“Yi!” He flicked his hand, and then had a horrifying thought. He pulled at his shirt, craning to look at his shoulder where he had smeared the mass. The red oily liquid was covering his body, the worms now coating his torso. What was worse, was that the wounds on his arms and shoulders had far too many of the worms to have just come from his urine — they must have already been there — coming from inside.
Han Biao felt the tickling now in his belly, and even at the back of his mouth. He dropped his hand and turned to the group.
“Captain-nnnnn!” He staggered forward, his arms out. “Captain Yang, in my wounds… they got into my wounds.”
The men were all on their feet in a second, guns now up and pointed, seeking an enemy or intruder to defend against.
He staggered towards them. “Captain, they’re inside me. I can feel them… they’re eating me.”
Yang strode quickly towards him, his face twisted in fury. “Silence.”
He had a pistol in his hand, and with the other he held it up flat in front of Biao’s face, halting him. With the barrel of his gun, he edged open Biao’s shirt. His lips compressed.
“From the water. They got in my wounds,” Han Biao said, not being able to help his words turning to a wail.
“Come quick,” Yang said, and turned to walk further up the dark beach and away from the men.
Han Biao staggered after him, feeling the insane itch from his ears to his anus. His limbs started to go numb, and suddenly his pants felt loose at his waist.
His gut roiled, and he sobbed, grabbing hold of his belt to keep his pants up. He staggered after Yang, just focusing on the man’s back, as his rapidly fear-fragmenting mind was beginning to leave him. He fell to his knees.
Yang nodded, edging into an alcove. “In here, I have something that will help.”
Han Biao walked forward on his knees. He felt a weakness in his limbs like he had never felt before in his life. He looked down at his pathetic frame — his clothes bagged on him, and holding up a hand he saw that he was nearly shriveled down to bone, but there was furious movement beneath his skin. The remaining meat was literally being eaten from within him right before his eyes.
He looked up at his captain, and into the muzzle of the gun. The black dot at the end of the barrel flared, and then there was nothing.
Liu Yandong’s eyes were wide as Captain Yang walked back to the group, holstering his sidearm.
“Infected,” he said, and looked up at his men, arms hung loosely at his side. “Is anyone else injured, sick?”
The men quickly checked themselves, murmuring. Liu did the same, but if he had any injuries, he would not dare share them with the captain. After a minute, the group professed themselves fit, and Yang grunted, and went to turn away, before stopping and quickly turning back.
“Or did anyone drink from the stream?”
Liu Yandong had been staring at the body of his friend, but the question snapped him back. He licked his lips and swallowed, feeling a small tickle in his throat. He had some gnawing in his belly, but that was just from hunger. Besides, there was no way he was going to say anything.
Yang turned to him. “Liu Yandong, lead us out again. Rest time is over.”
Liu gave a rapid half bow. “Yao.” And he jogged out ahead of the men, relieved to be away from Yang’s penetrating stare.
He gritted his teeth, trying not to look at the body of his colleague as he neared it. But from the corner of his eye, he detected movement. Was his comrade still alive? He veered towards the cave wall for a better look. Sure enough, the body was moving. Maybe Yang’s shot only wounded him? He wished he could use his light, as Biao now looked tiny, shrunken, lying on the dark sand.
Liu slowed. There — there was movement — Han Biao’s body jerked and jumped. But the activity was strange, boneless, and not how he would have expected a man to be if he was alive or even writhing in pain. Something wasn’t right. Liu stopped walking and stared. He grimaced, his eyes going wide in horror. Han Biao’s body suddenly collapsed in on itself, but the clothing was not quite empty. There was a rippling beneath the fabric as though there were small animals fighting inside.
Láizì dìyù de shēngwù, he whispered. It was a line from an ancient story he read as a child; a village fell into a sinkhole, and the villagers had to descend to hell, where on the way, demons tormented them, and cursed them with plagues of flies, and beetles, and worms. Liu momentarily crushed his eyes shut and turned away. He forged on, keeping his head down. That’s where we really are, he thought — in hell. They all died in the cave-in, and now they were lost souls making their way down to the Underworld.
CHAPTER 37
Aimee and Casey knelt at the rim of a hole in the cave floor. There was a warm breeze lifting from the impenetrably dark depths that smelled of salt, moisture, and rotting vegetation. Aimee lay down and closed her eyes, straining to hear anything that might indicate movement. After a moment she sat back. There was nothing and no hint of the acrid scent that usually heralded the stink of the creatures’ approach.
“It’s a chute.” Aimee got to one knee. “And probably the quickest way down.”
“Well, that’s where the signal is coming from, so…” Casey pulled out a glow stick, bent it, and let it drop. The flaring yellow stick sailed down into the darkness, bouncing a few times against rocky outcrops before disappearing around some sort of bend.
“Not too bad, and it’s rough. Plenty of handholds.” She stood and looked around the cave, pointing to a stalagmite rising from the cave floor. “Going to have to tie off just the same.”
Hagel looked from the stalagmite to the hole. “Means we’ll use the rope up — no one to untie it. One-time deal.”
“Open to alternate suggestions,” Dawkins said from the rear.
“Yeah, like not use the rope, and we just scale down.” He glanced at Aimee, and then over his shoulder to the non-HAWCs, his eyes alighting on the slender Soong. “You’ll be fine.”
“You know what? One of us falls and dies, no problem.” Casey’s eyes were level. “One of us falls and breaks a leg, well now, that’s a disadvantage I don’t want to have to deal with. Unless it’s you.” The scar on her cheek made it hard to tell whether her expression was just her permanent sneer, or something more hopeful.
Aimee felt that Casey was digging in, simply because she was pissed off. “I don’t need to tell you guys how to manage risk. We’ve each got rope, but no pitons, cams, or rope locks. So as far as climbing or caving is concerned, the rope is all we got. We need it,” Aimee said. “Long way to go yet — down, and then, hopefully, back up.”
“Okay.” Casey grunted. “We use the rope for non-climbers. I’ll go first, and secure the rope. Have a little look-see down there.” She pointed to the huge form of Rinofsky. “Rhino, you’re last and on gear recovery.”
“Got it, boss.”
Casey turned to Vince Blake. “Tie off your rope, Lieutenant.”
Blake crossed to the stalagmite, and looped his rope, carrying back the loops of soft cord and dropping it down into the hole. It only reached about two thirds of the way.
“Good enough,” Casey said. “I’ll go down this length and, if need be, use my own rope. Hopefully, the rock will be broken up enough that we don’t need it.”
“Good luck,” Aimee said.
The stocky HAWC snorted. “You bet. Break a leg, huh?” She grin-sneered at Aimee, and then her eyes slid to Hagel. She winked. The man looked back at her, deadpan.