Milo’s business was located at an Industrial park at the southern edge of town. Apart from the large rectangular concrete building which Milo leased, the rest of the overgrown park had never been completed. He leaves his car out front and checks the area for any unusual activity. Then he enters the business locking himself inside alone. The interior had a definite I.T. startup vibe with clean bright juxtaposing colours, plush carpets and modern stylish office equipment. Hundreds of servers were lined up along the rear wall behind thirty metres of tinted glass. He walks through the open planned environment wondering if this was the last time he would ever see the place. Deep down he certainly felt that way, but was it based in reality? He certainly hoped not, but he couldn’t help himself. His brain was telling his mind to act rational. To either ignore these thoughts, or face them head on and accept the truth of his madness. He’d been telling himself negative affirmations. Hoping they would help. The insanity directing the horror in my endless nightmares are drawn from my lying psychotic drug fucked memory.  He stops at a storeroom door and thinks about it. It’s not fucking real. Trying to convince himself. He reaches out, putting his palm onto a concrete wall partition which separates the last ten metres of the building. The man-made rock was smooth and cold to the touch. He tells himself that this is reality. It’s tangible, real. Milo shuts his eyes and clenches both his hands into hard fists. He takes a deep breath, then exhales. He unlocks the door. 

The storeroom was five by five metres square and lined with shelves full of boxes. The tilt slab partition wall had at some stage been cut with a concrete saw to create a doorway for some unknown use by the previous occupier. Milo had placed a heavy steel mesh on the other side of the hole to hold back tonnes of apparent firewood from spilling into the storeroom. 

The only visible entrance to this concrete bay was a large roller door at the front of the building. “Give Me Wood” was a trading logo garishly splashed across it. Inside the bay there appeared to be nothing else but a large pile of cut, split firewood measuring four metres high by ten metres wide and deep. 

Milo takes his car keys and presses the unlock button on a key remote. Small electrical motors can be heard whirring then a loud clunk as a heavy electrical lock is released. Milo pushes the thick metal mesh and firewood back with one finger as a secret door swings open. He shuts it behind him and stands inside the vegetation room. It was warm and well lit, with thousands of marijuana plants at various stages of growth. From cuttings to clones and mother plants, all were thriving and full of life. He checks a monitoring computer for temperature, humidity and carbon dioxide levels. Once certain that everything was functioning perfectly as it should, he then opens a door to the flowering room.  Thousands of small plants were maturing under red and blue L.E.D. lights in a sickly sea of cannabis cotton candy.  He checks them along with the fans and the carbon filter extraction system which was striping the air of the pungent marijuana scent before going outside. He gives himself a moment to admire his achievements before entering the drying and trimming room. Half of this room was filled with the very first commercial crop of harvested cannabis flowers hanging from the ceiling. The other end of the room had a table and chairs for trimming. Milo inserts his earbuds and finds the frequency for talk radio on his phone. The reception is sketchy but good enough for Milo to follow what they’re talking about. As he goes about trimming the last of the flowers. He hears newsreaders and reporters speaking with trepidation and fear. The hacked self driving diplomatic cars of Washington D.C., carrying congressmen and senators were still rampaging around the city’s empty streets, hunting and killing anyone who dared venture outside, and although the police were starting to make good progress in bringing the cars of D.C. to a stop, the phenomena was now quickly spreading to every other major city in the country. Hundreds to thousands of people were dying from hit and run events. No evidence of culpability was presented, but the fingers of many speakers were being pointed at Russia and China. He asks himself in his thoughts, have I dreamt this before? It felt like deja vu. Like a foretold prequel to the madness that was coming to bare all around him. Milo trimmed the last of the cannabis as he listened to the American President give a hellfire speech declaring imminent retribution with language bathed in patriotic pride. It fitted with the nightmares. He could taste the torment and terror. It can’t be real he tells himself. It’s not my fault. Nothing to do with me. I’m just a nobody. It felt like a lie. Milo pours the manicured flowers into a hydraulic press. The material’s compressed into blocks which he wraps in plastic. He places the bricks into a canvas bag with nineteen other bricks already processed and pulls the string.

