Kraken Rising

CHAPTER 36

Captain Wu Yang and his team had to cross the underground stream, again and again. At times, it was shallow, the water being of crystal clarity. But other times, the stream bed fell away beneath their feet and they needed to paddle, the shadowy impenetrable depths unknown, perhaps just over their heads, or many fathoms deep.

In another hour they came to a broad, dark beach, and Captain Yang called a halt. Han Biao and Liu Yandong sat together, each pulling up rounded stones to perch on, as the black sand seemed to stick to anything metallic. Han Biao had scolded Liu for sipping water from the cave stream, admonishing him for his lack of caution. But the bigger man had just shrugged it off.

“Tastes fine, and better to save what we have,” Liu said. “Who knows what will be around the bend.”

Han Biao grunted. Liu was right, but he would neither eat nor drink anything until Captain Yang allowed them to nibble on their rations. He felt the captain had it in for him already, and insubordination would be the last straw.

Han Biao scratched at his arms, and Liu pointed. “You have a rash… on your neck.”

He reached up and touched his neck. It felt smooth, not painful, but he had a tingling itch. It was nothing compared to his arm, which crawled madly with the irritation. He could feel the lumps there.

“Must have been something in the water I’m allergic to. Itches, very bad.”

“Urine,” Liu said. “My grandmother always said that if you have been stung by something to use your urine. Pat on, let it dry.” He shrugged.

Han Biao nodded. It was a good idea, as they had little first aid with them, and he knew that urine had many medicinal properties. “Maybe I will.” He looked around. “Okay.” It was a home remedy, but right about now the insane itch made him ready to try anything.

He got to his feet and wandered a few paces down the bank and then in towards the cave wall. Shadows swallowed him almost immediately, as the men sat in groups around a few of the lit flashlights — the small dots were a comforting glow in the utter darkness.

He grimaced. The tickling itch on his neck had turned to a crawling sensation just like on his arm. And now the rest of his body decided it wanted to join in. Even his throat start to burn and he had a strong desire to cough — a bad idea in the quiet of the caves. Yang would be furious if he made a commotion. Maybe he had caught a cold. What a time to get sick, he thought depressingly.

Han Biao stepped further into the shadows and unbuckled his belt. He reached in for his penis, his cold hands shrinking him, and needing a tug to pull it free of the zip. He sighed, feeling like crap. He was trained to ignore discomfort, still, that didn’t mean he and his comrade brothers didn’t experience it.

He started to urinate, and there came a strange sensation. It felt as if lumps were passing along the length of his penis. He reached one hand forward in a cup shape to capture some of the warm liquid in preparation for smearing it on himself, in the places where he felt the insane tickling the most. He cupped a handful of urine and raised it to his shirtsleeve — there were already holes and rents in the tough fabric from the cave-in, so getting to his flesh was easy. He splashed it over the largest of his abrasions and then rubbed the liquid up and down in long strokes. It felt like there were grains of rice under his hand.

“Hoy?” The tickling on his skin was now amplified by a new sensation — his skin crawled both inside and out now. Han Biao looked quickly over his shoulder. Captain Yang sat with a small group. He had been most specific about there being no use of their lights, but his fear and curiosity was screaming. He would chance a quick look. He lifted the elbow shaped light from his belt and snapped it on, pointing the beam into his cupped hand to both stifle the flare of the white light, and also see what was in his hand.

His mouth dropped open in confusion. He hurriedly changed the angle of his light, not caring now who saw his use of the precious batteries.

“Ack!’ His lips pulled back in revulsion. The remaining fluid in his hand was pink, tinged with blood. But this was not the main source of his concern. Within the cherry colored liquid, there wriggled a mass of black thread-like worms, each thrashing madly like sperm seeking an egg. There was a small scratch on the meat of his palm, and his eyes bulged as he saw that the worms were spearing what he assumed was their heads into the wound, and then thrashing ever harder.

