The Maw

by Taylor Zajonc

  “Extremophiles can survive in those conditions,” said Bridget. “Not just bats and bears. Sightless fish . . . albino spiders and snails . . . to say nothing of single-celled fungi, bacteria—”

  Logan snorted. “Evolutionary dead ends,” he said. “Organisms that discovered an uncompetitive, temporary niche. Leftovers from the dominant ecosystems.”

  “You certainly have a diminished view of biology,” snapped Bridget.

  “Even if we don’t find the DeWar expedition,” interrupted Charlie, “we’ll still accomplish something truly extraordinary. Imagine, we will be the first people in more than a century to pass across the threshold of this virgin cave—”

  “Not exactly,” said Logan with a smirk.

  “What do you mean?” asked Milo.

  “Please tell me I’m not the only one who sees this,” said Logan, rolling his eyes. “Somebody’s been inside. Recently. Well, recently in geologic terms. And not the DeWar expedition.”

  “Another expedition?” demanded Charlie. “The fuck are you talking about? Dale says this is a virgin cave—”

  “You ought to just say exactly what you mean,” said Bridget, losing patience.

  “Just look at the footage!” said Logan, pointing at the grainy, grayscale imagery on the screen as if it should be self-evident. “See the shattered rock formations? The broken hanging stalactites? Someone was in here, probably within the last sixty years. I’ll have to take some samples for verification, but it looks like this entrance didn’t collapse—it was brought down with high explosives. By the looks of it, whatever munition they used would not have been available during DeWar’s time.”

  Charlie shook his head angrily, stood up, and left the tent, not bothering to close the flap behind him. Harsh light streamed in from the high-efficiency LED lights outside.

  “What do you think happened to the DeWar expedition?” asked Milo quietly.

  “How should I know?” said Logan. “Assuming they were ever down there to begin with? You’re the historian, you tell me—maybe they all killed each other.”

  CHAPTER 6:

  THRESHOLD

  Bridget and Milo followed Logan out of the tent and into the night. Above, the bright stars glittered over the savanna, the Milky Way a bright ribbon against the moonless sky. On the well-lit main thoroughfare of the camp, a pair of fuzzy desert foxes slunk past, their oversized triangular ears sharp and attentive as they scurried across the dirt road. In the stillness, Milo felt a sense of awe wash over him. He could see why the plains of Africa had captured the romantic imagination of explorers and poets alike.

  At the far end of the road, one of the bright LED lights had been wheeled away from its orderly position to a grassy flat spot. Dale Brunsfield crouched under the illumination, intently organizing an immense spread of ropes, carabiners, scuba regulators, and shiny aluminum air tanks. Piled separately was the largest collection of rechargeable lithium-ion batteries Milo had ever seen.

  “Looks like we found Dale,” said Milo. “What’s he doing?”

  “Don’t know,” whispered Bridget from behind Milo. “But I hear he’s leading this expedition personally. I’ve been told he’s trained under some of the most accomplished cave divers in the world. He told me he was the one that first cracked the Delgado sump.”

  “What does that even mean?” asked Milo.

  “I have no idea,” admitted Bridget. “But Dale made it sound like a pretty big deal.”

  “I can’t believe the sheer number of batteries we’re bringing,” said Milo.

  Bridget just shrugged. “Light is life in a cave.”

  Milo stopped to look. Dale must have known he was being watched but didn’t react; his intelligent eyes remained focused on his task.

  “Should I say hello?” asked Milo.

  “I wouldn’t bother,” drawled Logan without turning around. “He won’t appreciate being interrupted.”

  Milo took one last glance toward Dale as Bridget and Logan turned to walk back to their tents. In the corner of Dale’s collection, he noticed a half-opened cardboard box filed with what looked like thick black vinyl sheets. He recognized the unique packaging and shape.

  They were body bags.

  Milo woke the following morning to the unfamiliar sound of his tent unzipping. Dale stuck his head in through the flap, then held up a small thermos of hot coffee with two cups. Rubbing his eyes, Milo waved him in, appreciatively took his cup, and mumbled a thank you. He sat up in his sleeping bag and let his feet off the cot and onto the fabric floor, briefly wondering if he was late for another meeting.

