Tunnels 02 - Deeper

  She folded the paper and took a deep breath. Seemingly there was nothing to fear, no threat, so she raised her head, throwing her shawl around her back, as she continued down the alleyway, the masses thronging on either side of her. She didn't acknowledge them, nor look to her left or right, but kept going as the clamor grew even more tumultuous. Wolf whistles and huge cheers and the chanted "Sarah! Sarah! Sarah!" reached the rock canopy above, their echoes falling back to earth and mingling with the uproar all around her.

  Sarah reached the narrow passageway that would lead her out through the other side of the Rookeries. Without looking back, she entered, leaving the throng behind her. But their shouts still rang in her ears, and the drumming still resounded deafeningly in the enclosed space around her.

  Out in the wider street where the more affluent Colonists' houses stood, Sarah stopped to order her thoughts. She felt dizzy as she tried to deal with what had just happened. She just couldn't believe that all those people, whom she'd never laid eyes on before, had recognized her and had bestowed such adulation upon her. After all, they were the inhabitants of the Rookeries — they neither respected nor admired anyone beyond its confines. It wasn't their way. Before now, she hadn't had the slightest inkling that she was a figure of such renown.

  Remembering the sheet of paper still clutched in her hand, she opened it and began to scrutinize it. The paper itself was coarse, with frayed edges, but she didn't notice this as her eyes fell on her name at the top of the sheet, spelled out in ornate copperplate letters within a twisting banner, like a flag stirring in the wind.

  And there she was, her picture clear as day — the artist had done a good job of capturing her likeness. Around her picture a stylized and wispy fog, or perhaps it was meant to be the darkness, formed an oval frame, and in the four corners of the sheet were the smaller roundels she hadn't had the time to look at before.

  They were just as accomplished as the main picture.

  One showed her leaning over her baby's crib, tears making her face shine. There was a shadowy figure in the background that she assumed was her husband, standing by just as he had done while their child was dying.

  The next roundel depicted her with both her sons, stealing out of her house, and another had her grappling valiantly with a Colonist in a semilit tunnel. The last depicted a huge phalanx of Styx, scythes drawn, hot on the heels of a running, skirted figure as it fled down the length of a tunnel. The artist had taken liberties here; it hadn't happened like that at all, but the meaning was clear. She instinctively crumpled up the sheet. It was strictly forbidden to portray the Styx in any way whatsoever — only in the Rookeries would they dare do such a thing.

  She couldn't get over it. Her life… in five pictures!

  She was still shaking her head with utter disbelief as she caught the gentle creak of leather and looked up. She froze at the sight that met her.

  Stark white collars and long black coats that rippled with the illumination from the streetlamps. Styx. A large patrol of them — perhaps as many as two dozen. They were watching her, unmoving and silent, in a casually arranged line on the opposite side of the street. The scene had something of an old photograph from the American Wild West about it — a posse of long riders arranged around the sheriff before the start of a manhunt. But in this picture the sheriff was a teenage girl.

  Rebecca, in the center of the front row, took a single step forward. As she stood, proud and commanding in front of her men, the strongest sense of power emanated from her.

  Who is she really? Sarah thought, not for the first time.

  Rebecca flipped her hand vaguely in the air, the gesture telling the Styx at her flanks to remain where they were. As the chanting continued, muffled now by the boundaries of the Rookeries, she gave a faintly amused smile. She crossed her arms primly and looked askance at Sarah.

  "Quite the hero's welcome," she called over, tapping a foot on the cobblestones. "How does it feel to be such a big shot?" she added sourly.

  Sarah gave a nervous half shrug, conscious of all the dark pupils of the massed Styx upon her.

  "Well, I hope you made the most of it, because the Rookeries, and all the scum rotting inside, will be no more than a bad memory in a few days' time," Rebecca snarled. "Out with the old, as they say."

  Sarah wasn't sure how to react to this — was it just an empty threat because Rebecca was angry that she'd dared to leave the Styx compound and venture into the Rookeries?

  A bell began to toll somewhere in the distance.

