by Greig Beck
The blast was enormous, laying him flat, and before the first echo could reverberate, Granger felt a ripple run through the stone beneath him. He lay still in the utter darkness for a second, and then felt around the cave floor for his flashlight, thankfully locating it quickly. He placed the small string loop at its end over his wrist and then switched it on. The sepia beam swirled with dust.
The smell of burned gases, ozone, and choking dust were strong. Granger coughed as he got slowly to his feet, wincing at the pain in his knees, and knowing he was surely missing the skin on both.
There came an odd tickling vibration beneath his soles. “Please, no more,” he whispered. Grains of sand and pebbles began to rain down, making a plinking sound on his steel helmet.
“God, no.”
He was frozen, waiting, listening, reaching out with all his senses and hoping that what he feared wasn’t about to occur. There came a faint sound that reminded him of the great ice sheets cracking as the first thaws of spring calved off huge bergs from the Arctic glaciers. Suddenly, in the dim yellow glow of his flashlight he saw a black line running towards him across the cave floor. Almost immediately, it started to open like a giant zipper.
Jim Granger felt like he was on a sinking ship, where the deck was beginning to tilt. He ran, but slid, and then fell. He suddenly found himself floating. His flashlight wasn’t in his hand anymore, but the string loop kept it close, and the weak yellow beam illuminated a rush of meteorites falling with him. He smelled the saltwater, and above the crushing sound of cracking rock, he thought he could hear ancient surf far away in the dark void.
It was impossible to determine how long he fell through the darkness, but after an eternity he started to hear the crash of large stones hitting water, and then he too hit the surface. The impact stunned him, but thankfully the broken rock falling just ahead of him, had churned the water taking the lethality from the surface tension.
He lay on his back, floating and groaning softly. He tasted salt, or maybe blood, and opened his eyes to look around. He saw nothing, and knew he floated on a black sea, in a dark world.
“Help!”
help – help – heeelp – heeeel – heeeee…
The echoes continued for many minutes, and told him that the cavern was enormous. He eased upright and began to tread water. He felt a tug of string at his wrist.
“Please god.” He fiddled with the flashlight, and it rewarded him with an orange glow. It was weak, and its beam only illuminated about a dozen feet, but never had he been so happy to see a light in his life.
He spun one way, and then the next, but there was nothing but walls of blackness. At the far edge of his light he could just make out a spot of bright yellow, his helmet, slowly turning on the dark water after its drop from above. It looked like a tiny lemon turtle on its back. For some reason, it comforted him. “Get help,” he sputtered to it, and then turned away.
I need to find one of the walls. If I can do that, perhaps I can find a way up. Jim Granger had been in caves and cave-ins before, and the one thing he knew, if there was a way in, there was usually a way out.
“Hello!”
The echo bounced back again and again – it was long and hollow – and told him he was a long way from anything solid. He needed to find a wall, so turned off the flashlight to save its power and began to stroke eastward for no particular reason.
“Hello!” he tested the cave depth again, hoping he would receive a shortened echo, telling him he was closer to an obstacle. But there was still a vast emptiness in the repeating sound.
Jim swam for thirty minutes before stopping to tread water and catch his breath. He felt the first pressure wave then, and was initially buoyed by the sensation – a backwash for sure, he hoped.
“Hello.” Strangely, the echoes were still as long and hollow as ever. He began to swim again, but immediately felt the next pressure wave push him in the water. This time it had come from another angle. He stopped and floated, his brow furrowing.
There came another push of water, from one side, and then the next. It reminded him of the time he swam in the lake at home, and one of the big boats came close. He felt another surge, and another, this time from behind him – it felt like something was going around him. He felt his testicles shrink, even in the warm water.
Jim Granger lifted his flashlight, and switched it on. He slowly swiveled, holding the light up. The oil-black water was as flat as glass, with just the hint of a mist lifting from its warm surface.
