Dakota Run

Chapter Fifteen

“Geronimo! Wake up! You dozed off!”

He felt her hand gently slapping his left cheek and he opened his eyes, his mind sluggish, his senses groggy.

“How’s your head feel?” Cynthia questioned.

“A little better than last night,” Gernonimo informed her.

“You up to a little action?” Kilrane interjected.

Geronimo glanced around, slightly dazed, wondering if he’d sustained a concussion in the fall into the pit. Kilrane was squatting against the opposite wall. They were still at the rear of the crevice, as far from the ant tunnel as they could get. “What do you have in mind?” he asked.

“A little reconnaissance,” Kilrane answered, nodding toward the tunnel.

“It’s daylight and I haven’t heard one pass by in a long time.”

“Maybe they’re nocturnal,” Geronimo deduced, “and they hole up during the day. They were awful active last night.” He gazed at the tunnel, surprised at how clear everything appeared. The bright sunlight outside the crater was flooding the tunnel and providing sufficient illumination for their eyes, long since adjusted to the murky visibility, to discern every nook and cranny in the crevice and the lighter shade of the tunnel beyond.

“Then now is our best bet to make a break for it,” Kilrane declared. He flattened and slowly crawled along the crevice floor, making for the ant tunnel.

Geronimo promptly followed, the Marlin in his right hand, collecting his thoughts.

“I just hope you’re right,” Cynthia whispered, falling in behind Geronimo.

Kilrane cautiously edged nearer the opening, slowly easing his body over the lumps of dirt and stones on the floor. He reached the rift and stopped, waiting for the others. The crevice widened at its junction with the tunnel, enabling the trio to huddle side by side.

Geronimo glanced at the other two, then inched his face to the lip of the crevice and peered out.

The ant tunnel brightened to his right, indicating the hole to the outside was in that direction. The industrious ants had carved a passageway about ten feet in diameter, its sides and ceiling smooth and unbroken, the floor littered with a jumble of indistinguishable debris except for a few prominent, pale white bones. The crevice started five feet from the tunnel floor and continued up to the ceiling.

The tunnel was deserted.

“Say, Kilrane,” Geronimo said softly. “Why didn’t you try to get out of the hole after we fell in, instead of bringing us deeper into this tunnel?”

“Didn’t have any choice,” Kilrane replied. “Your horse died in the fall. I might have climbed back out, but there was no way I could tote you too. The sides of the pit are too steep. So we hurried in here. I was hoping I could find a side tunnel and hide for a spell. We lucked out finding this.”

“Do we make a run for it?” Cynthia inquired nervously.

“It may only be twenty yards to the crater.”

Kilrane responded, “but we’d still have to climb out and that would take some doing. What if we’re caught on the sides of the hole and an ant shows up?”

“Good point,” Geronimo remarked, debating their next move. What should they do? Kilrane was right; if they tried to scale the pit, they’d be exposed and prime prey for the ants. On the other hand, if they didn’t make their bid for freedom while they still had the light, they’d be forced to remain in the crevice another night and increase the likelihood of being discovered by the ants. Neither proposition was particularly appealing.

“Listen!” Cynthia warned them.

Geronimo heard the high-pitched twittering coming from the direction of the crater. An ant was returning!

They froze, holding their breaths.

Despite being forewarned of their immense size, despite having encountered giants before, Geronimo was stunned when the gargantuan insect passed the crevice opening, unprepared for the sheer, overpowering enormity of the creature.

The red behemoth passed the crevice at a leisurely pace, its six legs moving in instinctive precision, its elbowed antennae waving in the air as it walked. This particular ant was at least seven feet in height and twelve feet long. Its compound eyes seemed to be focused on the tunnel ahead as it carried a large object in its huge jaws, the object dwarfed by the insect’s five-foot-wide head.

What was the ant carrying? Geronimo wondered. Whatever it was, the thing was twitching. Where would the ants find food in the Dead Zone? He marveled at the insect’s flawless symmetry, noting the exceptionally elongated head with the massive jaws, the relatively narrow waist between the two large body segments, and the lustrous sheen to the entire form. He recalled his schooling days at the Home and his intensive studies of the flora and fauna of the region. Courses were taught on the mammals, reptiles, amphibians, birds, and insects likely to be encountered in the vicinity of the Home. He remembered receiving instructions concerning ants, but the years since the lesson had tarnished his memory.

What exactly did he know about ants, anyway?

They were likely social and lived in colonies in the ground or in dead wood. These colonies were called nests, and Geronimo speculated the mountainous mound spotted earlier was the main nest for this colony. If true, it meant they were trapped in a subsidiary tunnel, which worked in their favor. The ants were apt to increase in number the closer to the mound you went. In one of their secondary tunnels, therefore, there would be fewer ants!

What else did he recollect about ants?

Their bodies were comprised of the head, the abdomen, and the thorax, but he forgot which was the abdomen and which the thorax. Many species included different types within the colony: workers, soldiers, and queen ants. The queens would be secreted in an inner chamber in the nest, but the workers and the soldiers would emerge on a regular basis to conduct their business, whether it be foraging for sustenance or fighting an enemy.

