<Pretty sure it’s the same one.>
The distance between the ledges was pushing ten metres now. Was it possible for something to jump that gap without making a sound?
<What the hell is it?>
<No idea.> Her response was too fast, like she was covering up her true thoughts.
<Keep moving,> he sussed, his own pace bringing him closer to Brice. The lad was scanning, but he was keeping his nerves in check. More so than either Keelin or Tris. Neither of them moved smoothly. Worryingly, Tris had his lash drawn.
<Tris, holster that thing.>
The lad looked down, almost surprised, then holstered the weapon. His hand shook without something to occupy it.
<It’s back on the left,> Ryann sussed.
<Jumped again? You sure?>
She paused. <Positive.>
<Any more of them?> The words sounded weak. Any more of what?
<Can’t feel any. But that doesn’t mean it’s alone.>
That was no comfort at all.
So, analyse. The ledges were ten metres up, with smooth rock that offered no clear climb. But—if he trusted Ryann on this—their watcher could leap a distance like that. And there was no certainty it was on its own. They didn’t know what lay beyond the holes.
Cathal had insufficient data to form a clear assessment. He wasn’t going to make the same mistake as Nels.
<Okay,> he sussed wide. <We’ve gone as far as we need to. We head back to the cave and reassess.>
He could feel the relief flowing from the crew.
<You want me on point again?> Already Ryann was moving round the others.
<I’ve got the route mapped. I’ll lead. You keep a trace on our friend.>
That didn’t come across as light as he intended, and he doubted the smile helped. But she nodded and took a step back, behind Keelin.
<Okay, let’s go. Keep watch, keep recording.>
He turned, pushing his fears deep down. If the thing had been following them, they were now approaching it. But there was no avoiding this. Without a map, they had to retrace their steps.
Fifteen minutes, and he’d see the open air again.
Even the bloody rain would be pleasant after this.
He looked up to the roof. For a moment nausea rose, and his vision swam. He shut his eyes and brought his head back down. This place was getting to him. At least on the Proteus he could call up external sensors and pretend he was outside. But down here, not even the air moved. It was like a tomb; stuffy and dead.
But it was logical to explore. They had part of the tunnels mapped now, even if it was only a small part. And they knew of another creature. That would surely be of interest to the company. That might make up for failing to find the missing crew.
The tunnel narrowed, the walls closing in, green-tinged in his filters. The roof would be lower, too. He could sense the weight of the rock above him.
Cathal glanced up, one arm out to balance. He saw the ledge, and the shadows.
His vision swirled as the shadows moved, and darkness crashed down on him.
Brice heard a yell as the black shape fell on Cathal. The man disappeared, pinned down by shadowy limbs. A howl cut through the air, and Brice saw a mouth, wide and black, lined with fangs. The mouth jerked sharply, and the fangs vanished into the shadows as Cathal screamed in agony.
Brice dropped to a crouch and raised his lash, crosshairs ready. He heard voices; curses and yells, maybe instructions. He pulled up more filters, desperate to see into the shadows. To see what he was aiming at.
There was a crack, and the air by Brice’s head surged forwards with an ozone blast. For a moment his vision burst with light, and a deep rolling roar filled his ears. There was more shouting. Brice shouted too, waving his lash in the air, and only now realising he could no longer see the sights. Or anything else.
<What’s happening?> he cried out. Maybe one of the shouts was an answer. He couldn’t tell.
Something barrelled into him, forcing him back. Brice threw his free hand forward, and it struck something leathery and cold.
There was a dry, rasping hiss in his ears, and a coppery, rancid stench smothered his face. He felt warm splashes on his skin, and he didn’t want to know what they were.
Brice brought his lash up and forward, and when it met resistance he pushed harder. Whatever was there pushed back, and Brice squeezed the trigger. For a moment he felt a call to his lattice, requesting targeting, but the call was too far away, and he repeated the squeeze, going into automatic manual override. He felt the surge of energy, and then his arm flew backwards, twisting his body.
When his head struck the rock, nausea raced through him as a brilliantly dark light flared and died.
Then he was on the floor and he could hear heavy, trembling breathing.
“What the hell was that thing?” Tris screamed.
The roar in his ears became the background drone of pumping blood, and other sounds reached him. He heard steps, and a gasp. There was the soft rustling of fabric, then something tearing. He could smell sweat, and blood, and something sharp and acrid that left a sour taste in his mouth. He wanted to vomit.
And he still could not see.
Brice called up his lattice, scanning for filters. But he couldn’t find them. He saw the usual options, but they faded and slipped away when he reached out. He blinked hard, holding his eyes shut tight and then releasing, but still nothing. His eyes itched, like they used to when he first had the lenses implanted.
His shoulder throbbed. The lash had been on full power—without looking, and without confirmation from his lattice, he knew he’d thumbed the intensity as far as it would go. He knew there would be kick-back from such a blast, especially at point blank range, but it
