I was practically buried, with only my head sticking out of the fall. I coughed, got my bearings and started trying to fight my way free, causing the load of debris around me to shift. Unfortunately it mostly shifted back onto me. I scrambled to try to compensate, thinking I saw a gap up ahead, but a sudden cascade sent me sliding back down the mound on my stomach, getting pummeled by rocks, roots and sharp-edged bricks the whole way.
I slid to a stop at Anthony’s feet, gasping and choking on the new wash of dirt in the air. “Now what?” he demanded. It didn’t look like patience was the consul’s strong suit.
I scowled up at him, bruised and filthy. “Now we’re going to have to find another—”
“No!” He was starting to look panicked again. “There’s no time. We have to go out here.”
“I don’t have a backhoe in my pocket,” I snapped, struggling to my feet and vainly trying to dust off my clothes. But my sweat and his blood had caked the dirt onto them; all I was doing was smearing it around. I decided it could wait and looked up to find Anthony staring at me.
He wasn’t going to plead, wasn’t about to beg. But his face was doing it for him. The heatless flame of the flashlight flickered over drawn features and colorless flesh. Around his many wounds, dark rings glistened like hungry mouths, smearing his clothes and staining his skin. But it didn’t look like any more was flowing. I suspected that might be because there wasn’t much left.
Anthony was running out of time.
I stared into the blackness of the corridor behind us, seeing nothing. But my brain supplied an image of the dark, unknown passageway, which probably opened onto more caverns and then more passageways . . . endless regressions into deeper and more silent darkness. I could find my way out, eventually, of that I had no doubt. But I couldn’t do it and carry Anthony, and I wasn’t sure what I’d find when I got back.
“I’ll give it another try,” I said reluctantly, and he nodded, looking slightly relieved. He got a hand to my backside and pushed, and I scrambled up the slippery slope once again.
I don’t know if the previous avalanche had sloughed off most of the looser debris, or if I was just getting the hang of things. But I made it to the top this time with little difficulty, putting out a cautious hand to the ceiling so as to spare my head. I wedged myself into a somewhat secure-feeling space between the ceiling and wall, and sent a pale tongue of light through the small space I’d previously noticed.
It was a definite gap. But I couldn’t see anything on the other side, either because the flashlight’s beam didn’t extend that far, or because there wasn’t anything to see. I could slither in there only to find another wall of dirt and rock. Or another avalanche waiting to come down on my head.
My fingers were aching from gripping the flashlight so hard, and it wasn’t going to be much use anyway. I tucked it back in my belt and started crawling, before I could talk myself out of this. The gap at the top of the mountain was claustrophobically small, and the air was almost unbreathable. It also got smaller as I went along, to the point that my elbows were brushing it on either side, and my chin was carving through the dirt like a plough.
It was almost impossible to imagine dragging Anthony through this, even if there was an opening on the other side. The smart thing would be to turn around, to find another way out as fast as possible, and to send help back for him. He was as tough as nails, as he’d more than proven; maybe another hour or two wouldn’t make a—
My head popped out into open air on a little cloud of dust. It was so unexpected that it caught me off guard, and I didn’t stop my forward momentum fast enough. I found myself tumbling down another steep slope, head over heels into darkness.
I smashed into the pile of very hard debris at the bottom and just lay there for a moment, trying to breathe. It didn’t go so well, at first because the wind had been knocked out of me. And then what little breath I had caught at the sight of someone standing just inside the shadow of the main door.
He was sliced diagonally by bands of ruddy light from some source behind him. I vaguely recognized it as the graffiti marquee, its dim glow filtered through a haze of dust. I couldn’t make out much even with the light; there was too much crap in the air. But a monstrous shadow sprawled on the floor beside him.
I watched, out of breath and momentarily helpless, trying to get back to my feet. But my left foot was caught on something, and before I could figure out on what, the indistinct shape moved forward. Its hand lifted and the shadow appendage moved along with it, rippling, giant, and terrifying.
And reaching out for me.
Chapter Thirty-six
Panic caused me to jerked my trapped foot hard enough to crack the heavy old root it had become wedged under. I ignored a bright searing pain from my ankle and scrambled to my feet, gun in hand. Only to have it caught in an iron grip.