by TM Catron
The ship turned south and flew out of the thunderstorm to land. Calla disembarked under cover of darkness and sent the ship away. Her mission required secrecy, and the Nomad would draw attention to her. Following orders, the ship disappeared on its own into the clouds. Calla smiled slightly. The Nomad would never go rogue.
When Calla entered the bunker, the undiluted smells of damp mildew and stale air told her she was first to arrive. Lights turned on automatically as she went from room to room off the main corridor, double-checking that she was alone. Then she concentrated and reached out into the woods. Williams was very late. Had he already turned from her? She re-sent her summons.
Calla entered the dormitory and hopped onto a top bunk, muddy boots soiling the bare mattress. She waited, allowing herself only an hour’s sleep. When she woke, she scanned the surrounding forest again. Nothing. He wasn’t going to show. She left the dormitory and grabbed her bag on the way out of the bunker.
The same line of thunderstorms the Nomad had flown through was threatening to form here as well. To the northeast, trees cracked in the wind, and lightning struck three times in quick succession. Tracking would be difficult, but Calla could not afford to wait for the storm to pass. She began to climb up the steep mountain slope, heading straight for it. The rain was pouring down before she reached the ridge. The gale soaked her even beneath the cover of the trees.
There. She felt something. Closer than she thought, and he was already making mistakes. Calla changed direction and ran along under the ridge, jumping over fallen trees and climbing rocks while the storm tried to beat her back. Instead of slowing, she used the adrenaline rush to run harder, faster. At the peak of the mountain, she turned and headed down, dropping twenty feet into a tall, dead tree. She would take him by surprise from above.
Calla jumped from tree to tree. A branch slashed her face like a whip, but she ignored the blood on her cheek and used the pain to fuel her purpose. Finally, the trees thinned and she jumped thirty feet to the ground, sliding down the wet, leaf-covered slope. The rain had stopped, though the trees were still dripping. Calla brushed back the hair sticking to her face and looked around. Shades of blue and black revealed rocks, trees, water, and fifty feet below, someone crossing a stream at the bottom of the mountain.
Calla crouched, a panther ready to spring. And paused. Someone else walked with him, fifty yards ahead, disappearing into the trees. Strange. The Nomad had only reported one here. Calla changed tactics. Surprising one was easy. Two would be more challenging. She hid downwind for now, but the storm was whipping wild tunnels through the valley—they might scent her at any moment. Calla climbed below them and followed at a safer distance. As far as she could tell, neither had realized she was hunting him.
When the two reached the north end of the valley, they parted without a word. So they weren’t traveling together, only meeting. Why? Calla wanted to keep an eye on her original prey, but she burned to know the identity of the other. As she paused to decide which to pursue, she became aware of someone else—a shadow or a thought behind her. She turned.
A flash of lightning illuminated the valley for a brief moment. He stood high above, on the same mountain, watching her hunt. She did not have to see his face to know who he was. Calla felt him as he reached out to her—Dar Ceylin. Not wanting to give away her position, she slid deeper into the trees, stealthily returning to her original quarry. This path would keep her downwind of both. But when Calla sensed Dar Ceylin turn and follow her, she knew she’d been spotted again and signaled him to stop.
Calla glanced up angrily, but he was still hidden by the trees.
Dar Ceylin disappeared deeper into the trees. He was not going to make this assignment easy on her.
The day arrived slowly, a cloudy sky shrouding the sun. Calla doubled her pace through the woods. Williams knew she was coming—he was hiding himself from her. But she spotted him running through the trees ahead. She would catch him.
Calla looked around for a shortcut and ran below for a while. Williams had been too preoccupied with evading her and failed to watch the forest ahead, forcing him to climb a short treed precipice. Idiot, she thought. Williams almost took the fun out of the chase. Almost.
She ran straight up around the precipice and was standing at the top when he arrived. She reached for him. Williams was a short, stocky redhead, and considerably outweighed Calla. He tried to use his advantage to throw her off balance. Calla kicked him in the face before hauling him up by the hair. She had her knife at his throat and her knee to his back before he could stand.
“Wait,” he said.
“The Condarri are not pleased,” Calla whispered in his ear. “They think you have betrayed them.”
“What? No!”
“Who did you meet last night?”
Williams shifted uncomfortably. Calla dug her knife into his neck, the blade drawing a trickle of blood. Williams was not afraid of bleeding. But he knew she would kill him without thought. Perhaps that’s why he said, “There’ve been rumors. The Condarri are hiding technology in the mountains north of here.”
“Who did you meet with?” Calla pulled his head back further.
“Halston. He said he found something the Condarri don’t want us to know about.”
“You mean he’s turned traitor.” Calla let up a little and allowed Williams to breathe. Halston. She knew the name. Dar Ceylin would catch him. “What technology has he found?”
“Don’t know. From what he said, I gathered he was recruiting . . . said he needed big numbers.”
“Did he recruit you?”
“Of course not!”
