He wiggled himself past Canyon and down the tube. Canyon listened intently but could hear only rushing water.After a moment, Timber tugged on the rope and called Canyon inruhi.
I’m down. Seems safe enough—dark and quiet. Lots of trees.
Canyon pulled the rope up. He leaned his head back to see Predator, then said, “Predator, maintain your grip at full strength. Turn your front wheels to the left 40 degrees and your back wheels to the right 20 degrees.”
The little trike didn’t move.
“Predator,respond,” Canyon said sternly.
Still, the trike didn’t move, speak, or show it had heard.
Better call him Wulf,Timber said.
I fucking won’t.
Just do it.
Canyon growled inruhias a response.
Predator’s screen flared bright and the metal fingers on the end of the mechanical arm opened with a hydraulic whir. Water and gravity grabbed the little machine and whisked it straight down and out the hole at the bottom. Predator seemed to fall slowly, its chassis catching air, its screen illuminating the forest. Shadows flared darkly … … and then Timber grabbed Predator mid-air by the arm. He laughed triumphantly and placed the little trike on the ground.
Canyon shook his head, set his ropes, and followed.
54—Lost in the Hole
Canyon lowered himself out of the hole, down to the ground, threading his way through tree branches. His first step was a splashdown in a tiny brook. He stepped away to a dry spot, then undid his harness and retrieved his ropes, winding them and hooking them to the outside of his pack to dry, his attention on the unnatural dark all around him. The only sound was water spilling. The strongest scents were of trees, plants, dirt, and small forest animals.
“I think we’re in the sinkhole,” Timber said quietly from his left.
Bet.
“It’s fucking creepy.”
We’re being watched,Canyon said. The feeling was suddenly strong.
Timber didn’t say anything. Instead, he crouch-walked next to Canyon and handed over his rope. Canyon hooked it onto his pack.
“Smell that?” Timber said.
Canyon grunted agreement.Musky. Thick. Like a basement full of bugs.
Leaves rustled gently above them, sounding like a wind had picked up, but there was no breeze.
The fuck?Timber said inruhi.
They stayed there for a few moments, listening and scenting and when they heard nothing more, Timber stood.
“Fuck this,” he said. “I fucking hate being quiet, and I fucking hate being still. Got a flashlight?”
Canyon had several in his pack. He dug out two and handed one over. Timber clicked it on and flashed it around, lighting up trees and plants in every direction. Predator was a few feet to their left, still and quiet, with a dark screen. Canyon turned on his light and checked the trike and the tablet over, looking for new damage. Timber shone his light directly above them at a rock ceiling and the hole they’d just fallen from. Water flowed from the hole, landing in the brook next to them, then flowing off into the forest.
Cave?Canyon said.
“Can’t be. These trees need light.”
Timber strode away quickly and surely, his light pointed straight up. Canyon followed, water squishing unpleasantly in his boots.
“Here,” Timber called, his light pointed at a craggy, uneven spot in the rock ceiling. “Past this, it’s open. The trees are thicker out here. I can see stars.”
