by Greig Beck
In another hour, she found the first marks they had made on their way down. Then, in another few hours, she arrived at the hole into the drained sump pool and she began to weep with joy at finding the exit.
Katya clambered up to the piles of gear, now covered in a layer of cave dust. She quickly ripped open bags and stuffed batteries, water bottles, and food sticks into a single pack.
She froze at a noise behind her. It could be Lana, she thought. She was the only other one of them who didn’t get killed by…
What the hell were they? Her mind screamed the question but refused to even try and form an answer.
Katya dry swallowed. Maybe she should wait for her sister. Maybe she should load up on supplies and go back in after her.
Tears of indecision and frustration blurred her vision and she quickly wiped them with her grimy forearm. Another noise like grunting and then a low moan emanated from the bowels of the dark cave.
I’m so sorry, Lana, she mouthed, and then turned to run. It would take her days to climb out, but she wouldn’t stop, wouldn’t sleep, until she saw daylight again.
CHAPTER 02
Huntsville Grand Ballroom, Alabama, USA—Today
Jane Baxter clapped politely and squirmed in her seat as she tried to extract a little more comfort from the borrowed dress she wore. She was 30 years old, slim, and with gym-toned muscles. But they seemed no match for dress seams that felt like they were sewn through with iron cable and metal rivets.
But she looked hot, and she drew a lot of admiring glances so she was happy to suffer for her fashion. Jane and her “grotto”—the name given to smaller groups belonging to the National Speleological Society—had a table at the National Winter Ball held this year at the big Huntsville Ballroom in Alabama.
She put her hand over her glass when Andy offered her more champagne, and then she sat back and smiled, feeling good as the green flecks of light from the overhead laser-ball rotated slowly as the speeches were ending and the special announcements were about to commence.
Her friends were all from Charlotte, North Carolina and shared a passion for caving, hence their membership in the society and their gathering here tonight. By day, they were mostly nine-to-fivers, but come weekends and vacation time, they were committed to finding and dropping into the deepest caves they could find.
Jane was a high school biology teacher, and she looked around the table at each of her friends. Next to her on the left was Angela, who owned a sports store and was already rosy-cheeked from too much wine and laughing way too loud. She was always fun to be with and was like a little sister to her.
Next to her was Michael “Mike” Monroe. He ran a successful security firm, was the oldest at 38, athletic, and had high cheekbones undoubtedly inherited from his Russian mother. He listened to the speeches with one side of his mouth quirked up in a permanent ironic smile. He was their unelected grotto leader, maybe only through the force of his personality, intellect, and his sense of humor. When Michael spoke, people listened.
Next was David Sholtzen, here with his wife—he a doctor and she an accountant—and the pair spent most of the evening bickering, as always, like a pair of lovebirds constantly pecking and talking over the top of each other.
Ronald “Ronnie” Schwartz, the lawyer, who was giving his mobile phone his full attention, and next to him was Andy and his date. The guy was a great caver, only 23, and as for work, he was “between engagements,” as he called it. But coming from a wealthy family, he probably didn’t have to make his mind up too soon on a life’s career. He said his date was 21, although she didn’t look old enough to order a drink, but she laughed at everything Andy said and seemed happy to just be in his company.
The event was packed with a good crowd of 400 members that night, and as the MC rounded off the first tranche of speeches, backslapping at tales of new caves found and new frontiers achieved, he got to the final piece of news—the competition. He walked forward and cleared his throat.
“Bring it on.” Andy sat forward and Jane turned to see Michael flick his eyebrows up at her.
One of their wealthy members had donated a cash prize of $1,000,000 for the deepest cave descent before the end of the year. It was called, “The Hollow Earth Challenge,” a joke about the old belief that the world had a hollow center, or alternatively, all deep caves led to Hell.
Michael, who always had his ear to the ground, had heard about the competition long before anyone else and had worked to arrange passports and travel information to his desired target.
