The Rule of Three

— 22 —

The cool night air caressed Jack’s skin, causing goosebumps. He leant his head back against the wall and looked down at the sleeping George. Smiling, Jack was amazed at how well the kid had adapted to this new hidey hole. They had hidden here since escaping and had eaten half the supplies from his pack. George had been resistant to the protein bar and beef jerky, but had devoured the chocolate.

Through the tiny window, Jack could see the moon. It was showing its half face. He estimated he had been down in this hell pit for eleven to twelve days. How had he survived with no water or food? For that matter, how had George? He was so small… so young at only eight (maybe) years old. So much for the rule of three, then.

Three weeks without food. Three days without water… Blah blah blah…

Jack could feel some life coming back into his body from the food and water and now felt confident enough to attempt an escape.

He needed a plan. As a teenager he’d been fascinated by WWII escape stories. Had read the small town library out. The daring. The ingenuity. Both were incredible.

Gazing out the window, he could see his stars. His pinpricks of light. Millions of light years away.

There is always a way out of any situation.

All right, so we’re in the hydro dam. Surrounded by monsters that want to eat us. A man is helping them. I’ve probably got two days’ food at best. George’s mum, Sarah, is missing. Dee is God knows where. It’s dark and I don’t even have any sunglasses on.

He couldn’t help but grin at his movie reference. He couldn’t even think of moving until at least midday, so he shifted his weight and closed his eyes. Nothing to be done till then.

Eat when you can. Sleep when you can. Be ready.

Jack woke to the sun shining in his eyes and George poking him in the arm.

“Mister. I really need to pee.”

“Ummm, okay, buddy. Can you hold on a bit longer?” Jack said, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

George started squirming, a panicked look on his face.

“I’m going to have to check if the coast is clear, all right?”

George nodded.

Jack jumped up on top of the lockers and searched the room. Seeing nothing, he reached down and lifted George up next to him. Pivoting, he dropped George down to the floor.

“Sorry, buddy. It will have to be in there,” Jack said, pointing to the hand basin.

Jack checked his watch as George washed his hands. He decided to risk some exploration and guessed the room they were in was a couple of levels down. Jack didn’t know the layout of the dam wall, but he trusted his instincts not to go down any deeper. He decided to stick to this level, for now.

George finished, and wandered back over to the lockers. Jumping down, Jack grabbed his hand. “We’re going to go find your mum, okay. But we have to be super silent. We don’t want to wake the monsters, do we?”

George pulled his hand away and twisted his fingers nervously, intertwining them in a wringing motion. “Nope,” he murmured.

“Good. If they find us, you run, okay? You run in here and hide.”

He continued to stare at George, waiting to see if he understood. His eyes were wide, pupils dilated. The sight broke his heart. The poor kid, having to live through this. He should be out playing. Running around. Gaming. Kid stuff.

Jack shook his head, angry at those responsible for ruining George’s innocence. He embraced the anger. It gave him new energy.

He moved to the door into the room. Placing his ear against it, he listened for any sounds. He could smell that faint rotten fruit smell. It amazed him how it smothered even the stench of death. He cracked open the door and looked into the corridor. Seeing it was clear, he took George’s hand and placed it around the waist belt of his pack.

“You hang on to this. Don’t let go. Unless I tell you to run,” Jack whispered.

“Okay,” George said.

Not wanting to head back the way they’d originally come, Jack headed in the opposite direction. Several other doors lined the corridor and a large green door stood at the end. More people were glued to the walls here, their faces oddly calm and serene as if in some sort of coma. He tried not to linger on their faces too long.

“Don’t look at them, George. Look down,” Jack said as he searched the people for blonde hair.

He felt George’s grip tighten on the belt.

Tears pricked his eyes, a long-buried pain bubbling to the forefront of his mind. Jack had thought he had buried that particular memory deep, away, forgotten. He had avoided having his own children, limited his time with other people’s kids. All to avoid the pain.

Jack loved his little brother, even though there was a ten-year gap. He was so full of life and curiosity. Jack read to him every night, played games, built forts.

As his brother grew, he introduced him to films, comics and the wonders of creativity and imagination.

Before the fateful trip to the snow.

Jack took his brother sledding. With each run, he squealed louder and louder.

“Higher, Jik Jik, higher!” he pleaded.

Caught up in his brother’s delight, Jack relented. Took him to the very top of the steep hill.

Down they flew, getting faster and faster, the cold wind stinging their faces.

A fallen tree branch poking from the snow caught Jack’s trailing foot, throwing him off.

The sled turned sharply. His brother slammed into the trees lining the hill.

Racing up, he found his loving little brother crumpled to one side, blood streaming down over his face, his little head crushed.

Jack cradled him and screamed until he was hoarse. That was how the paramedics found him.

They took his little brother away.

He never saw him again. The funeral directors advised Jack’s mum to have a closed coffin.

