Marah Chase and the Fountain of Youth

by Jay Stringer

  Once the camp was far behind them and the stream was their only marker for finding the way back, they started to notice crops. Some of the trees, the smaller ones that looked rubbery rather than leathery, were holding large green and yellow fruit, the size of a basketball. Lower down, some of the bushes were producing berries. Chase plucked one and was about to pop it in her mouth when Hass stopped her.

  “What are you doing? We don’t know if they’re safe.”

  Chase paused. Looked at the berry in her hand. He was right. Of course he was. But it had felt so natural, so simple. She still felt the urge. She dropped it back to the ground.

  They both noticed an incline. Pausing to check their compasses, to see if the stream was still leading them eastward or was now turning to head up the mountain, they found that neither of their devices were working. Hass’s said they were headed west, Chase’s said south. Something in the forest was interfering. They stuck to following the water, wherever it took them.

  “I’ve lost all sense of distance,” Chase said. “When we looked on Google Maps, I figured whatever the dark place was, it couldn’t be more than two, three miles across. But how long have we been walking?”

  “I don’t know.” Hass turned to look back the way they’d come. “I never get lost. Blindfold me, and I can still point north. But in here? I… I don’t know. At a guess, I think we turned north about a mile in, and we’ve headed maybe a half mile north after that?”

  Hass was good on the ground, and especially in jungles and forests. He’d had a line that he used to repeat to everyone he met, when he was fresh to the scene. I know I’m Somalian, but I couldn’t be a pirate—I get seasick. Put me in a jungle, I’m fine. If even he was now feeling lost, then Chase had no chance of figuring out the directions.

  They could hear running water, somewhere up ahead. A light splashing. As they pushed through some large purple bushes, they came to a small waterfall. The water was trickling down a rock face to form the stream. There was a small clearing at the base of the rocks, which Chase guessed must have once been a larger pool of water, maybe one of the main sources of the dried-up river. There were mud slopes on either side of the rock face. Hass turned to take that route up. Chase laughed, splashing in the water, letting it run across her face and hands, soak through her clothes, as she climbed the rocks. It was only a ten-foot ascent, but once she reached the top, she felt like she’d achieved something huge. A sense of elation washed over her. Hass was already waiting, offering his hand to help her over the edge. She jumped straight to her feet, not needing any time to recover. That in itself gave her a moment’s pause. Where was the altitude sickness? It was just… gone.

  Hass gave her an odd look. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m amazing.”

  Hass’s brow furrowed deeper. Chase felt a flash of resentment. Why was he questioning her? Why did he feel the need to kill her mood?

  As if sensing this, Hass smiled and said, “You’ll need to be amazing to see this.”

  He stepped aside, allowing her to see what she’d climbed up to. They were standing in another large clearing. The trees on either side still provided cover above, their large round leaves touching, but down at ground level there was a space about thirty feet in diameter. The sunlight filtered down through the leaves, giving everything a green glow. The rock face where Chase stood was damp, another stream running through the center and then off the rocks into a shallow depression that again looked like the remnants of something much larger. Beyond the old pool was a large tangle of bushes and weeds. But what stood out from everything they’d seen so far was the shape. It was full of squares. Flat surfaces. And, in a few places, glimpses of something white beneath the growth. There was a human-made structure here, buried beneath the encroaching weeds. They’d found a settlement.

  “What the…?”

  Hass smiled. “Yes.”

  * * *

  Nash was not going to admit how much fun he was having. There was no way. But holding his poker face as they flew up the side of Kilimanjaro was just about the hardest thing he’d ever done.

  Turned out, everything Lauren had said about the drones was correct. They were strong, near-silent, and easy to control. He felt like he was wearing a jet pack. The CIA never had anything this cool. He’d taken the lead, insisting that his field experience made him the natural choice. Lauren was ten feet behind. The two metal pods that she had insisted on bringing were carried by one drone each, following the two human-operated craft with some kind of Bluetooth signal. They’d started off heading northwest, diagonally across the mountain, as tablets mounted to both of their displays led them toward the spot Lauren had pinpointed. There was brilliant morning sunlight on either side of Nash, spreading out across the forest and the plains far below. But in this narrow corridor, he was shrouded in total darkness. It was humbling, in a way, to be in the shadow of a rock large enough to hold back the sun. But then, it was hard to feel humble when you were flying via jet pack.