His phone started ringing. He looks at the caller I.D. on his screen. It’s Bludgy again. He carries the bag back through to the vegetation room to where the reception is a little better. He answers the call and puts the phone into his shirt’s breast pocket.

“I’ve told you not to call me,” said Milo.  

“The cops are seconds away from raiding your building.” Milo feels the existing stress in his stomach contort into double knots. “I’m parked down the road watching them going your way.”

Bludgy was telling the truth about the police arriving, except he wasn’t a witness. In reality he was driving his brother’s new BMW sedan on the other side of town. 

Milo rushes to a splatter of security screens spread across the wall. He can see a twenty tonne front end loader leading a convoy of ten police cars and vans straight towards his business. His heart sinks. He thinks of his options. The rear wall security cams showed scrubby bush blowing in the wind and not a cop in sight. “Do you remember our conversation this morning that if something goes wrong you still owe me? Do you remember that?” 

A car that Bludgy’s been following pulls over. Bludgy does a U-turn and parks on the other side of the street.  

Milo’s been ignoring Bludgy as he slides a large cabinet across the floor revealing a crude man hole cut through the concrete foundation. “Be ready to pick me up in five minutes,” said Milo, “I’ll let you know the spot when I’m almost there, but if I lose the call then park next to the big pine tree on Baker Street. I’ll be there as fast as I can.” 

Bludgy moves the right hand wing mirror so he can observe the car he was following without looking suspicious. “That’s the spirit, give it your best shot kid. But the reality is you’re about to be arrested. You’re going to lose everything. There ain’t nothing you can do.”

Milo drops the bag into the black hole and hears a splash. His heart sinks even lower. He looks down into darkness with fear. He slides into the waist deep water filled shaft, then pulls the cabinet back overhead to conceal his escape route.

“But out of the goodness of my heart,” continues Bludgy, “I’m giving you until sunrise tomorrow to do good on the deal agreed to, that is if you can by some miracle manage it. And after that, well then we can come to terms about my lost investment due to your negligence. But what am I to do if you can’t manage this miracle by sunrise?” Milo ignores him.  He pads around in the dark feeling for an emergency flashlight which he remembered was stationed somewhere on the walls. He finds it and flicks the switch. It doesn’t work. He doesn’t feel alone. He bashes the torch against a wooden upright several times in the hope it frees up the batteries. He hits too hard. It smashes to bits. He hears a voice in his head that’s not his own. You’ve failed. It sounds cruel, evil and true. It agrees with Bludgy. He feels surrounded alone and watched in the darkness. He then takes out his phone and fumbles. It falls in the water. He puts his head under to find it as the panic rises. He quickly wipes it dry with his last bit of dry shirt then activates the torch application. Hearing nothing but his ragged breath in the hole he points the harsh flaring beam down the length of the tunnel. See, he thinks himself, you’re just going crazy. There’s no one here but me. 

The tunnel had been empty since its construction the previous summer. The once dry, smooth walls of the narrow crawlway were now seimi collapsed and flooded with water and mud. There was less than half the original space left to squeeze through. Milo pushes the bag through the tunnel ahead of him. It slides good until the blocks start spreading apart, literally blocking his path. Without pause he immediately extends the rope on the bag, then removes the belt from his pants. The belt is tied to the end of the rope and the buckle is wrapped around his hand. Then he lays on his back in the water and pulls himself through by gripping the rickety wooden framing and dragging the bag behind him. 

“As of right now,” said Budgy, “you have nothing of value at all to anyone, and if you survive this, well then you’re gonna go to jail for a long time. So there’s no conceivable way of payment from you, isn’t there.” Milo continues ignoring Bludgy as he pushes on. The further Milo moves through the tunnel, the deeper his head and shoulders sink as he pushes the fine muddy sludge ahead of him in a slow moving bow wave. The water level is now above his eyes and nose, he’s holding his head up by clinging to the rotten rafters. He curses Tex for not using treated timber when it was built.

