Chapter 25
Griff
It wasn’t rats that attacked in the first intersection Griff and the others encountered, but spiders.
Monty spotted the webs crisscrossing the halls and poked at the mess. “Doesn’t look like anyone’s been this way in a while.”
“Not necessarily. Spiders can build impressive weaves in a single day,” Griff noted as he tried to remember if the labs were left or right. He’d only been through these mazes of tunnels a few times as a boy with his father. At the time, he’d not paid attention to directions.
“Stuff’s sticky,” Monty remarked as he waved his sword, trying to dislodge the webbing clinging to it.
The owner of said web took offense and dropped from the ceiling onto Monty’s head and literally covered it, the legs of the spider wrapping around his face and holding on.
Monty uttered a high-pitched scream. “Get it off!” He flailed and Simhi clucked.
“Hold still while I try to remove your spider hat.”
“Quick, before it bites him,” Griff exclaimed, seeing the spider’s fangs emerge.
Simhi stabbed it in the bulbous belly, releasing a rancid flood of ichor. As the legs went limp, Monty flung it from his head and spat. “Ugh. Gross. Blerg.”
While Monty wiped the goo, and Simhi snickered, Griff noticed the webbing vibrating. He uttered a low warning, “Incoming.”
The filaments spanning the tunnels left and right of the intersection made it hard to see, but something agitated them.
It wasn’t long before they saw the culprits.
The first spider apparently hadn’t been full-grown, for the ones now appearing were big.
As in, you couldn’t easily stomp them into squishy bits, especially since they scurried upside down overhead.
“Eyes up,” Griff yelled as he began to slash. He didn’t so much aim for the spiders as slice through the webs, clearing some space and making it harder for them to move and hide.
As arachnids hit the floor—and skittered on their many legs—Simhi groaned. “I hate spiders. Especially hairy ones.” Her scimitar flashed as she swung, removing legs and piercing bodies.
Monty yelped as he shook his boot. The spider clinging to it had its fangs sunk into the leather.
A good thing the one Monty had on his head didn’t have a chance to bite because Griff suspected these spiders—much larger versions of the ones he recalled from his youth—did have venom in their fangs.
In small doses, it just numbed the spot bitten.
But the size of these would have delivered a much larger wallop.
“Die, nasty bugs,” Monty yelled as he whirled and twirled with his sword, a dervish that killed anything that moved. By the time they finished battling, the intersection and hallways were strewn in sticky webbing, spider parts, and gore.
Simhi grimaced as she eyed her feet. “My poor boots. I just bought them, too. Think it will wash off?”
“Why do that when you can use them as a prop when you tell people about the mighty arachnid battle in exchange for free ale,” Monty suggested.
“Should my story include how you screamed like a little girl because one touched you?” she taunted.
“It tried to eat my face,” Monty huffed.
“Bah, it was a baby with barely any fangs.”
Griff let them banter, their way of unwinding after a fight. He used his sword tip to scrape the wall at eye level and noticed something. Labelled arrows. The left one stated Administration, Reception, and Courtyard while the right simply had Labs.
“If you’re done flirting,” Griff interrupted, “we should get going.”
“Ha, as if I’d waste my charm on him,” Simhi sniffed.
“What charm?” Monty guffawed, to which she slugged him in the gut. A deserving Monty bent over and wheezed.
“You wouldn’t know because I don’t waste it on morons,” Simhi declared before stalking away in the direction Griff indicated.
Monty straightened and grinned before whispering, “I think she likes me.”
Griff’s brow arched. “What makes you say that?”
“I know she can hit harder.”
With that, a whistling Monty followed Simhi.
They encountered a few more spider nests on the way and ran into some oversized rats that they dispatched easily.
The tunnels branched so many times, Griff could admit to being at a loss as to where to go and where they’d already been.
He’d forgotten how many labs existed in Mount Etna. So many, some seemingly useless.
The Culinary Experimental Kitchen where scientists who loved to cook devised new ingredients and methods.
The Agricultural Splicing Laboratory where they tried to create new crops.
The Explosive Testing Chamber, the walls still covered in scorch marks.
The Morgue of Bodily Discovery, where they literally dissected bodies to better understand how it worked.
Some labs proved inaccessible, the tunnels to them blocked with hardened lava.
Others had collapsed. Even so, they had many rooms to explore, all of them dusty and long abandoned.
It wasn’t until they came across a barricade—right after dealing with a room full of centipedes longer than his arms—that Griff began to feel hope.
