Dark Reckoning by James Axler

“Stalagmites might fall down,” Doc rumbled softly, sword in hand, “but cannot because they grow up from the ground.”

“That’s good,” Mildred complimented him.

“Thank you.”

“Dark night, I see them,” J.B. announced, adjusting the focus. “They sort of look like people, two arms, two legs, one head. About all I can tell at this distance. Doesn’t seem to be any guards on patrol, or stationed lookouts.”

“Even better,” Ryan said. “Mebbe they don’t have any enemies, aside from the crabs. Any weps?”

“Nothing that requires two hands to hold.”

“Leaves plenty,” Jak grunted. “Knives, handcannons, boomerangs, slings.”

“We can handle those,” Ryan stated, patting his pockets to make sure he knew exactly where everything was. “Okay, let’s go.”

“Ah, broiled crab for dinner,” Mildred said, inhaling. “I can taste it already.”

Going around the barricade, Ryan tested the slope, while keeping a hand on the concrete for support. The ground was rough and his boots didn’t slip, no matter how hard he tried. The rock was as rough as sandpaper. Finally letting go of the barricade, he advanced a few steps, staring intently down the slope.

“Bottom is only a few yards away,” he whispered, easing down the incline. “Single file, one yard spread.”

J.B. was the first. The Armorer was a ghost in the darkness, but some pebbles came loose, bounding down ahead of the man. He froze motionless.

Ryan mentally cursed the noise and braced for an attack.

Across the expanse, some blobs of light started coming their way, but then sheared off to the right. Soon there came the sounds of a struggle, followed by a crunching noise and brief high-pitched squeal of pain. Something just been aced.

Moving more carefully, the rest of the companions reached the bottom and took cover behind some stalagmites and boulders. Moving from rock to rock, they zigzagged across the floor of the cavern, trying to stay behind cover. Most of the stalagmites rose a hundred feet tall, maybe more, the tops far beyond the weak illumination of the cavern walls, but a few were only inches high, mere toothpicks rising from the damp floor. They were very careful not to step on any and snap them off.

Examining the side of the cavern, Ryan saw the rock was covered with a silvery moss that gave off a weak shine. Suspiciously, the man held a rad counter near the fungi. Instantly, the device changed its soft musical hum to angry clicks as he got within a few inches.

“Wall moss is rad poisoned,” he warned tensely. “Don’t touch any.”

The collection of boulders soon stopped, and there was only open space stretching from the rocky forest to the stone wall. The top twinkled like starshine, razor-sharp chunks of crystal lining the barrier like military barbed wire.

“What the nuking hell?” Ryan whispered in annoyance. “It’s only a yard or so high. Can’t be more than four feet max.”

“Could be a trip line,” J.B. suggested softly. “Or a marker for the archers.”

Ryan admitted both were possible, only there wasn’t a higher fence beyond the low one, just some huts. Studying the ville carefully, he suddenly understood that the huts weren’t larger than the wall, but located on top of rocky moundsno, piles of bricks. Deep underground, the locals lived underground again, but the doors were no more than a yard tall.

“Mutie runts,” Jak observed under his breath. “Good. Easy picking.”

“Bullshit, pygmies are fierce warriors,” Mildred corrected, wiping a sweaty hand on her pants. She had to keep a good grip on the crossbow. The thing would have a worse recoil than a shotgun. “They have to be or else don’t survive. In Africa, there were little natives deadly accurate with blowpipes and poisoned needles. They could chill a man on the run at a hundred feet. Small doesn’t mean weak.”

In the center of the ville was a bubbling spring, the air rich in the smells of boiled meat and something else. A hoist of odd bits of metal and some wood hung over the spring, metal chains dangling out of sight in the water. The hot spring was their cooking pot.

“Not bad,” J.B. muttered in spite of himself. “They’re not mindless muties, like stickies.”