by TM Catron
“There must be a switch or something,” said Lincoln. “Especially if we’re going on the assumption that it’s alien. Maybe the door slides into the mountain.”
“I hope we don’t get sealed in here . . .” Alvarez shivered as she inspected the three sections. The symbols covering them looked the same as the ones in the tunnel, but there was no pattern here, either. “There’s got to be a lever somewhere in here and in Corridor A. We just have to find it.”
“At least we found the stairs again. So you’re not crazy, Lincoln,” said Carter, clapping Lincoln’s shoulder.
A search at the end of the tunnel turned up nothing else.
“We might as well go back,” said Schmidt. “Going to be dark.”
“Wish we could take a picture of those hieroglyphs,” said Lincoln.
“Me, too,” said Carter.
“Wait! We can!” said Alvarez. She pulled out a piece of paper from her coat pocket and turned it over on a section of the symbols. With a pencil, she shaded over the top of the paper, making a relief drawing of the symbols.
“At least that’s something,” said Schmidt as he peered at the paper over her shoulder.
Nelson walked to the foot of the stairs with his torch. “C’mon, man,” he said to Lincoln, who had started on new relief drawings. “It’s getting late. I’m hungry, and I’m sick of this place.”
Lincoln didn’t look up. “I want as many of these as possible. We still have paper left.”
“Why?” Nelson turned from the stairs and glowered at Lincoln.
Lincoln stopped his shading. “Excuse me?” The others halted halfway between the tunnel and the door, looking from one man to the other.
“You heard me. You still think you call the shots around here, but last I checked, I wasn’t getting paid for this crap. And if I don’t get a check, you’re not my boss. That means I do what I want.”
“And what exactly do you think you’re going to do?” Lincoln dropped his arms and squared his shoulders.
Nelson glared back. “I’m going back to camp, where I will eat, and then I’ll go to sleep in my cold little tent. But at least I’ll feel like I’m on Earth and not some alien craphole.”
“Are you serious? We have a job to do!”
“Oh, wake up, Surrey! We don’t know what we’re doing here and probably never will. If you want to live inside this godforsaken mountain then fine, but leave the rest of us out of it.”
Carter stepped between them. “We’re all tired,” he said, directing the comment to Nelson. Then he turned to Lincoln. “How about we leave now and start fresh tomorrow?”
Lincoln scowled. “You, too?”
“We’ll come back tomorrow,” said Alvarez quietly.
“Speak for yourself,” said Nelson. “I’m not spending any more time here. If you need me, you can come find me at camp.”
Blood boiling, Lincoln looked from one to the other. They were right, but that knowledge only made him angrier. He let them go ahead as they exited.
Nelson’s mood didn’t improve once they returned to camp. Apparently, Nash had cut rations again and ordered anyone with a gun to learn how to hunt.
“It was only a matter of time,” said Carter as they picked up their reduced rations. “I’m surprised supplies lasted as long as they did.”
“Nash must not expect help or a resupply anytime soon,” said Alvarez.
Nelson sat glumly near his tent, away from the others. Lincoln only nodded as they discussed the situation. He wasn’t really hungry, so he got up again and offered his portion to Nelson.
Nelson refused it. “What? You think I’m a child you can placate with extra food? That I’ll change my mind? I’m done, man. Done.” He stood and walked into the trees, leaving his own ration on the ground.
Lincoln considered chucking his remaining food into the woods, but instead he stalked to his tent, dropping his ration into Schmidt’s hands on his way. Darkness fell. Fires were put out. Lincoln wanted more than anything to study the symbols in his pocket, but he couldn’t see anything in his dark tent. He heard Alvarez and Carter say goodnight, then everything went quiet. Schmidt’s buddies weren’t sitting around joking and laughing tonight.
The feeling he was forgetting something nagged at Lincoln. Tired and sore, he closed his eyes to think, but it made no difference. The symbols flickering in the firelight kept rising in his mind.
He remembered.
Nash—they hadn’t told him they’d found the second tunnel. But as far as Lincoln was concerned, Nash didn’t need to know right away. It’s not like the colonel could do anything. Lincoln fingered the pages in his jacket pocket. What did the drawings mean?
