Subterranean (34 page)

With large, moist eyes, he stared back at Ben. He lifted a finger and placed it at the tip of his ear, then lowered his finger to the center of the design painted on his chest, just above his heart. He turned away and thumped across the empty rock to vanish into a cave opening.

“Ash, what do you make of that?”

“I'm not sure. He was trying to tell us something. But who knows what?” She swallowed hard, trying to dislodge a solid lump that had stuck in her throat. She swiveled around to check behind her. Nothing. She and Ben stood alone at the edge of the yellow fields. The cliff walls that contained the village cupped around them.

Swinging back around, she counted ten guards who remained out in the open, stationed at the ramps that led up to the second level of dwellings. No guards blocked them from just heading out into the fields.

As she was about to suggest that maybe they should just leave, try to find their own way back across the fields, a deep booming erupted from the cliff face, rhythmic and slow. The low resonant throb cut to her diaphragm, vibrating through her as if she were a plucked bowstring. She knew even if she crammed her fingers in her ears she would still feel the sonorous beat.

“Drums,” Ben needlessly explained.

She nodded. “Cultures use drums to mark ceremonial rituals.” She turned to stare again across the yellow fields. Especially rituals of death, but she left that unsaid.

Ben, though, knew what the drums meant. Hell, he had watched enough Tarzan movies to know the natives were restless. Still, a strange calm enveloped him. He knew his heart should be racing, and his palms should be clammy with fear. But no, instead he felt detached as if viewing events through another's eyes. Ever since the old man had touched his finger to his chest, a sense of peace had descended upon him.

With each new drumbeat, odd thoughts intruded upon him, almost as if the drums spoke to him.
Boom
. . . Death approaches.
Boom
. . . Survive and live.
Boom
. . . One way out.
Boom
. . . Prove your blood.

“Ben?” Ashley's face appeared before him, seeming to appear out of nowhere, her voice tiny when compared to the call of the drums. She waved a hand in front of him. “Are you okay?”

“I'm fine.” He shook his head. “Just trying to think.”

“You were mumbling something. Something about blood.”

“It's nothing.”

“Are you sure you're all right?”

“Considering our predicament, I'm peachy keen.” He offered her a weak smile, hoping she would swallow his lie, while wondering himself just what the hell was wrong with him. “I'm fine,” he repeated.

Still she wore a worried expression on her face. “Any idea what they might be planning?” she asked while searching the cliffs for movement.

He shrugged. There might be any of a number of ways the creatures could murder them: rush at them with spears, drop boulders on them, sic those wolf creatures on them, let those damned leeches suck them dry. Who knew? He rubbed at his temples. Oddly enough, he did know. They would be attacked by air.
Death approaches
. But just how the hell did he know this?

He turned around and searched the skies above the fields, trying to see if anything was visible. Nothing but glowing fungus roofed the world. But he was sure. He even knew from which direction. He squinted his eyes to the left. Then he saw them, black specks against the greenish background glow, approaching swiftly, growing rapidly in size as they closed the distance. He pointed. “Over there, Ash. Do you see them?”

“What? Where?”

He tilted her chin until she was looking in the correct direction. “The drums must be calling them,” he said. “My guess is they're acting like a dinner bell.”

“What are they?” she asked.

“Something hungry. 'Cause they're coming in bloody fast!”

Ashley pointed to the gun at his waist. “How many bullets did you say you have left?”

“Only two.” He scanned the horizon, counting the flying black figures. Larger than specks now, their wide wings could be seen beating the air. “I'd say there's a flock of at least fifteen aiming our way.”

“So we can't shoot our way out.” Ashley eyed the fields. “Maybe we could run for it. There are no guards out in the fields anymore.”

“No, we'd be just sitting ducks out there. We need to find cover.” Ben turned to the village. The drums had increased in fury, pounding wildly, making it harder to think clearly. He surveyed the village. All the dwelling openings were now securely covered with thick drapes. Nervous guards stationed at the ramps watched him with narrowed eyes, clutching spears tightly. No guards stood between him and a handful of openings on the ground level. He nudged Ashley and nodded to the six black openings. “How about we take cover in one of those?”

