by P. J. Hoover
I don’t have a response. I should think up something to say, to fill the silence, but there are so many thoughts, and I can’t bring them together. Ethan reaches out, in the dark, and puts his arm around me, pulling me close. I put my arm around him, too, and we lay back down, staying like that until I drift off to sleep.
CHAPTER 26
ETHAN AND I BOTH WAKE AT THE SAME TIME TO THE SOUND OF MY WATCH alarm. We’re still together, nestled in the dark.
“Good morning,” he says.
“Good morning,” I say, and even though my breath probably smells like camel dung, before I think about what I’m doing, I move my face forward, closing the distance between us, finding his lips in the dark with my own. He doesn’t hesitate to respond, and we kiss there in the chamber with the ancient scrolls around us. Ethan’s hands move up my back, into my neckline. He runs his fingers through my hair. I trace my hands over the tight muscles of his back, and I don’t let our lips separate because now that they’re together, I realize how much it was meant to be. We’re both still dressed in our clunky hiking boots, but we’ve shed our jackets and are just down to our thermal undershirts.
Ethan moves closer, rolling me so I’m on my back, but one of the lids from the jars crunches underneath me.
“Oops,” I say, and then I start giggling, which is totally undignified, but I don’t care.
“It’s okay,” Ethan says. “There are plenty of others.” And then we kiss for a while longer until I remember that we can’t spend the rest of our lives here in this underground chamber though after our journey so far, the thought is tempting.
I pull back from the kiss though it’s the last thing I want to do.
“Best good morning ever,” Ethan says, and he leans forward and kisses me again. It should feel like so much changes in that moment, but instead it feels like this is how things were meant to be.
Ethan lights the closest lantern, filling the chamber again with light. Around us sit all the scrolls we’ve looked through. We’ve made sure to keep them neat and in order so that when we leave, we can put them back in the jars they came out of.
“They remind me of the Old Testament,” Ethan says. “Do you know that people talk about a secret code hidden in the Bible? They call it the Bible Code.”
“I think Uncle Randall has mentioned it. Wasn’t it like random symbols were scattered in but they turned out not to be random at all?”
The realization hits us both at the same time.
“Wait, random symbols,” he says. “You don’t think …?”
“It has to be,” I say. “Because there is no way they’d have all this other information stored here and not have the map.”
“It’s the extra symbols,” he says, shifting the light to the nearest scroll, pointing to the random symbols that are interspersed between the foreign letters. “I wondered why they were here, but that must be it. These aren’t letters. These are map symbols.”
We start at the beginning, near the entrance to the room, and pull out the pieces of the map from each of the scrolls. Every single scroll, no matter what language it was written in, has the same type of random symbols on it. And as these symbols start coming together, confidence builds inside me. We’re recreating the map. The only problem is that it’s late in the day when we finally finish.
“We should still go now,” I say because Amino Corp has almost a two day lead on us by now.
“We’re tired,” Ethan says.
I roll my unused sleeping bag back up. “I don’t care. They could have slowed down once they thought they got us off path.”
“Good point,” Ethan says, and we finish packing our stuff into the bags. We can’t leave the scrolls like they are, so we each start at one side of the room and put them back, replacing all the lids except the one I crushed. I scoot its remains to the base of the jar, hoping maybe this makes it okay.
“You should be more careful,” Ethan says. I love the joking tone in his voice.
“I’ll remember that next time,” I say.
As if the promise of next time isn’t enough, Ethan covers the distance between us and our lips meet again.
“No one I’d rather be under the world with besides you,” Ethan says after we’ve kissed.
“I’m glad I agreed to let you come along,” I say as we start walking.
“If I remember right, I didn’t give you much choice.” Ethan reaches out and laces his gloved fingers with mine.
We backtrack to the original place where we strayed from the path. Our spray paint arrow is still clear, and this time, at the place where we went the wrong way, we head right because that’s what the landmark on the map tells us to do and because we know what’s down to the left. We leave the jars and scrolls far behind.
We talk as we go, and it’s as if some wall has been torn down between us. I tell Ethan all about growing up in Easton Estate, about the scavenger hunts Uncle Randall always left for me. I describe the trips we’d been on.
“You never traveled much, did you?” I say.
“Not my parents’ thing,” Ethan says.
“But you guys have money. You could have.”
“Not really,” Ethan says. “When Caden was alive, we used to do a lot more as a family. Still, we were never one of those families that sent out Christmas cards each year with an updated family photo taken in some exotic place. But then, once Caden died, things changed. My dad started spending more and more time at work. My mom changed jobs, so even though she tried to be around, she was still so busy trying to prove herself. And in forensics, when there’s crime evidence, no matter what time it is, she can be called in.”
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“What are you sorry about?” Ethan asks. “Your parents vanished when you were five. It’s not like that’s been the perfect childhood.”
The hole in my heart where my parents reside throbs.
“I really hope we find them,” I say.
“I really hope so, too.”
