by James Axler
When both men had completed their tasks, they exchanged looks and then began to make their way out of the armory and toward the exit.
The six companions converged when they neared the main corridor, which led to the exit sec door. They had to take the emergency stairs between levels where the elevator was the only means of access between levels. Some redoubts were ramped all the way through, others had only elevators between some or all of the levels. It depended on the purpose for which the particular redoubt had been built.
In this instance, the redoubt was a relatively small installation that would have carried a military complement of no more than one hundred, and had no wags or troop carriers stashed in its depths. So a consistent ramp hadn’t been necessary, and the companions were left to make their way up the emergency stairs.
The darkness became filled with bright lights that flickered and raced only in their own skulls as the poor air made them light-headed with the lack of oxygen. It said much about the staleness of the air on the stairwell that the atmosphere on reaching the exit onto the main corridor seemed sweeter.
Each of them gulped down lungfuls of the stale air, sucking the oxygen from it to compensate for the burning in their lungs. But the comparative sweetness was dangerously deceptive. There was still very little oxygen in this part of the redoubt and all they succeeded in doing was filling their systems with yet more carbon dioxide.
Every step was now an effort, like swimming through sludge, as they made their way along the corridor toward the sec door that led to the outside. The corridor seemed to lengthen like an optical illusion, the door zooming away into the distance as molten lead filled their limbs.
If the sec door refused to open, then there was no knowing how they would get out. There was no guarantee that the main door had a manual override, though most did. But even if there was one, there was no knowing if they had the strength—any of them—to operate it before the final darkness descended.
The interior lighting was still working in that area of the redoubt, and they moved under neon strip lighting that seemed to move away at speed toward the silent and imposing exit door.
Maybe that was a good sign. Maybe the electricity was working in this section.
Jak took the initiative. Unlike the others, his wiry frame dictated a lesser capacity for oxygen, and his shallow breathing gave him an edge over the others. Measuring every pace so that he didn’t waste energy, draw in any more of a breath than was necessary, he hurried to the keypad that triggered the main sec door lock. Lagging behind, the others watched as though from a great distance, willing him to reach the door, willing the system to still be operable.
Narrowing his eyes to focus as the extra effort and the poor quality of air made his vision swim before him, he carefully tapped in the numbers and waited. There was no lever to press.
It seemed like forever, but could have been only a second or two, slowed only by the failing circuitry to respond immediately. The door creaked and moaned, and lifted slowly, air rushing in from beneath the ever-widening gap as the differing volumes on each side attracted the outside atmosphere.
And the sand.
There was a desert outside the redoubt, and one that had filled the small enclave that housed the redoubt entrance. Most of the redoubts had either been built into outcrops or in small valleys to mask the entrance in those predark times. The corridors from the main door leading into the complex itself was usually on an incline, built so that the gradient was hardly noticeable. But still there: it had made the struggle toward the exit door from the emergency stairwell that bit harder, that much closer to a gradual fade from consciousness.
But now they gulped greedily at the fresh air that came in through the opening door. The light outside, and the heat that flooded in, suggested that it was the middle of the day. The sand spilled down the incline, trails of grain snaking around their feet, around their hands and knees as they sank down, thankful that they were now able to breathe freely.
It took Krysty a little while to realize what was happening. Unlike the others, who were either unable to focus or had their eyes closed, concentrating on drinking in the fresh air, the Titian-haired beauty was looking down and could see the sand build up around her hands, planted on the floor of the corridor, flowing and growing so that it covered her knuckles, then the backs of her hands, burying them up to the wrist and flowing around her calves and thighs, pulling at her as she tried to free them.
She yelled, wordless, and after the lack of air it came out as a dry, hushed croak, but it was enough to make the others look up.
The entrance to the redoubt had to have been buried in a sand dune, and the opening of the door had set up a movement in the sands that were drawing them into the tunnel, down the slope, flowing at speed. There was sky visible above the sand, but also a vast wall of the almost liquid grains that were slowly sweeping toward them, growing with momentum as the mass began to move.
Marshaling what strength he could, the lactic acids in his muscles that hadn’t dispersed easily with the decreasing oxygen making his limbs feel like they were filled with molten metal, Ryan got to his feet, pulling himself free of the sand so that it only flowed around his calves. He could feel the growing strength of it as the momentum of the fall built. Unless the companions moved quickly, the sea of sand would sweep them all back into the redoubt, crushing them against one of the closed interior sec doors, suffocating them before they had a chance to break free.
J.B. and Mildred were also on their feet, the black woman casting her eyes around for Doc. His frail physique meant that he had suffered the most from lack of oxygen and was the most vulnerable right now. She grunted as she located him. He was still on all fours, looking down, barely aware that the sea of sand was burying him, now up to his elbows and halfway up his thighs. If he didn’t move quickly, it would cover him and start to smother the life from him.
Jak, recovering quicker than the others, had taken in what was happening and used the flow of the sand to save energy that was only just returning, surfing the sand back to where the others were moving, almost in slow motion. The wiry albino joined Mildred, and they tugged Doc free of the sand, hauling him to his feet. He grunted and whispered to himself, wordless mutterings that were masked by his inability to speak through a parched throat. His eyes were staring and vacant. Whatever Doc was seeing, it wasn’t the corridor before him.