Over the next few days, Lincoln and Alvarez made several trips back to the tunnel. They sat for hours with his torch trained on one of the doorways, trying to decipher the hieroglyphs. But if they contained a language or code, Lincoln couldn’t figure it out. As soon as he thought he saw a pattern, he would pull out a relief drawing and compare them. But he was always mistaken. Sometimes Carter came with them, complaining he was in no shape to climb a mountain two or three times a day. Instead he spent much of his time fishing.
Nelson ignored Lincoln and his plans altogether. Lincoln made frequent attempts to get Nelson to explain what he’d meant by his comment in the tunnel, but Nelson refused to elaborate. After a few days, Lincoln gave up. I’m not begging him for help, he thought.
When he wasn’t working in the tunnel, Lincoln joined the hunt for food. Clouds and rain cooled the mountains, and the hunters always returned cold, wet, and often hungry. Lincoln always pulled out the drawings while they waited for game. Carter remarked that a deer could lie down and die at Lincoln’s feet and he wouldn’t even notice, he was so obsessed with the symbols.
More refugees turned up every day, most of them having fled to the secluded areas of the mountains, like this one, for protection. Many told stories of the invaders—giant creatures that stood on two feet with symbols etched into their stone-like bodies. They argued about the color, though—some claimed the creatures shone gold, while others said grey. One or two survivors had escaped camps the invaders had burned. Their numbers swelled, and Nash’s soldiers all pulled double duty to maintain order. Squabbles began to break out over the lack of food.
“The camp’s too big,” said Alvarez. She had come to find Lincoln at his tent before he headed to the tunnel. “I think I’ll go with you today. I don’t exactly feel safe here with all these strangers.”
Lincoln looked up sharply from the drawing he was studying. “Why? What happened?”
“Nothing. I’d like to keep it that way. Every time I have some food or water, I feel like someone’s watching me.”
“I know what you mean,” said a voice. Lincoln and Alvarez both turned. Nelson stood behind them. “I think we should leave.”
Lincoln shook his head, ready to argue. Alvarez spoke before he could. “Where would we go?”
“Doesn’t matter. Food’s going to run out soon. There are too many people here. I was talking to a guy who came from North Carolina, and apparently the Glyphs . . .”
“The what?” asked Lincoln.
“That’s what they’re calling them. Anyway, the Glyphs like to target large camps like this one. And if they do, we’re trapped here.”
“There’s always the caves,” said Lincoln.
“I thought you’d say that,” replied Nelson, “but I’m not living in the creepy alien silo!”
“You’ve made that clear. I was thinking of it more as emergency shelter.”
Carter joined them, wiping his hands on a dirty rag, having just finished cleaning a pail of fish. “I’ve thought about that, too. But have you considered that these Glyph things might want their silo back?”
“How do we know for sure it’s theirs?” asked Lincoln.
Nelson snorted, and even Alvarez tried to hide her smile.
“No, I’m serious. We think it’s been here a long time, right? So maybe it’
s not theirs.”
“Or maybe,” said Nelson, his voice rising slightly, “it’s the reason they’re here.”
“Then why aren’t they at the camp already? Wouldn’t they have shown up by now?”
“I really don’t know why they’d want it, and neither do you.” Nelson turned to Carter and Alvarez. “Think about what I said. We should leave while we still have a chance.”
“Hey, everybody!” Schmidt called to them as he jogged over.
“We haven’t seen you in a while,” said Alvarez.
“Colonel’s keeping me busy. He’s ordered everyone over. The whole camp. Right now.”
“What’s up?”
“He has an announcement.”
They followed Schmidt to a group standing in front of one of the only running Jeeps. Colonel Nash stood atop it. As uniforms and refugees gathered, Lincoln realized just how big the camp had become.
Alvarez stood beside Lincoln. “Must be at least three hundred extra people here.”
