A Princess of The Linear Jungle

pertinent query.

8.
    VAYAVIRGUNGIANS ATTACK!

    PITCHING THE TENTS THAT EVENING PROVED IMPOSSIBLE— or rather, inhumanly taxing. Clearing enough growth down to the bare ground to allow erection of all four shelters would have involved hours of labor, coming hard upon all the previous muscle-sapping exertions necessary just to reach this nameless, trackless spot within the ex-Borough of Coconino, some twenty Blocks down a buried Broadway.
    So merely enough space was hollowed out of the grasping Jungle to allow the unrolling of twelve mattresses in close proximity. Then, under Scoria’s instructions, the tents, still flattened, were strung with ropes from the remaining trees, like tarps slightly above head level, to provide a minimum of protection from any possible rain or dropping of debris. And the canopy conferred a semblance, however tenuous, of home and security as well: psychologically important, Merritt realized, after pondering Arturo’s intentions. As his protégé, she felt obligated to fathom and learn from his experienced reasoning.
    No cheery campfire was possible. The living vegetation was too succulent, and any dead matter seemed to decompose into rich humus practically as soon as it hit the ground. So the explorers supped on cold rations, and when darkness fell they clustered for a time around a single battery-powered lantern. The expedition boasted four such, but Scoria declared that they had to conserve the precious batteries for unforeseen eventualities.
    The bike boys sought to cheer up their companions by offering an a capella version of that hit song from the musical stage version of Diego Patchen’s Broken Rainbows , “Dreams are Dangerous Fun.” The harmony-rich interlude lifted Merritt’s spirits, and seemed to help the others too. But when the singing ended, the preternatural silence of the Jungle Blocks surged back with dramatic force into the little green cavern they had so precariously and laboriously carved out.
    “Only five miles from the Wall and all those happy people on the far side!” said Cady Rachis. “But it feels as if we’re trapped at Broad way’s End!”
    The naming of that mythical cul-de-sac disheartened everyone.
    “What will it feel like when we’ve penetrated even further?” Rachis continued to lament.
    Durian Vinnagar offered analytical comfort. “You can only go as deep as the middle, Miss Rachis. And then you’re on the way out.”
    Scoria sought to provoke intellectual curiosity rather than fear. “Do you believe, Durian, that the center of Vayavirunga will indeed differ materially from the rest of the Jungle Blocks? In other words, what of the original contagion? Is it still present? Has it left its mark, after all these centuries?”
    “I hope some traces do remain, so that we can learn the cause of this unique transformation. But let us also hope that any malign influence has dwindled.”
    Ransome Pivot spoke up. “Professor Scoria, where exactly was that photo of the redskinned native taken?”
    “Excellent question! The Trainman who sold it to me could not offer a precise location, since he had idly snapped so many useless panoramas so often before, prior to turning up that one significant shot. But we can hope that these crimson fellows dwell not too much farther from here. I can hardly believe that if they are human, they have not filled every available niche of this—this ‘biozome,’ if I can introduce a useful new term I’ve been ruminating. In fact, I’m surprised not to have encountered them, or signs of them, even this close to the Wall.”
    Peart interrupted the scientific theorizing with practical details. “I suspect we’ll all be wanting to turn in soon. Me and the boys will mount a watch in rotation.” Peart hoisted his dart rifle with mute import.
    Soon Merritt had peeled down to her skivvies and reclined on her mattress. The humid heat slicked her skin.
    Peart, his rifle, and the attenuated lamp had migrated to the perimeter of the campsite, leaving everyone else in darkness.
    Merritt took advantage of the privacy to mold herself spoonwise to Arturo. She thought to conduct an intimate whispered dialogue, but he was already asleep as a stone.
    Merritt found herself missing the subliminal thunder of the Subway most of all. Her basement flat back in Wharton had accustomed her to its mechanical lullaby. She mused idly on the nature of the Discontinuity that detoured the City-spanning Subway through regions of