"Well, I think we have the time."
"No, not really. We need to hurry. The crak'an are close."
"The who?"
"Those monsters." Harry waved him to follow. "Gather your gear, soldier, we're bugging out."
Michaelson tossed him his gun and climbed into the alcove to collect his pack and canteen. As he crawled back out, he noticed his brother checking his gun with an appreciative smile.
Harry handed back the gun reluctantly. "Nice tool. I could have used that firepower when I was escorting those scientists. Maybe then…" He stopped talking, a fierce set to his lips.
Michaelson approached his brother's back, laying a hand on his shoulder, still half expecting him to vanish in a puff of smoke, like some trickster spirit, teasing him with his brother's image. He noticed his brother's hands were empty. How had he survived running around here without a weapon? "I've got another gun in my pack-" he started to say.
"No need. I've got friends."
Friends? Michaelson searched the empty passageway, shifting his pack to his shoulder. Who was Harry talking about?
His brother then growled something that sent a chill up his back, half howl, half moan, inhuman. Low but penetrating.
Michaelson stared at his brother's back as he howled. Had his brother gone mad during his isolation?
Harry turned to him, dead serious. "Don't shoot at them."
"Who the hell are you talking-" There was movement along the walls farther down the passage. Small figures, camouflaged against the rock, stepped into the passage, knives and spears glistening in the greenish mold light.
Michaelson heard a pebble shift behind him. Glancing around, he saw more were approaching from the rear. "Harry?"
"They're friends. Saved my life."
One of the creatures separated from the others and approached. His eyes fixed on Michaelson as he edged toward Harry. Michaelson held his gun tightly. The creature, naked, stood only four feet high but was wiry with well-defined muscle. Its shaggy, sandy-colored hair was secured with a blood-red headband. Large eyes searched Michaelson from toe to head, while its prominent ears swiveled in all directions like radar dishes.
As the small figure approached, Michaelson judged the weaponry he carried. A long knife with a crude crystalline blade was belted around his bare waist, and in his four-fingered hand, he clutched a long spear.
As Michaelson watched, the creature crossed to Harry and handed him the spear. Then it backed away.
"Who are… No, what are they?"
"They call themselves mimi'swee."
One of them darted from behind, startling Michaelson, and slid past him to approach Harry. He pointed behind them. "Doda fer'ago," he said. "Doda crak'an!"
Harry glanced over to Michaelson. "He says we've got company. They've caught our scent and are closing in on us. Time to hightail it."
As if on cue, a roar erupted from behind them. A second and third answered it, coming from all around them. They were being boxed in.
Michaelson thought of Ashley and Ben, lost out in the maze of tunnels. He stepped next to Harry. "Listen, I've got friends, and-"
"I know. A small team of my buddies were dispatched after them." He pointed a thumb forward. "Your friends have been herded to safety."
"Where?"
A second volley of roars echoed through the tunnels. "I'll show you. C'mon, before we're someone's dinner."
Michaelson stuck close to his brother. The tiny figures scurried around him, some passing him and running forward, others hurrying behind him to check their trail. He struggled to keep up, biting his lower lip, but his bum ankle soon began throbbing in protest again. A gap started forming between himself and his brother.
Harry slowed down, grabbed Michaelson's arm, and hooked it over his own shoulder, supporting his injured side. By now, only two or three of the little hunters still jogged behind them, guarding the rear. "I'm not leaving you behind, Dennis."
"I'm slowing you down. I didn't come down here to get you killed."
"Shut up, brother. No one is going to get killed today." He squeezed Michaelson's shoulder. "Besides, hooked together like this, it's just like the three-legged race in Kearney when we won the blue ribbon at the fair."
Grimacing with pain, Michaelson spat out, "It's because you cheated!"
"I didn't see you giving back your ribbon."
There was a sudden eruption of commotion from behind them. One of the hunters scurried toward them and growled something to Harry. Harry's expression sobered. He answered something unintelligible. The figure nodded its chin and scrambled forward. Only one tiny figure remained behind them now.
"What did he say?"
"One of the crak'an is closing the gap. We won't make safety."
Michaelson ground his molars. Now he had put his brother in new danger. "I told you-
"Yeah, yeah, you're always right." His brother stopped their shuffling gait. The remaining hunter, black-furred with a scar down the right side of his face, halted beside Harry. "Dennis, go on ahead, try to keep up as best as you can. Nob'cobi and I'll try to slow it down. Buy some time for the others."
"To hell with that! I've got the gun."
"Yeah, and I've got the experience. Now move it!"
He recognized the stubborn set to his brother's eyes. There would be no arguing. "Well, at least take my gun, then."
Harry shook his head. "You may need it." His brother then hefted the long spear still held in his right hand. "Besides, using nontraditional weapons lessens our chance to gain il'jann from the kill."
"What?"
Harry waved him on. "It's sort of like counting coup. A measure of honor." A scrabbling of claw on rock could now be heard coming from down the tunnel. "Now get going!"
Michaelson nodded and started down the tunnel. No way was he going to leave his brother to fight with only a spear. As soon as he reached a side tunnel, he ducked in and checked behind him. His brother and the other hunter had their heads together. The little figure was gesturing with his hands and nodding.
Dropping his pack, he unhooked his gun and lay flat in the tunnel, sighting back down the passageway. He waited, listening to the increasing noise of the approaching predator.
Suddenly his brother tensed and swung his spear forward, apparently seeing something still out of sight from Michaelson's position. The tiny hunter pressed himself flat against the passage wall. Harry planted the haft of his spear in a divot on the floor and held it in place with his foot, leaning the length of the shaft forward, blade pointing down the tunnel. He crouched, holding the spear steady.