by JE Gurley
Eve looked distressed at the idea as well.
“Look, I don’t know what else to do,” he said, exasperated that he was making all the decisions. “If the way to the lava tube is open, the insects could easily get to us here. Maybe, just maybe, most of them left the lava tube seeking, er, better feeding grounds.”
Tells grimaced. “I don’t know if I can make it, but I’m willing to try. We can’t remain here. There is no telling when we might be rescued, and, confidentially, I place no trust in Verkhoen’s searching for us.”
Eve nodded. She had a very determined look in her eye. “I agree. We can’t trust Verkhoen.”
Alan shrugged. “As long as you know the risks. Once we get to the Cerberus, I might be able to change the odds in our favor with its laser.”
“How many bullets do you have left?” Sandersohn asked.
Alan removed the magazine and checked. “About half a clip – maybe sixteen rounds.”
Sandersohn turned and began walking back down the tunnel in the direction from which they had just come. “I hope it is enough.”
Alan silently agreed.
The little troop followed the tunnel to its end and found the hole through which the insects had originally entered from the lava tube six years earlier. The opening was little more than a narrow crevice, a fault line traversing the soft Kimberlite conglomerate formation. The low roof forced them to squat, but in some areas, the roof dropped low enough to force them to squirm through on their bellies. It was hot, exhausting work crawling through the bowels of the earth. The effort was taking its toll on him. The hot air baked his lungs. The others were breathing equally as hard behind him. Doctor Tells, because of his age, especially suffered. He lagged farther and farther behind.
Alan’s swollen hand throbbed constantly from the additional pressure of traversing the crack on his hands and knees. If not for the fact that he could not turn around in the close confines, he might have given up and returned to the mineshaft. After half an hour, the crack opened up wider, making it easier to negotiate. It intersected the lava tube halfway up the wall. He tumbled out and helped the others down.
The lava tube was more level and wider than where the Cerberus had entered it. When he saw the huge stalactites hanging from the ceiling, he decided they were in a cavern instead of the lava tube.
“Stay here,” he told the others as he went to explore.
He walked deeper into the cavern, moving quietly to soften his footsteps. He traveled less than two hundred meters when he heard the sound of water dripping. He turned off the flashlight and crept forward. The cavern dropped off into a deep depression, a sort of basin. He estimated the cavern’s diameter at over ten kilometers, an enormous volume of open space for so deep in the earth where the pressure of the surrounding rock fought to squeeze it out of existence.
Large patches of bioluminescent lichen on the walls and roof illuminated the cavern well enough to see that it was not the way out, but it was impressive. The roof of the cavern was a hundred meters above his head, supported by three enormous pillars of granite. Mounds of bioluminescent growth resembling fungi covered the floor of the cavern. From it, pale white horsetail ferns sprouted. Tall, spindly trees grew in tight clusters. They, too, were pale and colorless. From what source the plants drew their nourishment he couldn’t venture a guess, though their lack of color suggested it was not from sunlight. Odd growths on the trunks might have been epiphytes, non-parasitical plants that fed on the air. It was possible they supplied nourishment to the host plants in a bizarre colonial organism arrangement. Eve would know. Perhaps he should fetch the others to witness the wonder of the underground world.
Languid pools of water dotted the floor of the cavern, some hundreds of meters wide. Other than the steady drip of water from the roof, the cavern was unnaturally silent, the air strangely empty of flying insects. No beetles, spiders, or other giant creatures were visible, though he did see many abandoned spider webs. Occasionally, the surface of the pools moved in swirling patterns, but whether from some creature beneath the surface or from the natural release of gases, he couldn’t tell.
A few splashes of color mingled with the grays and greens, some of the earliest flowers. The attar of their scent mingled with the cloying odor of petrochemicals and decaying plants, and the mating and identifying stench of the giant insects.
He examined the rocks, mostly obsidian, feldspar, and granite – volcanic rocks. He was standing inside a gigantic empty magma chamber. Craning his neck upward, he could see the opening of the volcanic throat, now long plugged by solidified magma. The chamber and lava tubes had been a sealed environment until the Cerberus had broken through.
