by Alton Gansky
“How do we get into the dam?” Perry asked.
Zeisler seemed to grow more impatient with each tick of the clock. “We go to the edge of the dam. On either side are overflow basins that lead to culverts. Most dams have them. If the lake rises too high, water pours into the basins and is directed by culverts to the base of the dam, where it is released. It keeps water from pouring over the top of the dam risking structural damage, and it prevents the accumulation of water that could over stress the structure.”
Jack shook his head. “Are you sure you’re an electrical engineer?”
“That’s right, but for a short time I hung out with the best civil and structural engineers alive. One is dead, and the other is dying. If you girls are done resting, maybe we can get on with this.”
“Girls?” Jack said. “Did he just call us girls?”
“I’m sure he meant it in the kindest possible way,” Gleason replied.
“I’ll go first,” Perry said. “If I make it without trouble, then Jack and Gleason will follow. Then the rest of you.”
Zeisler started to object, but Perry didn’t wait to hear it. He rose and hurried from the cover of the trees, across the open area along the lake to the top of the dam. It was there he realized his mistake. He needed to go to the distant end of the catch basin, which ran one hundred feet along the shore. There the concrete base of the channel was closest to the surface of the shore. Jumping into the channel from the top of the dam would be risking a broken leg or a wrenched back. That would dampen the day.
Perry jogged along the shore until he reached the far end of the spillway. The floor of the channel was a mere three feet lower than the lakeshore. Perry dropped in. A few minutes later, the concrete channel was filled with people.
“This way.” Zeisler started down the incline. Perry followed as the walls of the channel seemed to grow beside them. The channel became a covered culvert. A chain-link grate covered the opening.
“What now?” Carl asked. “We didn’t bring any tools.”
“Sure we did,” Gleason said. “Jack’s pack is full of them.”
“What? That explains it. I thought I was toting around a Volkswagen.” Jack lowered his pack and opened it. “Looks like a hardware store in here.” He eyed Gleason. “What are you carrying?”
“Why, food of course. And my laptop. I never go anywhere without it.”
“Probably all marshmallows.” Jack riffled through the pack and took out a battery-powered rotary tool.
“There are a couple of small grinding disks, as well as other attachments.”
“Cut the fencing,” Perry said. “The bolts that secure it to the concrete must be hardened steel. The galvanized material will cut easier.”
The device came to life, and fifteen minutes later, Perry was standing over a concrete hole. “I need a flashlight.”
“Jack’s carrying that, too,” Gleason said.
“Figures.” Jack returned to his pack and removed an L-shaped plastic flashlight, which he handed to Perry. The lightweight flashlight clipped to the belt of a safari vest for hands-free use.
Perry directed the beam down the shaft. “There’s a ladder made from rebar.”
“That was your dad’s doing,” Zeisler said. “Ostensibly it was for inspectors, but he had an idea that someone would be returning here. He was always thinking ahead.”
“That’s Dad, all right.” Perry clipped the light to his vest so it hung down at his side, its beam directed down. “Let’s see what else Dad thought of.”
Perry began his descent.
Chapter18
1974
Henry struggled for breath. His heart beat wildly and his mind seized like an oil-starved engine. He had plunged through “the wall,” feeling nothing in the process, but the moment he emerged on the other side his skin tingled, his spine shivered, and his stomach turned. Not from the air but from the image relayed through his eyes.
Zeisler had followed and made some innocuous, unintelligible statement. Cynthia gasped. Grant swore. Only Sanders and Nash seemed unperplexed. Henry turned in time to see McDermott appear out of the “wall.” The man’s mouth opened, but nothing came out. It must have been his first time, too.
“Okay, um,” Zeisler stammered, “someone correct me here. Aren’t we underground? I mean, didn’t we just walk two miles into a mountain, downhill all the way?”
“That’s right,” Henry said.
“Then why . . . why is there a full moon and sky full of stars?”
