Chapter 8: The Mummies
At first, Fatty pretended to inspect the goods, spouting nonsense. Mott took him as a kindred spirit and even promised to hand over the cave once the deal was done.
Originally, Fatty's mission was complete as long as he located the drug stash. But trouble struck as they were leaving the hidden chamber.
In each corner of the chamber stood a mummified corpse. Mott, having visited many times, had long since grown numb to his fear of them—yet the Miao tribesman's warning still held him back from touching them.
As Fatty and Mott prepared to exit, a green glow suddenly flared in each corner, followed by a series of "crackling" sounds. Fatty saw clearly: the corpse that had been sitting cross‑legged like a meditating monk slowly stood up, its movements stiff and deliberate.
One of Mott's henchmen, stationed at a corner, failed to react in time. The mummy seized him from behind and bit down on his lips, its jowls pulsing as it delivered a savage "tongue kiss." The man's frantic struggles were futile; the corpse's limbs wrapped around him like iron bands. Within seconds, his body shriveled into a skeletal husk—and the mummy's flesh, once dry and gray, flushed with fresh blood.
It all happened in an instant. By the time everyone realized what was happening, the henchman lay dead. Horrified, Mott and his men fired their weapons at the mummy—but the bullets had no effect. Their attention fixed on the monster before them, they didn't notice the other three mummies stirring in their corners. After just a few more shots, those mummies rose as well and seized the nearest henchmen, delivering the same brutal "kiss." They watched the three men's struggles slow, then cease entirely.
Fatty broke into a cold sweat, staring at the exit blocked by the mummies. Summoning his courage, he grabbed an AK‑47 from a nearby henchman and emptied a full magazine into the wall separating the chamber from the main hall. Mott reacted instantly, turning his weapon on Fatty's position. When the gunfire stopped, Fatty shouted and slammed backward against the bullet‑riddled wall.
Weighing nearly three hundred pounds, Fatty's mass brought the wall crashing down. Thanks to him, Mott and several henchmen scrambled out through the breach.
Old Wang listened to Fatty's account, frowning as he stared at the collapsed opening—yet no mummies or other monsters emerged, nor did anyone hear any strange noises.
This place was too evil. Old Wang ordered Li Yan to guard the cave‑in. Our mission was essentially complete: find the drug stash, capture Mott, and safely escort them out—job well done.
Old Wang approached Mott and asked, "Is there another way out?"
Mott hesitated, then said, "Yes." Old Wang's relief was cut short as Mott added, "There's another passage inside," pointing toward the collapsed chamber.
"You lead the way," Old Wang said coldly.
"I won't go in!" Mott's reply was hysterical. "You might as well shoot me here—better than going in and having the monsters drain me dry! Morlamega, migomae!…" He spat a few Burmese curses none of us understood. And this was a major drug lord? Seeing his pants soaked through, I felt only contempt—what a disgrace.
No matter how much Old Wang coaxed, cajoled, or cursed, Mott refused to budge. His remaining henchmen wore the same terrified expression—if their boss wouldn't go, they'd die here too.
Ever since Fatty's account of what happened in the hidden chamber, a strange thought had taken hold of me. I'd heard guide Old Lin say that the "Dead Man's Pool" beneath the waterfall was a forbidden place for the local Miao people—so how could any Miao know the secret behind the falls? And why would he willingly give it away to Mott? The stench of conspiracy was growing stronger.
Old Wang was pulling Liu Jingsheng aside to discuss our next move, while Song Er and the others, aside from watching Mott and his henchmen, kept sneaking glances back at the blocked chamber entrance.
Seeing that no one was paying attention, I crouched beside Mott and offered him a Junwei cigarette (a brand used only by the Chinese military) that I'd taken from Old Wang. "What's the name of that Miao you rescued?" I asked. Mott struck a match, drew in a deep breath, and as he exhaled the smoke, he murmured, "Lin Huo."
Lin? My pulse spiked—I felt I was closing in on the truth. "What does he look like?" I pressed. Mott's description of Lin Huo became sharper in my mind—I'd met him just hours ago, and even given him half a pack of Junwei myself.
Suddenly someone spoke behind me: "You know him?" I jumped. Turning, I saw Fatty's pudgy face looming over me, his tone abrupt and rude. "You know that Miao?" he demanded.
"No," I said coldly. "I don't." I wondered: is the Narcotics Bureau really that big? Big or not, they don't command the military.
I immediately moved to Old Wang's side and whispered, "Captain, I think we've been set up." I told him about Old Lin's involvement. Old Wang frowned deeply. "You mean this was all Old Lin's doing? What's that Lin fellow up to?"
Old Wang has one advantage: if he can't figure something out, he simply won't dwell on it. Why waste the headache? He removed his helmet, scratched at his straw like hair, and said, "Whether it's Old Lin or not, we'll sort it out once we're out." No sooner had he spoken than Fatty came over, his tone much more civil. "Captain, what's all this mystery about Old Lin and some Miao guide?"
Fatty was one of our own—aside from looking sleazy and exaggerating everything, he had no real faults. Old Wang decided not to hide anything and repeated the Old Lin story. Fatty's eyes narrowed to slits. "Damn it, we've been played by this Lin guy. He never meant well when he led Mott in here."
