"What's wrong?" he said.
Christopher didn't speak. He turned his head. Looked behind.
GIVE UP.
GIVE IN.
He could see their eyes glittering behind him. One set in the lead, the others close behind in a tight pack, a centipede whose body segments were held together not by a chitinous exoskeleton but by a combined hatred of all that was not them.
He turned back to Aaron.
Derek.
Dorcas.
Ken.
Mo.
Buck.
Fate.
He felt a grin spread across his face. Something he had lost for a short time sparked to life inside him.
"Go on," he said.
"We won't –" Aaron began.
"The girls are all that matter!" Christopher almost roared it in the darkness.
Aaron looked at him. Christopher couldn't see much in the darkness behind the light that illuminated him. But he thought he glimpsed a quick motion of the head. A nod.
The light swung away.
Christopher turned to the zombies.
The dark took him.
He was glad.
"Come on, you shits."
He heard Maggie's voice in his head. Language.
"Sorry," he whispered. "I meant, 'come on, you futhermuckers.'"
He grinned wider.
He reached for those that reached for him.
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The things came closer.
Christopher waited.
Waited.
He held his hands at the ready, but did not move.
GIVE UP. GIVE IN. GIVE UP. GIVE IN.
The growl rolled over him, but something was different. Something –
(fate)
– kept him from faltering before the creatures. Kept him motionless save for the grin that cracked wider and wider until he felt his cheeks ache.
They reached out. Fifteen feet away. Ten.
He moved.
He slammed himself sideways as hard as he could. Hit the side of the tunnel. Something crackled above him and a shard of yellow wax-ooze bounced off his head.
The creatures came forward. Eight feet.
He used his momentum to ricochet off the one wall and into the opposite side of the tunnel. It was awkward – a ping pong ball in a Yahtzee cup. Barely room to move; he hoped it would be enough room.
He hit the side again. More wax rained down. A few trickles of dirt.
The things were six feet away. GIVE UP GIVE IN GIVE UP GIVE IN.
He bounced again. The first side again. More dirt.
Four feet.
A last, desperate smash into the wall of the small tunnel. This time he reached up and punched into the ceiling with all the force he could muster. The angle was wrong and he felt like the hit probably had about the strength of an invalid geriatric.
It worked.
The first zombie was reaching. Fingers slamming together in anticipation of the kill, the Change.
The ceiling collapsed.
Christopher threw himself backward. Crabwalked as fast as he could. Sheets of dirt and rock sluiced through cracks in the wax-coated ceiling. The zombie fingers still reached. Pierced the curtain of rubble.
Then, with a roar, the tunnel disappeared. There was only dirt and rock, a solid wall that ended only an inch from Christopher's feet.
He was still grinning.
Who's the big hero now, Buck?
For some reason the thought of his lost friend didn't make him sad in that moment. He heard Buck's voice in his mind: You just had to go and be a hero again, didn't you?
Yeah. It's like a billion to one, my favor.
You wish, Christopher.
He stared at the dirt and rock at his feet for a few moments. Waited for it to move.
It didn't.
"Futhermuckers," he said again. And he heard Maggie sigh in his mind, like an exasperated mother who couldn't decide whether to scold her child or just give in and laugh. He wasn't sure if it was his imagination or that strange ability she had shown to appear in his thoughts from time to time.
He decided he didn't care.
He turned over so he was on his hands and knees. Then rose up as high as he could. Still grinning.
Fate.
He ran – a hobbled, lurching run – toward the other survivors.
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It was pitch black in the tunnel. Aaron's light had disappeared in the distance at some point after the tunnel cave-in. Christopher was alone.
He still felt good. Better than he had in a while. As though when the tunnel collapsed, something else was built. A new feeling inside, a determination to find a way out of this. Not just out of the tunnel, but out of the world that had swallowed them all up.
Fate.
He had a moment of fear a few minutes later, making his way blindly through the tunnel. His left hand was on the wall, while his right glided over the ceiling just ahead of his head, making sure there were no outcroppings or obstructions that would crack him in the head or – worse – bang up his already well-banged-up nose.
Left hand on the wall. Right on the ceiling.
What's wrong with that?
I need a third hand.
That was it. That was what sent a momentary chill through his body, that made his hands tremble against the cold mix of soil and wax. He was only touching one side of the tunnel, and the ceiling. Which meant that he wasn't touching the other side.
What if there had been a side tunnel? What if the others had taken it – either because they figured it would keep them safer, or because they just bumbled into it in the dark?
The moment he thought that, he saw a glimmer ahead. The dance of a firefly in the darkness, which became a ghostlight, which in turn shifted to the broad beam of Aaron's light, shining directly into his eyes.
"Christopher?" The cowboy's drawl was tinged with an equal mix of disbelief and happiness.
"Present and accounted for, Sarge."
Aaron snorted. "You are a cat with fifty lives, kid."
"Fifty-one, sir."
"If you don't cut out the military act, I'm going to shove a boot up your butt."
"Will your foot be in it? Because I have a thing for feet."
