The Rule of Three

— 18 —

The primal screech echoed through the warm damp air, reverberating off the walls and jolting Jack from his fitful sleep. He snapped his eyes open and looked left and right, heart hammering. Trying to calm himself, he forced his breathing to slow. Listening for the tell-tale popping sounds the creatures made, Jack took note of his surroundings.

He was in a corridor, its floors and walls made of concrete. Twisting his head as far he could, it seemed to go on forever in both directions. A constant humming buzzed in his ears, like someone had left an engine running. Surrounding him, other people were glued to the walls in the same way he was, behind a white cocoon or some such thing. No one moved, and given the stench of death, some appeared to be long dead. It reminded Jack of a science fiction film he had seen in his youth; the title escaped him. He remembered the victims being used as incubators.

Is that what I am? An incubator?

His fevered mind struggled to grasp what he was seeing. He had no idea how long he’d been down here. His throbbing head and intense hunger told him it was several days, at least.

Jack could feel the tube of his water bladder resting on his left shoulder. Fleeting memories of the last few days returned, flashing in his mind’s eye.

Struggling against his bonds; rubbing his wrist raw; water so tantalizingly close. Screeching. Clacking. Cutting. Thud…!

With all his remaining strength, he pushed his butt against the wall, relieving some of the pressure on his right arm, which was twisted uncomfortably so the back of his hand touched the concrete wall, the membrane holding it fast. This time, he managed to wrench his left arm free. He grabbed the water valve and, twisting it towards his mouth, sucked on the tube, releasing the tepid but wonderful water into his mouth. Jack could feel it as it ran all the way down to his rumbling stomach. Gulping a few mouthfuls, he stopped himself from drinking too much. Making himself sick would attract his captors.

His mind began to clear. Pushing his left arm back under the membrane, he felt along the waist belt of his hiking pack for the little pouch. Finding it, he unzipped it. Slowly, fearful of alerting the monsters, he removed one of his protein bars. Rabidly he tore off the wrapper. Forgetting about the creatures, he fed his hunger. To survive, he had to eat.

With his appetite sated and his thirst quenched, Jack took stock of his situation.

What is it that guy always said? There’s always a way out?

All right. I’m stuck to a wall. In some horror-filled nightmare. Surrounded by dead or dying people. Creatures from the seventh circle of hell want to eat me.

Great. Just great.

Typical.

Jack tore at the membrane holding his right arm fast against the wall, stopping every few seconds to listen. Hell, but the stuff was tough. Again and again he pulled on it. It was like trying to tear a plastic shopping bag at the handles: it stretched but refused to break. With a final tug, he managed to free his right arm.

The stench of rotten fruit wafted down the corridor, alerting him to creatures approaching. Clenching all his muscles tight, he rammed his arms back into position and went stiff as a board.

They scurried along the corridor, their joints popping as they moved. Jack risked a peek through his semi-closed eyelids as his heart pounded harder against his chest. Two of the beasts had stopped a few metres away and were sniffing the human stuck to the wall in front of them. Jack couldn’t help but look. Scared as he was at being discovered, his natural curiosity begged him to observe these strange creatures.

Perhaps if I learn their routines, I can find a weakness.

One of the creatures used its claw-like appendages to quickly saw through a membrane, and as he watched, a blonde-haired woman dropped to the floor with a thud. Jack flinched at the sound of her body hitting the concrete. The other monster bent down. Its tongue flicked out and licked the woman’s face. The monster scooped her up with ease and flung her over its shoulder. It made a weird clicking sound to the other beast before the pair turned and scurried away.

Jack was about to look away when a shadow to one side caught his attention.

A short, overweight man with a red trucker’s cap loomed into the light. He scratched his butt and looked over towards Jack. He spat on the floor next to a red-haired woman and reached up and groped her breasts.

“Pity. This one’s pretty,” Trucker-cap said, his voice bouncing off the walls.

He kissed the woman and shuffled off after the creatures.

A man was walking around in this place of horrors, unscathed?

Jack’s foggy mind struggled to comprehend it. He inhaled to call out to him for help, but some innate sense stopped him. He just stared as the man walked away down the corridor. The whole thing felt wrong to Jack. Very, very wrong. He wanted answers. Needed answers.

Where am I?

How long have I been here?

What is this place?

Why is that creep walking around when the rest of us are stuck to the walls?