  “So, what do you think?” asked Dale, sitting cross-legged and facing him, uncomfortably close in the tiny tent.

  Milo thought about it for a moment. “This is still all new to me,” he admitted. “Supercaves . . . supercaving . . . I’ve never done anything like this before.”

  “There’s a first time for everything,” said Dale. “You’re out here with the best of the best. Listen to me and the guides; we’ll take care of all the heavy lifting. I need you down in that cave—if you can handle it. Any serious issues with heights? Claustrophobia? The dark?”

  “No more than the average guy, I guess,” said Milo. He tried to remember the last time he’d encountered any situations that would have brought out such fears. Flying was fine, but it wasn’t exactly the same thing as standing at a cliff’s edge. And as far as the dark went, the only fear he’d ever had was of stubbing a toe during a late-night trip to the bathroom.

  “Just let somebody know if you want to talk it out before we go in,” said Dale. “One of our staff has a background as a counselor—he can teach you some breathing exercises, visualization, that kind of hippie stuff.”

  “I’ll let you know,” said Milo, giving Dale a tight smile as he took the first sip of his coffee. Vitality flowed through his veins, shaking off the fuzziness and sending a little jitter of excitement right into his bones. Dale just sat there, looking at him with a faint smile on his face.

  “And how about Dr. McAffee?” added Dale, asking the question with a bit of a wary tone. “I understand you two have a bit of a history. We’ll be in close quarters for extended periods—should I anticipate any problems?”

  “We’re both professionals,” said Milo, answering almost by reflex. “We’ll be fine.”

  “Glad to hear it,” said Dale. “Go see Duck to get geared up. We’re going in today.”

  The entire mess tent had been taken over. Crates spilled out over the tables with an assortment of boxed gear of all sizes. Bridget stood beside Milo wearing a long-sleeve thermal shirt, tight jeans, and tennis shoes. She yawned and stretched—Bridget was never a morning person.

  Dwayne “Duck” Spurlock had buried himself halfway in a crate, humming a tune as he loudly dug through it. Finally he found what he was looking for, yanking out a small ukulele from underneath a pile of silvery emergency blankets and giving it an experimental strum. The chord was painfully off-key, but Duck just grinned at Milo and Bridget before putting it aside.

  “Now we can get you guys fitted,” said the cave guide, drawling out the word now. In his early twenties and with an unruly crop of blonde hair, he looked more surfer than caver. But Milo had heard he was a top pick for Dale’s team.

  “I suppose everybody else has their own gear already,” Bridget whispered to Milo. “Except us.”

  Joanne—Milo’s driver on the journey from the airport—appeared beside the young man and popped open a box on the far side of one of the tables.

  “Thank God for corporate sponsors,” she said. “We got a brilliant kit this time.”

  “You guys remember Joanne,” said Duck. “She’ll be giving me a hand today.”

  Joanne gave a friendly wave to everybody.

  Late, Charlie Garza came marching up from the personnel tents, trailed by a short, energetic, brunette-bobbed woman. Milo remembered seeing the woman the previous night, and had since learned Isabelle was an experienced camera operator a
nd producer of adventure and exotic reality television shows.

  “I got him suited up yesterday.” Isabelle pointed to Charlie as if the Internet celebrity were her pet poodle. “But didn’t get it on film—going to have to reshoot. Sorry we’re so behind schedule again.”

  “No prob, no prob,” said Duck, giving her a big thumbs-up. Dressed in a safari outfit straight out of central casting, Charlie stood next to Bridget, the pair fully occupying the frame of Isabelle’s already-recording camera.

  “Head protection first,” said Joanne, lugging over a box of differently sized and configured caving helmets. “Milo—you look like a medium. Doctor McAffee . . . maybe a women’s small?”

  “Doc McAffee,” said Duck, bobbing his head. “Trauma surgeon at Emory, I hear. So much brains for such a small helmet, am I right?”

  “Ignore him,” whispered Joanne to the trio. “He may sound like a teenager that just smoked himself stupid, but he’s actually a damned fine guide.”

