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Christa arrived at the campsite to find it in complete disarray. The tents had collapsed and all of their equipment lay scattered across the clearing. Someone had been rummaging through the site. Her sleeping bag lay torn and mangled, draped over the remains of the large tent. Happily, she hadn't been in it. She stood by the truck in shock. On the edge of her vision, she thought she saw something brown move on the other side of the clearing, but whenever she looked for it, it disappeared. It must have been what destroyed the campsite. Whatever it was, it probably fled when the car approached. Animals. Great. The last thing she needed was to meet a bear. She had no weapons of any kind, but chances were that any animal wouldn't approach her. Only animals who were starving or who had already tasted human flesh attacked people. Unless they were provoked, of course. Christa shuddered. The campsite was in ruins. She felt as if she'd been violated. A quiet shuffling noise startled her, coming from the pit they'd explored the day before. Nervous, she walked to the other side of the hill and looked into it. Their ropes were still there, hanging loosely down into the dark bottom. From this angle, she could barely make out the tunnel's entrance. It didn't seem to have been disturbed. Grabbing one of the ropes, Christa lowered herself into the pit and started down the tunnel. The first room, its dank interior poorly lit, showed that something had been here. The carefully stacked wooden chests had been spilled all over the floor, and footprints led into the maze of tunnels. There could be people hiding down there, she realized with a start, and decided to block the hole until she could go back into town to collect Sam and Neal. Also, grunting noises came from somewhere in the catacombs. Whoever was in the tunnels, she didn't want to meet them alone. She walked back out into the light and grabbed the rope, intending to climb back up. She didn't have time to react before the metal pole connected with the back of her head and she slipped to the ground, unconscious. Sam and Neal fidgeted. They were starving. It was eight o'clock, and Christa hadn't returned yet. She'd been gone all day. They'd expected her to rescue them at some point, but the only people they saw during that time were the pub's patrons, who had wandered over to the church just after seven o'clock. One of them carried a large sack, which they realized was just big enough to hold a human. "I think this place is most definitely hostile," Neal said. Sam, despite his frustration and fear, grinned madly. "Well, this finally occurred to you, eh? Thank you, Mr. Observation." "The townspeople were planning to sell the artifacts they dig up from the site." "Brilliant, once again." "There must be a lot of money in it, because they're willing to threaten us. This summer project is getting complicated." "Anything else?" At this very moment, Neal thought, their fate was probably being decided. "The first duty of any prisoner is to escape." Sam threw Neal a sarcastic expression. "I'm open for suggestions." Neal dropped the book he was reading and crossed his arms, looking around the room. Despite the fact that the windows could easily be smashed, there was a five metre drop to the ground below, and they had no rope. There was no freedom that way. Hours passed as they searched. They tried breaking the door down, but it was quite solid. The hinges were on the other side, too. At half past eleven, the mayor returned. They saw him walk up the path to the house, and when he opened the door, they started shouting. Which, they realized, was pointless. He was probably behind the scheme. He ignored their imploring voices and went up the stairs. They heard a door slam above. Both of them were hungry and tired. They had to do something. Maybe Grimsley might negotiate. Sam, after spark of nervous thought, walked over to the door and fiddled with the lock, and then sat down again next to Neal. After a few minutes, Grimsley came back down the stairs. They heard the bolt of the lock slide back, and they got ready to jump the old man. The door opened. The mayor entered, brandishing a shotgun. "O.K., just sit right down over there on the sofa. " They couldn't argue with a shotgun. Sam was terrified of firearms, and Neal always gave them a grudging respect. The menace in his glare was not lost on them. "Look, all we want to do is leave your inbred little town. Just let us go and we'll stop bothering you." "Heh. Right." He was speaking with an accent now, but they couldn't identify it. He walked over to a bookshelf and picked up one of the books. Keeping the gun pointed at them, he swivelled around and addressed the terrified men. "You arrogant buggers from the University. Think you know everything. You've stumbled into more than you bargained for, eh?" He cackled menacingly. Sam and Neil looked at each other, exchanging glances. This whole situation