Lair of the Sentinels

by Geoff Palmer

  He felt about the closed-off side passage, seeking some switch or lever that would open it again. If they could just get back down there. Hide. Take cover. To hell with the fumes. It was their only hope.

  He found nothing.

  The Sentinels reached the entrance, stopping under the curtain of water running down from the cliff above. The sky outside was dark with thunderclouds, but he could see it spattering off their outlines. They were revelling in it, slurping from side to side like a couple of fat disco dancers. Their rasping chitters dropped an octave. The sound that came back down the shaft was slower and more sonorous.

  He shielded his eyes, looking about helplessly, blinking at the blinding light. Recollections of the nightmare pursuits were still fresh in his mind. He knew how the Sentinels worked. They were relentless. Tireless. In his dreams they wore him down until he knew he’d eventually have to submit.

  He looked around desperately, but they had no choice. The moment the Sentinels turned back they’d be spotted. There was nowhere else to go.

  He seized Alkemy’s hand and dragged her towards the source of the pink light. Back towards the passage they’d emerged from. Right into the Sentinel’s lair.

  31 : Signs of Life

  Tim and Alkemy kept low, shielding their eyes. The light from the passage was so intense it was like a physical presence. Tim felt it as he moved. Like battling a strong wind. Then it dimmed and the pressure eased and they found themselves in a circular tunnel similar to the one that had led to Albert’s final resting place. It was darker here and cool. Looking back, he realised they’d pushed through some sort of force field.

  This passage was twice the diameter of the other shaft — they could easily stand upright — but it was damp. Two centimetres of water lay in its base. It also had its own internal illumination. The glassy walls gave off a faint pinkish glow, filling it with a soft, uniform light that made their torches unnecessary.

  They edged forward, sloshing through the water.

  After a short straight stretch they came to an intersection where the tunnel split into four separate passages, two curving away to the right, two curving to the left.

  ‘Which way?’ Tim said.

  ‘Here,’ Alkemy said.

  Immediately to their right was a gap in the tunnel wall, a broken section where the curving passage had clipped the corner of a natural fissure in the rock. The opening was small and dark. Tim moved towards it without hesitation.

  Easing through the irregular opening, they found themselves in a deep chamber plastered in soft green fungus. Stalactites of it hung from the ceiling, stalagmites of it rose from the ground. At first Tim thought they were rock formations covered in the stuff, but when he brushed against one it yielded, soft and springy, swaying back and forth in the humid air.

  ‘At least is warm in here,’ Alkemy whispered.

  Tim realised how cold he was. The mineshaft had been cool. Their clothes were damp from where they’d pressed against the wall, and now their feet were soaked too.

  They crawled in — there wasn’t room to stand upright — then sat and waited. A minute passed. Two. Three. Then shadows flickered in the outer passage. Tim pressed a finger to his lips and they edged further back into the chamber. They saw a rippling bow wave pass the entrance. Faint chittering sounds grew steadily. The Sentinels were returning.

  They took cover behind a mound of fungus as a slimy, elongated shape slid past the opening in the wall.

  Tim was surprised at how big they were. It hadn’t registered in his dreams or even in silhouette. Height and width were arbitrary measurements for such amorphous creatures, but in terms of bulk they must have been the size of small cars. The one passing filled the passage completely, moving with surprising speed.

  They waited.

  The second one began gliding past. Then it paused. Something happened to the side pressed against the opening of the fungus chamber, and Tim realised it was oozing itself into their space. He touched Alkemy’s arm. She’d seen it too and they inched back further, keeping low as a bulbous head extruded through the creature’s side, swelling up before them in monstrous outline.

  * * *

  Glad looked up as the door buzzer sounded and Crystal Starbrite stepped into the shop. She was dressed in jeans, a 9-News T-shirt, a pair of expensive looking shoes, and carried a brown leather bag over one shoulder.

  ‘Hi. I’m Crystal Starbrite.’ She held out a limp hand.

  Glad wasn’t sure whether she was expected to shake it or kiss it. She opted for a shake.

