The Maw

by Taylor Zajonc

  At the far end of the auditorium-sized chamber, Joanne had found Dale and was speaking to him in low tones, the pair pausing to take a long, stern look at Milo every few moments. Whatever conflict remained regarding Charlie seemed forgotten, at least for the moment. Nearby, Duck had surveyed a flat, muddy area a good distance away from the waterfalls where he’d begun setting up the first of the tents. Milo was no geologist, but could tell the camp was on a floodplain—but whether the last flood dated from a month or ten thousand years previous, he could not tell.

  He took a closer look at the flat bottom of the chamber. It almost resembled a river delta, with thin, snaking lines carved into the smooth bottom and filled in with mud, but only the central crack now serving as a natural aqueduct. The crack ended at an impenetrable, billion-year-old rock layer at the end of the chamber, draining into a lattice of small subterranean passageways.

  Milo watched as Duck created a miniature version of Main Camp. Duck had lined up four tents—the party of eight would now have to double up—and started a tiny supply depot. Finished with the tents, Duck meticulously evaluated the gear. Nothing went untouched. Working with a small penknife, he diligently removed labels from tea bags, the handles from toothbrushes, even the cardboard centers out of toilet paper rolls.

  The rest of the party had spread out as much as possible. Charlie worked to repack the last of his soggy parachute as Dale watched silently, more interested than helpful.

  Dr. Logan Flowers and Isabelle Christian had found themselves at a table-sized rock at the far end of the room, Logan walking the producer around it and narrating about geological compositions and cave morphology. The producer looked bored.

  Not sure what to do, Milo found a spot against the wall and sat down, leaning against his backpack to rest and maybe shake off the last of the nerves. Bridget joined before long, wordlessly sitting beside him and opening up a granola bar to share.

  “Joanne is not happy,” said Bridget, stretching her back. “I figured we were going to see her chew out Charlie the minute he hit the bottom—at the very least, wipe that smug grin off his face—but she hasn’t, not yet anyway.”

  “Yeah?” said Milo. “Why not?”

  “Whatever Dale is holding over her must be a doozy,” said Bridget. “I know she founded an international development charity through her legal firm; chances are he’s funding a big chunk of it.”

  Silence once again fell between the two. Bridget took another bite of her granola bar and again offered it to Milo. He gratefully broke off another bit of the sweet oat-and-nut confection.

  “You see anything on the ground?” Milo finally asked, breaking the silence again.

  “Like what?” asked Bridget.

  “Small,” answered Milo. “Metallic. Looks almost like a ring attached to the end of a bolt.”

  “Why?” said Bridget. “Did you drop something on the way down? Was it important?”

  “Not exactly,” said Milo with a sigh. “Not even a hundred percent certain what it was. I spotted it in the wall on the way down. Tried to pry it out, but it slipped out of my fingers and disappeared. I don’t think it came from our expedition.”

  From across the chamber, Milo heard Joanne say something like he’s not your concern, but it was too late—Dale had turned away from the guide and was stomping over toward him. Joanne followed closely behind, a furious expression on her face.

  “What the hell happened up there?” demanded Dale, addressing Milo with open disdain.

  Milo stood up, if for no other reason than to prevent Dale from towering over him as he spoke.

  “I don’t know,” Milo admitted.

  “We are not done talking about Charlie,” interjected Joanne. “Milo is not the priority here.”

  “I’m not going to ask again—what happened during the descent?” snapped Dale, ignoring her. Milo felt a wave of cold fear wash over him as the rest of the party began to break away from their duties or distractions and form up in a circle around them.

  Milo opened his mouth to speak, but couldn’t.

  “You panicked,” said Dale, answering for him. “You tried to climb your way out a thousand feet, made it up about five and fell. You hit Joanne on the way down, probably the only reason you didn’t end up with a pelvic fracture. Another few feet up and you could have permanently paralyzed yourself. You endangered your life and the life of my guide.”

  “But—” began Milo.

