“It’s starting to shake!” Luke screamed. He was five rungs above, but now he’d frozen in place. “It’s shaking, it’s shaking, it’s shaking!”
He felt it, too: a constant, monstrous ripple shuddering through every bone. His body, obeying instinct and reflex, tried to lock up, but he clamped down hard. This was combat—this was exactly the same—and he would not survive if he listened to fear.
“Come on!” Weller roared. He was in the lead, and his voice boomed down like the voice of God. “Come on, Luke, you can do it, boy!”
Please, God, just get us out. He shot one glance above to make sure that Luke’s feet were still moving, and then he fixed his eyes on the ladder, his arms and legs moving, always moving, hands wrapping around iron, boot pushing off against the last step . . . Keep moving keep moving keep moving . . . The roar was huge and constant, and they were east of the main cave-in. God only knew what was going on down there.
Water crashed and spewed against stone, but he couldn’t tell if that was below or from the side or sheeting down from above. Something bounced and rebounded against concrete, and he thought about all that loose stone above them. Weller had said that the last time there’d been a cave-in, the ground itself sank a hundred feet. This was larger, bigger, more powerful, and it was a very, very long way to the bottom.
So this might not be over, even if we make it. He was practically running up the ladder now, up and up and up. His lungs were tearing and working hard and his muscles shrieked with fatigue, but he kept going as the ladder quivered and bounced and the water below bellowed.
“Hey!” Luke was shouting. “I see sky, I see sky!”
He spared a look, craning his head back as far as he could, and then gasped. Beyond Luke, he saw Weller’s head, haloed with stars. He was shocked by how close they seemed. It was like coming the wrong way out of an eye, like that movie from way back—only they’d come out through the guy’s tear duct, hadn’t they?
Gogogogogo . . . He felt air now, very cold, washing down over his head and shoulders, and he heard Luke shout again. He glanced up, saw that Weller was gone. Then the boy folded, and Tom saw only his feet as Luke scrambled out of the shaft. Keep going, keep going . . . He was forty feet away, thirty feet, ten . . .
He felt a hand clamp onto his left wrist, and then Weller had his right. Luke and the old man gave a mighty heave, and Tom flopped out of the shaft and sprawled belly-first onto the snow. For a few seconds, all he could do was gasp, and then Luke pounded his back hard enough to jar loose his breath.
“We d-d-did it,” Luke said. The boy was grinning and shivering at the same time. “W-w-we did it, we d-d-did it!”
“Uh,” was all Tom could manage. He could feel the earth shimmying under his stomach, and from far down in the shaft came the echo and rumble and roar of disintegrating stone and churning water.
“Hey,” Luke said. He was looking to his right. “I s-s-see bats, d-dude.”
The moon was setting but enormous on the horizon, like the green eye of a giant. The bats were black, fluttery, spastic silhouettes bulleting in all directions.
“Must be another opening,” Weller said. Sucking in air, he spat then staggered to his feet. “We got to go. Cold’ll get us soon, and I don’t like the way the ground is shim—” A pause. “Oh, f**k me.”
Uh-oh. All Tom’s fatigue—and relief—was swept away in an instant. Weller was hunched over, propping himself up on his thighs, looking southwest and down the rise. Tom did the same, and he wasn’t sure now if the shuddering in his legs was only from the ground.
They weren’t far away. Maybe—he squinted in the poor light— four hundred yards.
“How many do you think there are?” Luke asked.
“Can’t tell.” Weller glanced at Tom. “We shoot it out, or we run.”
“We should f-fight,” Luke said, then added, “I’m not s-scared, just c-cold. We can d-do this.”
“No,” Tom said. He swung up his Uzi and peered through the scope. Seven, he thought. They were spread out across the shivering snow, but they weren’t coming on fast. From the way they lurched, they were having trouble on the shifting snowpack, and he thought only two were on skis. Of those, only one kid was a threat. His gaze narrowed to a laser point and fixed on the tallest Chucky. A boy, he thought. From the kick and glide, the kid knew what he was doing.
Then, three of the others from further back raised their weapons.
“Down!” Tom shouted. They all flattened just as the night sparked and crackled. Tom didn’t think the bullets even came close.
He heard the snick as Luke thumbed the selector of his Uzi. “We could kill them,” Luke said. No shake in his voice now. “We should fight. After all those poor people back there . . . they deserve to die, Tom.”
“Wait. Let’s think about this. We’re on a rise. Gravity is working against them and their bullets.” Tom pointed. “There’s only that one guy who knows what he’s doing. He’s closest and he hasn’t taken a shot. We stick around, he will.”
“So we take them out now,” Luke said. “Please. This is for, like, everybody who died, you know?”
“But we don’t have to fight, Luke. We still have a choice.”
“Well, I vote we stay,” Luke said.
More sparks and crackles as the Chuckies fired. They all ducked back, but Tom knew there was no danger. These kids were firing wild.
Almost like they’re trying to scare us off.
Which was strange, come to think of it.
“Come on, they want to fight. They’re shooting at us,” Luke said.
“No, they’re trying to drive us off,” Tom said.
“Why would they do that?” Luke asked.
“Doesn’t matter. The point is, they’re not firing at us yet, but in about three minutes, they—” He felt a sudden heave as if the earth were pulling in a big breath, and then the ground seemed to fall away. A yell of surprise shot out of his mouth, and then he was sprawling, smacking the ground on all fours. He waited to keep falling, but nothing more happened, although the snow still trembled on.
“What was that?” Luke yelped. He was trying to swim to his knees. “What happened?”
“Surface subsidence starting,” Weller said. “Mine’s caving in, and it’s getting worse. Before, there wasn’t warning, but this time . . .”