Rhea oversaw the box, holing it under her shirt to keep liquid from getting to it as best she could. The pounding rain bombarded them, and the group struggled to retain the path back to the car as every passing vehicle sprayed them with a fresh stream of murky rain.
After fifteen minutes of wandering through streets that were now unrecognizable, Sawyer pulled them into a hookah bar to catch a break.
"I just need a minute," Sawyer panted as he tried to wring water from his clothing at the bar entrance. "We need to figure out where we are and where the car is. Fuck, I can't stand being this wet!"
With soaked feet, Sawyer carried himself to the bathroom at the entrance to pat himself down with toilet paper.
Rhea wrung the water from her damp locks, which were slowly flattening under the rain. She and Mirek peered out the windows.
"I don't know how much farther I can go. I can't see anything out there," Rhea sighed. The storm showed traits of a category one hurricane, with winds approaching 60 miles an hour. "We may have to wait it out."
"I know this street," said Mirek. "There used to be a huge casino across the road. Alton burned it down, and it was rebuilt as a motel."
"Why did Alton burn it down?"
"The casino was fueled by a poaching business. They were killing endangered birds and selling their meat in the casino restaurant. That made him angry. He likes animals."
"Makes sense. I've seen him feeding mongoose and civets outside Sockeye."
"I've never cared much for animals."
"You don't care much for anything."
Mirek smiled.
"What a lovely box," said the English voice of a stranger to their right. Both looked at a fair-haired man of middle age, half his teeth missing as he smiled at the box Rhea had pulled from her shirt and now sat in her arms. "Where did you acquire such a lovely item?"
Rhea gave him a piercing glare. "I made it."
"Impressive work. Does it contain anything?"
"Just some durian seeds."
"And made of Cordia. Quite impressive. I only know of a few with wood like that."
Mirek came between Rhea and the man. "Move on," he hissed.
"No trouble, no trouble," said the stranger as we waved his arms and backed away.
Sawyer returned from the bathroom, damp but no longer dripping. "I think we're gonna have to stay put for a little while."
"Then let's grab a table. I'm out of cigarettes," said Mirek.
The hookah bar was a building of winding halls and large booths and tables. Private rooms in the back housed dangerous parties and elevated arguments no one paid mind to. The lights above were kept dim, shadows hiding corners and across the curves of faces. The brightest lights were the ones on the side of the walls where massive terrariums sat on shelves lining the walls containing coldblooded creatures. Reticulated python, Malayan butterfly lizard, smooth-backed gliding gecko, Chinese water dragon, king cobra, Russell's viper, white-lipped pit viper, Burmese python, mangrove pit viper; all darted and slithered within their glass homes, watching the movements of humans and warming under the artificial light angled above. As the lounge was commonly called, the Reptile Room was most popular on Tuesdays when the creatures were fed.
They found a lounge area beside a terrarium home to a beautiful blue pit viper. It stuck out its thin tongue at the group, slithering over its mouth. Mirek smiled and returned the gesture with his own lengthy tongue.
A waitress brought them warm tea and a menu consisting of fifty different flavors. Rhea wanted guava, Sawyer wanted cherry, and Mirek wanted grenadine. Since none wanted to settle with what the other wanted, they all got their own, hookahs on the ground where they sat on tattered pillows and tapestries hung on the ceiling. Rhea sat the box close at her side, attempting to hide it as she kept an eye out for the fair-haired man; he was nowhere to be seen as far as Rhea's eyes could reach. Still, anxiety churned in her gut, her hand slipping to the prayer beads tangling across her wet chest.
"What do you think is in there?" Mirek asked, eyeing the box while white smoke puffed out his mouth and nose.
"Hell if I know," said Rhea, "the thing feels empty."
"I could pick the lock."
"Ceto told us to keep it shut."
"Yeah, Mirek," said Sawyer, "haven't you heard of pandora's box?"
"No."
"It's an old Greek mythology tale," said Rhea.
"Yeah," said Sawyer. "You don't know the story? Pandora was supposedly the first woman on earth, created as a punishment to humankind. She was given a box called pithos and was told by the gods the box contained special gifts from them, but she was not allowed to open it. But curiosity got the better of her, and she opened the box. Illness and hardship the gods had hidden in the box pouring out. She shut the box before Hope could escape, and stayed inside by Zeus' will; he wanted to let people suffer to understand that they should obey their gods."
"So, a curiosity killed the cat type lesson," said Mirek.
"Sort of," said Rhea, "though the main purpose of the myth is to address the question of why evil exists in the world." Rhea brought the hose mouthpiece to her lips, took a deep inhale, and felt the tobacco enter her system. Relaxation entered her muscles, a gentle taste of guava lingering on her tongue.