The trail we follow looks completely undisturbed for the first hour, but then after that, it is more than obvious that others have come this way. There are fresh footprints, bright paint, discarded supplies. There’s even a cavern where it looks like they may have camped for a while. I only hope this is the case. If so, that means then maybe they aren’t that far ahead of us.
“I can’t believe we fell for it,” I say. “They must’ve left the false trail and then made sure to cover up the real one. I feel like such an idiot.”
“Why? Because you’re human?” Ethan says. “News flash. Everyone makes mistakes, Hannah. If you didn’t make any mistakes, then you might as well be a robot.”
“Maybe I am, and you just don’t know it,” I say.
Ethan laughs. “You do a pretty good human impression.”
We push on well past our normal stopping time, hoping to make up the time we’ve lost. We’re also nearing the end of the map. I can hardly keep from running. But when we reach the end, in the middle of the second day, our well-laid plans change. We’ve been hearing water for the last few hours, and we suddenly find out why.
We enter a room filled with thick mist. Only five feet into the room, a river crosses the path in front of us. White water rushes through it, with rocks and a current so strong, not even Olympic swimmers would be able to make it across.
“Oh, this is not good,” Ethan says.
Hope slips from me as I look through the mist at the rapids. The river is only about twenty meters across, but with the rushing water, it might as well be an eternity. Then I see what’s on the other side. Someone has rigged hooks into the walls and ceiling and strung rope through it. Someone who must be an expert at this kind of thing. Someone like Scott. But if there was any hope we could use the same rigging to get across, the rope has all been pulled to the opposite shore, completely out of our reach. And we’re out of rope.
“You see that?” I say. “They crossed, and they left us stranded.” I throw my pack down in frustrati
on and sink to the soft dirt floor.
Ethan walks up and down the shore, looking for somewhere to cross, but I don’t hold out much hope when he comes back only minutes later and shakes his head.
“What’s the last symbol?” I ask. It may have the clue we need to get across.
“‘Bridge of Noah’ I think,” Ethan says.
“‘Bridge of Noah?’” I shake my head. “But there is no bridge.”
“Yeah, but that doesn’t make any sense,” Ethan says. “If we really do need to get across the river, which at this point it seems pretty obvious that we do, then there must be a bridge. It’s not like whoever built this place had high-tech gear for spelunking.”
“Maybe it’s an invisible bridge?” I say, not that I’m planning on stepping out across the water to check.
“Maybe. Or maybe there are hidden symbols like before. A secret door. Or something. I don’t know.”
His words make sense. There does have to be a way. We’d had to figure out how to get into the secret tunnel. This might be the same sort of thing. And if Scott and Amino Corp had to put all this rigging in place, that would have taken a lot of time. They might not be that far ahead of us.
I jump to my feet. “Look everywhere.”
Ethan smiles. “That’s my girl.”
I punch at his shoulder, but this quickly results in him pulling me in for a kiss. And as much as I want to lose myself in the kiss, I know that can’t happen.
“Later,” I say and push away. Then we move separate ways in the thick mist and scour the walls and the floor.
It’s almost impossible to see because there’s so much moisture in the air, but I don’t give up. I look everywhere. I find nothing.
“I don’t get it,” Ethan says because his search came up empty also. “We’re missing something.” He sinks to a rock near the edge of the river, then grimaces and stands.
“What?”
“This rock has a giant hole in it.” He turns to look at it, then his body freezes. “Hannah, come here.”
Hope fills his voice. I rush over and look through the mist at the rock. It’s like any of the others lining the shore and scattered about the water except that this one looks completely hand carved and has a circular depression in the center of it.
“Look familiar?” Ethan says.
Holy mother, does it ever. It’s exactly like the depression in the altar back in Turkey.
Ethan runs back to his pack and unzips it, digging through until he finds the center piece of the Deluge Segment. He rushes back to shore and places the artifact in the depression.
Nothing happens.
I reach forward and press down. An audible click fills the air, and then the rocks in the water begin moving, causing even more mist to escape. They push the water aside and create whirlpools and jetties. They move like they’re on some sort of mechanical conveyor belt, turning and shifting until a path appears straight across the water where no path had been before. The Bridge of Noah. We found it.
“You did it!” I scream, not caring who hears. It’s magical and mystical and unbelievable. This is the path to my parents.
Water splashes against the rocks as we hurry across. I’m careful so I don’t slip. I can’t tell how deep the water is, and I don’t want to find out. As we move through the thick fog, each step feels like a victory, and within minutes, we’re both safely on the other side. I almost feel my parents calling for me. I’m so close. There is no way I’m going to lose them now.
Then I look through the fog to the ground. Sure enough there are fresh footprints everywhere.
CHAPTER 27
THE FOOTPRINTS ARE DEEP, LIKE THEY’VE BEEN MADE WITH HEAVY BOOTS, and we follow them in the dirt. Ahead is a corridor only wide enough for one person to pass at a time. I shine my flashlight down it to see what’s ahead. The walls look wet and the ground moist, and the light reflects off the fog, back at us. It’s where we need to go.
