Tunnels 04, Closer

but just remember, when we get back to the warehouse, you have to go back into your act and make like the world has ended. Got that?"
    "Maximum Eeyore," Chester confirmed, reaching for the sandwiches.

    * * * * *

    Will and Elliott began to get an idea of just how widespread the jungle fire had been as they continued through the barren fields. In places the wind had gathered the ash and charred fields. In places the wind had gathered the ash and charred wood into drifts, and the going here was difficult as they sank up to their knees in it.
    And every so often they came across what remained of the trunks of the mighty trees. Shorn of their branches and a fraction of their original height, these had the appearance go giant sticks of charcoal that had been rammed into the ground.
    What had begun as a light breeze was rapidly turning into a powerful wind. Large raindrops began to fall, hitting the ash around them and sending it up in little puffs, as though Lilliputian bombs were going off.
    Then they were plunged into an eerie half light as the sun became choked by clouds. No wonder Colonel Bismarck had been concerned; the storm of all storms was upon them. A searing arc of lightning jagged into one of the charcoal tree trunks several hundred meters away, and with a groan it began to pitch over, as if in slow motion. Almost instantaneously there was a crash of thunder, so loud it was like a physical force, knocking them off course as they went.
    "Run!" Elliott screamed.
    "I am!" Will screamed back.
    Apart from the fact that the thunderclaps made him anxious, Bartleby seemed to be enjoying himself, scampering around in the rain and getting himself covered in ash as if it was all some game.
    Then they came to a steep slope and followed it down. The rain was now torrential, and the combination of water and loose ash was treacherous. They kept losing their footing and slipping down the gray incline.
    As they reached the bottom, they found themselves in some kind of hollow, where many more of the charcoal trunks were standing. They were racing between these as they heard a screech.
    "Bartleby!" Will yelled, and they both ground to a halt. "Where is he?"
    The rain was pelting them with such force that they had to protect their faces as they scanned their surroundings for the Hunter.
    There was another screech.
    "He's in trouble," Will shouted, gesticulating to where he thought the sound had come from.
    As they retraced their steps between the carbon tree trunks, they spied movement.
    They crouched low.
    Back creatures slightly larger than rugby balls were crawling slowly over the carcass of a dead buffalo. Its stomach was split wide open, and its intestines had been spread over the ground. The creatures were feeding on these intestines, nudging at the coils of gut and other body organs as they stuck spike-like proboscises into them and sucked.
    "Fleas? Mega Fleas?" Will mumbled to Elliott.
    They did resemble huge versions of these insects, with crooked rear legs and segmented carapaces that shone dully under the reduced light. But these creatures appeared to be scavengers and not parasites, as they fed on the felled buffalo. Will estimated that there were around thirty of them in the pack, and a low humming noise was emanating from them, as if they were communicating with each other. The sound seemed to be coming from their forelegs as they rubbed them together.
    Another yelp.
    Ten meters from the dead buffalo, Bartleby was rolling on his back, one of the fleas gripped between his paws as it extended and retracted the dark spike from its mouth parts. It was trying to bite or sting him. And other fleas were slowly leaving the buffalo carcass to head toward the thrashing cat. They clearly weren't just scavengers -- they were predatory too.
    Elliott realized Will was unarmed -- after they'd argued, she'd kept the weapons to herself. Worse still, the Browning Hi-Powers were buried at the bottom of her Bergen, and she only had the New Germanian weapons at hand.
    "Here!" she hissed, whipping out one of the pistols she'd tucked into her belt.
    Will turned just in time to catch the Luger she'd lobbed at him.
    He pointed the weapon at the flea in Bartleby's paws, steadied his aim, and squeezed the trigger.
    Nothing happened.
    "Safety's on!" he growled through clenched teeth, and had begun to fumble for the lever on the unfamiliar weapon when Elliott fired her pistol.
    The flea in Bartleby's paws was slammed away by the shot, as if it