  "Enough of all this," the girl announced. "It's high time" — she snapped her fingers and the Styx around her stirred into action — "we were on our way. We've got a train to catch."

  24

  "The place of Cross Staves," Drake said as he looked at the sign by the letterbox opening in the ground. Will estimated it had taken them ten hours of rapid walking, punctuated by frequent bouts of jogging, to reach the place where — he had thought until now — Cal had died. Both he and Chester were thoroughly exhausted but filled with fragile hope.

  At Drake's suggestion, they had taken a couple of breaks on the way, but no one had spoken as they drank water and chewed on some salty sticks with a nondescript flavor that the taciturn man had produced from a pouch.

  As they had jogged along, with only Drake's faint miner's light to guide them, Elliott had prowled behind, constant yet undetectable in the dark. But she was with them now, as Drake stood by the letterbox opening, a place Will had hoped he'd never again see in his lifetime: a place of fear and dread, a portal into the deathworld.

  Drake undid the buckle and slung his belt kit to one side as Elliott handed him a mask, which he fixed over his mouth and nose. "I was given this by a dead Limiter." He smiled dryly at the boys. Then he made sure the strange lens was positioned correctly over his eye.

  "I want to help," Will declared. "I'm coming with you."

  "No, you're not."

  "Cal's my brother. He was my responsibility."

  "That has nothing to do with it. You stay with Elliott and keep watch. We've broken every rule in the book on the way over, and I don't want to get pinned down when I'm in the sugar trap." Drake gestured to Chester. "He's the stronger of you two — he's going to help me."

  "Sure!" Chester nodded eagerly.

  Elliott tapped Will on the shoulder. She was so close to him, he was a bit taken aback. She pointed at the outcrop behind the letterbox opening. "Take that side," she whispered. "If you see anything, don't shout, just tell me. Got that?" She started to hand Will one of the small metal cylinders Drake had been carrying, but he spotted what she was doing.

  "No, Elliott, he doesn't know how to use it yet. If it comes to that, just scram and lead them away. We'll regroup at the emergency RV, OK?"

  "OK. Break a leg." She smiled under her shemagh as she snatched the cylinder back from a bewildered Will.

  "Thanks," Drake said, then jumped in the opening, with Chester close behind.

  After they'd gone, Will hunched down low against the rocks, scouring the darkness. The minutes passed.

  "Pssst!"

  It was Elliott.

  Will looked around. He couldn't see her.

  "PSSST!" It came again, louder this time.

  He was about to call out to her when she landed right behind him, as if she had dropped from the sky. Evidently she'd been on top of the outcrop.

  "Something going on over there," she whispered, pointing off into the darkness. "It's a long way away, so don't panic. Just keep your eyes peeled." She was gone before Will had a chance to ask her exactly what she'd seen. He peered in the direction she'd indicated. As far as he could tell, there was absolutely nothing there.

  After several minutes, a distant, deep, rumbling boom resounded across the plain. There was no flash, but Will was certain he felt the percussive shock on his face, a faint wash of warm air over and above the constant breezes. He stood up, and Elliott was back in an instant.

  "Thought so," she whispered into his e
ar. "It's the Limiters sending another Coprolite settlement sky-high."

  "But why would they do that?"

  "Drake thought perhaps you could tell us."

  Will saw her keen brown eyes flash through the parting in the shemagh.

  "No," Will replied hesitantly, "why should I know?"

  "This only started — the hunting of our friends and any Coprolites who deal with us — about the time you showed up. Maybe you brought it on. So what did you do to get the Styx so stirred up?"

  "I… I…" Will stammered, stunned by the suggestion that he was somehow to blame for the Styx's actions.

  "Well, whatever you did, they won't let it go. I should know." Her eyes flicked away from him. "Keep alert," she said., making a catlike leap up the sheer incline of the rock outcrop, her outsized rifle balanced in her arms.

  Will's mind was whirring. Could Elliott be right? Had he brought down the wrath of the Styx on the renegades and Coprolites? Was he in some way responsible for all of this?