We set out down the dark tunnel. Our flashlights seem to be getting weaker by the second, and it’s impossible to know how far we have to go. Five minutes in and my flashlight finally goes out. I shake it to get the batteries to make contact a little better, but the light only flickers a tiny bit then finally goes out. The thick fog probably messed with the batteries.
“Stay close,” I say since Ethan’s flashlight is still on. But five minutes later, his dies, too. We’re cast into utter darkness.
I reach forward and grab his arm, or at least where his arm should be, but I come up empty.
“Ethan?” I say.
“Just a second,” he says. “Let me get out a—”
His words stop as something weird begins to happen. My eyes start to adjust to the dark, which can’t be the case because in pure blackness like we’ve been traveling in so far, there is no light, not even the smallest amount, to provide contrast. But here, now, there must be because when I wave my hand in front of my face, I see the contrast in blackness. I do it again to make sure I’m not imagining things. There is no doubt. Each second that passes, I am able to see more. Which means …
There has to be a light up ahead.
I grab hold of his arm now that I can see it. I have no clue what’s up ahead. The lights could be coming from Amino Corp. They could have set up camp. They could be waiting for us.
“No more lights,” I say.
I can barely see him nod in acknowledgment.
I take a deep breath, and we move forward cautiously. I use my free hand to feel the moss-covered wall to my left. We take one step after another. Maybe they won’t be expecting us. We can sneak up on them. And then what?
That’s the part I don’t know. But being cautious may give us the advantage.
The light is growing stronger. Not only can I make out the contrast of shapes in the dark, colors begin to materialize. The orange of my thermal top. The gray of the walls, streaked with crystals running through them. We continue forward silently. The path curves to the right, and when we round the bend, ahead of us is an opening, glowing from whatever light is beyond.
We step forward together, peering around the opening, prepared for anything and nothing.
Ahead of us is a world flush with plant and animal life. A vast ocean stretches beyond that. I can see everything perfectly, as if there is some hidden light source nearby providing the illumination, like an underground sun.
As my eyes fully adjust, the world around me begins to sink in. Plants with odd-shaped leaves and colors that I’ve never seen in nature stretch on stalks far above like trees. Animals with bizarre colors and features graze through the flowers and grass, hardly casting a glance in our direction, as if they’re entirely used to our presence here. Birds fill the sky. It’s like a geneticist’s dream. There are so many new species. So many things that don’t exist in our world above.
I run my hands over the colorful petals of a nearby flower. It turns in my direction, like an instinct to seek out warmth. I walk forward, and the flowers seem to follow me, turning their blossoms toward me. There are petals of violet and cyan and yellows brighter than daffodils. Some are nearly as tall as me, and most bend to me as I walk.
“It’s like they’re sentient,” Ethan says, placing his hand near mine as the flowers caress it.
I lean forward and inhale the array of scents that fill the air with an exquisite perfume. Though the flowers reach even toward my face, they don’t threaten me.
“Maybe they are,” I say. “I mean there are lots of species of plants that have instincts. Like Venus Flytraps closing over their prey. Or Morning Glories opening to the sun each morning, or closing as the sun goes down. But these plants … their reactions are different. Beyond instinct. Like their DNA has been infused with something more like an animal. Something that makes them aware of the world around them.”
“God, that’s weird,” Ethan says. “You don’t think they’ll hurt us?”
“I don’t think so. But keep close, just in case.”
In response, he pu
lls me close. His lips find mine, and I give myself just a moment, there in the meadow of flowers. I want to lose myself. I almost do. I feel so connected to him in this moment, like we belong in this place together. Like we’re part of nature.
“You think the flowers are watching?” he mumbles as his lips trail down my neck. Shivers run up my spine and reach every nerve in my body.
I barely open my eyes. Most of the flowers are still angled our way. “Whoa. Yeah, that’s a little freaky.” It’s like we have an audience of millions.
He runs his hands through my hair and nibbles at my ear. “They’re only flowers.”
I gently push him away. “Still, let’s keep it G-rated for now.”
“For now?” Ethan says, raising his eyebrows in suggestion.
I smack him lightly on the shoulder. “Don’t get your hopes up.”
“Too late,” Ethan says.
We walk, hand in hand, through the meadow and onto the sandy beach. The ocean stretches as far as I can see. What looks like a sky is far above, but it’s made of stone like the steep walls far off to either side. Instead of making me feel closed in, compared to the cramped corridors we’ve navigated through for the past days, it’s like a new world down here, hidden underneath the earth.
“The river we crossed must feed into this ocean,” I say.
Ethan nods. “Meaning that if we had jumped in and let the current carry us, we might have ended up here.”
“Might have,” I say. “Or might have died.” The rocks were deadly.
“How do you think this place gets light?” Ethan says.
I’ve been thinking about this exact issue from the second I walked through the opening and realized that the light leading me wasn’t created from any kind of flashlight or electricity, and there’s certainly no sun down here. I bend down and scoop up a handful of the grainy sand, and then I rub it between my hands, letting most of it slip through and fall back to the beach. When I’m done, I turn my hands palm up to Ethan.
