by John Darnton
Sodder’s eyes flashed resentment; Kane enjoyed that. He unbuckled his belt, walked into the cockpit, and yelled to the copilot, who pulled out the flight plan and a map with a red ring that showed the drop zone.
“Only a few more minutes!” the pilot shouted. Kane went back into the belly of the aircraft and signaled the men. They rose and checked their chutes.
Kane opened the door. Below were the flat dry plains of Turkey. He motioned to Sodder, who approached and braced both arms against the doorway, watching the light above the door. When it went on, he leaped out and was gone. Then another man and another.
In a short while the plane was empty except for Kane. He wondered what would happen if he simply stayed here or waited until the plane circled back to base and then jumped out into the wilds of Turkey. He relished the idea of disappearing forever.
Then the light went on. Reflexively, he sucked air deep into his lungs, braced himself, and pushed off into the void. The wind ballooned his cheeks. He could see the tops of the opened parachutes below, mushrooms in the air. The jump felt the way it always did, a short stab of terror and then the long sinking flight downward.
The creatures blocked the entrance. The light from the fire sent their shadows flickering on the cave wall, making them look even more threatening.
Van lifted the stricken gun. It was still heavy from the ice, and water dripped out the barrel. When he pointed it at the leader, the move made no impression. It was as if Van were holding out a stick of wood.
“Stay together,” Matt said softly. “I’m going to douse the fire.” He tossed dirt upon it, plunging the cave into darkness except for the daylight streaming in at the mouth.
Matt lifted his flashlight and clicked it on. The beam hit the floor, and the effect was instantaneous. The creatures tumbled away from the narrow shaft of light. Even the leader flinched and shrank away.
Matt played with the beam, moving it slowly across the floor, then inched it toward them, pushing them back toward the mouth of the cave.
Van pulled out his flashlight and turned it on, and a second beam struck the floor, crisscrossing the first. Matt began to shout “Don’t—” but before he could say more Van raised the flashlight and fixed the beam directly on the chest of the creature closest to him.
The creature emitted a high-pitched squeal and squinted down at his stomach in panic. His arms whirled as he pitched backward, losing his balance. The others rushed over to him, squealing.
Susan spoke up. “Let’s go. Maybe there’s another way out. Quick, before he gets up.”
In the confusion they ran to the rear of the cave, where they found a narrow passageway. They ran down it as fast as they could, moving rapidly through the dark with the help of the flashlights. Already they could hear the commotion of the chase behind them.
“They’re coming,” panted Van.
The floor was beaten smooth into a path that sloped downward. The walls slanted in on both sides like a funnel. They had the sensation of running to the core of the earth.
Ahead the tunnel split in two. Quickly Matt flashed the beam each way. The left branch looked less traveled, so they took it. Fifty feet on, the tunnel twisted and split again. This time they chose the passage to the right, which led to a small, narrow chamber with a sloping ceiling. When Matt flashed the beam, it disappeared into a black well on one side. The ceiling was so low they had to stoop. The dirt floor was packed down.
“We’ve got to stop and figure out what to do,” said Susan.
“We can’t stop,” Van answered. “Got to keep going.”
“No,” said Matt. “We need to catch our breath.”
They found a nook to one side, ducked inside it, clicked off the flashlights, and squatted down, straining to listen in the darkness for their pursuers.
At first they could only hear the sound of their own breathing. Hiding made them feel even more vulnerable, and their own terror caught up with them.
“Listen,” whispered Van.
They heard a distant din gradually growing louder and louder. Then, very close, they made out the thud of feet running by and some guttural yells, interspersed with strange high-pitched screeches. The sounds lessened again in the other direction, and for a few minutes there was silence. Matt looked at Susan. Her face was drawn. Van’s eyes were closed.
Then they heard the approach of more running feet, along a different passageway behind them. The gait had a peculiar loping quality to it. There was a hole no bigger than a hand, and when Matt looked through it he saw a tunnel and the flickering of lighted torches, diminishing against the wall as the sounds disappeared.
