Subterranean (38 page)

Stunned, she froze in place, her hands still raised as if she held the gun. Blakely had slumped over to his side, staring blankly at the far wall, a hole the size of a dime in his forehead. The wound looked so small, like a simple bandage would fix it.

“No,” she moaned, rocking back and forth, “no, no, no . . .”

Suddenly Jason ran up beside her, hugging her from behind. Khalid had released the boy. Jason held her silently, staring at Blakely's still form with wide eyes.

Linda turned to Khalid; his pistol was pointed at her. “You promised that you wouldn't harm the boy.”

“I won't,” he said. His words were cold, devoid of any concern for the dead man sprawled in the tunnel. “Unlike yours, my word is good. But it's now time for your next lesson.”

“You can't keep me tied up for the whole trip,” Linda protested. Her attempts to loosen the knots that bound her only tightened their cutting grip.

“You're clever, Linda,” Khalid said, smirking at her effort to free herself. “And we still have a long way to go to reach Alpha Base. I won't lose you again.” He grabbed Jason by the upper arm and manhandled him down the tunnel. “You can be sure of that.”

Frightened that he intended some harm to Jason, she called after him, “What are . . . You promised not to hurt him.”

“Don't worry. I'll keep my word.” He disappeared around a bend.

She stared at the tunnel around her, her heart beating so hard in her throat she could hardly breathe. What did he have in mind now? She gave one final pull on the cords that gripped her.

She searched around her, the helmet lamp casting only a weak finger of light. At least the smoke had thinned, allowing them to breathe without masks, but there were still enough fumes to sting the eyes and nose.

Swinging her helmet the other way, she tried to see some sign of what Khalid was planning. She heard an occasional word or echo from where he and Jason had disappeared. What was he up to?

Almost two hours passed before she finally heard the scrape of boot on rock, signaling the return of Khalid and Jason. Exhausted, she had almost dozed off. It had to have been at least forty hours since she had last slept.

“Are you okay, Jason?” she asked.

He nodded but had a strange expression on his face.

Khalid crossed to her and loosened her bonds, freeing her hands. “I'll set up camp,” he said. “We'll stay here for six hours, then continue.”

Rubbing at her red wrists, she noticed Khalid did not have his gun. Strange, she had not seen him without a pistol clutched in his hand since Blakely's death. He turned his back on her and walked away, leaving her and Jason alone. His lack of concern jarred her. She could just grab Jason and run, but she knew better than to try; he would just track them down again. Still, this sudden lack of caution disconcerted her.

She knelt down by Jason. “Did he hurt you?”

“No, but . . . I couldn't stop him.” Jason suddenly burst into tears.

She hugged him tight. “What is it, Jason? Tell me.”

His sobbing subsided into spasms of quivering. “He . . . he . . . I don't wanna die!”

She just held him tight, allowing him to calm on his own. After several minutes, he sniffed back his final tears. “I'll get you out of here. I promise,” she told him. She hoped it was a promise she could keep. “Now take a deep breath and tell me what happened.”

He hung his head, then lifted up his shirt. She cringed a bit, expecting him to reveal some form of physical molestation by Khalid. But what Jason revealed was worse.

“My god!” Linda gasped. “What did he do to you?”

Jason cautiously fingered the black nylon belt strapped tight around his waist, cutting snug into his white belly. Bulges of gray plastic explosive dotted the belt, connected from one to the other by multicolored wires. She stared closer at the large belt buckle. A lighted LED panel with a small keyboard the size of a business card was attached to the clasp. A twisted bundle of colored wires converged into the device. Tiny red numbers counted backward on the display.

“Why?” Linda mumbled to herself.

“He said it was an obedience lesson,” Jason answered. “Every two hours, Khalid has to punch in a secret code, or the bomb will go off. And if I try to take the belt off, it'll explode.”

Linda's shoulders sank. “The bastard. So we're dependent on him. If we leave or something happens to Khalid, then . . .” She stopped.

“Then I'll explode,” Jason finished. “He told me it wouldn't hurt.”

