But Mark was immediately struck, not by the wealth of caving equipment or the earthy smell that seemed to spring from the interior—rental equipment, he supposed—but by the raised voices. A heated argument was taking place between the neatly groomed shopkeeper and the rather ragged man who stood in front of the counter, fingering a package of batteries.
The shopkeeper waved his hand and ended the conversation as Mark advanced toward the counter. The other man whirled and regarded him with deep, glittering mocha eyes.
Mark was taken aback by the thoroughness of the other man’s appraisal. He studied the man with equal intensity. He had rich dark hair, a pear-shaped nose—thick and hawkish at the same time—and a café-au-lait complexion. A mud-streaked sky-blue cotton shirt clung to his body, limp with perspiration, and he sported a pair of ripped blue jeans.
“Señor?” said the shopkeeper, capturing Mark’s attention. He opened his arms, his pristine white shirt and deep blue off-the-rack jeans contrasting sharply with the other man’s attire. “What can I do for you? Do you wish to visit Villa Luz?”
Mark held up his hands. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“Please, come in. Nothing to worry about. How can I help you?”
“Well,” said Mark. “What I really need is a guide.” He pulled out his map and explained about the cave in Chiapas and Kat’s predicament. As he spoke, the other man poked around the shop, but kept glancing over, even studying the map. When Mark looked at him, however, he shied away. What disturbed Mark even more, though, was the deepening frown on the shopkeeper’s face. When he’d finished his account, the man shook his head.
“I cannot help you, Señor. I have no guide to lead you there. It is across the border, in Chiapas. We have many who conduct tours at the Villa Luz cave, but none will go—” He hesitated. “—this far.”
“But it doesn’t look like it’s more than a couple of hours from here. On the map, anyway,” said Mark.
“Two, maybe three,” said the Mexican. “But it’s the location, Señor. Very treacherous.” He looked away as he spoke, as if it was more than the terrain that worried him.
Mark sighed. “Well, I’ll keep looking then. In the meantime, I’ll probably need some equipment. I’ve been told this cave is quite deep. I suppose I’ll need ropes and carabiners, helmets, flashlights, food, water bottles.” He pointed to the various articles and, despite his warning, the shopkeeper eagerly plucked them from their shelves and piled them on the counter. Obviously the caving business was slow.
“You will need these, Señor,” said a quiet voice near the opposite wall.
Mark turned and found the other man—the confrontational one—pointing to the rebreathers.
“Why would I need those?”
“For that cave, Señor, you will need much more.”
“You know the cave?” asked Mark, hope suddenly swelling his heart. “Do you know someone who could take me there?”
The man swiveled his eyes toward the shopkeeper, and dark menace seemed to sweep toward him from that direction. He shook his head and started for the door.
“I would take as many ropes as you can fit in the packs,” he added. “It’s a very long way down.” He opened the door, threw one more angry look over his shoulder at the shopkeeper, and banged out.
“Wait,” said Mark. He felt compelled to chase after the man, but the shopkeeper held him back with his words.
“I would not bother with him, Señor. He won’t help you. He is no help to anyone, anymore.”
Mark looked back, confused, but the man didn’t elaborate. He kept ringing up Mark’s purchases, his eyes downcast. Yet something told Mark that the fellow who’d just left knew far more about this cave than he’d mentioned. Mark indicated the rebreathers.
“I’ll take those too. And more rope.”
The shopkeeper certainly didn’t argue, but he raised one eyebrow as if Mark was being entirely too gullible. Of course, a problem remained. Once he’d purchased all these supplies, how could he transport them to the cave, and how could he possibly mount a rescue operation on his own? He’d leave the supplies in the shop for now, while he scouted the rest of the town.
Mark walked out onto the cobbled streets and climbed the hill toward the cathedral, querying people strolling by and others in the tiny shops along the way, about guides and transportation. Most couldn’t speak English, but those who did just laughed at him. After an hour of this fruitless search, he purchased a bottle of water and sank onto a bench at the side of the road. He hung his head and sipped at the bottle, feeling the enormous urge to pound his fists on the warped wood.
