“There’s another track,” Tris said. “Come on.” He pushed past Brice, heading back towards the landing pad. Brice shrugged and followed.
After a couple of paces, Tris turned to the right. There was a path of sorts, but Brice thought of claws sweeping out, and he shuddered.
“You sure?” He asked.
“No other way. What, you scared?”
Brice shook his head, even though he was. But so was Tris. Brice could practically smell the fear pouring off him.
“Come on then.” Tris turned, swallowing, and made his way into the trees. Brice followed once more.
Branches closed in all around. That stopped the worst of the rain, but now each drop of water was bigger, and as each one struck him Brice thought of what else was up there. A roar filled his ears, and he could no longer tell what was the forest, what was the creatures, and what was the blood rushing around his body. His muscles tightened with the too-warm after-glow of adrenaline. His fingers gripped the torches, and he moved in a crouch, ready to run.
As if he could outrun those things.
“You know where you’re going?” he asked.
“Shut up.”
The track dissolved into little more than a twisting gap between angry branches. They clawed at his face, and pulled at his arms. Creepers lay in wait, tight against his boots, and Brice staggered with every step. His legs burnt from the effort of pushing through the undergrowth.
And he expected every step to be his last.
Brice wondered if he’d feel the claws slice into him, or if realisation would only come once his blood had run free. He tensed, knowing he’d never be ready for the fangs sinking into his skin, ripping through his flesh.
“Trees open up here,” Tris said, his voice full of relief.
Brice looked through Tris’ circle of light, and his chest thudded with relief. A few steps more, and the track became a path once more. The trees parted, and they stepped into a small clearing. Now, if the creatures wanted to reach Brice, they would have to step into the torch-light.
He realised that it was not actually a clearing, but an intersection. The path they took dipped down, then rose ahead, continuing through the trees. Crossing this was a wider path, running along a depression. Only this wasn’t a path any more.
Tris stopped.
“That was our path,” he said quietly, his voice cracking. His arm shook as he pointed to the dip.
Their route lay along a trench, or maybe it was a big ditch. But the rain had been falling for too long, filling the ditch with mud. But not the mud that clung to other paths. Not mud that they could walk through.
This mud was moving. The path was a brown, oozing river.
“Any other way?” Brice asked.
“Checking.”
The stench of the mud was almost overpowering, the taste hitting the back of Brice’s throat and making him gag.
“If we can get over, that track can take us back.”
“Rope?”
“You got any?”
Brice shook his head as the brown river slid past. It was almost hypnotic, the way the gunk folded over itself. Not liquid, but not solid either. He imagined stepping into the river and sinking into the ooze, leisurely feeling the mud encase his body. He wondered if it would be warm.
He wondered how far down he’d go.
And Brice realised he couldn’t see the ground beneath the mud. He had no idea of the depth.
Brice turned to the trees, searching for something to use. He reached out and pulled, and a branch tore free with a satisfying crack. It was smooth and old, more of a pole than a branch.
“You going to make us a bridge?” Tris’ tone was mocking. Brice chose to ignore him. Stupid comments wouldn’t get them any further.
He crept down the bank, to the edge of the mud. With one hand grasping some kind of fern, and a part of him terrified that it would break, Brice reached out and pushed the branch into the slow river. He felt the mud sucking angrily at it, but he held his wrist firm and pushed the pole down. And down.
Even before his hand reached the mud itself he knew this was pointless. He released the branch, and it slid beneath the surface and disappeared.
“You finished playing?”
Brice took a deep breath, closing his eyes. “Checking the depth,” he explained. “Just in case…but it’s too deep.”
“Could’ve told you that before.”
“At least I’m trying.” Brice straightened up and stepped away from the bank.
“Fat lot of good it’s doing us.” Tris took a step closer, the torch on his chest shining into Brice’s eyes. “That’s all you ever do, isn’t it? You try. About time you started doing instead.”
Brice blinked. That made so little sense. But before he could respond, data-monkey was talking again.
“You fired at that warth because you were trying to help, and they attacked. You tried to turn the bloody hold-out lights on, and totally screwed the power. Every time you try, things get worse.” He jabbed a finger at Brice, the torch swinging from his wrist. Brice felt it slam against his chest. “You’re a liability. It’s a wonder any of us are still alive with you around.”
Brice’s eyes watered from the light, but he stared at Tris, refusing to blink. Tris’ beady little eyes flickered, too close together, and Brice hated them. He hated Tris, with his cloying, sickly breath and his stupid padded muscles, and his superior attitude. He hated everything the techie stood for, everything that was wrong with the company and this job and this mission. He hated how Keelin looked up to Tris, and how everyone looked down on Brice himself. He hated this bloody forest and this storm and the way those creatures were playing with them. He hated being out here, and most of all he hated Tris.
The
