Wayward

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

'How far had they fallen? There wasn't enough air in the world to fill his lungs. He stared up at the vibrant stars. A body toppled to the ground next to him. Lungs rasped - not his.

The knife was between them - covered with clumps of powdery earth. Far away he heard the clatter of bikes. The three others - the native boys - were far far above, looking down. They called down the hill. Jim could almost breathe now. He looked back at the dirt.

The knife was gone.

Get up.

Frantic breathing. His and Daniel's. This was the sound of survival.

Get up.

Where was he? His shoulder throbbed. His legs worked. Barely. He dragged himself across the deep dirt, coughing. Somehow he picked himself up.

There was one image in his mind - the site of that impression in the dirt where the knife had been. He staggered forward. Daniel was standing now, coming for him. Jim stepped on a single, worn handlebar grip. All that remained of his bike.

He hobbled.

Daniel followed. Soon he was almost running, dodging deeper into the canyon, one hand clenched over his ribs. He could no longer see the light from the stars. Daniel was always only a pace or two behind.

The walls dared him to squeeze between them. They came closer and closer together and just when he thought they would close and crush him, he emerged into a maze. It was too dark too see, so he placed his hands on the walls. Then a light - almost blinding - came from his pocket.

The screen. It was the strange patterns from before.

He took the screen from his pocket and held it up in the air, using the light to guide him. When he pointed it one direction it flashed. When he pointed it another, it went black. Daniel scraped the knife on the stone behind him. Jim had to move.

He took the path that gave him the light from the screen.

It was a winding labyrinth of unpredictable turns. He had the horrible realization that someone could die in this maze. Someone could die and never be discovered. He ran faster than his heart raced.

He was headed into a rift, underground. He felt a rustling and he pointed the light at his feet. A small army of snakes and rodents rushed past him. He clenched a hand over his mouth.

There was a light somewhere ahead. Every time he turned one corner it had disappeared behind the next. Then his foot landed on something unexpected – a step. He could barely make out a pale, vaporous fog that clung to the craggy ceiling above him. When he reached the bottom of the staircase it was cold enough to make his teeth clatter.

He placed a wary hand against the wall that had served as his guide down the staircase. The surface was cool against his palm, like a marble countertop – untarnished and smooth.

The walls were clothed in a dim blue glow - the light he had been chasing. All around him was a network of tunnels, glowing with the blue light. It must have been coming from some greater source, something deeper within the mountain. He turned a corner where the tunnel emptied out into a stadium-sized cavern.

Jim gasped.

The light from his screen wasn't nearly enough to capture it all. The walls on were lined with still, dirt-caked machines that gleamed with blue light. Some kind of maintenance system, perhaps, with lifeless, retractable arms. There were Spheres stacked from floor to ceiling on weathered railings, like bowling ball racks. Behind each array of vessels were hundreds more tunnels.