Tunnels 05 - Spiral

“When you held me earlier on, I could sense it.”
    “That’s a load of rubbish,” he puffed indignantly. “And you know it is. You’re just a bit confused.” He remembered why he’d come to see her in the first place, offering her the mug. “You should drink this. Drake told me to put some extra sugar in it — he said it’ll help you get over the shock.” She took the mug, but as Will tried to touch her arm in a gesture of reassurance, she snatched it away, spilling her tea.
    He looked down at the tea as it soaked into the carpet. “You’re my friend,” he said. “That will never change. You’re Elliott. And that’s all that matters to me.” Not knowing what else to say, he left the room.

    The strange party had followed Maynard up through the tunnel network until they came to the portal. As the new First Officer threaded between the crowd gathered there, he saw Maynard’s son was on the ground, some ten feet from the riveted steel door of the airlock. It was rather unfortunate because the boy was very chubby, and he’d fallen facedown on the ground with his well-padded bottom sticking in the air.
    “No closer,” Maynard warned, catching the new First Officer’s arm. “It’s bewitched.”
    The new First Officer heeded the advice. “So what happened? Tell me precisely,” he inquired, as he saw the pickax lying on the ground beside the plump boy.
    “We thought the Styx might have welded the portal shut, so we were preparing to force our way through,” Maynard replied. “My boy Gregory was the first to reach the door. He’s been very hungry lately and a bit difficult at home. Anyway, he was rushing toward the door and just fell over — like the magic had struck him down.”
    “Styx magic. They placed a curse on the portal,” a man in the crowd piped up.
    “We’re all doomed,” a woman wailed, which sent a ripple of disquiet through everyone gathered there.
    “Poppycock! The Styx don’t have magic,” the former First Officer drawled. “Fat boy passed out from his hunger.” As he wheeled unevenly around, his eyes fell on the prisoner nearest to him. “Cleaver, show them,” he said.
    “Cleaver, show them! Cleaver, show them!” Squeaky and the other prisoners began to chant.
    Delighted to be the center of attention, Cleaver strode toward the portal in lumbering, confident steps. As he glanced over his shoulder at the other prisoners, they all chanted even louder, cheering him on.
    “Cleaver, show them!” the prisoners continued.
    “Shaver, clove them!” Gappy Mulligan screeched.
    Cleaver was clearly basking in the moment, a big grin pasted across his face. He built up speed, his thick legs pumping as he ran. But as he came to where the plump boy lay, he, too, crumpled to the ground, as if he’d been poleaxed.
    As if he’d run straight into an invisible barrier.
    All the prisoners
ahhhed
with disappointment, their chanting immediately dying out.
    “It’s magic, I’m telling you. I did try to warn you. The Styx don’t want anyone to escape,” Maynard said. “So what now? We have to get my boy back and see if he’s all right.”
    “From now on, nobody goes near
any
of the portals,” the new First Officer ordered the assembled people. “Is that understood?”
    The crowd murmured their agreement.
    Turning toward the portal again, the new First Officer took off his helmet and scratched his head for a moment as he thought. “Right . . . I’ll need a grappling hook so I can drag these two out. And someone else fetch a doctor, if there’s still one left in the Colony.” He regarded Cleaver’s huge body, which dwarfed even the vastly overweight boy slumped beside him. “And you’d better make that a big grappling hook,” he added.

    Elliott had stripped her rifle down to give it a thorough cleaning. She was in the process of putting it back together again when Stephanie pranced past the open door of her quarters.
    “Oh, hi there,” the girl said. “I didn’t know you had this room.” She was wearing a white T-shirt identical to the one Elliott had on, but Stephanie had tied the bottom in a knot so it looked rather more stylish on her.
    “I’m so glad you’re all right,” Stephanie said vaguely, eyeing the thick gauze on Elliott’s back, which was difficult to miss. She had begun to follow up with “And not a . . .” but decided better of it and closed her mouth. For once.
    Elliott made no effort to reply as she slotted the bolt back into the