How could you tell a worker from a soldier?

Geronimo couldn’t recall, and the information might be crucial.

Worker ants might not be much of a threat, but the deadly soldiers were another matter.

The ant with the food in its jaws disappeared around a far turn in the tunnel.

“Whew!” Cynthia whispered in relief. “I thought for a second there the thing saw us.”

“I don’t see any more coming,” Kilrane observed, staring in the direction of the hole. “Should we make our break for it now?”

“I see no reason to wait,” Geronimo replied. “Besides, I never expected to end my days on this planet as ant fricassee.”

“But even if we do make it out,” Cynthia mentioned, “where will we go?

Without the horses we wouldn’t last very long.”

“Care to place a bet on how much longer we’d last down here?”

Geronimo queried.

Cynthia shook her head.

“Still no sign of any ants,” Kilrane commented.

“May the Great Spirit be with us,” Geronimo said, and slipped over the edge of the crevice.

The tunnel remained empty.

Geronimo crouched, the Marlin ready, and motioned for the others to follow him with his left hand.

Kilrane came next, his lariat in his right hand.

Cynthia took a deep breath and jumped to the floor of the tunnel.

“It must have taken considerable effort to get me up to that crack in the wall while unconscious,” Geronimo stated, looking at Kilrane.

“It was tough,” Kilrane admitted, grinning. “Maybe you should go on a diet in case we ever need to go through this again.”

“You can barely see the crevice from the crater,” Cynthia interjected. “If we…”

A distant twittering carried to their ears.

“An ant!” Cynthia exclaimed.

“It’s coming from down there,” Geronimo declared, pointing down the tunnel shaft.

“Do we go for it or climb back up?” Kilrane demanded.

“Go!” Geronimo suggested, already in motion, running for the exit opening twenty yards off.

Cynthia and Kilrane were on his heels as they raced along the tunnel and reached the bottom of the pit. The rim of the crater appeared impossibly far off, and the smooth sides presented an almost insurmountable challenge.

“You two start,” Geronimo directed, waving them on. “I’ll hold the fort until you reach the top.”

“Why you?” Kilrane argued.

“You don’t have a rifle,” Geronimo reasoned, “and this baby would stop a charging elephant.”

“What’s an elephant?” Kilrane inquired.

“You’ve never heard of an elephant?”

“No. Why?”

Geronimo grinned. He kept forgetting others did not enjoy the same access he did to the invaluable wealth of information in the Family library.

“What’s an elephant?” Kilrane repeated.

“Just think of it as an ant with a whopper of a nose,” Geronimo said.

“Now get going!”

Cynthia was already striving to climb the pit, her feet slipping and sliding in the fine, loose dirt.

“I won’t leave you,” Kilrane balked.

Geronimo stared into the bigger man’s blue eyes. “I appreciate the thought, but you’ve got to go. I’ll cover for you as long as I can.”

“I’ve never deserted a friend in my life,” Kilrane said defiantly, “and I’m not about to start now.”

Geronimo noticed the compliment. “Please, Kilrane. Get Cynthia out of here. For me, as a personal favor.”

Kilrane glanced at the struggling woman.

frowned, and nodded. “All right,” he reluctantly growled, “but I’m coming back for you.”

For a moment, their eyes locked in silent understanding, and then Geronimo swung around, facing the tunnel. Cynthia had been right; he could just distinguish the rift they’d used as their refuge. He heard Kilrane attempting to negotiate the steep sides of the crater, but he steeled himself and locked his eyes on the fissure. If he glanced behind him to ascertain their progress in navigating the hole, his attention would be distracted from the tunnel for an instant, providing the ants with a momentary edge.

An experienced Warrior never gave an opponent the edge.

Geronimo’s mind wandered, his thoughts drifting to the Family and the Home. And Hickok. His best friend. It was funny, sometimes, how you never truly valued someone until deprived of his presence. All those years of brotherhood with Hickok, sharing the sweet and the bitter, the laughs and the tears, had resulted in an ingrained bond of affection, a mutual affinity predicated on a thorough understanding of one another. He fondly remembered the time Hickok tried driving the SEAL and nearly succeeded in planting a tree in the driver’s seat. Grinning, he recalled another time when Hickok was caught with his pants down, so to speak, about to take a leak when a mutate popped up.

Would he ever see Hickok again?

Or Blade?

Or Plato?

Or…

What was that?

There was vague movement near the crevice.

Geronimo dropped to his right knee and sighted along the Marlin. He could still hear Kilrane and Cynthia doing their utmost to reach the lip of the hole.

A pair of antennae became visible, swaying in the air.

Geronimo patiently waited, his finger on the trigger.

The head of an ant appeared, the insect hesitating, apparently endeavoring to identify the commotion in the hole.

Good.

Take your time, gruesome!

How long could he hold them off? Geronimo speculated. The Marlin might be able to down a few, but if they surged through the tunnel in any great number, all at once, there was no way he could keep them back.

The front section of the ant was now clearly in sight.

Geronimo suddenly had an idea. What if he was able to kill a couple of the things? Maybe, just maybe, their bodies might block the tunnel for awhile. At least, long enough for Cynthia and Kilrane to make good their escape.