Sounded like three or four of them, he thought. They seemed to be running in all directions. Pandemonium, like a hornet’s nest knocked to the ground. He didn’t know which was worse, a cold, methodical stalking or this kind of chaos with scores of them chasing around. Sooner or later one of them is bound to run into us, he thought.
Again there was silence for a long time, and their breathing calmed somewhat. Van was holding his eyes tightly closed.
12
Inside their hiding place, Van was livid with fear and anger. Spittle nestled in the corners of his lips. What he had suspected about the creatures for the past three years had just been confirmed. “I was right,” he whispered. “They’re evil sons of bitches.”
“Did you see his eyes as he killed Rudy?” asked Susan. She shuddered. “Not a flicker of hesitation, not a sign of anything human.”
“The only saving grace is that it was sudden,” Matt said. “Rudy was dead before he hit the ground.”
“We should never have let him go,” said Susan.
Van snorted. “Maybe he’s the lucky one.”
“I hate to just leave his body there. What do you think they’re going to do to him?” she asked.
“Don’t know,” said Van. “Doesn’t much matter—to him, anyway.”
Again, Susan felt a well of repulsion toward Van. In the crisis his worst side was coming forward.
“One thing’s certain,” said Matt. “If they find us, we’re dead too.”
They listened again for sounds of pursuit but heard nothing.
Van cleared his throat. “About that business with the flashlight. You’re right, of course. As soon as I put the beam on him and it didn’t hurt him, it lost its ... its magic. I wasn’t thinking.”
“We have to think about now,” said Matt. “How the hell are we going to get out of here?”
“What else do we have?” asked Susan.
“My gun,” said Van. “It’s the only hope.”
“We have to thaw it out somehow,” said Matt.
“What we need is a fire. That was beginning to work before.”
“But we can’t try to build one here,” said Susan, “even a little one. They’d spot it in no time.”
“No, we have to find theirs. We know they’ve got one somewhere. They’re using lighted torches,” said Matt.
“We’d better go,” said Van. “This isn’t a good spot.” They stepped out into the chamber. When Matt flashed the light in all directions they saw a new tunnel, a smaller one that seemed to have crevices and ledges that could serve as hiding places. He led the way, using the flashlight intermittently, while the others came behind, instinctively hugging the walls.
Up ahead was an intersection of two tunnels that looked much the same except that one sloped downward. Matt whispered, “I’ve no idea where we are. I’ve lost all sense of direction.”
Susan tugged his sleeve and pointed, and they went down the sloping tunnel, groping in the dark because they didn’t want the flashlight to give them away. After five minutes they came to another crossroads, and again Susan pointed the way.
“Do you have any idea where you’re going?” Matt asked.
“No,” she said, “but it feels right.”
After a turn to the left and a long level stretch, they spotted a faint gleam of light in the distance. “Could be what we’re
looking for,” she said.
The tunnel curved and rose a bit, then fell again. Matt turned on the flashlight, and its beam caught something along the wall, an indentation. He shone the light ahead and behind. There were niches knocked into the wall, topped by black scorch marks. “I’ll be damned,” he said. “For torches. We’ve found some kind of main passageway.”
“This goddamned cave is probably their home,” said Van. “We’ve blundered into their fucking home.”
The gleam grew brighter, and they heard the crackling of fire and saw the flickering of flames reflected against the brown stone of the walls.
Matt hugged the side and slowly peered around the corner. It was another chamber no bigger than a cellar, open above and ascending into darkness. In the center a large fire crackled and sparked, giving off a furnace blast of heat. A huge jumble of wood was piled along one wall.
The fire chamber was empty, but two other passages leading into it made them feel vulnerable to surprise. Clearly they were in a central area and one of the creatures could appear out of the dark holes at any moment, but there was no choice if they were to make use of the fire.