“What are you?” he whispered, but knew he didn’t really want to know. The memory of the old man jumped into his head – him, and his prize – the tooth.
The impact hit Jim Granger from the side, dragging him for a dozen feet, and knocking the wind from him. He swirled and bobbed in the water, suddenly unable to stay on the surface. His control over his body seemed gone, and even though he was a strong swimmer, he feared his legs or back had been broken as his lower half refused to obey him.
He used his arms to break the surface, thrashing in his panic and gulping air. He raised the flashlight, and in its dying glow saw that the water that dripped from his hands was red. Jim reached down, and whimpered. He now knew why he couldn’t tread water – both his legs were gone from the thigh.
“What are you?” his scream was weak, and his head felt light as his life was rapidly gushing from his body. Shock was setting in. I’m dead, he thought, as he let his body sink. The last thing he saw was a lemon yellow turtle spinning madly on the surface.
Jim Granger was consumed whole before he even made it to the bottom.
CHAPTER 1
Stanford University, Stanford – Lecture Room M106 – Today
Cate Granger stood on the podium looking out over the mostly empty room. She was finishing up her lecture, and paused as the rear door opened a crack and a figure slipped through. The person saluted and then slipped into a back seat.
She smiled and nodded once. It was Greg Jamison, her colleague and friend who, like her, was a professor of evolutionary biology at Stanford University. He was thirty, and just a few years younger than her, but with a mop of blonde hair that made him look more excited teenager than academic.
Both of them specialized in adaptive changes to marine life, with their current research centered on collapsing fish stocks, and how some species were able to adjust through evolution and flourish, sometimes to the detriment of the existing creatures in the habitat. Adapt or Die, they’d call their paper when they finally got around to finishing it.
She changed the screen image behind her. It now showed a grainy picture of a forest, probably from some decades back – there was healthy oak and birch trees, some shrubs and open grass fields. There was also a couple of deer just peering from the underbrush, and between the tree canopies, a few birds were caught mid flight – it was an idyllic forest setting.
“Not all introduced species are invasive,” Cate said, pausing to look around the room at the shiny, youthful faces. Most stared at the screen, but a few young men stole glances at her when they thought she wasn’t watching. She suppressed a smile and continued.
“And some species we don’t even realize are, or even could be, invasive until it’s too late.” She changed the image to one of the same setting, but obviously taken years later. The forest looked melted – green melted – everything smothered under a thick mat of strangling plant life. The trees, the bushes, even the areas that had once been grassy clearings were crushed beneath the living mass.
“And then when we do find out, sometimes these biologicals are so embedded, and the damage so advanced, that all we can do is surrender and learn to live with it.” She looked over her shoulder at the screen. “This is the kudzu vine – Pueraria montana var. lobata – grows up to seven inches per day. We introduced it in 1876 as an ornamental plant to drape over our sunny porches. Kudzu’s real leg-up came in the late ‘30s when it was said to be a ‘miraculous’ gift that would fix nitrogen into overburdened southern soils. So
we planted it everywhere.”
She sighed. “It was once dubbed, the savior of the south. Now, it’s eating the south.”
She changed the slide, showing images of zebra mussel infestations in rivers and lakes, then moved onto thirty-foot boa constrictors eating anything moving in the Florida Everglades. Finally, she stopped at an ancient looking drawing.
“This painting is called Fish Swimming Amid Falling Flowers. It was painted during the Song dynasty, around a thousand years ago by a man called, Liu Cai. Peaceful, huh?”
The watercolor showed some sort of variety of carp in a pond, swimming through colorful floating blossoms.
“The Chinese have been cultivating the carp species for centuries – has a great reputation for being hardy, and a talent for eating pond weed, which was a huge problem for us in many of our waterways.” She shrugged. “You can eat them, they look attractive, low maintenance, and some can live for nearly a century.” She changed the slide to two men holding a single fish in the air – it was a giant.