“Señor?” Someone tapped him on the shoulder.
Mark whirled around and was surprised to once again see the intense man from the shop.
“You are determined to go to this cave?”
Mark nodded. “I have no choice.”
“Perhaps . . .” He seemed to be struggling to come to a decision.
“I’ll pay you well,” said Mark. “I need a guide, and you must know it or you wouldn’t have suggested those supplies.”
“I know it,” he said. Shadows seemed to dance behind his eyes as he spoke, and the tone of his voice was hollow.
“Look,” said Mark. “I need to find this cave and rescue my wife. You could obviously use the cash and you know where it is. I don’t understand why everyone is so reluctant—”
“Sí, Señor. I will accompany you. And perhaps some of my compadres.” He held out his hand. “I am Jorge.”
“Doctor Delaney,” said Mark. “But I’d rather you call me Mark.”
“Doctor,” he said, rolling Mark’s title around on his tongue. “Mark,” he finally added. “I have a truck parked down the street. We will travel to my village to pick up my men, then go immediately to the cave.” He turned and strode over the uneven cobblestones as surefooted as a cat. Mark leaped up and followed, hope bubbling within him. He felt almost lightheaded at this tremendous reversal in his luck. Before he realized it, they were across from L’Explorador again.
“If you bring out the supplies,” said Jorge, “I will fetch my truck.” Obviously Jorge had no intention of entering the shop again, which suited Mark just fine. He didn’t want the owner to expound on why he shouldn’t hire Jorge. Jorge was all Mark had.
Mark collected the equipment from the shopkeeper. He purchased a couple of extra rebreathers too, now that he might have a “team” to rescue Kat. Since the street seemed fairly quiet, Mark didn’t wait for Jorge’s arrival and immediately began to cart the supplies outside. After several trips in and out of the shop, a mound of gear was assembled on the side of the street. As Mark was leaning against the stack, catching his breath, a rusted old pickup backfired its way up the gradient and pulled over in front of the store. Jorge leaped out of the cab.
“We’re going in that?” Mark asked, although he instantly regretted it.
“Sí. In that,” said Jorge. “Is there something wrong with that? Were you expecting, perhaps, a limousine?”
“I’m sorry,” said Mark quietly.
“Sorry,” Jorge grunted. “Throw the supplies in the back.” He jerked his head to the flatbed of the truck—which was merely a few planks nailed together—where a scabby black dog of indeterminate breed lay curled up, asleep. “Sorry,” the man muttered again, heaving in one of the rebreathers. Mark gently laid his backpack on the rotted wooden boards, hoping they would hold, and also hoping he wouldn’t awaken the cur, in case it had a taste for backpacks or human flesh. “Won’t know what sorry means until he’s down in la cueva.”
Mark released the pack and looked up. What did the man mean by that?
Jorge didn’t meet his eyes. He continued to chuck rope and batteries and a waterproof backpack onto the flatbed. Mark added the last of his very expensive gear to the load as Jorge swung around to the driver’s side again.
Mark walked to the other side of the truck and tugged on the handle. The door wouldn’t budge.
“You have to pull,” said Jorge.
“I did,” muttered Mark.
A self-satisfied chuckle drifted from the truck’s interior as Jorge got behind the wheel.
Mark clenched his jaw, depressed the handle, and yanked as hard as he could. The door suddenly sprang loose and Mark fell backward, right into a thick wash of mud at the side of the street. At first he just sat there, too stunned to move.
“Do you want to help your wife,” asked Jorge, “or do you want to wallow in the mud like a puerco?” His laughter rippled through the air.
Mark scowled and scrambled to his feet, as the mud sloughed from him. Perhaps he was wrong about his good fortune. With Jorge’s insinuations about the cave and his obvious delight in Mark’s discomfort, he hardly seemed like a trustworthy guide. But what choice did Mark have? He wiped his face with mud-streaked hands, leaving behind more grunge than he managed to remove. “Do you have anything I can clean this off with?” he asked.
Jorge produced a ratty old cotton cloth that looked like it had been used to wipe up grease and oil. It would have to do. Mark grabbed the cloth and mopped himself off as best he could. But when he climbed up into the cab of the truck, he wondered why he’d bothered, since the seat appeared to be caked with old mud too.
