Strontium Swamp. James Axler

seemed like forever, but could have been only a second or two, slowed only by the failing circuitry to respond immediately. The door creaked and moaned, and lifted slowly, air rushing in from beneath the ever-widening gap as the differing volumes on each side attracted the outside atmosphere.

      And the sand.

      There was a desert outside the redoubt, and one that had filled the small enclave that housed the redoubt entrance. Most of the redoubts had either been built into outcrops or in small valleys to mask the entrance in those predark times. The corridors from the main door leading into the complex itself was usually on an incline, built so that the gradient was hardly noticeable. But still there: it had made the struggle toward the exit door from the emergency stairwell that bit harder, that much closer to a gradual fade from consciousness.

      But now they gulped greedily at the fresh air that came in through the opening door. The light outside, and the heat that flooded in, suggested that it was the middle of the day. The sand spilled down the incline, trails of grain snaking around their feet, around their hands and knees as they sank down, thankful that they were now able to breathe freely.

      It took Krysty a little while to realize what was happening. Unlike the others, who were either unable to focus or had their eyes closed, concentrating on drinking in the fresh air, the Titian-haired beauty was looking down and could see the sand build up around her hands, planted on the floor of the corridor, flowing and growing so that it covered her knuckles, then the backs of her hands, burying them up to the wrist and flowing around her calves and thighs, pulling at her as she tried to free them.

      She yelled, wordless, and after the lack of air it came out as a dry, hushed croak, but it was enough to make the others look up.

      The entrance to the redoubt had to have been buried in a sand dune, and the opening of the door had set up a movement in the sands that were drawing them into the tunnel, down the slope, flowing at speed. There was sky visible above the sand, but also a vast wall of the almost liquid grains that were slowly sweeping toward them, growing with momentum as the mass began to move.

      Marshaling what strength he could, the lactic acids in his muscles that hadn’t dispersed easily with the decreasing oxygen making his limbs feel like they were filled with molten metal, Ryan got to his feet, pulling himself free of the sand so that it only flowed around his calves. He could feel the growing strength of it as the momentum of the fall built. Unless the companions moved quickly, the sea of sand would sweep them all back into the redoubt, crushing them against one of the closed interior sec doors, suffocating them before they had a chance to break free.

      J.B. and Mildred were also on their feet, the black woman casting her eyes around for Doc. His frail physique meant that he had suffered the most from lack of oxygen and was the most vulnerable right now. She grunted as she located him. He was still on all fours, looking down, barely aware that the sea of sand was burying him, now up to his elbows and halfway up his thighs. If he didn’t move quickly, it would cover him and start to smother the life from him.

      Jak, recovering quicker than the others, had taken in what was happening and used the flow of the sand to save energy that was only just returning, surfing the sand back to where the others were moving, almost in slow motion. The wiry albino joined Mildred, and they tugged Doc free of the sand, hauling him to his feet. He grunted and whispered to himself, wordless mutterings that were masked by his inability to speak through a parched throat. His eyes were staring and vacant. Whatever Doc was seeing, it wasn’t the corridor before him.

      Jak and Mildred began to haul themselves out of the sand, struggling to move their still-leaden limbs against the flow, hampered by Doc’s near deadweight. As they moved forward, Ryan and J.B. stepped in to help, joined by Krysty when they reached the point at which she stood. The six companions formed a chain, uniting their strength—failing as it was—to fight against the flow of the sand to try to reach the yellow-tinged sky that lay at the top of the spilling wall.

      It was like swimming in a swamp: the current of the sand wanted to pull them back into the redoubt, but they fought against it, even though their limbs ached and their lungs, still fighting to make up oxygen deficit, felt like bursting.

      With every fiber screaming for them to stop, to just give in and let the sand sweep them down into its warm and welcoming depths, they crested the wave that flowed from the peak of the wall, struggling until they were past the top and pulling themselves over sand that was barely moving.

      The world swum around them, stars and lights flickering inside their skulls, their lungs screaming for more air. It was only now that they were on the outside, away from the fetid air of the redoubt, that Mildred realized why it had been such a struggle. Out here, the air was little better. It was foul and hot, the sun heating up the chem clouds that made the sky so yellow. Just to breathe normally, a person had to try twice as hard against the atmosphere.

      Looking around at her five companions, Mildred could see that Doc was almost unconscious and the other four were barely able to move. Come to that, she felt herself teetering on the brink of unconsciousness. She looked up at the sky, squinting into the intense light. It was impossible to see beyond the covering of clouds, but she figured that it was the middle of the day. If they succumbed to unconsciousness now, they could dehydrate and risk exposure and sunstroke. She lifted her head and looked around. Now that they were out of the valley in which the redoubt entrance was housed, she could see why the wall of sand had tried to cave in upon them.

      The surrounding area was a flat desert, with no peaks or valleys, and no scrub that she could see through the chemassisted heat haze. The entire area was flat and covered with sands. At some time, the area could have been arable, but the intense buffeting of the chem storms had left the area a wasteland of desert, all features of the land covered by layers of sand. That had to have been what had happened to the redoubt entrance. Once in a valley, the dip had been filled by the sand, and in opening the door they had done nothing more than allow the sea of grains to shift once more.

      As she tried to focus on the area where the redoubt entrance had been, and where the sands were already settling into their new pattern, she found darkness creeping into the corner of her vision. Alarmed, she battled against it, looked for the others. Doc was down, Jak was trying to get to his feet but stumbling and falling once more. She couldn’t locate J.B., he had to be behind her somewhere. She caught a flash of Krysty’s hair as the woman tried to stay awake, shaking her mane before her head slumped once more. Where was Ryan? He had to be behind her somewhere, too…

      The blackness closed in, blotting out all else.

      RYAN FELT THAT he had to black out all else and concentrate on keeping awake. The howling wind swept through him, chilling him to the marrow, and he felt the heavy splash of the rain on his back and sides, could almost feel the acids eating through his clothes. He burrowed deeper into the sand, feeling the exposed areas buffeted less and less, but always mindful of the new danger. If he should accidentally breathe the sand, clogging his nostrils and lungs with the sharp grains, then all this would be for nothing. He was still weakened, and didn’t know how much he could fight against that implacable enemy. The sand around him was still, protected him from the worst of the storm, but held its own dangers.

      It was important he stay triple red, yet everything in him wanted to curl up and go to sleep.

      If he did, he would close his eye forever.

      There was no way of telling how long it lasted. Only that each second could have been an hour, and each hour a day. It was all as one: the winds, the sand, the rain…

      But gradually he became aware of a lessening in the winds and the rain, the sand stung his skin less often. He didn’t dare relax, in case his body give in and sink into a fatal unconsciousness. If anything, he redoubled his efforts to stay alert, to try to determine what was going on around him.

      Even after he was sure, he waited a little longer. Gradually, Ryan disinterred himself from his sandy tomb and, every muscle and tendon creaking, rose unsteadily to his feet.

      The sky above was clear, the stars twinkling peacefully above as though the previous hours had never occurred.

      The