The Last Hunter - Descent - Jeremy Robinson [46]
The stream of people is followed by a final pair. They’re moving slower than the others, not worrying about the cold. Halfway to the staircase one of them stops. It’s a woman. I can tell by her shape. Brick house, I think, but I’m not entirely certain what it means so I keep it to myself.
The woman falls to her knees and is caught by the man. He holds her for a moment, while her body shakes. Crybaby. Then the man has her up and moving again.
“What do you think of them?” Ninnis asks, peering through a set of binoculars I did not see him take out.
“The man and woman?”
“Yes.”
I watch as the woman turns her face to the mountains as though looking for something. Her face is twisted, like she’s in pain, and for a moment I think she is looking right at me. Her gaze makes me uncomfortable, so I look at the man instead. He just looks sad, but unlike the woman seems resigned to whatever tragedy is making the woman weep. “Crybaby,” I say as a second wind rolls down the mountainside.
“Indeed,” he says. “Anything else?”
“I hope they all leave. This isn’t their home.”
“Very intuitive.”
“Who are they?” I ask.
“They came here to look for something.”
“Did they find it?”
“No.”
“Will they ever?” I’m not sure why I care whether they do or not, but I can’t help wondering.
“Never,” Ninnis replies with conviction. “It is lost to them forever.”
I watch them take the steps slowly and enter the plane. When they’re finally out of sight I feel restless. The need to get back underground overwhelms me. When I turn to Ninnis to ask about leaving, I find his head turned toward the sky.
I follow his eyes up and find the blue sky above us blotted out by a roiling storm cloud. “Where did that come from?” I ask.
“I was wondering the same thing.” He looks at me and is about to speak again, but a rumble we can both feel distracts him. He looks up. His eyes widen. Then he has my arm clutched in his hand. “Run, boy, run!”
I glance up as we backtrack toward the cave entrance. A wall of white is rolling down the mountainside. Avalanche, I think.
Faster than I thought possible, we’re back at the cave entrance. Ninnis motions me through. “Go!”
I dive in, sliding through the slippery tunnel with ease. Before I’m through I feel a wave of pressure pushing behind me. When I reach the cave and turn around to pull Ninnis through, I find him missing. The tunnel is sealed with packed snow. I dive into the tunnel and crawl to its end. I pummel and scrape the fresh cork of snow. But it is packed tight. Not even the sharp tips of my climbing claws can break through.
Ninnis is gone.
My friend is gone.
I mourn his loss for only a moment—sadness results in death—Ninnis taught me that, and then I turn to the tunnel leading back down into the heart of the mountain, and beyond that perhaps, the heart of Antarctica itself. I take a tentative step forward, the first tingle of fear taking root. I have no idea what waits for me in the dark, nor how to reach my unknown master. I am lost without my guide but—no.
I am not afraid.
I have survived worse.
Ninnis told me I was a hunter. Like him.
I glance down at my claws. I feel the weight of my pack and the supplies it contains. I am ready.
It’s time to hunt.
21
There are twenty-one small fissures in the walls of the underground river tunnel. These are the nooks and crannies I think I can fit through, but just barely. Fifteen more are tunnels I can crawl through easily, though I don’t know whether or not they shrink or expand later on. I suppose that’s true with all of them. Each could taper off to nothing.
Have patience, I tell myself. Explore each tunnel. Become as familiar with this place as Ninnis.
Three tunnels are tall enough for me to walk through, perhaps eight feet tall. Only one really counts as a branching cavern. It’s a stone’s throw away from the bottom of the river tunnel, where Ninnis and I first entered from our waterfall hideaway. It’s close to thirty feet tall. What’s strangest about it is that it seems to be the most worn tunnel. Many stones are crushed flat. The floor in