Darren Shan - City of the Snakes

“Good thinking. When are you meeting them?”

He checks his watch. “They should be in place already. It’ll take me half an hour to get there.”

“Everything’s set? You’ve run tests on the equipment?”

“Yes, Sapa Inca.”

I take his right hand and squeeze hard. “Luck to you, Cobra.”

“Luck,” he replies and slips away to do his reluctant duty.

I disperse the rest of the Snakes, with orders to tell the villacs that I’m waiting here in case any survivors make it through. They go without question, spirits low, not because of the battering we’ve endured, but because they had to run. I hope I live to see those spirits raised again, though I doubt I will.

Alone in the darkness, I wait a while, listening to the faint sounds of the Troops overhead as they consolidate their stronghold in the Square. Then I set off through the series of tunnels I mapped out earlier, moving swiftly, encountering no one, a ghost in the machine.

The area around the police station is deserted. It’s 02:12, the Snakes have slipped away and the locals are wisely keeping a low profile. I’ve been striding around the rooftops for twenty minutes in search of my father. No sign so far. I’ll give him until half past, then leave without him if I have to.

When my deadline expires, I head down to the street. I’m disappointed he isn’t coming but I won’t cry about it. For ten years I did a damn fine job of pretending to be Paucar Wami. I can masquerade as him for a few hours more.

As my feet touch ground, a voice speaks from the shadows. “Leaving your poor ol’ pappy behind, Al m’boy?”

I smile at the wall, then replace the smile with a scowl and spin to face him. “How long have you been following me?”

“A while. I was waiting to see if you would spot me. You are not as alert as you should be. Perhaps the Troops and Kluxers unnerved you.”

“I’ve had a lot on my mind,” I admit, “but they’re not first in my thoughts. I’m ready to take the fight to the priests. Are you in?”

“You have a plan?” he asks eagerly, stepping out of the shadows. The front of his T-shirt’s flecked with blood — looks like he’s been enjoying himself.

“I decided to keep things simple. We find a priest who talks English — a few can — and get him to lead us to Capac Raimi. We grab Raimi, bust through anyone who gets in our way, and escape.”

He frowns. “That is not much of a plan.”

“There’s more,” I grin. “I’ll tell you the rest later. Ama’s waiting for us.”

“The lady you met in Cafran’s?”

“You’ve been keeping a close eye on me,” I note sourly.

“Only because I care about you,” he smirks. “Where does she fit in with this?”

“I’ll explain as we go. Where’s your jacket?”

“In an apartment I’ve been using.”

“Then we’ll pick up another on our way.”

“I need one?”

“Yeah.”

“May I ask why?”

“To hide the bulge of your vest.”

In response to his raised eyebrow, I fill him in on the finer details as we pad the several blocks to where Ama’s waiting with all we’ll hopefully need to give us a fighting chance against the accursed villacs .

Ama and my father both know their way around the upper levels of the tunnels, so we make quick time, avoiding the milling Snakes and villacs , circling around them through smaller, seldom-used passages. Usually these tunnels would be guarded at some point along the line, but in all the confusion they’ve been left unprotected.

The temperature drops as we descend and torches become scarce. Often we have to navigate through pitch-blackness, linking hands, Ama or Wami leading the way, relying on instinct and memory. When I ask during a pause if they’re sure of our direction, they insist they are, though neither knows how. I ask how much farther they can take us, but they can’t say. They can only look ahead to the end of any given tunnel.

As we progress, Ama comes more into command, her knowledge of the tunnels sharper than Wami’s. We move steadily lower, down countless sets of stairs and steeply angled corridors. The priests must have been working on this system for hundreds of years. I’m stunned the city hasn’t collapsed in on itself, built on such riddled soil. They must be incredible architects to carve out and maintain all this.

After a long period of blackness we come to a cavern lit by several torches. Five tunnels branch off it. We examine them in turn, Ama and Wami venturing a little down the maw of each, waiting for the click of recognition that has guided them this far. But it doesn’t come. The tunnels are alien to both. Neither knows which way to go.

We squat in the middle of the cavern, debating our next move. Ama loosens the straps of the vest she’s wearing and slips in a hand to massage her back. The vests are lined with explosives, a gift from Bill. The detonators are strapped to our wrists, a pair for each of us. Small bands of hard plastic with a button in the center. They have to be pressed in turn, first the left, then the right within three seconds, to set off the charges. The explosion of each vest will destroy everything within a fifty-foot radius on open ground. Down here in the confinement of the tunnels they should be even more effective.

The vests are both our safeguard and our last resort, to be used to threaten our way out of a tight situation or take our enemies down. My father wears his reluctantly and says he’ll use it only as a bluff, but I think, if pushed, he’d rather detonate it and kill a few priests than succumb to their rule again.

I won’t hesitate to set off the charges. I’ve come here to die. I haven’t really considered the possibility that I might get out alive. It’s destroy-as-much-as-I-can time, consequences be damned.

“What now?” I ask, checking my watch—06:08. It’ll be dawn soon in the world above. I wonder idly what sort of a day it will be, and how the various participants are faring in the war to control the east.

“We have markers,” Wami says, jingling his stash of poker chips. We’re each carrying a large packet of chips. Even though we’ve been dropping them along the way, the bags are still more than half full. “We take the tunnels in turn, marking our path so we can find the way back, and see where they lead.”

“That could take forever,” I grunt. “The villacs will note my absence soon and wonder about it. They might figure out what we’re up to.”

Wami shrugs. “We knew the plan was makeshift, that we would have to rely on luck. Personally I am surprised we made it this far. The fates have been kind to us. We should not insult them by complaining.”

“We don’t have to go forward,” I note. “We could backtrack. There might be a way around this cavern.”

“I doubt it,” Wami says. “All paths lead here. I do not know why I think that, but I do.”

“Then I guess there’s nothing else for it.” I extract my bag of poker chips and move to the mouth of the nearest tunnel. “Shall we try this one first?”

Ama looks at me, frowning. “I’ve been here before. And I’ve been beyond. I remember a huge cavern, pillars rising from floor to ceiling, a raised circular stone like the inti watana , and…” She stops, shaking her head.

“Do you know how to get to it?” I ask eagerly.

“No, but…” Her frown deepens. “We should stay here. I have a feeling that if we wait long enough, we’ll be shown the way.”

I share a glance with my father. “I do not like it,” he says. “We will be targets if we stay. I would rather keep on the move.”

“She’s led us this far,” I remind him. “You ran out of ideas several levels up.”