Another snort. The light moved off his face.
"What is it?" Theresa's voice scraped its way back to him. There was fear in it.
"Just me, beautiful."
This time it was Theresa who snorted. "Never been called that before."
"Better late than never."
She snorted again.
Maggie shouted, "Christopher! You all right?"
"Present and accounted for."
"How'd you get away?" said Aaron. "Thought you were a goner."
"Not this cat, Sarge." Then, before Aaron could make good on his boot-to-butt threat, he added. "I collapsed the tunnel on them. Don't think they're close right now, but I think we should keep moving as fast as possible."
"Then stop jawing and start moving."
Christopher fell into step behind them.
"What about Ken?" Maggie. Still moving along, he guessed – Aaron hadn't lurched to a halt or anything. But he could hear the concern in her voice.
He saw Ken, his body being slashed by the things below, the things in front of him.
"I think he's fine," he said. "I think he's just waiting for us to get far enough ahead that he won't freak out around the queens." A lie, but he didn't think twice about it. Maggie could find out the truth, but not now. Not here.
She sighed, an audible noise that sounded through even the natural muffling of the dirt and stone all around them. He felt a twinge of guilt at that moment.
What will she do when she finds out?
She'll survive. The way we all will.
He pressed forward. Upward.
Hoping. And trying to ignore the sounds he heard all around. Trying to convince himself they were just imagination, and the monsters weren't still trying to find them.
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The scratching sounds grew as they continued forward, continued up. Sometimes they sounded so close that Christopher was sure they were about to push through, to collapse one wall of the tunnel or another and shove themselves back into the space the survivors had found. Other times the noises were distant – barely more than slight vibrations in the tunnel walls he reached out to touch every so often. He tried to convince himself they were just the natural shifting of a part of the world that probably resembled Swiss cheese more than anything.
He failed.
He could tell the others heard the sounds as well. The proof was in the silence as they picked their way forward. Oddly, Amulek was the loudest of them – he snapped his fingers periodically if he came up against any outcroppings that might gash or concuss those who followed him.
The silent walk continued for so long Christopher felt certain that when – if – they finally emerged, they would find that all had changed. That evolution would have shifted the world above to something new and alien.
Didn't that already happen?
He slammed into Theresa.
"Whoa, what –"
She gestured with her free hand. Amulek was ahead, absolutely motionless.
"What is it?" Christopher asked, trying to make his voice loud enough to be heard but quiet enough that no one outside the survivors would hear it.
Amulek pointed. Aaron moved forward to join him. The tunnel had widened out slightly, though the ceiling was still claustrophobically low. Still, it was barely enough for the cowboy to nudge his way in and look at the spot in the ceiling Amulek was pointing at. "I don't see anything," said the Aaron.
Amulek kept pointing. Christopher squeezed past Theresa and Maggie. Looked where Amulek was pointing. "What is it?" he said.
Amulek looked at him. Made a gesture he didn't understand. Christopher looked up again. Saw nothing but dirt and the waxy ooze.
"I don't –" He stopped. Craned his neck for a better look.
"What am I missin' here?" asked Aaron.
Christopher didn't answer. Not with words.
He reached out and turned off Aaron's flashlight.
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"What is that?" asked Maggie.
"It's the outside," said Aaron. "But how far away?"
Christopher didn't know. He didn't know how Amulek had seen it, either.
Must've been far enough ahead he was in the dark. Far enough to see the light.
The tunnel was still mostly dark. The flashlight was off, and the black pressed in on all sides. But there was a thin shaft of light coming down on the clustered heads of Christopher, Amulek, and Aaron.
Sunlight.
There was a hole in the ceiling of the tunnel, and it was through that hole that the light was streaming. Christopher looked at the hole directly, and his eyes watered. Bright. A direct line to the sky outside, maybe even pointed directly at the sun.
Aaron's question hung in the air. They could see the sun or the sky above, but how far away was it? Six inches? Twenty feet?
And how did they get from the tunnel to that place aboveground, that place that was dangerous and cruel but still less terrifying than this underground passage?
Aaron looked at Amulek. "Can you tell how deep we are?" Amulek shook his head. Aaron turned to Christopher. "You?"
Christopher shook his head as well. Aaron switched on his flashlight and looked down the tunnel in the direction they had been heading. The light illuminated the sides, ceiling, and roof of the tunnel for a while, then tapered off to a dim fog and then to nothing.
"I say we keep going," said Aaron. "We dig our way out and the whole tunnel could collapse."
Maggie's lip trembled. "And we have to wait for Ken."
Christopher looked sharply at Aaron. He couldn't help it. It was an automatic reaction. And though Aaron stared ahead and didn't acknowledge the glance, Christopher knew the cowboy had seen it.
And so did Maggie. She looked back and forth from one of them to the other. "We're waiting for Ken, right? We should go on and let him catch up to us."
Christopher tried to meet her gaze – scared, but even and firm. He couldn't; his eyes dropped.
