The Source - Michael Cordy [117]
As he watched the water rushing over the monolith's surface, washing microscopic elements of its essence into the pool beneath it, then down the stream in the tunnel to the lake in the garden, he could only marvel at its power. If just this dilute contact with water was enough to create the miraculous garden and all its creatures, and engender the crystals that encrusted the tunnel to the antechamber, it was no surprise that it had once seeded a whole planet. And when he looked at the hydra-like growth he wondered how long it had been growing from the crystal – its branches or arms probably extended throughout the cave system. A sudden insight came to him then, heaping wonder upon wonder: the hydra might be the oldest living organism on the planet, as old as life itself, a multicellular creature that continued to evolve within its own lifetime and need never die.
Anger intruded on Hackett's awe. How could Torino use something as wonderful as this to bolster his superstitious belief in an invisible god? Far from proving God's existence, Hackett believed this amazing entity proved that nature was miraculous. However, as he absorbed its shimmering beauty, he said none of this. His words would be wasted on Torino. Instead he told himself to feel grateful that he had at least seen this wonder.
Torino turned to Bazin and the soldiers. 'We'll go back now and finalize plans for when we leave this place. And I need a rock hammer.' He indicated the monolith – the Source. 'I want a sample.'
'We didn't bring one,' said Fleischer.
'Dr Kelly was a geologist. Look in his backpack. He may have something.'
Bazin glanced at Hackett and the others. 'What about them?'
'You know what to do.'
71
Twenty minutes later
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Zeb was amazed by how quickly the most intense sense of wonder could evaporate in the face of imminent danger. From being transfixed by the Source, she was now too busy panicking to give it a second thought. She still couldn't believe that Torino, Bazin and the soldiers had left them tethered to a rock near the blood-and-viscera-splattered worm holes, then continued down the tunnel with the nymphs.
'What if those things come back?' she had shouted after them. 'What if others come?' As she'd watched their backs disappear down the tunnel she had known the answer and, sure enough, ten minutes later, she could hear the rock around her whispering.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
'Hurry, Nigel, hurry. They're coming back.' The place was like a charnel house from the earlier slaughter but Hackett seemed oblivious of the mess as he knelt between them, holding the rope in his bound hands, sawing it against the sharpest edge of the rock.
'Hurry, Nigel! Hurry!' Sister Chantal pressed.
'What a good idea,' Hackett said drily, through gritted teeth, fingers working furiously. 'That had never occurred to me.' He had already tried to untangle the knot but with bound hands it had been impossible. Zeb could see that some of the fraying rope strands had parted but plenty more were still intact.
'We're running out of time,' she said. 'They're coming.'
'I know,' said Hackett. 'I can hear them. What exactly do you suggest I do that I'm not doing now?'
'Bite it!' snapped Sister Chantal.
Hackett kept sawing the rope against the rock. More strands parted, but the whispering was harsher – and louder. Zeb's knees turned to jelly as she imagined the worms' rough carapaces rasping against the rock. All she could think about was whether it would be better to be devoured first, or watch Nigel and Sister Chantal torn to pieces before her. The noise increased and the surrounding rock shook.
Zeb had a sudden desire to fill these precious moments with human warmth before pain and death claimed her: to pull Nigel away from his futile task and kiss him on the lips, then hug Sister Chantal close. She wanted to tell them how important they had