Subterranean

TWENTY-TWO

EXHAUSTION LULLED MICHAELSON FROM HIS SURVEILLANCE of the tunnel outside his tiny refuge. It had been hours since Ashley and Ben had disappeared, leaving him alone. He strained to listen for any sign of the stalkers. Nothing. Silence pressed like a physical weight against his eardrums.

He sighed. At least his ankle's throbbing had dulled to a mild protest. Eventually he'd have to adjust the ankle splint, but he was too tired for that now. He closed his eyes so he could concentrate with less distraction. Still, there was only silence and more silence.

A yawn escaped him, and his head sagged to his chest. He shook his head, knowing he must stay alert.

He checked the corridor. Still clear. After several minutes, like sinking suns, his eyelids began to droop downward again. His breathing deepened. He hung suspended in that fuzzy haze between dream and reality.

It was then something brushed across his hand.

His eyelids snapped open, and he threw his head back, almost cracking the back of his skull on the wall. He fumbled with his gun and pointed it at a man dressed in a ragged Marine uniform, the sleeves torn off at the shoulders. It was impossible. He blinked a few times. Must be dreaming, he thought. But the figure persisted, smiling down at him.

Michaelson stared up into the eyes of his long-lost brother. "Harry? My god! You're alive!"

His brother pushed the muzzle of Michaelson's gun away with a fingertip. "Not if you pull that trigger," Harry said, a tired grin on his face.

Michaelson threw his gun to the side and, ignoring the protest from his ankle, jumped and grabbed his brother in a bear hug. He squeezed back tears, praying he wasn't hallucinating, but his brother's amused chuckles were not those of his imagination. He was real. "Thank god thank god thank god," Michaelson chanted into Harry's shoulder.

"Brother, you gave us quite a chase," Harry said, breaking their hug and swiping a hand through his black hair, a familiar mannerism.

Smiling, Michaelson realized he hadn't seen that gesture in ages. It had been decades since Harry's hair had been any longer than a tight military crewcut, but after the months down here, the gesture, like an old friend, had returned.

Michaelson's voice caught in his throat. He almost took his brother again in his arms, but then noticed the scar that ran the entire length of Harry's right arm. It was still pink and raised, something recent. He reached out and touched it. "What happened?"

Harry's expression sobered. Michaelson studied his brother's face closely and noticed the circles under his brother's blue eyes. A haunted look. Harry had lost weight; the remains of his uniform hung on his frame. "It's a long story," Harry said.

"Well, I think we have the time."

"No, not really. We need to hurry. The crak'an are close."

"The who?"

"Those monsters." Harry waved him to follow. "Gather your gear, soldier, we're bugging out."

Michaelson tossed him his gun and climbed into the alcove to collect his pack and canteen. As he crawled back out, he noticed his brother checking his gun with an appreciative smile.

Harry handed back the gun reluctantly. "Nice tool. I could have used that firepower when I was escorting those scientists. Maybe then…" He stopped talking, a fierce set to his lips.

Michaelson approached his brother's back, laying a hand on his shoulder, still half expecting him to vanish in a puff of smoke, like some trickster spirit, teasing him with his brother's image. He noticed his brother's hands were empty. How had he survived running around here without a weapon? "I've got another gun in my pack-" he started to say.

"No need. I've got friends."

Friends? Michaelson searched the empty passageway, shifting his pack to his shoulder. Who was Harry talking about?

His brother then growled something that sent a chill up his back, half howl, half moan, inhuman. Low but penetrating.

Michaelson stared at his brother's back as he howled. Had his brother gone mad during his isolation?

Harry turned to him, dead serious. "Don't shoot at them."

"Who the hell are you talking-" There was movement along the walls farther down the passage. Small figures, camouflaged against the rock, stepped into the passage, knives and spears glistening in the greenish mold light.

Michaelson heard a pebble shift behind him. Glancing around, he saw more were approaching from the rear. "Harry?"

"They're friends. Saved my life."

One of the creatures separated from the others and approached. His eyes fixed on Michaelson as he edged toward Harry. Michaelson held his gun tightly. The creature, naked, stood only four feet high but was wiry with well-defined muscle. Its shaggy, sandy-colored hair was secured with a blood-red headband. Large eyes searched Michaelson from toe to head, while its prominent ears swiveled in all directions like radar dishes.

As the small figure approached, Michaelson judged the weaponry he carried. A long knife with a crude crystalline blade was belted around his bare waist, and in his four-fingered hand, he clutched a long spear.

As Michaelson watched, the creature crossed to Harry and handed him the spear. Then it backed away.

"Who are… No, what are they?"

"They call themselves mimi'swee."

One of them darted from behind, startling Michaelson, and slid past him to approach Harry. He pointed behind them. "Doda fer'ago," he said. "Doda crak'an!"

Harry glanced over to Michaelson. "He says we've got company. They've caught our scent and are closing in on us. Time to hightail it."

As if on cue, a roar erupted from behind them. A second and third answered it, coming from all around them. They were being boxed in.

Michaelson thought of Ashley and Ben, lost out in the maze of tunnels. He stepped next to Harry. "Listen, I've got friends, and-"

"I know. A small team of my buddies were dispatched after them." He pointed a thumb forward. "Your friends have been herded to safety."

"Where?"

A second volley of roars echoed through the tunnels. "I'll show you. C'mon, before we're someone's dinner."

Michaelson stuck close to his brother. The tiny figures scurried around him, some passing him and running forward, others hurrying behind him to check their trail. He struggled to keep up, biting his lower lip, but his bum ankle soon began throbbing in protest again. A gap started forming between himself and his brother.

Harry slowed down, grabbed Michaelson's arm, and hooked it over his own shoulder, supporting his injured side. By now, only two or three of the little hunters still jogged behind them, guarding the rear. "I'm not leaving you behind, Dennis."

