arm muscles, he slowly pulled on the arrow. The shaft resisted his effort for a second, then began to slid outward with a slurping sound.

The sensation was sickening.

Yama grinned when the shaft was completely out. He brought the arrow around in front of him and studied the bloody shaft and feathers.

Close.

So close.

He tossed the arrow aside and tried to rise, but vertigo overwhelmed him. Dizzy, he sighed and propped his back against the wall. He’d lost a lot of blood. If he pushed himself, he could well succumb because of the blood loss alone. He could… die?

Oh, really?

His dream, if such it was, had indicated otherwise. “Your time has not yet come,” Alicia had said. So was he going to believe the woman he loved, or go by the large pools of blood on the floor?

Yama laughed.

Mere minutes ago he had made a vow never to worry about the prospect of dying again. And what was he doing?

He put both palms on the slippery floor and shoved, rising to a squatting posture.

No problem.

Yama lifted the Wilkinson in his right hand, then used the stock on the floor as a brace while he straightened to his full height. The dizziness disappeared. He bent over, examining the exit wound in his abdomen. The target tip had perforated the skin in an even circle, and the blood flow had ceased.

But what about infection?

Yama shook his head, bemused by his second lapse. He chuckled and headed for the front doors while inserting a fresh clip into the Carbine’s magazine. Blinking in the bright light, he went outside.

Rikki was nowhere in sight.

Nor were Blade and Hickok.

Yama looked to his right. Far down the street there were six or seven bodies. Swarming over the corpses were scores of hungry rats.

Which way should he go?

Yama walked down the steps to the street. Seattle was a huge city, or had been. He could search for weeks, wandering at random, and never find his fellow Warriors. If Rikki, Blade, and Hickok had been captured, he didn’t have the slightest idea where their captors might be based.

The solution was simple.

Yama proceeded to the south, bypassing the feeding rats, until, four blocks later, he found exactly what he needed.

An ancient store, the faded lettering on its sign still legible. OFFICE SUPPLIES. The front window was busted and the door was off its hinges.

Yama entered the store, searching for the materials he required. Dust covered everything. Debris dotted the floor. Grimy computers and typewriters lined shelves on the walls. He crossed to one of the computers and ran his left index finger over its display screen. The dust was half an inch thick.

Where was what he needed?

Yama moved to the rear of the store. There, in a corner of the store, he found the items he wanted. Boxes of paper. Reams and reams and reams.

Time to set the bait.

Now where were his matches?