The Phoenix Descent

by Chuck Grossart

  “I’m okay, just stay down,” Hunter said. “My visor stopped it. I think it just grazed my cheek.”

  Sif wasn’t about to stay down. She was pissed. She pulled her arm away and stood, suddenly glad for the thickness and bulk of their suits, regardless of how hot they were—the damn things might provide some protection, after all. She wheeled to the left, to the right, trying to spot whoever shot the arrow. And then she saw him—no, her—coming down a hill overlooking the fields, a bow in one hand and a handful of arrows in the other. Sif was struck by how small she seemed . . . A child? Sif raised her arms, not in surrender, but to show she was unarmed, no threat. If this girl had taken the shot from the top of the hill, she was quite skilled with her bow. It was a good fifty yards, at least. “Okay, look at me,” Sif said to herself, “I’m unarmed, I’m friendly, and if you shoot an arrow at me I’ll kick your scrawny ass.”

  “Dammit, Sif, stay down,” Hunter yelled.

  “Nonthreatening, right? You said it yourself. Now get up and look nonthreatening, goddammit.”

  Sif watched the girl stop, nock another arrow, draw it back, and aim. Sif waved her arms, and shook her head no, but of course the girl couldn’t see her behind the thick visor. She turned her body toward Hunter and could see him propped up on his knees, also waving his arms. Behind him, a boy erupted from the cornstalks, a knife held high.

  “Oh, shit. Hunter, behind you!”

  Hunter turned, but the boy flashed right by, heading straight for Sif. She crouched, as well as she could in the suit, and readied herself. It wasn’t a big knife, but if he hit her in the right spot, he could pierce the suit and do some real damage.

  As he ran at her, Sif could see fury in his eyes—unbridled, hot, and unthinking. He was going to slam right into her. The sun glinted off the blade as he raised it above his head, and Sif could see he was going to bring it down on her. When he was two steps away, Sif dropped and rolled toward him.

  It worked.

  The boy wasn’t ready for her unexpected move and tripped over her, landing in the dirt in a tangle. When Sif rolled to her side, she saw him stand, take a knife fighter’s stance, and swap the blade to his other hand.

  He was wary now, unsure of what to do.

  And Sif was helpless. There was no way she could get to her feet again in time to fend him off. He also managed to catch her with the blade. There was a long tear in the fabric of her suit along her left arm. She could feel the air rushing out of the hole but felt no pain. Either the blade hadn’t penetrated far enough, or she just didn’t feel the cut yet. At any rate, her suit was damaged, open to the outside air. So much for worrying about exposure anymore.

  Behind the boy, Sif watched the girl run up to his side. She grabbed his knife hand and spoke. “Conrad, wait.”

  English.

  Sif quickly released the latches on her helmet, twisted it off, and threw it from her shoulders. As her helmet rolled in the dirt, she heard Hunter’s voice through the helmet mic. “Goddammit, Sif.”

  The rush of fresh air was wonderful—but she would take a moment to enjoy the feeling later. “Wait, we’re no threat to you. We’re unarmed,” Sif yelled, again showing her empty hands to them. She could see the boy was young, maybe late teens. His hair was a dirty blond, hanging in strings about his shoulders. He was scrawny, yet well muscled for his weight.

  The girl wasn’t a child, as Sif originally thought. She was older, maybe in her early twenties, thin, as the boy was, but her frame was tied together with strong, ropy muscles. Her black hair was gathered into a single braid, which hung over her shoulder. Her eyes were hidden behind a set of dark goggles.

  Both were clad in animal skins, Caucasian, and incredibly pale, their skin so white it seemed nearly translucent. Sif wondered how anyone could live their lives in the outdoors like this and not be tanned brown by the sun.

  “Who are you?” the girl shouted. Sif stared at the arrowhead pointing right at her head.

  Here goes nothing. “I’m Commander Caitlyn Webb, United States Navy, and my partner is Lieutenant Colonel Hunter Webb, United States Air Force. We’re astronauts.”

  “You are Takers,” the boy shouted.

  Takers? Sif wondered. Whatever a Taker was, they obviously didn’t like them very much. “I don’t know what a Taker is, Conrad, but we’re not here to do you any harm. One of you is hurt, yes?” She saw he didn’t particularly care for her calling him by name.