  As they closed in on the target, the trees below them changed. The leaves were large, round, and rubbery and a very deep green that drew the light toward it. In patches between the leaves, he could make out a crack in the rocks, some kind of natural channel running down the mountain. The tracker beeped, announcing they were in the target area.

  Lauren’s voice came through his Bluetooth earpiece. “We need to land.”

  Nash was already on it, scanning for a large enough break in the leaves to get a good view. It wasn’t just finding a spot for him and Lauren. That would be easy enough; they could improvise if needed. But the two damn pods needed to come down safely, too. There was another break in the trees a mile farther up. As he approached, Nash got a view of what looked to be a cave. With the steep angle of the mountainside, the cave was directly ahead, only visible at this angle. Nash waved to get Lauren’s attention and pointed. She nodded and followed him in. As they pushed through the gap in the trees, Nash saw a large lake coming out of the cave into a large bowl of rock jutting out over the valley below. There was a small clearing next to the lake. It would be tight, but all four drones should just about fit.

  Landing was easy. Sensors built into the control panel took over for the most part, scanning the area below them and guiding the drones down. Nash used the stick to nudge it a few feet one way or another, change the angle to make it more comfortable, then waited as the craft lowered two landing skids on either side of him. He was hung beneath it like a package ready to be delivered. He pressed the harness release and dropped to the ground, crawling out to see Lauren had already done the same and was standing watching the two pods touch down. Nash looked back up the way they’d come. Already, from this angle, he couldn’t make out the break in the trees. By some trick of the line of sight, it looked like they were entirely covered by the canopy, bathed in the green light that filtered down through the leaves. Somehow, Lauren had worked out the one angle they could have approached from to see this lake from the air. He wasn’t going to tell her that, but it was a stroke of brilliance.

  “Wow,” said Lauren next to him, sounding awed by their surroundings.

  Nash took a quick look around. Sure, the place was impressive. Crazy trees. Bushes of bright colors. But this was no time to stop and stare. They were here to find money, and nobody ever found that by standing around.

  He unclipped the two pods from beneath the drones and struggled to pull them out. It felt like Lauren had packed a whole laboratory in them. Nash unclipped the lock on the first one, but Lauren shouted, told him to back away.

  “I need my gear,” he said.

  She marched over and pushed him away. “The equipment is delicate.” She lifted the lid just enough to bend and look inside, reached in, and pulled out his large canvas bag, almost dropping it as it came free of the pod. Nash stepped in to take the weight, setting the bag down on the ground and unzipping it. He had a small arsenal inside. Shotguns, Glocks, ammunition, grenades, and a pack of flares. He pulled on his gun belt
, strapped a Glock to either side, slung a shotgun across his back, and slipped three flares into the cargo pockets of his pants.

  Lauren was already marching off toward the cave, a large rock archway sitting over the end of the lake like the canopy on a baby stroller. Nash’s attention was drawn to the lake. He couldn’t place why. It was a large, round, flat surface. The water was calm, with a faint current detectable as it dribbled over the cliff at the end, down to the valley below.

  There’s something about that cliff…

  He walked up to the edge. The clearing narrowed out to a point. The water was only a light trickle as it ran over a section of the wall that dipped in the middle. Below them he could see the valley, with a wide channel cut into the rock, winding down the mountainside, looking like the course of what was once a much larger river.

  The wall.

  He knelt down to peer over the edge at the rock face of the cliff. His first thought had been right. This was a wall, human-made. He could see cracks across the surface where someone had laid down large chunks of stone. He could see moss growing on something between the rocks, some kind of mortar. This lake wasn’t a natural formation. It was a dam. Someone had settled here and blocked the waterfall. There was heat coming off the water. He dipped his hand in to confirm it was warm.

  “August.”

  Lauren sounded alarmed. Nash spun on his heels and rose into a sprint in one fluid motion. He ran around the edge of the water. He noticed now that, just as with the wall, some primitive instinct was telling him to be wary of the water. He made up the ground fast, coming to the mouth of the cave. Lauren was standing in its shadow. There was a path next to the water, leading into the cave, but it was covered with a large bush of red leaves. Lauren had been pulling at the leaves, and in doing so she exposed a white stone face. It was a lion with large sabre-teeth. Nash had seen that face before, in the temple on Lake Tana, as one of the faces of the cherubim. They pulled back at the thick branches of the bush. The invasive plant was covering the whole area, having grown up along the cave ceiling and down the other side. Nash used a knife to hack the branches clear and saw that, just like the cherubim in the temple, this one had four faces. There was the lion, the jackal, and the eagle. The difference was, unlike the previous statue, the fourth face wasn’t an ox. It looked more like a dragon or a crocodile.