He explained all this to you! What sort of monster is he?”

Jason answered in a tiny voice, “A smart one.”

A
SHLEY TUGGED ON
H
ARRY'S SLEEVE, NOTICING HOW
much like Major Michaelson he looked, especially when he wore a stern expression like now, his lips pinched, a deep trough between his eyebrows. “What the hell were they arguing about?” she asked.

Mo'amba had already followed the chief out of the chamber, and a good portion of the warriors had vanished in different directions. She glanced around her. A small cadre of spear-bearing tribesmen still surrounded them, their expressions wary.

“What sort of trouble are we in now?” she asked, turning her attention back to Harry.

He eyed the guards from between narrowed lids, then spoke. “'Trouble' is too mild a word. They've decided that you two are still to die.”

Ashley's eyes grew wide. “But why? What about you and Michaelson?”

“We've been adopted by the warrior sect. The group's got a strict honor code—
il'jann
, they call it. Not even the elders will mess with it. You two, on the other hand, are foreigners. Scapegoats.”

Ashley glanced toward Ben. She should be terrified for her own life, but it was her son's fate that kept her chest tight and made breathing difficult. She couldn't die . . . not until she knew Jason was safe.

Ben kept watching the naked warriors around them, but she managed to catch his eye. He reached over and squeezed her arm. “I know, I know,” he said, as if reading her mind. “We're going to get out of this, and we'll find Jason.”

Ashley took a deep breath and turned to Harry. “What about Mo'amba?”

Harry shook his head. “The leader, Bo'rada, swayed the rest of the tribe against you. But you've gotta give it to the ol'guy. Mo'amba was able to get a full council hearing before the sentence is carried out—but just barely. It's scheduled for tomorrow morning.”

Ben stepped up. “What if we make a break for it tonight?”

Shaking his head, Harry sighed. “You'd never make it. Too many snares, booby traps, and beasts out there. Even if you managed to slip past unharmed, these little guys know this territory. Your throats would be slit before you heard 'em coming.”

Ben rubbed his temples. “Well, bloody hell if they're getting my head without a fight. I'll—”

Ashley interrupted. “Harry, will we be given a chance to speak at this council hearing?”

“I suppose so.”

“Can you translate for me?”

“Yeah, sure. It may be crude, but I'll do my best.”

“Good. They've been acting hostile with us, but from the petroglyphs, they seem normally to be a benevolent society. Communal. Everyone sharing, the weak and lame supported, almost like a big family.”

“They did take me in as one of their own,” Harry agreed.

Ashley nodded. “Something's shaken them up and put them on edge. If we can discover what that is, maybe we can save our skins.”

“And what if we can't?” Ben muttered.

Ashley's voice went cold. “Then we fight.”

A gong suddenly sounded from somewhere deep in the village, almost vibrating the very rock. As if on cue, the group was shuffled by the armed guards through a warren of tunnels to another large chamber. Ben and Ashley were herded within, and several guards posted themselves at the portal, ensuring they did not wander back out.

Harry spoke to her from the doorway. “Dennis and I must spend the night in the warrior's den, but I'll make sure I'm here first thing in the morning. Maybe we can talk some sense into them.”

“Make sure you're here,” Ben said. “I was never good at charades.”

Ashley watched as the brothers left. Then she turned to survey the room. Spread around the chamber were yard-wide pillows with folded blankets atop them, each in a different pattern of weave and hue. At the corners of the room, stone water basins dotted the floor.

“I guess this is our cell,” Ben said, kicking one of the pillows.

Ashley nodded, her arms folded across her chest. After all the commotion of the day, she felt numb.

Ben put his arm around her. “We're gonna be fine,” he said, his words so quiet and soft-spoken that she looked up at him, as if expecting someone other than Ben to be standing there. Where was his usual loud bravado? He squeezed her shoulder and stood quietly, supporting her.