Vince was more right than he dreamed, Alan thought, smiling at Vince’s fixation on Burroughs. He couldn’t believe all the creatures had fled the lava tube or that none had returned. It made no sense. Then, he noticed something strange. Along one side of the cavern, near a series of small openings, thousands of giant snail and mollusk shells lay in piles many meters high. Bits and pieces of spider and beetle carapaces, legs, and mandibles lay strewn about as if periodically pushed from the openings. The smell of death and decay permeated the air.
In spite of the obvious absence of the mandibulates, he knew he wasn’t alone. Another presence filled the cavern, dark, ominous, and foreboding. It scratched at the edges of his mind, attempting to enter his thoughts. Now he knew why the insects were so eager to escape the cavern. The cavern system had a top predator, an alpha feeder, and their numbers had sustained it for eons. He had no desire to meet it. He beat a hasty retreat to the others.
“What now?” Eve asked.
“We see if the Cerberus is in the tunnel,” he said.
“If not?” Tells asked out of breath.
Alan studied Tells in the light of his flashlight. His cheeks looked hollow in spite of his pudginess. The scientist’s age was telling on him. He wished he could stop and allow him to rest, but it seemed more critical than ever to get back as quickly as possible.
He sighed before answering Tells’ question as honestly as he could with, “I don’t know.” He rubbed the back of his hand. He was certain it was infected, but he could do very little about it. He kept moving.
The unusual geology of the cavern and lava tube system fascinated him. He studied the formations as he walked. The lava tube branched off into many smaller tubes they had no time to explore. The lava tubes and magma chamber could have covered hundreds of square kilometers, providing pockets of biospheres for creatures other than the giant insects. Eve noticed his interest and began asking him questions. He suspected her attempt at conversation was to keep her from dwelling on her fears, or maybe it was to keep him from worrying about his hand. Either way, it helped pass the time.
“What are the rocks with the speckles of quartz in them?”
“Granite and diorite. Both are igneous rocks from intrusive lava flows.”
“Intrusive? You mean they bothered someone?” She smiled.
He appreciated her attempt at humor. “No. Intrusive lava flows underground. It cools slowly, forming a crystalline matrix, creating tiny crystals in granite and feldspar. Extrusive lava cools more quickly above ground. It forms rocks like basalt or obsidian. If it ejects from a volcano violently, it mixes with air and gases to become pumice.”
“So this cavern is granite.”
“Most of it. It’s riddled with kimberlite, the diamond-bearing igneous rock we saw in the lava tube. Kimberlite is an extrusive rock buried, along with the volcano, millions of years ago. This particular kimberlite is very brittle. That’s the problem your husband tried to warn Verkhoen about.”
“At times, after he died, I was so angry at him, pissed off at his selfishness.”
Her eyes were damp with tears, but her anger was real, confusing him. “Selfishness?”
“That he cared more about the mine and the miners than he did me. I warned him about Verkhoen, but he wouldn’t listen. I know he wasn’t selfish. It j
ust seemed that way on my darker days.”
“I think the ring proves he loved you.”
She glanced away. “Yes, it does.”
A noise, like the slithering of a blanket across rocks echoed down the lava tube. Eve glanced up at him, frightened. “What did you see back there?”
He avoided answering but picked up the pace. When he saw the familiar hole of the Cerberus tunnel, he dared to hope they might make it out alive.
Sandersohn saw it too and said, “Thank God. I’m exhausted.”
Tells, too tired to speak, simply nodded in agreement.
When they got closer, Alan’s heart sank. He knew Duchamps had forced Bill to move the Cerberus back away from the opening. Now, someone had moved it forward again, blocking the tunnel. It had to have been Trace.
Then, he saw Verkhoen.
Give me a friggin’ break, he muttered.
15
July 6, 2016, 3:15 a.m. Ngomo Mine, 30 Level –
Things had gone unnaturally silent in the mine. The alarm klaxon had ceased its shrill, pulsating shriek, and over an hour had passed since Duchamps had last heard a scream. He ventured out of his hiding place and proceeded down the tunnel with caution, alert for any sounds of insects approaching. The four knapsacks of diamonds weighed approximately sixty kilos. At .2 grams per carat, that meant he carried twelve thousand carats of raw diamonds. Dragging the heavy bundles with one hand and keeping the R4 automatic in the other was difficult, but he feared the insect swarms he had released enough to keep it handy. He had two magazines left and hoped it was enough.