“Will the guards let us? Those spears don't seem too inviting.”

“Notice they're only guarding the way up. These dwellings,” he said waving an arm to encompass the six black openings, “are uncovered and unguarded.”

“We'd better take a chance, then. Look!”

Ben swung around. “What the hell are they?” The flock had approached close enough to make out details. Leathery wingspans spread several yards wide, armed with hooked black beaks and ebony talons longer than his forearm. And their eyes! Black dull orbs, unblinking, like those of a great white shark.

“Some flying predator! A descendant of the pterodactyl, maybe,” Ashley said, tugging on his arm. “Let's go. They're almost on top of us. We need cover.”

He tore his eyes from the approaching flock, now only fifty meters away. “Run!” he hollered as he pushed her forward. The guards made no move to stop them.

The drums suddenly stopped, the frantic pounding ceasing in a single beat, leaving only a heavy silence. He hurried his pace, struggling to keep up with Ashley.

Behind him, he heard a loud thud followed by several others, like boulders crashing to earth. The flock had landed, screeches erupting from several throats.

Ahead, Ashley had almost reached the closest opening, the five remaining black holes spread farther along the wall. Suddenly he remembered the message from the drums, almost like the words blazed across his mind's eye:
One way out!
He again studied the six openings.
Six!
And only
one way out!
He noticed a small carving above the entrance Ashley was driving toward: a circle with a triangle within it. Not the correct symbol. Wrong way!

He sped faster and tackled Ashley as she tried to duck into the opening. He rolled across the floor, jamming his shoulder as he cradled her from the fall.

She struggled free. “What're you doing?”

“No time!” He pushed up, yanking her with him. “Follow me.”

“Ben! Behind you!”

He swung around, pulling his pistol free as he turned, knowing what he would find. It stood taller than an ostrich, but unlike the thin-necked bird, it was all muscle and beak. It lunged at him, striking low, trying to gut him with its hooked beak.

Bloody hell! He was getting damned tired of things trying to eat him. He fired two shots into its skull, the last at almost point-blank range. “Bugger off!” he screamed, ducking away, pulling Ashley aside.

With Ashley in tow, he sprinted across the cliff's base, searching for the correct symbol. Behind him, the beast's carcass was attacked by the others. Hot blood splashed across the back of his legs as he ran. He prayed the body would buy them the time they needed.

He continued to search. The next opening had a squiggling line with a circle atop, the next a crooked arrow, then a circle within a circle, like a doughnut. Wrong, wrong, wrong! He rushed past these openings.

Then he saw it! Carved above the next tunnel was a crude star. Like an explosion in his brain, he pictured his grandfather in his dream cave, beckoning him inside an opening with an identical star. This was the
one way out!

He flew into the opening, dragging Ashley with him. As he tumbled into the hole, he almost crashed into a figure standing just six feet from the opening. There was just enough light to make out the design painted on his chest as he leaned on a staff. Teetering, the old man raised a tiny hand and rested it on Ben's shoulder. He growled thickly, but the words were understandable: “You are one of us.”

Ashley untangled her hand from Ben's grip. What was going on? She stepped aside as the old one waved his staff to clear room. Using his staff like a crutch, he stomped between them and crossed to the lip of the entrance. He waved them over to peer out.

“Ben?” She gave him a questioning look. He shrugged at her and joined the old man. Frowning, Ashley crossed to join them, having to hunker down to get a better view.

Outside, the flock of predators had finished cannibalizing their dead companion, leaving gore and bones strewn across the rocky floor. A couple of the winged monstrosities were trying to get past the guards and up the ramp to the habitats, but spearing lances kept them at bay.

