Free Moonfeast by James Axler Page B

accelerating, Krysty rammed the LARC into the opening between the blast door and the wall, becoming momentarily stuck when there came a brilliant flash from behind, closely followed by a reverse hurricane. Anything loose in the LARC was sucked away by the implosion, the companions nearly losing their seats from the sheer force of the wind, with J.B. grabbing onto his fedora with both hands.
    Continuing to pour on the power, Krysty forced the LARC ever forward, the Navy transport advancing in screeching protest until the last curve of the hull squeezed past the blast door.
    In a surge of speed, the LARC rocketed outside, nearly crashing into the side of a rocky tunnel before the woman regained control and headed pell-mell into the darkening gloom. Beyond the slice of illumination coming from of the redoubt there was Stygian blackness.
    As the artificial wind eased, Ryan staggered into the pilothouse and took the navigator seat to start flipping switches. Running lights appeared along the gunwale, then a GPS unit came alive on the control board, but finally he found the headlights. Set at cockeyed angles, the halogen beams were pointed at the ceiling and the floor of the tunnel, but they threw back enough light for the two companions to see that this wasn’t a predark tunnel built for vehicles. It was some sort of a circular tube, the smooth walls shiny with tiny flecks of a reflective material. Built to carry enough supplies for a platoon of U.S. Marines, plus the Marines, the wide LARC just barely fit into the tube, the tires cantered oddly on the curved bottom while the stubby radio antenna constantly scraped along the arched ceiling.
    “This is a lava tube!” Doc gasped in horror. “We’re inside a bedamned volcano!”
    “Watch out for steam vents!” Mildred shouted from the distant rear of the transport. “They’ll cook us alive!”
    Busy working the controls, Ryan didn’t respond, but Krysty half turned her head to nod in understanding. Now that her vision was growing accustomed to the gloom, she could see that there were numerous other tunnels shooting off at crazy angles. It was taking her constant attention to keep the LARC from crashing into one or lurching off into the unknown. Krysty didn’t know much about volcanoes, but what the woman had heard was that the main lava tube was usually the largest. Usually. With luck, this one would empty somewhere on dry land instead of ending at a river of molten rock, or worse, a mile under sea. If either of those wasthe case, the companions would have to drive backward and try another tube, then another and another, until they reached the outside world or ran out of fuel and were forced to return to the redoubt for one last confrontation with the Cerberus clouds.
    Releasing the steering wheel for a moment, Krysty grabbed Ryan by the shoulder and squeezed hard. He replied in kind, the man and woman speaking volumes to each other without ever saying a word.
    Behind the LARC, the blast door was slowly closing, the ceiling lights narrowing quickly into a mere sliver. Then the light went murky for a moment, before the nukeproof door closed with a muffled boom.
    “Cloud, six o’clock!” Jak yelled through cupped hands to the people in the pilothouse.
    Turning, Ryan squinted his good eye, but there was only darkness behind them.
    Rummaging in his munitions bag, J.B. unearthed a road flare and scraped it alive, the bright red magnesium flame hissing loudly. Tossing it over the end of the LARC, the man saw it hit and nearly go out, but then the flame sputtered alive, the red light clearly silhouetting the Cerberus cloud as it flowed over the flare and back into the darkness.
    “How long do you think it will chase us?” Krysty asked, trying not to notice how low the gas gauge was. The ten gallons Doc had poured in were almost gone, and stopping to refuel was clearly out of the question.
    “Fireblast, I don’t know,” Ryan replied truthfully, glancing over a shoulder.