She lowered the carbine and gave him a look of disbelief. Greg dashed over to the gate. He stumbled as he drew near, and a clawed arm shot between the bars to rake at his face. Recoiling, Greg recovered his balance, then swept the flask in a wide arc, spreading oil over the gate and the murriks clustered beyond. They hissed with anger and greed, their coal black eyes glistening in the light of the lantern.
Greg stepped back as Adena came up holding the lantern. She saw what he intended and grinned until her fangs showed — then dropped the lantern on the pool of oil.
Whuumph. It ignited with ease, the flames licking hungrily over the dark stain on the ground, climbing up the bars and the murrik bodies pressed against them. The heat singed Greg's face. He stepped back, eyes smarting. The murriks splashed by the oil screamed and tried to push away from the gate, but the pressure of their kin behind held them tight. Their hides began to scorch, then burn, and the pitch of their agonized screams grew higher.
Adena swallowed, worked the bolt of her carbine again and proceeded to pick them off one by one. As the murriks fell dead, so the bright light of the burning oil reached the back ranks. A shudder rippled through them with the odd scream as some got too close to their burning fellows and the oil. The murriks began to fall back, the packed mass of them loosening until those at the back flapped their leathery wings and took off. Others followed until only the dead remained. An evil smell of cooked flesh permeated the air, making Greg cough and feel sick to the pit of his stomach.
"Us or them, Greg." Adena's hand rested briefly on his shoulder. "That was quick thinking."
"Thanks." He looked up. The mushroom creatures had passed through the doorway in the minutes since the murriks had appeared. Penny had sat up, her head in her hands as she groaned. The nearest mushroom had slithered to within a couple of paces of the gunner.
Penny saw the danger. Shaking her head as if dispelling cobwebs she scrambled to her feet.
"Penny!" Adena shouted. "Fall back and tie a bandanna over your face."
Penny hesitated briefly, then did as commanded. The three of them soaked their bandannas, drew knives and swords, then closed in on their enemies.
The fight was short, but brutal. Greg fought until his remaining arm ached with fatigue, slashing and stabbing at the fish-belly white forms until none remained in the chamber. The survivors fell back into the storeroom through some primitive survival instinct.
Adena lowered her sword, panting. "They won't. Come out. For a while. Now."
"What are these things?" Greg asked.
"Silocks. They dwell in the damp, dark places of this world." Adena grimaced. "Depending on the size and the maturity of the creature, their spores can either temporarily blind, permanently blind, stun, or induce fits or hallucinations if inhaled. It's what happened to Penny."
"Sure enough." Penny wiped her blade with a scrap of cloth. Slimy pale ichor dripped from the shiny metal, making Greg feel ill to look at it. "I walked in there all unsuspecting. The next thing I knew I was seeing little pink goblins leaping out of my body."
"I saw pink amoebas," Greg confessed.
Adena nodded. "Scary stuff."
"What did you see?"
She shuddered. "You don't want to know."
Greg jerked his thumb toward the gate. "Will those things be back?"
"Not for a while." She hesitated. "I think we'd better forgo resting right now. We need to get through that gate and down to the floor of the mesa. It's a few hours' walk, and I hoped to leave time to get there and back with a day to spare. It doesn't look like that'll happen now."
"Won't those silocks get up the nerve to come out?"
"Possibly. They're not much of a danger when you're prepared for them, though. They rely on stealth and ambush. Once a victim is down, they crawl onto their body, break it down to pulp and feed off it."
"Urgh!" Greg's stomach gave a roll, and he waved off any more description. "Too much information. Let's just pack up our gear and move on."
Once the fire had died down, the padlock on the gate chain yielded to a sharp blow from the butt of Adena's carbine. Greg winced as she swung the gate open and the hinges let loose a deafening screech that rivaled the cries of the dying murriks. When he passed through, he could feel the heat radiating off the bars. Adena showed no concern even though he'd seen her touch the bare metal. Her powers to resist pain impressed him all the more.
The last walkway around the inside of the mesa was hundreds of feet above their heads. What remained of the distance to the mesa floor comprised almost sheer rock faces, necessitating their use of the grapnels and ropes to rappel downward. Greg found he could manage the descent easily enough by using carabiner clips. He didn't like to think how he'd manage the ascent once they'd recovered Mr. Phibuli — if they found him. He looked up, and could see far above the tiny glow of the lanterns at the tunnel entrance, and felt less alone and cut-off knowing there were people up there looking out for them.
As they descended, the steep basalt face gave way to a slope that splayed out from the base of the cliff. Part-solid rock, part-scree, it made life somewhat easier for them as their boots found a solid grip. Before long, Greg could smell water and hear a strange bubbling sound from somewhere in the darkness.
He furrowed his brow. "What is that?"
Adena frowned, her face a peculiar under-lit mask in the light from the lantern at her belt. "Beats me." She pitched her voice low as if wary of what might lurk in the darkness. "There are no springs or falls down here that could make that sound. Be alert,