“Someone blocked the tunnel,” Griff remarked, eyeing the eclectic mix of items jammed in the space.
“From which side?” Monty observed. “Because could be they wanted to block something beyond.”
“Only one way to find out.” They began to tug at the random junk, tossing it aside: chairs, wadded and decaying fabric, hunks of wood. It didn’t take long to create an opening they could pass through.
Beyond it, nothing. Just another empty tunnel. It almost made Griff sigh. How far and long would they have to search, assuming Avera was even in Mount Etna. Had she made it this far? He had no way of knowing, but if she still sought those rocks, then she would end up here.
As far as Griff knew, Basil last had the rocks. Given Basil’s position as head researcher, his uncle got his own space and pretty much anything he needed to conduct his experiments. It made sense to start his search in Basil’s private lab, but where was it?
The markings at the next intersection had Griff humming with excitement. The label on the arrow going right stated Basil and Magma Lake.
He pointed. “Basil’s lab should be this way.”
“How come his uses his name instead of a fancy title?” Simhi asked.
“Because Basil never liked sticking to one particular field of study.”
“Is it me, or is getting hotter?” Monty complained, tugging the collar of his shirt.
“We’re deep inside the volcano, and according to that sign, not far from a lava lake.”
“Is it safe to be this close?” Monty’s eyes widened.
“Hopefully.” The magma flows they’d encountered thus far had long hardened, however, Griff knew the volcano remained active: the steaming water in the bay indicated it.
It did surprise him how few tunnels were lined with the hardened, lumpy rock.
Then again, like water, he imagined the lava chose the path of least resistance when the volcano exploded and began pushing it out.
They followed the corridor and came across several more barricades. Someone had been trying to restrict access.
Griff could feel himself tensing. Were there still survivors? Could it be his father still lived? A question hopefully soon answered.
At the last intersection Griff paused and cocked his head by the arrows labelled Magma Lake, Geology Labs, and Basil.
“What’s wrong, Cap?” Simhi whispered.
“I thought I heard something.”
They quieted and listened. In the silence, they heard a faint shriek.
A frisson went down Griff’s back. “That’s Avera.”
And she was in trouble.
He raced down the hall toward Basil’s lab, noting the door at its end.
A door closed and sturdy looking. He didn’t slow down but slammed into it, expecting it to be locked or barricaded, only it popped open, and Griff stumbled inside.
He quickly recovered his balance physically, but mentally his mind locked as shock gripped him.
A man in tattered clothing whirled to face him. A familiar man who’d aged since Griff last saw him.
“Uncle Basil,” Griff murmured. His heart began to beat fast. Did this mean his father lived too?
Basil beamed. “Griff, is that really you? Look at how much you’ve grown.”
A glance around the room showed much clutter, but what chilled him was seeing Avera lying on a table, a tube emerging from her arm, the inside of it red, the fluid within flowing up to a jar.
It took Griff another second to notice the restraints holding her in place.
She didn’t donate willingly, confirmed by her cry. “Help me!”
Griff took a step forward as Monty and Simhi clustered at his back. “What’s going on, Basil?”
“He’s stealing my blood,” huffed the little queen.
Why would Basil do that unless he knew Avera’s blood held special qualities?
“Oh, hush now, I’m not hurting you,” chided Basil.
“I asked what’s going on. What are you doing to Avera?” Griff took a step forward, but Basil shook his head.
“Please don’t come any closer.”
“Release her.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that. Not yet,” Basil stated, and with that refusal, a scalpel appeared in his hand, pressed against her throat.
“Why not? Why are you torturing Avera?”
“Hardly torture,” scoffed Basil.” Just taking a few pints of blood. It won’t kill her.”
“You have no right,” Avera huffed. “You monster.”
“Is that any way to talk to your father?” Basil rebuked.
“A father doesn’t drug his daughter, tie her down, and drain her blood,” Avera spat.
Basil pursed his lips. “So dramatic. This is why you had to be restrained. I knew you’d argue, and I don’t have time or patience for that. It will be over soon and then I can get to work with it.”
“What kind of work?” Griff questioned, wondering how he could get Basil to move away from Avera.
“As if I could explain it to you. You and your father never did understand the finer intricacies of science. But I do. I just wish I’d grasped what the scrolls meant before Lance died.”
Griff stiffened. “My father is dead? How?” Having seen the hazards, he could imagine many scenarios.