She had never seen him so electrified. Maybe because he had a personal interest in that he was a true believer in the Hollow Earth concept. He would talk at great length about the seismic waves passing through the planet and what their distortion really tells us.
Jane had often wondered whether it was just his quirky sense of humor working, but she had seen him frustrate too many geologists with his facts and theories to know it was not just his imagination at work. He really believed it.
Michael had done his homework and knew that there was a cave in the former Soviet Union, called the Krubera Cave, that was said to be the world’s deepest. No one was allowed near it anymore, as it has been closed to the public for decades for reasons unknown.
But Michael said he knew why and had contacts and a lead. If the competition was confirmed, they were locked and loaded and ready to leave the next day.
The group listened intently and Andy held up his hands with fingers crossed on both. His girlfriend giggled and grabbed his arm.
The competition would be fierce and the bragging rights alone were attractive. Plus, the money would be more than just icing on the cake.
The MC said the words: One. Million. Dollars, and David finally stopped bickering with his wife to fist pump the air. “Yes.” He grinned, and his wife kissed his cheek, proving that the quarreling was probably just part of their usual evening ritual.
A fellow caver wandered over to their table and leaned over Angela, placing his hand on her shoulder.
Angela looked up and gave the man a flat smile. “Harry.”
Jane groaned. Harry Wenton was the dashing English hero of the caving scene. He was from an incredibly wealthy family who had an estate in Bristol, and though he really did have an impressive list of spelunking drops to his credit, his main notoriety was that of a local Don Juan who tried to date every single—and some not so single—women he could get close to.
Though a professional in most senses of the word, he was not popular because of his overuse of explosives to widen caves. It meant he had been responsible for finding numerous deep caves but had also collapsed many existing caves. He knew how to use dynamite; he just wasn’t very good at it.
Plus, he was the only caver to take a handgun with him—a small and compact 9mm Beretta Storm. The reason was he had once emerged from a cave in the Indonesian wilds to discover a band of pirates waiting for them. They’d robbed everyone of everything from their equipment to their boots, plus knocked the teeth from the mouth of one of Harry’s friends. Ever since then, Harry had wanted to be ready for anything. Now he was.
He and Angela had dated for a few weeks until Harry had simply dropped her for the next pretty young thing that caught his eye. He had once tried to date Jane, but she treated him with the disdain he deserved, and Harry had simply sniffed with indifference and moved on.
“Taking up the challenge, Michael?” Harry Wenton’s eyebrows rose.
Michael half-shrugged. “Maybe. Not a great time of year to organize a trip to the caving areas. Still snow in the Appalachians.”
Harry grinned. “Oh, I agree.” He sipped his champagne, a smirk in his eye. “If you’re only referring to the local ones, right? But to even qualify as being serious about the challenge, you’ve got to get below 5,000 feet.” He tapped his chin. “Let me see, where would I go? Hmm, there’s the Reseau Jean Bernard system, as well as the Gouffre Mirolda caves in France that’ll get you there, as both are over 5,200 feet deep.
”
Harry seemed to think for a moment more. “Mustn’t forget the Lamprechtsofen Vogelschacht Weg Schact in Austria at 5,354 feet, and then there’s the Illyuzia-Meshonnogo-Snezhnaya in Georgia that’s 5,751 feet deep.”
He went to turn away, but then paused. “Oh yeah, Georgia. That’s right, there’s also that other one in Georgia whose name escapes my mind that’s around a whopping 7,200 feet deep.” He lifted his chin. “Any ideas?”
Michael kept his poker face and shook his head slowly.
“Doesn’t matter. Anyway, ladies and gentlemen, may the best team win.” Harry winked, gave Angela’s shoulder a parting squeeze, and moved to the next table.
Angela stuck her tongue out. “Creep.”
“Do you think he knows? About the Krubera Cave?” David asked.
“About the cave? Yes. About our trip? Unlikely,” Michael said, and then, “but who cares if he does? Even if he makes it all the way to the bottom, I know of someone who found a way to get deeper.”
