There was a constant thumping sound that grew in volume, putting Dotty on edge. It was as if someone was pounding on a hollow log but higher in pitch.
Tac, tac-tac-tac, tac, tac-tac-tac…
Dotty hid behind an upturned car. She flattened her body against the ground and closed her eyes. She tried to control her breathing.
That thumping had a deliberate rhythm to it. It had a cadence that couldn't be mechanical, that changed on a whim or fell out of any measure. Her hearing was heightened in the darkness and every beat weighed upon the young woman's exhausted body. She had to fight back the urge to cry out for help.
The sound was getting further away.
She waited until it was a good distance away, then she stood up and followed after it, hypnotized by the rhythm. Keeping her rifle raised, she scrutinised the shadowy nooks between all the rubble and hovercars.
A silhouette loomed a hundred metres ahead of her. It was nothing more than a poorly drawn shade between the thread of cars that clogged the airway, but Dotty was sure: whoever they were, they walked like a human. Perhaps it was just the distance, but she had the impression that they were shorter than her.
The figure stopped in the middle of the road. Their head was covered with a pointed hood stitched from old rags. In their right hand they held a wooden object that must have been the source of the beating sound.
Finally, a survivor! she thought and her pulse started to race.
She rushed forward to meet them but, at her approach, the hooded figure disappeared amongst the cars. Dotty waited a few moments, rifle pointed at the floor, but the figure didn't reappear. As carefully and silently as possible she crept towards the cars, but there was no one there behind them. The figure had vanished into thin air.
Searching the metal floor, where the figure should have been, she found a hole so deep that she couldn't see the bottom. There were rough iron rungs bolted to the wall that led down into the darkness.
Dotty hesitated a moment. There wasn't anything that made her more anxious than dark, confined spaces. She took a deep breath and blew it out. She couldn't let fear get the better of her in this situation. She slung the rifle onto her back and started to climb down.
The interior of the shaft wasn't as tight as she had expected, but it was completely dark. As her nerves frayed, she began to sweat beneath the exosuit. She felt trapped, as if the weight of that darkness was crushing her lungs, as if it might suffocate her at any moment. She gripped each rung of the ladder tightly, savouring the cool touch on her bare hands and feet. She continued slowly. First one foot and then the other. One hand and then the next. When would this pain end? This ladder seemed infinite.
Finally her feet met solid ground. Still shaking, pulse racing and forehead dripping with sweat, She let go of the ladder and looked around. It was a passageway, some kind of subterranean service tunnel beneath the city that stretched off to a tiny point of light in the distance.
Tac, tac-tac-tac, tac.
Dotty's heart flinched in her chest. This time the sound was much closer, but she couldn't make out anyone in the darkness. She ran toward the sound, this time resolved that the hooded figure wouldn't escape her. She thought about crying out, asking them to stop but, as she opened her mouth to shout, something slashed through the air in front of her. Her shoulder erupted in agony and she was pushed back.
"No! Caza! Stop!"
Whatever it was had slashed through her exosuit and scored a deep wound in the exposed skin that bled profusely. When Dotty could take her eyes off it, she took another step back.
The figure in front of her was humanoid, male, but the head was all wrong. It was swollen and bulbous, much larger than normal. He wore a metal breastplate and carried a spear. Before she could say anything, he charged forward.
Powered by the exosuit, she jumped back, but the force of the jump was too strong for that tight space. Her head crashed into the ceiling then her body flopped to the floor.
This time she gave no opening for diplomacy. She rushed to her feet with fists raised. Her knuckles slammed into that misshapen, oversized face with a dull crack. The suit put so much strength into her blows she was afraid she might rip his head clean off, or break her arms in the process.
But the head stayed firmly attached to his body and the figure sank down to his knees, dropping his weapon as his eyes rolled back to show the whites.
"Nooo!" Dotty could tell now it was definitely a feminine voice. "What have you done?"
Out of the shadows, the small hooded figure took shape, finally coming into clear resolution in the faint light. She ran to help the unconscious man.
Dotty watched, unable to move. Her head was spinning.
"Who— who are you?" she asked the hooded figure while pressing down on her wound with the palm of her hand. Then her knees buckled.