Subterranean (42 page)

Ashley couldn't stare at the corpse-white face of Villanueva any longer. As she turned away, something caught her eye—in a ragged pile of collected loot stood a familiar fluorescent green plastic object. Her sled. She had thought it lost after she and Ben had crashed here. She noticed Ben's red sled had also been recovered.

Pretty efficient scavengers, she thought, but that made perfect sense considering the meager resources afforded them.

Suddenly the conversation between Harry and Tomar'su escalated in volume. Ashley glanced in their direction. Harry was holding up his fingers, apparently counting off some point. Finally, in exasperation, Harry clenched his fist and turned away, ending the conversation.

“What was that all about?” Ashley asked as he rejoined the group.

“He wasn't making any sense,” Harry said. “He described what sounded like gunfire. The noise drew his hunters to the diamond cavern. By the time they got there, they only found this . . . this dead soldier.”

“Villanueva,” Ashley corrected. “He was a friend.”

Harry nodded, his brow furrowed in concern. “When I asked him about the other two, he said his team followed their trail to a cavern with a waterfall and observed them camping.”

“So Linda is alive?”

“Well, that's the weird part. When I asked them how many were there, he said there were four of them.”

“Four?” Ben said.

“I know.” Harry ran a hand through his hair. “I kept asking him over and over again. He was adamant. Four.” Harry held up four fingers.

“Seems as soon as we solve one mystery another crops up,” Ben said.

The news gnawed at Ashley. Even with the recent events, she had to know . . . “Where are these four now?”

“Tomar'su says they went into a tunnel that smelled like death, and his hunters balked at following them.”

“Smelled like
death
?”

Harry shrugged. “That's what he said.”

They all stood silent for a long moment. Ashley finally spoke up. “To hell with it. We aren't going to solve this now. Let's concentrate on the situation at hand. Harry, you mentioned you might have a quicker way to traverse the wormhole.”

Harry brightened at her words. “Yeah, maybe. If I can get it to work. Come see.” He led her and the others to a neighboring cavern, almost a cubicle. “Not much,” he said, ushering them in, “but it's home.”

In a corner, thick green pillows huddled under a rumpled blanket. The remainder of Harry's cubicle consisted of an odd assortment of crude tools, spearheads, and a long tarp-wrapped object. Ashley curled her nose at the strong smell of gasoline. Gasoline?

Harry followed them inside, squeezing past her. “All the others at Alpha Base are electric—whining little put-puts—but I jury-rigged my own with a combustion engine. I wanted power.” He bent over and grabbed the edge of the tarp. “After I was attacked, my fellow hunters retrieved it from our last camp. It was pretty beat up, but I've been tinkering with it.”

He yanked the tarp free, revealing a transport sled. One of the big ones. “I built it out of aluminum to be light-weight. Blakely let me bring it since we didn't think we'd need heavy ammunition for our explorations.” He sniffed in derision. “I brought one fucking pistol with me. Stupid!”

“Does the sled still work?” Ashley said, trying to keep the conversation on course.

“Mostly. It used to collapse down to a compact size for carrying, but it's jammed open. Still, this is just a straight trip up. So that shouldn't be a problem.” Harry patted the sled. “The engine's sound, but I only have a single tank of gasoline, so I've been leery of running the engine for a long time. Probably needs a bit of tuning still.”

“Is there enough gas to get all the way up?” Ben knelt down and cocked his head from side to side, studying it.

“Should be plenty.”

“Harry used to race dirt bikes,” Michaelson said. “He knows his way around an engine. If he thinks it'll work, it will.”

Ben nodded, seemingly satisfied. “This'll buy me several hours.”

“There's only one problem,” Harry said. “The front axle's bent. If I
can
fix it, it'll be an all-nighter. So you might want to have a Plan B . . . just in case.”

“Right,” Ashley said, “then let's get a few things settled. Since I'm the only one being held hostage here, Isuggest everyone else accompany Ben on his mission. Put as few at risk as possible down here.”

“No, ma'am!” Ben argued. “I'm going alone. A solo mission.”

“You're gonna need firepower,” Ashley said. “There's no telling how many of those
crak'an
are still hovering around Alpha Base.”