Would it work, though?

There was only one way to find out.

Geronimo aimed between the two antennae, held his breath, and fired.

The blast of the Marlin was deafening in the confines of the tunnel, and Geronimo was aware of a ringing in his ears as he levered his second round into the chamber.

The ant staggered with that first shot, then plowed ahead, emanating a high-pitched screeching as it attacked.

Geronimo fired again, this slug ripping into the ant’s right eye and tearing through its head.

The ant almost stumbled, but it recovered and lurched forward, its jaw working frantically.

So!

The head was a weak spot!

Geronimo quickly shot a third time, aiming between the antennae again.

The ant dropped to the floor of the tunnel, its antennae flapping overhead, twitching and quivering.

Geronimo, elated, hastily reloaded the three spent shells from his bandoleer.

The Marlin was effective against the creatures! It meant he could buy Kilrane and Cynthia more time, if his ammunition held out. He could…

Something was moving in the tunnel behind the dead ant.

Geronimo squinted, peering into the passageway. So soon?

A second ant was pushing the body of the first aside as it struggled to squeeze past, twittering like crazy.

The ants must possess a remarkable communications system.

Reinforcements were probably on their way, rushing to repel the intruders. How many? Ten? A hundred?

Did it matter?

Geronimo sent three shots into the head of the second ant. This one thrashed and clutched at the sides of the tunnel before collapsing alongside the first.

This isn’t so hard, Geronimo thought. Like shooting ducks on a pond from a blind.

A third red ant started to climb over the dead duo.

Geronimo sighted and fired, the recoil slamming the Marlin’s heavy stock into his shoulder.

The third ant reared and snapped at the ceiling.

Geronimo reloaded, keeping his eyes fixed on the ant.

The third ant was struggling to press past its fallen comrades.

Geronimo shot again, aiming above the insect’s left eye.

The ant abruptly collapsed onto the deceased pair, kicking spasmodically.

No time to lose!

Geronimo ejected the spent round and replaced it. He couldn’t afford to be caught empty when the big rush came.

What was going on now?

There was a bustle of activity immediately to the rear of the three dead ants.

Were they trying to extract the bodies from the corridor?

Geronimo leaned forward, puzzled. Was it his imagination, or were those dead ants moving? They were! They were actually creeping toward him! But how?

The ants must be pushing from the other side, using their former mates as a shield, protecting themselves from the rifle.

Was it possible?

Were ants that smart?

The bodies were about twelve yards away and slowly inching nearer.

The live soldier ants were making an incredible racket.

What should he do? There weren’t any clear targets yet, and he refused to waste a bullet. All he could do was wait, the sweat pouring from his pores, and strive to calm his nerves.

The makeshift barricade was ten yards away.

Had Kilrane and Cynthia made it yet? Geronimo wanted to take a peek, but the glance could prove fatal.

Eight yards.

Geronimo sighted on a head visible above the pile of bodies and fired.

His shot was rewarded with a piercing squeal and the head vanished from view.

Six yards.

Geronimo’s fingers flew as he replaced the round. It wouldn’t be long before the ants made their bid.

The tunnel suddenly went quiet.

Geronimo shifted to his left knee. Where were they? What were they up to?

Something chattered and the prone body on top of the pile was hastily hauled backward, out of sight. Another ant, a live one, quickly filled the gap, scrambling over the dead pair still blocking the tunnel.

Geronimo let him have two shots in the forehead, delighted when the ant froze and slumped on top of the other dead forms.

So far, so good!

Geronimo could see ants moving behind the dead ones blocking the tunnel.

What were they up to now?

A spray of dust settled around Geronimo’s shoulders and he coughed, clearing his dry throat. Kilrane and Cynthia had probably dislodged some dirt near the top of the pit.

The ants congregated on the other side of the bodies suddenly started making a veritable din.

They’re up to something, Geronimo told himself.

More dust fell from above, covering Geronimo’s shoulders.

What were they trying to do, bury him alive?

The ants still in the tunnel sounded like they were throwing the party of the millennium.

A third deluge of dirt and dust descended on Geronimo and caked his clothes with a fine reddish film.

What in the world were they doing? Didn’t they see him at the bottom of the pit?

Geronimo risked a quick glance overhead, intending to discover the culprit.

And he did.

But it wasn’t Kilrane or Cynthia.

It was an ant, its head poking through the pit wall halfway between Geronimo and the top of the crater, just to his right.

Geronimo wheeled, raising the Marlin, realizing he’d been outflanked, outmaneuvered by the crafty devils! They’d dug a new tunnel, circumventing the bodies, bypassing the deceased ants and emerging from the pit wall.

Behind him, there was renewed commotion as the ants tore into the bodies, working frantically to force an exit.

He was trapped!

Ants behind him and ants in front of him!

They had him right where they wanted him.

It looked like he’d never get to see Hickok’s ugly white puss again.

Geronimo aimed the rifle, prepared to acquit himself honorably. He saw Kilrane and Cynthia, to his left, near the top.

The ant above him finally detected its prey and shrieked in triumph.