Chapter 4

  ~ Deeper Still ~

  The metal plate shifted heavily against the concrete, sealing the depths with a final clang. Every muscle in his body ached from the escape, and though he’d be safe for now, his breath still shuddered. At least here, the air held no spores.

  He tugged the mask off, sinking to the ground, and let his head fall back against a wall to steady his breathing. The smell of rot and damp stone felt suffocating. Beneath him, beyond the rusty bars of the ladder, the creature’s disgusting, throaty sounds had faded. But he didn’t trust the silence.

  He lifted his flashlight, casting it over the crumbling stone walls. Shadows leapt into every edge and only fed his unease. He strained to pierce the gloom, searching for any sign of safety or an exit. But in escaping the tunnel, he had only found himself in another one.

  After a moment of stillness, he pushed himself up and started exploring the unknown. He kept his hand pressed to the right wall and forced his mind to map the space as he went. Despite the fear that he could still very well be hunted. He wiped the sweat from his weary brow while he assessed the situation.

  There was no sign of an exit, but at least for now, the creature was stuck below. His light flickered. His supplies were limited, he knew, but the batteries would be the most concerning. Food and water would last even if he stayed trapped for a few days, but if the light gave out… he might as well be standing in a grave.

  The weight of his isolation settled heavily in his chest, but surely he had faced worse odds before. Right?

  He decided that this time he would make sure to be ready. He took out his weapon, a sturdy, curved Pulaski axe he kept sharp. Although the current threat had receded, he remained on edge, and its solidity was comforting. If it came to that, it would get him through any fight. He would just have to hold up as well. But for now, he had to keep going.

  The only way out was through.

  Every breath tasted stale, thick like the air hadn’t stirred in years. The network of galleries stretched deeper, more intricate than he'd expected. The tunnels twisted in random turns as if designed without purpose. Or maybe their purpose was to keep secrets buried. In this case, they were succeeding. Every passageway blurred into the next, and his bearings slipped under the clutch of obscurity and fatigue.

  He thought of another time, another place, though he rarely let himself go back there. But the tight, unending spaces pried at the edges of memory. Rows of people pushed and shoved, squeezing together in pursuit of a promised salvation. Filtering lanes ahead, separating those who could leave from those who couldn’t. A final and futile effort to delay the inevitable.

  A sound behind him triggered a surge of adrenaline, sending his mind back into survival mode. The beam sliced behind him. For a moment, he was sure it would catch the creature, hunched and waiting, just beyond the light’s reach. Instead, nothing. Nothing but an endless void.

  Focus. He quickened his pace as if sheer speed could ward off the invisible threat. Occasionally, he swore he heard footsteps echoing his own, but when he turned, the tunnels were always empty. Waiting. This place played tricks on him. Soon, he lost track of time, his sense of weariness mounting as seconds bled into minutes. Minutes into hours. He checked his watch, knowing full well it was broken—the glass was cracked, and the second hand frozen. He had once felt clever for seeking a mechanical watch, thinking it would last as long as he did. One lousy fall had proved him wrong. Now, he kept it as a reminder. A relic of a time gone.

  Then, a splash of colour broke the monotony of stone. Faint streaks of paint clung to the stone, too faded to decipher. But as he turned a corner, his flashlight caught a smear of yellow, bold against the wall:

  PRAY FOR THE CHILDREN OF DOOM

  A chill slid down his spine, but there would be more concerning things if he stayed still. So, he continued his journey, eventually arriving in front of massive rusted gates. They groaned when they swung open, breaking the oppressive silence he’d grown accustomed to.

  A cold draft slipped through the gap. The sight of doors had sparked a cruel flicker of hope, but when the beam swept inside, his stomach twisted in knots. This was no exit. Instead, a cavernous hall welcomed him with its eerie vastness.

  A wave of despair washed over him, yet there was no time for pity. The only way out is through.

  The scraping echoes surged through the tunnels as he shut the heavy doors behind him. And sealed the tomb.

  The weak beam could barely reach the ceiling, only catching the edges of the industrial pipes that disappeared into the blackness. This place is filled with tunnels.

  His boots scuffed against the damp floor, a thin mist hovering, swirling around his steps. It seemed like the place had developed a peculiar weather system over the years. Filling its empty remains with spectral clouds.

  The hall stretched in all directions, and it was hard to guess its purpose. Perhaps a bunker meant to house thousands. Perhaps some sort of control centre. Remnants of machinery littered the floor; gears and metal fragments were scattered like broken bones of a forgotten age. But they gave no deeper insight until he noticed the desks. Endless rows of them. Some were toppled, some eerily intact, the outlines of their abandoned stations frozen in time. Even after society’s collapse, men crave their bureaucratic jobs.

