Gravity Hill

Headline News: The two men talking drowned out the constant sound of dripping water as they sloshed their way through the sewer. Oil lantern in a steady hand, Detective Doyle Longstreet led the pair deeper into the culverts. “If I had known this was where you wanted me to go, I might have said no.” Close behind, the reporter Carl Darren followed. “You have to go where the story takes you.” Carl’s lantern danced from sound to sound, trying to identify each foreign noise and movement, flashing across the salt lines on the bricks indicating high tide marks. “You said you wanted to defend those overlooked. This is your chance.” In his spare hand, he clutched a sketch of a map like a life preserver. “I know what I said. I just didn’t think the first step would be the sewer—maybe the second or third stop but not the first.” “Now you can live up to your transportations name and become a true hero.” “I should’ve never told you.” “But you’re my hero!” Doyle knew he was trying to bat his eyelashes. He’d been doing it since he told him the bikes name. “Look, I didn’t name it.” “Who did?” Doyle turned to face Carl, who promptly protected his eyes from the glare with his arm. “The inventor. It’s named after the inventor of the steam engine.” “I’m just saying, maybe you should call it something else.” Doyle turned and continued the slog through the knee-deep waste. “Like what?” “Bicycle has been taken.” “I know. Look, you’re supposed to be the great writer. Think up a new name, or I might call it Carl, or something equally ridiculous.” “It would be Hero-Bike...” “Shut it.” “I’m just saying... How about Steam-Cycle?” “Can we change the subject?” Doyle shined the lantern at a patch of gray ooze suspended from the curved overhead drapes and decided it was healthier not to investigate the material. “Has there been any new murders... like the ones before the organs were stolen?” Doyle grunted as the subject changed. “No.” “So, Sister Ping was behind it?” Carl pressed. The grunt turned into a soft growl. “We broke up her operation, and the killing and body mutilation stopped. What does that tell you?” “So still no motive is what you’re saying?” “Sometimes people do some twisted things. Not everyone has a motive.” Doyle ran his fingers through his wavy dark hair in a vain attempt to remove the cobwebs. “So, the case is dead?” “Unless you can tell me how to catch a Naga and tell me where she is... yes, for now, the case is dead.” “That would be some sight, a topless, half snake, half-woman on the dock—that would make a name for you.” “I’m not in it for the fame...” Trying to change the subject again, “Why are we in the sewers again?” “I told you, I have reports on the disappearance of twenty-five people. That’s twenty-five people the police refuse to investigate. Some of them might have been Shanghaied but not all of them. The last report was a sewer worker who vanished down here while working with two others. I find that strange, don’t you?” “It is strange, but the guy might’ve skipped out to meet his mistress.” “Smelling of fresh sewer?” “You never know what turns some on, but why down here? He could be anywhere under the city.” “This is the area he was in. They searched it well and found nothing. I was hoping your keen analytical mind might turn something up. Besides, you have the gun. You understand I hate violence.” They came to a crossing in the tunnels. Doyle panned his light around the intersection. “Which way?” Carl glanced over the map and muttered to himself, “There shouldn’t be a crossing here.” He spun it around in his hand to orientate it. “Did you get us lost in the sewers?” Doyle stood, lamp arm held high, his other hand on his hip. “I think... I think we should head back to find our bearings.” Doyle shook his head and reached into his outer coat pocket, producing a small piece of chalk. “We have plenty of oil, and this is the first intersection. It is easy enough to get back from here.” He drew a sweeping arrow and the word ‘out’ below it. “We head that way.” Doyle motioned across the junction from the arrow out. “Why?” Carl turned away from the light, inspecting the way out. “The high-water marks are deeper down that tunnel. That means this tunnel leads to the bay.” Carl nodded in agreement. “I am not accustomed to reading the telltale signs in the sewer.” Doyle changed the subject to save Carl’s pride. “I think we are deeper than the Shanghai Tunnels. We go too far, we’ll end up