Then she was up, running. Beating feet across the mounds of slippery roots and whatever they were covering. She saw the skull—just a glimpse as she went by. A human, roots like veins wrapping around the cranial vault, weaving their way into the eye sockets, in and out of the nasal sinus, slipping around the teeth and into the foramen magnum.

Then she raced full bore for the high tangle of roots, where Briah and Dek were gesturing to Valdez to get her butt over the top and away. Talina hit the lowest root at a dead run; she barely hesitated, powered by terror, as she pounded her way up, root by twisting root.

Chapter 62

  62  

It was the roots. The motherfucking roots. That was the worst part. They wanted to roll underfoot, squirm when Falise put her weight full on whichever foot.

And then there was the heat and humidity.

But the thirst really made her crazy.

Her shoulders ached like they were being pulled out of joint. The knot of pain in her hands—where they gripped the poorly shaped triangular handles—almost brought tears to her eyes. And worst of all, because of the litter, she couldn’t see where she was putting her feet.

Which meant she stumbled.

And that excited the roots. Made them squirm more.

Which meant that she staggered, fighting for balance. Felt her strength sapping, her lungs sucking for breath. The telltale burn in her muscles told her that she didn’t have much left.

And all around, the harmonics of the chime mocked her, added to her physical and mental misery. The heat made it seem she was working out in a sauna. Several times, tears of pain and frustration broke free to trickle down her cheeks. Lost water, that, along with the sweat that leaked from her hairline, broke out on her back, and sent little beads tickling along her sides, added to her maddening thirst. Never in her life had Falise been this thirsty, this hot, or had her muscles, bones, and joints hurt like this.

They’d made what? Two hundred meters? Was that all?

She considered quitting, dropping her end of the litter. Letting Soukup fall into the fucking roots. Who the hell cared if he died there? Wasn’t any skin off her hide. She could go back and write whatever report she wanted once Turalon was out of orbit. Bogarten was on his way to the airtruck. What was left of the Four wouldn’t leave Soukup. The roots would get them, too.

And if what Kylee said was true, entombed, devoured, there would be no body. No evidence.

Except Kylee.