Michael Cordy - The Source

Shit.

As the nymphs skittered nervously around him, he pushed past them and peered out of the antechamber into the rain. Figures were spilling from the tents and moving through the rain towards where the others had made their escape – or tried to. The soldiers must have installed a trip alarm by the entrance to the garden.

Shit.

Two figures stopped, turned and headed for the forbidden caves – towards Ross.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

He was trapped. Unless…

He pushed through the nymphs towards the dark recesses of the antechamber. There was another way out: the exit across the magma pool, via the broken bridge. It was dangerous and he would have no supplies in the jungle, but he had the crystal to sustain him. There was one other route, of course. He could try his luck up the tunnel of blood. He stopped, torn with indecision.

'Dr Kelly!'

He glanced over his shoulder. Torino stood in the entrance to the antechamber, waterproof dripping with rain, two-way radio in his hand. Bazin stood beside him, peering down the sights of a rifle.

The radio crackled and Torino held it to his ear. 'Excellent, Feldwebel. If they give you any more trouble shoot them.' He smiled. 'The others are being rounded up, Dr Kelly. The great escape is over.'

Bazin spoke next: 'My rifle is aimed at your heart. Drop the crystal, raise your hands and walk back here.'

'You're going to shoot me, Marco? How does your God justify killing an unarmed, innocent man who wants only to save his wife?'

'No one's innocent, Dr Kelly,' said Torino, 'and this place is bigger than your wife. I can't let you leave with the crystal. Not till I've decided what to do with the garden.'

As the nymphs swarmed round Ross, pushing him back into the shadowy recesses of the cave, he tried to keep Torino talking. 'But you've already decided what to do with the garden, Father General. I've seen the yellow parcels. I know what they are.' Ross saw Bazin glance uncertainly at Torino. 'But I don't care about your plans. If you want to rewrite history or evolution, if you want to change the truth to fit your beliefs, then go ahead. I only want to save my wife.' He pointed up the tunnel. 'Once you've done what you want to do and gained control of el origen, or the radix or whatever's up there, you needn't worry about me – or any of us.'

'That crystal in your hand is now the property of Rome,' Torino said. 'Only the Holy Mother Church can dispense miracles. Not you.' More nymphs spilled out of the shadows, shepherding Ross to the back of the caves. 'Enough of this, Marco. Shoot him.'

'Stop screwing about, Ross,' said Bazin. 'Drop the crystal, put your hands up and walk over here. Those things can't protect you.' There were at least thirty nymphs surrounding Ross now and they were forcing him into the shadows. 'Come on, Ross. I don't want to shoot you, but I will.'

Ross had a decision to make. To have any chance of escape he had to drop to a crouch, use the nymphs as cover and make a dash for the other exit. Or he had to give himself up and try to escape another time – if there was another time. Either way, he had to decide now.

In that split second, however, the decision was made for him. The nymphs surged with such force that he slipped on the damp rock floor. And as he fell Bazin fired. The shot echoed round the caves but the sound didn't concern Ross. His only concern was the bullet throwing him on to his back.

And the pain.

Lying there on the hard rock, each breath more agonizing than the last, he looked up at the nymphs and clutched his chest. He raised his hand and saw it was dripping with blood – his blood. Despite the intense pain, or because of it, his mind was eerily devoid of panic. With chilling clarity he knew he was dying. He thought of Lauren and their unborn child and a heavy sadness descended on him. He wasn't supposed to die. He was supposed to save them.

He reached out for the crystal shard he had dropped beside him and tried to raise it to his mouth. If he could bite it and ingest some of its power, he might stave off death. But his arms had no strength.

'We warned you, Ross,' he heard Torino call, from some distant place. 'We warned you.'

Yes, thought Ross, you warned me.

The nymphs crowded round him. The smell of stale sex and mustard seed was overpowering. Cool, clammy skin touched his arms. Small hands gripped him – he had no idea how many. He was Gulliver, but these Lilliputians weren't tying him down, they were reaching under him, lifting him, carrying him.

Where?

He was dimly aware of Bazin trying to reach him and being thwarted by the nymphs. Lying on his back, he looked towards his feet and saw light ahead: the tunnel. They were taking him up the tunnel of blood. As he entered it, the light was so bright that his dying mind saw the nymphs as angels bearing him aloft to Heaven. The thought amused him as he lay back, on the cusp of consciousness, staring up at the shimmering patterns and colours of the tunnel's crystal-encrusted ceiling. His vision was dimming and the pain was fading, replaced by a warm glow. Death wasn't so bad. Perhaps there was a God, Heaven too. Perhaps, in time, he would be reunited with Lauren and their child.

A familiar chant pierced his fractured thoughts, and he knew instantly where they were taking him: to his funeral. He'd read once that fallen Vikings were burnt on a funeral pyre, but as he listened to the nymphs' two-note incantation he knew his pyre would be different. He heard the waterfall and felt them carry him up the steps towards the dark chamber with its pock-marked walls infested with rock worms. He felt a cold shaft of fear.

He glimpsed the friendly nymph with the red flowers. Was it some kind of honour to be consumed by the worms?

He closed his eyes, grateful suddenly for the imminence of death, willing its dark embrace to claim him before the creatures did. He didn't want any more pain. He just wanted sleep. As his mind folded in on itself, he listened, waiting for the pacifying chants to stop and the worms to attack. Moments earlier The shot had been a reflex. Bazin had pulled the trigger as soon as Ross had made his sudden move. His experience told him it had been a death-shot but when he tried to move closer and confirm it, the nymphs hissed and bared their teeth. Sharp teeth. There were too many and he wished he had brought the flame-thrower with him. As he hung back with the Superior General, and watched them carry Ross up the tunnel, something nagged at him. It took him a moment to recognize it as guilt. He had barely known the people he had killed in the past, let alone befriended them. And not one had ever saved his life.

'I saw the wound in his chest,' said Torino. 'Is he dead?'

'As good as,' said Bazin. 'I shot him through the heart. Why are they taking him up there?'

Torino narrowed his eyes. 'Can't you guess?' They followed as far as the waterfall and could see shapes moving in the dark holes above. Then the nymphs started their chanting and carried Ross's motionless body to the place where the worms had attacked. Torino turned to Bazin. 'Remember what Kelly told us about the dying nymph being fed to those creatures?'

'I hope, for his sake, my shot did kill him.'

'It doesn't matter now,' said Torino. 'Either way he's dead.'

Four of the nymphs turned suddenly, bared their teeth and hissed at them. Other nymphs closed in. 'We've seen all we need to,' said Torino. 'Tomorrow we'll use the nymphs to get to the top. Let's go.'

They walked back down the tunnel, the sound of chanting in their ears.

The first thing Ross became aware of as he flickered awake was that the chanting had ceased. Then the pain kicked in again. And the fear. He didn't dare open his eyes – he didn't want the last thing he saw to be the rock worms.