Subterranean (9 page)

“Are we there yet?” he asked huskily, rubbing a hand through his hair.

“Yes,” she said, trying to drip as much disdain into her voice as possible. “You know, you could have caught up on your sleep back at camp.”

“And miss this? No way.”

She watched the young doctor, flashlight in hand, cross to the far wall where the generator sat. He bent over and began fiddling with the unit. Frowning, Ashley climbed from the truck, hoping the ham-fisted military researchers hadn't corrupted the dig. So many times in the past, key clues to an ancient society's history had been trampled on by the incompetent.

Within moments, the generator coughed, sputtered, then settled into an even rumbling sound. Floodlights ignited, blinding after the dark ride. The north wall lit up like a huge stage.

“Wow,” Ben said as he climbed out next to her.

A scaffolding of metal frames and warped boards covered the honeycombed wall of the cavern. Dwellings extended up the wall in five distinct levels, she estimated a total of about forty yards in height. The levels connected to one another by either a series of handholds or sets of crude stairs. She squinted to the left; the excavated dwellings even extended over the lake, with plateaus of rock jutting over the water like porches.

“What do you think, Ashley?” Ben stood to her left.

“I could spend years here.”

Ben nodded. “Who do you think built this place?”

She pointed at the wall. “One thing I know. This was not built by
Homo sapiens
.”

“Then who did it?”

“An earlier species of man, I suspect. Look at the size of the caves. None over four feet in height. Too small for modern man. Perhaps
Homo erectus
, but I doubt even that.” She found herself thinking out loud. “A Neanderthal tribe? I don't know. I've never seen evidence of a Neanderthal tribe building this extensively. And how did they get here?” She shrugged. “I've got to get a closer look.”

“Shouldn't we wait for Dr. Symski?”

“I don't think that'll be necessary.” She strode toward the wall, placing a mining helmet on her head.

She heard the scuff of Ben's boots as he followed her.

Dr. Symski called to her. “Careful where you step. There are many crevasses, some quite deep.”

She waved at him in acknowledgment, but shook her head. What did he think, that she was some damned novice? She marched faster.

Suddenly something grabbed her from behind. Instinctively, she rammed her elbow backward.

“Ouch!” Ben said, releasing her and stepping back. “I was just trying to stop you from stepping in a hole.” He pointed in front of her, rubbing at his solar plexus. “What do you do, sharpen that thing?”

She cupped her elbow, as if trying to hide it. “Sorry.” Even pointed out, the black hole was barely discernible from the black rock. She stepped around it. “I didn't see it.”

“You could have twisted an ankle.”

“Thanks.”

“You're welcome. But next time I touch you, try not to kill me.”

Her face heated up. She cleared her throat, grateful that they had not reached the floodlit cliffs yet. The darkness hid her red face. “Let's check out the lower dwellings,” she suggested, stepping away from him. She couldn't tell if she was more embarrassed by her near gaffe or mad at his action . . . or something else. He was so unlike her ex-husband. Where Scott, ever the accountant, was steady and often sullen, seldom sharing his intimate thoughts, Ben's easygoing manner and good humor were unsettling.

They arrived at one of the dwelling entrances. “Ladies first,” Ben said.

Ashley avoided looking at him and crouched down, lighting up the interior with her helmet lamp. The chamber extended back about five yards. The walls, unadorned rock, were obviously carved from the stone and polished. She passed a hand over the smooth interior surface, impressed by the ingenuity and tenacity of early man. With crude tools, it must have taken years to excavate each one of the chambers.

The interior, devoid of any hints about its occupants, stood empty. Bending, she crawled inside. It never hurt to look.

Her helmet scraped across the ceiling as she wormed into the small opening. She noticed there was a small hollow in the floor near the entrance. Probably an ancient firepit. She proceeded to the back of the chamber. Nothing. She sat down for a moment, pondering who built these homes.

“Did you find anything?”

She looked back at Ben, helmeted and crouched on one knee by the entrance. He blocked the whole opening. “It's strange,” she said.