Jak and Mildred began to haul themselves out of the sand, struggling to move their still-leaden limbs against the flow, hampered by Doc’s near deadweight. As they moved forward, Ryan and J.B. stepped in to help, joined by Krysty when they reached the point at which she stood. The six companions formed a chain, uniting their strength—failing as it was—to fight against the flow of the sand to try to reach the yellow-tinged sky that lay at the top of the spilling wall.
It was like swimming in a swamp: the current of the sand wanted to pull them back into the redoubt, but they fought against it, even though their limbs ached and their lungs, still fighting to make up oxygen deficit, felt like bursting.
With every fiber screaming for them to stop, to just give in and let the sand sweep them down into its warm and welcoming depths, they crested the wave that flowed from the peak of the wall, struggling until they were past the top and pulling themselves over sand that was barely moving.
The world swum around them, stars and lights flickering inside their skulls, their lungs screaming for more air. It was only now that they were on the outside, away from the fetid air of the redoubt, that Mildred realized why it had been such a struggle. Out here, the air was little better. It was foul and hot, the sun heating up the chem clouds that made the sky so yellow. Just to breathe normally, a person had to try twice as hard against the atmosphere.
Looking around at her five companions, Mildred could see that Doc was almost unconscious and the other four were barely able to move. Come to that, she felt herself teetering on the brink of unconsciousness. She looked up at the sky, squinting int
o the intense light. It was impossible to see beyond the covering of clouds, but she figured that it was the middle of the day. If they succumbed to unconsciousness now, they could dehydrate and risk exposure and sunstroke. She lifted her head and looked around. Now that they were out of the valley in which the redoubt entrance was housed, she could see why the wall of sand had tried to cave in upon them.
The surrounding area was a flat desert, with no peaks or valleys, and no scrub that she could see through the chemassisted heat haze. The entire area was flat and covered with sands. At some time, the area could have been arable, but the intense buffeting of the chem storms had left the area a wasteland of desert, all features of the land covered by layers of sand. That had to have been what had happened to the redoubt entrance. Once in a valley, the dip had been filled by the sand, and in opening the door they had done nothing more than allow the sea of grains to shift once more.
As she tried to focus on the area where the redoubt entrance had been, and where the sands were already settling into their new pattern, she found darkness creeping into the corner of her vision. Alarmed, she battled against it, looked for the others. Doc was down, Jak was trying to get to his feet but stumbling and falling once more. She couldn’t locate J.B., he had to be behind her somewhere. She caught a flash of Krysty’s hair as the woman tried to stay awake, shaking her mane before her head slumped once more. Where was Ryan? He had to be behind her somewhere, too…
The blackness closed in, blotting out all else.
RYAN FELT THAT he had to black out all else and concentrate on keeping awake. The howling wind swept through him, chilling him to the marrow, and he felt the heavy splash of the rain on his back and sides, could almost feel the acids eating through his clothes. He burrowed deeper into the sand, feeling the exposed areas buffeted less and less, but always mindful of the new danger. If he should accidentally breathe the sand, clogging his nostrils and lungs with the sharp grains, then all this would be for nothing. He was still weakened, and didn’t know how much he could fight against that implacable enemy. The sand around him was still, protected him from the worst of the storm, but held its own dangers.
It was important he stay triple red, yet everything in him wanted to curl up and go to sleep.
If he did, he would close his eye forever.
There was no way of telling how long it lasted. Only that each second could have been an hour, and each hour a day. It was all as one: the winds, the sand, the rain…
But gradually he became aware of a lessening in the winds and the rain, the sand stung his skin less often. He didn’t dare relax, in case his body give in and sink into a fatal unconsciousness. If anything, he redoubled his efforts to stay alert, to try to determine what was going on around him.
Even after he was sure, he waited a little longer. Gradually, Ryan disinterred himself from his sandy tomb and, every muscle and tendon creaking, rose unsteadily to his feet.
The sky above was clear, the stars twinkling peacefully above as though the previous hours had never occurred.
The storm was over.
MILDRED FELT LIKE a dog turd that had been left on the sidewalk to dry out for an eternity. The heat was still burning, but nowhere near as intense as it had been before. She opened her eyes and immediately screwed them tight again. She had been lying on her back and the light was too bright to take. She rolled over, feeling the hot sand against her face, and opened her eyes again. After adjusting, she tentatively raised herself onto all fours. Once she felt steady, she groped for some of the bottled water they had rescued from the redoubt and distributed among themselves. It was tepid and unpleasant, but it was liquid, and it helped rehydrate her. She was slick with sweat, yet the military OD green jacket she wore had covered her skin and saved her from too much direct exposure to the sun.
But what of the others?
Mildred slowly raised herself to her feet and looked around. Jak was sitting up, drinking. Like her, he looked as though he had only just regained consciousness. He managed a weak grin and slowly rose. Ryan and Krysty seemed to be coming around slowly, and J.B. appeared by her side as though from nowhere.
