Excerpt: Greylag

THOM

Over time, my eyes grew accustomed to the minimal level of light in the warren of jumbled corridors, but that’s about all I could become accustomed to. The gangways were filled with the relentless torment of demented screaming, grasping hands reaching out and clawing at me. Whenever I stumbled, usually dragged down by one of the doomed souls incarcerated in this place, I put my hand out to steady myself to find the walls were a slimy writhing mass of insects, whose chittering exoskeletons formed an eerie backing track to the moans and the wailing. The sheer horror of my surroundings made me start to question my own sanity.
My breathing began to get slower, more laboured and my walking slowed to a crawl as every muscle in my body got heavier and heavier. I no longer had the strength to stand upright and began to crawl along the floor, unseen hands still grasping at my clothes. Once again the floor gave way beneath me and I fell, just catching hold of the edge of the shaft, suspended by my fingertips over a lake of sulphurous fire. The weight of my body continued to increase until I could hold myself no longer. I plunged into the flames, the searing scorching pain tormented every sinew and muscle fibre in my body. The agony would have been relieved by death, but at this stage in my journey through Hades even I knew that death would have been too easy an exit, too much of a relief for Hell to afford me. I fell through the inferno, feeling my hair ignite, my skin scorch and my eyes burst. I hit bottom, dragged down by the weight of my leaden body and blacked out.
I hadn’t expected to wake, but when I did, I was surprised to find myself in a small wooded clearing. I could move my limbs normally again. My clothes were a little charred but my body was generally intact, save for my sprained ankle and a multitude of cuts and bruises, but I knew I’d only been spared for further torment. I looked around - the clearing was empty except for a dirty blanket thrown away in one corner. I could hear rusting in the forest around me and occasional wailing sounds - distressed human sounds, not an animal, although I was finding it increasingly difficult to tell the two apart. I walked over to the crumpled blanket, though on closer inspection it was little more than a bundle of dirty rags; bloodstained rags. I jumped in surprise as the bundle moved and a plaintive cry emerged. Pulling the top covers revealed a chilling sight; a baby, no more than 6 weeks old, beaten and battered about he head, face and body. Blood from it’s left ear caked it’s face and I could see there were serious injuries to it’s head, chest and abdomen. The baby’s breathing was shallow and the anguished cries it emitted were getting weaker. This child, beaten to a pulp, had been abandoned to die. I was outraged; who could possibly commit such a disgusting and evil act?
My medical training kicked in and I began to assess the infant’s injuries. Multiple contusions and lacerations to the head, fractured right clavicle, multiple rib injuries and a possible fractured left femur. I felt the abdomen - a possible liver laceration was going to be a serious problem, with internal bleeding. I’d never seen such a horrific set of injuries in such a small child in all my time in A&E, and at least there I would have had all the proper equipment to assess and correct the problems. Here I had only my hands, so I did as best I could; mouth to mouth ventilation and when it became necessary chest compressions. Counting the cycles aloud to myself, I became vaguely aware of figures in my peripheral vision; the denizens of Hell - the damned, mostly, but also a few dæmons, were grouped around me, watching. They had never seen anyone attempt a rescue in this way before.
“Get Help!” I pleaded, stunned that no-one would join me to save the child’s life. Not one of the onlookers moved - they just stood and watched in silent amazement. I couldn’t delay any longer and continued my resuscitation effort, alone and increasingly frantic.
“One… Two… Three… Four… Five…” I shouted as I compressed the childs’ frail ribcage between my hands, a feeble attempt at a comforting familiar clinical mantra, “Six…Seven…Eight…Nine…Ten”. I felt my impotence as a doctor, as a human being, that baby in my hands, it’s stale breath in my mouth as I willed life back into its fragile, broken body. I wept tears of bitterness and anger and self-loathing as I failed to restore this tiny being back to life. With a pitiful whimper, the baby died, and my sense of failure was profound. I collapsed back, hugging the infant body to my chest and wailed at the injustice of this death. In my grief I slowly became aware of tiny fists pummelling me from behind - across my back and shoulders and across the top of my arms. It was a pale, emaciated woman, hair greasy and dishevelled, wearing what looked like a tattered nightdress. She pulled the dead bloodied baby from my arms.
“Why!” she wailed, “Why did you save my baby?”
I stood incredulous. The baby let out a feeble cough and starting to breathe, colour returning to it’s cheeks. I couldn’t understand - I hadn’t saved it; the child had died in my hands just minutes before. I looked at the mother; her reaction was just the opposite of what I would expect; her tears were not of joy but of heartache and resentment
“Why would you do such a thing. Why would you save her?”
I had no words, I couldn’t understand why she was angry - her dead baby had suddenly, inexplicably come to life again, no thanks to me. Why was she so angry?
“You should never have tried! Never!” screamed the mother. “You know what they’ll make me do?” she indicated the dæmons in the crowd. “They’ll make me kill her again, just like they always do. They’ll make me kill her over and over again. Get away from us! Just Get Away!”
I staggered away from the clearing, stunned at the wickedness and depravity Hell could employ.