  ‘Glad Smith,’ Glad said, for once not adding her usual follow-on, ‘and I’m glad to meet you.’

  Crystal looked about the shop, her eyes lingering briefly on her own picture on the cover of a weekly magazine. ‘Nice place.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Quiet little town, isn’t it?’

  ‘I like it.’

  ‘I don’t expect much happens round here that you don’t know about.’

  ‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘If you’re looking for town gossip, you’ve come to the wrong place.’

  ‘I was wondering what you thought about that meteor impact the other day?’

  ‘Why would you be interested in my opinion?’

  ‘I’m canvassing townsfolk, building up background.’

  ‘Looking for a story, you mean?’

  ‘If there is one.’

  They locked eyes for a moment and Glad had a sudden intuition about the leather bag. It didn’t fit with the expensive shoes and the designer jeans. It was plain. No fancy label. Nothing exclusive about it. Hardly the sort of thing a celebrity like Crystal Starbrite would carry. And there was something about the way she held it too. Something in the way she kept it level when she moved.

  Glad thought about Alice and the cameraman. She’d seen the look that passed between them. Had seen them huddled in a doorway up the road.

  ‘So, you were telling me about the meteorite.’

  ‘Actually I wasn’t.’ Glad resisted the temptation to straighten her hair or duck out the back and put on a bit of make-up.

  ‘You don’t think it’s curious that this place seems to be a magnet for that sort of thing? I mean, two in the space of a week ...?

  Glad shrugged. ‘Coincidence.’

  ‘What about the spaceship?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The spaceship, Ms Smith. You know all about that. You were there.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Come, come, we have witnesses.’

  ‘Witnesses? Plural? You don’t need me then.’

  Crystal said nothing. She looked about the shop then leaned in confidentially. ‘Look, this could be big. How much do you make from a place like this? Open all hours, seven days a week? I bet it’s a lot less than what my network would pay for an exclusive story.’

  Glad studied her briefly, then reached over to the rack at the end of the counter and picked up a copy of the magazine with Crystal on the cover. ‘I just realised. That’s you, isn’t it?’ She held it up in clear view of the leather bag. ‘It’s amazing what they can do these days. They’ve made you look ten years younger.’

  * * *

  ‘Mine’s dead too,’ Coral said, trying the starter.

  Ludokrus sighed and looked up the gully.

  ‘So much for fancy high-tech bikes,’ she said to Norman. ‘Looks like we’ll be walking home.’

  ‘Is not the bikes fault, is mine,’ Ludokrus said. ‘Quick build. Need to make fast. I leave off some parts.’

  ‘Like waterproofing.’

  ‘Only some. Should be rainproof. I do not expect the flood.’ He gestured at the brightening sky. ‘Will come dry if we leave up the seat.’

  ‘How long will that take?’

  ‘One hour, maybe.’

  ‘What are we supposed to do in the meantime?’

  ‘Walk. You remember how?’

  Rain ha
d done little to improve the appearance of the gully. Before it had looked dry, desolate and foreboding. Now it looked damp, desolate and foreboding. Most of the downpour had vanished so completely that Coral found herself wondering if she’d imagined it. The foaming drainage ditch still contained a handful of puddles. There were a few more on the track itself and evidence of another slip further up the valley. But apart from clamminess in the shaded sections and a faint steaming from the rocks on the sunlit side, the place had hardly changed.

  Timeless, she thought as they started up the track to the mineshaft. If they returned in a hundred years, or even a thousand, it wouldn’t look much different.

  Norman kept one eye on the receiver as they headed for the mineshaft. ‘Nothing yet, but they may be just inside the entrance. ’

  ‘Why wait there?’ Ludokrus said.

  ‘Water-logged bikes, perhaps?’ Coral muttered.

  They passed the Hope and Sanity signpost and stopped at the bottom of the switchback track.

  ‘I’ll go this time,’ Norman said.

  ‘No, we should go two—’

  ‘Two of you are already missing, remember?’ Norman headed off without waiting for an answer.