  “What is this?” Lauren whispered, an equal measure of wonder and terror.

  “It’s an angel. A cherubim.”

  “Why would there be a statue of an angel? Here?”

  “I don’t know why. I’m just telling you what it is.”

  The cave was warm. Nash was starting to sweat. They pulled more branches away and stepped around the statue, deeper into the shadow. He lit a flare and held it over his head. The chamber around them glowed with the red light, and they could see markings on the wall. Inscriptions in a language he’d never seen before. Drawings, looking more detailed and advanced than typical cave paintings. One showed a large mountain with red fire blooming out of the top. The other showed what looked to be a plant, a circular red leaf. Farther in, they found the path angled upward. Someone had carved steps out of the rock, which led to a primitive altar four feet above the surface of the water. Here, the water was covered in the same red plant from the paintings, which floated like water lilies. The color was identical to the creeper they’d just hacked through, and Nash guessed they must be related, two different forms of the same species.

  “This is it,” Lauren said.

  She took Nash’s knife and nicked the back of her hand, a small red line at the base of her thumb. She got down on her knees and reached to dip her hand in the water. Nash wasn’t comfortable, and he’d learned over many years to listen to his instincts. There was something wrong here. In the heat. The quiet. The smell. That smell. Something lived in this cave.

  He heard a light ripple. Something large had moved beneath the surface, somewhere nearby. He grabbed Lauren by both shoulders and pulled her back, full force. They both crashed into the wall of the cave behind them as a large crocodile head rose up through the field of lilies, snapping at the space Lauren had vacated.

  * * *

  Chase and Hass pulled back the branches of the creeping bush. It had red leaves and small suction cups that stuck to the wall. They were hard to shift, but Chase’s newfound energy and strength helped. As they cleared away the growth, they found more than one structure. This was a tightly packed collection of small huts that appeared to be made out of adobe or something very much like it.

  “Who used to live here?” Hass said.

  They cleared the doorway of the first hut and stepped inside. The single room was empty. Damp moss covered the floor, and the moisture had climbed the walls, leaving a trail of green that corrupted the white of the adobe-like plaster. The ceiling was low. Chase could stand to her full height, but Hass needed to stoop.

  They stepped out and moved onto the second hut. There were markings on the wall. The damp had destroyed and distorted most of it. What remained appeared to be some kind of written language, but not one either of them recognized. In the far corner, covered in a smaller version of the red plant breaking in through a crack in the wall, Chase found a small metal box. It looked like an old military munitions case. The lid wouldn’t open at first. The hinge had seized, and a layer of muck had congealed over the crack. Hass used his large knife to slice away the growth and then worked the blade into the crack, levering it open.

  Inside was a small collection of trinkets. Some old military badges, a few bullet casings, a notebook, and a letter. The paper had survived remarkably well. It was stiff, hard to the touch, and showed signs of damp around the edges, but the writing was still clear and in English.

  IF YOU ARE READING THIS, YOU HAVE ALREADY FOUND YOUR WAY TO THIS STRANGE PLACE. I TRUST BY NOW YOU UNDERSTAND ITS SECRETS FOR YOURSELF, AND YOU DO NOT NEED ME TO EXPLAIN WHY IT IS THAT I CAN’T PUT AN ACCURATE DATE TO THIS LETTER AS I WRITE.

  I’M UNSURE OF THE YEAR. THIS HUT HAS BEEN MY HOME FOR HOW LONG? I CANNOT SAY. I’M SURE IT WAS ALREADY HERE WHEN WE ARRIVED. LIKE THE STATUES AND MARKINGS IN THE CAVE. I REMEMBER BEING TOLD STORIES ON OUR JOURNEY HERE, OF THE PEOPLE AND THE PEOPLE BEFORE. THAT’S HOW THE TRIBES KEPT REFERRING TO THEM. THE PEOPLE AND THE PEOPLE BEFORE.

  I THINK IT’S WINTER, AS I WRITE. I’M SURE OF IT. BUT I’M SURE OF SO LITTLE NOW. I THINK I WILL REMEMBER MY NAME BY THE TIME I FINISH. I THINK I WILL BE ABLE TO SIGN IT. BUT THAT IS NOT ALWAYS CERTAIN, SO PLEASE FORGIVE ME IF I SIGN MY NAME EARLY. THERE’S A NAME IN THIS NOTEBOOK THAT I THINK IS MINE. THE HANDWRITING IN THIS LETTER MATCHES THAT IN THE JOURNAL. BUT PERHAPS THIS MAN, THIS JAMES, IS SOMEONE ELSE? I CAME HERE WITH OTHERS, THAT MUCH I REMEMBER. I HAD DIRT ON MY HANDS, FROM BURYING THE LAST OF THEM. OUT BEYOND THE MARKER, WHERE THE EARTH DOESN’T PLAY TRICKS.

