“Not if the captain’s got any say in the matter,” Wiggins replied. “We’re on a schedule here. No amount of wee sparkly worms are going to slow us down much.”
The corporal motioned to the skies and the drizzle. “But I thought it didn’t rain much here? We had some yesterday.”
Donnie laughed.
“And I thought you wanted it to be more like Glesga?”
“If you’ve got a bridie and a can of Irn-Bru on you, I’m willing to abide the rain for a bit of decent breakfast.”
“Sorry. Another of these crap local fags is all I can offer.”
Wiggins took the offered smoke and lit it from the butt of his own. He coughed at the first draw and grimaced.
“Let’s go and see if coffee makes these any better. Wilko will have a brew going by now.”
It turned out the hot bitter liquid did ameliorate some of the cheroots’ astringency. By the time Donnie had two mugs and some of the soldiers’ hard biscuits, he felt just about ready for the day. It seemed that Captain Banks did indeed plan to attempt the walk across the plan, despite the electrical activity.
“Doctor Reid, Professor Gillings, we’re going to need your local knowledge of the terrain,” the captain said as around them the squad packed away their gear. “We’re going to want to stick to rocky areas and avoid the sand where possible.”
Donnie remembered the purple-robed monk’s little jumping dance outside the monastery and saw the captain’s plan.
“That’s going to slow us down,” he replied.
“Aye but the alternatives are either getting fried or sitting up here on this rock all day, and they’re both a damn sight slower still.”
They moved out five minutes later.
The first traces of dawn were just starting to lighten the eastern sky but Donnie didn’t welcome it; the darkness had made it easier to see the swathes of crackling electricity. Even the dim arrival of daylight had already washed out the blue from the landscape leaving only the distinctive smell of ozone to remind them of the deadly menace that might be lurking underfoot.
The camel wasn’t keen on descending onto the plain, its nostrils flaring, eyes wide, but it moved quickly enough when the professor kicked at its flanks and Wiggins gave it a hefty slap on the rear end. The corporal was rewarded with a loud moist fart, noxious enough to cause Donnie’s eyes to water even though he was some yards farther back.
“Fuck me,” Wiggins said, holding his nostrils pinched shut as he fell back to walk beside Donnie. “And I thought your fags were bad.”
Captain Banks called Donnie forward to join him at the head of their small caravan.
“I need you to be my eyes, Doctor. Find me a trail through that avoids the softer parts.”
“I’m a paleontologist, not a geologist,” Donnie started but he realized he was as close to the latter as it made no difference in the captain’s viewpoint and besides, looking out over the plain, he saw that he could probably make a decent guess of the path they’d need to take. The rocky areas were slightly darker in color, made more so by the slight dampening from the drops of rain and were noticeable by the prevalence of the low, tough grasses and occasional shrubs that would not grow on shifting sand.
“Straight north for a hundred yards or so then veer a wee bit west,” Donnie said.
“You point and I’ll break the ground. Just give me a wee bit of warning when I need to stop,” Banks said and walked off when Donnie pointed due north. Donnie followed in his footsteps with the rest coming along single file at his back.
The drizzle persisted and although it was a warm rain, the dampness crept down the back of Donnie’s shirt, making his clothing cling wetly to him, his collar chafing at the neck. There was no smell of ozone now, no blue flashes visible, but every so often he’d hear a crack like a whip and feel his body hairs rise up.
They were moving much slower than they had been the day before, limited by the frequent stops and starts as Donnie and the professor tried to keep them all on a trail of stonier ground. The rain helped, as the harder rocks definitely showed up darker when wet compared to the sandy soils and made picking out a track much easier.
As they got farther across the plain, they started to see the same shifting sands phenomenon they’d seen the day before, although now they knew the origins. Donnie’s thoughts echoed Wiggins’ question of earlier.
How many of these buggers are there?
Donnie realized it must be the wet weather bringing the things up, probably from stygian depths that was their normal habitat. He knew that many species had behavioral triggers linked to changes in weather patterns and that it was most probably some kind of breeding behavior.
But if there’s going to be even more of them as a result, I hope we’re long gone before they reach any kind of maturity.
He concentrated on finding the fastest route to get them off the plain.
They made a first stop two hours later on a flat slab of rock only a foot higher than the surrounding plain. The rain hadn’t got any heavier, just a constant, steady, dreary dripping that sapped their spirits. It was obvious that Wilkins, the youngest of the soldiers, was in pain, hobbling in a heavy limp before coming to a halt on the slab and letting himself fall to a seated position. Davies was over by his side immediately. Donnie was too far away to hear what was said but it was obvious that Wilkins had pushed his stamina to the limits and that Davies was berating him for stupidity. Donnie was close enough to the captain to hear Davies’ report a few minutes later.
“The daft wee bugger’s been trying to be a brave soldier,” Davies said. “God knows what damage he’s done to that bad leg. He’s not fit for any more walking today, I can tell you that.”
Banks nodded.
“I was going to get him up on the camel for the next stint anyway.”
He turned to the professor.
“Looks like you’re walking, Professor, if you’re up to it?”
At first, Donnie thought that Gillings might refuse—he wasn’t a man known for any fondness for much apart from his own well-being—but he got down off the camel without having to be cajoled further.
“Take fifteen minutes, lads,” Banks said. “A brew and a smoke then we’ll be on our way again.”
The professor took Donnie’s arm and led him away to the edge of the rock, out of hearing of the others.
“You’ve been talking to them,” Gillings said. “Have they said anything about securing our finds?”
Donnie laughed.
“I think they’ve got more important things on their minds, Prof,” he said and realized, too late, that the other man was building up to one of his red-faced rages.
“More important? More bloody important? There’s nothing more important than what’s in those boxes.”
Young Wilkins there might disagree with that, Donnie thought but didn’t say. He knew the man well enough to know when not to provoke any more outbursts—Gillings’ rages were legendary in the department but they usually passed as quickly as one of these desert storms.
“I’ll tell you something; I’m not leaving without them,” the professor continued. “One way or another, those boxes are coming home with us. I know people in high places. Our captain here would do well to take heed of that. In fact, I’m going to make sure he does. I’m going to make sure right now.”
Gillings took out his sat-phone, checked his menu, and chose a number, pressing the button to make the call. The call didn’t go through, didn’t even get a ringtone.
“Aren’t these buggering things supposed to work anywhere?” he wailed.