“Somehow it feels traveled to me. Ergo something—a stream of water or lava maybe—has gone all the way up and out many times. I just hope we can get through before it gets flooded with more of the hot stuff. It looks to me like these tunnels flood periodically, The walls are too smooth.”
“I’m with that,” Detroit piped in next. “My mind said the green one—’cause, you know, green’s my last name. Plus—the color of money.”
They laughed. Rockson looked up at Archer who he was never quite sure understood what the hell he was saying. “How about you, Arch?”
“GREEEEN OONNNEE,” the near-mute croaked out, pointing firmly at the one the others had chosen, so there’d be no mistaking his vote.
“Then that’s the one,” Rockson said softly. “Salvage what supplies you can from the dead ’brid and let’s be out of here fast, I hear rumblings again.” They looked around as the walls shook and dust came down, coating everything with a nice thick layering of black ash, as if it needed any more. Already their silver white heat outfits were coated with soot.
Frosty the Snowmen in black face, in a multi-colored hell!
They headed down into the green-lit tunnel, stamping up clouds of the black stuff with every footstep. Thank the stars their boots were impregnated with alloy elements to make them virtually impenetrable, Rockson thought, because the sharp edges of dried lava which formed the ground beneath their feet sliced and ripped away at the soles, trying to gouge their way in.
The tunnel glowed greener as they walked deeper into it. It was as if the luminous dials of a watch were all around them. As a matter of fact he heard that watch.
Rock checked the rad meter on his field watch. It wasn’t all that accurate, he knew from past experience, but would give him an idea. The meter was ticking, but the radiation level read practically zero. Whatever was making the glow had nothing to do with radioactivity.
“It’s clean,” Rockson said, as he led the nervous ’brid on reins through the tunnel. “But this tunnel is not getting any bigger.”
Suddenly that was the understatement of the day. The tunnel started getting much narrower, fast, like they were being funneled into a tighter and tighter opening. The sharp lava protuberances reached up and down from all sides, like black clawed hands with daggers for fingers. The remaining 3 ’brids had to move along with legs half crouched, as if trying to do the limbo.
Suddenly it seemed a lot brighter around the bend. And as he walked around pulling the recalcitrant steed, the tunnel opened up into a wide cavern that glowed twice as bright as where they were coming from.
“Holy mother—” Rockson muttered under his breath as he led Snorter into the football stadium sized cavern with glowing outcroppings of immense limestone hanging down from the four-hundred-foot-high lava ceiling. It was a stalactite city of impossible size and shape. The huge structures, with windows and doors hung down from the ceiling stretching in rough symmetry a good hundred feet down.
And Rockson’s eyes grew even wider in real puzzlement. For he saw figures moving, humanoid shapes in those windows. Just as the rest of the Freefighters came in behind him, Rockson saw movement behind some pillars of black lava about a hundred feet to the right of them.
“Company,” he yelled out, reaching for his shotpistol and slightly amazed to find that it was still there. Now the figures were coming at them shrieking wild guttural cries like cavemen. They were men covered with the black lava rock, like scales all over them. And it was hard to tell, so tightly joined were the black scales, if it were a manmade armoring—or actual hard flesh that had grown up over them like scales of stone.
Across their lava-faces were shining triangular pieces of shimmering black stone that angled out to each side, covering all but their eyes and a slit for their mouths. They weren’t the
“I’m with that,” Detroit piped in next. “My mind said the green one—’cause, you know, green’s my last name. Plus—the color of money.”
They laughed. Rockson looked up at Archer who he was never quite sure understood what the hell he was saying. “How about you, Arch?”
“GREEEEN OONNNEE,” the near-mute croaked out, pointing firmly at the one the others had chosen, so there’d be no mistaking his vote.
“Then that’s the one,” Rockson said softly. “Salvage what supplies you can from the dead ’brid and let’s be out of here fast, I hear rumblings again.” They looked around as the walls shook and dust came down, coating everything with a nice thick layering of black ash, as if it needed any more. Already their silver white heat outfits were coated with soot.
Frosty the Snowmen in black face, in a multi-colored hell!
They headed down into the green-lit tunnel, stamping up clouds of the black stuff with every footstep. Thank the stars their boots were impregnated with alloy elements to make them virtually impenetrable, Rockson thought, because the sharp edges of dried lava which formed the ground beneath their feet sliced and ripped away at the soles, trying to gouge their way in.
The tunnel glowed greener as they walked deeper into it. It was as if the luminous dials of a watch were all around them. As a matter of fact he heard that watch.
Rock checked the rad meter on his field watch. It wasn’t all that accurate, he knew from past experience, but would give him an idea. The meter was ticking, but the radiation level read practically zero. Whatever was making the glow had nothing to do with radioactivity.
“It’s clean,” Rockson said, as he led the nervous ’brid on reins through the tunnel. “But this tunnel is not getting any bigger.”
Suddenly that was the understatement of the day. The tunnel started getting much narrower, fast, like they were being funneled into a tighter and tighter opening. The sharp lava protuberances reached up and down from all sides, like black clawed hands with daggers for fingers. The remaining 3 ’brids had to move along with legs half crouched, as if trying to do the limbo.
Suddenly it seemed a lot brighter around the bend. And as he walked around pulling the recalcitrant steed, the tunnel opened up into a wide cavern that glowed twice as bright as where they were coming from.
“Holy mother—” Rockson muttered under his breath as he led Snorter into the football stadium sized cavern with glowing outcroppings of immense limestone hanging down from the four-hundred-foot-high lava ceiling. It was a stalactite city of impossible size and shape. The huge structures, with windows and doors hung down from the ceiling stretching in rough symmetry a good hundred feet down.
And Rockson’s eyes grew even wider in real puzzlement. For he saw figures moving, humanoid shapes in those windows. Just as the rest of the Freefighters came in behind him, Rockson saw movement behind some pillars of black lava about a hundred feet to the right of them.
“Company,” he yelled out, reaching for his shotpistol and slightly amazed to find that it was still there. Now the figures were coming at them shrieking wild guttural cries like cavemen. They were men covered with the black lava rock, like scales all over them. And it was hard to tell, so tightly joined were the black scales, if it were a manmade armoring—or actual hard flesh that had grown up over them like scales of stone.
Across their lava-faces were shining triangular pieces of shimmering black stone that angled out to each side, covering all but their eyes and a slit for their mouths. They weren’t the
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