It didn't really matter. He was going to make it to Milford anyway. He'd already covered about three miles, and only needed to go about three more to reach Route 21. His face roared with pain. Passing out face-up for hours in the desert sun had left him with a severe sunburn. His head still throbbed to the point of promising a third round of vomiting. He stumbled now and then, the desert floor seemingly bucking and lurching beneath him. Every time he moved his right arm more than a few inches, searing pain shot up his shoulder. He'd managed to stop the bleeding. Mostly, anyway. The wound still oozed fresh blood. A concussion, a laceration, sunstroke, and he still had to cover three more miles in this heat.
Sooner or later, he kept telling himself, sooner or later someone will come down this road or I'll reach Milford. I will make it.
His head swam with vivid memories of the attack. Twice he'd hallucinated the flashing things coming at him through the shimmering desert heat. Was he a coward for running? Fuck it — he was alive. Everyone else was dead. Anyone with a brain should have run the moment those things came pouring down the mountainside.
He didn't remember shredding his uniform to tie the bandage on his arm, but it was there, and it had done the trick. He must have done it some time during the night, just before passing out again and laying unconscious through the morning, cooking in the Utah sun like a hot dog on a grill.
"Does anyone read?” Cho said again. “This is an SOS, is anybody out there?” The static seemed to drop off suddenly. His heart leapt when a woman's voice answered.
"Yes, I read you, go ahead."
"This is Cho Takachi from the EarthCore mining camp in the northern Wah Wah Mountains. We've been attacked. I'm wounded and need immediate assistance."
"Attacked?” the woman said. “How's the rest of the camp?"
"I believe they're all dead,” Cho said. “They're all hacked to pieces."
"Where are you?"
"I'm on a Jeep trail, I think about three miles north of Kiln Springs. I'm moving north, trying to reach Route 21."
"Stay right there, I'll be there in twenty minutes."
Cho stared at his walkie-talkie in joyous relief for a few seconds, then tried signaling her again. “Hello? Bring a first-aid kit if you've got one.” He waited for an answer, but heard only that peculiar static again. He keyed several more times, but received no response. He tried the other channels, but the static dominated. He sat down at the edge of the dirt road, and waited.
She'd almost missed him. It amazed her that anybody made it out of the camp alive, but this one was apparently better than the rest. The little fuck. If the COMSEC unit's periodic sweeps hadn't picked off Cho's calls for help, he might have made it to Milford. She had to make sure that didn't happen.
He turned to look at Cori. Faint light shone from the lamps surrounding the driveway. The passenger-side door was smashed in, glass gone but for a few jagged shards, the once-stately Lincoln now a mass of twisted metal, torn leather, and ripped fabric. The other car had smashed the door in so far that Cori was pushed almost to the middle of the seat. Snow blew in through the broken window, melting where it hit blood.
Her eyes were wide with shock and pain. Her beautiful blond hair clung to her face, matted down with glistening red. Flecks of glass hung in her hair like glitter. Blood sheeted her scalp, her cheeks, her chin, falling to stain her white coat.
She looked at him. This time there was no questioning terror, no fear… at least not for herself.
"Get out, Connell.” Something liquid and gurgling masked her smooth voice. She sounded weak, fractured. “You have to get out."
Connell shook his head. He was in the dream, part of it, yet still he knew something had changed.
"I can't get out, I need to stay with you."
"Get out, my love."
He felt rough hands shaking him. The dream fell away.
"Wake up, Mr. Kirkland,” O'Doyle said, his hands gripping Connell's shoulders.
"Wha… what is it?” Connell fought to wake up. The fatigue in his body didn't want to relinquish its hold.
"Lybrand's got a silverbug. She's alone with it now."
Connell's eyes suddenly flew open wide and he escaped sleep's grasp. He stood up, ignoring the throbbing from his knee, and grabbed the H&K. Mack was rousting the two doctors.
"Mack's waking the professors, you bring everyone and make it fast,” O'Doyle said. “I'm going to Lybrand."
Before Connell could speak, the big man loped down the tunnel, his yellow suit flashing in Connell's headlamp beam. Connell moved over to the professors and Mack. Veronica looked ready to go. Sanji tried to rub the sleep from his exhausted eyes.
Mack's eyes were wide with fear and intensity. He moved with sudden, jerky jolts.
"What happened back there, Mack?"
"We found a silverbug,” Mack said, his Aussie accent ripping out at a fast pace. “Only it's not a spider; it's a machine, a robot or something. She told me to come back and get everyone else."
Connell turned to the professors. “You two ready?” Veronica looked scared, but nodded emphatically. Sanji didn't look ready at all, but nodded as well.
"You two stay behind me,” Connell said. “Mack, you bring up the rear, keep an eye on the walls and ceiling, and keep a sharp lookout back down the tunnel. Don't let anything get behind us."
Connell followed O'Doyle and moved down the tunnel. The others trailed closely without a word.
Sonny McGuiness scanned through the channels again on his walkie-talkie. Nothing. Nothing but static. That was all he'd heard since leaving the camp, except for that last little exchange between Cho and the mystery woman. She hadn't followed proper rescue procedures at all, so she wasn't a ranger or a state trooper or anyone of note. Probably a hiker or something. If she was out here and knew enough to monitor the emergency channel, then she was no amateur. Especially if she recognized Cho's position so quickly. Not many people knew offhand the location of Kiln Springs.
Sonny felt surprised anyone made it out of the camp — somehow he'd expected Funeral Mountain to be more thorough. He'd been just over two miles away when he heard the gunshots and explosions and alarms echoing through the brisk night air. That's when his curiosity set in.
What had happened back there, anyway? Initially he'd ignored that thought and managed to put another half mile under his feet. But his domineering curiosity wouldn't leave well enough alone. What did Funeral Mountain do when it awoke and killed people? Were Jessup's demons for real? That cave drawing of the primitive sun, which wasn't a sun at all — was that what Jessup's demons looked like? Sonny had turned, cursing himself for doing so, and retraced his steps, moving to within a mile of the camp.
At least, within a mile of what was left of the camp. His binoculars showed nothing but a few wisps of black smoke, a few chunks of metal sticking out of the sand, and the concrete footing of the diesel tank. The place had been absolutely leveled. It was as if Funeral Mountain had come alive and swallowed up the entire camp.
He'd gotten out just in time. Now EarthCore was just one more entry on Funeral Mountain's résumé, to be remembered alongside Jebadaiah Jessup and Samuel J. Anderson.
Sonny moved away from camp for the second time and headed North toward Route 21. It was only a thirty or forty minute walk to reach Cho's position. He hadn't spotted Cho at the camp wreckage, probably because Sonny's flight took him due West toward Milford while Cho apparently moved North toward Route 21. It thrilled Sonny to know Cho was still alive — both because he liked the man, and because Cho could tell him what the hell happened to the EarthCore camp.