by M. G. Harris
But she’s obviously unhappy.
Somewhere along the trail I notice that the ground becomes moist, then damp, then soaked. Pretty soon we’re sloshing through a couple of centimetres of water. Ixchel’s sandals are soaked; my trainers start to squeak. The sound of water echoes all around.
“There was no water before,” Ixchel points out.
“I know, I know.”
“This isn’t the way we came.”
“Think I don’t know that?” I shout.
“Nice going, Josh,” she says bitterly.
I clench my jaw. I’m sick with worry about getting out, feeling bad that I can’t tell Ixchel what I know about what might be going on with the Sect. I can tell she’s completely bewildered by what we saw and heard. It doesn’t seem fair.
“Look, for what it’s worth, Ixchel,” I begin, “I think you’re on to something. But I still don’t understand how it all fits together. How come no one in Ek Naab knows about the room with sarcophagi, if it’s so close to the city? Who else is in this Sect of Huracan? Back in Oxford, I found a list with names on it. There were hundreds of them! Ollie told me that they want all the civilizations of the world to collapse. Leaving just them! Can you even imagine that? Why? Why would anyone want that?”
“That’s how it sometimes feels in Ek Naab,” Ixchel says. “Like we’re the only people on earth. Like no one else really matters. Maybe the Sect wants to feel like that. Maybe they want the whole planet to themselves.”
“They reckon they’re some kind of superior race,” I agree, thinking of how Ollie had tried to persuade me. “And it’s something to do with the Bakab gene.”
“But the Bakab gene doesn’t give you any special powers, does it? Just the ability to resist the toxin from the codex.”
“And from the Adaptor,” I add.
“Yes, that too.”
“And from whatever other . . . ancient . . . technology we might find,” I say, taking care not to break my promise to Montoyo and mention any secrets of the Ix Codex.
“You think there’s more?”
“There has to be,” I say. “The NRO has some of it – we know they have Muwans. The Sect has some of it. Both groups know there’s more out there. And you know what? I think it’s a race between us all, to get control of the pieces we need to stop the galactic superwave in 2012.”
“But the NRO . . . they must want to save civilization. They work for the American people, after all.”
“You’d think! But what if they’re just clueless? Maybe for them, it’s just about grabbing useful technology. Stuff that they can sell or use for themselves.”
“And where do you fit into all this, Josh?”
“Me?” I pause. “Honestly, I just want the truth about my dad.”
After another four hours in the tunnels, trying to keep track of the options we’ve tried, losing count of dead ends, the tunnel opens into another cave with smooth walls about ten metres by five. Ixchel shines her torch into every nook and cranny of the cave. There’s no visible way out.
By now we’re tired, hungry and parched. And obviously lost.
The floor of the cave is uneven, with occasional lumps of rock raised above the water. Ixchel sits, arranges her body on three dry bits, and manages to lie down.
She whispers, “I’m so tired. . .”
Aching for rest, I cast my eye around for some other bits of dry land. My jeans feel uncomfortable now, stuffed with my dad’s iPod and the Adaptor in its plastic wrapper.
Ixchel and I end up about a metre apart, facing each other, two bodies contorted across the dry land, little human islands in a vast puddle.
“These caves are filled with echoes,” she murmurs. Her eyes are closing. “Don’t you hear them? Footsteps ahead of us, behind us. Faint voices, like a radio in far-off room. Air that feels used up.”
She sighs almost contentedly . . . like she’s giving in to sleep.
Hardly louder than a whisper, Ixchel says, “I think someone else is here too.”
I lie absolutely still, listening. Drops fall steadily into the puddle from water trickling through the cave walls. Ixchel’s jeans scrub against rock as she tries to get comfortable. But no echoes, no footsteps, no voices. As far as I can tell, we’re all alone down here.
“Think this water’s safe to drink?” I ask. “Cos ours is all gone. If you really listen, you can hear it gurgling. I think it’s flowing, you know. That means it could be all right.”
She barely manages a sleepy shrug. I cup my fingers and scoop up a handful.
“Seems OK. . .”
“Good,” mutters Ixchel. “Better not drink too much.”
But once I’ve got the taste for it, I don’t want to stop. I slurp handful after handful. It tastes fine: a little warm, very slightly salty. I lean across to Ixchel and take the torch from her fingers. She’s fast asleep.
The beam of light is much weaker than it was. There may not be enough to get us back to the first cave, the one with the chimney. I try not to think about that possibility, or about how deep under the ground we are. I try not to think about the phrase “buried alive”. And I especially try not to think about that skeleton.
I switch off the torch. Above us, the ceiling of the cave glows faintly, with luminescent pink and white. Ixchel’s drifted into sleep.
I don’t want to be awake in the dark. Not alone, not here.