The silence in the mine was unnerving. The constant heavy throbbing of machinery and the pulsing hammering of the drills was absent. As he neared a junction of corridors, an army of spiders appeared from a side shaft, but they ignored him. Spider silk formed a cottony tunnel down one shaft. Sheets of it draped the walls and roof. The thick strands of silk reduced the tunnel lights to small blobs of dim iridescent haze punctuated by pools of darkness. It created a surreal Fun House effect, but there was nothing funny about the squirming, silk-wrapped bundles dangling from the ceiling like ripe fruit. He paled as he realized their contents. Several of the spiders fed from the bundles. He turned his head away in disgust.
He cursed his bad luck. He couldn’t reach the elevator the same way he had come, and he didn’t have enough ammunition to shoot his way through the spiders. He berated himself for not moving more quickly and beating the creatures to the elevator. He would have to go around. He had no other choice. He couldn’t climb half a kilometer of airshafts carrying the diamonds, and he wouldn’t leave them behind, not after the price he had paid to obtain them.
He chose a tunnel that would lead him back to the #3 elevator in a roundabout manner. Dragging the heavy load down the long tunnel, he wished he hadn’t abandoned the electric cart so quickly. Twice, he shot beetles and spiders that ventured too close and a giant dragonfly swooping at his head. He passed dozens of bodies, some partially consumed by beetles and other horrors, some wrapped in silk, ready for collection by spiders. To the creatures from the lava tube, the mine provided a smorgasbord of delicacies. For millions of years, they had eaten each other. Now they had a new source of food, one of which they were making good use. Everyone likes a change of diet every now and then, he mused.
One bundle attached to the wall by a thick silken cord moved slightly. A partially concealed face he recognized stared up at him, one of his security guards. The man’s eyes were wide with fright, but he couldn’t speak and could wiggle only a few fingers. Duchamps took out his knife and cut the silk away from the guard’s head.
“Hello, Mbimo,” Duchamps said flashing a devilish grin. “Got yourself bitten, eh? Too bad, I’ve seen what they do with their prey.”
Mbimo’s eyes rolled and his lips trembled, as he tried to speak. Flecks of white foam dripped from the corners of his mouth. The paralyzing spider venom was slowly digesting his internal organs, liquefying them for the spider’s leisurely consumption. He couldn’t save Mbimo if he wanted. Death was inevitable from the first bite.
“Don’t bother, old boy. I know what you want. You want me to release you, don’t you? Well, sorry I can’t oblige. I’ve just resigned from my post as head of security.” Scratching, scuttling sounds came from down the tunnel behind him. “They’re coming for you now. I have to go.”
Mbimo uttered a pathetic squeak of protest.
Duchamps put away his knife and pulled out his pistol. “Okay. You weren’t such a bad bloke. I’ll make it quick for you.” He placed the gun to Mbimo’s head. The hapless guard, knowing what was coming, closed his eyes and ceased struggling. Duchamps pulled the trigger. Blood splashed his hand and face. “That ought to piss the bugger’s off,” he chuckled.
The loud report of the gun would draw more insects. He dragged the knapsacks down the tunnel as quickly as he could. He passed a few more corpses but no more insects. By the time he reached the elevator, he was exhausted. His shoulder ached from his heavy load and his hands were raw and blistered. He needed to rest, but he didn’t have the luxury of time. If the company brought in outside help and mounted an offensive against the creatures, they would find him under somewhat less than honorable circumstances.
The #3 elevator appeared safe. Pools of blood and bits of flesh, as well as the occasional dead insect, indicated a recent battle, but he saw no large concentrations of the creatures in the vicinity. The #3 elevator went only as high as 20 Level. From there he would have to use the main elevator or face a long climb. He hit the button and waited. He grew nervous when the sound of insects echoed down the tunnel, but he heard the cage descending and looked up the shaft. The cage lift was only two levels above him. He was certain it would beat the bugs. He smiled when the elevator stopped. Almost out of here.
