A Girl Called Badger (Valley of the Sleeping Birds) by Stephen Colegrove Read Free Book Online

illustration of a meter in the book with the one on the panel.
    “I think I fixed it.”
    “Finally!”
    Wilson closed the door and they walked back through the corridor.
    “What’s that?” said Robb.
    “What’s what?”
    Robb ran for the ladder. “Goddamn spider, I saw it!”
    Wilson swung his lantern and peered into the dusty shadows while Robb climbed the rungs as fast as he could.
    “You’re going to fall and hurt yourself, moron,” yelled Wilson.
    A scream came from above then a deafening clang.
    Wilson set down his lantern. “Dog spit!”
    He climbed the ladder rapidly and felt the underside of the hatch for the release lever. He twisted and pulled with all his strength but nothing happened. From the other side of the hatch came mumbled sounds.
    “Robb!”
    The narrow shaft made “an application of force problematic,” as Father Reed would have put it. Wilson hooked one foot through a rung and strained with both hands on the lever. It turned but when he pushed up the hatch didn’t open.
    “Robb! Get some help!”
    A sound filtered through that could have been a response. Wilson hoped it was instead the sound of Robb meeting a family of very sociable, man-eating spiders.
    “It’s just my luck someone else is scared of those things.”
    He descended the ladder and wiped sweat and dust from his eyes. The thought of wandering alone through the dark tunnels made him shiver. He tried to distract himself by taking inventory of what was left.
    His gear included a lantern with maybe an hour of light, a three-inch knife, a writing stylus with a small bottle of ink, a scrap of paper, and a small pouch with healing powder for Mina. Robb had the rucksack with the extra candles and water.
    He picked his lantern from the floor and sighed.
    “Like a lamb to the slaughter …”
    He checked behind for anything skittering along the floor then walked down the corridor. A few door handles rattled at his touch but were locked. At Personnel A218 the handle rattled but turned easily. Wilson took a deep breath and pushed.
    The room was separated into small areas, each with one chair and desk. Under a dusty mess of ceiling tiles and fallen rock lay signs of desperate flight. White papers were scattered on the floor below empty filing cabinets. The air smelled of old shoes and earth.
    Wilson’s hands began to sweat and he rubbed them on his trousers. Faded papers rustled under his feet. He tried not to imagine what could be hiding under every desk by thinking about the people who’d lived here in the past. He touched a light brown bottle with a red top and it shattered into delicate fragments.
    A black cube with a keypad and removable handle lay on each desk. Wilson picked up the nearest handle and noticed square meshes on either end. It sounded hollow when he tapped it on the desk. From the keypad he guessed it was a computational device.
    Underneath the chair lay a picture of a baby cat with a numbered grid. Wilson realized it was an old-style calendar and squinted at the date: October 2053. He snorted at the waste of valuable paper and put the calendar inside his jacket.
    Black, official text marked a smoky glass door: “Captain David Martinez, Personnel.” Of course Wilson knew Martinez––he worked for Simpson as a hunter. This had to be the office of the “first” David Martinez and one of the founders.
    Wilson opened the door. He cursed and immediately stumbled backwards, kicking up dust as he fell.
    On a desk stared a human skull, yellow and on its side like a dropped toy. Other bones were scattered on the desk and around the small office.
    Wilson closed his eyes and exhaled. He imagined a sudden plunge into a freezing lake and whispered four phrases:
     
    Breath made of ice
    Breath made of water
    Breath made of fog
    Calm my heart
     
    It was something Father Reed had taught him to calm his heart and focus his energy. The priest had called it a “trick”, because your mind was learning to “trick” the