Tunnels 02 - Deeper by Roderick Gordon
There was no heroic yell as he fell, just a brief squawk of unwelcome surprise, and he was gone, a tiny figure corkscrewing through the air, down into the dark oblivion of the Pore.
46
From up ahead Chester pulled the rope with such force that it caught against Will's wrist and yanked his arm from under him. He dropped into the hot, sticky mud. He heard Chester's voice, muffled and indistinct, as it uttered what Will took to be curses, most likely directed toward him. Chester yanked the rope again, even more fiercely this time. In light of their earlier exchange, Will knew without a doubt that Chester would be blaming him for this unpleasant leg of their journey, just as he did for anything else that came along. Will's resentment grew — wasn't he suffering just as much as the others?
"I'm coming! I'm freakin' coming!" he shouted back furiously as he began to haul himself along again, spitting and swearing as he went.
He thought he was closing the gap on Chester, but he still couldn't see him through the mist. It was only when Will pulled on the rope that he discovered it must have snagged on something. It was stuck fast.
Chester was shouting again at the delay. Whatever he was saying sounded pretty disagreeable.
"Shut up, will you? The rope's caught!" Will screamed back as he lay on his side and used his lantern to try to see what was causing the problem. It was hopeless; he couldn't see a thing. Guessing it had become hung up around a piece of rock, he flipped the rope several times until it eventually came free. Then he crawled up the slope like crazy until he caught up with Chester, who, once again, had stopped — presumably because Cal, in front of him, had also come to a standstill.
Right from the start the seam had climbed at a constant gradient of thirty degrees. The lack of headroom meant there was no choice but to go up the incline on all fours. The underlying substrate was smooth and ran with copious amounts of water as it drained down the slope and into the sea below. As they climbed, the water was replaced by warm mud. With the consistency of crude oil, it was incredibly slippery and made the going that much more difficult.
A little farther up they came to a stretch where the rock became quite hot to the touch, and Will could see little pools of the mud bubbling. Then they passed through an area in which small jets of steam puffed around them like miniature geysers — clearly these were the source of the ever-present mist.
It wasn't dissimilar from being in a sauna turned up to its full setting — it was intolerably hot and humid. Will was breathing quickly and pulling at the collar of his shirt in a futile attempt to cool himself down. And every so often, the stench of raw sulfur permeated the air, so much so that Will felt quite dizzy and wondered how the others were dealing with it.
Elliott had allowed them to have their lanterns on full beam, saying that the light was unlikely to be detected within the confines of the seam, especially since the mist masked everything. Will was grateful for this; it would have been horribly claustrophobic without any illumination to show the way.
On a couple of occasions, Will heard his brother's voice up ahead. From his curses, he sounded distinctly unhappy. Indeed, all three boys were giving vent to their frustration, interspersing their grumbling and groaning with some pretty choice language. Chester was the most vociferous, letting rip and swearing like a sailor. Only Elliott was her usual taciturn self, remaining silent as they went.
With a yank on the rope from Chester, Will realized he'd almost fallen asleep, and he quickly started off again. In no time at all, he had to stop and, as he wiped the mud from his eyes, he observed a nearby mud pool in which bubbles formed and popped with a noise that was best described as a steady glop glop.
Yet another unnecessarily savage tug of the rope came.
"Gee, thanks, friend!" he yelled up the slope at Chester.
The frequent tugs were a constant reminder of who Will was roped to. With nothing but the grueling climb to occupy him, he began to dwell on what Chester had said.
Words are cheap, especially yours!"
"I'm sick of the sight of you!"
The sentence rang loud and clear in Will's mind.
How dare Chester say those things?
Will hadn't intended for any of this to happen. He'd never in a million years dreamed they'd end up in such danger when he and Chester had set out to discover what had become of Will's missing father. And months ago, as they had walked together along the railway track on the approach to the Miners' Station, Will had apologized to Chester from the bottom of his heart. Chester had given every indication then that he had accepted Will's apology without reservation.
"Words are cheap, especially yours!"
Chester had thrown it all back in his face, and what could Will possibly do to make amends?
Nothing.
It was an impossible situation. It started Will thinking about what would happen when he was reunited with his father. It was clear that Chester had formed a strong allegiance to Elliott — maybe partly to spite Will. But whatever his motivation, the two seemed very close, and Will was soundly excluded.
But if his father appeared on the scene, how would Elliott react to him joining up with them? And how would his dad react to her? Would they all stay together: he, his father, Chester, Cal, and Elliott? Will couldn't imagine them somehow all getting along — Dr. Burrows would be far too cerebral and absentminded for Elliott. In fact, Will couldn't think of two more different people — worlds apart.
So, if they split up, then what about Chester? The lines had been drawn and Chester definitely wasn't in Will's camp any longer. Will admitted to himself that things had gotten so bad between them that he really wouldn't mind if Chester went off with Elliott. But it wasn't as easy as that: Will and his father would need Elliott, too, especially with the Styx after him.
