He wanted more!
The hole shown on the map... what could it be? All the routes wouldn't converge there, it wouldn't be so prominent in the ancient temple's triptych, if it was just some geological feature!
He halted on the path, muttering animatedly as he began to point in the air at an imaginary blackboard.
"Great Plain," he announced, pointing at the left of the blackboard with a thrust of his hand as if he was addressing a lecture hall full of students. He swung his other arm up to the right, outlining a ring in the air with his light. "Big hole... here," he said, jabbing repeatedly into its center. "What are you, mystery hole?"
He lowered his arms to his sides, exhaling through his tea-stained teeth. Yes, that hole had to be important.
The triptych flashed before him. There was a message in those three panels. And he needed to recall the last letters of the inscription so that he could complete the translation and put the whole thing together. But it remained just out of his grasp!
He sighed.
He had to get to the hole and find out for himself.
Maybe it was what he was yearning for... a way down.
Maybe there was still hope.
He started off again with a burst of enthusiasm.
* * * * *
About twenty minutes into his new journey, Dr. Burrows heard a scratchy noise ahead of him and immediately looked up.
The noise came again, clearer.
Within seconds his light revealed that two forms were gliding toward him on the path.
He couldn't quite believe what he was seeing — two people walking together.
As they drew closer, he saw that it was a pair of Styx: the soldiers known as Limiters, from the look of their long coats, rifles, and backpacks. He'd seen a couple of them before at the Miners' Station when he'd first gotten off the train. The scratchy noise was their voices.
He couldn't believe his luck. He hadn't so much as glimpsed a single living soul for days and thought how bizarre it was to bump into another human being down here, never mind two, in this network of thousands of miles of passageways and interlinking caverns. What were the chances?
When they were no more than fifteen feet from him, he hailed them, calling out "Hello!" in an expectant, friendly voice.
One of them glanced at him, with ice-cold eyes and a face devoid of expression, but there was no effort at any sort of acknowledgment. The other soldier didn't even raise his eyes from the path ahead of him. The two of them continued marching purposefully and talking to each other, not paying him any heed whatsoever as they moved on.
Dr. Burrows was flummoxed but didn't stop, either. Their total lack of interest made him feel like a street beggar who'd had the effrontery to ask a couple of businessmen for money. He couldn't believe it!
"Oh, well, suit yourself," he said with a shrug, turning his thoughts back to more important matters.
"Where are you, what are you, hole in the ground?" he inquired of the silent menhirs around him, his mind again churning with endless theories.
43
"Stroke! Stroke! Stroke!" Chester called as he and Will pulled the oars. Chester had said he'd done some rowing with his father, and Elliott had let him take control the moment they'd clambered into the rickety-looking boat. In fact, boat was to grandiose a word for the canoe-cum-coracle, which had creaked ominously as they all climbed aboard. It was about fourteen feet long and had a wooden frame over which a hidelike material was stretched and stitched.
It clearly hadn't been designed to carry four passengers, particularly to with all their gear. Scrunched up in the prow of the boat, Cal grumbled quietly to himself as he tried to nurse his bad leg. He was attempting to position himself so he could straighten it out, which was nigh on impossible with Will pressed so close by.
"Oi! Watch it! There's no way I can row if you keep dong that!" Will protested when Cal dug into his back yet again as he shifted himself around. Cal finally found that the optimum position was for him to lie in the bottom of the boat with his head crammed into the V of the prow — by doing this, he could hook his bad leg up on the side and extend it fully.
"This ain't some pleasure cruise, you know!" Will joked in between breaths when he caught the curious sight of a foot sticking up in the air from the corner of his eye.
"Stroke... str— concentrate, Will!" Chester ordered as he endeavored to get his friend to row in time with him. It quickly became evident that Chester didn't really know what he was doing, either, despite his earlier claims. All too often his oars skimmed ineffectually over the surface with a spray of water.
"Where did you say you learned to do this?" Will asked.
"Wilderness camp," Chester admitted.
"You're kidding!" Will exclaimed.
"Shaddup, will you?" Chester retorted with a broad smile.
Their syncopation was chaotic, to say the least, but Will decided that traveling by boat had to be the best way to get around. The physical exertion from the rowing was blowing the cobwebs from his mind; he felt more clearheaded than he had in days. And the light breeze gusting over the water was just enough to whisk the perspiration from his brow as he heaved on the oars. He felt invigorated.
They seemed to be making good time, although Will couldn't see that shore — or anything else, for that matter — to judge how fast they were going. The endless darkness and the invisible stretch of water all around them were a little daunting; the only light was from Chester's lantern, dimmed to its lowest setting, in the bottom of the boat.
Perched at the helm, Elliott, true to form, watched alertly behind them, although the island had long since been shrouded from view. Facing her as they rowed, Will and Chester were just about able to make out her dim silhouette. They were waiting for her to issue instructions, but it seemed like an interminably long time before she spoke.