"The only evil in the world is from humans," said Mirek with another inhale of the hose. "Evil is not something contained in a box created by gods. That gives too much power to something nonexistent. With a species like us, able to question things like evil and a higher power, it's a curse."
"The ability to think is a curse?" Sawyer said, blowing smoke at the terrarium to entice a reaction out of the viper.
"Sure it is," said Mirek. "Humans are cursed with crap stuffed in their heads. Not the stuff that keeps you alive, but pointless garbage that comes up with big questions that have no answers. I say the purpose of life is to survive and nothing more. The macaques that swing through the city don't think about the evil on the streets. They do not engage in right and wrong, gods, bigger questions. All they think about is survival, their mind only going as far as the next meal. All life is supposed to do is continue. Keep fucking and making more life, and then expire once you are useless. That's all you need to do. There are no answers out there. All that matters is that you do survive."
"Is that what you want? To be a thoughtless animal?" asked Rhea. There was no sharpness or accusation in the question, only curiosity.
"It would give me more peace than to sit with memories and thoughts that give me nothing."
"Well, what you call a curse, I call a gift," said Rhea. "What creations have developed with the intelligence of man? We have culture, sophisticated languages, an understanding of the rock beneath our feet, and the knowledge that we are a speck of a speck on a rock speeding around a star. We can look up at the stars and understand the limitlessness of space. And what about music? It's a part of all human culture all around the world and has been so for centuries. What better has man done than create sounds that harmonize with the body and mind? Without thought, there would be none of that."
"Music does nothing for me," Mirek spat.
"Well, then you are one in a very few."
"But the question is still not answered. What is in that box?"
"Have you learned nothing?" said Sawyer. "Pandora's box, remember?"
"The evils of the world are not in the box!"
"You don't know!"
Rhea took the box and placed it in her lap. She felt nothing move within. She lifted it to her ear, giving a gentle shake. Just barely, there was a scutter of movement; something tapping on the inside.
"You hear anything?" asked Sawyer.
"I can't quite tell…maybe."
"Just let me pick the lock," said Mirek.
"If we do that, we won't get paid," said Rhea, placing the box at her side again. "And we wouldn't have to go through any of this crap if Sawyer had more sense than a rock."
"Hey! One mistake!"
"You've made plenty more than one," Mirek said as he streamed smoke through his nostrils.
Sawyer rolled his eyes. "Well, you didn't need to break into my shop," he looked to Rhea. "I'm going to have to replace the lock you busted through. Was there anything else you broke I should be aware of?"
"Lucky for you, I was nice and left most everything alone. But I was curious to ask you about a photo you had in your backroom…"
"Why did you go into my backroom!? That's a private area!"
"Not when you're there. And I didn't mess with anything in there; I was just interested in the photo you have in there. A picture of you and a boy at the Grand Canyon. Ethan, I think…"
Sawyer's face dropped into a somber expression, and he looked a little embarrassed at the mention of the boy's name. Rhea felt herself retract some of the anger and frustration.
"…He was my brother."
"I didn't know you have a brother," said Mirek.
"How would you? The only thing I'm pretty sure you know about me is my name."
Mirek rolled his eye and leaned back against the wall behind him, eyes resting while he dragged on the hookah hose.
Rhea looked at Sawyer with a questioning look, urging him to continue. He looked uncomfortable at first, but her thoughtful stare eventually loosened his lips.
"He was my best friend. I looked up to him a lot. He got perfect grades, lots of friends, and physical intelligence that landed him on any sports team he wanted. But he always had time for me. I didn't have a lot of friends; honestly, I don't remember having any. I wasn't so good with people, and given my appearance, people thought I was weird. Grade school is never fun, but it sucks when no one wants to talk to you because you look like the ghost of a dead man. But Ethan never looked at me like that. He never made me feel left out or told me I was a freak. There were even times he'd bring me to hang out with some of his friends. I was always nervous around them but being Ethan's brother was enough for them to be nice to me." Sawyer's face was sinking into itself like the skin was trying to clasp close to and outline his skull. His eyes were on the hookah at his side as he tried to fight the glossy covers begging to coat the red irises. "He passed about a year after that photo. He got into the car with a drunk driver after some party. I remember I wanted to go with him that night. I had a bad day, and he always picked me up when I was down. But he told me it was not my kind of scene and said we'd talk when he came back. But he did not come back."
Guilt tugged at Rhea's chest. She did not mean to unravel Sawyer's life and make him talk about what was probably the most devastating time in his life. Mirek was not paying any attention to the conversation and had taken to trying to anger the viper so it would try to strike him through the glass and display its piercing fangs and extended jaw.
The waitress came to refill the bowls with fresh coals, and Mirek stiffened. "We're being watched."
