HAUNTED SONA
CHAPTER 19
This wasn't supposed to have taken this long.
Linc cut the boat's engine, allowing the cruiser to float leisurely. That was for the best, anyway. The motor's roar boomed over the sound of the gentle waves out there, above the lonely wail of a distance ship's horn. He wasn't that far from land and in fact could see the revolving light coming from the prison's guard tower.
Sona, at that hour, looked even worse. Darkened, ominous, unforgiving. It was just an old building, Linc told himself, nothing more. But it was an old building with a persona attached, one that was blackhearted and evil.
He checked his watch. Where was Michael?
His brother had been right about the cave. That is…if it was the right cave. It had to be, he thought. From that point on the water, Linc estimated the distance between the prison and the opening, that sizable gap, like a bleeding sore cut right into the cliffs.
It had to be the cave his brother had spoken of, since, as far as the eye could see, there were no other caves around.
Come on, Michael! Where are you, man?
With the heat being so stifling, he'd taken the time to purchase a cheap cooler. He'd tossed in a bag of ice and now pulled out a chilled bottle of iced tea, downing half of it thirstily. Sara came to mind as he stared out glumly at the point where land met sea.
She wasn't going to make it. He just had that feeling, though he still held on to a speck of hope. If she died, how could he break the news to Michael? He'd be devastated.
And then, too…there was LJ.
Linc winced at what was actually a physical pain inside him when he thought about the danger his son was in. He hated doing that to Michael, hated himself for lying to his face. And it wasn't that his brother didn't love LJ and wouldn't move earth and sky to save him, because in truth, Michael loved the kid like his own son.
Yet Linc knew that, once Michael knew what was going on with Sara, and God forbid, if she never came out of that coma, he would shut down. Just completely, irrevocably shut down. There'd be no reaching him then.
What was that movement in the opening? Linc had the bottle poised to his mouth and then lowered it.
Michael? Mahone, maybe? Was it them at last? Relieved, he smiled and started for the motor but then stopped.
Maybe his eyes were playing tricks on him. Possible. It was so dark out there, pitch-black. Could have been the light from the boat dancing on the canopy of total darkness in the mouth of the cave.
But no. It wasn't the light; his eyes were fine. He blinked, clearing his vision as best he could.
What…the hell…was THAT?
Linc rested one hand on the boat and leaned forward slightly. He reached for the binoculars he'd found on the boat.
That had to be his imagination—or so he prayed. Human beings didn't grow to that height. The figure hovering near the entrance to the cave had to be eleven, maybe twelve feet tall. It was dressed in a black robe with a hood, covered from head to toe. Linc could make out the face. A bony face, the skin a mottled color, like that of a rotting corpse. Hands, that same color of death, reached out through the sleeves. He tried to catch his breath.
What that was, it was staring back at him. Sneering at him. A chill ran through him. For the first time that night, he was afraid. Deathly, paralyzingly afraid. Michael had said the place was haunted. The people he'd spoken to had also sworn to it.
It had seen Linc. And it was taunting him.
Daring him to come closer.
Michael swallowed hard. He managed to jest, if rather shakily, "There's something you've yet to see on the Discovery Channel."
Bellick answered seriously, either not catching the joke or too afraid for humor.
"They're not—they're not natural."
"I gathered that. You don't have to be a psychic ex-prison guard to know that. Besides, I don't think they make roach motels that big."
"They're spirits. That's the form they're taking with us."
"Lucky us," Mahone threw in, also in a choked whisper.
The men saw the antennae first. Antennae a good two feet or so long, bobbing out from behind the treasure chests. And then the rest of the insects appeared, crawling out from behind. Insects, complete with wings. A sickening brown color, with multiple legs, buzzing loudly.
Half a dozen of them. And every single one appeared to have a deadly, larger-than-life stinger. The insects approached the men, who were slowly backing away, slowly. The insects approached like predatory animals.
"We're not getting out of this room alive," Bellick noted with a mild whimper.
"We're gonna run," Michael told him.
"Outrun 'em? How? What if they run faster?" Mahone asked.
"We're gonna try, that's for damn sure."
One step at a time they moved back in the direction of the corridor. One step at a time the ungodly creatures advanced. Buzzing. Their antennae wiggling up and down. Fluttering their thin membrane wings.
"Run," Michael commanded.
Bellick, the closest to the door, sprang forward. Mahone trailed him and right behind was Michael. Behind them the insects buzzed louder, furiously, as if angered by their prey daring to attempt escape from them. Up ahead, Michael saw Bellick stumble, immediately regaining his footing and forging forward.
Hearing a screech behind him he looked back. One of the monstrous insects shot out its wings to their full, horrifying expanse. Its legs lifted off the ground and it pounced forward with unexpected agility and speed.
"NO!" Michael's shout echoed through the passageway.
Where was the angel now? Where was Veronica? He needed her. Now more than ever, and she was nowhere to be seen.
He ran but he saw the insect tower over him. Something sticky adhered itself to his shoulders, shirt and waist. Michael fought wildly but in seconds he felt himself being lifted, his feet losing touch with the ground. His eyes widened.
"NOOOOOO! Help!" he screamed. "Bel-lick! Al-eeeex!"
The insect's buzzing, already a demonic sound, grew louder behind him. As he was carried higher—five, ten, fifteen feet high—he flew over Alex and Bellick, who almost collided with each other, both distracted and slowed down by seeing him.
"Oh, shit, Scofield!" Bellick exclaimed. "Shit, shit, shit!"
"What do we do? What do we do?" Mahone cried out.
But there were five more of the insects. Still advancing, scurrying fast after the two men who remained. Michael continued to fight in spite of his better judgment, knowing that it now a far drop—more than thirty feet—to the ground.
"This is it," he uttered out loud.
Mahone and Bellick were out of sight now. Naturally, they were in danger themselves, struggling to avoid the other insects. But this was Alex Mahone and Brad Bellick. Neither of them would turn back for him, even if they could. He wasn't getting out of there now. Like T-Bag, he would be left there, in the underbelly of Sona. Wherever "there" was.
Then he had his answer to that question as the insect approached. "There" was what looked like an arched doorway carved into the wall. And in the center…what was that? A crate? Just a solitary crate. No—that was a coffin. He choked back a breath, realizing as the insect flew closer that it was a coffin. What was that behind it? A mantle?
No, that was an altar. Dozens of candles were lit and glowing around the edges of it. There as a figure on it, a slight, naked figure that he couldn't quite make out. Blinking, Michael focused on another figure, this one seated on the coffin. A freakish figure, its head an odd shape, hair missing in patches.
Without warning, it turned its head. From the fear alone Michael let out a cry when he saw the mouth stretched from one ear to the other in a grotesque grin that revealed rotted teeth and three tongues knotted together. Blood dripped from those tongues. There was a triangular opening where the nose belonged. The figure rose from the coffin at the same time the figure on the altar moved, and now Michael was close enough to see it clearly. His heart skipped a painful beat.
That was Sara. Naked, her hair falling around her face and shoulders in tangles. Propping herself up with her hands, her eyes filled with tears and catching the reflection cast by the lit candles.
"Sara," he breathed her name.
And the flying insect-spirit released him, allowing him to fall roughly onto the altar. He saw both Sara reaching for him with one hand. The small, deformed beast did the same with his skeletal hands as he let out a blood-curdling screech before darkness engulfed Michael.
Note to Readers: HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!