She suddenly told them to stop, and Will and Chester rested the oars, although the boat seemed to coast along surprisingly quickly by itself, as if caught in a powerful current. Will hung his head over the side — he could see faint, indistinct shapes deep within the water. They appeared to intensify and then fade away just as fast. Some were small and darted rapidly, while others, more substantial forms, moved ponderously and gave off a much stronger light.
As he watched with rapt fascination, the broad, flattened face of a fish, maybe as much as a foot and a half across from gill to gill, bobbed up just below the surface. Between its large eyes there was a long stalk, which had at its tip an greenish, pulsating light. Its mouth gaped open to release a gush of bubbles, closed again, and then the fish submerged. With a frisson of excitement, Will immediately spotted the resemblance to anglerfish, which inhabit the deep recesses of Topsoil oceans. There must be a whole ecosystem hidden under these waves, he thought. Living creatures that generate their own light!
Much as the fish had just done, he opened his mouth to say something to the others about his discovery when he was silenced by a tiny splash, like a stone hitting the water, perhaps some fifty feet off the port side.
"It starts," Elliott whispered cryptically.
A distant bang followed, maybe as much as a second later. More of these splashes and subsequent bangs ensued, but they were too far away for Will to see what was causing them.
"Now would be a good time to turn off that light," Elliott suggested.
"Why?" Chester asked innocently, still peering into the darkness.
"Because the Limiters are on the beach."
"They're shooting at us, dimwit," Cal spoke up. On the starboard side, no more than fifteen feet away, Will noticed a small tick of water flick up from the sea's surface.
"Shooting at us?" Chester repeated, slow to take in what he was being told. "Shooting?!" he exclaimed as he figured it out at last, immediately fumbling to extinguish the lantern. The light off, he sat up and swiveled around in the direction of Elliott. He was flabbergasted at how calm she was. The volley continued, with further splashes all around them — they seemed
to be coming closer. Chester flinched each time.
"If those really are shots..." Will began.
"Certainly are," Elliott confirmed.
"...then shouldn't we be rowing like mad hooligans?" Will asked, tightening his grip on the oars in readiness.
"No need, we're well out of range... they're taking potshots." Elliott allowed herself a small laugh. "We must've really ticked them off. But it would be one in a million if they hit us."
Will heard Chester grumble something to the effect of "With my luck," as he tucked his head protectively into his shoulder, simultaneously trying to get a view of the island in the pitch-black.
"I've got them exactly where I want them," Elliott said quietly.
"You've got them exactly where you want them? " Chester's voice wheezed with incredulity. "Surely you—"
"Slow fuses," Elliott interrupted. "My specialty."
The tone of her voice told them nothing, and they all waited, with just the sounds of the creaking boat and the swirling water around them, and the odd splash from the continuing gunfire.
"Any second now..." Elliott said.
A flash lit up the stretch of beach from which they had set out to sea. It looked deceptively tiny to the boys over the distance. Then the sound of the blast reached them, making them all jump.
"What the—" Cal exclaimed, sitting up.
"No, wait..." Elliott said, holding up her hand. Her outline was thrown into sharp relief by the far-off flames. "If any of them lived through that, they'll be falling over themselves like scalded rats to get inland and away from the beach." She began to count, inclining her head ever so slightly with each number.
The boys held their breaths.
A second explosion, far mightier than the first, erupted with massive red and yellow starbursts that streaked high into the cavern, their plumes leaping over the tops of the tall fern trees. It seemed to Will that the whole island must have been blown to smithereens. They all felt the force of the blast on their faces, and pieces of airborne debris were already falling into the water around them.
"Blimey!" gasped Cal.
"Awesome!" said Chester. "You totaled the island!"
"What the heck was that? " Will asked, wondering if there'd be anything left of the wildlife, or whether it would all be engulfed by fire — though he had to admit that if a few shabby primordial chickens got their tail feathers singed, then he wasn't overly concerned.
"That was the clincher," Elliott said. "The perfect ambush...and the first explosion drove them straight into it."
It was as if the flames were floating on the surface of the sea itself, sending long reflections across the inky waters. For the first time Will could gauge the vastness of the space they were in: the far-off coastline to his right was dimly lit up, but there was absolutely nothing visible in the direction they were heading nor any sign of land at all to his left.
With the sound of the explosion still resonating around the immense cavern, debris continued to fall close to the boat, much of it burning until it hit the water and sizzled out.
"Did you set all that up?" Chester asked Elliott.
"Drake and I did. He called it his 'party trick,' although I never understood what he meant," Elliott admitted. She twisted away from the spectacle, her features hidden within the impenetrable blackness as the nimbus of fiery tongues silhouetted her. She slowly bowed her head as if in prayer. "He was so good... a good man," she said, in not much more than a whisper.
As Will, Chester and Cal marveled at the inferno on the island, none of them uttered a word, sharing her sense of loss for Drake. It was as though the burning island was a funeral pyre, a fitting send-off for him — not only was there a glorious light extravaganza in this unlikeliest of places to honor his death, but also some of his enemies had been brought to justice.
After the sober moment of reflection, Elliott spoke up.
"So, how do you like your Limiters done?"
She began to laugh jubilantly.
