The Descent

carved  into  the  wall.  Tufts  of  hair,  rags,  and  animal  bones  had  been  nailed  to  the stone. The  rags, she comprehended, were  leather hides. Skins. Flayed  skin. This was  a memorial.

After  that, miles passed in silence. Here it was at last –  all  their  childhood  legends  of desperate  fights  waged  against  biblical  mutants  –  before   their   eyes,   unintended, where  fate  had  given  it.  This  was  not  a  TV  report  that  could  be  turned  off.  This  was not a poet's inferno in  a  book  that  could  be  put  back  on  the  shelf.  Here  was  the  world they  lived in now.

At  around  three,  Ali  fell  asleep.  When  she  woke,  the  stone  was  still  in  motion.  The tunnel's  smooth  walls  became   less   regular.   Fractures   appeared.   Pressure   cracks filigreed the ceiling. Crevices  lurked  like  darkened  closets.  Ali  saw  a  cardboard  sign  in the  distance.  WATTS  GOLD,  LTD.  it  announced.  An  arrow  pointed  at  a  secondary  path branching  off  into  the  gloom.  A  few  miles  farther  on,  the  wall  breached  upon  another ragged   hole.  Ali  looked  inside,  and  lights  sparkled   far   away   in  the   darkness.   B LOCKWICK CLAIM , a sign said. BEWARE OF DOG.

From  there  on,  side  roads  and  crude  tunnels  fed  off  every  mile  or  so,  sometimes identified  as  a  camp  or  mining  claim,  anonymous  and  unwelcoming.  A  few  were  lit  at their  deepest  points  with  tiny  fires.  Others  were  as  dark  as  wells,  forlorn.  What  kind of  people  gave  themselves  to  such  remoteness?  H.  G.  Wells  had  gotten  it  right  in  his Time Machine. The  underworld was peopled not with demons, but with proles.

Ali   smelled   the   settlement   long   before   they   reached   it.   The   smog   was   part petroleum,  part  unrefined  sewage,  part  cordite  and  dust.  Her  eyes  began  watering. The  air got thicker, then putrid. It  was five o'clock in the morning.

The  tunnel  walls  widened,  then   flew  open  upon  a  cavernous   shaft   steeping   in pollution  and  overhung  by  bright  turquoise  cliffs  lit,  in  a  civic  fashion,  with  several spotlights.  Otherwise,  Point  Z-3,  locally  known  as  Esperanza,  was  dimly  illuminated. The  burden of darkness  was evidently  too  much  to  overcome  with  their  thin  ration  of electricity from Nazca City. Despite  the  cheerful  Matisse-like  cliffs,  it  did  not  look  like a friendly home for the next  year.

'Helios built a science institute here?' asked one of Ali's companions. 'Why bother?'

'I was expecting something a little more modern,' agreed another. 'This place doesn't look like it's heard of the flush toilet.'

The  train coasted through an opening in a glittering briar patch  of  razor  wire.  It  was like  a  city  made  of  knife-sharp  Slinkys.  Concertina  piled  atop  glittering  concertina. The  coils  lay  twenty  feet  high  in  places.  The  razor  wire  got  more  space  than  the settlement  itself, which was simply a mob of tents  on small platforms whittled  into  the descending hillside.

The  train slowed upon a ridge that fell on the far side into a chasm.

Farther  along the barrier,  they  saw a desiccated body suspended high on the outside section of an accordion snarl of wire. The  creature's  grimace was almost  joyful.  'Hadal,' said a scientist. 'Must have  been attacking the settlement.'  They  all  craned  to  see.  But the rags  hanging  from  the  body  were  American  military.  The  soldier  had  been  trying to climb his way  in over  the concertina. Something had been chasing him.

The  railway  ended  in  a  bunker  complex  bristling  with  electric  cannons.  There  was no  question  about  its  function.  If  the  settlement  came  under  attack,  people  were meant to come here. This train would be their last hope of exit.

A squalid settler  in canvas pants made notes on  a  piece  of  paper  as  they  rolled  past. Except  for the steel teeth,  he might have  been an extra  in a hillbilly movie.

'How you doing?' one of Ali's companions called down. The  settler  spat.

The  train slid inside the bunker and stopped.  Immediately  it  was  set  upon  by  gangs of  men  with  huge  hands  and  bare  feet.  The  workers  were  degraded,  some  scarcely recognizable as anatomically modern humans. It  wasn't just the Hulk muscles and Abe

Lincoln brows and cheekbones and their guttural exchanges. They  smelled different: a musk  odor.  And  some  of  them  had  bone  growing  right  through  their  flesh.  Many  had strips  of  burlap  draped  over  their  heads  to  protect  them  from  the  railyard's  dim lighting.  While  Ali  and  the  others  climbed  down  from  the  flatcars,  the  yard  workers cast off chains and straps  and manually unloaded crates  weighing hundreds  of  pounds. Ali  was  fascinated  by  their  enormous  strength  and  deformities.  Several  of  the  giants noticed her attention and smiled.