Tunnels 01, Tunnels

it.
    "FILTH! FILTH! FILTH!"
    I'm going to die! I'm going to die! I'm going to die!
    The single thought pulsed through his head, a counterpoint to the repeated chant of the crowd. They were so close to him now -- close enough that he could smell their collective stench and the foul reek of their collective hatred.
    "FILTH! FILTH! FILTH!"
    HE felt as if he were in the bottom of a well, with a vortex of noises and shouts and vicious laughter swirling around him. He couldn't take it anymore. He had to do something. He had to escape!
    In blind terror he tried to break free, struggling and twisting his body, convulsing against his captors. But the huge hands only gripped him even more savagely, and the rabble's cries and laughter reached fever pitch at this new spectacle. Exhausted and realizing it was futile, he moaned, "No... no... no... no..."
    A sickly, intimate voice came to him from so close that he felt the speaker's lips brush his ear. "C'mon now, Chester, pull yourself together! You don't want to disappoint all these good ladies and gentlemen, do you?" Chester realized it was the Second Officer. He must have been relishing every second of this.
    "Let them have a look at you!" said someone else. "Let them see you for what you are!"
    Chester felt numb... bereft... I can't believe this. I can't believe this.
    For a moment it was as if all the jeering and chanting and catcalls had stopped. As if he were in the eye of the storm, as if time itself had stopped. Then hands took hold of his ankles and legs, guiding them onto a step of some kind.
    What now? He was heaved onto a bench and shoved hard against its back, in a sitting position.
    "Take him away!" someone barked. The crowd cheered, and there were rapturous yelps and wolf whistles.
    Whatever he had been put on lurched forward. He thought he heard the plunging of horses' hooves. A carriage? Yes, a carriage!
    "Don't make me go! This isn't right!" he implored them.
    He began to gibber, his words making no sense.
    "You're going to get exactly what you deserve, my boy!" said a voice to his right, in an almost confidential tone. It was the Second Officer again.
    "And it's too good for you," came another he didn't recognize from his left.
    Chester was now shaking uncontrollably.
    This is it, then! Oh God! Oh God! This is it!
    He thought of his home, and the memories of watching television on so many Saturday mornings popped into his head. Happy and cherished moments of normality with his mother in the kitchen cooking breakfast, the smell of food in the air, and his father calling from upstairs to see if it was ready yet. It was like another time, another century.
    I will never, ever see them again. They're gone... it's all gone... finished... forever!
    His head sank to his chest. He went limp as the stone-cold realization that it was all over spread through his whole body.
    I am FINISHED.
    From the soles of his feet to the top of his head he was filled with a crushing hopelessness. As if he'd been paralyzed, his breath slowly left his lips, pulling with it an involuntary animal sound, a half whine, half moan. An awful, dread-filled sound of resignation, of abandonment.
    For what seemed like an eternity, he didn't breathe at all, his mouth gaping, closing, opening, like that of a stranded fish. His empty lungs burned from the lack of air until finally his whole body jerked. He sucked in a painful breath through the clogged wave of the hood. Forcing his head up, he let go a final cry of utter and final despair.
    "WWWWWWIIIIIILLLLLL!"

    * * * * *

    Will was surprised to find he'd dozed off again. He awoke, disoriented and with no idea how long he'd actually been asleep, as a dull, far-off vibration roused him. He couldn't pinpoint what it was, and in any case the cold, hard reality of the choice to go into the Deeps came flooding back to him. It was as if he'd awoken into a nightmare.
    He was Imago crouching by the well, inclining his head toward the sound, listening. Then they all heard it plainly; the distant rumbling grew louder with every second until it began to reverberate around the chamber. At Imago's direction, Will and Cal shimmied over to the opening in the floor and readied themselves. As they both sat with their legs dangling from the edge, beside them Imago was leaning his head and shoulders into the well, hanging down as far as he could.
    "Slows around the corner!" they heard him shout, and the noise grew more and more intense, until the whole chamber was