"What happened?" said Maggie. Her voice shivered. She knew – not the details, but Christopher could tell she understood.
"He –" he hesitated. Took in a deep breath. "He helped us escape. Again."
She peered at him. He was still looking down, but he could feel her gaze on him, burning him more painfully than any flame. "You saw him?" He nodded. "Did he… is he…?"
Christopher nodded again. Felt/heard Maggie shift. "You lied," she said.
"He had to, Maggie," said Aaron. His voice was low, comforting. Christopher wondered if that was some part of whatever specops training the man had received: Lesson 502 – Comforting Members of the Team Who Are About to Freak Out. "We all had to."
Maggie shifted again. Christopher heard the sharp smack of flesh on flesh, wondered what he had heard, and raised his head in time to get Maggie's second slap across the face. Aaron was standing there, silent and motionless, the first one Maggie had hit. And when it was Christopher's turn the pain went through his cheek, his jaw, and of course his mangled nose.
He groaned. Shook his head. Maggie raised her hand again, rage and grief twisting her features into something terrifying and altogether apart from the way she usually looked.
For a moment, just an instant, he saw something hard and horrifying in her visage. The image of something alien that had been put inside her.
Maybe the queens aren't there. But something else is. Something that didn't take. But it's not her in there. Not completely.
Maggie's hand slammed toward him again. Christopher flinched away, not wanting a repeat of the slap –
(so hard how did she hit me so hard?)
– that had sent white spikes of pain through him.
Aaron caught Maggie's hand. Held her back. "We did what we did because it was what had to be done. And it was what Ken wanted us to do." Rage flared even brighter in Maggie's face and she tried to pull out of his grasp. Aaron held her tighter, so tight that his knuckles whitened and the skin of her wrist turned the shade of parchment. "You hear me, Maggie? It was what he wanted." He leaned in close. "He was only worried about you and the girls. Nothing else." He held her another moment, then whispered, "Just like Christopher and me."
He let go of her.
Maggie stood motionless, hand still upraised. Christopher had to consciously will himself not to shrink away from her.
How would that look to Theresa?
The thought was ridiculous. What did it matter if he impressed her with his oh-so-manly courage in the face of getting slapped to death? Even so, it was all that kept repeating in his mind: Don't flinch. She'll think you're a chicken. She's just barely starting to think you're cool, don't flinch.
Dammit, I'm back in high school.
Maggie's hand fell to her side. Her face was still red with wrath, but she didn't hit him again.
"Sorry," he said.
She turned away from him. He was surprised how much that bothered him. For most of his life he spent every effort to prove he didn't belong, he didn't need anyone.
Now he only wanted Maggie to look at him. To smile and say she forgave him, maybe give him a hug.
I've turned into a momma's boy – and it's not even my momma.
"Sorry," he repeated.
"I know," she said. Her voice was muffled, and he couldn't see her face so he couldn't tell if her voice grated out of her throat the way it did because of tears or simple rage. "I know."
She turned back to him. It was tears.
"We have to get the girls out of here," she said. "Now."
And as though in answer to her statement, the noises that had dogged them every step of the way grew louder. Christopher heard the hint of a growl. Then another.
One from ahead.
One from behind.
"Up we go," he whispered.
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Amulek pulled out his knife. Aaron produced a knife, which shouldn't have surprised Christopher given that had shown himself to be a cross between the ultimate Boy Scout and the Terminator, but he still managed a small whistle. Given all they'd been through, holding onto anything more than their skin seemed a small miracle.
Aaron stabbed upward with his knife. Amulek mirrored him, angling his own blade so that it punctured the wax overhead nearby to Aaron's knife. Nothing happened. Nothing happened when they stabbed a second time. On the third, there was a brittle crack and a sheet of yellow about a foot across fell away from the ceiling. It hit Amulek on the head and bounced to the floor. Dirt rolled in after it. Not a stream, but definitely more than a trickle.
Christopher looked at Theresa. She was still holding Lizzy, still bent over, but even with the odd combination of postures he could tell that she was holding her breath.
So was he, for that matter. Tales of miners being trapped underground for days and slowly going insane before dying of malnutrition flooded his mind.
Don't be stupid. We'll either be crushed outright or murdered by tunneling zombies.
The thought didn't comfort.
Aaron and Amulek kept grunting as they stabbed at the ceiling, widening the original hole then beginning to work on the earth above the wax. Dirt and rock fell on their heads, coated their sweat-slicked skin. In only a few moments the two of them looked like monsters themselves.
At least they're on our side.
The scraping rasp of the diggers was louder now. They were close, though Christopher couldn't tell if the things were going to explode in on them from the sides, from above, or pulverize them from below the way they had done with Ken.
He wondered if they would lose coherence the closer they got to the jammer.
He wondered if the jammer still worked at all.
So many questions, no answers.
The growl came louder. The call to surrender sounding in his mind, crashing in waves against the inside of his skull.
Theresa moaned suddenly. There was a wet spatter, and Christopher turned to see blood pouring over her upper lip, down her chin.
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