| Fantasy Fiction posted November 8, 2020 | Chapters: |
...18 19 -20- 21... 
|
  |
rescue mission or suicide
A chapter in the book Another Life
The Spider's den
by lancellot
The author has placed a warning on this post for language.
| Background Paul, Algar, and Parcell disobey orders to go on a rescue mission to save Alfred from the clutches of a giant spider underground. |
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It took nearly an hour to find the trapdoor leading to the scrapper’s den even with torches. The directions Rawls had given Paul were right; it was only his tracking skills that were poor without modern equipment or moonlight. Fortunately, Algar just seemed to know the right direction. The trapdoor didn’t appear to be a door at all; it was packed sand and rocks glued to a sheet of webbing.
“Alright, you two get on either side of this lid and lift when I say go.” Paul held his torch in front of him as Parcell and Algar bravely stuck their hands under the sticky door. “One, two… go!”
Expecting the spider to jump out at him, Paul thrust the torch before him like a shield of fire as the two boys threw the door back and then grabbed for their swords.
There was no spider or immediate danger. Paul let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding while his brave companions formed up on either side of him.
“It’s deep.” It was all Paul could think of as he stared into the darkness.
“It looks like a tunnel.” Parcell joined his torch with Paul’s. “It kind of slopes down.”
“Well, if we’re going, then…” Algar took a tentative step. “It’s not that steep, but we should be careful, and it’s big enough that we can walk standing up.”
“That not a surprise. It is a big ass spider,” said Paul, following Algar inside.
“What… why do keep calling it a spider?” asked Parcell, bringing up the rear.
“Because that’s what it is.” Paul considered his words but then thought he was likely going to die. “You call them scrappers, but… in a book I read, they used to be called spiders, only they were tiny, no bigger than your hand in some cases, but usually smaller than your toenail in most cases.” Paul didn’t like lying, so he pushed past the slow walking Algar to avoid more questions. “I’ll lead; we should hurry. Come on.”
Soon, the tunnel leveled out and widened. The boys could now walk side by side with room to spare. Also, the temperature and humidity had gone up. Sweat began to collect on their faces and chest.
“Should it be getting hot down here?” Parcell opened the top of his robe. “And what’s that hissing sound?”
Neither Algar nor Paul answered.
Algar imagined snakes slithering in every shadow.
Paul figured it was steam considering the high humidity in the air and the apparent heat radiating beneath their feet. They had gone deep underground, so Paul assumed there must be natural hot springs under the desert surface. Perhaps the extra heat is why this area is a desert in the first place, he thought.
“Hey guys,” Algar’s voice echoed off the walls. “Don’t you think this tunnel is a little too big to be made by a scrap… um, spider?” He drifted to the wall at his left and placed his hand on the stone. “I mean, this is rock, not sand, and I haven’t seen any webbing since we left the entrance. It’s kind of like we’re inside a stone snake.”
The boys stopped and held their torches up. They walked towards the walls, touching them here and there. For some time, Paul had noticed how unnaturally straight and wide the tunnel was. He did not say anything because he wasn’t too sure how much the boys knew of mining techniques.
“Yes, it’s strange, but we can’t worry about that now. Let’s keep going.” Paul resumed his pace.
The boys walked along the tunnel for another two minutes when a brisk draft rustled their robes and streamed through their damp hair.
“Do you feel that?” Parcell grinned. “There must be an opening to the outside up ahead.”
“Maybe a back door for the scrapper,” Algar added.
Paul didn’t voice his opinion; for some time, a sick feeling deep within his stomach had been growing. The length, depth, and shape of the tunnel had a familiar texture to it. One that he didn’t want to explore.
Within a minute, the three explorers stopped. At first, none of them could speak, and after walking around for several minutes, they came back together in the center of what could only be described as a large conjunction point.
“It’s six,” Algar said, leaning over and panting for breath after he had run around the entire chamber. “Including the tunnel, we came from, there are six tunnels in all.”
Paul had been walking around much slower. His focus was on the ground, as no matter how high he raised his torch, he could not see the ceiling. His search of the floor didn’t reveal the metal he was looking for, but he did find rust and parallel grooves worn into the stone where they had once been.
