Tunnels 02, Deeper

decomposing man.
    It. Was. Gruesome.
    Will thought he was going to throw up. He felt the vomit forcing its way up into his mouth and rapidly swallowed the acrid fluid down again. He couldn't allow himself to be sick or to slip from his hiding place. He had to stay put, however bad it was. The memory of the stalker attack back in the EternalCity was painfully fresh in his mind -- there was no way he was going to be subjected to that again.
    He had his eyes tightly shut and was desperately trying to focus all his attention of what the Limiters were saying. As he listened, he willed them to go on their way again. They began by speaking in the Styx tongue, then alternated between it and English. Every so often, he caught the odd smattering of what they were saying. It seemed to be coming from different members of the patrol, but he couldn't tell because they all sounded equally strange.
    "...next operation..."
    "...neutralize..."
    Then, after a lull during which he could only hear the sound of the stalker as it sniffed the dirt and growled:
    "...capture the rebel..."
    "...mother..."
    "...will assist..."
    As he kept his body rigid, his arms were aching, and he realized that the very worst thing was happening: His leg, held in a horribly awkward position, was beginning to shake from the strain of supporting his body. He tried to control the trembling, petrified that his boot was going to slide from its perch on the nail. Sweat coursed from his temples as he strained to disassociate himself from the sheer discomfort and listen to the Limiters' voices.
    "...sweep..."
    "...thorough search..."
    He still didn't dare open his eyes, praying that he was sufficiently hidden behind the rotund body. It would only take one of the Styx to notice his arm or leg, and the jig would be up. He thought briefly of Elliott lying in the small ditch on the other side from him.
    Then it happened. His leg seized up with pulses of agonizing pain. The cramps rippled through his calf and thigh as if someone with an iron grip were mercilessly crushing each of his muscles, all at the same time. He yearned to pull himself up ever so slightly by his arms, but he didn't dare.
    His leg spasmed again, as if it had a mind of its own. He fought against its involuntary movements. His whole concentration was upon it, so much so that, for a few seconds, he forgot everything -- the stench and the terse babble of the Limiters and the stalker so close by. But the pain and the shaking were growing worse. He had to do something.
    Oh Sweet Mercy! He tensed his arms and heaved himself up just a fraction. The weight on his leg was reduced and the relief was instant, but the stake shifted slightly. He realized that the Limiters had stopped talking.
    Please, please, please! He prayed.
    The Limiters began to speak again.
    "Topsoiler," one was saying. "We will find him..."
    Immediately there came another sentence, but only a single word registered with Will. It was said with a different intonation, as if the Styx was showing great respect.
    "...Rebecca..."
    Rebecca? No, no, it couldn't be! His mind somersaulted. But it had to be his sister -- the witch he'd thought was his sister -- they were referring to. Why else would they have happened to use that particular name? It was just too much of a coincidence.
    The Limiters fell silent. He detected the dog's snorts, clearly, as if it had moved closer, then heard the sound of boots scuffing in the dust. He half opened one eye and saw lights shifting over the walls and roof. Were the Styx closing around him, encircling him? Had he been caught?
    No.
    They were moving on.
    Their footfalls resumed a single rhythm. They were leaving.
    But he had to hold on and wait. Thankful that the Limiters were moving quickly, he clenched his teeth. He didn't think he could tolerate the smell for much longer.
    The something tugged at his ankle.
    "All clear," Elliott hissed in a whisper. "Get down."
    Will immediately pitched backward from the stake, falling onto the ground and crab-walking away from the Coprolite as fast as he could.
    "For goodness' sake, be quiet! What is it?" she asked.
    He flexed his fingers, the ones that had been inside the Coprolite's dust suit. There was a sticky wetness to them. Juices from the decaying cadaver. He shivered, shocked to the core. Not looking at his hand, he lifted it gingerly to his face, and caught the rancid stench of old death. Instantly he whipped his hand away, stretching it as far as he possibly could.