The phosphorescent light dies out slowly. Finally, I give in and let my eyelids fall. Just before I drop off to sleep, I hear the distant buzz of quivering wings. Behind my eyes, colours flash inside my head.
I know almost from the beginning that I’m dreaming. In fact, from the instant I look down and see I’m wearing those linen trousers and a matching white shirt. Or maybe it’s when I glance to my right and see the girl next to me. We’re holding hands. It doesn’t feel wrong. Just the opposite – it feels perfect.
OK, so this is a dream.
I’ve become another person, Chan. I’m with this girl, Albita. Somehow I just know this stuff.
“We’re going to get out of here,” I tell her.
She nods. “I know.”
She trusts me. And I trust her. We’ve been lost in these caves for hours. Somewhere down the line we became separated from the others. In the dream, I know all of this. In the dream, this is what I think about as we slosh through tunnels filled with centimetres of water. It shimmers with a fiery orange, reflecting the weak flames of my fading torch. I think about all the tunnels we’ve already been down, making a mental map. In that map, there’s only one place left to try. If that doesn’t lead us out of here, then I know we’re lost.
And if we’re lost, it’s just a matter of time.
My best friend has been lost here in the Depths for many days. Somehow six days passed before anyone noticed that he was missing. That’s the way it is with Kan’ek sometimes. He can be strange.
Kan’ek is the firstborn of the Bakab Muluc. He has no brothers. That’s why our search is so urgent. He’s an heir, but I’m only a spare. My older brother will turn sixteen in two months. He’ll begin his training with the Bakab Ix. If I go missing in these tunnels, will anyone come to rescue me?
We find the cave again, the one with the incredible ceiling of translucent, twisting helictites. This is it now; we’re not far. We go back through the cave, then take the next left turn. We follow the tunnels deeper underground, walking through water that gets deeper by the minute.
Until we come to a solid wall. I look up, see that there’s a ledge. The ledge is narrow, but leads to another tunnel. It’s high, though. Not possible to climb up without help.
“You can climb up there,” Albita says, “if you get up on my shoulders.”
I stare at her, amused. “And how will you climb up?”
“You’ll pull me.”
“What if I can’t reach? You think I’m going to climb on your shoulders, and then risk leaving you behind?”
“And you think I’m going to climb on your
shoulders and then risk leaving you behind?” she replies with a wide grin. “Listen, you have to do it my way. You’re taller than me. More chance you’ll be able to pull me up than the other way around.”
“Always telling me what to do . . . is this how it’s going to be when we’re married?”
Albita’s grin widens. “It works so well for us! Anyway, you shouldn’t worry so much about me. I’m not as delicate as you think.”
I begin by throwing the torch up on to the ledge. The first few times, it just rolls off. On the fourth attempt, it stays. It hardly matters anyway. I’m estimating we have less than thirty minutes of light remaining.
Albita braces herself against the wall, wedging her small feet in to form a triangle with the wall and the ground. I place a foot on her hip, another on the wall, and then land as lightly as I can get away with on her shoulder. It gives me just enough height to reach the edge of the ridge with my hands. I pull myself up and lie on the narrow ledge. It’s too narrow to lie on properly, so I’m sideways on. I jam myself in as safely as I can, and reach down with my right hand. She stretches up. We both gasp with the effort of it. Our fingers keep missing each other by the narrowest margin.
Eventually, she gives up.
“It’s no good. I’ll stay. You go ahead and bring help.”
For a long moment our eyes lock.
I say quietly, “No.”
I swing back down, suspend myself from the ledge. Through gritted teeth I say, “Climb up along me.”
Albita hesitates for a second. Then, without a word, she grabs hold of my ankles, and I feel my fingers take her weight. She’s not heavy, but on top of carrying my own weight, I think my fingers are going to pop out of their knuckles. The tendons in my wrist feel as though they’re stretched to snapping point. Albita moves quickly, clambering up my back and shoulders. It’s over in a matter of seconds. Then I have to find the strength to pull my own weight up all over again.
A few seconds later we sit side by side on the ledge. I look at Albita, watching her brush strands of long, straight hair out of her eyes.
“I don’t want to leave you behind again,” I tell her.
Albita leans across and kisses my cheek.
“Of course,” she whispers.
We get to our feet and edge along the rock. Further along, we reach another opening.
I hear water. It’s unmistakable. The sound of loud, steady dripping echoes from a cave not far from our position. We rush ahead, reaching the cave within the minute.
The ceiling is so low in places that we have to stoop. The torch illuminates enough for us to see that the cave is filled mostly by an underground lake. The surface is opaque and reflects ribbons of flame-coloured light. It mirrors the overhanging limestone rock. When I lower the torch to just above the surface of the water, I can see that it’s clear, all the way to the rocky floor of the lake.
There is only one way into the cave by foot. Any other exit must be through water.
“This water comes from somewhere,” I say. “We’ll wade through it.”