  Coral and Ludokrus followed his progress, watching every step. They saw him reach the plateau at the entrance to the mine, then heard his voice echo up and down the shaft. He came back to the edge and called down, ‘Still no reading on the receiver. I’ll go in further.’ He pulled a torch from his back pocket. ‘Give me a minute.’

  Ludokrus kept an eye on his watch. Norman reappeared, shaking his head. ‘Nothing. No sign of them.’

  ‘What? That’s not possible.’

  ‘Come up and see for yourselves.’

  ‘But we saw them go in there,’ Coral said as they reached the plateau.

  ‘I went right to the end.’ Norman said. ‘It’s a single shaft about sixty metres long. Ends in a sort of T. No side tunnels, no signs of a cave in. Just a dead-end.’

  ‘Footprint?’ Ludokrus said.

  ‘Rock floor.’

  ‘Is this even the right mine?’ Coral said.

  Norman gave her a pitying look. She was standing right beside the parked bikes.

  ‘Yeah, well, those things don’t work in the wet, do they? Maybe they went down on foot.’

  ‘And left their packs behind?’

  The packs were still strapped to the back of the bikes.

  ‘Even if they do, where can they go?’ Ludokrus looked up at the slope above them. ‘Hard to climb, and why would they? Nothing is up there. So must go down. Then is only left or right. One way go back to hut, the other is dead-end.’

  They stood in silence, searching the barren gully below for signs of life, but finding nothing.

  32 : Whispering Ghosts

  Tim and Alkemy ducked below an outcrop of fungus as the Sentinel forced its head through the opening in front of them and expanded like a balloon. At first it was a grey patchwork of slimy cells, then features appeared, slurping into place. Black nodules the size of tennis balls that might have been eyes popped into position, first one, then the other. Two antenna stalks pushed out from the jelly-like head and began feeling around. Their ends moulded themselves into hand-like shapes, patting and squeezing the hanging blobs of fungus before snapping one off and drawing it to its mouth. It snapped off a second one, pressing this to the top of its head where what must have been a second set of mouth parts ground and chewed in unison with the first. It paused, slurped from a mossy puddle with a sound exactly like someone sipping hot tea, then continued grazing.

  Tim and Alkemy watched, alarmed but relieved. They thought the Sentinel had sensed their presence and was pursuing them, but it had really just stopped for a snack. There was nothing to do but lie still, keep quiet and wait for it to finish.

  The room was warm, the fungus soft and spongy, and up close it gave off a pleasant, herbal smell. The sound of chewing grew monotonous, almost comforting. Like one of Uncle Frank’s cows, Tim thought, closing his eyes for a second.

  He opened them again with a start. Something had disturbed him. Like a half-remembered dream. It felt like a wet slap from one of the Sentinel’s antenna stalks, but it couldn’t have been. The fungus chamber was empty.

  Alkemy sat up. ‘What? What happen?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Why you shake me?’

  ‘I didn’t.’

  ‘Someone did.’ She looked around.

  ‘You must have dreamed it.’

  She brushed back her hair then drew her hand away. ‘Ugh!’ It was damp. Slimy. ‘Something drip on me. Look, you too.’ She wiped her hand on the fungus and nodded at his shoulder.

  Tim looked at a gooey patch on his jacket. ‘Oh yuck, what’s that?’ He wiped it off then checked his watch. Half an hour had passed since they’d entered the mineshaft. They must have fallen asleep while the Sentinel grazed. The Sentinel was gone, but ripples in the water in the passage outside suggested it hadn’t been gone long.

  It’s like it woke us up before it went, he thought. But why would it do that?

  Alkemy stretched and yawned, brushing at the fungus. While they’d been dozing, long tendrils of the stuff had reached out and attached itself to their clothes. Hundreds of elastic, web-like filaments that intertwined and formed a dense mat. The threads peeled away easily enough, releasing a faintly soothing odour. Alkemy closed her eyes again and breathed deeply. ‘Make me feel sleepy,’ she said, flopping back on to the soft mound.

  Tim yawned. ‘Me too. But we’ve got to get out of here. Come on.’

  They made their way out, moving slowly, listening for sounds of movement and studying the surface of the water. All was still and silent.