But what confirmed his suspicion was a brick section between two tunnels. It was worn and faint, but Paul could barely make out a few long-ago engraved letters. San Di. “It’s not a tunnel; it’s a subway under what used to be San Diego.”
Parcell and Algar looked at each other and shook their heads. They had no idea what Paul was talking about, and they were growing concerned. For a time now, he had been quiet and distant. Now he was talking gibberish.
“Ah, Paul…. what does it mean?” Parcell asked.
Paul began to giggle and then to laugh. “It means I’m Fucked. F.U.C.K, fucked. It means I can’t go home. I can’t go back because I’m already here. Dear God, I’m already home.” Paul took a deep breath and yelled at the top of his lungs. “FUCK!”
Paul’s scream echoed in the chamber so loud that Parcell and Algar had to cover their ears. They were both confused and a bit afraid; after all, Paul was armed, yet they dared to approach their friend.
“Paul, have you lost-.” Parcell began.
“Wait!” Algar raised a hand and then cocked his head to one side. “Do you hear that?”
“I don’t…” Parcell cupped his ear. “Is that yelling?”
“It’s Alfred!” Algar cried.
Paul held his breath, temporarily forgetting his anguish. “I hear it too. Where is it coming from?”
Algar closed his eyes and slowly turned in a circle. His finger rose in the air and then pointed. “That way.”
Algar was pointing to a tunnel ahead and to the right of the one they came through. The boys pulled new torches from their packs, lit them, and then proceeded where Algar directed.
“Al…” Paul quickly put his hand over Algar’s mouth.
Paul shook his head no and placed a finger to his lips. He looked at Parcell, who nodded his understanding. They could hear the cries for help getting louder as they went. Paul stopped and pulled a bottle from his pack.
Algar and Parcell did the same. Each of them pulled out the wooden cap. A quick whiff of alcohol escaped their bottles before they stuffed the openings with a dry rag, being careful to keep the bottles away from their torches.
“Okay, we all know the plan,” Paul whispered.
Parcell and Algar nodded.
“Good, lets’ go.”
The trio had only to advance a few yards before they stopped with mouths agape. Hanging on a wall were six large white cocoons, and in the last one was Alfred, or at least his head.
Alfred’s face was pale, but his smile was huge and bright. “What took you so long?”
“Dinner, of course,” Algar replied before running towards his bother.
“Wait!” Alfred shouted, his voice sounding horse and drained.
Algar stopped in place. Paul and Parcell joined him a few feet away from the wall.
“It’s not gone.” Algar tilted his head toward the end of the tunnel. It was partially collapsed with a large opening on top. “It’s in there. Maybe asleep, I don’t know. I don’t think it can hear, but you must be careful of the big strands, leading into the hole, do you see them?”
White webbing covered most of the walls, the floor, and Alfred, so it took the boys a few seconds to notice the thicker strands, like cables crisscrossing nearly everything.
Paul knew what the strands meant. They transmitted vibration to the spider. If they began cutting Alfred out, the spider would come charging out at them. Plus, there was something about the way Alfred’s face looked and the way his head moved that concerned him. “Alfred, can you move?”
The boy smiled. “I can’t feel anything from the neck down.” His smile dropped, and he looked at his brother. “It bites me sometimes. Down there.” His hollowed eyes dipped down to two dark holes in the web. “I think… I think it’s been eating me, but… I can’t. I can’t feel anything.” Tears began to roll down his sunken cheeks. “It doesn’t hurt. It’s supposed to hurt, right, Algar?”
Paul looked closer at the two dark puncture holes in the side. He looked at the other boys and saw fear and worry in their eyes. For about a minute, no one spoke. Paul’s mind raced, had the spider been feeding on Alfred, or had it merely poisoned him to keep him paralyzed? They would have to cut him out to find out.
“Change of plans.” Paul pulled the rag out of his bottle. “We stop the damn thing first, and then get Alfred out.”
“What?” Parcell threw up his arms. “The plan was too…”
“Forget it.” Paul walked to the pile of rocks leading to where Alfred said the spider’s lair was. “We’ll never be able to outrun it while carrying Alfred. We have to kill it, cripple it, or trap it.”