  REBECCA!

  The thought of his one-time sister made him choke. Could she still be out for vengeance? Her evil influence seemed to follow Will everywhere he went, slithering after him like a poisonous snake. Was she behind what was happening? No, that would be just too outlandish.

  He thought back to the moment he and Chester had first entered the underground world, through one of the Colony's air locks and into the Quarter, setting off a chain of events over which he'd had no control. Then he began to think about how many lives had changed for the worse as a result.

  For starters there was Chester, dragged into this terrifying mess because, out of the goodness of his heart, he'd offered to help Will search for his father. Then there was Tam, who had lost his life defending him in the Eternal City. And he couldn't forget Tam's men: Imago, Jack, and the others, who were probably on the run right now. All because of him. The burden was way too much to bear. No, he tried to convince himself, this can't all be on me. It can't be.

  A commotion coming from the letterbox opening distracted Will from his tortured thoughts. He saw Drake racing away from the sugar trap, white particles scattering from his head and shoulders like a sprinkling of confetti. He was carrying Cal's limp body. Chester climbed out behind him.

  Drake paused for the briefest instant to shake off his mask, then resumed his mad dash, heading directly for the canal.

  "Come on," Elliott said to Will as he stood watching dumbly.

  The trio followed Drake, pale particles swirling in his wake. But he didn’t stop once he'd reached the canal. He hurtled from the bank, straight into the dark river, with a huge splash. Water closed over him, until both he and Cal were totally submerged.

  Will and Chester stood on the bank, watching. As the water became calm again, there was only a clutch of air bubbles to mark the spot where Drake had jumped in. Will glanced at Chester.

  "What's he doing?"

  "Dunno." Chester shrugged.

  "Did you see Cal?"

  "Not really," Chester replied.

  There was a small splash as if, far below, the water was being agitated. Small ripples spread out from the turbulence, then the surface becalmed again. Seconds passed.

  Still staring blankly into the canal, Chester spoke in a despondent voice. "He looked pretty dead to me, but I couldn't really see."

  "You didn't go into the cavern?"

  "Drake made me wait outside. He moved inside it very slowly… I suppose he was trying not to set the things off. But then he came out run—"

  He stopped speaking as Drake's head broke the surface. The man bobbed up, drawing several deep breaths. They couldn't see Cal's body: Drake kept it underwater. With a few one-armed strokes, he swam to the side, where he braced a shoulder against the crumbling stone bank. He raised Cal out of the water so the upper half of the boy's torso was visible and shook him savagely. Cal's head whipped from side to side as if it might detach altogether from his shoulders. Then Drake stopped, holding Cal still as he peered at his face.

  "Shine your lanterns on him," he ordered.

  Will and Chester did as they were told. The face was horrible to look at: deathly blue and speckled all over with raised white blotches. There didn't seem to be the smallest sign of life. Nothing. Will began to despair again. His brother was dead and there was nothing anyone could do to change that.

  Then Drake shook the boy again and slapped him hard across the face.

  Will and Chester both heard a gasp.

  Cal's head twitched. He took a tiny breath, and then coughed weakly.

  "Thank goodness, thank goodness," Chester was saying over and over again. He and Will looked at each other, wide-eyed with disbelief. Will just shook his head, dumbfounded. This was beyond his wildest dreams — his brother, before his very eyes, seemed to have returned from the dead.

  Cal took a couple more wheezy breaths, then coughed again, stronger this time. Then he was coughing nonstop, his throat rasping as though he couldn't get enough air into his lungs. His head jerked around on his shoulders in a spasm and he was violently sick. "C'mon, boy! Good," Drake said, holding him. "That's it!"

  He hoisted Cal up as far as he could.

  "Take him," he told them. Will and Chester each grabbed Cal under the arms and dragged him out onto the bank.

  "No, don't lay him down!" Elliott said. "Get him on his feet. Get his shirt off. Walk him around, keep him moving. It'll work the poisons out."

