Under the Mountain
‘Booker?’ hissed Jo, crouching down by a large chunk of rubble.
‘Help,’ came the reply, but it wasn’t the sergeant’s voice – it was the bloody archaeologist. Dr. Simmons. He was whimpering.
‘You’re alive,’ said Jo, and waited for the sergeant to chip in. No such luck. ‘Shit,’ she muttered, and checked her gun. ‘Do you know where you are?’
‘I’m— I’m under a table. I— I don’t…’ He breathed in. Jo checked her gun again, quickly – two hundred rounds in the clip. Not enough. ‘This was supposed to be a safe area! Professor Yang’s notes were quite— quite clear—’
‘Well, she was wrong,’ said Jo, trying to keep any fear or annoyance out of her voice. She peered round the side of her hiding-place, looked across the chamber: no sergeant. None of those things, either. ‘I’m still in the room where we got separated. Can you remember which corridor you went down?’
‘I… I… no.’ He started to sob.
Fuck this, thought Jo. She could just turn off the comm-bead and make her way out the way they’d entered. She could just leave Dr. Simmons to die – he’d got her into this mess, he’d got booker killed, she didn’t owe him shit.
‘Fuck,’ she said, and chose a passage at random. She could leave him where he was, but she wasn’t that cold. The man as crying, for fuck’s sake. ‘Just stay where you are. I’ll find you.’