Once an outgoing sixteen-year-old, Jack retreated within himself. Shutting away the world, he found solace and comfort in his books, his comics, his movies.

His mum sent him to see a psychiatrist. He went, begrudgingly. How could a stranger know his pain? Know his shame? Know his failing? His little brother was dead because of his error of judgement. His little brother was ashes in the wind because Jack’d been trying to impress his brother with his bravery.

But time heals all to a point, eventually. The psychiatrist helped Jack realise that it wasn’t his fault. He hadn’t put the branch there. To think more on the times he’d shared with his brother, the love, the laughter, the joy they’d brought to each other.

So Jack buried the guilt and the pain deep, deep down. Never forgetting the memory of his little brother, he learnt to live with it.

His brother’s name had been George too. I’ll save this one…

Wiping away the tears, Jack stopped at the first door and listened. Not hearing a sound, he tried the handle. Locked. Cursing silently, he quickly moved on to the next one. After several locked doors, he found an unlocked one. Opening it, Jack saw it was a maintenance room. A workbench lined one wall, with a peg board above filled with tools.

He couldn’t hold back the exclamation that escaped his lips. Finally, a little luck. Grabbing some screwdrivers and a hammer, he jammed them into his belt.

If those things attack, at least I can go down fighting, give the kid a chance to run.

“What’s this, Mister Jack?”

Jack looked down at George. He had crawled under the bench. He was holding out a rusty old machete, its wooden handle so cracked and pitted that someone had wrapped red electrical tape around it.

“That is a very dangerous weapon,” Jack said, gently taking the machete out of the child’s hands.

“But I want something to fight the monsters,” George moaned.

Jack crouched down. “Okay, George, but let’s find you something more suitable.”

Jack searched the work area and found a tool belt. He placed it around George’s waist, adjusting the strap as small as it could go. He populated it with chisels, screwdrivers and a small ball peen hammer.

“If they come, you stab and hit them as hard as you can, all right?” Jack demonstrated the motions.

George beamed up at him and nodded.

He knew the tools wouldn’t do much good against those creatures; they were so damn fast, so ferocious. For that matter, he didn’t know how long either of them would last. But a little hope and something to live for goes a long way.

“C’mon, kid. I don’t know about you, but I want to get out of here.”

“Mummy?”

“Yeah, we’ll keep looking. Remember, super silent. If they come, run back to the red door and hide, okay?”

George pulled out his little hammer. “But I am Thor.”

In spite of all the horror, the fear scratching at him, Jack smiled at George. The kid’s resilience was incredible. He just wanted to find his mum.

“Okay Thor. Let’s go,” Jack said, still smiling.

As they approached the green door at the end of the corridor, the stench of rotting fruit became overpowering. Jack’s hand was shaking as he reached out and opened the door. Peering through the gap, he saw a sight that even the best horror writers’ minds would struggle to imagine. Not wanting George to see, he spun the kid around, stood in front of him, and blocked the child’s view.

Beyond the door, steel stairs descended into a cavernous area. Piles of bones, some with bits of tissue and sinews still attached, lay stacked in corners. Bits of people were strewn about, some half eaten. He could see torsos, arms, legs. Bones sticking out. One of the monsters was lying on top of a pile of intestines, covered in blood and plasma. Lining the walls of the room, severed heads in varying states of decay were on spikes made of bones.

In the deepest shadows of the room, Jack could see sleeping creatures. Some smaller creatures were nestled against some of the larger ones for warmth.

Jack paused, shocked. Were they breeding? Already?

He could see a particularly large stack of bones in the centre of the room. A throne of bones, reminiscent of one Jack had once seen in a catacomb in Europe.

The large mass moved. It was a massive creature, and plated bones protruded from its shoulders, forming spikes. A severed child’s head had been placed atop each spike, much like some sort of grisly trophies. Fighting the bile rising up his throat, Jack turned away, his mind reeling. He had seen this creature before. When they were captured. It hadn’t had the heads back then. The creature led, gave out orders.

Jack stumbled back, pushing George farther into the corridor. His eyes wandered lower. At the big creature’s feet, blonde hair flowed over a woman’s half-eaten body.

No! Sarah…!

Jack remembered, in a moment of clarity when he was drifting in and out of consciousness while trapped on the wall, that he had seen Sarah being taken. Taken for slaughter. All her past, present, and possible futures, snuffed out in an instant. In the end, she had become these monsters’ sustenance.

George started screaming. Jack spun round. The boy was standing in the doorway, looking directly at his mother’s remains.

As one, the creatures’ heads swivelled around to face the door. Terrifying screeches echoed around the cavernous room. With stunning speed and agility, they leapt from the floor.

Jack pulled George away and slammed the door. Jamming one of his hammers through the handle, he hoped it would stop them for a moment, enough time to get away.

Grabbing the still-screaming George by his hand, he sprinted up the corridor, back towards the room they had sheltered in.