  As they stripped the shirt off his body, they saw Cal's blue-tinged skin in all its glory. Its surface was peppered with raised white welts. His flame-red eyes were open, and his mouth moved in wordless shapes. One on either side, Will and Chester walked the diminutive figure in quick circles. Cal's head rolled loosely as they went, but he was unable to shuffle even a step under his own steam.

  Drake had climbed out of the canal and was squatting on its bank as Elliott scanned the horizon with her rifle scope.

  But Will's and Chester's efforts didn't seem to be enough. After a while Cal's eyes closed, and his mouth stopped moving as he slipped back into unconsciousness.

  "Stop," Drake said, rising to his feet. He came over to where the boys were and, propping up Cal's head with one hand, slapped his face mercilessly with the other. He did this time and time again. Will thought he could see some of the blue color beginning to recede from his brother's cheeks.

  Cal's brows twitched, and Drake stopped, watching his face carefully.

  "We got to him just in the nick of time. Any longer and the narcotics would've had him in their grip, and the spores begun to take root," Drake said. "In short order they would have digested him. A human compost bag."

  "Spores?" Will asked.

  "Yes, these." Drake rubbed roughly with his thumb at one of the coarse white welts on Cal's neck. A little of it crumbled away at his touch to reveal even brighter blue skin beneath, oozing with small droplets of blood. "They germinate — like these have — and put down tendrils, which grow into the flesh of the victim, absorbing all the nutrients from the living tissues."

  "But he'll be all right, won't he?" Will said quickly.

  "He's been out for a long time," Drake answered, shrugging. "Just remember, if any of you are fool enough to make the same mistake twice and blunder into a sugar trap, you have to shock the victim awake. The nervous system almost shuts down and needs a trauma to kick-start it. One way is to shove them underwater. You almost have to drown them to save them."

  Cal seemed to be drifting off again, so Drake resumed slapping him, so hard that the noise hurt Will's ears. Then Cal suddenly yanked his head back. He inhaled deeply and screamed the most horrible of screams. Will and Chester shuddered. It was unearthly, like an animal call, reverberating across the dusty desert. But, akin to the primal scream of a newborn baby, it gave Will and Chester such hope. Drake took his hands away.

  "That's it. Now walk him around again."

  They kept on, in endless circles, and little by little life seemed to be returning to the boy. He
began to walk with them, at first with only the feeblest of movements, and then bigger, uncontrolled paces, as his head lolled on his shoulders.

  "Drake, better see this," Elliott called, adjusting the sight on her long rifle.

  Immediately at her side, Drake took the rifle from her. He looked through the scope. "Yes… I see it… strange…"

  He lowered the rifle and looked at her with a bewildered expression. "Styx… on horseback!"

  "No," she said with disbelief.

  "They've picked up a light trace from us," Drake said, passing the weapon back to her. "We can't hang around here." He strode over to Will and Chester. "Sorry, boys, no time to rest. I'll carry your kit but you've got the patient." He hoisted both of their rucksacks onto his shoulders and started off without a moment's delay.

  * * * * *

  Will and Chester lugged Cal between them, Will lifting the boy under his armpits while Chester had hold of his legs. They ran in a half trot, using the muted light from Drake's miner's beam to guide them.

  "They can't follow us into the tubes on horseback," he called quietly back to them. "But we've got a long way before we're out of the woods. Move it!"

  "This is knackering," Will moaned as yet again his foot caught against a rock and he stumbled, only just managing to keep hold of his brother. "He weighs a freakin' ton!"

  "Tough," Drake snapped back. "Pick up the pace!"

  Sweat poured from Will and Chester as they struggled along; they were suffering badly from exhaustion and lack of food. Will had a foul taste in his mouth, as if his body was burning its last reserves. He felt dizzy, and wondered if Chester was finding it as hard as he was. Making matters that much more difficult, Cal kept twitching and writhing. He obviously had no idea what was happening and was trying to push them both off.

  * * * * *

  They finally came to the perimeter of the Great Plain. The boys both felt fit to drop, their limbs leaden with fatigue. They entered a winding lava tube and, as it turned a corner, Drake turned to them.