“We must have walked all the way through the mountain and come out the other side,” Grant suggested. “Yeah, that’s it.”
“Not with this terrain,” Cynthia said. “This looks more like the desert we left behind than the mountain.” She pointed at
a tall, gnarled tree with leaves like spikes. “Isn’t that a Joshua tree?” She aimed her finger again. “Isn’t that juniper bush?”
“Well, we were going downhill; maybe we dropped below the tree line,” Grant suggested.
“We didn’t walk that far,” Zeisler said. “It may have seemed like it, but in no way did we make it all the way to the desert floor.”
“That’s not all.” Henry looked up at the amber moon. He could see the dark “seas” and the light mountain ranges that gave the moon its mottled appearance. He even recognized a few of the larger craters. “I saw the moon last night, and it was a waxing quarter moon. Unless we’ve been walking for a week, something is wrong.”
Zeisler turned on Sanders. “All right, buddy, what’s the deal? Is this a joke or some kind of mind game? What did you do—slip something in our coffee? This feels like a bad trip, man.”
“No drugs, Dr. Zeisler. No tricks. I felt the same way when I first walked in.”
“In.” Henry paused in thought. “So we’re still inside the mountain, even though there is a moon and stars overhead?”
“That’s right, Mr. Sachs.”
“Takes your breath away, doesn’t it?” Nash admitted.
Henry took a few steps forward, then turned. The space they had walked through appeared to be a stone wall, complete with cracks and moss. He rubbed his eyes. He felt lost. One moment his senses were trustworthy, dependable sensors of the world around him. Now he couldn’t trust them. He turned again and looked toward the horizon. It was there, and that was more disturbing than the things he had already seen. How could there be a horizon when they were in a chamber inside a mountain?
“You’re a very perceptive man, Mr. Sachs.” Sanders stepped to Henry’s side. “I must confess that the illusion of size was lost on me. Even in the moonlight it looks like you can see miles, doesn’t it?”
“Has anyone tried to walk to the edge?”
“Nash and I did. We walked for three hours in a straight line and never found the end. That means that at three miles per hour, we walked nine miles, then followed our trail back.”
“Trail?”
“Look down, Mr. Sachs.”
Henry did and saw sand. Light tan sand. It was clinging to his boots and the cuffs of his jeans. Looking back he could see his footprints and those of the others. He returned his attention to Sanders. “The trail you left was straight?”
“Do you mean, did Nash and I walk in circles?” Sanders chuckled. “It was as straight as two men walking could make it.”
Grant stepped forward. “None of this can be real.” Henry could almost smell the man’s anxiety. “It’s just not possible. A desert in the middle of a mountain? Stars above when we know we’re underground? Nonsense. Nothing but unadulterated nonsense.”
“Yet, Mr. Grant, here we are.” Nash raised his voice to be heard by the others. “You should know something else. When I first stepped into this place, it wasn’t a desert, and it wasn’t night.”
“What was it?” Cynthia asked.
“Green, Ms. Wagner. Green rolling hills, crystal blue skies. I would have bet money I was standing in an open field of Tennessee in mid-spring. I was ready to move in.”
“Three days ago.”
“There was grass and hills here three days ago?” Henry said, startled.
“Yes . . . well, no. Not exactly,” Sanders admitted. “I said it was green. I didn’t say it was green with grass. At a distance, it looked like a finely manicured lawn, but the ground cover was the same sand we’re standing on now. Only the color was different.”
Henry looked down again. The bright moon cast a shadow along the ground. “Do we still have a working flashlight?”
“You’re not going to start throwing batteries again, are you?” Nash asked.
“I didn’t throw it, I rolled it. We had two lights, right?”
“Right,” Nash said. “Here.”
Henry took the flashlight, pushed the switch, and directed the beam to the ground. Small grains of beige sand covered the ground. Henry picked up a handful. It felt like sand. He let it pour from his palm, then rubbed a few grains between his thumb and index finger. The grains fell apart. He stood. “It’s not sand. It feels more like talcum powder clumped together. It breaks down.”