Rhea looked beyond Mirek's form and saw the man with the gap-filled smile again. A man with dyed red hair and another with a jet-black beehive was at his side, eyes scanning the dim lounge until the fair-haired man locked eyes on Rhea and the box at her side.
"Shit," Rhea tensed as she grabbed the box in a quick swivet action.
"You think they're after the box?" asked Sawyer.
"What else?" Rhea began scanning for another exit.
"Does he know what's in there?"
"I have no idea."
"There's a back exit over there," Mirek pointed to a door nestled in a dark corner behind a booth where a group of five sat laughing and chattering while they watched the geckos darting behind the glass.
The three bounded for the exit, the gap-toothed man calling out to Rhea as they ran: "Don't go yet, sweetheart! I wanna know what you got hidden in there! I just want a peek!"
They were out the door, clouds still dumping rain, though the winds had died down. The back exit entered an alleyway where Mirek turned them away from the front exit where a car was waiting. They entered the street where rivers were forming on the sides big enough to wash away a small child (which did happen on occasion with a storm like this).
Rhea began to lead the way, box tucked under her shirt, reaching for memories that could lead them back to the Pontiac. There was the screeching of tires sliding on the slick road, and they turned down another alleyway. When Rhea saw the musical instruments in the window, she knew they were close. She broke out into a sprint and pointed to the spot under the bridge where the Pontiac was waiting for them. They made a dash for the car, unlocked it, and climbed in. But Sawyer didn't start the car. They sunk into the seats, staying under cover of the bridge while their chasers sped past. They waited fifteen minutes, and then Sawyer started the engine.
They had been driving for ten minutes when the back-right tire was shot out, then the front left one. The car skidded on the slick road, and Sawyer slammed on the breaks as they crashed into a lamppost. A bullet flew through the rear windshield, whizzing past Rhea's head. She ducked her head and grabbed the box, holding it between her legs. "Is it those same guys?" Rhea called from the back seat.
Before anyone could answer, a truck came out from around the corner and smashed into the side of the Pontiac. Rhea screamed and held her eyes shut as the car caught the sidewalk's curb and flipped over.
Rhea was on her head, her seatbelt attaching her upside down. As she worked to get out, she heard Sawyer groan from the front. The passenger seat was empty.
"Where's Mirek?" she asked as she began to crawl out of the car.
"Saving our asses. Where's the box?"
"Here," she said, presenting the box in her arms. Gunfire began. Sawyer crawled out his side of the window; Rhea followed.
Mirek was using the car as cover, firing an AMT Hardballer he got from the glove compartment. He got a clean shot to the truck driver's head, and the car crashed into another lamppost on the other side of the street.
Across the street in the heavy rain was the fair-haired man. Rhea could see his ugly smile through the rain. Backing him was a horde of followers.
The man was consigliere of the Lagounov crime family that ran the Datume district. They came from Dudinka, frequent customers of Rusakov, and as their success and power grew, they expanded to the crime hotspot of the world. The boss, Kostya Lagounov, idolized Rusakov, a man who became one of the largest arms traffickers in Asia before he was thirty, now a filthy influential figure. Upon arrival in Samadoya, Lagounov met with Rusakov and requested territory for his men to begin constructing an import and export station for their trafficking of counterfeit goods. He swore allegiance to him, offering to sell Rusakov's product for him in their district and exporting his guns to Dudinka. The more the Lagounov family dug roots into Samadoya, the more they became an extension of Rusakov and his business. Vladimir, the family's consigliere, was a seeker of rumors and whispers, plugged into every business and organization within reach. One such rumor that reached the consigliere's ear was that of a poison maker in the Talun district who contained the most ruthless remedies that could floor any army tricked into consuming the deadly material. He had collected information through rumors and witnesses. The returning fact was that whoever this poison maker was contained their product in rare wood-carved boxes. It was a symbol of wealth and devious power, and to his incredible luck and Rhea's misfortune, he found a box that matched the descriptions. He didn't know what was inside, only that it was something of value and danger. That was enough for a hunt.
Sawyer pulled out his Glock and started firing at the men across the street while Rhea kept the box close, hiding behind a dumpster out of the spotlight of the lampposts. The men struggled to see through the rain; even Mirek's aim was compromised as raindrops hit his eye and his wet hair became plastered to his face. Rhea wasn't sure what to do but stay out of sight until Mirek shouted at her to get the guns out of the trunk of the Pontiac. She didn't want to, but both men were low on ammo, so Rhea handed the box to Sawyer and crawled to the Pontiac while Mirek tried to keep the fire in his direction.
