Where the Summer Ends - By Karl Edward Wagner Page 0,65

in his breath and writhed forward another foot or more. His sides ached, but he managed yet another foot with all this strength.

No farther. He was stuck.

His chest aching, Kenlaw found scant breath to curse. No need to panic. Just back out and take off the jacket, push it in ahead of him and try again. He struggled to work his corpulent body backward from the tunnel. The loose folds of his paratrooper’s jacket rolled up as he wriggled backward, bunching against the bulging pockets Jammed even tighter against his flesh and against the rock walls, the laden coat bunched up into a wedge. Kenlaw pushed harder, setting his teeth against the pain, as rock samples gouged into his body.

He couldn’t move an inch farther. Backward or forward.

He was stuck midway in the tunnel.

Still Kenlaw fought down his panic. It was going to cost him some bruises and some torn skin, no doubt, but he’d work his way free in good time. He must above all else remain calm, be patient. A fraction of an inch forward, a fraction of an inch backward. He would take his time, work his way loose bit by bit, tear free of the jacket or smooth out its bunched-up folds. At worst, Reynolds would find him, bring help. Brandon might be dead by then, or have no memory of the blow that felled him; he could claim he was only trying to drag his injured companion to safety.

Kenlaw noticed that the light from his flash was growing dim, He had meant to replace the batteries earlier; now the spares were part of the impedimenta that pinioned him here. No matter; he didn’t need light for this—only to be lighter: Kenlaw laughed shakily at his own joke, then the chuckle died.

The flashlight was fast dwindling, but its yellowing beam was enough to pick out the pink reflections of the many pairs of eyes that watched him from the mouth of the tunnel—barely glimpsed shapes that grew bolder as the light they feared grew dim.

And then Kenlaw panicked.

•VI•

The throbbing ache in his skull was so intense that it was some time before Brandon became aware that he was conscious. By gradual increments, as one awakens from a deep dream, he came to realize that something was wrong, that there was a reason for the pain and clouded state of awareness. An elusive memory whispered of a treacherous attack, a blow from behind...

Brandon groaned as he forced himself to sit up, goaded to action as memory returned. His legs refused to function, and after a moment of confusion, he realized that his ankles were tied together. He almost passed out again from the effort to lean forward and fumble with the knots, and more time dragged past as he clumsily worked to free his ankles.

His brain refused to function clearly. He knew that it was dark, that he could see only dimly, but he could not think where his flashlight might be, nor marvel that his albino eyes had so accommodated to give him preternatural vision in a lightless cavern. Remembering Kenlaw’s attack, he began to wonder where the other man had gone; only disjointedly did he understand the reasons behind the archeologist’s actions and the probable consequences of his own plight.

The knots at last came loose. Brandon dully considered the rope—his thoughts groping with the fact that someone had tied it to his ankles. Tied him to what? Brandon pulled on the rope, drew coils of slack through the darkness, until there was tension from the other end. He tugged again. The rope was affixed to something beyond. With great effort, Brandon made it to his feet, staggered forward to lean against the rock face beneath which he had lain. The rope was tied to the wall. No, it entered the wall, into the tunnel. It was affixed to something within the narrow passage.

Brandon knelt forward and followed the rope into the crawl space. Dimly he remembered that this was the shaft by which he had entered—or so he hoped. He had hardly crawled forward for more than a body-length, when his fingers clawed against boots. Brandon groped and encountered damp cloth and motionless legs— the rope pressing on beneath their weight.

“Kenlaw?” he called out in a voice he scarcely recognized. He shook the man’s feet, but no response came. Bracing himself against the narrow passage, Brandon grasped the other man’s ankles and hauled back. For a moment there was resistance, then the slack body slid