Matt stepped inside, felt the wall of heat hit him, and waved to the others to follow. “Hurry,” he whispered hoarsely. Van ran to the woodpile, broke off a stick, unloaded the gun, slipped one end of the branch through the revolver’s trigger, and held it a foot above the flames. His shadow, cast upon the wall behind him, grew and shrank by turns, exaggerating his movements.
Van seemed to be regaining some of his sangfroid. Maybe having something to do revived him. “I can’t imagine this place stays empty for long,” he said. “Fire’s too important to them. Somebody’s got to keep feeding it.”
Susan stood watch at a juncture where she could observe two tunnel entrances while Matt paced back and forth nervously. “I just don’t get it,” he said.
“What?” asked Van.
“Killing Rudy like that. You kill because you’re frightened, right? Or at least humans do. What did they have to be frightened about?”
“Us,” said Susan.
“But he wasn’t threatening them,” Matt said. “They clearly outnumbered him. They had him at their mercy.”
“So?” asked Van.
“So it doesn’t make sense unless their whole motivational makeup is different. They kill for the pleasure of it. Or else it means nothing to them.”
“Maybe they have no concept of death,” said Susan.
“Or maybe they glorify it, make a cult out of it. Remember your own research—Neanderthals as brain eaters.”
It was the first time any of them had put the name to the creatures.
“I’m not sure they’re really that different from us,” Susan said. “They killed Rudy because they were scared of him—and of us.”
“But even so it’s crazy. If you’re scared of something you keep away from it. If you’re scared of the outside world, why build a bridge to it?”
“Maybe you need to,” said Van, “for trade.”
“For trade? Fair enough, but then why kill the first traders you see?”
“Maybe we’re not the first,” said Susan. “And maybe something else is motivating them, drawing them off their mountain. Something new, something to do with that savagery we just saw.”
“Maybe,” said Matt doubtfully. “But it doesn’t seem to jibe with what Kellicut was describing. The creatures he wrote about seemed peaceful, almost friendly. These are homicidal apes. It doesn’t fit.”
“Maybe your great doctor wasn’t such a hotshot observer after all,” said Van over his shoulder, still holding the gun to the fire. “I’ll tell you one thing. I’m sure as hell not going to let any of those bastards get close to me.”
Susan glared at him. With his rheumy eyes, his stubble, his slumped posture, all crumpled up in his anorak as he knelt beside the fire sweating madly, he resembled a beast himself.
Matt cut in. “How much longer is that damn thing going to take?”
“Almost there. It’s just about stopped dripping.”
“Did you see their snowshoes?” asked Susan.
“Yeah,” said Matt. “Pretty primitive. Bunch of sticks bundled together. But they did the job.”
“These guys were probably the hunters. They seemed more equipped than ... than what we used to think. But they’re not all that sophisticated. One of them had a spear, I think. I saw it when they were standing there inside the cave. But most of them just had clubs.”
“If they were hunters,” Matt said, “there are probably lots of others around to cook, tend fires, and cure skins—that kind of thing. Could be they’re all down here somewhere, if this is their lair. Unless it’s just some kind of outpost.”
“It’s not an outpost,” Susan asserted firmly. “That painting, the tunnels, this,” she added, indicating the fire. “It all points to the same thing. This is their home.”
Matt started to say something but stopped when he heard a clicking behind him. Van had the gun away from the fire and was spinning the chamber. The handle was hot, so to hold it he had scrunched his arm up inside his sleeve and used his cuff as a potholder.
He tested it by pulling the trigger. Click. Then he placed it on the ground, picked up the bullets, spit into the chamber to cool it, and inserted them one by one into the slots, burning his fingers. From his backpack he took a box of spares and slipped them into his pocket. “Back in business,” he said, grinning like a madman.
“Not a moment too soon,” said Susan. “Something’s coming!” Her ear was cocked inside the entrance of a tunnel and she pointed into it as she heard heavy footsteps pounding toward them. They were running and their urgency gave rise to an unsettling idea:
Somehow, they know where we are, she thought. They’re not just searching—they’re tracking us.
