The Zombie Adventures of Sarah Bellum (34 page)

A giant Brittlestar or
Basket Starfish picks its way carefully over the wall's surface in
the meantime, ominously, like a passing tumbleweed.

I can almost hear the
Mexican
bandito
flutes…

Crispin and Carvery have
reached the summit, and turn to assist Ace next. As I look up, the
great shadow of a Manta Ray emerges from the tunnel over their heads,
soaring above us silently, like a stealth bomber.

All of my internal organs
scrunch into a messy knot, until the long whip of its deadly tail
finally curls out of range and vanishes, in the direction of the Deep
Ocean Trench.

One at a time, Ace and
Homer also complete the climb, and disappear over the top into the
giant tunnel.

"Did you see that?"
I hear Carvery say, over the radio. "Something moved back
there…"

"Stay vigilant,"
Crispin's voice advises. "Wait… yes. Do not make any
sudden moves…"

I freeze in my ascent.
Does that order even include me?

What's going on up
there?!

For the next few moments,
I hear nothing. My brain goes slowly and horribly numb.

What are they doing?

Are they still
alive??!

I decide I will have to
risk a peek, or stay clinging to the underwater limestone cliffs for
ever. Determinedly, I reach up with my right hand, for another
hand-hold. And then another, levering myself upward in the heavy
boots…

A Sea Centipede bursts
out of the rock at eye-level, and I swallow my scream, wary of
pissing off Carvery Slaughter any more than I already have – if
he's still around to act on it, that is.

But that's not the worst
of it…

The juvenile insect seems
as startled as I am, and lunges. With the sound of hailstones against
a windowpane, dozens of armoured legs stampede around my diving
helmet, treating me to a close-up view of the long pale undercarriage
of the creature, and its almost mechanically-moving segments as they
wrap around and around…

It drags me off-balance,
away from the limestone cliff, and I lurch backwards towards the
sea-floor once more, scrabbling to try and grab the wriggling beast
as it runs all over me in a territorial frenzy.

And then just as quickly,
it is torn away. By what, I can't see – and I'm still falling.

Until something closes on
my upper arms from behind, like steel pincers, halting my sinking
progress through the waters.
What on Earth…?

My journey suddenly
reverses, and at an alarming speed, I shoot upwards again.

…
Right
to the top of the wall I was climbing, and the entrance to the
tunnel. Where I'm deposited gently onto my feet once more.

In the distance, I can
see the others moving around by the flashlights set into their
headgear, in the darkness ahead.
But what just…?

The pincer-sensation is
released, and I manage to turn around, trying to ready my harpoon
gun. Just as I raise it level, it is abruptly snatched from my grip.

I gasp in shock.

For I'm gazing into the
green eyes of the most beautiful man I've ever seen – who has
no diving-gear, no shirt on – just a snake tattoo, and a bit of
strategically-placed seaweed – and my harpoon gun, in his right
hand.

He blows a kissing salute
on the two forefingers of his other hand, and grins – and then
is gone, with the powerful flick of a muscular silver tail –
which nearly sends me over backwards again.

"Watch out for the
Humungous Rock Scorpions," I hear Crispin saying, as I wonder if
there's anything else new left to see in the world now. My mind is
reeling. "They respond well to a show of strength – our
harpoons may need to be deployed here."

Well… if that
isn't just bloody typical…

CHAPTER
FORTY-FOUR
:

THE UVULA STRIKES
BACK

"
W
hat
took you so long?" Ace asks, when I catch up with the others.

The underwater cavern
could be described as 'forbidding' – only it's more than
forbidding. It's the full
Trespassers Will Be Prosecuted
notice,
Jesus-is-Watching-You
sign, and restraining order.

That's how
forbidding
it is.

I can already sense my
brain-stem drafting out its Diminished Responsibility plea for the
condition that this diving-suit will be returned in.

"I slipped," I
explain, knowing that I'm not even in the neighbourhood of the truth,
let alone close to it. "And, er – I dropped my harpoon
gun…"

An explosion in the water
between us causes similar in my trousers, as the weapon being
discussed – in this case, Crispin Dry's harpoon gun –
fires at something behind me. I turn to face a giant, yawning,
vicelike claw, lined with exoskeletal barbs.

It freezes in its
apparently ready stance to snap around my neck, and then abruptly
withdraws into a cloud of sand and bubbles.

"Rock Scorpion,"
says Crispin, over the radio. "We must keep moving."

Heading deeper into the
tunnel, we climb over a jagged outcrop of white limestone
stalagmites. I look upwards, half expecting to see similar
stalactites overhead… but the cave is so vast, the ceiling is
hidden in darkness, and drifting ocean silt.

"Are you sure the
Sea Centipede who dug this tunnel is dead?" Carvery Slaughter
asks, voicing something I was wondering about myself.

"Fairly certain,"
Crispin replies. "She was not too bothered about us clambering
over her teeth just now, so if we survive the journey all the way
along the alimentary canal to the other end, I think we can safely
assume that 'dead' is her current state."

"Really?"
Carvery points his harpoon at the nearest wall, and fires. It goes
fairly deep, sending up dark shards of old rotted carcass into the
almost stagnant seawater. "Guess so."