  He took a step forward, and Sif locked her eyes on the knife. It looked bigger—and sharper—than before. “Hurt by your kind,” he said coldly. “You were tracking us.”

  “We were following you because we’re lost,” Sif said. “We saw the blood in the dirt, and we know one of you is injured. Maybe we can help.”

  “Where are you from?” the girl asked, her voice much calmer than the young man’s. Sif sat up, still keeping her hands out in front of her. She wasn’t too sure they would believe her if she told them, so she decided to keep it as simple as she could. “We’re from here. The United States of America.” She could tell the girl had heard those words before.

  “There is no States of America,” the girl said. “You lie.”

  “No, we’re not lying,” Sif said. “I have my helmet off, and you could put that arrow right between my eyes if you wanted to. You managed to hit my partner from the top of the hill, so I know you’re pretty good with that thing. I’m not going to fight you. I just want to talk.” The girl still had her arrow pointed right at Sif’s head, but Sif could tell she was starting to waver. “Please let my partner remove his helmet, okay? He might be hurt, too.”

  The girl paused, considering, then nodded.

  Sif gestured at Hunter to take off his helmet. Then again, a little more emphatically.

  Hunter undid the latches, then with a twist removed his helmet. The arrow had grazed his cheek, and bright blood covered the left side of his face.

  “Thank you,” Hunter said, taking a deep breath of fresh air. “That was one heck of a shot, um . . . I’m afraid I don’t know your name.”

  “I am called Litsa.”

  “Litsa, again, that was a fine shot. You almost killed me.”

  “They’re lying, Litsa,” Conrad said. “It’s a trick.”

  “I promise you,” Sif said. “We’re telling the truth.”

  Litsa turned to Conrad. “Sheathe your knife. We will talk to them.”

  “No. They shot Talia.”

  Whoever the Takers were, they had guns. “How badly is Talia hurt?” Sif asked. “We have medical supplies. We can help.” Sif watched the girl—Litsa—slowly lower her bow. “My partner needs some attention, too. Please take us to Talia, and let us help her.”

  “You say you are from here, the America, yes?” Litsa asked.

  “Yes.” There was something in the girl’s tone of voice that told Sif what she was saying was striking a chord. Sif turned and patted the American flag on her left shoulder. “The United States of America. Have you ever seen one of these before?”

  Litsa nodded. “If you are from the United States of America, then you are ghosts.”

  “I know this is difficult to comprehend,” Sif said, “but you have to believe that we mean you absolutely no harm. We’re not Takers—we don’t even know what a Taker is, for that matter—we’re unarmed, and we’re at your mercy.”

  Sif could tell Litsa was struggling with the decision, and for a moment thought it all might end right here, next to a cornfield in what used to be South Dakota. Then she saw Litsa nod, and breathed a sigh of relief.

  “I will take you to Talia,” Litsa said. “You look like you need medical attention, as well.”

  Sif looked down at her arm and noticed blood seeping from the tear in the fabric. “I’ll be damned,” she said. “Looks like you caught me after all, Conrad.”

  “Litsa, please,” Conrad said. “We can’t take them to the Dak.”

  “We will, and if they aren’t who they say they are, we will kill them. Underst
ood?”

  Sif watched the boy nod in agreement. They weren’t out of the woods yet, but they were close. “This Dak, is it your village?”

  “It is our home, was our home, before the Takers attacked,” Litsa replied. “You will stand, walk slowly, and follow this trail. We will be behind you the entire way. I will put an arrow into each of your skulls in an instant if you move off the trail. Understood?”

  “Understood,” Sif replied. This young woman meant business.

  Hunter got to his feet, helmet in hand, and together they followed the trail, with their newfound companions close behind.

  “She called it ‘the Dak,’” Sif said, loud enough for Hunter to hear. “Dakota?”

  “Maybe,” Hunter replied. The blood was darkening on Sif’s suit, and it appeared that the bleeding had stopped. “How’s the arm?” he asked.

  “I’m thinking it’s just a good-sized scratch. Like your face.”

  “There goes my second career as a male model.”

  Sif laughed. “It’ll add character. You can use some.”

  “You handled that pretty well, Sif. That kid had fire in his eyes. He wanted blood.”

