Atlantis Reprise

by James Axler

  The walls and floor of the labyrinth were slick to the touch, layers of grease, sweat and blood mingling with the rising fungus that had been birthed in the tainted earth and rancid air. The air was filled with the sounds of their own breathing and the distant baying of the beasts that awaited those who stepped out of line. The sounds were desperate and faint, but with walls this thick and the strange echoing effects of the long passages, they could be on the other side of the maze, or just around the corner.

  You would only know when you walked into one.

  As for what kind of beast it might be, none of the companions had been able to get a straight answer. Those who had truly known were those chilled in the labyrinth, and those who had survived and made it through knew only by guess or rumor. The most likely candidates were wild dogs and foxes, made feral, taunted and half starved. Possibly there were others. Rumors had always existed about mutie animals bred from the remnants of a predark suburban zoo, a few creatures surviving the years of rad damage and inbreeding to become meaner and madder than anything else.

  Mildred doubted that anything from such a small gene pool—let alone one so rad-blasted—would have made it this far, but some of the high, keening yowls that floated through the labyrinth made her wonder if she was right. A primal fear of the unknown rose within her, and even though she fought to quell the rising gorge, it still lurked at the edge of her mind.

  At least they had light, unlike those poor souls who had made this journey in reverse. All the companions had flashlights, raided from a past redoubt, and all had checked that they had working batteries before setting off from Memphis. Mark and Lemur had been fascinated by these pieces of old tech that were completely new to them, and this alone had given their confidence a small boost in setting out on the raid. However, while Mildred was glad of the light, she could only hope that the batteries would last and that they wouldn’t give out at an inopportune moment.

  Which could be any moment. The yarn was being payed out by Mithos, the young sec man at the rear of the party, and that rate of drop was lessening with every yard. They were slowing, as it became harder to judge which was the right passage to take. At every junction, Mildred found herself pausing longer and longer, trying to decide which was the best to take. Was there a through draft of any kind, suggesting that this way didn’t terminate in a dead end? Were there animal noises coming from this direction, suggesting they take an alternate route to skirt around any traps? As for pit traps, hidden blades, or any other kind of snare, how the hell did she decide whether there were any of those lurking?

  They had long since lost track of the other yarn tracks, having taken an alternate passage some time back. She wondered how the others were doing. It was impossible to tell if there was one route through, or more than one. Maybe she was heading in the right direction and they weren’t; maybe it was the other way around.

  Were they progressing forward, going sideways or moving backward? In the darkness, with the amount of turns they had taken, it was almost impossible to orient themselves.

  Still, there was one good thing: they had avoided any dangers so far.

  She wondered if that were true of the other parties.

  J.B. MOVED SWIFTLY AND SURELY. There was something in the Armorer’s nature, enhanced and honed by years of practice, that made it easy for him to decide on direction. It was almost as though he had an internal compass that enabled him to define direction.

  His three sec men were content to let him lead. They knew he had the greater experience and the greater skill in such techniques, and despite their own dread at entering the maze they had an implicit trust in him.

  It was no accident that Ryan had sent J.B. ahead. If anyone could use his skills to pilot a safe passage through the labyrinth, then it would be J. B. Dix. And he had set a strong pace, using his sense of direction to keep forging ahead, and the other skills he had learned in the noble art of staying alive to choose the passages they would traverse.

  But even so, J.B. was finding it hard. He could hear the baying of the trapped animals and the charnel house atmosphere was strong enough in this section of the labyrinth to make him feel like puking, even after all the things he had seen, heard and smelled over the years. The dark seemed to do little more than intensify the pungent stench, so much so that it threatened to overwhelm the raiding party.

  ‘Dark night, how many have never made it out of here?’ he asked quietly.

  ‘Too many,’ came the unbidden reply. ‘Those of us who did get through know this smell all too well. You are doing well to hold on to your stomach,’ the sec man added wryly. ‘Certainly better than those of us who were born to Memphis and had never—thankfully—experienced this before.’

  As if to emphasize the point, J.B. could hear one of the men retching behind him, bringing up what was left of his last meal. He was the second to have succumbed, and it was a matter of pride with J.B. that he not join them. For, if nothing else, he had more important matters on which to concentrate.

  ‘If we go right here, I figure that we run into something living and real pissed off,’ he commented, catching the wail of a starving animal drift toward him. ‘But left doesn’t feel right. It takes us straight ahead, angling back toward a straight path through to the other side.’

  ‘And it’s not going to do that for the purpose of assisting us,’ mused the sec man at his shoulder. ‘To be that enticing, it must house a trap of some kind.’

  ‘It’s be triple stupe not to assume otherwise,’ J.B. agreed. ‘But what kind?’

  The sec man paused for a second before answering. ‘The only kind of traps that I know of for sure are those that are covered pits, staked at the bottom, and have swinging blades. I don’t know how they are triggered—trip wire or something hidden in the floor, perhaps—but they let loose a circular blade that swings across the tunnel walls.’

  ‘Shit, that sounds real nasty,’ J.B. commented.

  The sec man gave a lazy smile. ‘Ah, but it isn’t the fastest of weapons, and if you’re quick enough—and scared enough—you can duck beneath.’

  J.B. flashed a returning grin. ‘That sounds like experience talking.’

  ‘I’m still here,’ the sec man replied, ‘although I nearly lost the top of my skull. Beware, there is no indication until the blade begins to swing.’

  ‘Flashlight may help, may catch the blade and give a quicker warning,’ J.B. mused. Then he shrugged. ‘Fuck it, what else can we do? To the left, and keep alert.’

  The Armorer took a deep breath of fetid air and began to walk slowly down the straight passage, the flashlight beam casting a narrow arc some ten feet in front of him. A small part of the smell was explained by the rotted corpse that lay ahead. There was no way of telling how it bought the farm—or even if it was male or female—as it had been ground into the floor of the maze when the walls were rearranged, and half of it was now obscured by a stone wall that cut diagonally from chest to hip. That which remained had little recognizable flesh left on the crushed bones.

  J.B., even as familiar as he was with such carnage, had to swallow hard as he walked over the remains. Perhaps it was this that disturbed his concentration, diverted his attention for just one second, but one second was enough. A few feet past the corpse and he realized too late that one of the reasons it had been left there was to act as a diversion.

  As his right foot hit the ground, it yielded beneath him, crumbling and giving way to a yawning gap. The flashlight beam swung around in a wild arc across the wall and floor, for a moment lighting up the drop beneath him. Six by four, the width of the passage, it seemed to run under the wall of each side—perhaps the pit was dug to an incredible width so that any passage was prey to its charms. No matter now. The most important thing was that it was more than six feet deep, and three of those were populated by wooden stakes sharpened to a point. The bones gathered beneath, briefly illuminated by the flashing beam, held testimony to how many had tumbled and rotted away on those deadly sentinels, st
akes to which J.B. was now headed with the gathering momentum of a falling object.

  Somehow, despite it all, he kept hold of the flashlight. If nothing else, if he was going to buy the farm, he wanted to see how. But before he could view his own demise, he found himself jolting to a halt, suspended in midair. The sole of one foot still had the barest of contact with the edge of the pit, but he could feel the solid, tightly packed dead earth becoming less tightly packed with each passing moment. He could also feel the pull of his belt and waistband, the only things that stopped him from plunging downward.

  ‘Hang on…’ His rescuer’s voice was strained with effort and he could feel the man’s grip tremble as his aching muscles protested. ‘Quick…’ he heard the man implore.

  Another hand grabbed his belt and hauled back. If the leather didn’t cut into the band of muscle around his stomach, then the muscle would rip the leather unless they gained another handhold.

  A third set of hands grabbed at his jacket, reaching out and clutching the leather, snatching at it to try to get a grip. J.B. felt completely helpless, suspended over the pit, with only his clothing keeping him from plummeting downward. He had to hope that it could take the strain. He was light enough in himself, but as ever he was laden down with his armament supplies, which was enough to add considerable weight to his small frame.

  Thankfully, inch by inch, they clawed him back upright, the seams and material of his clothes protesting all the while, before they were able to get a stronger grip and right him. He poked and probed backward with his floating foot, trying to find a foothold. The movement was too much for the soil edge on which his grounded foot was resting, and with a sudden jerk the earth beneath his heel gave way. With a sickening lurch he plummeted back down again, this time feet first, his calves scoring tracks in the earthen sides of the pit.

  His groin seared red hot with pain and his guts felt as though they would fall out of his ass, but his sudden downward progress was halted by the straining arms of the three Memphis sec men. Now seemingly taking such matters in their stride, they hauled up the Armorer until he was seated on the edge of the pit. Shuffling backward, he scrambled to his feet.

  ‘Thanks,’ he said, as calmly as he could muster, to the sec man who had saved him. It occurred to J.B., as he put out his hand, that he didn’t even know his name.

  ‘Demis,’ he murmured, as though he could read J.B.’s mind. ‘I knew there’d be something along here, but I would have put money on a swinging blade.’

  ‘You might be a lousy gambler, but I’m thankful you’ve got good reflexes,’ J.B. countered. He shone the flashlight—still in his hand and in a paralyzed fear grip that would probably take some time to loosen—over the edge of the pit, and then as far over the other side as it would reach. The gap was too far for them to risk jumping, and there was no way they could get around the pit, seeing it extended beneath the walls on each side.

  ‘Looks like we’re going to have to track back and take the right-hand passage after all,’ Demis said softly.

  ‘Unless you want to go back to the junction before and try that one,’ J.B. replied.

  ‘It might be better to do that, particularly if you can get us back on track again,’ the sec man mused.

  J.B. gave him a wry grin. ‘Listen, I’ve nearly just lost my guts to a bunch of spikes. Rather than risk losing them to some mutie bastard, I’d say I could get us back on track.’

  ‘Then let’s do that. You can have too much excitement in one day,’ Demis said without a trace of irony in his voice.

  ‘TOO MUCH EXCITEMENT in one day. Couldn’t get better, could it?’ Ryan said with bitter irony as his party reached the dead end of another cul-de-sac. ‘Fireblast and fuck it, is anything going to go right in this pesthole?’

  Like Mildred’s party, Ryan and his sec men had lost track of the initial yarn trail left by J.B. some time back. One wrong turning and a length of yarn lost in shadow was all it took. Now they had no idea where they were, and although they hadn’t as yet encountered any obstacles, they had managed to hit three dead ends in as many choices. Ryan could see them following their trail back to junction after junction until they found themselves back at the entrance once more. At least they’d still be alive—but how far behind the others would they be? And how long would it take them to make up that time, even if they could get it right starting over?

  Ryan punched at the wall in frustration. If he had a trap to respond to, a beast to fight, then he would be able to act, but the sense of helplessness at getting nowhere was the worst of all possible worlds for him.

  ‘Ryan, I know it’s not much help, but if we’ve hit all these cul-de-sacs, then at least we know where they are and we’ve just got to make progress on our next choice,’ the sec man with the yarn said as he began to retrace their steps.

  Ryan wanted to yell at the man, but managed to prevent himself from exploding. The Memphis man was right, and he was only trying to show support to his team leader. ‘Yeah, guess you’re right,’ Ryan gritted, hoping it didn’t sound too strained.

  They arrived at a junction. The yarn stopped, indicating one of two alternate passages. ‘We’ve been up there, I’m sure,’ he said.

  ‘Why?’ Ryan questioned him.

  The man grinned and directed Ryan to use the flashlight to illuminate a section of wall. A symbol was scratched into a sweep of black mould on the stone. ‘Can’t do it at every junction, but where there’s this black stuff, I’ve scratched that in with my blade, as an extra little reminder.’

  Ryan clapped him on the back. ‘Good thinking. That’s going to save us a little time.’

  Mebbe the tide was turning, the one-eyed man thought as they set off down the only passage they hadn’t yet traversed.

  The beam of the flashlight, narrowed as he concentrated it on the areas directly in front of them, sweeping floor, ceiling and roof, was the only relief from the almost pitch-black that surrounded them. Although they couldn’t see the roof, they could feel it above them, almost seeming to lower with every step, as though this in itself were part of a trap, descending to crush them. They could feel its oppressive weight above them, poised to seal them in this stone tomb.

  As if that weren’t enough, the distant sounds and the full-on smells were enough to fray the already ragged ends of their nerves. Ryan was keeping calm. The fact was, he’d faced much worse than this before now, and was he chilled yet? But the other three weren’t as experienced and he could feel the tension coming off them, hitting him in the back with an almost physical force.

  They would be more of a danger to themselves than anything else in here, if they didn’t control and use the fear.

  Ryan carefully put one foot in front of the other, testing the ground ahead for solidity before trusting it with his full weight. He had ordered the others to do the same, and from the sounds of their shuffling, he knew that they were calm enough to remember that. But how would they be able to detect any traps that might spring from the walls or ceiling? The long stone slabs that constituted the passage walls were joined in sections, and in these divides there was the possibility of a hidden weapon. Yet that was too obvious. Surely a weapon would be better concealed than in such an obvious break? Besides which, Ryan figured that these fissures were where the plates comprising the wall structures could be moved, to change the layout of the labyrinth.

  So they were looking for something that, by design, wouldn’t be visible.

  Well, that makes it so much easier, he thought bitterly.

  Another thing that bothered him was how they used the beasts within the labyrinth. Short of putting them down a pit or tethering them, he could see no way that they could contain the creatures so that they couldn’t just wander their way out of the labyrinth eventually. If they were in a pit, then you just had to watch the floors. If they were tethered, then you just backed up and kept a distance.

  There had to be something else, but what?

  He could have cursed his question. It was as though
he had tempted the fates by thinking this right now.

  The flash hadn’t picked up the wire. It had to have been covered with grease or mold, deliberately disguised by those Crawlers who operated the labyrinth. The first he knew about it was when he felt it pluck at his hairline. He thought it was a spider of some kind, on a thread, and he swatted at it. When he felt the tension of the wire against his hand, he knew he had made a wrong move. A very wrong move.

  ‘Watch—’ he started to yell, turning back to his men. But it wasn’t the fact that they were at his back that made him turn; he realized that his reflex had been triggered by the grinding sound of stone on stone. He directed the flash beam and could see that one section of the wall was moving on a pivot, turning to cut off the passage to their rear.

  If it was doing this, then it could only mean that the danger lay ahead.

  ‘Back, before it shuts,’ he yelled as he whirled and started to run toward the closing slabs of stone. The sec men, faces caught in the wildly swinging beam, were confused, half turned and frozen in indecision. Ryan ran for the slab, reaching out to try to halt its progress. He grabbed at the stone, slippery with mold, failing to find a grip. He dug his heels in and cursed through gritted teeth, but no matter how hard he pulled he couldn’t stop the inexorable progress of the slab. By this time, the sec team had realized what was happening and was attempting to aid him. Yet it was impossible for all of them to gain a hold as the gap between the stationary and moving slabs grew more and more narrow.

  ‘For fuck’s sake, get through,’ Ryan ground out. There was enough space for one of them at least to get on the other side of the slab; yet they were so thrown by what had happened that none of the three caught on to his meaning, and so the opportunity was lost. The gap was now too narrow to squeeze through, and Ryan let it drop, cursing heavily as the slab closed with a squealing, grinding finality on its stationary companion.