  “What’d she say?” Duck jerked his head up.

  “I’m telling them you’re not actually stupid,” answered Joanne loudly. “You’re just from California.”

  “Santa Cruz, baby!” said Duck, flipping another thumbs-up as he grabbed a set of heavy headlamps with rechargeable battery packs. He piled them next to Bridget and Milo along with a big stack of chemlight sticks. Duck busied himself with a few other items—toilet paper, eye drops, personal first-aid kits—before stopping and squinting at the trio.

  “Okay, pop those tops off,” said Duck, gesturing with his hand.

  “Seriously?” asked Milo, glancing around uncomfortably.

  “Yeah,” said Duck. “Pants too. We’re going to be real cozy with each other down in that cave, so start getting comfortable now. Got to get you fitted for some skivvies.”

  Bridget shrugged, slipped off her shoes, pulled up her thermal top, then shimmied out of her jeans, stripping down to boyshorts and sports bra. She looked even better than Milo remembered; her grueling training regimen had done wonders for her body. He simultaneously couldn’t stand to look at her, nor could he tear his eyes away. An intense wave of jealousy shot up his spine, an emotion he knew full well he had no right to possess. For the first time, he reflected on how incredibly difficult the coming days could become—not so much for the grueling expedition, but the fact he’d be faced daily with such a profound source of unresolved pain.

  “Right on, Doc!” Duck gave yet another thumbs-up. “Gettin’ with the program!”

  Milo shot a glance over to the camerawoman. Isabelle had gone completely silent, training the unblinking glass lens on Bridget as she captured every moment.

  Charlie Garza took a deep breath, flashed a blinding smile to nobody in particular, sucked in his stomach, and flexed as he peeled off his shirt. Consciously or not, he made certain the morning light caught his pectorals and thick arms.

  Milo reluctantly took off his T-shirt and pants without the showy enthusiasm of the other two. He wished he’d worn a newer pair of boxer shorts. And that he’d been to the gym more often. And that he’d caught a little sun once in a while.

  Duck eyeballed the trio for size and flipped each a set of polypro base layer, heavy synthetic pants, stretch shirts, fleece zip-ups, and water-resistant coveralls.

  “You get what you need?” called Charlie. Isabelle nodded and put down the camera, letting him say a goodbye and slip away.

  Milo and Bridget put on the new clothes and glanced at each other. They were starting to look like twins. Duck brought out thick socks, boots, kneepads, and rubberized gloves next. Finally, they were both fitted for a heavy-duty rappelling harness.

  “Either of you wear contacts?” he asked as they sorted through the expensive bounty of clothing.

  “I do,” said Milo. Bridget shook her head.

  “You bring glasses?” asked Duck.

  “They’re in the tent. I can grab them in a minute.”

  “No can do,” said Duck. “That’s how critical gear gets left behind. Joanne?”

  Joanne popped up to her feet and jogged down the path to Milo’s tent. Milo really hoped he wouldn’t have to wear them often—they were years old, the frames unfashionable and the lenses badly scratched.

  “That’ll about do it,” said Duck, pulling a long roll of stickers out of a final crate. “These are RFID tags—how we manage the entire inventory in camp. I’m going to need you to grab the roll, take it down to the Communications trailer, and dig through the boxes. Anything you might need for the expedition—waterproof notepaper, condoms, cameras, Toughbook laptops—slap a sticker on it. Name it and claim it, the gear is here for a reason. If it’s got a sticker, we’ll make sure it’s waiting for you at base camp once we’re set up in the cave.”

  “I thought this was base camp,” said Milo as the group began to break up.

  “Condoms?” asked Bridget, bewildered.

  The team assembled at the bottom of the new road, a few hundred yards down the valley from the camp. The entrance looked like the rest of the landscape, an inconspicuous depression in the earth like a dry oasis, surrounded by a stand of scrubby trees. Mid-morning, the heat had already begun to build, sending the marmot-like rock hyraxes into the shade beneath the dusty stones.