Andy frowned. “Deeper than 7,200 feet? But that’s the absolute basement, isn’t it?”
“Only the known one.” Michael smiled confidently.
“That’d be cool if true. Even if it’s just to see the look on Harry Wenton’s face when he loses.” Jane turned to him. “So what now?”
“Tomorrow, we meet for a planning session. I have something to show you that will blow your minds. Plus bag us that million dollars.”
“I’m in.” Andy rubbed his hands together, and his girlfriend leaned into him, hugging his chest like a limpet.
Everyone agreed, and Jane beamed. “Then Denny’s it is for coffee and pie at 9 sharp.”
*****
Next morning, Jane, David, and Ronnie bustled into the back booth at their local coffee shop. Michael and Andy were already there and the young caver had an enormous plate of scrambled eggs, crispy bacon, and doorstop-thick wedges of toast that he was shoveling into his mouth like he had just been rescued from a desert island.
Jane laughed. “Burn a few calories last night, did you?”
He winked. “I’ve never had any complaints.”
Jane elbowed him. “At least not to your face.”
They ordered coffees as the bell over the door tinkled and Angela waved and headed their way. They skidded along the booth seat to make room for her.
“One hundred and sixty-six thousand, six hundred and sixty-six dollars, and sixty-six cents,” Andy said through a mouthful of egg and bacon. “That’s how much we get each if we win.”
“Nice.” David ordered a donut to go with his coffee. “That’ll sort out my home renovations.”
“New car for me,” Ronnie added.
“Wow, you guys have already got it spent, huh?” Jane grinned. “But yeah, new car, holiday, and some new clothes would be pretty cool.”
“Michael, what’s on your wish list?” Angela asked.
He raised his brows. “You know, I hadn’t thought about it. I’m not really focused on the money. It’s the adventure that’ll be invaluable to me.”
“Yeah, right. Me too.” Angela winked.
“I’ll have his share,” Andy chuckled.
“So, Michael, who is this person who knows of a secret cave somewhere in the depths of the Krubera Cave? Can we meet him or her?” Jane rested her elbows on the tabletop.
Michael smiled. “Sure, if we can develop a time machine and travel back to 1485.”
Andy lowered his fork. “Oh great, yeah, that million bucks suddenly sounds a lo-ooong way away.” He snorted and continued eating.
Michael reached into his pocket and pulled out some folded papers. He spread them out on the tabletop and everyone leaned forward.
They were newspaper articles that he had obviously pulled off the Internet. But they were slightly tattered, as if he’d had them for a while.
“Is that Cyrillic? It’s in Russian,” David groaned.
“Well, it’s lucky you have someone whose Russian mother taught them how to read and speak it then.” Michael lifted the first page. “This is an article from October 1973 and tells of a woman who emerged from the Krubera Cave—one of the first ever to descend into it. Unfortunately, it doesn’t give her name. She was apparently the only survivor of a team of five members.”
“In ‘73? You said she was one of the first—I thought no one went into the Krubera until the mid ‘80s.” David whistled. “Even now, it’s classed as one of the most dangerous for cliffs, narrow choke points, and waterways, even with modern equipment. What happened? Cave-in?”
Michael smiled. “The team followed a path described by an ancient Russian alchemist named Arkady Saknussov. They apparently descended to 7,300 feet and there, at the very basement, she claims the alchemist’s notes led them to another hidden passage, and that took them deeper than any human being has ever traveled before.” He looked up, his gaze level. “All the way to the center of the Earth.”
There was silence around the table for several moments before Ronnie burst out laughing. “April fools, everyone.” He slapped the table. “She sounds level-headed. But seriously, I shouldn’t laugh. The trauma of losing her friends probably gave her post-traumatic stress.”
“There’s more.” Michael’s expression was deadpan. “She says the world they found down there was teeming with strange life, light, and there was also an ocean.” His lips curved up on one side.
Jane sat back. “Seriously? This is your secret lead?”