“She's right,” Harry said. “The council has allowed a small team of hunters to go with you. Since we're officially blood-bonded hunters, my brother and I can accompany you. Trust me, you'll need the backup. I can tie those cheap plastic sleds of yours to mine and form a train to drag everyone quickly up top.”

Ben's face reddened with determination. “I won't leave Ashley here alone. She's—”

“I'll stay with Ashley,” Michaelson interrupted. “My ankle's crap. I'll only slow you all down anyway. Maybe Ashley and I can come up with a contingency plan . . . if it comes to that.”

Ben seemed as if he was going to argue further, but their arguments seemed to be wearing him thin. “All right! Harry can come. But, Michaelson, whatever it takes, I expect to see the mother of my child again.”

“You will, Ben.”

Ben nodded, but Ashley's mind was whirling. Mother? She had succeeded in pushing that fact from her mind, but Ben's words had dredged it back up. She placed a hand on her belly. Mother? She didn't even begin to know how to feel about that revelation. But one point of motherhood she was damned sure of . . . “Ben, you've got to find Jason. Even if it means scrubbing this mission. Promise me.”

“I'll try,” Ben said. “You know I will.”

“Don't just try.
Do it
.”

Ben reached to her and folded her in his arms. In his embrace, the tears she had been holding back finally flowed. She sank deeper in his arms.

B
EN LAY AWAKE IN HIS CELL
. H
E KNEW HE NEEDED TO
rest. But after a day of planning, plotting, divvying up arms, and choosing the
mimi'swee
hunters to accompany them, his mind still ground on details of the mission. What if he didn't succeed? He rolled hard onto his left side, burrowing into his pile of pillows and twisting the thin blanket tight around his feet. Ashley's face kept flashing across his mind's eye.

Earlier, she had been led to a separate cell for the night. Guarded. A hostage. They were not even allowed a final night together.

He rolled onto his back and sighed loudly. This worrying was getting him nowhere. Maybe stretching his legs a bit would help. Besides, he should check on Harry's progress. Slipping from his pillows, he crossed to the exit.

Within a few minutes, he had made his way back to the section of hunters' caves. Harry was bent over the disassembled sled, pieces strewn across the rocky floor. Michaelson leaned over his shoulder. A loud snap cracked across the cavern. “Shit!” Harry jumped back from the sled.

“What's wrong?” Ben asked, stepping up behind them.

Harry held up two pieces of aluminum rod. “Not good. I pushed too hard and snapped the axle.”

Ben's heart clenched in his chest. “Can you fix it?”

“I don't think so. I was softening the aluminum with heat and trying to straighten the bend when it snapped. I should have waited until it was softer, but was afraid of weakening the metal.” Harry threw the pieces to the floor. “Sorry, Ben. I screwed up.”

Michaelson laid a hand on Harry's shoulder. “You did your best.”

“Fuck that. I blew it.” Harry shrugged off his brother's hand.

“Don't beat yourself up,” Ben said. “So we use the plastic sleds and push our way up. It'll slow us down somewhat, but we'll manage.” At least he prayed so. What if this delay made the difference between succeeding and failing in their mission?

“Listen,” Michaelson said to Harry. “I may have an idea.”

“What?” Ben said.

Michaelson, his eyes tired and irritated, glanced back over his shoulder and pointed to the exit. “Ben, just go to bed. Let my brother and I work this out. It's a long shot anyway, so get yourself some rest.”

Ben only stared, glassy-eyed. He knew the major was right.

“We'll see you in the morning,” Michaelson said, turning his attention back to Harry and the sled, dismissing him.

During Ben's journey back to bed, his mind spun with the ramifications of Harry's bad news. Even if it took them eight hours to crawl the thirty miles, surely the remaining day would leave them plenty of time to accomplish their goal. It would have to, he thought adamantly.

Suddenly he realized the twists and turns in the tunnels didn't look familiar. He turned and looked back the way he had come. Should have taken that last turn . . . or maybe angled left back by the big boulder.