  “Joanne said you lost it,” said Dale, raising his voice so all could hear. “Wouldn’t obey commands, wouldn’t communicate your intentions.”

  “We told you the number of novices on this expedition would be a problem,” interjected Joanne. “But Milo still isn’t my primary concern here.”

  “I got a little scared, sure,” protested Milo. “Who wouldn’t? But I’m telling you—I wasn’t trying to climb my way out of the shaft.”

  “No?” demanded Dale. “Then what the ever-loving hell were you doing up there?”

  Bridget stood up before Milo could answer. “He says he found something,” she said, cutting off Dale. “Something from another expedition. In the shaft. Might have been something important to his investigation.”

  “He found what, exactly?” demanded Joanne.

  “Oh bullshit,” said Dale, whipping off his caving helmet with a free hand and running the other through his white hair in frustration. “And as for you, Dr. McAffee—you vouched for him, so I’m holding you equally responsible for this fuckup.”

  An awkward silence fell over the group as Milo stewed in his own thoughts. Bridget vouched for him—what the hell was Dale talking about? He knew the world was small, but the supposed coincidence of seeing Bridget again suddenly snapped into focus.

  “So, what was it?” said Dale, beginning to lower his voice and retreat from the previous angry outburst. “What’d you supposedly find?”

  “It was a wall anchor,” said Milo, forcing himself to not flash an angry stare at Bridget. “It had to be.”

  “Not possible,” interrupted Dale. “We haven’t placed a single bolt.”

  Duck broke through the ranks to step up to Milo, excitement in his eyes. “A wall anchor?” he asked. “Could it have been Lord Riley’s?”

  Milo shook his head. “I’m not an expert,” he said, “but he would have used iron, or maybe low-grade steel. What I found looked like stainless steel, but it had been in there for a long time.”

  “All our carabiners and anchors are aluminum alloy,” offered Joanne.

  “We are getting way off track here,” growled Dale.

  “And this is not the first evidence we’ve seen of another modern expedition,” said Milo.

  “What are you talking about?” asked Dale, concern entering his voice. Milo suddenly found himself wondering how Dale would react if he found out he was not the true modern discoverer of the cave. Would he pull the plug on the whole expedition?

  Milo just pointed to Logan. Everyone turned to look.

  “Well, it’s hardly definitive,” muttered the geologist.

  “Tell me anyway,” insisted Dale.

  “The collapsed entrance,” said Logan. “I believe it was brought down by explosives. I developed the theory initially after seeing the first of the robot’s footage. The state of the first chamber confirms it—I took samples, but they’ll need to be tested in a proper lab.”

  “I don’t understand,” said Dale. “You’re saying Lord DeWar . . . blew up the cave?”

  “No,” said Logan. “Whatever was used likely did not exist during his time. Just think about the size of the blast and fracture pattern. It couldn’t have been just gunpowder or TNT. This was done using a modern high explosive. If the entrance was the only evidence of modern intrusion, I’d say it was done by farmers or herdsmen years ago, maybe to keep the local cattle from wandering in. But if Milo thinks he found an anchor . . .”

  The geologist’s voice trailed off as the party considered the implications.

  “What happened
to the anchor?” asked Dale, his voice barely above a whisper.

  “I pried it out of the wall,” said Milo. “But then it fell—I lost it.”

  “You dropped it,” concluded Duck. “Well—that’s, like, good news, right? If you dropped it, it has to be around here somewhere. Let’s start looking!”

  “Maybe later,” grumbled Dale, thrusting his hands in his pockets as he turned around. He went to the base of the shaft, where the supplies would be lowered down from the surface.

  “I’ll help look,” said Bridget. Logan nodded as well, and soon the four began to poke around the rocky patches of the pit bottom. Joanne just rolled her eyes and walked away.

  Milo had only been searching for a few minutes when his headlamp fell across a crumple of metal struts and tank-treads wedged between two large boulders. Excitedly, he waved Duck over.

  Half-smiling, the guide pointed his flashlight into the gap, already knowing what he would see.

  “That’s what’s left of our robot,” explained Duck, letting the light play over the broken wires, shattered camera glass, and exposed circuit board. “Seventy-five thousand dollars trashed, man. Cable snapped near the upper terminus, probably fell at least a thousand feet. I’ll come back and yank all this shit out in a bit—possible we can salvage a few parts, at least.”

  The searchers broke off from one another, each picking their own areas to carefully examine. At the ropes, Joanne radioed to the porters at the top of the shaft as crates and boxes were lowered one at a time, growing the equipment dump ever larger.

  Milo kept searching long after the others had stopped, even Bridget. Having received the last of the supplies, the guides busied themselves with the latrines, digging long, muddy trenches some distance away from the tents. Working on the theory that the anchor had bounced—all the main areas had been searched, even the pool—Milo focused his efforts on the small pockets and chambers directly adjacent to the main shaft, most too small to even fit much more than his head and shoulders.

  He entered the largest of the side chambers, an alcove not much bigger than a small closet. His flashlight fell across a small object. Flush with excitement, Milo bent down to examine it, but was disappointed to only find the small knife he’d dropped during the descent. Somehow it had bounced to the side as it fell, tumbling into the tiny chamber. Milo sighed and turned off his light, wishing he could sink into the darkness and disappear.

  Dale was going to be pissed. The last of Milo’s credibility was gone, as vanished as Lord DeWar himself. If Dale decided to send anyone home, Milo knew he’d be on the first ascent back to the surface.

  Stretching, Milo tried to think of anything but what the next few hours would bring. With too little room in the chamber to reach out without touching both walls, Milo felt the fingers of his left hand brush against something entirely unexpected. Not smooth, like the calcified stalagmites or rough, limestone walls, but a series of deep grooves.

  Curious, Milo flipped his headlamp back on and aimed it toward the wall. The grooves were not natural; they instead formed elegant, carved letters in plainly scripted English.

  R. DEWAR

  1901

  CHAPTER 13:

  THE ANTHILL

  Dale was a picture of barely restrained jubilance. Milo had the distinct impression he was used to working larger gatherings than the eight-person expedition; he paced as though he wanted to tell someone new the good news, issue further congratulations, but had cornered each and every person already. In some cases, he’d spoken with them twice, three times, as if he were still somewhat unconvinced of the find.

  Though anybody could have found the inscription—and Milo was convinced someone would have, eventually—he still felt like he’d secured his place in the expedition, however tenuously. Almost everyone had come by to say something nice at some point, though Logan had waited until he’d verified the inscription himself. Milo didn’t take it personally; he wouldn’t have expected anything less from Logan.

  Duck stood in the center of the chamber, inflating large, spherical balloons from a portable helium tank. Once full, the balloons were easily three feet in diameter. Unlike the shiny, high-tech look of the rest of the equipment—aluminum alloys, carbon fiber, advanced plastics—the balloons were made from an old-fashioned, cotton-like fabric. Once four were inflated, Duck aimed a small directional remote at each, turning on a bright LED light from within. Now illuminated, their brightness adjusted to a pleasant level, the balloons served almost like bright moons, filling the large chamber with voluminous light. Duck walked out from the center of chamber and released each one in turn, watching as they rose to the ceiling like an arctic sunrise.

  Joanne had unpacked a laser scanner from one of the larger crates, attaching the football-sized, lens-studded head to a bulky tripod. She took the tripod to each corner of the room and pressed a button on the scanner. Each time, it would beep loudly and begin to rapidly spin, sending faint green bolts of laser light in all directions. The head whirring to a stop, the device would beep again and download hundreds of millions of directional data-points through a thick computer cord to a rugged, waterproof laptop on the cave floor.

  With the balloon lights now casting a homey glow throughout the entire chamber, Milo and the rest of the cavers felt comfortable in taking off their helmets, headlamps, and harnesses, stacking up the equipment in tidy little piles next to their assigned tents. Duck handed out bunk assignments and earplugs, placing Milo with Logan. Milo hoped the large geologist didn’t snore, though he doubted he’d even hear it over the ever-present roar of the waterfalls.