“What?”

“Where did they all go?”

He shrugged. “Probably died off. Went extinct. Like the dinosaurs.”

She shook her head. “No. That doesn't make sense with the state of this site.”

“What do you mean?”

“The first researchers only discovered a handful of broken tools and crude stone bowls. Usually these primitive home sites are brimming with artifacts. But here . . . nothing.”

“They must have moved on, taking their stuff with them.”

“Exactly!” She nodded, impressed by Ben's intuitiveness. “But why leave? Why spend decades digging out this habitat only to abandon it? And what about the diamond statuette? Why leave it behind?”

Ben remained silent.

“If only I could spend more time here.” She smacked the flat of her hand on the rock.

“Why? Sounds like they already went over everything with a fine-tooth comb.”

She shook her head. “No. Clues are too often missed. Even after years of study. I need more time.”

“But why bother? We might find a lot more answers during
our
exploration.”

“I hope so.” She crawled her way toward the entrance. Ben offered his hand to her as she exited. She took it, his hand hot in her cold palm. He pulled her toward him. She was surprised by his strength, and her left foot slipped in the damp hollow of the cave's firepit and she fell backward, landing her backside squarely into the firepit and dragging Ben down on top of her.

Ben's nose lay an inch from her breast. He looked up at her. “You're not going to hit me again, are you?”

“Sorry. I slipped.” She blushed furiously, his body pressing hard on hers.

He cleared his throat. “No apology necessary,” he said, grinning down at her. “A few more slips like this and we might have to get married.”

She grimaced at him. “Just get off of me.” She meant to be stern, but couldn't quite pull it off.

Suddenly, uncontrolled, she began laughing. She couldn't help it. And couldn't stop it. “I mean it . . .” she said between laughs. “Get off!”

Looking at her oddly, he crawled off her. “It's good to hear you laugh.”

She wiped a tear from her eye, still wracked with occasional bursts of laughter. She dropped her head back on the floor, trying to catch her breath. She stared at the ceiling. And saw it. Up there on the ceiling, behind the lip of the entrance. “Goddamn!”

She squinted again at the ceiling. It wasn't her imagination. “Goddamn it!”

She sat up.

“What is it?” Ben asked, a concerned look on his face.

“Those amateurs said they had searched every square inch of this site. No artwork. No cave drawings.” She pointed to the ceiling. “Then what the hell is that?”

Ben leaned over and twisted his head around. “What is what?”

“You have to lay down. I think that's why no one's found it.” She moved to the side so he could lay down beside her. She pointed with the light of her headlamp. “Right there! Look!”

The crude carving stood in the circle of her light. Only a hand span wide, an oval was chiseled into the ceiling, bisected by a jagged line, like a lightning bolt.

Ben reached up and, with a long whistle, traced it with his finger. His next words were a whisper. “You know, this sort of looks familiar.”

“What do you mean?” She expected some wisecrack.

“I've seen something like this. My granddaddy showed it to me.”

“You're kidding.”

“No, I'm serious.” His voice sounded genuine. Almost amazed. “My great-grandmother was full Gagudja, an Aboriginal tribe in the Djuwarr region. Did I ever tell you that?”

“No.”

He smiled an inch from her nose. “God's truth, my lady.”

The man seemed to have more sides than the Pentagon. Either that or he was spinning a wild tale. She studied him and noted that his blue eyes were coldly serious. She swallowed and turned back to the design on the ceiling. “Does it remind you of anything specific?”

He shrugged, bumping her shoulder. “It's not exactly the same. But it looks sort of like the Gagudja symbol for one of their spirit peoples. One of their oldest, named Mimi.”

She considered this information. Could there be some connection? Perhaps a lost Aboriginal tribe? But these dwellings were dated five million years ago. Aeons before the appearance of Aborigines on the Australian continent.

She frowned at the oval drawing. It was probably just a coincidence. She had seen the universality of some symbols across other cultures. Could this be the same case here? Hell, the symbol was rather basic. “This Mimi spirit,” she began. “What type of spirit was it?”