His thoughts ground to an abrupt halt as the rope snapped taut again, and Chester's guttural, grumpy voice urged him to hurry up.
They continued to climb, and Will noticed that the air seemed to be clearing of mist and steam. A faint breath of cold air percolated around them. This didn't help matters any; they were all plastered with thick mud, and as it began to dry it caused their stiff clothing to chafe against their skin.
The breeze grew into a strong wind and, with a final tug of the rope, Will found that they had reached the top. At last he was able to stand up and stretch the kinks from his back. He rubbed the mud from around his eyes and saw that the others were already on their feet and were doing the same as him, easing the fatigue in their cramped limbs. All of them except Cal, who had found a rock to perch on and was massaging his leg with an expression of pure agony. Will peered down at himself and then at the others. The foursome looked like mud people, so thick was the dried crust on them.
As Will stepped into the center of the space, the wind blew with such steady force that it whisked the breath from his mouth. He cleaned his lens of mud and turned on his headset to discover that they were in a large tunnel with a roof that was probably fifty feet high. At its edges multiple smaller tunnels led off — so many that their dark openings immediately made him uneasy, as he imagined Styx lurking inside.
"You don't need the rope now!" Elliott shouted to Will. He tried his best to undo it, but the knot was so stiff with mud that she had to help him. Once the rope was untied, Elliott coiled it up again, and then she beckoned them all over. Will noticed that Chester still wouldn't make eye contact with him as he joined the group.
"You go that way," she said, pointing down the large tunnel. Her voice was snatched away by the wind, making it difficult for the boys to hear her.
"Sorry?" Will asked, cupping a hand behind his ear.
"I said, you go that way!" she yelled, already backing toward a side tunnel. Apparently she wasn't going with them.
The boys looked at her questioningly, their faces anxious.
* * * * *
Sarah was close — so close she could almost smell them herself, despite the jets of sulfurous steam.
The Hunter was we
"Bartleby, where's your master?"
Although he didn't need the slightest encouragement, she called to him once more, goading him on in a crooning voice.
"Where's Cal, then? Where's Cal?"
With a flying start, he shot off again at full tilt, taking her by surprise. She slithered along on her stomach and shouted at him to ease off for a full fifty feet before he finally slowed long enough for her to get up on all fours again
"When will I learn to keep my big mouth shut?" she mumbled, blinking through her mud mask.
After she'd seen the flying lizards on the wing, knowing full well what had disturbed them, she and Bartleby had sped along the remaining stretch of beach to the cavern wall. Then, on the rocks, he'd soon picked up the trail that led to the seam, raising his head and loosing a victorious, deep-pitched meow.
Now, as they made good headway up the seam, she spotted tracks the group had left — the odd palm print told her that there was someone else with Will and Cal, someone who was smaller. A child? She wondered.
47
The wind didn't let up as it swept down the main passage, funneled sometimes by the narrower stretches into a gale, which pushed so hard at the boys' backs that it helped them along. After the heat and steam they'd endured in the seam, it was a welcome change, although the air itself still felt warm on their faces.
The roof ran high above them, and all the surfaces they could see were smooth, as if they'd been scoured by the wind-borne grit that even now compelled the boys to keep their heads tucked down, lest any particles catch them in the eye.
After Elliott had left them to their own devices, they'd started out at a brisk pace. But as time passed and she didn't reappear, the boys began to lose their sense of purpose, ambling along lackadaisically.
Before she'd gone, she had explained that they were to stay on the main track while she scouted the route up ahead for what she called "Listening Posts." Chester and Cal seemed to accept her explanation, but Will was distrustful.
"I don't understand... Why do you need to go off on your own?" he'd asked her, studying her eyes carefully. "I thought you said the Limiters were way behind us?"
Elliott hadn't answered immediately, quickly looking away from him and cocking her head, as if she could pick out some sound over the wail of the wind. She listened for a second before turning back to him. "These soldiers know the lay of the land nearly as well as Drake and I do. As Drake did," she corrected herself with a wince. "They could be anywhere. You don't take anything for granted."
"You're saying they could be lying in wait for us?" Chester asked, glancing around the passage uneasily. "So we might wander straight into a trap?"
"Yes. So let me do what I do best," Elliott had replied.
Now that they were without her as a guide, Chester took the front position with Will and Cal following closely behind. They felt extremely vulnerable without their catlike protector to watch over them.
While the relentless gale helped keep them cool, it also dehydrated them, and there were no objections when Will proposed they stop for a break. They leaned against the passage wall, gratefully sipping water from their canteens.
Neither Will nor Chester made any effort to speak. Cal, with his bad leg, had his own problems to deal with and was similarly silent.
Will glanced at the other two boys. He knew he was not alone in wondering if Elliott had deserted them. He believed she was eminently capable of leaving them stranded here. If she was unencumbered by the three of them, she'd be able to move at much greater speed to the Wetlands or wherever she intended to go.