A scraping noise behind him drew his attention. In the dim light, he could see a skeletally thin apparition approaching him from down the tunnel. He froze, startled by the otherworldliness of the figure, bathed in the greenish fungal glow like some netherworld phantom. But as it approached, he recognized the gnarled and bony countenance. Sin'jari, the creature who had so stubbornly insisted on their deaths.

As the tribe's elder closed the space between them, Ben noticed the two brutish guards following Sin'jari. Buttugly fellows. Where most of the
mimi'swee
were small and sinewy, these two looked like scarred bulldogs, hunched and menacing. Sin'jari stepped before Ben, raising his staff to block the way forward, then barked something angrily to his flanking guards.

The two burly creatures advanced toward him.

Though physically drained, Ashley still found sleep escaping her. Her head pounded and a bruise on her hip throbbed. She found herself recalling Ben's arms as he held her, the scent of his hair, his fingers on her back and neck. She had gone too far the night before, in a moment of horrible weakness, and misled him badly as to her true feelings. She clutched the blanket around her shoulders, afraid of an even more frightening reality. Had she
really
misled him?

She glanced at the glowing dial of her watch. Two hours until the clock began ticking toward her death sentence. Too many worries battled within her, bottled up in her chest: What had happened to Jason? And Linda too, for that matter? What about Ben? Would he die trying to save her? Could he save her? And worst of all, if he should fail, would she then die never knowing what had happened to her son?

She clutched the blanket to her face, her tears finally overwhelming her control. Time was running out.

Ben took a step back from the lumbering creatures, who now leered at him in a threatening way. They were unarmed, but somehow Ben knew this was small comfort. He backed another step, debating what to do. He could try making a dash, but they would be at him like dingos on a wallaby. He'd best take his chances where he stood.

“Okay, you bastards,” he grumbled, more to center himself than to intimidate his combatants. “Let's see how bloody easily those long necks of yours break.”

Ben dug a heel into a rut in the floor to gain some leverage for a punch. He was readying himself when something suddenly grabbed his shoulder from behind. Wound tight, he instinctively swung a roundhouse blow toward the unseen attacker. He halted his punch just in time.

It was Mo'amba.

The old man released Ben's shoulder, staring for just a heartbeat at Ben's upraised fist. Mo'amba then glanced away to stare down the two guards, who were frozen where they stood. He barked something that made the pet dogs of Sin'jari bow their heads and slink back.

Their master, though, stood his ground, his staff still raised across the passage, barring the way forward. Sin'jari hissed something at Mo'amba. The old man merely shrugged, which caused Sin'jari to rattle his staff and quiver with rage.

Mo'amba tapped Ben on the shoulder and indicated he should follow. Acting as a guide, Mo'amba led the way back, away from Sin'jari. But the elder's howls echoed behind them as Ben followed Mo'amba.

After much twisting and turning, Ben found himself back in a familiar chamber. He glanced with a sigh at the red gourd-shaped mushrooms hanging from the pillars. Why do I always end up here?

As he followed Mo'amba deeper into the chamber, weaving among the mushrooms, he noticed something strange about the pillars of stone. The first time through here, with Ashley, he had been so fixated on the red fungal pods that he had assumed the pillars were just natural rocky colonnades, but now on closer inspection, he realized he was wrong. He traced a finger down the coarse, grooved surface of one of the pillars. Bloody hell, it was a petrified tree trunk. He glanced around him, his mouth agape. The whole chamber contained a grove of petrified trees.

A grunt of impatience drew his attention back to Mo'amba. He waved for Ben to sit at the edge of the circle of painted glyphs. Ben found a comfortable spot on the rocky floor, and the old man slowly sat across from him. Once settled, Ben knew what Mo'amba wanted. He closed his eyes and let his body relax, starting at his toes and working up from there. Still, his mind spun with so many thoughts and worries, he could not focus. He tried again to relax, but stray concerns kept him edgy.

Just before he was about to give up, a calming sense of tranquillity washed over him. He knew it was some sort of sending from Mo'amba and allowed the sense of peace to quiet his worried thoughts.

The blackness behind his eyelids blossomed into full color. Again, for just a moment, the image of his dead grandfather was superimposed over Mo'amba's face. The familiar visage further calmed his heart, like a favorite old song heard in the background.