“Okay, so it’s not sand in the usual sense,” Grant said. “That doesn’t explain what we’re seeing.”
“Should I tell them?” Nash asked Sanders. Sanders nodded. “I was here two days ago. We brought supplies and some equipment so you wouldn’t have to carry anything. When we came through the portal, or gate or door or whatever that thing we just walked through is, the scene was different. We see desert, Mr. Sanders and I saw rolling green hills, but just two days ago it was snowing.”
“Snowing?” Henry asked. “Snow falling from the sky?”
“Yes. It looked like a postcard from Montana. Very believable except for one thing—it wasn’t cold.
“Oh, this just gets better and better,” Cynthia said.
“You brought supplies?” Henry asked.
“Enough for a week or more were brought down by my men.” Nash seemed self-satisfied.
“Where are they? The supplies I mean, not the men.”
Nash nodded toward the distance. “It’s a little hard to see in the dark, but everything is in that building over there.”
Building? Henry thought. I haven’t seen a building. He turned and scanned the open desert. He saw the shady silhouette of a house.
“Talk about a difficult property to sell,” Zeisler said. “What realtor would want to list a Victorian mansion in the middle of a mountain?”
“It does look Victorian,” Henry agreed. “At least from this distance. Sanders, was that here when you were last here?”
“Yes, except it was a barn then.”
Henry looked at Nash.
“And before that it was a farmhouse,” Sanders said.
Henry was at a loss. His mind ran in logical order. He was happiest when B followed A and C followed B. Now he wasn’t even sure he was playing with the same alphabet. A large part of him wanted to turn around and walk back into the corridor and begin the arduous climb up the awkward stairs. But another part of him wanted to know more, to see more, and to discover what his mind said was impossible. It was that part of his mind that he listened to most often. He had been hired to analyze the base, and he would do just that.
He took a step and felt the “sand” beneath his feet give under his weight. It might not be sand as he understood it, but it sure felt like it beneath his boots.
“Heading out, Mr. Sachs?” Sanders said from behind him.
“It’s why we’re here. I want to see that house.”
Henry Sachs had followed Sanders and Nash down the rabbit hole, through the descending tunnel, and through a stone wall that wasn’t there. He was tired of following. Marching through sand that adhered to his boots, Henry led the others to a house that couldn’t be, on a desert that was impossible, in a landscape that couldn’t exist. Perhaps he was dreaming all of this. Maybe he was home, in bed with his wife as she cuddled next to him, and young Perry asleep in his own room.
Maybe an alarm would ring, and he would awaken to see the same four walls of his bedroom where he would laugh and tell Anna all about the strange nightmare.
The trek to the Victorian was easier than trotting the uneven stairs, but it was still work. Henry’s legs protested each step, and he drew in a bushelful of air with every inhalation. He glanced over his shoulder once. Nash was close behind. Sanders and the others were ten yards back and moving slower than Henry. Bringing up the rear like a sheepdog working a flock was McDermott.
“In a hurry, Sachs?” Nash asked. Henry could detect no heavy breathing from the man. He was in good shape, better than Henry.
“I’m impatient,” Henry said. “Something is not right, and I’m going to find out what it is.” He marched past another Joshua tree, glanced at it, and continued on. Three steps later, he made an abrupt stop.
“Leg cramp?” Nash asked with a smile.
Henry shook his head. “Brain cramp.” He returned to the Joshua. Nash followed and stood to the side as Henry circled the odd tree.
“Bizarre-looking things, aren’t they?” Nash said. “Those leaves look deadly.”
He was right. Henry had traveled much of the United States, including the high deserts of California and Arizona. He had seen Joshua trees. They were grotesquely beautiful, with leaves like spear points that could puncture skin. The Joshua tree before Henry reached three arms upward, as if in prayer. “Yucca brevifolia. It’s part of the lily family. They only grow in the Mojave Desert and at altitude—two thousand to six thousand feet. Tradition says that migrating Mormons named them Joshua trees because they looked like the prophet Joshua in prayer.”
