Cerulean Dreams by O'Brien Dan

Author:O'Brien, Dan [O'Brien, Dan]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Amalgam
Published: 2013-12-30T16:00:00+00:00

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Marlowe opened his eyes and still saw darkness. He reached out and felt his surroundings, but the unevenness of the rocks beneath his touch was of little comfort. Shaking his head, he used the jagged walls to stand. Daring not to move for he did not know what lay about him, he simply stood, blinking. His mind swum; pressing a hand to his skull, he felt wetness––blood.

He tried to recall what had happened. There was thunder upon the desert, a white wave of sand, and then nothing else.

“Dana,” he called out.

The word echoed into the darkened air. A cavern, he reasoned, would possess the acoustics for such an echo. “Dana, are you here? Are you hurt?” he called out again.

Taking a cautious step forward, he made certain there was even, stable ground beneath his feet. Step by step, he moved forward.

Using the rocks to balance himself, he stumbled blindly through the darkness as his eyes adjusted. He felt his body with his hands, searching for a weapon, some object of luminance.

His blade was still affixed to his back.

The empty holster at his side was torn.

The rifle had remained in place. His back hurt around the outline of the metallic monstrosity. He pulled it from around his shoulders, finding comfort in the grip. Marlowe switched on the guiding light atop the rifle, the pinpoint of light darting around the room as he swung the rifle. He touched his chest, the lesser body armor was still in place, cracked and worn from the assassin’s attacks.

The cavern was unremarkable. Darker patches of stone where water had filtered down lay together in small sections. The gurgle of water in the distance informed Marlowe that there might yet be an underground resource of water that flowed through the caverns.

“Dana,” he called again.

He stepped carefully over the terrain. With the gun in his hand and the light to guide his way, he moved forward in haste. Jagged outcroppings were littered about his path. He picked his way through the throng of thin rocks with deliberate steps.

Stopping occasionally to look up, he heard whistling. Air trapped and blowing through the cavern had originated somewhere. This thought kept him moving forward, searching for the source of the cavern, an entrance perhaps. His body was warm. The body armor marked his path as he shed broken pieces periodically. The warmth of the caverns made his mind swim.

“Marlowe….” The voice was a whisper, but it crawled across his skin. He swung around his weapon, the light searching the wall. Swallowing the hard lump in his throat, he felt paranoia skitter up his spine.

Their forms started out slowly, moving across the walls. Their fingers cracked against the stone, splintering nail and bone. He couldn’t see them, but he knew they were there: the faceless beings trapped in some macabre death scream. He moved the light across the wall as he started forward again. It flashed across with a halo of light.

“Who’s there?” he roared as he swung the gun around, trying to follow the form.

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