Michael nodded slowly, his gaze level as he stared back into her eyes.
“Where is she now?” Angela asked.
He shrugged. “Well, that’s where we run into a problem. She is or was in an asylum for a while. But a little Russian birdie told me she’s being cared for and living a solitary life somewhere down in southern Russia.”
“In an asylum? Sheesh. You can sure pick ‘em.” Jane’s eyelids drooped. “And you know where that is?”
He bobbed his head from side to side. “Sort of. Somewhere in Krasnodar. Maybe.” He sat back. “Older city, population around 1 million, and over 28 square miles of urban sprawl.”
“28 square miles, and a million people? So, she’s somewhere in a place that has about the same population as San Francisco? Doesn’t sound like a long shot at all.” David toasted Michael with his coffee cup.
“Down there, beyond the deepest caves, below the crust and the mantle, there’s another world. I know it.” Michael stared into the eyes of each of them. “Come with me. We can do it.”
Jane held his gaze. “Just how long have you been working on this?”
“Three years,” he replied automatically. “It’s all ready to go. Say the word and I’ll confirm tickets, accommodation, and transport—all my treat.”
“Confirm?” Jane asked.
“They’re already reserved.” Michael grinned and sat back.
“Adventure? Yep, I’m in.” Andy pushed his plate away.
David bobbed his head. “What have we got to lose? I second that.”
“Nothing to lose and a million bucks to gain. Plus, I’ve already booked my holiday leave.” Angela raised her hand. “I third that.”
They all agreed, and Jane folded her arms. “So what now?” she asked.
“Now?” Michael smiled broadly. “Now we head to a small Russian suburb on the outskirts of Krasnodar to ask about a crazy woman who was rumored to have journeyed to the center of the Earth.” His eyes twinkled, and he leaned closer. “They say what she saw drove her insane.”
“Then she sounds just perfect for you.” Jane reached for her coffee.
CHAPTER 03
Krasnodar, Russia, 92 miles northeast of the Black Sea
It took them forty hours of traveling to arrive in the bleak Russian city, and then a further two days moving from government offices, to street cafés, and also town squares, enquiring everywhere, and all receiving nothing but blank stares or a shake of the head from the people they asked.
“Remind me, that little Russian bird
ie that said this woman was in Krasnodar, wasn’t just a real talking bird, was it?” Andy chuckled.
“Very funny. She’s here somewhere. I can feel we’re close,” Michael replied. “We just haven’t looked in the right places yet.”
At just about the point of rebellion, in one smoky bar, an ancient-looking local man with the palest eyes Jane had ever seen said he remembered the woman.
“This one a very sad case,” he said. “I knew her as little girl. Always smart and strong.” His mouth turned down and his nose crinkled. “But when she come back from hole in ground…” He shrugged. “…then she not well.” He made a circle around his ear with a finger.
Jane threw Michael an I told you so look, but he ignored her.
“Does she live close by?” Michael asked.
“She lived here all her life.” He looked up with rheumy eyes. “But no one sees her now. She in mental house.”
“An asylum?” Michael asked. “She’s still in there?”
“I think. I don’t know.” The old man looked away, losing interest.
Michael waved the barman over and ordered him another drink. He also left the change, about 1,100 rubles, and slid the notes to the man.
“Where can I find her?”
The old man looked at the money for a moment, and then slid it back to Michael.
“When you see her, she may need this more than me. Try hospital records.” He gave them an address and directions, and then lifted his drink, toasted the pair, and turned to vanish back into the smoke-filled barroom.
*****
Jane, Michael, and their small team unloaded from their rented van outside the gates of the cold, gray edifice.
The imposing building was desolate, with peeling paint. Many of the trees still hadn’t put on spring growth and most of the hospital grounds looked scrabby, more frozen mud than garden, and just downright depressing.
The main building they were in front of needed repairs to most parts of the structure, from new tiles on the roof, broken stairs, shutters missing, and some of the windows were cracked and stuck over with old newspaper.