“I'm so worried about Jason,” she said, leaning into his embrace. “This not knowing is agony. What if—”

Ben laid a finger across her lips. “Shhh. Your boy's fine.” Again his words were so firm and plain that she found herself believing him. She looked into his serious blue eyes; no longer were they the laughing eyes of the jester. It would be so easy to lose herself in him, just let those wide shoulders carry her burdens and worries for a time.

Old emotional wounds surfaced, willing her to protest, but before she could utter a word, Ben leaned over and replaced the finger brushing her lips with his own mouth, his lips pressing steadily, refusing to allow her to voice her misgivings. Only a small moan escaped her.

Then his lips slid down to her throat, his stubbled cheek brushing past her cheekbone as he sought the tender angle at the base of her neck. Losing herself in the gentle strength of his embrace, she arched her head back, offering her neck more fully to him.

For just a moment he paused, raising his eyes to look into hers, his ruddy cheeks flushed with passion. She knew this was her last chance. She could stop him now, his eyes said. For a frightened moment she froze, wary of releasing herself so fully to him, opening herself once again to the possibility of pain and abandonment.

Seeming to sense her fear, he pulled back slightly, the fire in his eyes dimming to a warm concern. Never had she encountered a man so passionate . . . yet at the same time so compassionate. She watched her own hand reach up and tangle itself in his thick hair. She pulled him to her, as if she were a drowning woman, struggling to fight to the surface.

Entwined in his arms, she allowed herself to be lifted and gently lowered to the pillowed floor.

Ben stared at the rocky ceiling, sleep still escaping him. Ashley lay curled at his side, an arm draped across his chest, a leg thrown over his belly. As she stirred in some dream, her tiny motions awakened a thickening heat. He had to resist rolling toward her and seeking once again to explore the depth of their passion. He knew she needed sleep. The next day would hold many challenges. Still . . . he couldn't resist reaching over and tracing a finger down the curve of her right breast. She moaned softly in her sleep.

Just as he reached to kiss her temple, a blackness suddenly slipped over him like a heavy blanket. He fell back into the darkness, away from the light and Ashley.

Then a voice startled him: “It's about time, Benny boy!”

The darkness flared into the image of his grandfather sitting cross-legged on a pillow only a few feet away. Groaning, Ben sat up. As he tried to focus on his grand-dad, the figure melted into the image of Mo'amba.

The old one nodded to him. “I've been waiting a bloody long time for you to hear my calling.”

Clearing his throat, Ben looked down at his naked self, his body still prominently trumpeting his passion. He covered himself with his hands. “I've been busy.”

Mo'amba cleared his throat. “I think three times is more than enough. It's time we talk.”

Ben pulled a blanket over his lap. “You're right. I have a lot of questions for you. Like why in bloody hell does your leader want our heads?”

“He and the village are scared. Many have died. The
crak'an
have increased their forays into our territory, wiping out entire herds of our food animals, surprising our sentries with their sudden appearance deep in our territory, killing many of them.”

“So what does that have to do with us?”

“For countless generations, our people and the
crak'an
have struggled. After the Scattering of our people, they became stranded here with us. When we first sought shelter here in the underworld to escape them and the cold, they followed us down. Eventually a great cataclysm shut off the upper world, trapping all of us down here together.”

“How did you survive?”

“We adapted. Where you designed machines and iron tools to help your life, we designed living tools—plants and animals to help us. Through study, we learned to select those aspects of both that would best suit our needs, then propagated them. We learned to grow food.” He pointed to the walls. “Even to grow light to guide us. We adapted. But the
crak'an
did not. They have haunted our periphery, living off the dregs of our work. But don't get me wrong, they are cunning. Constantly probing our defenses, trying to find a breech through to us.”

“With all your smarts, why didn't you just make a concerted effort to wipe them out? Be done with them.”

Mo'amba shook his head. “We must not. Just as they need us to survive, we need them. Their spoor contains a substance that we need to grow our food. Without it, the plants would die. And then we would die. We actually herd our aging milk animals, those no longer producing well, into the
crak'an
's territory to feed them.”

“You feed those monsters? No wonder there are so many of them.”