in the bay.” “Why I picked low tide for this. We should be safe for a few hours before these tunnels get flushed.” He removed his flat hat and wiped the sweat from his brow with his tweed sleeve. “And everything in here drowns.” Doyle halted to survey the surroundings. “Have you been in here before?” “No, first time, why?” “I was wondering where that went.” He pointed to a sequence of rusty ladder rungs leading to a dark hole overhead. The ladder, near impossible to spot in the dim light. “It looks like it leads up. Might be dangerous, you first.” The reporter chuckled. Doyle shot Carl a glance out of the corner of his eye. “I told you, I hate violence, especially when it is directed at me. You drive the hero-cycle after all...” The only reply was a glare. As he climbed, Doyle tested each rung before putting his full weight on it. The last thing he wanted was to fall and break a leg deep in the sewers under San Francisco. “What about Steam-Bike?” Carl called up after him. “Shush.” Doyle slowed his ascent as he neared a recently replaced woven grate. The lantern light did little to illuminate the space beyond his location. “I’m going to have to force this open,” Doyle whispered down to Carl. “Don’t worry. I’m ready to run.” Doyle shook his head before he pressed his weight into the covering. Much to his surprise, it slid cleanly from its setting, like it was often used. “Strange.” “What is?” “Shush.” Doyle surveyed the square brick room with four tunnels, one on each side, searching for any sight or sound that might indicate trouble. “Never mind. Climb up here.” Doyle was already in the space beyond the opening, beginning a more thorough inspection. When Carl poked his head out of the opening, Doyle motioned for him to stay in the hole while he scanned the area for clues. He started with a slow spin while his eyes swiftly took in the footprints on the musty brick floor. Intrigued by what he saw, he walked over to pick up the smallest object reflecting the flickering oil light. “What do you think?” Carl contained himself no longer. “There was a scuffle here, but between whom I’m not sure. However, I would say one was about the size of a normal human. The others were several creatures of small stature. If I didn’t know better, I would say they were Buggers.” “What are Buggers?” “Demonic creatures that stand about knee-high and leave behind a vomit inducing slime wherever they tread.” “I hope they aren’t Buggers. What did you pick up?” Doyle removed his kerchief from his inside vest pocket and laid the smallest damaged gear on the white cloth, showing the prize to Carl. “I am not sure where it came from, but the workmanship is exquisite.” Carl raised his eyebrow while inspecting the gear. “That is a strange thing to find so deep underground.” “I agree. We need to head down that tunnel.” Doyle folded the cloth and placed it back in his inner pocket before pointing down the nearest tunnel. “That is the direction the human footsteps ran.” “Ran? I guess we should follow. You brought your pistol, right?” Doyle nodded as he made the mark of an arrow to show which way they went, and said, “Never leave home without it.” They walked several paces before Carl asked, “Is it me or do these tunnels look older than the ones below?” “You’re correct, and the workmanship is of much higher quality.” “So, it would be safe to say we are in a part of the tunnels that are older than the oldest part of the sewers?” “Yes, why?” “Just trying to think about the facts for my story about this, or maybe even a book...” “Can we keep our minds on our current situation?” Doyle continued to inspect the floor, looking for any sign as to the outcome of the scuffle. “Not all of us have a nice government job and benefactor to pay the bills.” Doyle halted. Carl flinched, expecting Doyle’s punch. “We’re here.” “Where?” “The last place I can track the man to—his footsteps end.” “What? He died here?” “No, he disappeared here. I find no blood or signs he hit the ground. It is like he flew from this spot.” “Maybe there are more signs down the tunnel.” Carl’s voice sounded strained, higher pitched. “I doubt it. I think he was carried to his fate by all these little feet.” “How many are you counting?” “That’s just it. There are too many to count.” Carl c****d his head like a dog hearing a strange sound. “What’s that noise?” Doyle joined Carl in the peculiar position before shouting, “RUN!” He shoved Carl down the tunnel away from their exit.