Will wondered how Chester would take it if she'd really left them high and dry. He trusted her without reservation, and it would come as a terrible blow. Even as Will looked at him now, he could see Chester was squinting into the gloom for any sign of her.
All at once, over the howling of the wind, there came the unholiest of noises, a low-pitched whining. It was a sound Will hoped he'd never hear again. Seized with dread, he screamed out in alarm.
"Dog! Stalker!"
Cal and Chester both regarded him with dazed bewilderment as he dropped his canteen and leaped toward them, pushing them to move.
"Run!" he yelled in a blind panic.
Several things happened within a single heartbeat.
There was a low whimper, and a dark blur flew from out of the blackness. It leaped low from the ground, soaring straight up at Cal. If the boy hadn't been so close to the passage wall, it would have bowled him over. Will caught a glimpse of the sinuous animal and was even more certain it was a Styx attack dog. He thought all was lost until he heard his brother's shouts.
"Bartleby!" Cal cried with delight. "Bart! It's you!"
Simultaneously two cracks flashed farther down the tunnel.
"There she is!" Chester exclaimed. "Elliott!"
Will and Chester watched as the girl departed the shadows and stepped into the middle of the tunnel.
"Stay back!" she shouted at them as she crept down the main trail.
Cal was in raptures, completely oblivious to anything but his beloved cat. "Who put this silly thing on you?" he asked the animal. He immediately unbuckled the leather collar and slung it away. Then he hugged the oversized feline, who repaid him by licking his face.
"I don't believe I got you back, Bartleby," Cal said over and over again.
"I don't believe it either. Where the heck did he come from?" Will said to Chester, forgetting their differences for the moment.
Despite her instructions to the contrary, they both began to walk slowly toward Elliott. Will turned on his headset and saw that she had her rifle trained low on something. But he didn't begin to grasp what had happened until Chester spoke.
"Elliott took a shot at somebody," he said flatly.
"Oh no," Will exhaled. The two light bursts must have been the muzzle flash as Elliott had fired. He halted on the spot.
Down the tunnel, Elliott had kicked the weapon away from the body and was squatting down to examine it. No need to check for a pulse — she saw the pool of blood spreading through the dust — if the Styx wasn't already dead, it was only a matter of time.
Her first shot had been aimed at the lower body, to stop the attacker in his tracks, quickly followed up by a second shot to the head, which had clipped him on the temple. Incapacitate... then kill. Her aim had been a little off, not as clean as she would have liked, but the end result was still the same. She allowed herself a satisfied grin.
The Styx had dried mud all over him — so he must have followed them up the seam. With her fingertips, Elliott felt the waxed leather surface of the long coat striped with blocks of brown camouflage, a pattern painfully familiar to her. Well, that was one less Limiter — he wouldn't be bothering them again.
"For you, Drake," she whispered, but then a frown creased her brow.
Something didn't make sense. The would-be assassin had been storming toward the boys with his weapon at his shoulder. Elliott was sure he had been about to take a shot "on the wing," but... he hadn't fired. And he hadn't demonstrated any of the precision or stealth she'd have expected from a soldier of the Limiter division. Their combat skills were legendary, yet this man had been in a mad rush. But it was academic now — he was down — and this was no place to hang around. More likely than not there'd be more Limiters on the way; and she wasn't about to be caught in the open like some sitting duck.
She began to scavenge what she could. No rucksack — that was disappointing. The Limiter must have dumped it
She was searching through the jacket pockets when she came across a folded piece of paper. Thinking it was a map, she shook it open, staining it with crimson smudges from the blood on her hands. It was a broadsheet celebrating some sort of event — she'd seen them before in the Colony. The main picture was of a woman, with four smaller images, vignettes of different scenes, around it. Elliott scanned them quickly before something caught her eye.
There was a sixth picture at the bottom that looked as though it had been added later, since it was sketched in pencil. She looked askance at it.
It was the spitting image of Will — although he looked all cleaned up in the picture, with neatly cropped hair.
She peered more closely at it, bringing her lantern to the paper. It was Will, but there was another detail that caused her to suck in her breath. He had a hangman's noose tight around his neck. The other end of the rope was curled up above he head to form what was very clearly a question mark.
And there was also a shadowy, less clearly defined figure behind him, which vaguely resembled Cal. While Will had the desperate look of the condemned, this second figure smiled serenely. The expressions on the two faces were totally out of sync, and the combination quite unsettling.
She studied the rest of the page, lingering on the central picture of the woman, then read the name in a swirling banner at the very top.
Sarah Jerome.
Elliott immediately bent over the body, pulling the head around so she could examine the face. Despite copious amounts of blood from the head wound, she could tell right away it wasn't a Limiter.
It was a woman!
With long brown hair that had been swept back.
There were no female Limiters. That was unheard of — Elliott, of all people, knew this.
She realized who was before her. Who she had killed.
Will and Cal's mother. Sarah Jerome.