  Back in the circular tunnel, they returned the way they’d come, sloshing through the water as they went. But the door they’d entered by was closed. The tunnel simply ended at a rock wall.

  Tim ran his torch over it. ‘There must be a switch or release lever or something.’

  He searched but found nothing.

  ‘Maybe further back.’

  They checked as far back at the intersection. Still nothing.

  He returned and tapped the door with the butt of his torch. It sounded like solid rock. If they hadn’t just passed through it, he wouldn’t have believed it was anything but a dead-end.

  The ground suddenly shuddered. Alkemy grabbed his arm. For ten long seconds the earth trembled ominously.

  ‘What is that?’

  ‘Felt like an earthquake, but maybe it was a landslide after all that rain.’

  Alkemy said nothing. They were both thinking of the mineshaft next door. The one Albert had gone down. The one that was now just a smear of debris on the hillside.

  * * *

  ‘It doesn’t make sense.’ Norman said. ‘Why would they abandon the bikes? Even if they didn’t work, they could still coast down the hill on them.’

  Ludokrus moved to the mouth of the mineshaft and held up a hand. ‘Listen. You hear?’

  Norman and Coral joined him, cupping their ears.

  There were murmurs in the darkness, like the whispering of ghosts. It sounded like speech, but the words were indistinct and they couldn’t make them out.

  ‘I thought you checked in there?’ Coral said to Norman.

  ‘I did! That didn’t happen when I was—’

  ‘Ssshh!’ Ludokrus snapped.

  More whispers, like quiet conversation, then a sudden cry, loud and clear: ‘Oh ... oh ... Oh no ...!’ followed by Tim’s voice: ‘What is it? What’s happened? Alkemy, what’s wrong?’

  ‘Is them.’ Ludokrus said. ‘In trouble. Quick!’ He raced into the mineshaft with Coral at his heels.

  ‘Wait!’ Norman yelled. ‘Stop!’ But his voice was lost in a jumble of echoes. He ran after them. ‘No! Come back!’

  It was only a small explosion. Barely enough to dislodge a few tons of rock above the entrance to the mine, but once released, it set off a chain reaction. Ancient pit pro
ps, bearing the weight of a hundred years, sighed and collapsed at the unexpected strain, each one setting off the next. Falling boulders overspilled the narrow ledge, pulverizing the bikes parked there, before sweeping on to the valley floor. When the dust settled and silence returned to the gully, there was no sign there had ever been a mineshaft there at all.

  33 : Cages and Bars

  Alice turned off the engine near the gate and let her blue Daihatsu coast quietly into the reserve. The tyres made a faint scrunching sound on the gravel as the car rolled to a stop. There was no one else about.

  The caravan’s windows were closed, the awning zipped up tight. They weren’t back from their walk yet. Good. But they might return at any time. Fantail Falls was several hours south, and they’d left early. The walk ran along a coastal track that started just beyond the crater. The bare, blasted ground would make it easy to see them returning. She kept one eye out as she moved across the campground to the patch of bush where Eric said they’d seen the mice.

  ‘Hello ...?’ She cleared her throat and addressed the trees and ferns. ‘Hello visitors. My name is Alice. Welcome to Earth!’

  A faint breeze stirred the undergrowth.

  ‘Look, we don’t have much time. The others could be back at any moment. I know what they tried to do to you and what happened to your ship, and I know what this looks like,’ she held up the birdcage she was carrying, ‘but you have to trust me. I’m a friend and I really want to help.’

  She set the cage behind some ferns at the edge of a clearing.

  ‘I don’t think the others know you survived the explosion yet, but when they find out, they’re going to start searching for you. Thoroughly. They’ve probably got all sorts of radar and stuff, so we have to get you away from here. Then we can work out what to do next.’

  She crumbled half a muesli bar in front of the open cage door, put the rest inside and backed away.

  ‘There’s food and water and a place to rest in here. I think you’ll find it very comfortable. And safe.’

  There was a cardboard box on one side of the cage. She’d lined it with cotton wool and straw.