  “Whoever the Takers are, they’ve got him pretty ticked off. Her, too. Did you see their skin?”

  “I don’t think they get out in the sun very often.”

  Sif glanced over her shoulder. As Litsa had promised, she and Conrad were close behind, and Litsa still had an arrow strung in her bow. “She’s wearing goggles, and he’s squinting. Do you think they aren’t out in the sun very much because they live underground or something?” Then it dawned on her. They had landed in Wind Cave National Park. “I’ll bet my next month’s pay they live in a cave.”

  “You could be right. Question is, why?”

  To the east, a line of drones approached Beagle. Behind them was another hive, one of five stretching their feelers into the Northern Territories.

  Coming closer.

  Chapter 29

  When they entered the mouth of the Dak cavern, Sif convinced Litsa to allow them to remove their heavy suits. Hunter unloaded the first aid supplies from his leg pouch.

  Dressed in their thin, environmental-control undergarments, they made their way deeper into the cave until Sif could no longer see clearly in the dark. Her guess about Litsa and Conrad living underground was right, as they moved with ease within the shadows. “Litsa, we can’t go any farther in the dark. We can’t see where we’re going.”

  “Your eyes are weak.”

  “No, our eyes can’t see when it’s pitch-black. We’re accustomed to living in the light, and we can’t see in the darkness as well as you can.” She wondered how long it took for people living underground to develop eyesight like this, which led her to ponder just how far forward in time they had come.

  “There is light farther down the passage. Torches.”

  “That’s fine, but I can’t see right now,” Sif repeated. “Unless you’re going to hold my hand and guide me.” Sif caught herself. Arguing with Litsa wouldn’t do them any good. “I can’t go any farther. I’m sorry.”

  “She’s right, Litsa,” Hunter said. “We really can’t see a thing.”

  “Conrad, go forward and bring a torch for our blind friends,” Litsa said. “I will hold them here.”

  Sif felt Conrad brush past her, and his footfalls disappeared deeper into the cavern.

  “How long have you lived in this place?” Hunter asked.

  “I lived in other caves before this one,” Litsa replied, “but this has been my home longer than the others.”

  “And you are farmers?”

  “Yes, and hunters, when the animals venture here. We live on what’s available in the Dak, and what’s outside.”

  “My grandfather was a farmer,” Hunter continued. “In Iowa, a few hundred miles southeast of here. He grew corn, just like you do. Do you still call it corn? Your crops?”

  “Why would we call corn something that it is not?”

  Sif couldn’t help but laugh.

  “I find no humor in corn, woman,” Litsa said.

  “Please, Litsa, call me Sif.”

  “Your name is Caitlyn.”

  At least she was paying attention. “I know, but Sif is my call—it’s my nickname. It’s what my friends call me.”

  “I will call you Caitlyn, then.”

  So much for trying to make a connection, Sif thought.

  “Is Hunter your real name, or a nick?” Litsa asked.

  Hunter laughed. “No, it’s not a nickname. Hunter is my real name. Do you have a last name, Litsa?”

  “I do not understand.”

  “My name is Hunter Webb. Webb is my last name, my family name.”

  “We have no family names. I am Litsa, a member of Joshua’s clan. That is all.”

  “How big is Joshua’s clan?” Sif asked.

  “We are over a hundred bodies strong.” Litsa paused, then continued. “Now, the four of us are all that remain.”

  “Who are they, Litsa? The Takers?” Hunter asked.

  “They are murderers who take children from their beds, load them into their flying machines, and disappear. We don’t know who they are or where they come from.”

  Flying machines. “They come in machines? Aircraft?” Sif asked.

  The tunnel brightened as Conrad approached, torch in hand.

  “That is enough questions,” Litsa said. “We will attend to Talia now.”

  Sif turned, and for the first time saw Litsa’s face in the torchlight. Within the lucent green of her irises, Sif saw nothing but determination and purpose. Her bow was still in her hand, and Sif noticed she had taken the knife away from Conrad, the blade safely sheathed and hanging from her belt. Litsa’s small frame and large eyes made her appear almost elfish, but the young woman was not one who took kindly to being crossed. She was strong, because she must be. Sif could respect that. “Thank you for the torch, Litsa.”