“It's just nonsense. Stories.”

“No, go on. Myths often have a kernel of truth. Tell me.”

He patted the walls of the cave. “Mimis were spirits that lived in rocks.”

She felt a chill crawl down her spine, noticing their stone enclosure.

“The Mimis taught the first Bushman to hunt and paint. They were greatly revered. And fear—”

Just then, Dr. Symski returned, standing at their feet. “What are you all doing?” His voice was both accusatory and embarrassed.

Conscious of their odd position, Ashley scrambled out. “I thought you searched this area.”

“We did. Why?”

She pointed to the spot next to Ben. “Go look. Up on the roof.”

The doctor crawled next to the Aussie. “My god!” he said when he looked where Ben pointed. “It's amazing. Jesus, what do you think it means?”

“I don't have a clue,” she said, her hands on her hips, “but I mean to find out.”

Linda, seated on a blanket, watched the crystal lake lap at the rocks along the shore a yard away. The water, clear as a window, teemed with small fish and other marine life. A luncheon basket, prepared by the mess hall cook, was open beside her. Two half-eaten sandwiches sat on a paper plate. Bologna and cheese.

“They look like little monsters,” Jason said.

Smiling, Linda glanced over to the boy crouched over her portable Nikon microscope, viewing a water sample taken from the lake. “Those cone-shaped ones are called tintinnids,” she said. “The squarish ones are diatoms.”

“What are they? Some sort of bugs?”

“Not really. More like plants. They're in a family of organisms called phytoplankton. They take sunlight and convert it to energy the way a plant does.”

“But if they need sunlight, like a plant”—Jason swiveled to face her, his face scrunched up with concentration—“how do they survive down here in the dark?”

She tousled his hair. “That's a very good question. I'm not really sure. But I believe there must be an underground current carrying the plankton from the surface waters to this underground lake. The water is very salty. Like diluted seawater.”

“What's so important about . . . these . . .” He pointed at the microscope. “Bugs?”

As Linda considered the implication herself, she allowed her gaze to drift across the camp. She noticed a flurry of activity among the military personnel by the gorge that split the base. Probably some sort of training exercise.

“Well?” Jason asked, recalling her attention.

She turned back to the boy. “Do you want a science lesson?”

“Sure!” he replied enthusiastically.

“All right, you asked for it.” She smiled at him, appreciating his inquisitiveness. “These
plankton
are the building blocks of life. On solid ground, grass turns sunlight into energy. Then a cow eats the grass. Then we eat the cow. This is the way the sun's energy is passed on to us. In the sea, it is the phytoplankton that turns sunlight into energy. The phytoplankton is then eaten by small creatures, such as jellyfish”—she pointed to the small fish just offshore—“which in turn get eaten by those tiny fish. Then even bigger fish eat the little fish. And so on. So even in the sea, sunlight's energy is passed along. Do you understand?”

“So these plankton thingies are like our grass.”

“Exactly. They are the grassy fields from which this ecosystem sprouts.”

He nodded. “Neat.”

“So we've done step one and determined that the water is alive. Next, after we finish our sandwiches, we have to collect some of the creatures that live in the water. I saw some starfish close to the shore over there and some sponges. Wanna help me get a few?”

“You bet!”

“Later, one of the Marines promised to catch us one of those glowing fish too.” She was curious about the phosphorescent properties of these large fish. Never having seen anything like them before, she grew excited by the prospect of classifying a new fish species.

“Why don't we start now?” Jason began to rise. “I saw some—”

“Hold it, young man.” She pointed at the plate. “You finish your lunch first. You're my responsibility until your mother gets back.”

He curled his lip and plopped back down on the blanket. “Oh, all right.”

Passing him his sandwich, she took a bite of her own. “Let's hurry up, though. We've got fish to catch!”

“Big ones,” he added with a small smile.

“The biggest. We could have them for dinner.”

“Glowing fish? Yuck!”

“Hey, buddy, don't knock it. If the lights go out, you can still see what you're eating.”