I pass Albita the torch and lower myself into the water. This deep, the temperature is quite a bit lower than the puddles we’ve walked through. My teeth begin to chatter almost right away. The cold seeps into my bones. Very rapidly, the lake becomes deep. It becomes obvious that wading isn’t going to be an option for long.
I clutch the torch as we swim, holding it above our heads. The water tastes salty, not like the water in the tunnel streams. We reach the other end of the lake, where there’s a rock wall.
I turn to Albita, both of us treading water.
“I’ll have to swim for it. Wait here a minute. I’ll come back for you.”
Albita can’t keep the tremor out of her voice when she replies. “No, don’t. Stay. It’s too dangerous. It’s dark. You won’t be able to see.”
“If you hold the torch here, I might.”
“If you go too far you won’t be able to get back.”
“I’ll find a way out. And come back for you.”
She hesitates. “I don’t want you to go.”
“I have to, Albita. I’m the stronger swimmer. You know it’s true.”
Without warning, she begins to cry. I can hardly bear to watch. I hate myself for letting Albita join us on this search. I promise myself there and then that I’ll never put her in danger again, never.
I place the torch in her hand and hold it close to the water. “Hold it like this, yes?”
Albita nods, still crying.
“Wait as long as you can. Then get out of the water and dry off.”
“Don’t go.”
This last time, she whispers. It almost breaks my heart.
“Here I go.”
I take a few deep breaths, preparing my lungs. Then I plunge into the water, diving low under the rock. I can just about make out the outline of the tunnel. It’s about as wide as three people. It veers to the left, where there’s a tiny gap.
I squeeze through the gap. Ahead I can see two routes, openings, left and right. The right-hand tunnel narrows quickly, becoming very dark. The left-hand tunnel seems wider, and lighter. I keep swimming hard. By the time I reach the left-hand tunnel, I need to exhale. I release some air as tiny bubbles. I know I’ll only last a few more seconds. If I’m going to turn back, it would have to be now.
I poke my head into the left-hand tunnel. There’s definitely some light coming from somewhere.
Then everything goes black. The torch must have died out. The darkness and feeling of being trapped are terrifying.
I make my decision. There’s no choice. Without light, I might not make it back through the tiny gap in the first tunnel. I don’t know if I’ve enough air to make it all the way through, but it’s my only hope.
I dive into the left-hand tunnel, using my hands to pull myself along. I ignore the burning sensation in my lungs. I can see a light. It seems impossible to reach. I can hardly bear another second of the pain in my chest. The light – it’s so close. I can’t give up now. I brace my legs against the walls of the tunnel, give a final push through the channel.
I emerge into the light. I’m opening my mouth to gulp in fresh air when I realize, to my horror, that what I assumed is air is actually another layer of water. On the verge of panicking, I float upwards. I have the sensation of flying above the water.
Finally, my head breaks the surface.
I gasp deeply, sucking in chunks of air. I float to the surface. I’m in an underground cenote, but no longer buried. Natural sunlight streams like gold dust from an entrance in the cavern. It falls into the water around me, which is a deep turquoise blue.
The feeling of relief is unbelievable. I’m on the verge of tears. I think of Albita on the other side, trapped in the dark, not knowing whether I’ve made it or not. More than anything I want to go back for her. But alone, in the dark, I wouldn’t stand a chance. I need to return with people to help me, and ropes.
I drag myself out of the water, out of the cavern and begin to run. I don’t know how far I am from home. Time may be short. I can’t afford to rest.
I wake with a jolt, rolling into the puddle. I jump to my feet, confused. Then I remember where I am. Ixchel lies opposite. She wakes too, startled by me.
I switch on the torch and check my watch. It feels as though I’ve slept for days, but it’s only been a couple of hours. My watch says it’s five in the afternoon. We’ve been in the Depths for almost seven hours. Ixchel’s right – there’s something very odd about the sounds down here. Surrounded by all this geology, we should only hear water dripping, the infinitesimal growth of ancient rock. But the air seems to carry the distant whispers of life.
“What a dream. . .” I say.
“Me too,” she says. “Horrible. A nightmare.”
“I dreamt I was swimming through an underground tunnel,” I tell Ixchel. “It was terrible. Thought I’d never get out of there. Thought I was going to drown.”
“Huh,” says Ixchel,
only vaguely surprised. “I had the same dream.” She’s suddenly thoughtful. “In fact, I think I did drown.”
I stare at her. “You did?”
“Yes. Good thing you woke me up. They say that if you die in a dream, you die in real life.”
“You were really about to die?”
“Uh huh. You can’t imagine how nasty it was. Stuck in that tunnel, desperate to breathe, unable to see anything.”
I’m confused. Ixchel had the same dream . . . but in her version she didn’t get out? “But you, you made it out?”