“The problem was, they liked our waterways so much, they multiplied, and grew big – up to one hundred pounds each. And then they decimated every other living thing in the waterways. In fact, in the Illinois River today, they account for ninety per cent of the entire biomass. Bottom line: once the carp moves in, everything else either moves out, gets eaten, or starves.”
She gave the room a flat smile. “Forget climate change; the estimated damage from invasive species worldwide totals more than $1.4 trillion – annually.”
Cate leant forward onto her knuckles. “A habitat that took millions of years to become established can be irretrievably altered in twelve months.” She paused a beat, drawing all eyes back to her. “That’s why today, there are such rigorous checks and balances on what we allow into our country, into our forests, and our airways, and into our rivers.” She looked at each of the students. “I’m your original green warrior, but even I know that there are some creatures that do not deserve to exist in some areas – they’re aliens, deadly invaders. And if they can’t be moved on, then eradication is the only solution. Or one day, we might find something moves in, that even threatens us.”
Cate let the silence hang for a second or two, before shutting the images down. She then took a few questions, set an assignment, and finally dismissed her class.
Greg jogged down the steps towards her. “Professor Granger.”
She grinned. “Professor Jamison. What brings you to my class? Trying to spark a few ideas for your own sessions?”
“Great presentation.” He leaned on her desk. “I would have mentioned the Australian cane toad or the gray rabbit waves of the 1800s. Still, overall I think you covered the topic in excellent detail.” He held up a finger. “But I am here to remind you not to forget our meeting with Bill later today.”
“Sure. Got a few errands to run, but I’ll be there. You know how I love bureaucracy.” Cate pretended to put a finger down her throat.
“Hey, who doesn’t?” Greg rolled his eyes. “Just don’t be late; you know how Bill gets. Besides, he said he had something important to discuss with us.”
“Let me guess; a new water cooler in the entrance foyer.” She snorted. “Don’t sweat it; I can deal with Bill. He doesn’t mind if I’m a few minutes late. You just deal with marking all those student papers on time.” Cate smiled, turning away from her colleague to pack. They had a good boss in Bill Harris, and besides, she knew she could twist him around her little finger.
“Yeah, well, you might want to be in on time today.” From behind her, Greg sounded like he was grinning as he spoke. “Because overnight the new satellite data came in from NASA.”
Cate stopped and turned. “Quadrant 43?”
“Oh yeah,” he said cheerily. “We got the entire west coast of Alaska this time.”
“Yes.” She fist pumped. For Cate, the university role was a dream job. She got to study evolution’s mysteries and indulge her first love of exploring, something she guessed she inherited from her grandfather who went missing exploring the Alaskan coastline over sixty years before.
Her thoughts quickly turned to Violet, her grandmother, the tiny bird-like woman who smelled of lavender and mothballs. Violet had shown her the letters her husband had sent her nearly three quarters of a century ago. It was all that was left of him; his magnificent letters, decorated with hand-drawn pictures of fossilized creatures, that and a few old photographs. Violet, or Vie as her mother called her, used to read them to Cate when she was a little girl, telling of the great and brave soul who had the heart of a pioneer. She once said to her, that she hated him going into his caves, and had told him that one day he’d go so deep, he’d come face to face with the devil himself. She had laughed softly, but there was sadness in her eyes.
“I’ll find him for you,” Cate had said to her with all the solemnity a six year old could muster.
“Hey, still with me?” Greg leaned towards her.
“Huh? Oh yeah, sure.” Cate started to hurriedly pack, sliding books, pens and notes into her satchel. She grinned; Jim Granger was her very own family mystery. It still left her wondering what ever happened to the man with that explorer’s soul – just like hers, she bet.
She’d find out one day, for herself, and Violet, she thought, daydreaming now. One day soon.
* * *
“See that?” Cate Granger pointed at the screen, showing image data of the Alaskan southern wilderness taken from about two thousand miles above the continent.
“Sure, Indigo Lake.” Greg shrugged. “So what?”
Cate tapped the screen. “Look, look.”
