Lara Croft in the Search for Xanadu Chapter 10: Unarmed and Dangerous, a tomb raider fanfic

Lara Croft in the Search for Xanadu Lara Croft in the Search for Xanadu

Neil Stokes

This story contains some violence and bad language.

Thanks to Eva, Chris and Jess.

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Chapter 10: Unarmed and Dangerous

Six hours of trudging through the monotonous darkness beneath the interlocking canopy of spectral trees found a tired dispirited Lara Croft once more checking her compass by the light of her torch; two of the few objects she had managed to escape with. Brief rest stops in the previous hours had done little to dispel the hovering threat of exhaustion or the hunger she dared not kill with toadstools and cancerous fungi - the only vegetation to flourish in this subterranean night. Moreover, stopping brought Hurt's band nearer for she was convinced they would be tracking her, not to mention her desire to catch up with Smiley. And yet, reaching the Pleasure Dome, rescuing Angela and getting them both out had become long-term ambitions as the hours passed, one need becoming ever more pressing - to reach the end of the forest.

Her wish was granted sooner than she expected when she broke through the final line of dusty trees onto a sandy ridge overlooking a valley. The land below her feet swooped down into bleak shadows that lurked in the deep depression before rising steeply, gaining in height and forming a barricade of cliffs at the base of a wide plateau which held the greatest single achievement of the Mongol emperor, Kubla Khan - the Pleasure Dome. Majestic in scale though elegant, its perfect symmetry and luminous splendour heightened by the darkness, the Dome's beauty was a staggering blow to the senses, stunning Lara into an amazement that immobilised her. She gaped on, feeling small and vulgar before such ostentation and faintly troubled by the magnificence of this tribute to one man's unquenchable ego. This building - if so mundane a word could be used - was the embodiment of an arrogance that made men believe themselves gods. The tomb raider inside her growled - the rebellious spirit of desecration that fuelled her purpose and filled her with her own special arrogance, protecting her from such obscene beauty and reducing the Dome to the status of prey.

The sight re-energised her and continuing from the ridge she moved quickly across the dull earth into the depths of the valley. The slopes beneath the ridge were reasonably bare of trees and the few scattered rocks around and about were no obstruction, providing her with plenty of opportunities to contemplate the gigantic Dome seated on its throne of rock above. The light emanating from the structure was the same unearthly silver she had seen streaming from the rock formations around the Sunless Sea. Apart from illuminating the plateau on which the Dome sat it penetrated into the dark valley and lit her path almost to the very bottom which as she drew nearer she noticed was cracked open revealing the gaping mouth of a gorge.

The approaching cliffs had almost obscured the Dome by the time she reached this gorge, looking like a ragged wound in the floor of the valley; only the Dome's apex was now visible surrounded by a silver halo. As if for the last time she stopped to stare a moment, trying to trace some detail on its wonderfully smooth surface before finally lowering her gaze and peering curiously into the dark chasm below. Glinting faintly in the poor light she could just make out a torrent of water, a mere silvery thread from this perspective, that dissipated in the black distance either end. The only means of crossing was a slender sagging bridge spanning the narrowest section some way along the gorge's rim. She was jogging lightly along the edge towards the bridge when a distant clap of gunfire forced her into a crouch, her hands instinctively plucking at her hips for her absent 9mms.

High above on the ridge stood Hurt with the stock of an automatic rifle wedged against his hip as he fired into the air, his men rushing down the slope. Lara straightened and broke into a sprint that brought her to the bridge in a matter of seconds. She skidded to a halt and despite her urgency took the time to examine the structure more closely before stepping onto it. It was made of ancient slats of timber that looked like slate in their age-blackened state. Thick hairy ropes showed through sleeves of what once must have been a decorative, finely woven material meant to disguise the mundane construction but which now hung in tatters like the rags on a long forgotten skeleton. Hesitating, she calculated the risks of using the bridge while in the back of her mind a voice pointed out that the shots fired so far had merely been in warning. She spun round to take in her pursuers; the mercenaries too busy hurtling down the slope to stop and fire their weapons; Hurt still shooting into the air atop the ridge like an Indian chief encouraging his braves.

Switching her attention back to the troops Lara saw the first man, smaller and faster than the others, had almost reached her. As the distance between them narrowed she positioned herself squarely facing him, presenting a target for his wild charging. On arriving he raised his rifle like a club while Lara, suddenly twisting her body 90 degrees and then back again, whipped a knee into his stomach that left him on all fours gasping for air. Within seconds she was spraying the hillside with bullets, sending the other men scrambling for cover while the sole of her boot, clamped into the nape of her victim's neck, crushed his face into the ground. In the few precious instants of safety that followed while the crouching men waited for the next volley of gunfire Lara reached down and dragged the soldier to his feet, groggy and barely able to breathe from his winding. With the collar of his tunic bunched in her fist she maintained a constant pressure on his windpipe while she walked him backwards, using him as a shield from the inevitable return fire. The soldier's misfortune increased when Lara, the muzzle of the rifle resting in the crook of his neck, let go with another wild volley of firing which kept the others on their bellies but which severely scorched his face, drawing from him a high-pitched screaming. "Don't be a baby," she said to him as they got to the bridge. The other men spread out on the slope above had organised a steady, alternate firing which covered them as they made their way towards their objective and ending the misery of Lara's shield whose legs buckled beneath his blood drenched body. As he slumped at her feet she dropped the empty rifle while snatching his dagger from his belt, tumbled and came up sprinting in the opposite direction in a swarm of bullets.

Miraculously she got to the other side unharmed and in fact the rate of fire from Hurt's men had almost died out completely as they concentrated on covering the last of the sloping ground. Sounds of boots clomping over wood as the first of them pounded across the bridge while Lara hacked away at the nearest rope with the large combat dagger. Despite its thickness the material was dry with age and the dagger new and sharp – the rope gave way in a whiplash that hurled the nearest soldier into the black chasm and caused the bridge to tilt violently. As the men lurched and threw themselves about in search of a handhold Lara began on another rope. Much of the tension in the bridge had already been lost with her first cut and while less spectacular the loss of the second rope increased the tilting and sent the men scrabbling back the way they had come. Lara now on her third rope, looked up to see the mercenaries fleeing and purposefully slowed her work to give them time to reach the rim of the gorge before the bridge swooped away from her and shattered against the rock wall opposite.

Slowly she stood, tired and shaken from the recent action and discontent with her success - the heavy feeling of depression that invariably crept upon her when she had killed. Despite the threat within shooting range her energy had deserted her and she could find no fear to galvanise her into completing her escape. She watched dumbly as one of Hurt's men lifted his rifle and took aim, her legs leaden and the knife hanging loosely in her limp hand. She watched him settle his cheek tenderly against the metal, saw him expel the air from his lungs and imagined the pupil of his eye flare as he fixed his target. As his finger contracted on the trigger feeling returned, seeping outwards from some defiant core deep inside and spreading slowly, too slowly. Then suddenly Hurt was there flapping his arms and shouting insults while the soldier lowered the rifle, throwing up an arm to protect himself from his boss' violence. Having subdued his man Hurt looked across the chasm, his eyes twitching nervously as he searched; Lara Croft was nowhere to be seen.