“Yi!” He flicked his hand, and then had a horrifying thought. He pulled at his shirt, craning to look at his shoulder where he had smeared the mass. The red oily liquid was covering his body, the worms now coating his torso. What was worse, was that the wounds on his arms and shoulders had far too many of the worms to have just come from his urine — they must have already been there — coming from inside.

Han Biao felt the tickling now in his belly, and even at the back of his mouth. He dropped his hand and turned to the group.

“Captain-nnnnn!” He staggered forward, his arms out. “Captain Yang, in my wounds… they got into my wounds.”

The men were all on their feet in a second, guns now up and pointed, seeking an enemy or intruder to defend against.

He staggered towards them. “Captain, they’re inside me. I can feel them… they’re eating me.”

Yang strode quickly towards him, his face twisted in fury. “Silence.”

He had a pistol in his hand, and with the other he held it up flat in front of Biao’s face, halting him. With the barrel of his gun, he edged open Biao’s shirt. His lips compressed.

“From the water. They got in my wounds,” Han Biao said, not being able to help his words turning to a wail.

“Come quick,” Yang said, and turned to walk further up the dark beach and away from the men.

Han Biao staggered after him, feeling the insane itch from his ears to his anus. His limbs started to go numb, and suddenly his pants felt loose at his waist.

His gut roiled, and he sobbed, grabbing hold of his belt to keep his pants up. He staggered after Yang, just focusing on the man’s back, as his rapidly fear-fragmenting mind was beginning to leave him. He fell to his knees.

Yang nodded, edging into an alcove. “In here, I have something that will help.”

Han Biao walked forward on his knees. He felt a weakness in his limbs like he had never felt before in his life. He looked down at his pathetic frame — his clothes bagged on him, and holding up a hand he saw that he was nearly shriveled down to bone, but there was furious movement beneath his skin. The remaining meat was literally being eaten from within him right before his eyes.

He looked up at his captain, and into the muzzle of the gun. The black dot at the end of the barrel flared, and then there was nothing.

Liu Yandong’s eyes were wide as Captain Yang walked back to the group, holstering his sidearm.

“Infected,” he said, and looked up at his men, arms hung loosely at his side. “Is anyone else injured, sick?”

The men quickly checked themselves, murmuring. Liu did the same, but if he had any injuries, he would not dare share them with the captain. After a minute, the group professed themselves fit, and Yang grunted, and went to turn away, before stopping and quickly turning back.

“Or did anyone drink from the stream?”

Liu Yandong had been staring at the body of his friend, but the question snapped him back. He licked his lips and swallowed, feeling a small tickle in his throat. He had some gnawing in his belly, but that was just from hunger. Besides, there was no way he was going to say anything.

Yang turned to him. “Liu Yandong, lead us out again. Rest time is over.”

Liu gave a rapid half bow. “Yao.” And he jogged out ahead of the men, relieved to be away from Yang’s penetrating stare.

He gritted his teeth, trying not to look at the body of his colleague as he neared it. But from the corner of his eye, he detected movement. Was his comrade still alive? He veered towards the cave wall for a better look. Sure enough, the body was moving. Maybe Yang’s shot only wounded him? He wished he could use his light, as Biao now looked tiny, shrunken, lying on the dark sand.

Liu slowed. There — there was movement — Han Biao’s body jerked and jumped. But the activity was strange, boneless, and not how he would have expected a man to be if he was alive or even writhing in pain. Something wasn’t right. Liu stopped walking and stared. He grimaced, his eyes going wide in horror. Han Biao’s body suddenly collapsed in on itself, but the clothing was not quite empty. There was a rippling beneath the fabric as though there were small animals fighting inside.

Láizì dìyù de shēngwù, he whispered. It was a line from an ancient story he read as a child; a village fell into a sinkhole, and the villagers had to descend to hell, where on the way, demons tormented them, and cursed them with plagues of flies, and beetles, and worms. Liu momentarily crushed his eyes shut and turned away. He forged on, keeping his head down. That’s where we really are, he thought — in hell. They all died in the cave-in, and now they were lost souls making their way down to the Underworld.