They crowded in. Lincoln, so absorbed in his own troubles, had not paid much attention to the shabby newcomers, who had arrived at the camp with only the clothes they wore. Although few refugees seemed injured, most had a pinched, pallid look about them—hunger treated everyone the same. Lincoln had tightened his own belt again that morning. He looked down at his own khakis and button-down. When had he last tried to wash them? He couldn’t remember.
“Alright, everybody! Get quiet!” Nash stomped on the hood of the Jeep. “As you know, we’ve had to cut rations, but it’s still not going to be enough. We don’t have the ammo to keep hunting, and the game are already becoming scarce, so I’m ordering all of the people who are not military personnel to leave.” Muttering broke out instantly among the refugees. A few hollered obscenities. Nash held up his hand for silence.
A man from the crowd shouted angrily, “Where should we go? There’s nowhere else!”
“That’s up to you,” said Nash curtly. “You have three days.” Several hundred voices hollered at once now, and Nash had to yell at the top of his lungs for silence. Soldiers lined up in front of the Jeep like riot police. Someone spit on Schmidt, who held his ground. When the noise abated, Nash continued, “In the meantime, I am imposing a curfew. When you put your campfires out at dark, you must stay at your tents or campsites.”
“You can’t enforce that!” yelled a man next to Lincoln. With a start, Lincoln realized it was Nelson.
Nash puffed up. He scanned the crowd, spotting Lincoln. “Anyone wandering out of area after dark will be shot. No questions asked. Gather your things. You’re leaving in three days.” Nash motioned to Lincoln.
Fresh murmuring broke out. A woman questioned loudly where he thought they would go.
“It’s your duty to protect these people!” yelled Nelson again.
Lincoln nervously glanced at the crowd and grabbed Nelson’s shoulder, pulling him back. “Do you want to start a riot?”
Nelson jerked away from Lincoln, who pushed his way through the crowd to the Jeep. Alvarez, Carter, and Nelson followed him. The soldiers recognized them and let them through. Nash remained on top of the Jeep, staring down at the crowd. Three or four refugees looked like they wanted to protest more strongly, but eyed the soldiers’ guns. The remaining refugees reluctantly left in clumps, talking and muttering among themselves.
Nash jumped down and motioned for Lincoln and his team to follow him back to his tent. Once inside, he took a swig of water and swirled it in his mouth before spitting it out in the dirt.
Nelson spoke first. “These people are counting on you for protection, Colonel.”
“I am protecting them, dang it! We’ll all starve if they stay.”
“But they don’t have weapons. They don’t have a doctor. What happens when they run into trouble? Starvation isn’t the only thing they’ll encounter out there.”
“They made it here, didn’t they? They can make it out.” Nash fixed Lincoln with a cold stare. “Schmidt tells me you’ve found something.”
Lincoln pulled out one of the well-worn drawings from his coat pocket. He handed it to the colonel, who stared at it for several minutes.
“What does it mean?” he asked finally.
Lincoln shook his head. “I think it’s some sort of language, but we can’t decipher it.”
Nash tossed the drawing back at Lincoln. “That’s it?”
Lincoln stood up a bit straighter. “No. We found a second entrance to the silo. Well, to the mountain. All the doors in are closed. But something made them open at one point—I just don’t know what.”
“Listen, Colonel,” Carter stepped forward. “We know this is alien now, and I believe at some point the Glyphs will come here. With all these reports of attacks in the mountains, maybe they’re looking for it.”
“There hasn’t been any enemy activity around here,” said Nash.
“Exactly,” said Lincoln. “I don’t think they know about it. If the aliens knew about it, they would be here already. They’re not related to our current invasion.”
Nash choked on his water. “How could it not be related? All of you think it’s coincidence?” He looked from Lincoln to the others.
Alvarez glanced at Lincoln, hesitating, then shook her head. “It’s too big a coincidence. I think we’re in danger here.”
But Nash was silent for a moment. Then he said, “Or we have a perfect place to ambush the enemy.”
“With what, Colonel?” asked Carter.
“Ourselves. If we can get the Glyphs on the ground, we can take them out.”
“Meaning?” Alvarez frowned.