Matt glanced at the other tunnels and spoke softly. “Okay, let’s choose one. Pretty much a crap shoot.”
“This one seems bigger,” said Susan. “Maybe we should take it. We don’t want to be lost down here forever, and we’ve got the gun now.”
Matt looked at Van. “You ever fire that thing?”
Van snorted by way of an answer.
They ducked into the tunnel Susan selected, which turned out to be broader than the ones that had brought them this far. They could feel a slight breeze and hear a cacophony of noises, indistinct and directionless like the distant rumbling of a city. The vagueness of the sound was unsettling, and instinctively they huddled together, sticking close to one wall. Every few seconds Matt flicked on the flashlight long enough for them to find their footing.
Then, rising up out of the rumbling, they heard sharp new sounds of the creatures approaching—grunts, footsteps, shuffling—but it was impossible to tell where it was coming from. They strained to listen in both directions, but locating it was hopeless. The sounds were getting louder.
They began running, still unsure if they were hurrying away from the sounds or speeding toward them. Then it became clear; the footsteps were ahead.
Matt chanced using the light and for one second flashed it ahead. The expanse of wall showed a darkness to one side, a crevice two feet wide that led to a cul-de-sac no bigger than a closet. It would hide them. They ran to it and squeezed inside, one at a time, Van last, and then waited, their hearts racing.
Van raised the gun and held it pointing at the opening. “Close your eyes,” he commanded abruptly.
“Are you crazy?” Matt whispered.
“I mean it. Don’t ask questions. Just shut your eyes.” He held his own eyes closed. Matt looked at Susan. She, too, had closed her eyes.
Seconds later the footsteps grew louder, and as the torches approached, the wall opposite their hole took on an orange glow that became brighter and brighter. Matt shut his eyes, and through his closed lids he detected flames and felt heat only a few feet away. Then gradually the light and noise began to fade, and as Matt stood there, he realized for the first time that he could smel
l them, a pungent odor of animal oil and human secretions that invaded his nostrils and made him feel like retching. Then the blur of movement, colors, and shadows receded, the noise was gone, and all was quiet and dark again. He began to tremble.
Van exhaled noisily and Susan gave a tiny sigh. “Too close,” she said.
“What was all that about, closing our eyes?” Matt asked.
“Later,” said Van. “First we better find a way out of here before others come.” They squeezed out one by one and resumed their flight down the tunnel and their search for an exit.
Fifty feet farther on they came upon an arch that led off to one side. They followed it and entered a gigantic vault that was decorated with drawings. Lines of blue and black designs covered the upper walls, and the lower walls were decorated with graceful shapes and curlicues. A domed roof far above was covered by stalactites that pointed down like daggers and were tipped in blood-red paint. Stalagmites rose up like cones along the edges of the vault and were festooned with strips of leather and beads. There was a heavy smell of animal. In the center, lying on the floor, were flattened skins close to a pile of bones.
“What is this?” asked Susan, her voice shaking.
“Some kind of shrine,” said Matt, awed.
The skins were arranged carefully in a semicircle, as if for worshiping or viewing. He turned and shone the flashlight beam on the surface of the wall the skins were facing. What he saw took his breath away, and he heard Van whistling softly.
The beam illuminated a brilliantly colored tableau that stretched across the entire wall, a huge rectangle with lifelike figures elaborately painted in panels. The panels seemed to depict a narrative like Ethiopian scrolls, and the colors were multilayered and deep, as if they had been painted and repainted for generations.
They stared for some time before speaking. The figures were beautifully rendered. They were clearly warriors—they carried clubs and other weapons—and they were divided into two war parties confronting each other. One had the protruding foreheads and squat look of the Neanderthal. The other warriors were taller and gaunt, with jutting chins and narrow skulls:
