by Keith Laumer
stones, gleamingdully in the gloom.
Brett started across the floor. One of the sticks snapped underfoot. Hekicked a melon-sized stone. It rolled lightly, came to rest with holloweyes staring toward him. A human skull.
* * * * *
The floor of the cave covered an area the size of a city block. It wasblanketed with human bones, with here and there a small cat skeleton orthe fanged snout-bones of a dog. There was a constant rustling of ratsthat played among the rib cages, sat atop crania, scuttled behindshin-bones. Brett picked his way, stepping over imitation pearlnecklaces, zircon rings, plastic buttons, hearing aids, lipsticks,compacts, corset stays, prosthetic devices, rubber heels, wrist watches,lapel watches, pocket watches with corroded brass chains.
Ahead Brett saw a patch of color: a blur of pale yellow. He hurried,stumbling over bone heaps, crunching eyeglasses underfoot. He reachedthe still figure where it lay slackly, face down. Gingerly he squatted,turned it on its back. It was Dhuva.
Brett slapped the cold wrists, rubbed the clammy hands. Dhuva stirred,moaned weakly. Brett pulled him to a sitting position. "Wake up!" hewhispered. "Wake up!"
Dhuva's eyelids fluttered. He blinked dully at Brett.
"The Gels may turn up any minute," Brett hissed. "We have to get awayfrom here. Can you walk?"
"I saw it," said Dhuva faintly. "But it moved so fast ..."
"You're safe here for the moment," Brett said. "There are none of themaround. But they may be back. We've got to find a way out!"
Dhuva started up, staring around. "Where am I?" he said hoarsely. Brettseized his arm, steadied him on his feet.
"We're in a hollowed-out cave," he said. "The whole city is underminedwith them. They're connected by tunnels. We have to find one leadingback to the surface."
Dhuva gazed around at the acres of bones. "It left me here for dead."
"Or to die," said Brett.
"Look at them," Dhuva breathed. "Hundreds ... thousands ..."
"The whole population, it looks like. The Gels must have whisked themdown here one by one."
"But why?"
"For interfering with the scenes. But that doesn't matter now. Whatmatters is getting out. Come on. I see tunnels on the other side."
They crossed the broad floor, around them the white bones, the rustle ofrats. They reached the far side of the cave, picked a six-foot tunnelwhich trended upward, a trickle of water seeping out of the dark mouth.They started up the slope.
* * *
"We have to have a weapon against the Gels," said Brett.
"Why? I don't want to fight them." Dhuva's voice was thin, frightened."I want to get away from here ... even back to Wavly. I'd rather facethe Duke."
"This was a real town, once," said Brett. "The Gels have taken it over,hollowed out the buildings, mined the earth under it, killed off thepeople, and put imitation people in their place. And nobody ever knew. Imet a man who's lived here all his life. He doesn't know. But we know... and we have to do something about it."
"It's not our business. I've had enough. I want to get away."
"The Gels must stay down below, somewhere in that maze of tunnels. Forsome reason they try to keep up appearances ... but only for the peoplewho belong here. They play out scenes for the fat man, wherever he goes.And he never goes anywhere he isn't expected to."
"We'll get over the wall somehow," said Dhuva. "We may starve, crossingthe dry fields, but that's better than this."
They emerged from the tunnel into a coal bin, crossed to a sagging door,found themselves in a boiler room. Stairs led up to sunlight. In thestreet, in the shadow of tall buildings, a boxy sedan was parked at thecurb. Brett went to it, tried the door. It opened. Keys dangled from theignition switch. He slid into the dusty seat. Behind him there was ahoarse scream. Brett looked up. Through the streaked windshield he saw amighty Gel rear up before Dhuva, who crouched back against the blackenedbrick front of the building.
"Don't move, Dhuva!" Brett shouted. Dhuva stood frozen, flattenedagainst the wall. The Gel towered, its surface rippling.
Brett eased from the seat. He stood on the pavement, fifteen feet fromthe Gel. The rank Gel odor came in waves from the creature. Beyond it hecould see Dhuva's white terrified face.