"Rare," Chester replied, quick as a flash. The boys joined in with her laughter, hesitantly at first, but then roaring so loudly the boat rocked.
* * * * *
Sarah was shocked from her torpor by the first explosion, and by the second she was on her feet and racing down to the water's edge, with Bartleby following close behind her.
She whistled at the sheer size of the blast and immediately brought up her rifle, wrapping the sling around her arm to hold the weapon steady. Through the scope she scrutinized the fiery point, so small over the waves. Then she slowly moved the rifle away from the island, combing back and forth over the watery horizon. The glow radiating from the fire enabled the light gathering scope to function highly effectively, but it was still some minutes before she spotted anything. She adjusted the magnification on the scope, trying to clarify the image.
"A boat?" she asked herself. In the extreme distance there was no way she could tell who was in it, but she knew instinctively that it wasn't the Styx. No, in her gut she knew that what she sought was in that boat bobbing on the waves.
"Looks like we're back in business, my old friend," she said to Bartleby, who was flicking his bony tail as if he already knew what they were going to do. Sarah took a last glance at the burning island, and her lips curled into a malicious smile. "And I suppose Rebecca will need to draft some new Limiters."
44
"Get it together," Elliott urged from the helm as Will and Chester pulled on the oars, still not in sync with each other.
"Where exactly are we going?" Cal called out to her. "You said you would take us somewhere safe."
There was a splash as Will misjudged his stroke, his blade skipping across the water. Elliott gave no response, so Cal tried again.
"We want to know where you're taking us. We have a right to know," he insisted. He sounded peeved; Will knew that his leg must be bothering him.
Elliott turned from her rifle. "We're going to lose ourselves in the Wetlands. If we make it that far." She paused for several uneven oar strokes, then spoke again. "The White Necks won't be able to track us there."
"Why?" Will asked, wheezing from the exertion of rowing.
"Because it's like... like one big, never-ending swamp..." She sounded uneasy, as if she lacked conviction in what she was saying, and this didn't give the boys much confidence, since they hung on her every word. "No one in their right mind ever goes into those parts," she continued. "We can lie low until the Styx give us up for lost."
"These Wetlands, are they deeper? Below where we are now?" Cal asked, before Will had the breath to ask.
Elliott shook her head. "No, it's one of the outlying areas of the Great Plain that we call the Wastes. Some of the fringes are just too dangerous because of hot spots... Drake never let us spend more that a few days there. It'll suit us for a while, then we'll move on to some other places in the Wastes. They're a lot easier to survive in."
The boys remained silent after that, each left alone with his thoughts. Her words rang in their heads — the Wastes didn't sound very promising, but none of them felt terribly inclined to ask any more questions.
"We're in the pull of currents from a band of whirlpools a couple of miles east," Elliott eventually said. She jabbed a finger over their heads to the starboard side. "And if you don't want to see them up close, I suggest you both put your backs into keeping us on course."
"Aye-aye, Captain," Will grumbled, his earlier enthusiasm for the boat journey all but gone.
Several hours later, after a marathon rowing session, Elliott told them to stop again. Will and Chester welcomed the rest, their arms so tired that they trembled when they raised their canteens for a drink. Elliott instructed Cal to keep watch with the loose rifle scope and Will to put on his headset.
Will flipped the lens down over his eye and turned it on. The view sizzled with orange snow until it settled into a cohesive image, and he saw that they weren't far off the coast. The boat was drifting toward what Will took to be a headland.
As they drifted farther in, silken fingers reached over the surface of the water. A wispy mist crept toward them, the hazy layer thickening to such an extent that it began to spill in over the sides of the boat. The lantern at Chester's feet sent a diffuse illumination through the mist, conferring on it a milky translucence and making their faces glow eerily. Before long they couldn't see anything below their waists. It was a strange sensation to sit there, with the unbroken blanket all around them, as they cut a path through it in the now invisible boat. The fog seemed to absorb all sound, damping even the lapping of the waves.
The air temperature grew warmer as they went, and although none of them said a word, the boys felt as if there was a physical pressure forcing itself down on each of them. Whether it was the gloominess of the mistscape or some other phenomenon, they were all experiencing identical sensations of melancholia and desolation.
They drifted for another twenty minutes. They seemed to be entering a cove or bay. The forlorn silence was broken as the keel of the boat bumped against rocks and ran aground. It was odd. It felt as though the dark spell had been broken, as though they had all woken from an uneasy dream.
Elliott wasted no time in jumping out of the boat. They heard the splashes as she landed, but there was no indication of how deep the water was because the fog reached just over her thighs. She waded to the front of the boat and, guiding it around, heaved it along behind her.
Will turned his attention to the stretch of coast. They had indeed arrived in a bay, its two promontories jutting out to sea on either side. The slow-moving mist tumbled out from the creek, parted in places by peaks of jagged-looking rocks. He, Chester, and Cal stayed put while Elliott drew the boat behind her for a short distance. Then she ordered them to disembark, and, one after another, they clambered reluctantly out of the boat, taking their kit with them.
Tunnels 02 - Deeper Page 41