  Porters had stacked Pelican cases, dry bags, and scuba tanks on the ground, an assortment of equipment so large that it dwarfed the team itself. They faced a massive metal hatch door built into the earth, a battleship-gray steel door with a hefty metal wheel in the center, the result bearing more than a passing resemblance to the entrance of a nuclear missile bunker.

  “They’re keeping it sealed,” explained Logan, adjusting his backpack. “The entrance has been collapsed so long that the interior has reached homeostasis. Can’t just open it back up again without destabilizing the upper passageways. They put in an access hatch before tunneling into the main cavern. We’re probably looking at the most expensive cellar door on the continent.”

  Milo nodded as he surveyed the team. Eight people in all. Two guides—Dwayne “Duck” Spurlock and Joanne Gatewood—stood at the ready. Producer Isabelle kept her attention on Charlie.

  “What’s she doing?” asked Milo.

  “I think she’s shooting a pilot,” said Bridget, nodding toward Isabelle. “Probably for one of the big cable education networks. Maybe Extreme History has some legs after all.”

  Dale Brunsfield had ditched his safari wear for a brand-new technical spelunking outfit. Logan was looking at the pile of caving equipment with a strange mixture of skepticism and approval. And Bridget was right there next to Milo, close enough to grab his hand. Every once in a while she’d shoot him a little nervous look.

  Dale cleared his throat and stepped into the middle of the assembled team. “We’re going to take things easy on day one,” he said. “We’re scheduled for a two-week mission, so don’t get ahead of yourselves. Move deliberately, move slowly. There’s going to be a bit of a learning curve here, not just for the new people but all of us. This is an unmapped, unknown cave. Our first—and only—priority on day one is to get inside and find a suitable location for base camp at the bottom of the main shaft. Once that’s done, porters will start rolling in all our gear.”

  Dale shifted his weight from one foot to the other, lost in thought. He looked up and spoke again.

  “On days like this, I reflect on a favorite quote,” he said. “It was said by Ernest Shackleton, legendary explorer and savior of the disastrous Endurance expedition. He said something like this—I vowed to myself that someday I would journey to the region of ice and snow and go on and on until I came to one of the poles of the earth, the end of the axis upon which this great round ball turns.”

  Dale looked around, allowing his gaze to settle on each team member in turn, meeting Milo’s eyes last.

  “If this cave is what we think it is,” Dale continued, “we’re not just visiting the axis upon which the globe turns; we’re plumbing its deepest secrets. In doing so, we may well
solve a century-old mystery and clear the tarnished name of a great man.”

  With that theatrical declaration, Dale turned away from the camera and twisted the wheel on the front of the steel door to the cave entrance. Hydraulic actuators flexed, prying the door open against incredible air pressure. Milo felt a ripple in the wind as the cave breathed in, gently at first, but quickly building to hurricane force, the now-open mouth sucking air through the doorway and into the earth with a harsh, guttural whistle. Steadying himself against the wind, Dale was first to disappear into the darkness, followed by the two guides.

  “This is a good sign,” said Logan, shouting to be heard over the noise. “Very significant volume of air exchange.”

  “Close the door,” ordered Isabelle. “I want to get a shot of Charlie opening it.”

  Charlie nodded, spinning the wheel and allowing the hydraulic pumps to slowly squeeze the steel portal shut. He waited for Isabelle to get into position with the camera as he posed in front of it.

  “We’re the first ones into this legendary cave in more than a century,” said Charlie to the camera with a stage-whisper before opening it again. The whistling howl drowned out the rest of his words, forcing him to start over. Milo wanted to cover his ears, protect himself against the awful sound.

  Milo heard Logan groan from behind him. “Was he even listening to me yesterday?” Logan complained over the din. “We are not the first people inside.”

  “Why are we here? To solve a mystery a century in the making,” shouted Charlie, crouching before the opening cave entranceway again. “And in doing so, to clear the tarnished name of a great explorer. Folks, this is extreme history in the making.”

  With that, Charlie ducked through the metal doorway and vanished into the darkness, followed by Isabelle.

  “Is he seriously going to repeat everything Dale says?” grumbled Bridget. “Because that’s going to get really old.”

  Bridget too passed into the void.

  “This is why I cave alone,” said Logan, following her.