The Descent

Before their strength  dwindled  anymore,  Ali  and  Ike  shared  two  more  nights  in  the tower  room  among  the  lighted  lamps.  On  November   30,   they   descended   to  the makeshift  camp  with  finality.  After  that  she  was  too  lightheaded  to  climb  the  stairs again.

The  starvation  made  them  very  old  and  very  young.  Twiggs,  especially,  looked aged,  his  face  hollowed  and  jowls  hanging.  But  also  they  resembled  infants,  curled  in upon  their  stomachs  and  sleeping  more  and  more  each  day.  Except  for  Ike,  who  was like a horse in his need to stay  on his feet, their catnaps reached twenty  hours.

Ali  tried  to  force  herself  to  work,  to  stay  clean,  say  her  prayers,  and  continue  to draw her day  maps. It  was a matter  of getting God's daily chaos in order.

On  the  morning  of  December  2,  they  heard  animal  noises  coming  from  the  beach. Those  who  could  sit  struggled  upright.  Their  worst  fear  was  coming  true.  The  hadals were  coming for them.

It  sounded  like  wolves  loping  into  position.  You  could  hear  whispered  snatches  of words.  Troy  began  to  totter  off  in  search  of  Ike,  but  his  legs  wouldn't  work  well enough. He sat down again.

'Couldn't they  wait?' Twiggs moaned softly. 'I just wanted to die in my  sleep.'

'Shut  up,  Twiggs,'  hissed  one  of  the  geologists.  'And  turn  out  those  lights.  Maybe they  don't know we're  here.'

The  man  got  to  his  feet.  In  the  preternatural  glow  of  stone,  they  all  watched  him

stagger  across  to  a  porthole  near  the  doorway.  With  the  stealth  of  an  intruder,  he cautiously lifted his head to the opening. And slid back down again.

'What did you see?' Spurrier  whispered. The  geologist was silent.

'Hey, Ruiz.' Finally, Spurrier  crawled over.  'Christ, the back of his head's gone!' At that instant the assault commenced.

Huge shapes poured in, monstrous silhouettes against the gleaming stone.

'Oh, dear God!' screamed Twiggs.

If not for his cry  in English, they  would have  been shredded with gunfire. Instead  there  was a pause.

'Hold your  fire,' a voice commanded. 'Who said "God"?'

'Me,' pleaded Twiggs. 'Davis Twiggs.'

'That's impossible,' said the voice.

'It could be a trap,' warned a second.

'It's just us,' said Spurrier, and shined his light on his own face.

'Soldiers,' cried Pia. 'Americans!'

Lights snapped on throughout the room.

Shaggy mercenaries ranged right and left, still crouched, ready  to shoot.  It  was  hard to  say  who  was  more  surprised,  the  debilitated  scientists  or  the  tattered  remains  of Walker's command.

'Don't  move,   don't  move,'   the   mercenaries   shouted   at   them.   Their   eyes   were rimmed with red. They  trusted  nothing. Their  rifle  barrels  darted  like  hummingbirds, searching for enemy.

'Get the colonel,' said a man.

Walker  was  carried  in,  seated  on  a  rifle  held  on  each  side  by  soldiers.  To  Ali,  he looked starved,  until  she  saw  his  blood.  The  knifed-open  rags  of  his  pant  legs  showed dozens  of  bits  of  obsidian  embedded  in  the  flesh  and  bone.  It  was  pain  that  had hollowed his face out. His faculties were  unimpaired, though. He took in  the  room  with a raptor's eye.

'Are you sick?' Walker demanded.

Ali  saw  what  he  saw,  gaunt  men  and  women  barely  able  to  sit.  They  looked  like scarecrows.

'Just very  hungry,' said Spurrier. 'Do you have  food?'

Walker  considered  them.  'Where's  the  rest  of  you?'  he  said.  'I  recall  more  than  just nine of you.'

'They  went  home,'  said  Chelsea,  prone  beside  her  chessboard.  She  was  looking  at

Ruiz's body. Now they  could see that the geologist had been sniped through the eye.

'They're  going back the way  we came,' said Spurrier.

'The physicians, too?' Walker said. For a moment he was hopeful.

'It's just us now,' said Pia. 'And you.'

He surveyed  the room. 'What is this place, a shrine?'

'A way  station,'  Pia  said.  Ali  hoped  she  would  stop  there.  She  didn't  want  Walker  to know about the circular map, or the ceramic soldiers.

'We found it two weeks  ago,' Twiggs volunteered.

'And you're still here?'

'We ran out of food.'

'It   looks  defensible,'   Walker   said  to  a  lieutenant   in  burned   clothing.  'Set   your perimeters.  Secure  the  boats.  Bring  in  the  supplies  and  our  guest.  And  remove  that body.'

They  set  Walker  on  the  ground  against  one  wall.  They  were  careful,  but  laying  his legs out was an agony for him.

Mercenaries  began  arriving  from  the  beach  with  heavy  loads  of  Helios  food  and supplies.   Not   one   retained   the   look   of   the   immaculate   crusaders   Walker   had

assiduously  groomed.  Their  uniforms  were  in  rags.  Some  were  missing  their  boots. There  were  leg  wounds  and  head  injuries.  They  stank  of  cordite  and  old  blood.  Their beards and greasy  locks made them look like a motorcycle gang.