Chapter 54 - Lost in the Hole
Canyon lowered himself out of the hole, down to the ground, threading his way through tree branches.
His first step was a splashdown in a tiny brook.
He stepped away to a dry spot, then undid his harness and retrieved his ropes, winding them and hooking them to the outside of his pack to dry, his attention on the unnatural dark all around him.
The only sound was water spilling. The strongest scents were of trees, plants, dirt, and small forest animals.
“I think we’re in the sinkhole,” Timber said quietly from his left.
Bet.
“It’s fucking creepy.”
We’re being watched, Canyon said. The feeling was suddenly strong.
Timber didn’t say anything. Instead, he crouch-walked next to Canyon and handed over his rope. Canyon hooked it onto his pack.
“Smell that?” Timber said.
Canyon grunted agreement. Musky. Thick. Like a basement full of bugs.
Leaves rustled gently above them, sounding like a wind had picked up, but there was no breeze.
The fuck? Timber said in ruhi.
They stayed there for a few moments, listening and scenting and when they heard nothing more, Timber stood.
“Fuck this,” he said. “I fucking hate being quiet, and I fucking hate being still. Got a flashlight?”
Canyon had several in his pack. He dug out two and handed one over.
Timber clicked it on and flashed it around, lighting up trees and plants in every direction.
Predator was a few feet to their left, still and quiet, with a dark screen.
Canyon turned on his light and checked the trike and the tablet over, looking for new damage.
Timber shone his light directly above them at a rock ceiling and the hole they’d just fallen from.
Water flowed from the hole, landing in the brook next to them, then flowing off into the forest.
Cave? Canyon said.
“Can’t be. These trees need light.”
Timber strode away quickly and surely, his light pointed straight up. Canyon followed, water squishing unpleasantly in his boots.
“Here,” Timber called, his light pointed at a craggy, uneven spot in the rock ceiling. “Past this, it’s open. The trees are thicker out here. I can see stars.”
Canyon wasn’t looking at the stars. He was looking at a tree. Several branches had been sawed off and stacked neatly next to a small trail. Timber came back and looked with him.
“Someone maintains trails in the sinkhole,” Timber said quietly. “Wonder who.”
Abigail White, and her cadre of numbered mouse-men, Canyon said.
Timber shone the light in his face. “Why do you sound salty?”
Canyon stomped his feet, squishing water out of his boots. I want to know what kind of operation she’s running. Is it husbands all the way down? Are they trying to kill us?
Timber looked back at the way they had come and shone his light on the water falling from the hole in the rock ceiling. “Nah, they just timbered us good. No worries, we’ll get them back.”
But are they all her husbands?
“Sure,” Timber said amicably.
The records say different.
“Which records?”
Marriage records.
“What do they say?”
Above their heads, the gentle sound of wind through leaves caught their attention. Their lights showed nothing but darkness and trees.
Timber shook his head and pointed light at his face. “There’s no fucking wind,” he whispered.
Be quiet for a sec, Canyon said in ruhi, clicking his flashlight off, the feeling of being watched strong again.
Predator’s screen flared in the dark, and it spoke, intoning the words that flashed on the screen.
:Abigail White marriage records—
Canyon interrupted, cutting Predator off with an irritated whisper. “Shut the fuck up, Wulf. We’re on silent mode, and you can’t speak ruhi, so you’re the fucking silent one.”
:I CAN SPEAK RUHI—
Holy fucking shit. Canyon clapped his hands to his head and staggered under the blast of thought in his mind.
Timber groaned and dropped to the ground theatrically. Uhhh, my brain, he moaned in ruhi. Tone it down Wulf, please.
:Yes, sorry—
Canyon knelt, his hands still on his head. The ruhi was still too strong, cutting into his head like a knife. “More,” he said. “Tone it down more…Wulf.”
:More—
That was better—normal. Canyon stood and shook his head, unscrambling his brains. Timber got up slowly, wiping himself off.
Damn, Wulf. What are you? Timber said.
:I am Wulf—
Timber elbowed Canyon.
Canyon elbowed him back. Yeah, yeah, I guess you didn’t do it.
To Wulf, Timber said, Where did you come from?
:I was born in a blast of light and noise and energy—
Yeah, Timber said, elbowing Canyon again. We remember the explosion. How exactly did that ....birth you?
:Desire and prayer and technology fused with power without form—
The noise came from above again, a gentle but spooky rustling of leaves in the treetops.
Next to Canyon, a thick, viscous, smelly ass something plopped to the ground next to him, looking like a pile of honey the size of a tree stump, but smelling like a dumpster.
Canyon jumped away from it. He shone his light on it and so did Timber, then they both flicked their lights straight up into the treetops above but saw nothing.
They zoomed their lights back to the pile.
What the fucking fuck is that? Timber said, then he looked up at Canyon with wide eyes. Canyon knew exactly what he was thinking.
Ohh, monster, they both said in ruhi at the same time.
Wulf zoomed over to the pile and stuck the tip of a mechanical finger into it.
:Scatter. We are being stalked—
Canyon scattered. He turned directly around and ran for his life, while Timber ran off in the opposite direction, both flicking their flashlights off. Canyon found a tree to hunker behind, then peeked back. He saw only darkness.
Get that note out, Canyon told his brother.
Already on it. After a moment he said, Damn, it’s soaked through. Falling apart in my hands.