“Then why did you run from me? You should have killed him or died trying!” Calla prepared to slit the traitor’s throat and pressed the blade harder against his neck.
Williams didn’t fight back. “I admit I wanted to know what he was up to. But there are others. If I’d killed him, we may never have found them. I wanted him to lead me to them!”
“I don’t believe you. I could kill you now just for lying, but I won’t.”
Williams blinked. “And why is that?”
“Because you’re going to help me. For your sake, I hope you can act on what you just said.”
DAY 17
ONE OF NASH’S TEAMS HAD swept the mineshaft for dangers, marking a path as they went. After days of searching and three men lost and found again down one of the side tunnels, they declared the ARCHIE facility safe.
As soon as word came back about the tunnel, Lincoln’s team prepared to go down. They walked through the trees, this time in broad daylight, with Schmidt as their escort.
Everyone was concerned about Halston—especially Nash, who felt personally betrayed. Halston, of course, had lied about his orders. Nash had no idea the man was going down into the mine. And no one had a clue as to why he would attack a team of civilians. Nash questioned anyone who’d had contact with Halston since arriving in the mountains, but even the lieutenant’s closest friends were shocked by his behavior. The only conclusion anyone could reach was that Halston had gotten lost in the dark and panicked when someone finally found him.
“It’s a pretty weak explanation,” said Carter as the team followed the markings into the mineshaft. He ducked his head to go under a beam, careful not to hit Nelson with the torch he was carrying as he did so. “Halston can’t have been
down here more than a few hours. Is that enough time to go crazy? And then, why would he run deeper in and not out?”
“Maybe he really had lost it,” said Nelson. He carried his bag on one shoulder. “He’s probably dead in here somewhere.”
“Unless he found another away out,” said Alvarez. She walked next to Lincoln, carrying a second torch.
Lincoln shook his head and wiped the sweat from his face. The hike to the mine had been easy, but he was nowhere close to being healed yet. He’d ignored the medic’s orders to stay at camp. “There isn’t one,” he said. “I was down here a few hours before, remember? And it would have been completely dark.”
Lincoln looked at Nelson’s bag. “You really think you’ll need your laptop now?”
Nelson smiled. “Don’t have the whole laptop, just the drive.” He patted the bag and looked up and down the tunnel. “Which way first?”
“Let’s look at the big room, then go back down Corridor A and take a look at that metal door. I’m sure we could bust a hole through it, given a little time.”
They stepped down into the corridor in front of the sign. The torchlight flickered on the dark stone.
“Still feels creepy in here,” said Nelson.
Lincoln scoffed.
Nelson shrugged. “Best word to describe it.”
Alvarez ran her hands along the smooth walls. “It almost feels polished, doesn’t it?”
The others joined her at the wall.
Schmidt stood with his hand on the stone. “Remember all that video of the towers . . . er, ships? They resembled polished stone. The news commented on it more than once.”
Carter nodded. “He’s right. What are you saying, Corporal?”
Schmidt hesitated, his eyes darting to Alvarez.
Lincoln noted the young man’s discomfort. “Go ahead.”
Schmidt swallowed and continued, “I’m saying it’s a big coincidence that the ARCHIE facility and the alien ships look like they’re made of the same material. Like maybe it’s not a coincidence.”
“I agree,” said Alvarez. “Good call.”
Schmidt beamed and held his skinny frame a bit straighter.
Carter handed his torch to Lincoln before reaching in his pocket for a cigarette. He put it in his mouth without lighting it. “Just need to figure out why they resemble each other.”
Lincoln nodded and walked along the walls, past the sign toward Corridor A. He lifted his torch to look at the ceiling and something caught his eye. He turned. “Hey guys.” His voice echoed back to them.
“Yeah?”
“There’s a new wall here.”
Everyone walked over. Where Lincoln’s light should have flickered in the dark corridor, it met a stone wall that completely blocked the passage. It looked exactly the same as the walls the team had just been discussing—smooth and dry and polished. They stared at it, dumbstruck. Carter reached out to tentatively touch it. Lincoln handed his torch to Schmidt so he could press both hands against the stone.
“A new wall?” Carter choked as he tried to light the cigarette with shaking hands.
“Schmidt,” said Alvarez. “Do you know anything about this?”
“There wasn’t a wall here before? We just assumed there was.”
“No. We met Halston on the stairs down Corridor A.”
Carter tapped the new wall, feeling around the edges. “The wall looks exactly like the others. Maybe there’s a lever or something to close off the corridor? And someone accidentally pushed it?”
Lincoln took his torch from Schmidt and followed Carter.
A tall woman in uniform walked by en route to the other corridor, hefting a fresh stack of torches in her arms. The sharp smell of diesel permeated the air. Schmidt called out, “Captain Baker!” She turned. “Do you know anything about this wall?”
The captain shrugged. “Looks like it did the day we found the tunnel.” She passed them and continued down Corridor B.
Nelson stood in front of the wall. “Has to be a mechanism for lowering it. Something triggered it.” He jerked his head toward it. “Think Halston’s in there?”
