CHAPTER 119
David fell to the floor as the bullets ricocheted off the iron wall behind him. He spun around, crouched, and held the spear point-forward over his shoulder, like some prehistoric hunter ready to stick his prey when it emerged from the sliding door.
But the door didn’t open. David exhaled and sat down on the floor, giving the wounded leg a rest. He didn’t see how Patrick Pierce had done it — all the walking around down here.
When the pain subsided, he got to his feet and took in his surroundings. The room was similar to the one he had just left — the iron-ish gray walls were the same and so were the lights at the top and bottom of them. The room seemed to be a lobby of some sort. It had seven doors in all, fanning out in a semicircle, almost like a bank of elevator doors.
Other than the seven oval sliding doors, the room was almost empty, save for a chest-high table opposite the bank of doors. A control station? The surface was covered in dark plastic or glass that matched the controls in the previous chamber.
David stepped up to the desk and leaned the spear against it so he could use his good hand. He held his hand over the surface, like he had seen the Atlantean do in the hologram. Wisps of white and blue fog and light whirled around his hand. Tiny electric pops and shocks tapped at his hand. He wiggled his fingers and the light and fog changed radically and the pops and slight electric impulses swirled all over his fingers.
David drew the hand back. Talk about out of your element. He had half-expected, or rather hoped, that some sort of help would pop up.
He picked the spear back up. Stick to what you know: your hunter-gatherer ways, he told himself. There was another door, set off by itself, next to the control station. An exit? He walked to it and it slid open, revealing more of the Star Trek-type iron corridors that had led to the tunnelmaker’s secret chamber. His eyes had now fully adjusted to the faint LED lights that ran along the floor and ceiling.
If the Atlanteans had run to this room when the ship had exploded 12-15,000 years ago, it stood to reason that this was some kind of escape pod or maybe a fortified section in the middle of the ship. Another thought popped into David’s mind: if they had come here, some of them could still be here. Maybe they had hibernated here, in other tubes.
David looked around. There were certainly no signs of life.
The elevator room opened onto a T-intersection. Both directions ended in another oval door. He chose the shorter path and limped along, using the spear as a walking staff. It helped immensely.
At the end of the corridor, the door slid open automatically, and David stepped through.
“Don’t move.” A man’s voice. It was hoarse, as if he hadn’t spoken in a while.
David heard a footfall behind him. Based on the echo, the man (or Atlantean) was about his size. David raised his arms, still holding the spear. “I’m not here to hurt you.”
“I said don’t move.” The man was almost upon him.
David turned quickly, catching a glimpse, a flash of the man, or whatever it was, just before he felt the electric prod dig into him. It sent him to the ground and into unconsciousness.