“Shit,” he said, still wiping and still feeling dirty. “This sucks.”
“Welcome to Méjico,” said Jorge. He spun onto the street, sending Mark’s head slamming into the back of the cab, and headed up the steep incline toward the edge of town and the jagged peaks beyond.
Chapter Six
“It’s just amazing,” said Megan, hastening toward Kat and Ray. “You have to see this chamber.”
Pete Fleming strode in from the narrow aperture in the rock, closely trailing Megan, his eyes gleaming, a wide smile on his face. A red imprint marred his cheek, as if he’d just been slapped. Had Megan done what they’d all wanted to do for the past five days? If so, it didn’t appear to have had the desired effect. The man still looked unruffled. “There’s a lake just beyond the next tunnel and loads of slimy stuff. We might have hit the jackpot.”
“And an exit?” asked Kat, scrambling to her feet. She walked drunkenly toward Megan and Pete.
“Um,” said Megan. “Not really. There might be one, but we didn’t want to go . . . too far.” She bit her lip and lowered her eyes.
Kat frowned. “How big did you say this chamber was?”
“We didn’t,” said Pete smugly. “Come on. You have to see it for yourself. That is, if you’re all right,” he added as an afterthought.
“I’m fine,” said Kat, thrusting out her chin. She’d damn well better be if she was going to get them out of here alive. “Show me this incredible chamber.”
Megan nodded and beckoned her forward with the flashlight. Kat stumbled toward the opening, eyeing the slick walls and the slanted peak of the tunnel. “This is the only way out?” she asked, gazing behind at the solid rock and the fast-flowing stream.
“All that we saw,” said Megan. “But there should be something . . . ” She let the rest of the thought hover in the air. “Just follow me.” Megan thrust through the fracture and dashed quickly forward, hunched over, with her caving helmet grazing the rock.
“I’ll be right with you,” said Kat, wriggling out of her drysuit. If it was a tight crawl, she’d probably tear the neoprene. She looked back and considered slipping her coveralls over the tight cotton T-shirt and underwear she’d been wearing under her suit, but Megan’s light was already dimming. Ray grabbed her pack and gave her a wink. He would bring their gear.
She ducked into the passage and picked up her pace in order to catch Megan. Soon the crack narrowed and the ceiling angled downward. Megan had dropped to her hands and knees, scuffling forward over the pebbly surface. Kat had no choice but to follow this increasingly cramped method of locomotion. Eventually she was crawling on her belly, grazing her knees on the rough stone and grit, but not enough to cause much discomfort. She’d adapted long ago to the rigors of caving and had developed calluses in the strangest places. It was astonishing, though, that her companions had acclimatized so well. Something Mark had never done. She could still see the pained expression on his face the only time she’d guided him underground. It was a small cave. Not the Kentucky Mammoth, but one closer to home, something she could traverse in an hour. Yet he was eggshell pale and as nervous as a first-year intern.
“How far are we going in?” he kept asking, and, “Are you sure we can get out?”
Why couldn’t he simply have trusted her?
Megan stopped squirming up ahead. As she rose to her feet, the tiny light that had been swallowed by the tunnel now fanned out, dispersing into a vast hollow space. Kat stood up. Her mouth fell open. They hadn’t been kidding: there was a lake. Its breadth eluded the reach of the flashlight. Above her, chandeliers of stalactites dangled from a huge domed ceiling; at her feet, rippled deposits of limestone formed a unique stairway down to the water. The water drew her gaze and held it. A pool had formed at the edge of the lake, something like a tide pool. Pancakes of calcite hung suspended in the milky liquid—floating cave rafts—and on the rafts were beads of growth.
“Incroyable,” said Ray, his English evidently eluding him as he wriggled from the wormhole and stood beside her. Kat tore her gaze from the rafts and turned toward him, but he wasn’t looking at the water. Ray was rarely dumbstruck by biological deposits. He was looking off into the distance where the light barely tapped. Columns extended as far as the eye could see, three meters thick and bedecked with dripstone, pleated limestone that shimmered blue-white in the narrow beam like a glacier. And across the cavern, the light disappeared in a spooky overlap of shadows. It was as if they were in an Egyptian temple, with massive columns and corroded statues, large enough to entertain a god.
