Eternity Key, part 2

The Conclusion

Read Part 1 Here

“Good to see you again, Cap.”

Jonesy sat leaning against the solid stone wall of the fortress. His hands were bound to a pole that spanned his shoulders. His lips were cracked from thirst.

“Jonesy! What the hell is going on here?”

Rex’s head felt like someone had run a harpoon through it, and his hands were numb.

“Best I can figure is these people are getting ready for some kind of party. Maybe we’re the guests of honor. Who’s your friend?”

Rex twisted his aching head to the left and saw the German U-boat captain slumped against the wall in similar restraints. He chuckled.

“That old boy had me trussed up like a turkey until just a few hours ago. Caught me by surprise when I went looking for you. I thought they had nabbed you until they brought me back to their camp. They sure were jumpy. Now I know why.”

“What about Schmidt and the kid?”

“No idea. If they’re not dead, then they’re out looking for us by now.”

A bell chimed and the tribespeople emerged from the shadowy corridors of the fort to gather at the edge of a large pool at the center of the courtyard. There were men and women, all young and in peak condition, but surprisingly few children and no elders to speak of. Some had the dark complexions of the native tribes, but others were white, if well-tanned.

The prisoners were brought forward and made to kneel near the pool.

Parting the crowd as he walked, a man made his way to a platform. He wore an old-fashioned cassock, but he was adorned with colorful feathers including an elaborate headdress. The priest carried a shepherd’s crook that tapped on the ground with every step he took. He mounted the rostrum and began to deliver some sort of liturgy.

Rex could not follow everything, but he recognized phrases here and there: things he had heard in church as a child.

“Ego sum Alpha et Omega initium et finis ego sitienti dabo de fonte aquae vivae.”

Jonesy spoke up.

“Are getting any of this, Cap? Is he speaking Spanish?”

“Latin,” said the German, startling Rex. He had come to.

“It’s from the Bible. ‘I will give to the thirsty man from the fountain of the living water.’”

“Are you telling me these are Christians? They don’t look like any Christians I’ve ever seen.”

The priest finished his oration. Then the sky darkened. Every member of the crowd shrunk down in amazement, as the moon slid over the sun.

The time having come, the priest gave an order.

Four warriors approached the prisoners. Three of them jerked Jonesy to his feet, and the fourth was there to hit Rex in the gut with the butt of a spear when he tried to stop them.

Jonesy shouted and kicked as he was dragged up to the platform and placed with his back to the pool, facing the crowd.

The priest said a few more words and then produced a knife.

The blade that the priest drew from the leather scabbard decorated with colorful feathers appeared to have once been a sword. Its gleaming gold hilt was carefully polished and was as beautiful as any such item found in history museums. But the blade itself, of fine Toledo steel, had been broken, and the stubby remnant had a sharp and savage point.

The priest held the knife high over his head, showing it to the assembled celebrants before quickly dragging it across Jonesy’s throat. Before Rex could even see the man’s expression change, the two armored men holding Jonesy up by the pole pitched him back into the pool.

There was a splash and a series of weakening ripples, but then the surface of the water began to churn and bubble.

The sun’s light, mostly blotted out by the moon, cast odd shadows, causing Rex to disbelieve what he saw next.

Around the rim of the pond, orange fire blazed just below the black surface that bulged all over as if something was fighting its way up from below.

The priest spoke, and Rex saw jet-black claw-tipped fingers cut through the surface. The man called for the next victim.

The German was shoved forward. He swatted at his captors with the stick to which he was bound, but they muscled him into position. All eyes were on the man, and Rex turned away not wanting to see the gruesome scene replayed.

He looked down the tunnel of the fortress’ sally port, and saw something beyond the exit.

It was the boat!

Schmidt stood on the bridge, having pointed the bow directed at the fortress. He held binoculars to his eyes and was frantically signaling to Rex.

“What is he doing?”

Rex looked below Schmidt to see the .50 caliber deck gun uncovered and pointed right at him with the kid standing behind it.

Rex leapt for the only cover he could think of.

As the priest’s knife was arcing down at the German’s throat, Rex crashed into his fellow captive, and the two men splashed into the pool.

Rex sank down to the bottom. It was deeper than he thought, but there was nothing he could do about that now. Turning to orient himself correctly, Rex pushed off the ground and kicked toward the surface. His head tilted back, ready to breathe in, Rex was suddenly knocked back down by a limp body that crashed into him, streaming blood through the water.

It was one of the guards. His armor had done nothing to protect him from the bullets that had torn through his body.

