The whole tunnel complex was too connected, it was too easy to find a route to let you flank anyone who came in. And it was probably designed that way. Going on ahead… at least they’d probably be ahead of him, not waiting to shoot him in the back.
He dragged the rifleman’s body out of the tunnel entrance, and ignored the coppery smell of blood and the dark patch that had spread across the dirt beneath the dead man’s chest. He crouched, then crawled into the tunnel.
He crawled along it, stopping every metre to peer into the darkness for any sign of the girl. He could see long, twisting trails in the dirt as though someone had dragged themselves along there not long ago, but it could easily have been made by the now-dead rifleman crawling toward the room, not the girl crawling away.
He continued crawling, slowly.
The girl had an advantage, because she knew these tunnels, at least well enough to find her way in and out. But he could see where he was going in the darkness, and she probably couldn’t. She probably couldn’t see anything at all.
What would he do if he was crawling through there in pitch blackness, with no hint of light, and knowing someone was probably chasing him? Crawl as fast as he could, and hope to recognize the tunnels by feel? Hide in the first side tunnel and hope anyone following would go past?
Or just go crazy, feeling the walls closing in on him, and thinking every sound was a man with a gun ready to shoot him. Someone he’d never even see before he died?
Something interrupted the smooth wood of the ceiling just ahead. A dark, rectangular patch. And another in the floor.
He crawled closer, until the floor disappeared ahead of him. There was another shaft here, going back up to the higher level, and down even further. He looked up, and listened.
Now he could hear faint scraping in the shadows, like one of the rats that used to raid the garbage bins outside his parents’ old apartment. And maybe it was a rat.
But, if he was a girl trying to escape, going up would be his first choice. He looked down. This shaft descended a long way, too far for the goggles to illuminate. If he was a girl running away from someone in the darkness, he sure as heck wouldn’t choose to go down there.
Besides, up was up, and closer to getting out of these damn tunnels. He straddled the hole, holstered the pistol, and grabbed the hand-holds above him. His arms strained against his weight as he hauled himself up, until he was high enough to push the toes of his boots into the holes and climb with his legs. The scraping grew louder as he climbed higher, and the faint cracks of gunfire outside the tunnels joined the noise.
He stopped half-way up the shaft with a pounding heart and a light head, to gasp down some air. He paused again just below the top of the shaft, pulled the pistol from his holster, then pushed his head up and peered out. Only the dirt and planks of another tunnel running left to right showed in either direction. But the scraping seemed to be coming from his right.
He clambered out of the shaft, and lay on the dirt floor. Then pulled the last HE grenade from his belt.
If there was anyone or anything important down that shaft, he could give them something to remember him by.
He pulled the pin and tossed it down the shaft below him, then grabbed the pistol, pulled his legs up into the tunnel from the shaft, and crawled away as fast as he could.
He made it about three metres away before the ground shook beneath him, the tunnel walls bent in toward him, and everything went black.
CHAPTER 15
Logan woke in the darkest blackness he’d ever experienced. A heavy weight lay on his legs, and he spat the taste of dirt from his mouth. More dirt crunched between his teeth as he moved his jaw, and he spat again. Then fumbled with the goggles on his face. Turning them on or off made no difference. The world around him was just as black either way. The blast must have broken something inside them.
Or it better have. Because the alternative was that the big explosion had broken his eyes. And he didn’t want to think about that.
But his heart thudded again as he did. What if he was blind? He stared into the darkness, and it slowly became a hazy grey as his eyes tried to adjust, and find anything they could identify. They still seemed to be working. Probably.
He left the goggles pushed up on his forehead. If he ever managed to get back to the surface, Volkov would be pissed if he’d lost Legion property.
But what if he couldn’t get back? His legs were numb. He could be trapped down there in the darkness until he died. The Legion would try to find him, if they’d managed to clear out all the insurgents up above. But they wouldn’t go digging through the dirt to get to him. He’d go mad from thirst after a few days, if the constant darkness didn’t get him first.
He shivered at the thought. Or maybe it was the cold air.
No, he’d find a way out first. Either by escaping from the tunnel, or…
The pistol was no longer in his hand. He reached forward, and found no obstruction. No sign of the pistol, either. The tunnel was clear in that direction.
The air smelled almost like gunpowder, as though it was still full of dirt from the explosion, but was no less breathable than it had been before. He lay there and listened. The silence was so intense he could hear only the blood rushing through his own ears. But he could feel a faint breeze around his face. Air was still moving somewhere. As it should be, because there must be many entrances to the tunnels around the village.
He pulled his right knee forward. Heavy weight pressed down on his boot, and it barely moved. He tried again. The boot pulled against his foot, but began to move. Dirt hissed and stones rattled as he hauled his leg forward. He winced as his calf scraped against something hard and sharp. The edge of a smashed plank from the roof or walls, maybe.
Then he pulled out the other leg. The muscles ached from being buried for however long he’d been knocked out after the explosion, but nothing seemed broken. Pins and needles stabbed at his legs and feet as the blood flow returned now they’d been relieved of the weight of the dirt piled upon them.
The insurgents must have had some kind of ammo dump down there, and the grenade had set the whole thing off. Most of the blast must have gone up the shaft, and along the tunnels below him. Otherwise he’d be dead and buried.
As any remaining insurgents probably were, if they’d still been alive down below.
Whatever.
There was no way out behind him. He had to keep moving the way he’d been going. The insurgents clearly had tunnels into many of the buildings, and he just had to find one.
He crawled forward through the blackness, tapping his hands against the walls every few seconds to check for any side tunnels that might lead to a building.
If this was the other end of the tunnel he’d entered earlier, that one had seemed to follow the main street of the village. His fingers dug into the dirt as he crawled along it, and he reached out as far ahead of him as he could.
The last thing he needed was to fall down another shaft in the darkness. If he broke a leg down there…
His knuckles slammed against something cold and hard as he pushed his hand forward. It scraped across the dirt, and smacked into the wall. He reached out, and felt cold metal. Then a trigger, and the plastic sides of a pistol grip.
He turned the pistol around carefully in the dark, trying not to shoot himself by accident, feeling the metal and plastic with his fingers until he had it safely in his hand and pointed away from him. At least Volkov wouldn’t be able to punish him for losing it now.
As he moved on, there was no sound any more except for his own breath, the scraping of his hands and boots on the dirt, and the tapping of his fingers on the wall. No more scraping ahead, and no shooting up above.