The Descent

He'd gotten only a short distance when, to his great  annoyance, the  rock  snagged  his ankle  again.  He  yanked  to  free  himself,  but  the  ankle  stayed  caught.  He  tried  to  see behind him, but his body filled the opening.

That  was  when  he  felt  the  tube  move.  It  seemed  to  slip  forward  an  inch  or  so, though he knew it was his body sliding  backward.  The  disturbing  thing  was,  he  hadn't moved a muscle.

Now he felt a second motion, this time a tug at his ankle. It  was no  longer  possible  to blame  the  rock  for  catching  his  cuff.  This  was  something  organic.  He  could  feel  it getting  a  better  grip  on  his  leg.  The  animal,  whatever  it  was,  suddenly  began  pulling him back.

Osprey  desperately  tried  holding  on  to  the  rock,  but  it  was  like  falling  down  a slippery chimney.  His  hands  slid  across  the  surface.  He  had  enough  presence  of  mind to hold on to his light and  the  boxes  of  butterflies.  Then  his  legs  cleared  the  tube,  and

in the next  instant his body and head popped free. He  dropped  to  the  tunnel  floor  in  a heap.  One  of  his  boxes  fell  open  and  three  butterflies  escaped,  drifting  erratically through his light beam.

He  whipped  the  flashlight  around  to  fend  off  the  animal.  There  in  his  cone  of  light stood a live hadal. Osprey  shouted his alarm just as it fled from his  light.  Its  whiteness startled  him  most  of  all.  The  bulging  eyes  gave  it  an  aspect  of  enormous  hunger,  or curiosity.

The  hadal  ran  one  way,  Osprey  the  other.  He  covered  fifty  yards  before  his  light beam illuminated three  more hadals crouching in the tunnel's far  depths.  They  turned their heads from his light, but didn't budge.

Osprey  cast  his  flashlight  back  the  way  he'd  come.  Not  far  enough  away  prowled four or five more of the white creatures.  He swung his head back and  forth,  awestruck by  his predicament. He took his Swiss Army  knife from a pocket and opened its  longer blade. But they  came no closer, repulsed by  his light.

It  seemed  utterly  fantastic.  He  was  a  lepidopterist.  He  dealt  with  animals  whose existence  depended on sunshine. The  subplanet  had  nothing  to  do  with  him.  Yet  here he  was,  caged  beneath  the  ground,  faced  with  hadals.  The  terrible  fact  bore  down  on him.  The  weight  of  it  exhausted  him.  Finally,  unable  to  move  in  either  direction, Osprey  sat down.

Thirty  yards  to his right and left, the  hadals  settled  in,  too.  He  flipped  his  light  from side  to  side  for  a  while,  thinking  that  was  keeping  them  at  bay.  At  last  it  became apparent  the  hadals  weren't  interested  in  coming  any  closer  for  the  time  being.  He positioned  the  flashlight  so  that  its  beam  cast  a  ball  of  light  around  him.  While  the three  monarchs  that  had  escaped  from  his  box  fluttered  in  the  light,  Osprey  began calculating how long his battery  might last.

He  stayed  awake  as  long  as  possible.  But  the  combination  of  fatigue,  his  fall,  and adrenaline  hangover  finally  mastered  him.  He  dozed,  bathed  in  light,  clutching  his pocketknife.

He woke  dreaming  of  raindrops.  They  were  pebbles  thrown  by  the  hadals.  His  first thought was that the pebbles were  meant to torment him. Then he realized the  hadals were  trying  to  break  his  lightbulb.  Osprey  grabbed  the  flashlight  to  shield  it.  He  had another  thought.  If  they  could  throw  pebbles,  they  could  probably  throw  rocks  big enough  to  hurt  or  kill  him  –  but  they  hadn't.  That  was  when  he  understood  they meant to capture him alive.

The   waiting  went   on.  They   sat   at   the   edges   of  his  light.   Their   patience   was depressing. It  was so utterly  unmodern, a primitive's patience, unbeatable. They  were going to outlast him, he had no doubt at all about that.

Hours  turned  into  a  day,  then  two.  His  stomach  rumbled  with  hunger.  His  tongue dried in his mouth. He told himself it would be better  this way.  Without  food  or  water, he might start  hallucinating. The  last thing he wanted was to be lucid in the end.

As  time  passed,  Osprey  did  his  best  not  to  look  at  the  hadals,  but  eventually  his curiosity took over.  He  turned  his  light  on  one  group  or  the  other,  and  gathered  their details.  Several  were  naked  except  for  rawhide  loin  strings.  A  few  wore  ragged  vests made  of  some  kind  of  leather.  All  were  male,  as  he  could  tell  by  their  penis  sheaths. Each  sported  a  sheath  made  from  an  animal  horn,  jutting  from  his  groin,  and  tied erect  with twine, like those worn by  New Guinea natives.