James Rollins - THE DEVIL COLONY

Mud.

More of the thickening goop poured out of the tunnel, piling and worming into the space, building higher and higher, continually burbling outward in surges and belches of half-molten mud.

Painter joined Hank and Jordan while Kowalski skirted around the cooling edge.

"The enemy sealed us in," Painter explained, gasping a bit, holding his side. He waved them all farther back. "The explosion cracked through the cavern wall, unleashing a lake of flaming mud."

Jordan rubbed his arms against the cold chill.

"We have to keep moving." Painter eyed the mountain building behind them. "The cold down here is the only thing that saved us. It's cooling the mud, turning it to sludge, forming a semiplug in the tunnel. But we can't count on it holding. The lake building above will eventually melt its way down here, or the mounting pressure will blast the plug out. Either way, we don't want to be here when that happens."

Hank agreed. He stared at the Anasazi tomb. The dead souls here would finally get a proper interment, buried in more than just ice.

Jordan asked an important question. He tried to sound as brave as the others, but a squeak to his voice betrayed his terror. "Where can we go?"

"This must be a huge cavern system," Painter said. "So for now we keep moving."

Making the necessity for this abundantly clear, at that moment a great gout of fresh mud burst out of the tunnel, swamping across the cavern, steaming, bubbling with gas-before cooling. As they backed away, more and more hot mud flowed into the cavern, flooding in faster.

Painter pointed to one of the tunnels-the largest-that exited the cave. "Go!"

They fled at a reckless clip. Painter took the lead with a flashlight; Kowalski kept behind them with another. The tunnel ran deeper underground, still treacherously icy. Hank pictured the ancient flood that had drowned the Anasazi's hidden settlement, imagining it draining away down this very tunnel, eventually turning to ice.

Jordan ran a hand along the low ceiling. "I think we're in an old lava tube. This could keep going down and down forever."

"That's not good," Painter said. "We need to find a way up . The mud will continue to drain deeper. We have to get clear of its path."

"And we'd better find that way fast!" Kowalski called from the back.

Hank looked over his shoulder, but Kowalski flashed his beam down. It took a breath for Hank to note the water trickling underfoot now, pouring down from above. Kawtch's paws splashed in the thin stream. The mud must have reached this tunnel's mouth, melting the ice above and sending it flowing after them.

Painter set a faster pace.

After another ten minutes-which seemed more like an hour-they finally reached the tube's end.

"Oh no," Hank moaned, stepping next to Painter.

The tunnel ended high up a cliff wall. Painter pointed his light over the edge. They couldn't even see the bottom of the precipitous drop, but a gurgling rush of water was echoing upward. Directly ahead, across an eight-foot gap, stood the opposite cliff. The lava tube continued on that far side. It was like some mighty god had taken a giant cleaver and split this section of the earth, cutting the tunnel in half.

"It's a slip fault," Painter said. "We'll have to jump. It's not that far. With a running start, we should be able to dive into that other tunnel."

"Are you mad?" Hank asked.

"It looks worse than it is."

Kowalski sided with Hank. "Bullshit. My eyesight's not that bad."

"I can do it," Jordan said, and waved everyone back. "I'll go first."

"Jordan..." Hank cautioned.

"It's not like we have any choice," the young man reminded him.

No one could argue with that.

They backed up the tunnel and gave him enough room for a running start.

"Careful," Hank said, patting Jordan on the shoulder.

He gave them a thumbs-up-then ran low, splashing in the growing stream, and leaped headlong across the gap. Like a young muscular arrow, he shot straight through the air and dove cleanly into the far opening, sliding on his belly across the icy bottom of the next tube. He vanished for a bit-then popped back.

"It's really not that bad," he said, panting, wearing a huge smile.

Easy for him to say...

"I'll go next," Painter said. "Once I'm there, Kowalski, you throw me the dog."

Kowalski looked at Kawtch; the dog looked at the big man.

Neither looked happy about that idea.

After a bit of maneuvering, Painter ran and made the leap as smoothly as Jordan.

Kowalski then picked up Kawtch, slinging him between his legs. The dog wiggled until Hank got him to calm down with a pat and whispered reassurances.

"Sheesh, Doc. What are you feeding this guy?"

"Just be careful," Hank said, holding a hand to his throat.

Kowalski stepped to the edge of the drop-off, bent deep at the waist-then heaved upward. Kawtch yelped in surprise, legs splaying out like a flying squirrel. Painter leaned out and caught the dog cleanly. They both fell back into the tunnel amid a rout of barking protest.

Hank choked out his relief-until Kowalski turned to him.

"That means you're next."

He swallowed and shook his head. "I don't know if I can."

"It's that or I throw you across like your dog. Your pick, Doc."

Hank couldn't decide which was worse.

Painter called from the other side. "I'll be here if you need me."

"Okay, let's do this," Hank said, forcing as much bravado into those words as he could.

He backed up the tunnel alongside Kowalski.

"I can push you... give you a running start," the large man offered.

Before he could answer, a low sighing gasp made them both turn. Kowalski pointed his flashlight up the lava tube. The beam ended at a wall of mud about twenty feet away. It had crept up on them silently, like some skilled assassin, oozing down the tube. As they watched, the sludge wall melted open and hot mud began to run out of its center, extending its reach.

"Now or never, Doc."

A low rumble alerted them to trouble.

The flowing mud suddenly exploded toward them. Hot sludge pelted their bodies, burning skin, stinking of sulfur. Bubbling mud followed in its wake, pouring down at them.

"Run!" Kowalski said.

Hank took off, Kowalski at his heels.

Crouched over, Hank ran as fast as he could, but as he reached the end, the water-slick ice betrayed him. His legs went out from under him and he toppled crookedly over the edge.

"Got you, Doc!" A beefy arm scooped him around the waist-then carried him in a hurdling tackle across the dark chasm.

Hank wanted to close his eyes, but that scared him more.

They failed to hit the tunnel as smoothly as the other two. Kowalski clipped his shoulder, sending them tumbling in a tangle of limbs down the throat of the icy tunnel. They crashed into Painter, who could not get out of the way in time.

But eventually they came to a halt. After a bit of figuring whose limbs belonged to whom, they gained their feet. Jordan had returned to the tunnel's mouth, staring across the gap.

Hank joined him, bruised in odd places.

A new mud waterfall had been born. From the far tube, they could see sludge gushing in a flowing, sulfurous stream. As Hank watched, he caught a flash of a blackened leg poke out of the flow. It was one of the Anasazi bodies, washed from its icy tomb.

The corpse, now buried in mud, vanished below.

Hank said a silent prayer for the lost soul, for all of them-then turned back.

Kowalski expressed what all of them were thinking. "Now what?"

7:28 P.M.

They all sorely needed the rest break.

"We'll stop here," Painter said, and sank to his butt, exhausted.

After escaping the mud, he had led them to the end of the lava tube. It had dumped them into a growing maze of tunnels, chutes, rock falls, and blind alleys. For the past half hour, Painter kept trying to climb upward, hoping for the best, but each time, they were eventually driven back deeper.