Paul began climbing the mound on debris below the hole and then stopped. Parcell was right behind him.
“Parcell, give me your flasks and then help Algar. Try to cut Alfred out in one slice, while the other catches him when I give the word.” Paul took both flasks and then carefully went up to the hole alone. He made sure not to touch any of the thick strands.
He poured the alcohol across the opening at the top, trying to keep the liquid from running inside the hole. He wanted to create as thick of a barrier as he could. He didn’t know how fearful a spider was of fire but hoped it was a lot. With the last alcohol of his bottle, he made a thin trail as he scrambled back down.
Algar stood in front of Alfred’s cocoon and Parcell at the side with his dagger in hand. All three boys looked at Paul.
Paul took a deep breath and then put flame to the alcohol. Fire immediately snaked up the mound and burst into towering flames. “Now!”
Parcell sliced down the cocoon's side from head to toe, and Alfred’s limp body fell free into Algar’s arms.
A piercing shriek boomed from the other side of the hole, and the spider's black head flashed before it immediately ducked away from the flames.
“Go, go!” Paul yelled as Algar and Parcell each took an arm and followed Paul down the tunnel.
The boys had little trouble carrying Alfred as he was much lighter than usual. They quickly made it to the conjunction chamber and then faced another problem.
“Oh shit,” Algar shouted, his eyes darting left and right. “Paul, did you mark which tunnel we…”
“No, did you?” came the terse reply.
A glance at Parcell’s facial expression was all it took.
Paul pointed. "Going right is always right."
They ran into darkness.
“Alright, you two get on either side of this lid and lift when I say go.” Paul held his torch in front of him as Parcell and Algar bravely stuck their hands under the sticky door. “One, two… go!”
Expecting the spider to jump out at him, Paul thrust the torch before him like a shield of fire as the two boys threw the door back and then grabbed for their swords.
There was no spider or immediate danger. Paul let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding while his brave companions formed up on either side of him.
“It’s deep.” It was all Paul could think of as he stared into the darkness.
“It looks like a tunnel.” Parcell joined his torch with Paul’s. “It kind of slopes down.”
“Well, if we’re going, then…” Algar took a tentative step. “It’s not that steep, but we should be careful, and it’s big enough that we can walk standing up.”
“That not a surprise. It is a big ass spider,” said Paul, following Algar inside.
“What… why do keep calling it a spider?” asked Parcell, bringing up the rear.
“Because that’s what it is.” Paul considered his words but then thought he was likely going to die. “You call them scrappers, but… in a book I read, they used to be called spiders, only they were tiny, no bigger than your hand in some cases, but usually smaller than your toenail in most cases.” Paul didn’t like lying, so he pushed past the slow walking Algar to avoid more questions. “I’ll lead; we should hurry. Come on.”
Soon, the tunnel leveled out and widened. The boys could now walk side by side with room to spare. Also, the temperature and humidity had gone up. Sweat began to collect on their faces and chest.
“Should it be getting hot down here?” Parcell opened the top of his robe. “And what’s that hissing sound?”
Neither Algar nor Paul answered.
Algar imagined snakes slithering in every shadow.
Paul figured it was steam considering the high humidity in the air and the apparent heat radiating beneath their feet. They had gone deep underground, so Paul assumed there must be natural hot springs under the desert surface. Perhaps the extra heat is why this area is a desert in the first place, he thought.
“Hey guys,” Algar’s voice echoed off the walls. “Don’t you think this tunnel is a little too big to be made by a scrap… um, spider?” He drifted to the wall at his left and placed his hand on the stone. “I mean, this is rock, not sand, and I haven’t seen any webbing since we left the entrance. It’s kind of like we’re inside a stone snake.”
The boys stopped and held their torches up. They walked towards the walls, touching them here and there. For some time, Paul had noticed how unnaturally straight and wide the tunnel was. He did not say anything because he wasn’t too sure how much the boys knew of mining techniques.
“Yes, it’s strange, but we can’t worry about that now. Let’s keep going.” Paul resumed his pace.