“You mean there’s something else?” Greg leant over the back of her chair, squinting. “Not… really… sure what am I supposed to be looking at.” He straightened. “But the lake’s very blue, and…” He leaned around to look at her face. “Did you know the color is a bit of a mystery?”
“Yes, thank you, Greg, and the pretty blue is why they call it Indigo Lake.” She gritted her teeth, “I meant this; focus, here.” She tapped the screen harder, over a section of sheer cliff wall. The granite and diorite batholith wall of Indigo Lake on Baranof Island was about eight hundred feet high, and even from the great distance, its edifice looked intimidating.
The image itself was nearly drained of color, and some aspects were highlighted. One being the lake, a deep blue, others were paler blues and grays, with dots of orange speckled around.
“It’s got a thermal overlay; what we’re looking for is hotspots. Anything that’s above air-temp normal.” She raised an eyebrow. “So, now, does anything look a little strange to you; maybe leap out?”
There were specks of warm yellow and orange dotted about, which most probably represented some larger wildlife like caribou, but there was a larger flare she knew caught his attention. He folded his arms, nodding. “Yep, there’s something hot on the wall.”
“Bingo.” She pointed, gun-like at his chest, and then turned back to the screen. “But not on the wall, instead, in the wall. There’s sure something hot in there. My bet is there’s a cave entrance that’s pushing out heat from somewhere below the lake.” She jiggled her eyebrows. “Maybe another lake.”
“Mineral springs. Hey, have you ever heard the legend of Bad Water? It’s supposed to be haunted.”
She scowled him to silence. “No, the whole area is called Bad Water by the locals, and not even they remember why. It’s not the lake.” She waved a hand. “And before you even say it, there’s no way some local wildlife is big enough to generate that much of a heat signature, and if something has flown in, it’d have to be the size of a damn ostrich.”
“Damn, I was just going to say ostrich.” He grinned. “So, a geothermal vent then. This area is still active, minimally, sure, but still. I know the geology, Cate. Plate tectonics in those parts are a huge generator of the wild Alaskan structures.” Greg unfolded his arms and made shapes in the air. “The North American Plate is still riding over the top of the
Pacific Plate – the valleys are sinking and the mountains are growing taller at a rate of about an inch or more a year.” He smiled, looking self-satisfied.
“Bullshit,” Cate said over her shoulder.
He snorted. “Well, thank you for your professional rebuttal, your honor.”
“I mean, bullshit to it being just some sort of thermal vent. I think it’s a vent all right, but not leading to deep magma, or steam from super-heated rock, or even heat from subduction friction.” She turned to him. “I think it opens to a body of warm water.”
“Your mythical secret lake?”
“Yup.” She nodded, smiling. “And my studies lead me to believe there’s a body of water bigger than all of the great lakes combined – and all right under our feet, well, their feet. And all we need to do is prove it’s there, and more importantly, prove it can be accessed.” She grinned. “So, someone needs to go in and take a look.”
Greg paced away for a moment. “Cate, your grandfather disappeared around those parts didn’t he?”
“Oh yeah, long time ago,” she said distractedly as she fiddled with the cliff-face images.
“Ah, and now you seem to be in the same area, like you’re looking for him.” He stopped pacing and faced her.
“No; just a coincidence is all.” Cate turned slowly in her seat.
“You know, the scientific community believes that water might be suspended within the geology, caught up in the rock, like some sort of deep earth sponge.” He tilted his head. “It’d be primordial soup, thick, primordial soup.”
“Movile Cave.” She raised her eyebrows.
“Huh?” Greg’s mouth twitched into a smile. “Ah, Romania.” He nodded. “You think it’s something like that?”
“Maybe. Why not?” She tilted her head. “The Movile was only discovered in 1986. Cut off from the outside world for nearly six million years. Had a whole ecosystem of unique species that had evolved in there… and not just blind shrimp, but big things like cave spiders the size of your hand.”