“There was nothing in your resume indicating that you’re a plant expert.”
“I’m not. I have a ten-year-old son who likes to do science reports for school. Guess who gets to read them first?”
The others caught up with them. “What’s up?” Zeisler asked.
“Sachs was giving me a lecture on the Joshua tree,” Nash said. “Although he’s crediting his ten-year-old boy as the real expert.”
“I prefer lectures to hiking,” Grant said. “Regale us.”
Henry repeated what he had told Nash, then added, “These trees can reach forty feet in height, but . . .”
“What?” Zeisler said.
“I’m trying to recall my son’s science report.” Henry studied the tree again. “Moths.”
Grant appeared puzzled. “Excuse me. Moths?”
“That’s right,” Cynthia said. “I should have thought of that. I had to take botany in college.”
“Well, I didn’t,” Zeisler said. “I avoided the life sciences as much as possible.”
“Explain it, Henry,” Cynthia said.
“The Joshua tree is unique in many ways, but one thing that makes it truly unusual is the way it is pollinated. The female Pronuba moth is the sole creature that can pollinate these trees. The tree needs the moth, the moth needs the tree.” Henry looked at the others. “I wonder how many moths live down here?”
There was no answer. Henry reached forward and touched the tree. To his surprise, he found it covered in powder. Again he rubbed his fingers together. It felt like the sand that had broken apart in his hand earlier. “I wonder . . .”
“You wonder what?” Sanders asked.
Henry shook his head. “Not yet. We should keep speculation to a minimum until we have more evidence.”
“I have a question,” Zeisler said. “Which way is east?”
“McDermott?” Sanders said.
The soldier reached in his combat vest and removed a compass. He flipped open its protective lid and studied the dial, then pointed to his right.
“You certain?” Zeisler asked. Henry could see he was puzzled.
“What’s on your mind?” Henry asked.
“Well, while you were marching to beat the band, I’ve been watching the moon. As you know, the moon rises in the East and sets in the West, but not this m
oon. It’s scribing a north to south arc.”
“More impossibilities.” Henry dusted off his hands and started for the house.
Perry stepped from the last rung and directed his flashlight around him. He was standing in a concrete cell ten feet wide and thirty long. He moved to the far end to allow room for the others. They came down, one by one, Jack making the descent last. The big man had more trouble than the others, his heavy backpack making the climb down all the more difficult.
“I hope there’s an elevator back up.” Jack groaned. “If not, Gleason is carrying my pack.”
“I doubt we will be taking anything back,” Perry said. “Let’s get some more flashlights working in here.”
Gleason and Jack complied.
“Sorry,” Janet said. “I left mine in the car.”
“Mine’s at my campsite,” Carl added.
“Three will have to do.” Perry shone his light around. “All right, Dr. Zeisler. What next?”
“I don’t know.”
Perry turned the light on him. “What do you mean, you don’t know? This was your call.”
“I’ve never been down this entrance. Your father told me about it a year later.”
“Swell,” Gleason said. “For all we know, this is a dead end.”
Perry searched the room with his light, letting it trace every square foot of wall and floor, but saw nothing but solid concrete. “What am I missing?”
“Maybe your pal here dreamed all this,” Carl said.
“Don’t you have a speed trap to work or something?” Zeisler snapped. “You weren’t part of this mission to begin with.”
“That’s enough,” Perry ordered. “Focus on the job at hand. Dr. Zeisler was right about the overflow ducts and the ladder. There’s no reason to doubt him now.” Perry paused. “This looks familiar.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Janet said. “How can a concrete box with no doors look familiar?”
“The sketch,” Perry mumbled.
“What sketch?” Carl asked. Perry told him of the photos and the vague sketch he had found at his father’s home.