The boys walked along the tunnel for another two minutes when a brisk draft rustled their robes and streamed through their damp hair.
“Do you feel that?” Parcell grinned. “There must be an opening to the outside up ahead.”
“Maybe a back door for the scrapper,” Algar added.
Paul didn’t voice his opinion; for some time, a sick feeling deep within his stomach had been growing. The length, depth, and shape of the tunnel had a familiar texture to it. One that he didn’t want to explore.
Within a minute, the three explorers stopped. At first, none of them could speak, and after walking around for several minutes, they came back together in the center of what could only be described as a large conjunction point.
“It’s six,” Algar said, leaning over and panting for breath after he had run around the entire chamber. “Including the tunnel, we came from, there are six tunnels in all.”
Paul had been walking around much slower. His focus was on the ground, as no matter how high he raised his torch, he could not see the ceiling. His search of the floor didn’t reveal the metal he was looking for, but he did find rust and parallel grooves worn into the stone where they had once been.
But what confirmed his suspicion was a brick section between two tunnels. It was worn and faint, but Paul could barely make out a few long-ago engraved letters. San Di. “It’s not a tunnel; it’s a subway under what used to be San Diego.”
Parcell and Algar looked at each other and shook their heads. They had no idea what Paul was talking about, and they were growing concerned. For a time now, he had been quiet and distant. Now he was talking gibberish.
“Ah, Paul…. what does it mean?” Parcell asked.
Paul began to giggle and then to laugh. “It means I’m Fucked. F.U.C.K, fucked. It means I can’t go home. I can’t go back because I’m already here. Dear God, I’m already home.” Paul took a deep breath and yelled at the top of his lungs. “FUCK!”
Paul’s scream echoed in the chamber so loud that Parcell and Algar had to cover their ears. They were both confused and a bit afraid; after all, Paul was armed, yet they dared to approach their friend.
“Paul, have you lost-.” Parcell began.
“Wait!” Algar raised a hand and then cocked his head to one side. “Do you hear that?”
“I don’t…” Parcell cupped his ear. “Is that yelling?”
“It’s Alfred!” Algar cried.
Paul held his breath, temporarily forgetting his anguish. “I hear it too. Where is it coming from?”
Algar closed his eyes and slowly turned in a circle. His finger rose in the air and then pointed. “That way.”
Algar was pointing to a tunnel ahead and to the right of the one they came through. The boys pulled new torches from their packs, lit them, and then proceeded where Algar directed.
“Al…” Paul quickly put his hand over Algar’s mouth.
Paul shook his head no and placed a finger to his lips. He looked at Parcell, who nodded his understanding. They could hear the cries for help getting louder as they went. Paul stopped and pulled a bottle from his pack.
Algar and Parcell did the same. Each of them pulled out the wooden cap. A quick whiff of alcohol escaped their bottles before they stuffed the openings with a dry rag, being careful to keep the bottles away from their torches.
“Okay, we all know the plan,” Paul whispered.
Parcell and Algar nodded.
“Good, lets’ go.”
The trio had only to advance a few yards before they stopped with mouths agape. Hanging on a wall were six large white cocoons, and in the last one was Alfred, or at least his head.
Alfred’s face was pale, but his smile was huge and bright. “What took you so long?”
“Dinner, of course,” Algar replied before running towards his bother.
“Wait!” Alfred shouted, his voice sounding horse and drained.
Algar stopped in place. Paul and Parcell joined him a few feet away from the wall.
“It’s not gone.” Algar tilted his head toward the end of the tunnel. It was partially collapsed with a large opening on top. “It’s in there. Maybe asleep, I don’t know. I don’t think it can hear, but you must be careful of the big strands, leading into the hole, do you see them?”
White webbing covered most of the walls, the floor, and Alfred, so it took the boys a few seconds to notice the thicker strands, like cables crisscrossing nearly everything.
Paul knew what the strands meant. They transmitted vibration to the spider. If they began cutting Alfred out, the spider would come charging out at them. Plus, there was something about the way Alfred’s face looked and the way his head moved that concerned him. “Alfred, can you move?”