  Ancient computers sat on each desk, their screens cracked or covered in dust, scattered papers strewn about like the aftermath of a hurried exodus. The silence held, save for the rhythmic drip of water somewhere in the expanse. He half wanted to shout, to shatter the oppressive silence. Instead, his boot crushed a glass fragment which sent a brief crack.

  As he shifted his weight, his flashlight caught a pale glint beneath the fog: brittle bones scattered among the debris.

  He was walking through a dusty graveyard.

  There was no use dwelling on it; it wasn’t different from anything he encountered on the surface. But somehow, the scene gnawed at him. It spoke of a hasty abandonment, of people fleeing in panic. Chaos had seized the occupants, but the details of their fate remained elusive. Each item carried a distant memory: a frayed backpack, a shattered mug handle, and a set of keys that jingled faintly as he brushed past.

  A half-torn map lay on one of the desks, its edges yellowed with age. Red ink bled across the page, some still legible: Safe zones overrun. His fingers brushed against the desk, disturbing a layer of dust. He swallowed hard. No one had been spared. Not even here.

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  The mist thickened and clung with a damp chill that felt like a warning. He slowed instinctively. Something was wrong. He knew the feeling. Danger. He could sense it in the subtle shift of the breeze, now carrying a metallic tang, like a fresh wound had opened in the space around him.

  The unmistakable scent of blood.

  He paused, searching for his next move. The scattered papers fluttered in the breeze, like dying birds whispering of an unseen threat. His flashlight sputtered, and he felt laid bare. More vulnerable than ever. He stuffed the flashlight away, his hands moving fast as he grabbed some torn fabric and a handful of papers. He knotted them quickly around a broken metal rod.

  The air here felt drier; it would have to work.

  He fished out a flint from his bag, striking it with an almost frantic desperation. Sparks lit up in bursts of hope. Then, finally, flames caught and erupted in a defiant blaze. He moved forward, thrusting the torch ahead, and the hall seemed to distort in the firelight. The way the surroundings swallowed everything beyond the fire’s reach made his pulse quicken. Flames danced, and so did his heart.

  A chill went through him as the pieces fell into place. This hall wasn’t a tomb. It was a hunting ground. The fog churned in response, shapes prowling beneath its white veil. They were closing in. Their figure staying just out of reach, testing him.

  Axe firm in his grip, he collected himself.

  The way they circled, there was no mistaking their intent: they were predators, and he was prey. Three at nine, two at three. His eyes darted between them, mentally charting their positions. He could afford no mistake, not this time.

  A piercing shriek shattered the silence. A signal.

  Survive.

  One sprang forward, erupting from the mist. A quadrupedal creature resembling a dog. His body moved on instinct, the blade flashing as he swung. It caught the creature in its momentum, cleaving through flesh with a sickening ease. A guttural screech tore from the creature’s throat before it died, silenced in a brutal arc.

  Blood splattered across his arm, black and sticky, but there was no time to linger. More would follow the lead.

  He vaulted over a desk, his boots skidding on the floor, just in time to meet the next one head-on. His shoulder screamed in protest as he brought the axe down with all the force he could muster. The creature’s body crumpled under the blow. Its bones shattered loudly against the desk, and blood sprayed on grime. Like paint on a canvas.

  Two at 11, one at 5. He took a step back, recalibrating his stance. Every step measured; every strike precise.

  With a grunt, he swung upward as another lunged for his head. The blade cut deep, and the creature’s body jerked violently, folding when it hit the ground.

  Then, a sharp pain shot through his ankle. He looked down to see jagged teeth latched onto his leg, ripping through fabric and skin. A deep snarl escaped his mouth as he slammed the torch down across the creature’s snout. Flames licked at its body, and it screeched, stumbling back into the fog with the stench of burning flesh.

  But there were more.

  Eyes glinted in the torchlight. Ravenous. They were closing in from all sides. Too many even for him. Panic clawed at him as he staggered back. He wouldn’t be able to hold them off forever.

  Scrambling onto a desk, he used the height to seek an escape. The creatures slithered beneath the white blanket, circling like sharks scenting blood. Each second, they edged closer, and their numbers seemed to grow. But there, through the haze, he spotted it. An opening.

  Leaping from one desk to the next, he swatted away their attack with torch and axe. Every muscle ached, but he could see it now. The way out, just within reach. He dropped to the ground and broke into a sprint.

  A low growl rippled through the mist. It reverberated through the hall, deeper than any sound he’d heard from the creatures. Time froze. This was different.

  Turning to face it, he glimpsed a hulking form taking shape in the fog, and before he could raise his weapon, a crushing blow struck him with brutal force. He was thrown to the ground. The impact jarring through his skull as the world spun.

