Tunnels 03, Freefall

Chester said, as he pointed at the place where he had landed. Squatting down on his hams, Chester began to tug at the rope, which, unless it had snapped, would lead them to Elliott. As he yanked at it, it broke a line in the surface of the fungus, and both of them followed it reluctantly. Before they knew it they came upon Elliott. She had landed on her side just as Will had done, and her slight form had penetrated deep into the fungus.
    "Oh no, I think her face is buried in the stuff," Chester said. He flung himself down and tried to pull her head round so her nose and mouth weren't obstructed by the fungus. "Quick! She might not be able to breathe!"
    "Is she...?" Will asked, from the other side of her body.
    "Can't tell," Chester replied. "Help me get her out!"
    Chester began to heave on her and Will took hold of one of her legs. With a loud slurp she came loose.
    "Christ alive!" Chester shouted as he saw the state of her arm. It was clear she had refused to let go of her rifle, with dire consequences when she'd slammed into the fungus. The rifle strap was wrapped around her forearm, which was horribly twisted. "Her arm's really messed up."
    "Definitely broken," Will agreed hollowly as he cleared the fungal gunk away from her face, picking the remaining fibers from her lips and nostrils. "But she's alive. She's still breathing," he told Chester, who didn't seem to be able to take his eyes off the mangled limb.
    Will moved to Elliott's other side and, nudging Chester aside, gently unwound the rifle strap from around her arm.
    "Do be careful," Chester urged him in a croak.
    Will handed the rifle to him, and then undid the rope around Elliott's waist and slid her rucksack off her back, pulling her undamaged arm from the straps first. "Let's get her under cover," he said, as he lifted the girl and carried her over to the cave.
    They laid her down on some spare clothes. She was breathing regularly, but out cold.
    "What do we do now?" Chester asked, still eyeing her twisted arm.
    "I don't know. Wait for her to wake up, I suppose," Will replied with a shrug, then sighed. "I'm going to see to Cal," he said abruptly.
    "Will, why don't you just leave him?" Chester suggested. "It won't make any difference now."
    "I can't do that -- he's my brother," Will said, and left the cave.
    Will walked around for a while, surveying the ledge directly above until he had located one of the larger holes. Then he readied himself and jumped at it. On any other occasion the fact that he was shooting through the air like a human cannonball would have filled him with awe. But now he didn't give it more than a passing thought -- what he was about to do blotted everything else from his mind.
    As he soared through the hole in the shelf, he realized that he'd overdone it, and his momentum was carrying him too far. He was on a trajectory that was taking him high above the shelf.
    "Whoaaaaaa!" he shouted in alarm, and began to windmill his arms in an effort to bring himself down again.
    Then his trajectory dropped off, and he began to descend. He spotted he was heading straight for a patch of some mastlike structures that stood proud of the fungus's surface. They were thick stalks some three to four meters in height, with what resembled basketballs on the ends. A voice from some remote part of his brain helpfully informed him they were 'fruiting bodies' -- he seemed to recall they were organs to do with fungal reproduction. But it wasn't the time to dwell on half-remembered facts from his biology lessons. As he flew straight into the midst of them, he desperately grabbed at the rubbery stalks. Although they either broke off at their bases or the basketballs on their tips detached and whizzed away in all directions, at least they helped to slow his progress.
    As the last stalk came away in his hands and he cleared the patch, he finally touched down. But it was no better -- he was skiing on his knees across the greasy surface on a course that was taking him towards the edge. There were no more fruiting bodies in the way to help him, so he threw himself on his chest, digging his fingers and the toecaps of his boots into the skin of the fungus. He howled, imagining he was about to shoot straight off the gently curved edge of the shelf and into the Pore, but managed to bring himself to a halt just in the nick of time.
    "Jesus, that was close," he puffed, as he held absolutely still. It had been close -- his head was far enough over the rim of the fungus