"What's an
alimentary canal?" Ace asks. "Do we have to get on another
barge? Because the last one kind of did me enough damage for today."

"Nah, you don't need
a barge on an alimentary canal," Carvery tells him. "It's a
misnomer. Not so much like a real canal – more like a flume."

"What, one you ride
on a rubber ring?" says Ace.

"If we spot one on
the way, you're welcome to it," I mutter under my breath, but
forget that they can hear me over the radio.

"I wouldn't try it,
if I were you," Carvery replies to Ace, ignoring me. "It's
over-rated."

"I'll let you ride
shotgun," Ace suggests.

Carvery seems to ponder.

"Not my cup of tea,"
he says at last. "And anyway – judging by the size of this
mother, it'd be like throwing a couple of Tic-Tacs down a well."

We continue to pick our
way carefully through the darkness, the only illumination being from
the lights built into our own diving helmets.

Another Humungous Rock
Scorpion lunges out into our path, and this time I get a better view
as it swings for Homer. The segmented carapace is black with yellow
underneath, spotted like a leopard, and those giant claws are
highlighted with angry red
Go-Faster
stripes. It reminds me of
an old Formula One,
John Player Special
-sponsored
Decepticon
Transformer
.

Ace's harpoon flies into
its side, and sticks in the join between head armour and thorax. It
immediately turns back, scrabbling to try and dislodge the piercing,
and forgetting about Homer N. Dry – who minces onward happily.

How can he still walk
like that underwater, in that dirty great diving-suit? It must be the
added buoyancy… I feel as though as I'm doing a
Pingu
impression, myself…

"See that light
ahead?" Crispin announces, and we all strain to see anything
through the murk. "The exit is about another hundred yards or
so, and we will find ourselves at the bottom of the subterranean
dock, for the Eight a.m. Lounge."

It sounds hopeful, and we
put in a renewed effort. I'm relieved to see Carvery and Ace
re-cocking their harpoon guns, just in case.

I wonder about that
mysterious creature who rescued me back on the cliff-face, stealing
my own harpoon gun in exchange. What would a man with a fishtail want
with a harpoon gun? Surely if there were any danger to him
underwater, he could just turn his tail into legs and run away up the
beach somewhere?

Or maybe they don't do
that in this reality… perhaps
Disney
made it up…

"Watch it,"
Ace's voice interrupts my thoughts. "I just stepped in something
squishy."

I look down, the beams of
my head-lights sparkling off the sand and dirt swirling up from the
sediment. The floor has taken on a bobbled appearance under the muck,
like a huge puff-patchwork quilt.

"It was one of these
blobby things," Ace continues, kicking his foot into another. It
breaks open, like a deflating balloon, and releases inky black liquid
and greenish slime into the water. "Maybe the giant centipede
had a big peptic ulcer problem."

"I hope so,"
Carvery remarks. "Because otherwise it looks like we've taken a
wrong turn at the buffet car, and found where they're hiding the
caviare."

CHAPTER
FORTY-FIVE
:

ILIUM RESURRECTION

"
E
ggs,"
Crispin confirms. "But not Sea Centipede eggs. These are laid by
another parasite – one that needs underwater carrion to
incubate its clutch. The small amount of heat given off during decay
accelerates the development process."

"What are they
from?" Ace asks, prodding another, with the toe of his boot.

"Hermit
Squidmorphs," says Crispin. "They go through a series of
parasitic stages before becoming fully mature and independent."

"Let me guess,"
Carvery suggests. "The next stage after the eggs is the vampire
face-hugging phase, yes?"

"No," Crispin
looks a little offended, through his diving helmet. "Squidmorphs
are not facially-orientated in the slightest. Quite the opposite, in
fact."

"Alien anal
probing?" Carvery remarks.

The radio silence between
us all becomes distinctly more unpleasant.

"I think we should
keep moving," I announce, my voice higher than Salvador Dali on
LSD.

Ace and Carvery are both
looking at the floor with concern now.

"Good idea,"
Ace murmurs. "Don't think I want to meet a vampire butt-hugger
either."

We try not to jostle one
another in expressions of blind panic as we continue through the gut
of the giant centipede carcass. A few more eggs get stepped on in the
shambolic rush, releasing their premature black squid ink into the
water.

"Are there likely to
be any more of those Rock Scorpions down here?" Carvery's voice
comes across the radio again, as it seems to get inexplicably darker.
Damn this ink – it doesn't seem to disperse at all…

"Er, no,"
Crispin replies, from up ahead. "They will not enter the nursery
when hatching is due. Hermit Squidmorphs are not fussy about the
species of host they occupy."

Holy Mother… I saw
the armour-plated shells on those scorpions! Even Homer, in front of
me, seems to double the pace of his mincing strut, into an underwater
scurrying.

Thankfully, the knee-high
eggs start to thin out from what I can see of the ground underfoot,
and we start to climb a little as the terrain slopes upward.

"What?" Carvery
wants to know, and I stumble into Homer's back. "Why are we
stopping?"

There is a pause. I
glance behind us, my own insides fluttering with adrenal abuse.

"Underwater
landslide," I hear Crispin say, grimly. "Our exit is
blocked."