was unreal. "Contemplate your arrogance for the next-- short-- while. Heh." The sinister mayor walked out, and they heard the snap of the bolt locking the door. Sam and Neal sat completely still and looked at each other. "Well, it could be worse. He could have killed us already." "Right. It could be worse." "Well, that settles that. We'd better get comfortable." Sam spent the next ten minutes casually leafing through some of Grimsley's books. Neil couldn't rest. "We have to get out of here." "I think so too." Sam smiled. He walked over to the door, and yanked hard on it. It opened. Neal smiled. "What did you do?" "I jammed the lock with this. It could be unlocked but not locked again." He held up a pin. It was exquisite, made of bone and carved by some forgotten Tatlatui. "Can't get this kind of craftsmanship nowadays, eh?" "Right", Neil said nervously, "let's get back to the camp." "Um, no," Sam said, "I think we should go and check the church out." Neal remembered the sack one of the men had been carrying. There was no sign of the shuffling old woman, so they left as quickly as they could. The two figures made their way among the gnarled trees, trying to avoid the blank stares of the abandoned houses on either side on the off chance that they still had occupants. The moon shone through the dark and ominous clouds above, and distant thunder threatened more rain. A light drizzle was already coming down. The thunder was getting closer, but the clouds hadn't yet obscured the moon. Slowly they made their way to the church. There was noise coming from within. The chanting was soft, barely audible from outside, but Sam could hear the rhythmic drum-beats as he walked up the pathway to the door. "Listen-- what's that?" They stopped in their tracks, and Neal strained his ears against the wind howling in the dark trees above. After a moment, he could hear it, too. "It's coming from inside. " Their eyes met. It took only an instant for each of them to realize that they were thinking the same thing. Neal sighed and whispered, "Out of the frying pan..." Inching forward, the two men glanced around and behind them periodically. They moved in nervous, furtive motions, efficiently taking stock of the situation. Neal's senses burst into activity. Adrenaline coursed through his blood, evoking animal instincts rarely called upon. His skin tingled. The slightest sound registered on his conscious mind, the most miniscule flickering of moonlit shadows caught his attention. One glance at Sam, and Neal knew he too was aware of the danger of what they were about to do. There was little choice, really. The church door was locked. With some force, Sam whispered, it would be possible to open it, but that would be far too noisy. Neal motioned with his finger at the gaping window, and the shards of glass poking out of the frame. Holding up the lantern, Neal stood on a rotting log and peered into the dark interior. There were no people inside. The church had no internal walls, and gaping holes in the roof allowed moonlight to drizzle in. The floor was littered with the remains of pews and the raised altar at the other side of the church looked as if it had been deliberately destroyed. A large corroding bell lay on the floor where the steeple rose, its pitted surface scored by ages of rainfall. Sam and Neal clambered over the windowsill and got a good look at the place. The church hadn't merely been unkept. It had been attacked. Pews lay like broken bodies, piled haphazardly but in an oddly organized fashion, as if invaders had wanted to preserve some sense of the desecrated building's dignity. Bizarre, arcane designs were painted over every flat surface. Some of them were vaguely familiar, and a few were quite horrifyingly detailed. Neal pointed out what appeared to be several primitive and crudely drawn replicas of Egyptian heiroglyphs scattered among the arcane symbols. Stains marred the walls, and their brownish colour, visible in the dim glow of the moonlight, revealed the true nature of the church's fate. But there were no bodies. Somehow, somewhere in the dark recesses of Sam's mind, he expected this. The crime in Camel Station was bigger than either of them had thought. They'd been lucky so far to have escaped with their lives. Instinctively, Sam moved to the front door, planning to unlock it so that they could escape quickly if necessary. It was completely blocked by debris. No-one came in from this entrance. Or left, he realized with a grim finality. Only the window could be used as a means of escape. There was light coming from the other side of the altar. Before reservations could get the better of him, Neal quietly grabbed Sam's arm and pointed to the far wall. Even though their better senses tried repeatedly to reassert themselves, they were both pulled inexorably to the back of the room. Like automatons on an unavoidable mission, their nimble feet moved the men deftly over the debris. This was a truly bad idea, and both of them knew it. |