His smile vanished when he slid aside the cage door and took a step into the elevator. A creature he had not seen before, a grayish millipede three meters long, reared from the darkness at the rear of the cage. Its dozens of legs ended in sharp pincers. Long, flesh-rendering mandibles opened to reveal rows of needle-thin teeth lining the mouth. Its hiss reminded Duchamps of a cornered cockroach.
“Damn,” he said, raising his rifle. The creature moved surprisingly fast and was on him before he could pull the trigger. Razor-sharp pincers the size of cattle horns ripped into the sides of his chest. The only thing that prevented them from meeting in the middle of his heart was the steel pipe to which the pulley for the cage door attached. In spite of the obstacle, the millipede’s jaws clamped down on his forearm like a vise. He dropped his rifle, as pain exploded in his arm, racing to join the agony of the creature’s pincers. The pain faded quickly to a dull, throbbing ache, as the millipede’s numbing venom coursed through his body. He brought up his pistol, emptied the clip into what he hoped was the millipede’s abdomen, and staggered backward when it loosened its grip on him.
He suspected he had not hit a vital organ. It shrugged off the bullet wounds and slithered toward him again. He dropped the useless pistol, slid down the cage door to the floor, and picked up the rifle. It felt heavy in his hands. He forced his finger to pull the trigger, placing three quick bursts into its head. The millipede curled into a ball and died on the elevator floor, oozing a foul-smelling liquid from its wounds.
He examined his own wounds. There was surprisingly little blood from the wound in his arm, but it was rapidly growing numb, and he was woozy. The steel bar had saved him from the pincers. He probed one of the twin holes in his chest with his finger. It went in to the last knuckle before hitting bottom. It was deep, but the pincers hadn’t pierced a lung or an artery. He hoped he had killed the creature before it pumped enough venom in him to kill him.
He noticed the elevator was descending. He had hit the button as he fell. He slapped the up button, but it didn’t respond. Then he noticed the blinking red System Locked light on the panel and cursed. He had no choice but go where the elevator was taking him, on a one-way ride to hell.
16
July 6, 2016, 3:30 a.m. Ngomo Mine, the Shack –
Trace arrived at the Shack just as security was removing Bill’s body on a litter. His face was covered, but blood soaked through the thin, white sheet draped over him. Trace stopped the two men carrying him and drew back the sheet. Seeing his friend’s bloodied head, he shook with rage.
“Who killed him?” he demanded of one of the security guards accompanying the attendants.
The guard glanced at his companion and looked back at Trace. “We believe Captain Duchamps forced your friend to move your machine and allow the creatures to enter the mine. He is after the diamonds.”
Trace listened, but he couldn’t comprehend what the security man was saying. “But, why release the creatures? They’ll kill the miners.”
The guard was bitter at Duchamps’ betrayal. “Yes. Now we must kill the creatures and save the miners. We have no time to apprehend Duchamps. That must come later, after the miners are safe. Then, he will face his punishment.”
From the resentment in the guard’s voice, Trace wondered if Duchamps would have his day in court, or face the revenge of his betrayed co-workers. He should have been appalled at the idea of swift justice by a mob, but he hoped the latter.
“Where is Alan? Does he know about this?”
“Yes. He informed us of what had happened. He went into the mine after Doctor Means and her companions.”
Trace was stunned. “Into the mine …? We gotta go after him.”
The guard stopped him. “No. You must repair the damage and move your machine. You must plug the tunnel to prevent the release of more of these creatures. We cannot send anyone that deep into the mine. The miners’ safety comes first.”
As much as he resented the guard’s refusal, he knew he was right. He could offer no help in the mine. His job was in the Shack. He watched them carry Bill’s body away before entering the control trailer. The tiny room reeked of the coppery stench of violent death. Partially congealed blood pooled on the floor and the desk. Streaks of blood smeared the walls. The amount of blood in the room staggered him. He couldn’t comprehend that a human body could contain so much blood.