  FORGIVE MY RAMBLING. MY MIND IS COMING AND GOING. I HAVE IT RIGHT NOW. MY NAME IS JAMES GILMORE. I HAVE LIVED IN THIS PLACE I DO NOT KNOW HOW LONG. I HAVE NOT AGED, BUT I FEAR THAT’S TAKING A DIFFERENT TOLL. MY BODY STAYS YOUNG, BUT MY MIND GETS CLOUDED. WE HAD VISITORS. GERMANS. THEY TALKED OF WARS, TWO OF THEM. THEY SAID ENGLAND WAS ABOUT TO FALL, AND AMERICA REFUSES TO JOIN THE FIGHT. THEY TRIED TO TAKE THIS PLACE FROM US, BUT WE FOUGHT. AND NOW I AM ALL THAT’S LEFT, AND MY MIND CONTINUES TO DRIFT. I LEFT THEM FOR THE MNGWA. THAT HAS KEPT THE CREATURES CONTENT. IF YOU ARE READING THIS, YOU HAVE ALREADY SEEN THE MNGWA. THEY WATCH US WITH CLEVER EYES. FORGIVE ME, I’M TRYING TO WRITE EVERYTHING DOWN BEFORE I DRIFT AGAIN.

  I THINK I AM JAMES.

  YES. I AM.

  Beneath Gilmore’s signature was another small entry, written diagonally across the bottom corner, in a more precise and focused version of the same handwriting.

  AS YOU CAN SEE ABOVE, MY MIND HAS NOT BEEN HEALTHY. I REMAIN THAT WAY. BUT I HAVE, THROUGH SOME EFFORT, STARVED MYSELF OF FOOD AND WATER FOR TWO DAYS. I GROW WEAKER, BUT MY MIND IS CLEARER. IT’S THE WATER. THE FRUIT. THE RED LEAVES. AND IT’S MYSELF. I CAN HEAR MY OWN VOICE, TELLING ME TO STA
Y, TO EAT, TO DRINK. BUT I AM JAMES GILMORE, I AM A SOLDIER. WE WERE SENT HERE BY THE CROWN, TO LOCATE AND SECURE EDEN BEFORE THE GERMANS COULD CLAIM IT. AND NOW I FIND OUT THAT WAR, SOMEHOW, IS CONTINUING, AND IS WORSE THAN BEFORE. I MUST LEAVE. I MUST JOIN THE FIGHT. IF YOU ARE READING THIS, STAY AWAY FROM THE WATER. DO NOT EAT THE FRUIT. MAY GOD HELP YOU LEAVE THIS PLACE.

  “He wasn’t a deserter,” Hass said, after they’d both read the letter. “They were here on a mission. Kilimanjaro was claimed by Germany in the 1880s. I read in Stanley’s book that General Gordon was fixated on Eden. Maybe he sent them.”

  Chase nodded, but none of it mattered. Who cared why a British soldier had come here, over a century ago? The real question was how had he stayed here, and still been young fifty years later when the Nazis arrived? She flexed her hand, her healed wrist. Somewhere beneath her own emotions, her current state of relaxation and happiness, she knew Gilmore’s words made sense. What she was feeling wasn’t natural. She felt like she’d been drugged, and she was only noticing it now. Ever since they had entered the forest, she had been craving more and more of this bliss. And even in thinking that, she could feel the anger and defensiveness build. Resentment. First she’d been losing her temper with Hass, and now with a man she’d never met, who’d written a letter sometime in the 1940s. And then, finally, anger at herself.

  Let me have this.

  Let me be happy.

  Let me be perfect.

  “Those graves,” Hass whispered. “The way he writes about them. Burying them where the earth doesn’t play tricks.”

  Chase flexed her wrist again. She pulled back the sleeve of her T-shirt to expose her upper arm. She’d had a scar there ever since being grazed by a bullet in Syria a couple of years before. There was no trace of the mark.

  “You look younger, too,” Hass said, as if reading her thoughts. “Even since this morning. In the time we’ve been here, you look younger.”