The assembled masses chanted and swayed to the thunderous beating drum that Ryan could not see but felt deep in his bones. So in thrall were they to whatever dark god they served that no one even saw Ryan. Not until he raised his gun above his head and fired a shot.
The booming roar died away much quicker than Ryan would have expected, swallowed up in the vast nothingness above. But it was more than enough to do the job. As the sound of the shot went silent, so too did the maniacal chanting. The congregation turned as one to face Ryan, and as the robed leader lowered his knife and looked up at him, Ryan recognized the face of Samuelson.
“Ah,” he said, “we were expecting you.”
“I can’t say I’m all that surprised to see you either,” Ryan answered as he pulled off his jacket, careful never to take his gun off the grinning madman. He stepped forward gingerly, making a mental note that no one tried to stop him. Even Samuelson stood quietly as he approached the quivering girl on the altar. He gestured to the old man with his open hand. “The knife,” he said. “Come on.” Samuelson flipped the knife around, holding it blade to hilt in both hands. He bowed as he offered it to Ryan.
“And so it begins,” he said. Ryan ignored him. He was far more interested in freeing the girl. The blade sliced through her bonds without any significant resistance; it was sharp, and would have cut deep into her heart with ease. As the last rope fell away, the teenager jumped up, wrapping her arms around Ryan.
“It’s OK, it’s OK,” he repeated, though he wondered if it would ever be OK for her again. His hand tightened around the pistol, and for a good five second he considered ending Samuelson then and there. But he was no killer. Not up close, at least. He wrapped Angela up in his coat and slid the knife into his belt.
As he took her hand and backed towards the exit, Samuelson laughed.
“You can’t escape, Mr. Dixson. Of that, there can be no doubt. We will find you. You have chosen your fate, and now it is sealed.”
With that, Ryan and Angela started to run.
He heard the roar from behind him as the assembled mass followed, hot on their heels. But that was only part of his worry. His sixth sense, the one that had guided him so unfailingly through these caverns before, now failed him. He and Angela stumbled through the twisting corridors with nothing to guide them, lost and hunted.
As they spun into one of those endless hallways, Angela tripped and fell. Ryan stopped to help her, but the girl had already dissolved into tears. “Come on, sweetheart,” he said, kneeling down. Even as he spoke, the sounds of their pursuers seemed to close in on them, though Ryan could not say from what direction they came.
“I don’t want to,” Angela sputtered. “I don’t want to do it. I want it to stop.”
“You have to, darling. You have to. It’s the only way.”
At that, the girl’s sobs suddenly halted. She looked up into Ryan’s eyes, and in that instant, he saw something click. Then there was a steely resolve that had been absent until that point. “You’re right,” she whispered. “Of course. You’re right.”
“Yeah,” Ryan said. “Now come on.” He lifted her to her feet, but he also hesitated. He knew he should find some comfort in what he heard from her, that he should be pleased that she had seemed to regain her footing. But something was off. Something was wrong. He worried that if he couldn’t put his finger on it, that something could be fatal. But the booming sounds of chase were too close, and there was no time to consider alternatives.
In another instant, they were running again, dashing down corridor after corridor, and Ryan took comfort in the thought that the sounds of pursuit seemed to be dying away. But that comfort only lasted for a moment. As he and Angela rounded another corner, Ryan felt his heart sink — they had come full circle, returning to the vaulted chamber with its altar and its endless darkness.
“It’s OK,” Ryan said, but the words had barely left his lips when he knew that was wrong. From every entrance, robed figures appeared. Ryan spun on his heel, only to find Samuelson standing behind him. Ryan pushed Angela back towards the raised, stone slab, leveling his gun at Samuelson as he did.
“You cannot escape, Mr. Dixson. It’s time you accepted that.”
Ryan looked down at the girl beside him, and then back to Samuelson. He knelt low next to her, keeping his gun pointed at the deranged man’s heart. “Listen,” he said. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you, OK? Whatever happens, trust that. If they get to me, you run as fast as you can and don’t stop running till you find the staircase out of here. You got that?”
She nodded, and Ryan saw the same resolve as before. If she was scared, she wasn’t showing it.
From all sides, the robed figures started closing in.
“Climb up there,” Ryan said to the girl, gesturing to the altar. “We need to get to high ground.” He pulled the curved blade from his belt, handing it to her. She took it, and he didn’t need to tell her what to do with it. As the others surrounded them, they climbed onto the stone slab, and Ryan once again pointed his pistol at Samuelson.
“What are you going to do, Mr. Dixson? Shoot me? Do you think that will work? Do you think you can kill us all? Are you so delusional to believe you can play the hero?”
“I don’t have to kill you all,” Ryan roared. “But by God, I’ll kill you. I may not make it out of here tonight, but you damn sure won’t either.”
Samuelson paused, as if thinking on Ryan’s words.
“So you would die for the girl, then? You would lay down your life to save hers?”
Ryan didn’t answer, not with words, but the truth was written in his eyes. Samuelson nodded.
“I knew it was so. I knew it from the moment I met you.”
If what followed had not come to pass, Ryan might have pondered those words. He might have wondered what exactly Samuelson meant. But then he felt the fire, the explosion of pain in his back, starting between his shoulder blades, and then streaking like lightening down his spine. As the hot blood splattered on the altar, Ryan’s legs gave way and he collapsed to the stone slab below. His head hit hard on solid rock, but not so hard that he couldn’t see the girl standing above him, her hands covered in his blood, the knife slipping from them and clattering on the ground. In her eyes, there was inestimable pity, and Ryan, even through the pain, felt confusion.
There was a rush and rustling of cloth, and two figures came up to the girl and grabbed her shoulders. As they did, one of their hoods fell away, and in that moment, even though he had never seen her, Ryan knew that he was looking at Angela’s mother. And as they pulled her back, something else dawned upon him.
It was never Angela that was the sacrifice.
A terrible thought occurred to him then, as his life left him, that he had done more than fail himself this night. His death was meant to bring about something horrible, and even now, the world might be ending, and all of it would be his fault.
“No, Mr. Dixson,” Samuelson said as if reading his mind, all the malice and hate having melted away, replaced with what could only be called sadness, “it’s not that at all. Not at all.”
There was more movement, and then another face appeared above him, one he had never thought he would see again. But this time, the pale green eyes lacked their stormy fury. Tears had dimmed them.
“Oh Ryan,” Katya said, taking his hand, “you wonderful, beautiful man. I’m so sorry.”
As she spoke, the robed figures began to pull down their hoods, and in all their faces, Ryan saw the deepest sorrow. But as they closed in around him, none seemed more saddened than Samuelson.
“We live in a hard world, my friend,” Samuelson said as he knelt low so that he could look into Ryan’s eyes. Katya sobbed beside him, holding Ryan’s hand and stroking his forehead. “A world that calls for the worst kinds of sacrifice. Even now, in places far darker than this, evil men are gathered. They call to worlds unknown and unseen, and through endless darkness float their words. They gibber the names of black gods, and they sacrifice the innocent in an effort to bring them back to rule over all. The stars are right tonight, as they are only once in a century, if that. And if we were to stop them, we knew it would take the most powerful magic, the kind only blood can call forward. The blood not of innocents,” he said, looking up at Angela as she hugged her mother tight, soaking her robe with tears, “but blood shed by innocents instead. The blood of a hero. Only that can hold back the darkness. Many will never know your name, Ryan Dixson, but we shall never forget it. And the world will sleep safe tonight because of your sacrifice.”