"I'm slowing you down. I didn't come down here to get you killed."

"Shut up, brother. No one is going to get killed today." He squeezed Michaelson's shoulder. "Besides, hooked together like this, it's just like the three-legged race in Kearney when we won the blue ribbon at the fair."

Grimacing with pain, Michaelson spat out, "It's because you cheated!"

"I didn't see you giving back your ribbon."

There was a sudden eruption of commotion from behind them. One of the hunters scurried toward them and growled something to Harry. Harry's expression sobered. He answered something unintelligible. The figure nodded its chin and scrambled forward. Only one tiny figure remained behind them now.

"What did he say?"

"One of the crak'an is closing the gap. We won't make safety."

Michaelson ground his molars. Now he had put his brother in new danger. "I told you-

"Yeah, yeah, you're always right." His brother stopped their shuffling gait. The remaining hunter, black-furred with a scar down the right side of his face, halted beside Harry. "Dennis, go on ahead, try to keep up as best as you can. Nob'cobi and I'll try to slow it down. Buy some time for the others."

"To hell with that! I've got the gun."

"Yeah, and I've got the experience. Now move it!"

He recognized the stubborn set to his brother's eyes. There would be no arguing. "Well, at least take my gun, then."

Harry shook his head. "You may need it." His brother then hefted the long spear still held in his right hand. "Besides, using nontraditional weapons lessens our chance to gain il'jann from the kill."

"What?"

Harry waved him on. "It's sort of like counting coup. A measure of honor." A scrabbling of claw on rock could now be heard coming from down the tunnel. "Now get going!"

Michaelson nodded and started down the tunnel. No way was he going to leave his brother to fight with only a spear. As soon as he reached a side tunnel, he ducked in and checked behind him. His brother and the other hunter had their heads together. The little figure was gesturing with his hands and nodding.

Dropping his pack, he unhooked his gun and lay flat in the tunnel, sighting back down the passageway. He waited, listening to the increasing noise of the approaching predator.

Suddenly his brother tensed and swung his spear forward, apparently seeing something still out of sight from Michaelson's position. The tiny hunter pressed himself flat against the passage wall. Harry planted the haft of his spear in a divot on the floor and held it in place with his foot, leaning the length of the shaft forward, blade pointing down the tunnel. He crouched, holding the spear steady.

A roar of rage echoed down the tunnel; then the monster stalked into view, filling the entire tunnel, massive, larger than any Michaelson had seen before. Black as if soaked in pitch, it twisted its head back and forth, snorting explosively. When it spotted Harry, it froze, tensing on its two thickly muscled hind legs. It backed a step, stretching its neck forward, then opened its mouth and screamed.

Harry held his position, but answered the monster with his own yell: "Fuck you!"

Michaelson let a small smile come to his lips. Nothing intimidated the foolish bastard. Laying on his belly, Michaelson narrowed his eyes, raising the rifle's butt to his shoulder, eyeing through the sights. His shot was blocked by his brother. Shit.

With a howl of fury, the beast burst toward his brother, barreling across the gap between them. Everything happened too fast for Michaelson to react. Harry ducked down as the head lunged at him, then braced himself as the beast rammed into his planted spear, impaling itself through the chest. The shaft snapped in half as Harry rolled away.

Just then the tiny hunter leaped from the side wall and landed straddled on the neck of the monster, a long knife clutched in his fist. He drove the blade at the eyes of the beast, gouging viciously.

The beast reared with an agonized roar, throwing its head back, dislodging the hunter. The long knife, though, protruded from the monster's left eye.

The tiny hunter landed hard where he was flung, but he quickly scrambled away from the thrashing beast and crawled toward Harry.

The predator spotted the hunter with his one good eye, and snapped at him. Harry tried to reach his fellow hunter first and yank him out of reach of the beast, but his hand fell just inches too short. The little man was snatched up in the jaws of the monster. Still Harry scrambled forward with the snapped half of his spear, apparently intending to use the sharpened remains as a weapon to free his friend.

Michaelson gritted his teeth. His brother still partially blocked his shot but obviously wasn't going to leave the tiny hunter to the jaws of the beast. Damn him! Holding his breath, Michaelson squinted and pulled the trigger, the explosion from the rifle deafening in the narrow space.

The sudden noise froze everyone. Harry stopped his approach to strike the creature, the stump of his spear still gripped in his hand. The beast paused in midstride.

"Harry!" Michaelson called. His voice shattered the tableau. The beast collapsed to the floor, dead, a bullet through its brain. As it fell, it released its prey, the hunter tumbling from its jaws. Harry ran forward to his friend.

Michaelson crawled from his hiding place and approached his brother, eyeing the bulk of the beast that blocked the passage. "How is he?"

Harry helped the tiny hunter stand. "He'll live. They're a tough-skinned lot. A few punctures in his shoulder. Nothing seriously damaged, though."

"Good." Michaelson knelt beside the mimi'swee hunter and lay a hand on his good shoulder.

Harry sat back on his haunches. "Dennis, I thought I told you to get out of here."

Michaelson frowned. "Besides being your older brother, I also outrank you."

"Suddenly I'm glad you rose through the ranks faster than me. Otherwise you might've actually listened to me." Harry then turned to him, his eyes serious. "Thanks, Dennis."

The tiny hunter started spouting gibberish, a pained expression in his eyes. Harry nodded soberly. The tiny figure reached to his injured shoulder and dabbed a finger in the seeping blood, then turned to Michaelson.

"Nob'cobi wants to share his il'jann with you," Harry explained. "It's a distinct honor among his people. Equivalent of blood brothers."

The furry hunter reached forward and placed a bloody finger to Michaelson's forehead. "Br… brother," he said in a half growl.