  Duck collected stacks of batteries from the camera equipment and headlamps, hooking them up to a portable methanol fuel cell for rapid recharging.

  A top-to-bottom search of the chamber had revealed no other carvings or artifacts, no further clues of DeWar’s—or any other—expedition. Nor was Milo’s missing anchor discovered, though he suspected everyone had forgotten about it but him. The carving was vindication enough.

  Though the inscription had now been photographed, laser-scanned, chalk-rubbed, and prodded, Dale made a special little detour to visit it whenever he went marching around the chamber. He would look at it from several different angles, holding up a flashlight to catch the relief of the etching before eventually moving on with no further clues gathered.

  The last of the dangling crates reached the bottom shaft. Duck and Bridget carefully landed them on the cavern floor, unhooking and dragging them to the makeshift depot. A note was taped to the plastic lid of the final box. Duck pulled it off and carried over to Dale, who read it while frowning.

  “Everybody circle up,” said Dale, waving the scattered party to come join him at the entrance to the row of five tents. He held out the letter in front of him, showing a black-and-white computerized weather map of northern Tanzania. “I’ve just received word that the surface is expecting a bit of a storm. It was set to miss us, but took an abrupt turn over the last few hours. A low-pressure zone with a lot of rain, early for the season but not entirely unexpected. We’ll be fine down here, shouldn’t affect us in the slightest. But it’s going to get messy up top. Can’t run the helicopters and the roads will wash out. I’m expecting our trucks will get bogged down as well. Nothing we’re not prepared for, but I wanted to make sure you’re all in the loop. Nobody likes surprises, right?”

  A murmur went through the group—everybody agreed. Milo figured any issues far above would hardly matter in the cavern.

  “Data from the scan has finished processing,” announced Joanne. “I could use some assistance with the analysis from Duck.”

  “No prob,” said Duck with a smile, walking over to join her.

  As the rest of the group broke up, Dale walked over to Milo, placing a fatherly hand on his shoulder.

  “You convinced yet?” he asked for the third time.

  Milo nodded. Either they were on the trail of Lord Riley DeWar, or it was all part of the most elaborate and useless hoax in histo
ry. Besides, Milo felt certain that DeWar wouldn’t have taken the dangerous fifteen-hundred-foot drop to the bottom if he hadn’t intended to explore the entirety of the cave. But whether or not he ever saw daylight again was another matter entirely.

  While Duck post-processed the laser data, Joanne had moved on to other measurements. The cave guide gestured for Milo and Dale to come over to her.

  “We’ve identified a minimum of three different branching passageways from this chamber,” she said, unfolding a small handheld camera and clicking it on.

  “Is that the thermal camera?” asked Dale excitedly.

  “Yes indeed—your newest toy.” Joanne smiled. “Took me forever to set up. Temperature differentials between the chamber and the passageways are extremely slight; I had to take a sliver of heat variation and level the false-color display to maximum. Take a look.”

  Joanne handed the thermal camera to Dale, who panned it across the chamber and the people within. The room itself was rendered in neutral reds; the people within were white-hot, their exhalations a brilliant yellow fire.

  “Aim it over there,” Joanne said, pointing to the wall on the far side of the chamber. Dale obeyed, trying to hold the camera steady. All Milo could see was the featureless blood-red of uniform temperatures, punctuated only by a few fading footprints on the rock.

  “What am I looking for?” asked Dale.

  “Give it a second,” said Joanne.

  A small patch in the corner of the screen slowly faded from red to a purple, then blue, as if a portal to another world had opened.

  “The air in that passageway is slightly colder than ambient,” the cave guide explained. “I’ve measured the temperature differential for this and the other two passages we’ve discovered thus far. It’s the biggest.”

  Milo nodded. “Amazing. Kind of like the high-tech version of holding a candle up to a passageway to see if the flame flickers.”