“No way of knowing,” said Alvarez.
Reluctantly, the team left the wall to walk to Corridor B. Lincoln stared at the wall until everyone had left. This place was getting weirder all the time. He turned to catch up.
When Schmidt, Alvarez, Carter, Nelson, and Lincoln arrived at the cavernous round room, soldiers were lighting handfuls of torches. Apparently Nash’s men had trouble clearing the room on their first excursion because they couldn’t produce enough light to illuminate it.
“Wow,” said Alvarez softly when they stepped in. “I know you said it was big, but I didn’t imagine anything like this. Imagine the weight of the ceiling. How is it supported?”
“What ceiling?” asked Nelson, holding his torch aloft. “We can’t even see it. Is this a cave?”
“Can’t be. Too round. It’s more like a silo than a cave,” remarked Alvarez.
“But the walls and floor are stone, right?”
“Maybe it was a natural cave that someone carved out,” replied Carter.
“Someone like who?” asked Nelson, turning to Carter. “And why?”
“Where’s the air coming from? Did you feel that?” Alvarez asked. A cool breeze swept around them, making their torches flicker.
“Maybe it’s everyone moving around in here.” Nelson turned around, trying to light the walls with his torch.
“No,” said Lincoln. “The air moved like this before.”
Soldiers paced around the room, leaving torches propped against the stone every fifty feet, creating islands of yellow light all the way around the circumference. The branches they’d used were long, so each torch rested at eye level. From the opposite side each torch was a tiny pinprick of light, twinkling eerily on the walls and floor.
“It looks like the entire inside of the mountain!” said Nelson, turning slowly in place, taking it all in.
“Right. First, let’s measure this room,” said Alvarez as she began to unpack the rope and tape measure she had brought.
“Not yet,” said Lincoln. “I want to go to the center.”
“Why?” asked Nelson.
“Because we can’t see it, that’s why. We’ll leave a trail of lights as we go.”
“We’re already running out of torches, sir,” said Schmidt.
“Then I’ll just use the one I have.”
“What about Halston?” reminded Carter. “We’ll go with you, just in case.”
“Why?” asked Lincoln. “Do you think he’s sitting out there in the middle, waiting for someone to pass by? I thought we agreed he attacked me because I had the gun?”
“We did. All I’m saying is we haven’t found him yet.” Carter called to Nelson, who had wandered away. Lincoln and Carter started toward the middle of the room, walking in front. Alvarez and Nelson walked in the middle, and Schmidt followed.
Lincoln fought off dizziness. They didn’t have any pain medications except morphine, and he refused to take anything that would inhibit his ability to focus.
The floor below them remained smooth and dry, gleaming in the light of the torch. It didn’t have any flaws—not one crack. They walked until all of the surrounding lights looked equally distant.
“Nothing. No change,” said Schmidt. They still could not see the ceiling.
“It feels a little cooler, though, right?” asked Nelson.
“Yes,” said Lincoln, who welcomed the fresh air on his overheated face.
“How many paces?”
Alvarez shook her head. “It’s impossible to tell if we’re really in the middle.”
They decided to walk to the other side. At the opposite wall, they turned. Everything looked the same. The small points of the flames along the wall. The islands of light. Had they walked in a straight line? They couldn’t be sure without locating the entrance. Apparently the soldiers hadn’t thought to mark it with extra torches.
; “Let’s just walk around the wall and measure the circumference. We can’t see the center, anyway.”
The team followed the torches around, falling out of line now they had the security of the lights along the wall. Lincoln trailed behind the group. Schmidt turned to wait for him, but Lincoln waved him on.
“I’m fine. Just keep moving.”
“Yes, sir.”
The pain in Lincoln’s side had intensified. A cool breeze blew on his face again, and he paused to let it refresh him. Then the torch next to him went out. Startled, Lincoln looked ahead—the others had already reached the next torch. Schmidt said something to Alvarez, making her laugh. I should call for them. A wave of nausea coursed through him, but he pushed on and walked toward the next light. The breeze had not seemed strong enough to blow out the torch, but maybe they hadn’t properly soaked it in fuel.
When he reached the next torch, he saw Alvarez’s coat. Two torches ahead now. Still not far. Lincoln paused to rest against the wall. The heat of the torch hurt his face, already uncomfortably warm. Then he felt something else. Not a breeze, exactly, but something at his back. He turned, but saw nothing. The light sputtered. Lincoln waited for the cool air to touch his face again. It never came. Darkness pressed in around him. He was about to pass out. I should definitely call the others.
But the others were calling to him. He could hear them as they discovered he wasn’t immediately behind them. Lincoln opened his mouth to speak, but it was so dry. The darkness continued to creep into the room. The voices of his team were talking loudly now. Then they were muffled, like the lights. Lincoln watched the torch, which still burned, but no longer gave off light. The wall and floor around it had turned inky black. He couldn’t see his feet, though he hadn’t moved out of the glow of the torch. Lincoln paused to remind himself he was injured, he needed help. Probably his team would appear any second.