Subterranean

Ashley glanced at Khalid. Holding a pistol in his left hand, he cautiously lifted the hot coffeepot from the camp stove. He sloshed some of the syrupy drink into a tin cup.

Absently, Linda held up her cup for a refill, not even glancing in his direction. Almost like an old married couple at breakfast.

Once her cup was filled, Linda took a sip from her cup and grimaced. "This is awful." But she took another sip, then sighed. She sat back and glanced at Ashley. "You know, since I'm up anyway, why don't you go back to bed?"

This option hadn't occurred to her, but it made sense and was damned attractive. "I suppose if you really think that you-

Linda nodded. "You need the sleep. You should see your eyes. They're blood-red."

And they felt like it too. Ashley glanced over to where Ben was snoring. Linda didn't have to offer twice. "I'll see you in the morning."

"Before you go, though," Linda said from behind her, "there's a question that's been naggin' me."

Ashley turned back reluctantly, the pull of her mattress strong. "What's that?"

"Those marsupial creatures. They're obviously predatory. How does something like that get enough food to eat?"

She shrugged. "I don't know."

"I mean, they have to be at the top of the food chain. But who's below them? Look at the lions in Africa. To support even a small pride of lions, it takes a huge reservoir of herbivores-antelopes, water buffalo, zebras. From a biological standpoint, these beasts would need a huge supply of prey."

Ashley rubbed her sore eyes. "Yeah, I guess so."

"So, where are they?" Linda took another sip of coffee. "Where is their food supply?"

Khalid snorted. "Hell, all I know is that I don't want it to be us."

Ashley nodded. The question was intriguing. What did they hunt? From their demonstrated teamwork in the other chamber, they had a rudimentary intelligence. Almost cunning. "I'm not sure. It's a mystery that'll have to be answered by a future team."

Linda nodded. She held up a second vial of yellow phosphorescence. "So many mysteries down here…" She checked a note in her book and pursed her lips.

Ashley said her good nights and retired to her mattress. She snuggled into her blankets, still warm from her recent slumber. Sighing, she closed her eyes, but the biologist's questions nagged at her. What did they eat?

Ben struggled in his sleep, knowing he was dreaming but unable to stop it. He was in that damned cavern once again. He walked among the fruit-laden trees, red pulpy gourds drooping obscenely.

"Hello," he hollered into the grove of trees.

No answer.

He had seen an image of his grandfather the last time he was down here. In a cave. Now, just where was that? He headed in a direction that seemed familiar. He brushed past a low mass of foliage with petite blue flowers. Didn't he pass a similar bush before? It was like returning to your hometown after being gone for decades. His feet seemed to remember their previous steps.

As he approached the far wall, he knew he was going the right way. He could even see the black hole in the glowing wall. Glowing? It was the same fungus growing in the geode room. Strange.

He continued toward the wall, expecting the trees to block his way forward, like his previous visit. But this time no trees stopped him. Taking a handful of steps, he found himself standing before the wall, a soft muskiness enveloping him. The fungus was sporing little pods the size of pinheads. He brushed a hand against the wall. With the sweep of his hand, the odor became overpowering. His mind reeled. Explosions of colors flashed before his eyes. He swooned to his knees, fighting to stay conscious, but his vision swirled in fantastic eddies of colors and textures. He slipped to the floor, the back of his head exploding as it hit the ground.

A voice arose from beside him. "Benny-boy, enough of that bloody crap."

He knew that voice from childhood. It was his grandfather.

"Jesus, snap out of it, mate."

His vision cleared as his grandfather waved a twisted leaf under his nose. It smelled of mint with a hint of cherry. With each wave, the swirls of colors were wiped away, as if erased by the passing of the leaf. "There you go, Benny-boy. 'Bout time you got your bloody arse down here."

Of course, he was dreaming-but it seemed so real. He could see the spiderweb of broken blood vessels at the tip of his grandfather's nose. The tufts of white hair at the edges of his ears. The ever-present laughter in his eyes. "Granddad?"

"Who'd ya think?"

"Well, considering you're buried six feet under Aussie soil, I didn't much expect to run into you anytime soon." He pushed himself upward, the musky odor still strong, threatening to overwhelm him again. "Why are you here?"

"I've been sent to warn you."

"We know about those black beasties. You're a little late."

"Those wankers? Don't let them pests get to ya."

"Pests? Those 'pests' just about consumed our entire crew."

His grandfather sat down beside him, crossing his legs.

"Benny-boy, you have to continue down. Don't go up."

"But-"

"Down, Bennie-boy. Down."

The muskiness intruded again, smearing the image of his grandfather with wide swatches of purple and orange. "I don't understand…" He felt himself falling away again.

Only his granddad's words followed him as he faded away: "… down… down…"

"Wake up, Ben." Ashley patted his shoulder, surprised at how deeply he slept. The others were already up and about. He was the last still in his bedroll. Even Villanueva was sitting up, doing much better, his arm in a crude sling.

She shook Ben's shoulder. "C'mon, breakfast is about ready." She glanced over to where Michaelson was bent over the campstove. How he managed to turn dehydrated eggs into a damned close approximation of a Denver omelet was a mystery that would baffle Betty Crocker. Her stomach rumbled in response to the tantalizing scent of grilled onions and tinned ham.

Ben groaned, rolling onto his back, eyes cracked open a slit. "Bloody hell, what is that stench?"

"It's breakfast, and if you don't hurry, you'll be eating cold cereal."

He propped himself up on his elbows, his hair sticking out in all directions. He scratched at himself under the blanket. "Blimey, my head's aching like she's about to blow. It's not fair that I get a hangover without a fine evening at the pub."

Concerned, Ashley placed her hand on his forehead. Thankfully, Ben had no fever. "It's just a headache. I'll get you a couple aspirin."