A whistle sounded from somewhere to the left, and from the other five openings, a small procession of mewling, hoofed creatures burst forth, prodded out by spears held by other tribesmen. The creatures were similar in size to a small calf but more horselike in appearance, except for the sharp curling tusks. They reared and pawed at the rock, eyes rolling white with terror. Once free of the poking spears, they scattered, darting in all directions. Their motion caught the attention of the flock, and the horny-beaked creatures tore into the herd of hoofed animals.

“If we had chosen any other tunnel but this one,” Ben muttered to her, “we'd be herded out along with those animals to the slaughter. It was a test.”

Ashley started to turn her face from the carnage, but not before she saw one little animal zip away from the rest and freeze, wild-eyed, just outside their cave as it spotted her. She cringed as she saw a predator pounce from behind, its hooked beak swinging forward, intending to impale the tiny creature. The creature mewled plaintively at her, its eyes wide with fear. Without thinking, she darted from the cave, snagging the nape of the terrified animal's neck, and dragged it into the cave. “Then this little one gets sanctuary too,” she said, gasping, as she led the small creature deeper into the tunnel.

The old man turned to her, his eyes wide with shock. With his back to the entrance, he failed to see the open beak plunging toward him. The foiled hunter was not going to give up its prey so easily.

Ashley opened her mouth to warn him, raising an arm.

But before she could utter a sound, the old man, without even glancing over his shoulder, swung his staff backward. The crack of staff against beak echoed loudly down the tunnel; there was surprising strength in those old thin arms. Still staring at her, he mumbled to himself and crossed to her, laying a hand on her shoulder. He then nodded to her and continued deeper into the tunnel, pausing only to beckon for them to follow.

A loud clangor erupted from outside, sounding like pots and pans banging together. Ben stepped away from the entrance and crossed to her. “Now that they're fed, the noise is driving those buggers away.”

“Like so many trained parakeets,” she said. She stood up and followed the old man; the little animal clopped after her, mewling quietly.

Ben eyed the hoofed creature. “You could've been killed.”

She said sheepishly, “It was an impulse. I was thinking that if you hadn't chosen correctly, then that could have been us out there crying for help. I couldn't just leave it out there to die.” The little animal bumped against her and nuzzled at her boot as she walked.

Ben put his arm around her shoulders and squeezed. “I think you made a friend.”

She leaned into Ben's arms. “Jason always wanted a pet.”

Together they trudged down the darkened tunnel, lit only by occasional splashes of glowing fungus. After a few minutes, she said, “Now, tell me how you knew which was the right opening.”

She felt him tense beside her. “Ash, you're gonna think I'm nuts.”

“After this trip, I could believe almost anything.” She stared at the back of the old creature, a creature who spoke English and whose tribe predated man by several million years. Yeah, she was feeling pretty open-minded right now.

“Okay.” He took a deep breath. “Remember when I told you I had seen that symbol on the old bloke's chest before?”

“Yeah. Something about a dream of your grandfather.”

“Right. Well, in that dream, my grandfather led me to a cave opening with the same symbol carved above this opening. He told me it was safe.”

She stopped and stared at him. “Are you serious?”

He laughed weakly, pulling her forward. “We're alive, aren't we?”

“Have you had clairvoyant experiences before?”

“Hell, no. If I did, I wouldn't be in this trouble right now. I'd be basking in the Las Vegas sun, waiting for my next performance as Mr. Clairvoyant.”

“Then why now?”

He squeaked out a nervous laugh, slipping ahead of her as they followed the old man. “I have an idea. But it's bloody creepy.”

“What?”

“These dreams of this place . . . I've been having them a lot since I first got wind of this trip. They've gotten clearer and more frequent since we got down here.”

“So you think it has something to do with the cavern.”

“No, with him.” He pointed at the old man's bare backside. “I think he's been communicating with me. When the drums began beating earlier, strange thoughts and words formed in my mind.”

“Telepathy?” she said, pondering the implication. “But why only you?”

He shrugged. “I don't know. My Aboriginal blood, maybe?”

She stared up at his blue eyes and blond hair. “Considering your appearance, that blood is awful thin.”

“Well, there must be enough.”