Douglas Preston - Still Life With Crows

“It’s nothing. Just stay calm, keep quiet, and do what I tell you.” Larssen tried to make his voice sound reassuring. He would almost rather have ended up with Hazen. The sheriff might be an asshole, but nobody could accuse him of cowardice.

Larssen tore another couple of strips from the shirt and tied them around Cole’s torso, binding up and immobilizing the broken arm. The broken bones grated against each other, and Cole winced. He was sweating profusely now, and shaking.

“Can you stand up?”

Cole nodded, rose, staggered. Larssen steadied him.

“Can you walk?”

“I think so,” he grunted.

“You’re not going, are you?” cried out Brast, groping for Larssen in the darkness.

“We’re all going.”

“But what about my goggles?”

“As I said, they’re broken.”

“Let me see them.”

With a hiss of irritation Larssen picked them out of the water and handed them to Brast. The man felt them frantically, tried to turn them on. There was a spark and a hiss. He hurled them away, his voice high and panicky. “Sweet Jesus, how are we ever going to get out of—”

Larssen reached out and grabbed a fistful of Brast’s shirt, gave it a good screw. “Brast?”

“Did you see it? Did you see it—? ”

“No, and neither did you. Now shut up and do what I tell you. Turn around, I’ll need to get at your pack a moment. I’m going to make a lifeline with your rope. I’ll tie it around my waist and then pass it back to you and Cole. You hang on with one hand and help Cole along. Got it?”

“Yes, but—”

Larssen gave Brast a hard shake. “I said, shut the hell up and do what I tell you. ”

Brast fell silent.

Larssen reached into the pack, found the rope, and tied it around his own waist. That left about ten feet or so of slack, and he made sure Brast and Cole grasped it tightly.

“Now we’re getting out of here. Keep tension on the rope, don’t drop it, and for God’s sake keep quiet.”

Larssen began moving slowly back through the long black passage. A trembling that had little to do with the chill air had settled into his bare limbs. Brast’s desperate Did you see it? ran through his head despite his best efforts to block it. The truth was, Larssen had gotten just a glimpse; just a glimpse, but it had been enough . . .

Don’t think about it. The important thing is to get out.

Behind him Cole and Brast, both blind, shuffled and stumbled. Once in a while Larssen would murmur warnings about obstacles, or stop to help the troopers through some tricky place. They moved slowly, and agonizing minutes passed before they reached the next fork in the tunnel.

Larssen examined the fork, noticed the direction of the bloody paw prints. They set off again, moving a little faster now. The floor was covered in rills and shallow pools, and the sound of their splashing echoed in the cave. The prints grew few and far between here. If they could just find their way back to the big cavern with the limestone pillars, they’d be all right; he was pretty sure he knew the way from there.

“Are you sure we came this way?” Brast asked, his voice high and tense.

“Yes,” said Larssen.

“What the hell attacked us? Did you see it? Did—? ”

Turning and reaching past Cole, Larssen backhanded Brast sharply across the face.

“I saw it! I saw it! I saw it! ”

Larssen didn’t answer. If Brast didn’t shut up soon, he thought he might kill him.

“It wasn’t human. It was some kind of Neanderthal. With a face like . . . oh, dear God, like a big—”

“I said, shut up.”

“I won’t shut up. You need to hear this. Whatever we’re up against, it isn’t natural —”

“Brast?” It was Cole, speaking through gritted teeth.

“What?”

With his good arm Cole aimed his riot gun down the dark tunnel and pulled the trigger. It erupted with a deafening crash. A shower of pebbles dislodged by the vibration danced off their shoulders while the sound echoed and reechoed crazily, rolling back and forth in the deep spaces.

“Jesus, what the fuck was that!” Brast fairly screamed.

Cole grabbed for the rope and waited for the echoes to die down. Then he spoke again. “If you don’t shut up, Brast, the next one’s for you.”

There was a moment of silence.

“Come on,” Larssen said. “We’re wasting time.”

They continued on, stopping briefly at another intersection. The set of bloody dog prints led to the right, and they followed these into another low passageway. A few minutes later the tunnel opened up into a huge cavern, draped on two sides by curtains of limestone and filled with massive pillars. Larssen felt immense relief. They’d found it.

Cole stumbled, grunted, then half sat in a puddle of water.

“Don’t stop,” said Larssen, grabbing his good arm and helping him rise. “I know where we are now. We’ve got to keep going until we’re out of here.”

Cole nodded, coughed, took a step, stumbled, took another. He’s going deep into shock, thought Larssen. They had to get out before he collapsed entirely.

They made their way through the forestlike cavern. Several tunnels led away from the far wall, looking like yawning mouths in the pink wash of the goggles. Larssen didn’t remember seeing that many tunnels. He looked on the ground for the dog tracks, but the shallow flow of water on the ground here had erased any trace.

“Wait,” he said abruptly. “Quiet.”

They stopped. There was a sound of splashing from behind that could not be explained by the echoes of the gallery. After another moment, it, too, stopped.

“He’s behind us!” said Brast in a loud voice.

Larssen pulled them behind one of the trunklike pillars, readied his shotgun, then peered out with his goggles. The cavern was empty. Could it have been just an echo, after all?

Turning back, he saw Cole leaning unsteadily, half conscious, against the limestone pillar.

“Cole!” He hauled him to his feet. Cole coughed, swayed. Larssen quickly leaned him over, head between his legs.

Cole vomited.

Brast said nothing, trembling, his eyes wide with fear, uselessly searching the darkness.

Larssen reached down, cupped some water, splashed it over Cole’s face. “Cole? Hey, Cole!”

The man sagged to one side, eyes rolling into the back of his head. He had passed out.

“Cole!” Larssen patted some more water into his face, gave him a few light slaps.

Cole coughed, retched again.

“Cole!” Larssen tried to keep the man on his feet, but his limp form felt like a sack of cement. “Brast, help me, goddammit.”

“How? I can’t see.”

“Feel your way along the rope. Do you know the fireman’s carry?”

“Yeah but—”

“Let’s do it.”

“I can’t see, and besides, we don’t have time. Let’s leave him here and get help from—”

“I’ll leave you here,” said Larssen. “How would you like that?” He found Brast’s hands and locked them together with his in a basket grip. Larssen guiding, they stooped together, embraced Cole’s sagging form, tried to rise again.

“Christ, he weighs a ton,” Brast said, gasping.

At that same moment Larssen heard a distinct splash, then another: heavy footfalls in the shallow pools they had come through just moments before.

“I tell you, there’s something behind us,” Brast said as he strained desperately to lift Cole. “Did you hear it?”

“Just move. ”

Cole slumped backward, threatening to slide out of their grip. They maneuvered him into place again and moved forward painfully.

The splashing continued from behind.