They turned in. Blew the entrance down. It was a good strategy. Except . . .
Eamon and Siobhan came fluttering back frantically. “The back end of the tunnel is solid Maggots. It’s a trap!”
Chip swung the wheel hard over. It was simply an instinctive act because the tunnel was far too narrow for them to turn. The blade gouged into the wall before the tractor stalled. Fal had fallen off in the crash. He stood up swearing. “You whoreson mother-shogging baconfaced . . . !”
And then he stopped. Darted forward through a hole. He stuck his head back. “You’re driving’s not worth a gooseberry, Connolly. But you found us a way out, if we can get through the wall.”
Bronstein took charge. “Expedient mines. Diesel. Ginny, get down with that chainsaw. Chip, you’ll have to hammer a few more shot holes.
“Let me out,” demanded the Crotchet.
Chip thought Bronstein gave this more consideration than it deserved. She paused her work for a moment. Then she spoke decisively. “No. We don’t have time. And we certainly don’t have time to get you back up again. You’ll be safer there.”
“Move it up, Bronstein,” said Chip impatiently. “Tell me where you want the next shot holes. You can chat to Smelly later, if we’re alive.” Chip noticed how the Crotchet flexed and pointed spines at him, but then he was too busy working to watch any further.
Down the tunnel came the sharp crack and boom of the first expedient mines. “Behind the tractor, everybody!” shouted Bronstein. “I’ve used small charges.”
She was a master of demolitions. The gap would take the tractor. Eamon came fluttering up, rats running in his wake. “Let us begone. I’ve set the timer for forty seconds on the big one further back. We’ll have the lead Maggots here in less than that!”
Chip scrambled up. Started the tractor. And it was good and stuck. “I’m going to have to move the trailer.” He jumped down and started trying to drag it by main force.
“Bounce it!” shouted somebody. He heard the snarl of the chainsaw. As he bounced the trailer an inch, he saw Ginny cut into a big scorp. And then take on a second one. And rev the chainsaw one second too early. The blade hit the slowshield. About ninety percent of the chainsaw blade was inside the shield. The chain, totally stopped at twenty-two thousand rpm, snapped in half. The section inside the Maggot’s slowshield played ricochet blender with the Maggot. The piece outside whizzed into the fibreglass of the trailer. Chip suddenly found he had the strength to lift and bounce that trailer a good eight inches.
“Drop it, Ginny, we can go now. RUN everybody!”
Head down, he drove the tractor through the gap . . . behind them another forty pounds of fertilizer blew. This wasn’t an entryway, so it didn’t fall to seal, but it certainly restricted access.
“Barbed wire!” Bronstein shouted.
“And a can of diesel and a Molotov!” yelled Eamon.
Chip had his first proper look at the place they’d broken into. It was a shock to realize that even parts of Maggotdom could be beautiful.
The whole place was one enormous alien hothouse. Or, by the looks of it, alien fungus-cellar. The basic color of the tunnels was mud, doubtless in many attractive Maggot-pleasing shades. Here the basic color was . . . bright. The tangle of spindly-stemmed nodding-capped plants came in every shade from pale chartreuse to deepest burgundy. And the air was sharp with a ferment of strange bouquets, some edging on the not-nice side of cumin-spicy, others lush with overripe esters.
Part of Chip’s soul rose. This was a vision into a distant place, a place where a strange sun gleamed pale on an enchanted fungus-world.
Pistol fanned his nose. “Whoreson. This place doesn’t half pong. Phew!”
“Come on, Chip!” yelled Bronstein. “Open her up! Maggots are coming along. We’re probably driving through their sewage farm.”
Chip had little choice but to plow on through the delicate stems, wreaking havoc. But when he saw a spiral downramp, he took it without a second thought. Rats might have no poetry in their souls, but this was too much like destroying a cathedral. The downramp took them out onto a cross passage . . . and that to a clear tunnel heading inwards.