  The torch rolled away, casting a weak shimmer over the figure that stood above.

  Pain lanced through his head, and he struggled to keep his eyes open. Heavy footsteps echoed in his ears, each one a countdown. He gripped his axe, bracing himself. Come at me.

  It towered over him now, a massive, monstrous creature barely contained in the torch’s dying glow. A raw power radiated off it while he felt his consciousness slip away. The same creature that had hunted him through the tunnels. Every instinct screamed for him to run now, but it was too late. It had come for him.

  When he snapped back to awareness, his senses were sluggish, grasping at clarity. An unyielding tug yanked at his leg. He was being dragged. His clothes scraped over rough ground, and his head spun. The last flicker of flames had faded somewhere behind him.

  He couldn’t grasp how he was still alive. The creatures should have been tearing into him by now, gnawing through layers of guts as he squirmed. Instead, his abductor seemed to want him somewhere. Alive.

  Desperately, he flailed at the floor, scrambling to latch onto something, anything. His hands only slipped uselessly over cold stone. Any remnants of control he’d clung to were stripped away as the atrocity hauled him.

  Blind and disoriented, he had no idea where he was taken. The creature’s ragged breaths echoed through the tunnels as his sole sensory stimulation. There was only so much time left to figure out a plan. Precious seconds before he reached whatever hellish place the creature wanted him to see.

  After some time, the floor beneath him changed. Transformed into something vile. Each tug sent a squelch through the air, the slick floor squishing under his weight. Each step the creature took landed heavily, splashing through puddles that reeked of decay. He felt bumps under him. Pulsing. Roots alive and writhing over the surface. A disgusting sensation.

  The ground seemed to swallow him inch by inch as he got dragged further. Then, the abductor slowed.

  He seized the moment. He had to. Heart pounding, he fumbled in his bag for his flashlight. Its battery was low, but without the torch, it would have to do. Just as his fingers closed around it, the monster yanked him sharply, slamming him against a wall. With a grunt, his shoulder crashed into a surface. It wasn’t stone, but thick and spongy, like… meat.

  Now.

  He flicked the flashlight on, and the beam burst to life. The chamber pulsed alive, its walls woven with a sickly network of pinkish-white tendrils. They layered over every surface, coiling over the floor, walls and even the ceiling like grotesque veins stretched over concrete bones. He felt like he was inside a living organism.

  Tiny, irregular holes gaped in the flesh-like roots, each exhaling wisps of pale gas that crept along the floor, seeping out from the chamber.

  The creature growled, momentarily stunned by the sudden light.

  In one desperate, swift motion, he scrambled to his feet and made a break for the nearest opening. Light in one hand, he rushed forward. His legs were pumping with every ounce of strength he had left and behind him, a furious roar echoed, but the creature had been too slow to react. His boots skidded across the slimy floor, nearly sending him sprawling. But he caught himself, heart hammering against his ribs. He didn’t dare look back. He couldn’t.

  His life depended on it.

  He ran like a madman. A beast with nothing but instinct. His feet pounded against the stone in a rhythm of desperation. With each frantic movement, his flashlight beam bounced wildly ahead. In spite of it, he could barely make out a faint noise behind him. It was still there, pursuing him. The creature would not give up. And for now, its presence alone spurned him to run faster.

  The tunnels twisted and turned. How long had he been running? His legs had gone numb; he was moving purely on momentum. Driven by a will on the edge of collapse. For one fleeting moment, a chilling thought crept in.

  Is this all there is? Running without end?

  But then, as despair threatened to clutch at him, he saw a change ahead. Stairs hewn into the stone, leading up. He didn’t hesitate. Taking the steps two at a time, his heart lurched with the faintest hint of hope. One hand traced the rough wall to steady his ascension. He didn’t know where the stairs would lead, but they led up, away from the nightmare below. For now, that was all he needed.

  Until he saw her.

  At the top of the stairs, a figure slumped against the wall. He almost dismissed it as another trick of his mind; a hallucination born of exhaustion and fear. But as he climbed closer, the shape solidified. It was a woman curled up, her face smeared with mud, her clothes dark with stains.

  He ended his flight.

  The trembling beam washed over her, and in the dim glow, she stirred. Barely conscious. Blood had soaked her body, a wound visible on her side. Her chest rose and fell, unsteady from shallow breaths, and with it finally came the sudden realisation. She was well and truly alive.

  The light caught on a patch of fabric. There were letters embroidered and barely visible on her bloodied shirt. Spelling a name.

  Victoria.

  Something lit up within him. A rush of unfamiliar urgency, clouding his judgment and taking hold of his reflexes.

  Whoever she was, she needed help. And fast.

  ***