Clark had been trying to figure out why Black Lodge would be interested in Tony since their arrival on Naranu. If Ruby had intercepted his musings, she gave no indication. He hadn’t been able to give the matter much thought anyway since they’d spent most of their time running through the jungle in their mad race to Mount Rigiri. Trying to stay one step ahead of the Dark Ones and Clickers had been a top priority too, one Clark hadn’t wanted to divert from.
So why did they want Tony? Why was he one of The Seven? What were “the seven,” anyway?
More importantly, why were Ruby and the others so sure Clark would keep his mouth shut after this mission was over?
Professional knowledge of his line of work would tell the Black Lodge agents that secrecy was part and parcel to Clark’s professional make-up. His former career had required secrecy. Clark knew things about former government officials, including Presidents and Vice Presidents, that would cause major ripples in world relations; a former President who’d been elected thanks to a major turnout of Christian Evangelicals (not Jeffrey Tyler) who, within months of arriving at the White House, somehow made arrangements with a staff member to have young boys flown in to DC to service him and a secret clandestine cabal of powerful Washington insiders; a former Vice President with a $500 a day cocaine habit; a beloved Democratic President who had a political rival murdered, the crime covered up so cleanly that his political enemies thought the crime was done by one of their own. Clark had knowledge of all that, and more, and he was never going to tell a soul.
Likewise for this mission. If he made it home safe he wasn’t going to say a word about it to anybody, not even his close friend and confidant Scott Baker.
Still, these questions, and others, burned in the back of his mind as he raced after Tony and Ruby. He could tell Tony was struggling with these questions himself. No doubt the ex-hitman was wondering why he was special, why he’d been tapped for this.
Clark hoped that not knowing the answers to these questions wouldn’t cost them their lives.
It was getting cooler the farther beneath the earth they traveled. Clark’s head pounded with a headache that seemed to worsen the deeper they traveled down the narrow cavern. “Shit,” he muttered. He tried to take in a breath; the air was noticeably thinner down here and seemed weighted, as if there was a malevolent presence lurking about. Clark had never held much credence to supernatural elements. He was raised a Catholic, had a minimal belief in God, an even lesser belief in ghosts, much less aliens. He’d kept an open mind about Dagon, and now that he was in the middle of Mount Rigiri, he was beginning to believe that what the Black Lodge agents had briefed them on was the truth.
“What’s that noise?” Tony called out.
“What noise?” Clark answered.
“It’s like…I don’t know. A humming or some shit.” Tony was panting as he fought to keep up with Ruby, who didn’t seem to tire.
Clark was about to tell Tony he didn’t know what he was talking about when he suddenly heard it. It was low, more felt than heard, like a bass note from a synthesizer. It sounded like a thousand voices humming a note in the key of D Minor.
Hmmmmmmmmmmmm….
The pain in Clark’s head swelled again. It was clear to Clark that Tony’s head was hurting, too. Sweat ran down the ex-hitman’s face and he had a strained, painful look to him. By contrast, the Black Lodge agents still seemed fine.
“We’re getting close,” Ruby said.
“Too close for me, honey,” Tony said. “Let’s get this shit over with and go the fuck home.”
The roaring of the Dark Ones had become distant but now another sound replaced it: a flapping sound. A shadow flittered across the far cave wall and Clark felt something zoom overhead. He instinctively ducked and covered his head with the stock of his M16.
Tony screamed. “Oh shit! What the fuck?”
Clark looked up and saw something with pale, leathery wings entangled with Tony. Another creature flew overhead, and then another. High-pitched squeaks filled the cavern. Bats.
“Get the fuck off me!” Tony screamed. He beat at the thing with his rifle stock, trying to shake it off him. It was big, its body the size of a capuchin monkey with a wing span of six feet across, it had obviously flown into Tony by pure accident and was trying to free itself. Its claws dug scratches into Tony’s head and shoulders. “You fucking piece of shit!” Tony brought his rifle into position and his right hand brushed the trigger.
“Hold your fire,” Clark yelled. “Hold your fire, goddamn it, or you’ll get a ricochet!”
“Fuck that, get it off me!” Tony tried to ram the barrel of the rifle beneath the creature’s chin and couldn’t. Its right wing was stuck between Tony’s arms. Its left wing was wrapped around his back, its legs clinging to his hips. The bat’s face was dangerously close to Tony’s neck as its blind eyes rolled around in its head and it kept squealing in that high-pitched voice.