“So in the meantime,” continues Bludgy, “since there’s nothing you can give me, because you own nothing. I’m taking the Jet.” Milo isn’t sure what he heard over the now crackling call. He stops moving.

“What? What did you say?”

“I said, I’m taking Jet and Riley.”

“No,no,” shouts Milo. “They’ve got nothing to do with this.” The frame he’s holding onto snaps. His head drops down under water. His lungs are empty from shouting at Bludgy. He tries to pull himself up by gripping the walls but the wet mud melts like soft butter through his fingers. 

“And I know that she’s leaving you for good this time, which is such a shame because I hate to see a family broken up, and you guys made such a beautiful family. Super photogenic.”

There’s no room or leverage for Milo’s elbows to raise his upper body. He’s floundering. He pumps his feet into the floor of the tunnel as if he’s peddling a bike at speed in a desperate attempt to move himself forward as fast as he can. He pads around the ceiling stretching out as far as he can until he finally grips the next rafter and carefully hauls his upper body out of the water and takes a big breath. There’s a sucking sound as air enters the gaps of the mud falling from the ceiling of the tunnel. It’s hitting the water with a plop plop plop. Milo takes a big breath.

“Leave them alone Bludgy or I swear, I’ll kill you...” Milo is forced to stop talking as a glob of mud fills his mouth. Bludgy continues without pause.

“And now, due to your inept negligence they’re both in need of a new daddy, so what a perfect time for their new Uncle Bludgy to step into the picture and save the day.”

“No Bludgy. Don’t you fucking dare.” Milo wasn’t taking care with his weight hanging from the rotten framing which again snaps. He’s back underwater. 

“You failed Milo. Your fears were real.”

Milo’s arms and legs are cramping up from the exertion in the cold. The rage inside was detrimental. He was out of breath. His lungs and muscles were burning. 

In the wing mirror Bludgy watches as Jet exits the driver’s door of the parked car that Budgy was following. He narrows his eyes as he takes her all in. “You’re dying Milo, you’re drowning in mud and they’re coming for. I know you can feel it.” Milo couldn’t help feeling Budgy was right. From far away he could feel malignant evil entities, full of hunger and coming in fast. Claws and teeth, scratching, biting at his skin. trying to pull him back. “They’ve come to drag you to Hell Milo.” Said Bludgy as he watches Jet lift Riley out of the car. Then Jet pauses as she looks at their destination, one property down from where they parked.  “Just let it go and whatever happens to little Riley it doesn’t matter to you, regardless of how much suffering she should experience, even if it’s infinite suffering that lasts for eternity because once you’re dead it’s done, you’ll never remember so just breathe it in.  Breathe it in and let it go.” The call drops.

Milo’s floundering. Was something really pulling him back? It felt so real. His fingers stretch out as far as he can reach. Searching for timber. Every second feels like the last. It’s time to go to Hell, said a voice in his head. This is it, he thinks to himself. The end. Then at the end of his final search, a middle fingertip slides over a planed smooth surface. There’s a chance. He pumps his left leg like mad until he can get his fingertips just over the edge of the rafter and gently pulls against it, careful not to snap it. His lungs were full of flames. He lifts his head for air. As he kicks himself free and hauls himself out of the tunnel, he tumbles into the other two metre deep shaft at the opposite end, that’s half filled with water.  He massages his cramped leg, then takes the phone out of his pocket and gives it a quick wash in the murky water to clear the screen. He presses the power button except it’s jammed with grit and won’t turn on so he pushes the button hard against the corner of the framing until the screen lights up. There’s and incoming call. Milo swipes at the wet screen until it finally connects. 

“Mr. Hayes?” Asks the caller.