After crawling to the upside-down car, she opened the trunk and spilled ammunition, and a shotgun fell out. She grabbed the gun and attempted to pick up as many of the shells as possible with her trembling hands. She turned to make the small distance back to the ally when she felt a bullet barrel through her leg. Falling to the ground, she looked at the thumb-sized hole in her left thigh. Before she could react, Mirek was above her, taking the shotgun, his steady hands grabbing shells while Rhea started to crawl out of the way, pain erupting from her thigh as she tried to control her vigorous trembling from cold and fear. She felt Sawyer's arms around her waist as he tried to drag her away from the car. Though she was relatively small, Sawyer was struggling, and she noticed he was shaking nearly as much as she was.
Before they could make it all the way to cover, fire to the Pontiac pushed it to the limit, setting off the security explosives, and catching both Sawyer and Rhea in the blast.
Rhea was stomach down on the road, eyes dazed as they struggled to come into focus. She could see shapes of men rushing up and down the street, their figures somewhat masked by the rain. But then she noticed a figure in the distance that looked clear as day. A pale figure—a man of great height—stood at the end of the street. Even from a distance, Rhea could see no water was touching him, yet dark hair drifted around his head and neck like he was submerged in a lake. Three mouths opened in silent laughter, six eyes blazing, body moving like a snake. Fear coursed through Rhea and she shut her eyes.
When she opened her eyes again, she saw Mirek smashing a man's head into the ground. The cracking of the skull pierced the ringing in her ears and the pounding of the rain. Bodies were scattered across the street. A dead man with a disfigured face was beside her, staring through her with a squished eyeball, puss, and blood dripping out of his sockets. Teeth were sticking out of the gums at serrated angels and scattered on the ground in a collective pool of bodily fluids and rainwater.
That was enough to push Rhea to her feet before vomit could spill from her lips. She rubbed her ears in an attempt to erase the static lingering in her head. She looked down the street—nothing but rain. Now, Mirek was ripping out a lone survivor's throat with his teeth since he was out of bullets. He looked back at Rhea with red smeared across his lips and wet black hair across his static-infected eye, bandanna removed. She ignored his ungodly smile and the scattered carcasses and turned to a still-unconscious Sawyer. Shrapnel was pierced into his back, cutting through his shirt and seeping it with blood.
Rhea struggled to hear her voice as she told Mirek to get Sawyer into the crashed truck across the street. She couldn't hear his reply and ignored him as she grabbed the box resting in the street not far from where she was knocked unconscious and limped to the truck. She pushed all trauma from her thoughts as she tried not to resonate on such a horrible scene. Never had she seen so many bodies at once. But she couldn't afford to be bothered. She could not let that memory of her father's blown-out head cripple her right now. That could come later.
She pulled the body out of the driver seat and poorly backed the truck into the corpse-littered street. The windshield was cracked and splattered with the contents of the driver's head. She struggled to see until Mirek came up, throwing Sawyer in the back seat and kicked out the windshield, pushing Rhea out of the driver seat. She was in no position to argue and instead tried to mend her blood-soaked leg.
If Rhea hadn't been so lightheaded and focused further than the loud din in her ears, she would have been more aware of the danger she was in as Mirek inexpertly drove through the rain-soaked city, running lights and bellowing through people-infested crosswalks. She felt a cool breeze on her face that helped her come to a little more. The storm had retreated to a drizzle, spraying her face as a gentle wake-up. Sawyer groaned from the back, and Rhea turned around to see him slowly trying to sit up. He quickly grunted and stayed on his stomach, trying to keep the metal in his back from moving. Rhea ripped off a piece of her shirt and wrapped it as tight as she could around her leg. Her whole body ached with pain.
They survived the trip somehow, arriving at the docks with the sun edging its way down the sky. The backdrop began to drain the blue to warm shades. The scene was visible only slightly as the clouds from the storm were beginning to dissipate.
Rhea still had the box in her arms, and she managed to exit the truck, Mirek following. They approached the dock where Ceto emerged from the catamaran.
"Looks like you guys had a hell of a time," she grinned at Rhea and Mirek's raunchy appearances.
"You gonna tell us what's in there?" said Mirek.
"Why should I?" Ceto asked, crossing her arms.
"Well, I got a hole in my thigh because of this damn thing," Rhea grunted, struggling to keep standing.
"You never opened it?" she asked.
Rhea and Mirek shook their heads.
Ceto pulled out a key from her pocket. "Let's see if they're still alive."
As she unlocked the box, beneath a screen placed atop the box, inside were three six-eyed sand spiders, still alive and crawling against the wood.
"Spiders?" Mirek said as Ceto quickly closed the box before they could escape.
"Poisons spiders. Their venom can cause serious tissue destruction and use it to coat my blades."
Ceto retreated into her catamaran, exiting with a suitcase full of US dollars, twelve thousand in change.
"You've held up your end of the deal," she said, handing the case to Rhea. The skies began to clear, dark took over, and Ceto sunk back into her sailboat and was gone by dawn.