That’s bad. Do you remember what it said?
Yeah, uh, danger, and uh, monster.
There was more. Something about how to get out.
Yeah, cave on the north side— and a code.
Right, right. APHOX. And it said don’t sleep.
Who can sleep when there’s a monster on the loose? Let’s find it.
As long as it doesn’t find us first.
Canyon knelt and rummaged around in his pack until he found two changes of clothes in a waterproof bag. Timber circled through the trees and came up next to him.
Dry socks, Canyon said, holding a pair up for Timber. Timber grabbed them, then they both sat and changed their socks.
Wulf, Canyon said, will you let me check you for damage?
:Yes—
Wulf wheeled to Canyon. Canyon checked the trike and the tablet over, then dried them carefully, wiping mud from the chassis. It was dented and scratched and oversized in a way that was hard for Canyon to wrap his mind around.
Wulf, Canyon said quietly in ruhi.
:I am Wulf—
What happened to Predator?
:Predator is safe. All code, instructions, processes, accesses, and databases, are available—
Are you… using Predator?
:Predator is my basis—
What kind of basis? What does that mean? Are you a computer program?
:I am Wulf—
Canyon didn’t ask any more questions. His mind was still blown by the machine speaking ruhi.
He let it go for the moment and wrung out his wet socks, then clipped them onto his rucksack to dry.
He got up and shouldered his pack, waiting for Timber.
Timber clipped his wet socks to Canyons pack, then walked around, his head up high.
This way, he finally said, and he took off. Canyon followed, and so did Wulf.
***
Hours later, little had changed. They were still walking through the underbrush in the sinkhole.
It was dark and quiet; they’d seen and scented no one.
The feeling of being watched came and went.
They’d found one small trail, but Timber hadn’t followed it.
Canyon thought there was a good chance they were walking in circles.
He knelt next to the base of a tree and called for Wulf.
Light flared to Canyon’s left, as Wulf’s screen lit up and he wheeled to Canyon.
Have you been mapping our steps? Canyon asked.
:Affirmative—
Show me a visual representation of where we started, where we’ve been, and where we are now, overlaid on top of the sinkhole.
Wulf put an aerial picture of the sinkhole on the screen, then the map of their steps on top of it, showing Canyon they were in the southeast corner of the sinkhole, and they had circled around their own path twice.
Timber, he called. We’re walking in circles.
That’s because this big fucking bug is leading us in circles.
You’re sure it’s a bug?
What else would it be?
I don’t fucking know, anything other than a monster bug.
It’s a bug, Timber said. A fucking creepy one.
Come see where we are.
Timber came up to them and knelt to examine the image on Wulf’s screen.
Let’s map this whole fucking hole, Timber said. For Trevor.
Good plan.
Map the hole, find the monster, kill it maybe, find the exit.
Finding the exit might be the most important.
Might put us at White's doorstep.
Exactly.
Timber nodded and stood. Wulf, head me due north and keep me heading north, he said.
:Acknowledged—
Tell me when we are within 250 yards of the north wall.
:Will do—
They took off again through the trees and the underbrush, Wulf correcting Timber whenever he strayed off course.
After an hour, Canyon started to tire. After two hours, he felt exhausted.
He smacked himself in the face a couple of times and kept going.
The night was dark and quiet and the sense of danger that had been ever present earlier in the night had fallen off some, leaving Canyon sedate.
He slowed a little, falling farther behind Timber, but feeling ok, feeling like he was in a groove, picking up one foot, then putting it down
… …
…
“Canyon!”
Canyon startled, then almost tripped.
What? he said grumpily.
I thought you fell in a fucking hole or something. Why didn’t you answer me?
I dunno. Dozing a little maybe.
That’s it, we’re stopping to camp.
The note said don’t sleep.
We haven’t slept more than three hours a night in weeks. We’re going to have to sleep. You first. I’ll keep watch.
Yeah, yeah, ok. Let’s find a spot.
They turned on their flashlights and continued through the forest, looking for an area with natural protection, a safe place to camp.
Why is it taking us so long to get to the north wall? Canyon asked.
I haven’t figured that out yet. Wulf says there’s a 34% chance White is doing it with magic.
That's not a high chance.
Wulf says he’s not confident with magic and his numbers won't be accurate.
Shit, I missed that conversation?
Yup.
Canyon thought for a few minutes, then asked, Wulf, if it’s not Abigail White turning us in circles, then why is this taking so long?
Wulf didn't answer right away, but Canyon didn’t feel like prompting him again. Timber also was quiet for once in his life. After several moments, Wulf’s screen flared with a list of possibilities.
:6% chance we are mistaken as to the size of the hole—
:12% chance we are hallucinating the distance or the time taken—
:18% chance my sensors are interfered with
:48% chance ‘magic’ is involved in some way that I can’t detect or understand—
Wulf thinks magic is a dirty word, Timber said.
The sound of gentle wind through the trees put them all on high alert.
Wulf turned off his screen, and Canyon and Timber turned off their flashlights and spread out, ready for anything.
When the noise didn’t recur, they continued walking.
Soon, they found a rock outcropping that looked perfect for camp.
“Here,” Timber said, shining his light all around.
Canyon couldn’t argue. He was exhausted. He walked around the area a couple of times, then stripped his clothes off and hung them over tree branches. He shifted into a wolf, turned around twice, lay down, and was asleep at once.