Liu Jingsheng spoke up: "We can deal with Old Lin later—he's not going anywhere. Right now, the priority is getting out."
"Let's scout the route," Old Wang decided. "Jingsheng, Chunlei, La Zi, you three come with me into the chamber. The rest stay here and guard the prisoners." Then, half smiling at Fatty, he added, "You're coming too."
Fatty's face went ashen. "No way. I'm not going in there to get myself killed after just escaping!"
Old Wang said, "You've already been in the chamber—you know what's inside. We need your help. If you won't go…" He jerked his chin at Mott and the others. "Which one of them do you expect to volunteer?"
Facing terrified Mott and his henchmen, Fatty hesitated. I fanned the flames: "Those mummies in the chamber were probably planted by Old Lin to trap Mott and steal his drugs. Think about it—over a ton of dope. Even Hollywood's best special effects team couldn't pull off a ruse like this." Of course, I didn't really believe it—I only wanted to get out of that damned place and resorted to bluffing.
Fatty's eyes flickered with calculation. After a long moment, he laid down one condition: "Fine—I'll go in last."
"Deal," Old Wang agreed immediately, handing him the Beretta pistol confiscated from Mott. "This will do?"
"It'll have to," Fatty said, checking the magazine. Then, still uneasy, he asked, "Can't you give me an assault rifle? An AK 47 will do."
Old Wang didn't trust Fatty enough to hand him an AK 47—if Fatty panicked and opened fire, we'd be just as endangered. "A pistol's enough to steel your nerves," he said. Fatty didn't push the issue.
Finally, Old Wang quizzed Mott one last time about the exact location of the secret passage. The four of us formed up and approached the collapsed entrance in tactical formation. Fatty stayed well behind, ready to bolt if anything went wrong.
We hid on either side of the breach and could just make out Mott's torches flickering inside, casting ominous shadows—but their glow wasn't enough to reveal the chamber's full layout. Old Wang signaled to Liu Jingsheng, who nodded and pulled a tactical flashlight from his pack, hurling it into the darkness. The beam spun in the air as it flew.
At that moment, the four of us darted inside from different angles. Following the light, we scanned the floor—but saw no mummies, only the corpses of the four henchmen and stacks of drug crates piled everywhere.
Outside, Fatty heard no noise and, mustering courage, poked his head in. Once he confirmed it was safe, he crept forward and asked in surprise, "Hey—where are the monsters?"
"There are no damned monsters," Song Er scoffed. "This place is only so big—if they were real, they'd have to fly!"
"Song Chunlei, enough talk," Old Wang snapped. "Find the exit. We'll sort everything once we're out." He led the way to a corner and, using Mott's instructions, activated a hidden latch and swung open the secret door.
No sooner had it opened than a gaunt, hollow eyed face thrust itself through, lips curled back to reveal blood slick fangs as it hissed some incomprehensible shriek and lunged at Old Wang.
"Behind the door!" I yelled.
Old Wang reacted in a flash—he slammed the door on that pale face and backed away several paces. Fatty, seeing danger, raised his pistol, but Liu Jingsheng grabbed his arm. "Not yet—stay back!"
Without further orders, Song Chunlei, Liu Jingsheng, and I leveled our weapons at the door. Once Old Wang reached safety, we all squeezed our triggers.
Rat!tat!tat! Ninety rounds tore into the door in an instant—but the thing inside barely recoiled, though it staggered backward under the impact.
"Hit it in the head!" Old Wang roared, firing bursts from his QBZ 97. Sparks flew as rounds struck the thing's skull. It howled, raising an arm to its face.
"Take aim at its skull!" Old Wang bellowed.
"Reload!" Liu Jingsheng and Song Chunlei swapped magazines faster than I did. They fired at its head but could only hit its arm.
"Make it count!" Old Wang barked. I chambered fresh rounds, aimed through the gap beneath its arm, and unleashed a long burst. Five rounds hammered the same spot on its forehead.
"Aaaah!" The creature shrieked, black ichor gushing down its face.
Encouraged, I held down the trigger. "Bang!" The sound was like a watermelon splattering. Its skull exploded; it collapsed, twitching twice before going still.
Black fluid sprayed everywhere—some spattered onto Old Wang's cheek. With a sizzle, the ichor burned away a patch of his flesh, exposing raw red tissue oozing yellowish pus that stank of fish. The wound spread.
Old Wang trembled in agony, clenching his teeth to stay silent. Song Er reached for bandages, but I grabbed his arm. "Don't touch it—you might spread it."
"Then what do we do? Watch him burn?" Song Chunlei shot back.
"Wash it!" Liu Jingsheng said, pouring water from his canteen over the wound.
The flow washed away the pus and halted the burn. Fresh blood flowed instead, but the cheek was perforated—big enough that Old Wang's teeth showed through the side.
Song Er and I wrapped his wound as best we could. Old Wang spoke, his voice slurred: "Jixi… dog."
"What dog?" I asked, confused.
"Jixi dog!" he repeated.
Liu Jingsheng understood at once. "It means, keep moving."
(Note: Chinese people sometimes use body shape as a nickname for others, but generally speaking, it doesn't represent discrimination. If an adjective with a bad meaning is added before it, it is an insulting term, such as "Damn fat guy".)