Silently Brett turned the latch of the old-fashioned auto hood, raisedit. The copper fuel line curved down from the firewall to a glasssediment cup. The knurled retaining screw turned easily; the cup droppedinto Brett's hand. Gasoline ran down in an amber stream. Brett pulledoff his damp coat, wadded it, jammed it under the flow. Over hisshoulder he saw Dhuva, still rigid--and the Gel, hovering, uncertain.
The coat was saturated with gasoline now. Brett fumbled a match box fromhis pocket. Wet. He threw the sodden container aside. The battery caughthis eye, clamped in a rusted frame under the hood. He jerked the pistolfrom its holster, used it to short the terminals. Tiny blue sparksjumped. He jammed the coat near, rasped the gun against the soft leadpoles. With a whoosh! the coat caught; yellow flames leaped,soot-rimmed. Brett snatched at a sleeve, whirled the coat high. Thegreat Gel, attracted by the sudden motion, rushed at him. He flung theblazing garment over the monster, leaped aside.
The creature went mad. It slumped, lashed itself against the pavement.The burning coat was thrown clear. The Gel threw itself across thepavement, into the gutter, sending a splatter of filthy water overBrett. From the corner of his eye, Brett saw Dhuva seize the burningcoat, hurl it into the pooled gasoline in the gutter. Fire leaped twentyfeet high; in its center the great Gel bucked and writhed. The ancientcar shuddered as the frantic monster struck it. Black smoke boiled up;an unbelievable stench came to Brett's nostrils. He backed, coughing.Flames roared around the front of the car. Paint blistered and burned. Atire burst. In a final frenzy, the Gel whipped clear, lay, a greatblackened shape of melting rubber, twitching, then still.
* * *
"They've tunneled under everything," Brett said. "They've cut throughpower lines and water lines, concrete, steel, earth; they've left theshell, shored up with spidery-looking trusswork. Somehow they've keptwater and power flowing to wherever they needed it--"
"I don't care about your theories," Dhuva said; "I only want to getaway."
"It's bound to work, Dhuva. I need your help."
"No."
"Then I'll have to try alone." He turned away.
"Wait," Dhuva called. He came up to Brett. "I owe you a life; you savedmine. I can't let you down now. But if this doesn't work ... or if youcan't find what you want--"
"Then we'll go."
Together they turned down a side street, walking rapidly. At the nextcorner Brett pointed.
"There's one!" They crossed to the service station at a run. Brett triedthe door. Locked. He kicked at it, splintered the wood around the lock.He glanced around inside. "No good," he called. "Try the next building.I'll check the one behind."
He crossed the wide drive, battered in a door, looked in at a floorcovered with wood shavings. It ended ten feet from the door. Brett wentto the edge, looked down. Diagonally, forty feet away, the undergroundfifty-thousand-gallon storage tank which supplied the gasoline pumps ofthe station perched, isolated, on a column of striated clay, ribbedwith chitinous Gel buttresses. The truncated feed lines ended six feetfrom the tank. From Brett's position, it was impossible to say whetherthe ends were plugged.
Across the dark cavern a square of light appeared. Dhuva stood in adoorway looking toward Brett.
"Over here, Dhuva!" Brett uncoiled his rope, arranged a slip-noose. Hemeasured the distance with his eye, tossed the loop. It slapped the topof the tank, caught on a massive fitting. He smashed the glass from awindow, tied the end of the rope to the center post. Dhuva arrived,watched as Brett went to the edge, hooked his legs over the rope, andstarted across to the tank.
It was an easy crossing. Brett's feet clanged against the tank. Hestraddled the six-foot cylinder, worked his way to the end, thenclambered down to the two two-inch fe
ed lines. He tested theirresilience, then lay flat, eased out on them. There were plugs of hardwaxy material in the cut ends of the pipes. Brett poked at them with thepistol. Chunks loosened and fell. He worked for fifteen minutes beforethe first trickle came. Two minutes later, two thick streams of gasolinewere pouring down into the darkness.
* * *
Brett and Dhuva piled sticks, scraps of paper, shavings, and lumps ofcoal around a core of gasoline-soaked rags. Directly above the heapedtinder a taut rope stretched from the window post to a child's wagon,the steel bed of which contained a second heap of