“Like a forest of the damned,” said Megan, stepping toward the columns.
“Excuse me?” said Kat. “That’s a strange analogy. It’s beautiful.”
“No, it’s not. Five thousand feet up in the Crystal Cavern, that was beautiful. This is eerie.”
“Why?” asked Kat. “This is a cave. The only life this deep in the earth is microbial. If we expend our batteries or air, we’ll be in trouble. But the only thing down here is limestone and water, exactly what creates a cave. Your fear is irrational.”
Megan flushed. She edged farther from the group, reaching out and stroking a damp stalagmite. “I’m not irrational,” she muttered.
Kat could hear Pete chuckling under his breath. “You could have fooled me,” he whispered.
“I didn’t mean that you were,” Kat said, casting a brief scowl at Pete. Was it rational to provoke your fellow cavers in a serious situation? “Just don’t get unnerved by this place. It’s amazing.” Her eyes were drawn back to the lake.
Lovely little dollops of— jittery ectoplasm?
Suddenly, the light was quivering. Then Megan screamed. Pete turned sharply to look, digging an elbow into Kat’s side and sending her stumbling backward.
“Hey!” she yelled, splashing down into the lakeside pool. The cool water slapped against her bare skin and something soft caressed her, possibly mud. She shivered and quickly scrambled to the edge, drenched, dripping silken streamers from her body. Ray offered her a hand and pulled her the rest of the way out of the soup of floating cave rafts. But as she steadied herself, she felt a strange sensation. A viscid substance was clinging to her. It needled into her skin like ice.
She shook herself, spraying clots of the jelly-like aggregates onto the limestone floor. “What was all the screaming about?”
“It was j-just me,” said Megan.
Kat looked toward the nearest pillar where Megan stood trembling and biting her lip. Pete was standing beside her now, looking behind the pillar with a furrowed brow and a curious twist to his grim mouth.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Come have a look,” said Megan.
Kat shook more of the slimy
substance from her body, which continued to sting with annoying prickles. She met Ray’s eyes, but he merely tossed her a shrug and strode toward the limestone column. Kat followed, more intrigued now than wary. Although there was a shivery quality to Megan’s voice, she wasn’t running. There could be no immediate danger.
Ray reached the column first. As he peered around it, he gasped. “Merde. This blows our claim right out of the water.”
“What?” said Kat, crowding closer. When her eyes lit upon the “thing” on the ground, she gasped and recoiled. “No. It couldn’t be. Not this far down.”
Propped against the other side of the limestone formation were the crumbling remains of a skeleton. The creamy colored skull had a sloped forehead and an unearthly grin on its skinless face.
The implications were staggering. They weren’t the first to reach two thousand meters. Someone had beaten them to it, but hadn’t lived to tell the tale. She shuddered and sank to the ground, reaching out to touch the thin bone of the forearm, the ulna. It was so fragile it powdered beneath her fingers.
“This doesn’t make sense. The locals told Harding that no one had been to the site in centuries, let alone penetrated this deep.”
Megan sighed, no doubt trying to compose herself. She should be accustomed to dealing with mummies and skeletal remains. That was the work of an archaeologist, after all. Yet this misplaced skeleton seemed to have spooked her. “I just scanned the pillars and it seemed to leap out of the shadows. I know it wasn’t moving, but I wasn’t expecting one down here, and the light only picks up certain details. And this whole cavern is creepy, no matter what you say, Kat.”
Pete rolled his eyes. “Women,” he muttered. “Scared of their own shadows.”
“Well, Pete,” said Ray. “I don’t see you getting cozy with the skeleton. You’re no different from the rest of us. When the shit hits the fan, you’ll be diving for cover.”
Pete glared at Ray and snarled, “The only shit down here, Monsieur Cascades, is bat shit. And bats don’t even come this far down. What should worry me about a skeleton?”
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