Rex struggled against the weight, but he was on his back, and his hands—bound as they were—could not free him.

Rex looked up at the distant sky, through the water. The eclipsed sun burned red above him, and huge birds—or were they something else—flew through the air. His lungs burned and he could not shift the dead weight that pinned him. All he had to do was let the water in and it would all be over. It was not that bad they said.

Then someone grabbed his hand. Rex was wrenched free and pulled up to the surface. He gasped for air as his head broke through. Inches away from his face was the German, grinning with a liberated blade between his teeth. As the German set to cutting his bonds, Rex surveyed the scene in amazement.

Members of the savage tribe ran to and fro. Some sought cover, others gathered weapons and made for the ramparts. The winged creatures soared in circles above the fort. Some broke off to dive toward the lagoon, where the heavy machine gun roared. Tracer rounds cut through the eerie twilight aimed at the swooping attackers.

Rex was free in a moment, and he swam for dry land. He was weak and swallowed mouthfuls of water as he stroked. At the edge of the pool, there was a man was slumped over the low stone wall. One of his arms had been shot away, and his blood streamed into the pool, but with the other he frantically scooped up water to his lips. The man finally dropped limp; his good arm immersed in the water.

Then a strange thing happened.

Rex watched as his mangled stump of an arm stopped bleeding and scabbed over. Within a few more moments, the scab fell away revealing pink scar tissue. Then the man opened his eyes.

He grabbed at Rex with his good arm, snarling and gnashing as he tried to get a hold of his throat. Rex fought off the attempt and then the German was there beside him. They seized the deranged tribesman and threw him into the deep water behind them.

They pulled themselves out of the pool and turned in time to watch the thrashing one-armed man sink below the surface.

“Those’re my guys out there on the machine gun. The question is: how do we get out there to them?”

“What of my men? I won’t leave without them.”

“I don’t see any lying around. They were killed back at your camp. Let’s get out of here.”

“They took several. I saw it myself.”

“Well, shake a leg. My guys can’t wait around all day.”

Machine gun fire continued sporadically, the sound echoing off the interior walls of the fort, but it was being directed toward the top of the ramparts and into the darkened sky that was full of soaring creatures.

Rex and the German scavenged some weapons from the bodies mangled by the initial burst of .50 caliber fire. Rex found the blade that had taken Jonesy’s life, and the German found a steel-tipped spear.

“They must be inside,” said the German, motioning to the dark archway leading into the structure.

They entered.

The first chamber was empty save for some baskets and jars full of food, but no sooner had they crossed the threshold into the next room than they were confronted by three warriors.

The men were in the process of donning armor: steel breastplates and peaked helmets.  Shouting a warning in Spanish to the others, the first man to spot them pulled a sword from its scabbard and rushed to strike. The blow slashed down at Rex, who parried awkwardly with the heavy-hilted dagger.

Another man, his plate only half fastened and swinging open as he moved, lunged for something leaning against the wall. It was Rex’s Thompson. He seized upon the gun, brought the muzzle level with the German’s chest, and pulled the trigger.

Nothing happened.

The warrior fumbled with the switches on the side of the gun, but he only found the right one as he was hit in the groin by the German’s spear. His scream was overtaken by a burst of deafening gunfire that rattled around in the windowless room. The wounded man swept the gun low and to the right as he doubled over, hitting his comrade low in the legs. That man went down with a cry of pain.

Rex warded off the attacks of his opponent, but he was losing ground. The warrior was uncommonly skilled with his blade, and most of Rex’s experience had been a handful of back-alley knife fights in the seedier parts of foreign ports. He was outmatched.

As he was backed into a corner, a lightning-fast slash caught him in the shoulder. The pain flared for a moment, but unexpectedly subsided.

Another slash.

Rex parried and cut the warrior’s hand as he recovered. The man seemed not to feel it but flew into a rage all the same. He pulled back the sword and then drove the point straight at Rex’ heart.

Rex slid out of the path of the sword, close enough that it took a button from his shirt as he turned. The sword jammed into the stucco, and while man was off balance, Rex kicked his front foot out from under him. Rex was diving before the man hit the ground, and he drove his dagger deep into his unprotected kidney.

Rex panted and stared hard into the furious eyes of the mortally wounded man. But another blast of machine gun fire made him look up.

The German had wrestled the Thompson away from the one warrior who lay bleeding out on the ground, and he had just shot the other man in the chest. The initial shots to the legs had not been enough to stop him from pulling a knife.