“Meaning,” said Nelson. They all turned to him. “That’s why you’re sending away the refugees. They’ll get in the way if the Glyphs show up.”
“You moron. If the invaders show up here, I just saved a lot of lives! And listen, you four—so far we’ve kept the mine, or silo or whatever, quiet. It needs to stay that way.”
“Don’t worry,” said Lincoln as they left. “The last thing we need is people getting lost in those tunnels.”
“I’m leaving,” Nelson announced as they walked to the silo a little while later.
“Nelson!” said Alvarez. “Where are you going to go?”
“I don’t know. But I do know this isn’t what I want. Nash is crazy.”
“What about all your talk about Nash protecting the refugees?” asked Lincoln.
“I was speaking for them, not for myself.”
“I wonder what Nash wants to do?” Lincoln led the group toward the mine entrance, even though all of them knew the way by now. Nelson had not been back since they discovered the symbols.
“I don’t know, and I don’t care. I’m leaving. I think all of you should go, too. This is bigger than any of us.”
Lincoln scoffed. “What are we going to do? Just wander around the woods? No thanks.”
“What about the old idea of finding your sister?”
Lincoln halted. “Mina is dead,” he said with conviction.
Nelson turned to face him. “And solving this won’t bring her back! No, listen. We’ve lost people, too! Friends. Family. I don’t think any of us would have chosen to come here if we’d known what would happen next!”
“So you want to go back to Boston and find your dad? Because he’s dead, too.”
Nelson clenched his fists. “I don’t care what you do. Stay here. Figure it all out. But I’m leaving with the rest.”
“What you said the other day about asking all the wrong questions—what did you mean?”
Nelson scoffed and tossed his hands in the air. “We stopped asking all the questions we had in the beginning. Where’s Cummings? Why isn’t Nash helping us more? Why’d they send us out here in the first place? Why didn’t ARCHIE decipher that writing before now? Who’s responsible for that mountain being shaped like a cone?” Nelson took a deep breath. “And what the frack are we still doing here?”
“I thought we said the Glyph attacks interrupted al
l of Cummings’s plans,” said Alvarez.
“But we’re just assuming.”
Lincoln stepped toward Nelson, towering over the small man. “You and your theories—.”
“—Are just theories, I know. But what are you doing here, Lincoln? It’s arrogant to think you can solve this mess by yourself.”
“I don’t think I can solve it by myself!” Blood was pounding into Lincoln’s head. He leaned over, pointing his finger into Nelson’s face. “But I haven’t had much of a choice, have I? When someone who was supposed to be helping me is too scared brainless to see it through!”
Nelson swatted Lincoln’s hand away. Lincoln shoved him with both hands, and Nelson reeled back, trying to remain upright. He regained his footing and charged Lincoln, driving his shoulder into Lincoln’s belly and knocking out some of his wind. Lincoln stumbled back, and Nelson took advantage of the backward momentum to try to trip Lincoln with his leg. But Lincoln recovered and grabbed Nelson’s shirt with his left hand, his right fist already on its way to Nelson’s face.
Carter grabbed Lincoln’s arm. “That’s enough!” he shouted.
Lincoln tried to shake off Carter. “Get out of my way!”
“Stop!” yelled Alvarez from behind.
The three grappled for a moment—Lincoln and Nelson going for each other while Carter forced himself between them. As he did, his hand slipped off Lincoln’s arm, and Lincoln’s elbow accidentally connected with Carter’s nose. Blood spurted out of it, and Carter let them both go. Lincoln backed off.
Alvarez rushed to Carter.
“I’m alright,” he said irritably, waving her away and mopping up the blood with his sleeve. Alvarez glared at Lincoln and Nelson.
Lincoln cleared his throat and straightened his clothing, his ears still ringing in anger.
Nelson scowled at Lincoln before turning to the others. “I hope you two come with me, at least.” He turned on his heel and walked back toward camp.
Carter and Alvarez said nothing.
Lincoln ran his fingers through his shaggy hair. It was wet with sweat. “Sorry,” he said to Carter. “Is it broken?”