“Huh?” replied Milo, momentarily having a mindlock after expecting Bludgy.

“Mr. Hayes, this is Dean Stanley from the bankruptcy court. I’m letting you know that as of right now, you are fifteen minutes late for your business liquidation meeting and unfortunately you are in very serious trouble, I’ve been getting calls from the serious fraud office asking questions about money laundering and I’ve been doing my best to help you but I’m starting to ask myself why…” Milo interrupts.

“Oh fuck off you’re the least of my problems.” He swipes until the call ends, then he calls Jet.

Herself and Riley were standing on the sidewalk outside their destination. Bludgy was watching as Jet appeared ambivalent, stopping and starting, not sure what to do. She takes her phone out of her bag to answer it. Bludgy could tell the exchange was heated. He reclines his seat a little and stretches out. He stops watching them both and looks up at the brewing sky with a smug, content expression.

Back in the shaft Milo’s exasperated with his call to Jet. “Just tell me.., tell me if you can hear me, can you hear me.” Milo unplugs the ear buds. “Can you…”  The volume is high, Jet’s angry voice bursts out in mid rant and much louder than Milo feels comfortable with incase there’s someone above ground who can hear. He tries to lower the volume but the button is jammed with mud as well. “No listen to me... you’re not safe. I said you’re not safe. You and Riley have to run and hide., I said run and hide anywhere but don’t tell anyone.  I said you have to run and hide but…” Jet hangs up. Milo shuts his eyes for a second to control his breathing and calm himself down. He tries to send her a text message but the screen and his fingers are so damp it’s impossible to text. “I haven’t got time for this shit.” He looks up at the escape hatch. 

Milo pulls the bag out of the tunnel and into the shaft. He drops down as low as he can, until his rear end is squatting in the water, then he pulls hard on the chord which releases the escape hatch. It violently swings open, narrowly missing his head and hitting the mud wall with a thump. He points his light up at the exit hole. A black polythene water seal that had covered the escape hatch door was now stretcheing down into the shaft like a growing pregnancy of death, expanding the plastic to its stretchable limits. He climbs up the framing as high as he can and pulls up the bag. Then he takes a small knife that’s been left jammed in the framing. He puts the phone back in his pocket, then empties his lungs and takes a big deep breath. His eyes clap shut. With the belt wrapped around his left hand, and the knife held by both, he plunges up and into the bulge and pulls back horizontally, slicing as far and fast as he can’t before the cesarean cut gives birth to the downward force of mud and water that knocks him to the bottom with incredible force. He drops the knife and pushes up directly into the downward torrent with all the strength his thighs can muster. The shaft is quickly filling up. Both of Milo’s legs have cramped now. He has to pull himself up with his arms and somehow manages to climb up within thirty centimeters from the surface though it takes an enormous amount of effort. Already the fine silt is semi-solidifying around his feet and following up his body. His back is hunched over from trying to pull up the bag that’s now buried in sludge. He realises that if he doesn’t move quickly he’s going to be stuck. He lets the rope and belt go slack and manages to climb a bit more but now the solidification is taking hold of his torso. All he can do is force up his head in the hope of reaching air.    

 Bludgy goes back to watching Jet who’s finished her call staring at the phone with an angry bemused look. Then she takes Riley by the hand and heads down the path to the house. “That’s the way sweetie,” said Bludgy. “Good girl. In you go”  She stands there before the door looking nervous. “Knockity knock.” Said Bludgy with a grin.  She knocks on the door three times.  “What have you got?” The rap of the third knock sounded in the same moment as Ozil’s boot was swinging down at Milo’s head. The door opens wide as Milo’s kicked unconscious. Bludgy can’t stop laughing. Hahahaha. Now doesn’t that just knock your head right off.”

Milo had no idea who or where he was, but he knew it was a dark, cold, wet, evil place. In the distance he could hear malevolent laughter. It sounded just like Bludgy.

Next Chapter: 7