A DARKNESS PALE

Tunnel

…Irie, mortally wounded, and on a suicide mission to save her former partner, who does not want to be saved…

Tunnel

Irie stamped the accelerator into the floor and the Prius sailed smoothly away from the shitty park, Motown saying, “It really just you, huh?”

Irie sped past the ramp she’d come up, which now had four Tundras parked in front. More track suits and hard stares.

“How come they’re not shooting at us?”

“They think guns are cowardly. More macho to take you apart by hand.”

“You think if I drive really fast I can bust through whatever kind of road block they got at the next exit?”

“Not in no fucking Prius. Even if you did, they got more on the other end.”

“So stop acting dumb. I know you know how to get away from them.”

“How long you got on the NP?”

“I don’t know, like thirty minutes.”

Motown shook her head. “Stop the fucking car.”

Irie did.

They both hopped out. They ran past treatment stations with enormous pipes entering and exiting from every possible direction, more drips and deep puddles like duck ponds. Motown directed her to the edge of the hive wall, into a thicket of cables and coils and metal sheeting. To a square building. The front wall housed an enormous vent with a thick metal grill sheathing it.

“Here they ain’t,” Motown explained.

She took them around to a side entrance. Motown expertly kicked something in the bottom right corner while she wrung a knob. “Back in the day,” Motown said.

They entered a room that barely contained a colossal motor and a dormant fan.

“That’s cool. I know how to stall the motherfucker but it don’t always work right.” Motown squeezed through a space between the motor and fan blades. Irie followed. They were at the mouth of a black tunnel, the inside side of a duct. “This here ain’t no exit. That’s why they ain’t here. No way out at the bottom and we get penned in. But I know a way through.”

Irie imitated Motown and got down on her butt, feeling a jolt of pain from her wound for the first time since she’d taken the Narco Polo. The tunnel sloped down and curved. They scootched and slid. They were in total darkness. When things started leveling out, they stood again and Irie removed her Berretta.

Motown said, “I hear that. That shit ain’t gonna help you none in here.”

They scuttled through the black, Irie with her free hand gripping Motown’s skirt.

“What this does, it curves around the side of the hive and ends just under the Frenzy at the south side on ramp. Back in the day we were all over these motherfuckers. Steal gloves and socks from Walgreens. Pour honey on them and climb like motherfucking ants.”

Irie started feeling air blowing against her face.

Motown said, “Mmmm hmmm. Here it is. Looks like we might make it. What a waste. You done killed yourself for no reason. Soon as I clear the hive I’m gonna be after more of that Black Lagoo. I don’t care bout nothing else. You done waste it all on nothing.”

Sensations were defrosting. Irie could feel her guts wiggling, contractions and gurgles. Next, there’d be stabbing pain and her blood would start pumping out again. She said, “You don’t know shit, cause you’re fucked up.”

“Why you take so long to come at me then?”

Irie shrugged and felt a burning pain radiate up through her chest. She heard something. A commotion, a group clambering down the tunnel, making no effort at stealth.

“Here we go,” Motown said. “Fuck man.”

They both moved too quickly, tripped over each other and fell. Irie hit hard and slid, the tunnel once again tilting down. She bumped into Motown at the bottom. It felt like she’d torn her wound wide open.

Echoes, excited voices, clanking boots.

Irie could see again, somewhat. The head of this gigantic duct faced out onto Spring street, a thick wire grate welded over it, the wires as thick as a cigars.

“Got a ladder on the other side.” Motown groped different sections of the grate. “I can’t fucking remember. Fuck, maybe this corner. C’mon.” She and Irie both tugged and pulled at the corner of the grate. A section groaned and came free.

Irie pulled with everything she had. “Go, fucking go!” she yelled.

Motown scrambled through the opening. The grate snapped back with a thunderous clang. Motown was out on the lip. She locked eyes with Irie. “Shoulda stayed away.”

“HEY!”

Irie turned to somewhere between ten and fifteen Stiff Lads. Some of them wore headlamps. They all carried clubs of some sort. Cyrano stood taller than the rest. Alive, if not well. Either she had just dinged him or his brain was located somewhere else. He pressed a blood soaked towel into the side of his head.

Irie reached for her Beretta only to discover her holster was empty. She must have dropped it when they fell. Cyrano started giggling triumphantly. He pointed at her with a chubby finger. She had one other weapon, a gravity knife she always carried. She fumbled it out of her pocket and flicked it open.

And launched herself at them.

Cyrano was saying something. None of them were expecting her to rush. Irie dove into the one with the nastiest looking weapon, a bat spiked with nails. She slashed his arm and throat. As he went down she saw motion out of the corner of her eye and ducked so that a bat hit someone else in the side of the head. Irie stabbed and slashed, trying to stay on offense. Ratshas came at her from all sides. She lost her knife and punched and kicked. A bat cracked her collar bone and a pipe took out her knees. Irie went down. As long as I’m fighting, she thought, I’m good. That’s what it was all about. She was the good guy, as long as she could swing.  

Bats and fists and pipes and boots rained down on her like a thunderstorm.

“Fire, get the fucking fire!” Cyrano screamed. “Don’t you fucking kill her yet!”

He began singing “Mona Lisa.” Irie was surprised she recognized the song. His impressive vibrato echoed through the tunnel. Her face was so swollen she couldn’t see. She couldn’t breathe. A ratsha grabbed her arm and yanked her shoulder out of its socket.

“Evie!” Irie wailed. With her good arm she swung at darkness. If they were going to light her up, she was going to keep swinging.

…Thus concludes part 4 of A Darkness Pale. Stay tuned next week for the start of part 5, titled 2035: Murder Snow, where the action moves up to Portland OR…