The boy smiled. “I can’t feel anything from the neck down.” His smile dropped, and he looked at his brother. “It bites me sometimes. Down there.” His hollowed eyes dipped down to two dark holes in the web. “I think… I think it’s been eating me, but… I can’t. I can’t feel anything.” Tears began to roll down his sunken cheeks. “It doesn’t hurt. It’s supposed to hurt, right, Algar?”
Paul looked closer at the two dark puncture holes in the side. He looked at the other boys and saw fear and worry in their eyes. For about a minute, no one spoke. Paul’s mind raced, had the spider been feeding on Alfred, or had it merely poisoned him to keep him paralyzed? They would have to cut him out to find out.
“Change of plans.” Paul pulled the rag out of his bottle. “We stop the damn thing first, and then get Alfred out.”
“What?” Parcell threw up his arms. “The plan was too…”
“Forget it.” Paul walked to the pile of rocks leading to where Alfred said the spider’s lair was. “We’ll never be able to outrun it while carrying Alfred. We have to kill it, cripple it, or trap it.”
Paul began climbing the mound on debris below the hole and then stopped. Parcell was right behind him.
“Parcell, give me your flasks and then help Algar. Try to cut Alfred out in one slice, while the other catches him when I give the word.” Paul took both flasks and then carefully went up to the hole alone. He made sure not to touch any of the thick strands.
He poured the alcohol across the opening at the top, trying to keep the liquid from running inside the hole. He wanted to create as thick of a barrier as he could. He didn’t know how fearful a spider was of fire but hoped it was a lot. With the last alcohol of his bottle, he made a thin trail as he scrambled back down.
Algar stood in front of Alfred’s cocoon and Parcell at the side with his dagger in hand. All three boys looked at Paul.
Paul took a deep breath and then put flame to the alcohol. Fire immediately snaked up the mound and burst into towering flames. “Now!”
Parcell sliced down the cocoon's side from head to toe, and Alfred’s limp body fell free into Algar’s arms.
A piercing shriek boomed from the other side of the hole, and the spider's black head flashed before it immediately ducked away from the flames.
“Go, go!” Paul yelled as Algar and Parcell each took an arm and followed Paul down the tunnel.
The boys had little trouble carrying Alfred as he was much lighter than usual. They quickly made it to the conjunction chamber and then faced another problem.
“Oh shit,” Algar shouted, his eyes darting left and right. “Paul, did you mark which tunnel we…”
“No, did you?” came the terse reply.
A glance at Parcell’s facial expression was all it took.
Paul pointed. "Going right is always right."
They ran into darkness.
Characters so far:
Derrick Williams, former soldier. reborn as: Paul Escamilla , 16 yrs old
Dominic Escamilla. Paul's new father, Soldier, 36 yrs old
Rosetta Escamilla. Paul's new mother, Seamstress, 35 yrs old
Duke Reinhard. Ruler of the Southern district. 50 yrs
Joqumoe and Ben Garven. Teen thieves and robbers in town.
Crista Escamilla. Paul's 16 year old slave/wife
Alfred and Algar: 16 twin boys from town. Watch cadets
Parcell Chambers: 16, male Watch cadet.
Master Fenwick Dougal: 50s, former soldier in the Kingdom army, Watch instructor.
Vetch Rawls: 45, master scout of the Watch. Desert tracker.
Pays
one point
and 2 member cents. Derrick Williams, former soldier. reborn as: Paul Escamilla , 16 yrs old
Dominic Escamilla. Paul's new father, Soldier, 36 yrs old
Rosetta Escamilla. Paul's new mother, Seamstress, 35 yrs old
Duke Reinhard. Ruler of the Southern district. 50 yrs
Joqumoe and Ben Garven. Teen thieves and robbers in town.
Crista Escamilla. Paul's 16 year old slave/wife
Alfred and Algar: 16 twin boys from town. Watch cadets
Parcell Chambers: 16, male Watch cadet.
Master Fenwick Dougal: 50s, former soldier in the Kingdom army, Watch instructor.
Vetch Rawls: 45, master scout of the Watch. Desert tracker.
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