With renewed determination, Jack redoubled his efforts to get free. He wanted to see Dee again. To see those beautiful, smiling eyes. To feel her reassuring touch. He needed her. When Dee was around, everything seemed right.

He wondered what was happening to her. She must surely be really worried about him by now.

With both arms now free, he started working on liberating his legs. Pulling, tearing, twisting. Jack tried biting it with his teeth but the membrane tasted foul, like rotten lemons. It burned his lips and the roof of his mouth. He tried to ignore the taste but the more he bit into it, the more it burned.

Finally, he got one leg free and was able to twist his body. With one last shove, Jack wrenched the rest of his body free and landed on the floor with a thud. Cringing, he glanced down the corridor in the direction the creatures had gone, followed by Trucker-cap. Seeing nothing and, more importantly, hearing nothing, he gingerly got to his feet. As soon as he put weight on his right leg, he winced in pain. He quickly adjusted his weight off the leg. A blood-stained bandage was wrapped around it. Removing the bandage, Jack found a gash that ran twenty centimetres up his thigh from his knee, cutting deep into the skin. Congealed blood had crusted around the wound but plasma was beginning to seep, thanks to his recent activity.

Jack looked left and right before quietly removing his pack. He opened the bottom compartment, pulling out the outdoorman’s best friend: a roll of duct tape. Tearing off a segment, he closed the wound as best he could and wrapped the bandage back around his leg. Happy with his field dressing, he tested his weight on the injured leg. It still throbbed, but with the new strapping it felt marginally better.

Time to leave.

Warm air flowed over him as he made his way down the long corridor. With no other plan coming to mind, Jack had decided to head towards the humming sound. Treading carefully down the centre of the corridor, he kept his focus straight ahead. He dared not look to either side, at the other victims strung up like slaughtered cattle. Waiting to be butchered and fed upon.

Jack didn’t want to put any faces into his memory, traumatised as it was. What if he saw someone he knew? Could he deal with that? What if he saw Dee? This last thought made him pause and crouch down. Forcing himself to breathe slow and deep, Jack looked farther down the corridor. About halfway down was a door with a big red sign on it, but the text was unintelligible. With something to focus on, he was about to rise when something moved at the edge of his vision. Half stumbling, he fell back on his arse. Staring into his eyes was a young red-haired boy, his ice blue eyes piercing. Jack knew him, and as he stared back, his tired, traumatised mind cleared.

Shivering in the river, half floating, half swimming, Jack could see the creatures on the banks. There seemed to be packs of them. Never entering the water. They weren’t afraid, just unsure…

Following him, they gathered into larger packs. Screeching. Howling. Spitting.

Occasionally their heads would lift, sniffing the air, and they would tear off with excited howls, gone for a time. Jack enjoyed these interludes. He didn’t feel so on edge, waiting for one of them to pluck up the courage and dive in for him. But they returned… always. And in greater numbers.

He laughed to himself; they were like the sandpeople! If Dee was here, she would be telling Jack to be serious, but this was his superpower. His coping mechanism. Always finding the silly side of something, or finding a movie or TV reference in anything. He had once been on the wrong side of an armed robbery and had had a gun pointed at his head. This was how he’d got through the trauma.

He remembered meeting Emma, the two of them floating down the river and onto Lake Arapuni. Their search for a boat, the run in with Duke and his men. His escape.

Finding Sarah and George in the school. Cambridge and the evac centre. Rescuing Emma. The creatures ambushing them. The big leader and the darkness.

Jack remembered it all.

Right in front of him, the same boy held out his arm to Jack, his ice blue eyes pleading. Jack shook his head. Fate was strange. Rising to his knees, he remembered he had a little Swiss Army Knife in his first aid kit. Praying the creatures wouldn’t hear him, he searched his pack, hurrying. Pulling out the knife, he made quick work of the strange muck holding George to the wall.

George collapsed into his arms, whimpering. He eased the boy down to the ground and gave him the water valve. Seeing the liquid move along the tube, he searched around for Sarah.

Jack jogged a few metres up the corridor, now looking at each face. Searching. Blonde hair? No. Move on. He saw kids, adults, elderly, Maori, European, Asian, Pacific. It really didn’t matter. Everyone was here. The population. Food. Not seeing Sarah, Jack knew he and George needed to keep moving. Lingering any longer increased risk of discovery.