:I am Wulf—
Canyon didn’t ask any more questions. His mind was still blown by themachinespeakingruhi.He let it go for the moment and wrung out his wet socks, then clipped them onto his rucksack to dry. He got up and shouldered his pack, waiting for Timber. Timber clipped his wet socks to Canyons pack, then walked around, his head up high.
This way,he finally said, and he took off. Canyon followed, and so did Wulf.
***
Hours later, little had changed. They were still walking through the underbrush in the sinkhole. It was dark and quiet; they’d seen and scented no one. The feeling of being watched came and went. They’d found one small trail, but Timber hadn’t followed it. Canyon thought there was a good chance they were walking in circles. He knelt next to the base of a tree and called for Wulf.
Light flared to Canyon’s left, as Wulf’s screen lit up and he wheeled to Canyon.
Have you been mapping our steps?Canyon asked.
:Affirmative—
Show me a visual representation of where we started, where we’ve been, and where we are now, overlaid on top of the sinkhole.
Wulf put an aerial picture of the sinkhole on the screen, then the map of their steps on top of it, showing Canyon they were in the southeast corner of the sinkhole, and they had circled around their own path twice.
Timber,he called.We’re walking in circles.
That’s because this big fucking bug is leading us in circles.
You’re sure it’s a bug?
What else would it be?
I don’t fucking know, anything other than a monster bug.
It’s a bug,Timber said.A fucking creepy one.
Come see where we are.
Timber came up to them and knelt to examine the image on Wulf’s screen.
Let’s map this whole fucking hole,Timber said.For Trevor.
Good plan.
Map the hole, find the monster, kill it maybe, find the exit.
Finding the exit might be the most important.
Might put us at White's doorstep.
Exactly.
Timber nodded and stood.Wulf, head me due north and keep me heading north,he said.
:Acknowledged—
Tell me when we are within 250 yards of the north wall.
:Will do—
They took off again through the trees and the underbrush, Wulf correcting Timber whenever he strayed off course. After an hour, Canyon started to tire. After two hours, he felt exhausted. He smacked himself in the face a couple of times and kept going. The night was dark and quiet and the sense of danger that had been ever present earlier in the night had fallen off some, leaving Canyon sedate. He slowed a little, falling farther behind Timber, but feeling ok, feeling like he was in a groove, picking up one foot, then putting it down
… …