“Doc’s not so good,” he said simply, guiding her to where the old man lay. He had less covering than the rest of them, and so had suffered most from being unconscious under the harsh sun. Mildred settled herself beside him. His skin was burned and flaky, and there was froth flecked at the corners of his mouth. He was mumbling incoherently to himself.
While J.B. lifted his head, she used some of the water to wet his lips and gums, then pried away the dry skin of his mouth where it stuck to his teeth and gums. He reacted to this, and she risked pouring a little of the liquid into his mouth. He choked at first, but soon began to swallow.
While J.B. continued to feed Doc the water, Mildred fumbled in her jacket pockets for salt tablets. She had been able to replenish her supply from the redoubt its infirmary. Doc would be in dire need of these after being so long exposed to the sun.
By the time Doc had recovered enough to realize where he was, Krysty, Ryan and Jak had joined Mildred and J.B., clustered around the old man.
Doc managed a weak grin. “Always the liability, I fear,” he whispered through chapped lips. “If I were a horse, then the knacker would be a necessity. And if I were a carpenter—”
“Shut up, you old fool,” Mildred interrupted. “You’re in no fit state to be talking sense, let alone the drivel you always come out with. You need to drink some more, for a start.”
Doc agreed, taking a water bottle from her.
Ryan had been surveying the area while they stood over Doc, and he didn’t like what he saw. Stretching in every direction was nothing but sand. It was an almost entirely flat landscape, only the occasional undulation of a dune to break the monotony. The sand covered everything so completely that even now he couldn’t be too sure where the redoubt entrance had been situated.
J.B. joined him. “Doesn’t look so good, does it?”
Ryan shook his head. “Nothing but this fireblasted desert, and no way of getting back to make a jump.”
“Which direction gives us the best chance?”
Ryan shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. Just looks like sand, as far as you can see. Figure the best thing to do is form into pairs and fan out, see how much territory we can survey.” He looked up at the sky. “Hard to tell with this cloud, but I reckon we’ve got a couple of hours before sundown.”
“Only plan that makes sense,” J.B. stated. “But one of us should go solo. I can’t see Doc being up to it,” he murmured, indicating the prone figure.
Ryan shook his head. “Mebbe a good thing. Doc can be our anchor. Gives us somewhere to head back to.”
“My dear boy, you are too kind—making an asset from my infirmity,” Doc wheezed. “But, I suppose, if it is all I can do, it is, at least, something.”
The five companions used their baggage to form a sun-break around Doc, offering him at least some shading from the sun, angling it to shield him from the angle of its descent. That angle also gave them some kind of compass point from which to try to determine their location. But their first task was to see if they could find shelter before the night fell.
Ryan trekked alone, while Jak accompanied Krysty and J.B. marched with Mildred. The plan was simple, but backbreaking. Taking a different position, they were each to fan out from the point of their location to see if they could sight anything other than sand on the horizon.
Simple, and also soul-destroying, for it soon became apparent that they could march for hours and see nothing but sand stretching out before them, rolling in dunes and broken only by the occasional patch of grass or scrub. As they marched outward, so the sand pulled at their calves, each step an effort to drag their boots from the grip of the sand, sapping what little reserves of energy they had.
It was nearing twilight when they converged once more on where Doc lay. The old man had used the time well, taking more water and resting, and was now almost bac
k to normal. It was little consolation, however, when they compared their lack of sightings.
“It would appear,” Doc said with a glimmer of a smile after listening to them, “that we are caught between a rock and a hard place, except that there are no rocks and the sand is far too soft.”
“Wish I could see the funny side, Doc,” Ryan muttered. “We’ve got little option other than to pick a direction at random and keep marching, or try to find the redoubt and force our way on for another jump—and that’s always assuming we could dig our way in, which I doubt.”
“So it’s just the marching, then,” Mildred said wryly. “Pick a direction—any direction.”
“How about that away,” J.B. said, pointing to his left. “Or mebbe not…’cause I think that’s where trouble’s coming.”
Before he even finished, they knew he was right. A mistral wind was reaching them, tendrils of sand picked up in the light breeze that was getting stronger with each second. The chem clouds had gathered densely in the twilight, and the air became damp as chem rain started to drizzle. The speed at which it gathered was phenomenal.
“Fuck it! Try to get some cover. It’s coming down too fast!” Ryan yelled as the first fat, heavy drops of rain began to splatter them and the tendrils of sand became sharp bullwhips of grain, lashing against them.
Within minutes, as they tried to dig a trench into the sand, the storm had risen to a pitch where the sand and the rain made it impossible to see in front of them and the gathering clouds turned twilight into darkest night.
They could no longer see one another.
As the sands were whipped up by the storm, it became hard to even tell where the ground began and ended.
Chapter Two
Ryan Cawdor shuddered and groaned as he raised himself slowly, painfully, from the tomb of sand he had made for himself. Every part of his body was in pain, and parts of his skin felt as though they would slither from his flesh at the slightest touch. He was thankful that there had been no open wounds for the rain to run into, which would have been too painful to contemplate.