  “We have delayed long enough. We go to the nursemaid’s chamber. Conrad, you will guide them.”

  When they entered the nursemaid’s chamber, Sif saw a young girl lying on a stone table, her thigh wrapped in bloody cloth. In the torchlight, Sif could see she was feverish, her face covered in sweat. Her skin, just as pale as the others, looked gray, ashen. Her breathing was rapid and shallow.

  “How is she, Geller?” Litsa asked.

  A boy—again, young, probably late teens—looked at her and Hunter with wide eyes, not quite sure what to think. He looked for reassurance from Litsa before speaking. “I cleaned the wound as you instructed, but it is still bleeding. Any pressure causes her too much pain.”

  “May I?” Sif asked, as Hunter ripped open the first aid supplies. Litsa nodded. Sif approached the girl and looked into her eyes. “Talia, my name is Sif, and we’re going to help you, okay?” She placed her hand on the girl’s forehead, and felt the heat. “She’s feverish, Hunter.” Turning to Litsa, she said, “I’m going to remove the bandages and look at the wound.” Again, Litsa nodded, her hand resting on the hilt of her knife.

  Of the three of them, Lucas had received most of the medical training, but they all learned basic skills to handle wounds, breaks, and other injuries they might suffer while on the surface of Mars. “Talia, I’m going to take a look at your leg, okay?”

  The girl stared at her, eyes vacant. Sif was glad when she nodded.

  Carefully, Sif unwrapped the cloth bandages covering the wound. She was right—a gunshot. Small entry, red and inflamed. Thankfully, there wasn’t any smell of gangrene yet. Sif slipped her hand beneath Talia’s thigh and felt for an exit wound. The bullet was still inside. She hoped it wasn’t too deep.

  “That bullet needs to come out,” Sif said. “She’s going to need morphine. I’ll need a scalpel and probe. Litsa, I’m going to need more light over here so I can see what I’m doing.”

  Litsa grabbed another torch from the wall and stood next to Sif.

  “That’s good. Thank you. We’re going to
give Talia something to dull the pain, but it’s going to hurt.”

  Hunter swabbed Talia’s arm with an alcohol pad and held up a syringe.

  “What is that?” Litsa asked.

  “It’s called morphine,” Hunter replied. “It’ll cut some of the pain.” He jabbed the needle into Talia’s arm and slowly pressed the plunger.

  Sif ripped open a container of surgical prep wipes and swabbed the wound with a bright yellow disinfectant. Talia groaned. “I know, it stings a little. Hang in there, kiddo.” She turned to Litsa. “I’ll need your boys here to help hold her down, keep her legs still. Hunter, I need you to hold her arms.”

  Hunter moved to the head of the table and placed his hands on Talia’s shoulders. Conrad and Geller didn’t move. “Litsa, I need them to hold her down, please,” Sif said coolly.

  Litsa glanced at the two boys, and they moved into position, each holding one of Talia’s legs.

  Sif put on a pair of latex surgical gloves and unwrapped the probe, basically a long, thin pair of tweezers. She looked at Talia’s face. Her breathing relaxed somewhat. The morphine was taking effect. “Litsa, she’s going to need something to bite down on. A stick, something like that.”

  Sif watched Litsa move to a basket nearby and remove a small piece of wood wrapped in leather. Sif noticed it was covered in teeth marks. “This is what we use,” Litsa said.

  “Perfect.”

  Litsa held Talia’s mouth open and placed the wood in her mouth. “This is going to hurt a little, Talia. Bite down on this.”

  Talia nodded.

  “Okay, Litsa, I need the light. Closer. And please don’t light my hair on fire.” For a second, Sif thought she saw a smile cross Litsa’s lips.

  Sif took a deep breath. “All right, boys, here we go. Hold her tight.” This is why I didn’t go to medical school, Sif thought as she lowered the probe toward the wound.

  She stuck the probe into the wound, and Talia jumped. Sif pulled the probe back out. She looked at Conrad and Geller. “You two need to hold her still, understand?” They both nodded, this time without looking at Litsa for confirmation.

  “Okay, let’s try again,” Sif said. She pushed the probe into the wound as gently as she could, but the quicker she could get in, find the bullet, and pull it out, the less suffering Talia would have to endure.