The German and the American looked at each other. Rex knelt on the ground, blood dripping from his knife. The German turned the smoking barrel toward him. For a second, Rex thought he was a goner. Then, the German motioned with the gun and moved on to the next room.

Rex tucked the dagger into his belt, found a German submachine gun among some other weapons by the wall, and followed.

The two men rushed through the arcade. The only light coming in was through the gun ports on outer wall to the right. A few old cannons remained, complete with pyramids of shot. On the left, the space had been haphazardly converted into a series of living quarters. If anyone else was there, they were hiding and did not want to be seen.

They soon found themselves at the end of the circuit, at the dead end on the other side of the sally port.

“I saw no stairs leading to the dungeon,” said the German.

Rex looked at him with exasperation.

“Dungeon? That’s what you’ve been looking for? This isn’t some Bavarian castle. This is the Caribbean. There are no dungeons. There’s only one more place to look, and that’s on the roof. Let’s cut our losses and get out of here. My guys are right out there.”

“Go if you must, but I will find my men.”

Rex shook his head.

“The stairway up was right back there. Let’s go.”

Up they went.

Just as they emerged from the covered exit, there was a shrill cry and a blur falling earthward. Rex looked over the edge to see a body in a German uniform splattered on the courtyard pavement.

“Look out!” shouted the German captain from behind.

Rex hit the deck. Flashing talons snapped together just above his head. The creature they belonged to cried out in frustration. It was an unearthly sound that reached the most primitive part of Rex’ brain.

The German fired a burst at the demon.

“Go, go, go,” he shouted to Rex.

Rex leapt to his feet and hugged the side of the angled staircase roof. He glanced around the side.

Not one hundred feet away stood the priest. At his feet two of the young sailors lay bound. The priest raised his hands to the sky, chanting. A dozen bat-like terrors circled in the sky high above him.

The German charged around Rex and straight at the priest, his face fixed with determination to save his men. He opened up with the machine gun when he had halved the distance. Brass casings flew over the edge of the fortress, and dozens of bullets rent the air on the way to their target.

In a flash, the monsters dove and swarmed around the priest. They flew so thick that no bullets penetrated the swirling mass. The German’s gun clicked empty, and the black demons took to the sky again.

He kept charging.

A demon dived at the German. The man dropped to the ground, and Rex fired at the monster. The bullets impacted, spraying filthy ichor all over the ground. The creature shrieked and ascended. Then half a dozen more dropped down. They ignored the German captain and, as if taunting him, they set upon his men.

The demons tore at the men who screamed in pain. Blood sprayed on the parapet as the monsters fought over the men trying to fly away with them in different directions.

The priest’s face was wild with glee as he continued the chant. Blind with rage, the German ran straight at the priest. Only at the last moment did the controller of the demons realize what the German was doing.

Rex fired into the demons, keeping them at bay, as the German slammed into the priest and carried him over the side of the roof.

Rex looked over the side and saw only the surf lapping at the side of the fortress. He looked out over the water and saw his boat. The kid was trying to load a new belt onto the .50, and was making a real mess of it. Schmidt waved from the bridge and then pointed frantically. Before he could react, Rex was jerked from the ground.

Razor sharp talons dug into his shoulders, stabbing through muscles and tendons, and hooking beneath his collar bones. He cried out as he was flown ever higher out over the lagoon.

Rex looked up to see the oil-slick belly of the creature and its jagged jaws and cheek bones. Blood dripped from its mouth and splattered on Rex’ face. There was only one thing to do. Rex gripped the submachine gun that hung from his neck by its strap. His right hand barely worked, but he angled the barrel up and squeezed the trigger.

The creature’s scream died away as Rex fell. And fell. He did not see the water as he slammed into it and the world went dark.

***

Rex awoke in a familiar place: his bunk. He was wrapped in a scratchy wool blanket and his wounds were dressed, but he could barely feel them. He sat up in the dark cabin and made his way above deck. Rex emerged from the hatch right behind Schmidt, who nearly jumped out of his seat at the helm.

“Jesus, Rex! Don’t sneak up on a guy. You should be below resting. You were all smashed up when we pulled you from the water and hightailed it out of the lagoon.”

“I feel pretty good.”

Rex peaked underneath the bandage on his left shoulder. It was clean. Not only that, but there was no wound to speak of. Just new pink skin.

“What the hell?” Rex muttered.

“What’s that, Captain?”

“Nothing. Hold your course. Where are my smokes?”

Rex looked at the night sky. A million stars twinkled, reflecting in the sea.