Chapter 3 - Trapped

One night turned into three. Three into ten. Or at least, she thought they did. It wasn’t easy to tell down here. She slept when she was tired and called it night. The first few ‘days’ had been relatively productive. Jinxy had spent them scouting out the other guard camps in the Deep Levels. She’d managed to procure a new head torch along with a decent stash of rations on her very first day, so she had a full belly and no longer resembled a kobold. Granted, the rations weren’t a patch on the delicious gnomite cakes that came out of the tanks on the yeast farms, but they’d keep her alive. For now, at least.

Day two was spent scouting the older tunnels to find somewhere that she could collect what she hoped was clean water. It was either that or drink the old mine water, which didn’t seem like the wisest choice. The problem with having machines do your mining, Jinxy reflected, is that there’s no booze stashed anywhere.

Days three and four - dragging materials from other camps back to hers, constructing makeshift barricades and booby traps in case a stray trogg found its way down to her. She wondered idly whether a trogg would, and if it did, whether she could fend it off. Then she wondered whether anyone would ever find her body if she couldn’t. Shuddering, she pushed the thoughts from her mind.

Days five through ten were spent studying the behaviour of the radioactive gas from what she hoped was a safe distance. It didn’t appear to be spreading any more, which she had to figure was good news. The less good news was that it also didn’t seem to be dissipating in a hurry. That in itself was odd. Gnomeregan‘s ventilation system was an epic affair. Legendary, even. The fact that the gas hadn’t been extracted by the innumerable vents in the lower levels by now meant that something somewhere was seriously screwed.

How could this happen?

The gnome pulled a knife from her belt, repeatedly scraping at the wood of a supply crate until she’d cut a deep notch in it. 7 identical notches preceded it. She had to admit, anxiety was starting to nibble at the edges of her mind. Ten days and no change meant her odds of rescue were essentially zero. That was if anyone even knew she was still down here. She figured there had to have been casualties in a blast that size. Out of habit, she flicked her buzzbox, hearing nothing but static in reply. Her brain briefly flirted with the concept that she might have been the only gnome to survive the blast, before that too was pushed aside.

With a sigh, she pulled out her map once more. Other than miles of exhausted mining tunnels, she’d explored everything down here that was likely to be of any use. She stared at the illustration for the umpteenth time since all this started, but no new tunnel magically jumped out at her. She’d spent the last few days mapping the extent of the gas, and as far as she could see it filled the lower levels.

With a cry of frustration she pounded her fists against the crate again and again ‘til her knuckles were bloody. Whimpering, she slumped to the floor, finally beginning to accept the truth that had been staring back at her for days. There was no way to get above the radiation. She was trapped down here.