Chapter 11: Descent

By the time the sun was up, it was past nine. We crawled out of our sleeping bags. From the night before last, through yesterday and all of last night into dawn, we'd barely slept—just a few short breaks along the way.

Those four or five hours of rest did wonders for us. Everyone looked a little more relaxed, except for me. I hadn't slept well. I wasn't on watch, but Snow sat next to me through the night, talking endlessly. I drifted in and out, half-dreaming, listening to her, and every so often she'd even stick her hand into my sleeping bag and tap my head.

I lay there, exhausted, my face drawn and gray.

"Big Brother, have some soup." Bolt came over, carrying a small steel kettle.

I looked at him. "Where'd you get soup?"

"I made it early this morning—added some chili powder, some beef jerky, warms you right up." Bolt smiled, face red from the cold, eyes wide.

I nodded.

He twisted open the lid. Steam rose in a white coil. From behind his back, he pulled a little aluminum cup and poured me some. The kettle was a pressure-type—works on fire or electricity. I shivered, cupping the metal in my hands. Bolt had no mask, just a red, windburned face.

I downed the soup in one gulp. Heat surged into my chest.

He poured another. "Go on, Big Brother, have another."

I shook my head. "Just so little. Make sure everyone gets some."

"There's exactly eight cups—plenty." Bolt was serious.

I took another and drained it. Bolt watched, grinning. "I'll get Buzz a cup."

I nodded.

Bolt grabbed the kettle and ran off, calling, "Bro! Hey, Bro!"

Ten minutes later, we'd packed up and started looking for a better descent point.

The pit was deep. The sun still hadn't reached everywhere—some spots were black as night—but you could make out the bottom: tangled brush, even a dozen trees. Binoculars were useless. We circled the rim for more than an hour, checking four or five possible descent routes.

The Europeans had one spot. Ghost Squad handled three.

Buzz and Bolt took one. Castor and Nox another. Reaper and Anchor a third. I moved along the rim, checking in.

Twenty minutes later, Buzz and Bolt climbed back up.

Buzz was breathing hard. "No good. Can't make it down." Bolt was winding rope, nodded at me.

"Head to Castor and Nox. I'll check on Reaper and Anchor."

Another hour slipped by. The Europeans' site was a bust too. Castor and Nox made it within a hundred yards of the bottom before hitting a sheer, slick wall—fifty, maybe sixty yards left, but impossible without gear. We had to give it up.

We waited for news from Reaper and Anchor. I kept scanning for other routes.

Soon, Castor came running. "Bro, we got it!"

"You made it all the way down?"

"Yeah—Reaper's down. Anchor's climbing back up."

I nodded. "Move fast."

I got to their spot. Anchor was twenty yards down, shouting, "Specter, it's good!"

I nodded. "Ready up."

Nox started down, picking his way along the ledges. The first stretch was easy, no rope needed.

"Drop a line," Anchor called up as he went.

Nox tossed down the rope bag. Anchor fixed it securely—no point risking it, even if the ledge looked climbable. Better safe than sorry.

I shouted, "Anchor, don't save rope. Make the route solid, all the way down!"

Buzz started down, then Bolt, then Castor and Nox, then the three Europeans—each man climbing, each one improving the handholds and footholds for the rest.

I dropped ropes down as I went, making sure the route back would be just as good.

Why ? Why Reaper could go down without rope we still "waste" it? Simple enough, because easily going down doesn't meant as easy as coming back up, and nobody knows what is the situation when we come back. A retreat route had to be perfect.

I was the last one down. With the path set, it was easier.

Forty minutes later, I finally reached the bottom.

The view was unreal. It was warm enough that sweat beaded on my nose.

"Feels like Eden down here," Buzz said, sat on a rock.

One of the Europeans walked over, shaking his head. "Unbelievable. Just incredible."

I nodded, then turned to Buzz. "Where are the others?"

"They're fanned out, scouting. I stuck around for you Bro." Buzz grinned.

We landed on dry, browning grass. The pit wasn't level—the farther in, the steeper it got, like a massive bowl. The pit was maybe two, three thousand yards wide, but at the bottom it stretched out seven, eight thousand, maybe more than ten thousand yards at its farthest, ringed with stone walls. The river was still four thousand yards away.

I led Buzz and the European toward the water. The rest of the team trickled back, reporting in—except Reaper, who must have made it to the river already.

The slope got steeper, the air warmer, the grass turning green. Life everywhere. Insects darted around our feet. It really was a hidden paradise.

Outside, snow fell thick. Down here, it was like spring. We spread out in a wedge, moving slow and careful—no telling what we'd find.

Soon I heard the sound of rushing water.

"Digits, careful!" Snow ran up, panting.

I looked at this woman who didn't exist. The others were busy. I shook my head hard, ignored her as she brushed past. She caught up again.

"Did you hear that? Dogs barking!" Snow tugged off her mask, her face flushed.

I stared at her. "What's up, Specter?" Anchor caught up, out of breath.

I looked at him. "Nothing." But as I said it, I dropped flat and gave the signal to freeze.

Anchor hit the dirt next to me. "What is it?"

"Listen." I focused, straining.

Anchor breathed slow, listening, then shook his head.

"Dogs, right front. Listen close."

Anchor fell silent again, listening. Then Buzz crawled up. "Dogs," he whispered.

I glanced at Buzz, then at Snow—she was prone in the grass, watching the same direction.

"I can't hear anything," Anchor whispered.

Buzz nudged him. "You only hear your Bro. What else do you hear?"

Anchor ignored him.

"Anchor, go to the Europeans, tell them to hold position, keep alert. Buzz, take Castor and Nox, move up. Bolt gives cover."

"Yes, sir," they both replied, crawling off.

The river roared in my ears. I crawled over to Snow. "Do you really exist?"

She pulled off her mask and smiled. "Finally talking to me?"

"Do you really exist?" I asked again.

"I'm right here. Why wouldn't I be? What's wrong, Digits?"

"Why can't the others see you?"

"What? They all see me. I was just talking to Winter over there." (She nodded toward Buzz.)

I yanked out my knife and drove it at her. She stared, startled.

The blade stabbed into the ground—she vanished. I saw her again a few yards away, lying quietly, turning to smile at me, face flushed.

I closed my eyes, pressed my face into the grass. The smell of earth filled my nose.

I opened my mouth, licked the dirt—damp, bitter. Then I bit down, chewed up grass and soil, held it in my mouth.

The taste made things real. Made Snow just a hallucination.

I stared at her, mouth full of dirt. She laughed, covered her mouth, pointed at her own lips, as if to say, "You've got dirt on your face."

That did it. I gave up.

I swallowed the dirt, stared off into the distance.

One of the Europeans walked up, stopped ten yards off, and gave a silent hand signal—What's going on?

I clenched a fist, opened my hand wide, clenched again: Situation, recon out, stand by.

He nodded and moved off.

I pulled out my binoculars, watched the shadows ahead. I could see a few hundred yards, but the farther you looked, the darker it got—beyond that, nothing. The river was just noise in the blackness.

Bang!

The gunshot jolted me. My hands shook, almost dropped the binoculars. I sucked in air, heart racing. I was rattled.

It took me a few seconds to recover, then I looked toward the source of the shot.

But my mind was somewhere else.

Why did that shot scare me so bad? Even in sudden gunfire, I never flinch like that.

Was I losing my mind again? Caught in another trance? I thought I'd been scanning the terrain—my head was clear.

What's happening to me?