Do the dead dream? Do they have thoughts and feel emotion? mused Ross, as he continued to chant and led the others down the dark passages to the antechamber.
They must, he concluded, as his mind drifted back to the Source, to when he had died and looked down upon his body . . .
He feels no pain or grief as, from above, he watches the nymphs strip off his clothes and lower his naked body into the small pool beneath the monolith and the hydra. He floats in the mineral-rich water, like a bather in the Dead Sea, as the bullet wound on his chest and the larger exit wound on his back bloom rose-red in the milky water.
The nymphs, at least twenty, form a semicircle round the monolith, as though in worship. Some of its facets remind Ross of the metallic, phosphorous-rich Schreibersite meteor-stone he gave Lauren after his last trip to Uzbekistan – but every other aspect of it is unique, unlike anything he has seen in all his years of geology.
The nymphs begin a new chant, high and pure, which makes the monolith vibrate. Then a small section of its crust cracks and shears off to reveal clear crystal, which quickly clouds, like metal oxidizing. As the segment falls into the pool and breaks into perfectly regular shapes the nymphs step back. The water fizzes and bubbles like a witch's potion and, as Ross's head sinks below the surface, his perspective changes. He is no longer in the chamber looking down on himself: he is staring out at an endless horizon, unlimited by space or time. He had read once that a dying man's life flashes before him in his last moments, but in this instance the curtain of time draws back and the history of all life flashes before him. He sees everything – from the birth of the planet 4.5 billion years ago to the present – with godlike intuition.
He can see hundreds and thousands of meteorites raining down from the heavens, scarring and deforming the Earth's barren crust. Until one seminal meteorite with exactly the right amalgam of amino acids hits a section of crust containing the perfect complementary mix of chemicals, heat and water. The massive energy generated by this unique marriage of amino-acid-rich meteorite and receptive Mother Earth fuses the donor amino acids into peptides – only a step away from lifegiving proteins – and creates a miraculous progeny: the monolith.
They say that water plus chemistry equals biology. In this instance, water catalyses the monolith's life-giving properties, seeding bacteria, germinating the hydra, and helping spread the spores of life across the globe. He sees the hydra begin as a single-cell bacterium then evolve to encompass all life forms – fauna, flora and mineral – in one organism, in one epic lifetime. He now understands why Father Orlando called it the Tree of Life and Death: it embodies every facet of existence.
He witnesses the moment, millions of years ago, when the Source and its garden are eventually cordoned off by lava and sealed in volcanic rock. By then, however, the genie has escaped from the bottle. The last outpost to benefit directly from – and need – the Source's miraculous power is the fountain in the doomed lost city. All other life on earth has long since learnt to adapt outside its orbit, upgrading its original genetic instructions to the more self-sufficient DNA. Only the garden and its inhabitants now depend on the Source's concentrated life force to survive.
Time rushes forward to Pizarro's conquest of Peru half a millennium ago. Ross sees the conquistadors and the Church lay claim and waste to the jungle and its inhabitants, exploiting what they can. Then he witnesses the loggers and the oil companies follow in their destructive footsteps. When Ross considers how he has served the oil companies, without thinking or caring about the consequences to the planet, overwhelming shame washes through him.
So this is what happens when you die, he thinks. There's no God or Devil, no Heaven or Hell, only a final reckoning with your conscience, when all lies are stripped away and you feel the collective pain of all those you've wronged and the collective joy of those you've helped.
Suddenly the nymph with red flowers in its hair appears before him, stroking its distended abdomen. It begins to speak in a disconcertingly familiar voice, listing Ross's actions, good and bad, as if it knows his innermost thoughts and motives. As it recounts his balance sheet of deeds, the nymph morphs into his wife. Lauren stands before him, naked, beautiful, stroking her pregnant belly.
'Are we dead?' he asks.
With a heartbreaking smile, she tells him that deeds are everything and that he can still make amends for any wrongdoing.
'How? What do you want me to do?'
'I love you, Ross, and I know you love me, but there's something you must promise me you'll do.'
When she tells him he begins to cry. 'But I can't do that.'
'You can, Ross, and you must. This is important. Promise me.'
He tries to argue with her but it makes no difference. Deep down, after self-interest and self-delusion have been stripped away, he knows he has no choice. 'I promise,' he says.
Suddenly he's choking. He can't breathe. A wave of panic rushes through him. He tries to open his eyes but they sting as though bathed in acid. A reflex makes him swallow. He retches and sits upright, gasping for air. He opens his eyes again and the stinging is gone. He is sitting in the pool in the middle of the chamber. And he is alone.
He looks up at the looming hydra and crystalline monolith, then down at the pool. There is a strong mineral taste in his mouth. The water is less cloudy than before, almost clear, and it is no longer bubbling. He has no idea how long he has been lying there but as he looks down at his chest he knows one thing with cold certainty: he is no longer dead. Or dying.
He feels his chest, unable to find any trace of where the bullet entered his body, pierced his heart and exited his back. Sister Chantal claims to have subsisted for centuries by visiting the garden's lake, and taking away crystals from the tunnel. These by-products of the Source have limits, though: Weber died, even though he was immersed in the lake. Ross, though, has supped directly from the source of life. It has brought him back from death. He is sure of it.
He stands up, as naked as the day he was born, and climbs out of the pool. Studying where the water flows into the chamber, his caving experience tells him it will lead eventually to the surface. His clothes lie beside the pool and he can see samples of healing crystals everywhere. Though inferior to the Source, they appear brighter than those in the tunnel, which Sister Chantal is confident can cure Lauren. He can easily take one, climb out and escape. Within weeks he will be at Lauren's side with the means to save her and their child. He can have everything he wants, everything he dreamed of when he embarked on this insane quest . . .
Nevertheless, as Ross emerged with the others from the dark passageway into the relative light of the caves behind the ante- chamber, he knew he had received the gift of life so that he could fulfil the vow he had made to Lauren when he had died – if that was what had happened to him. Even if it had been only his conscience speaking, he knew that his vow reflected Lauren's thoughts and desires. He stopped chanting and Zeb touched him as if to check he was real. 'What happened to you?' she whispered. He heard the awe in her voice. 'The Superior General told us Marco shot you through the heart.'
'He did.'
'He said you were dead,' she said.
'I was.'
'I don't understand,' said Hackett. 'They said the nymphs fed you to the worms.'
Ross pointed to the white shapes flitting in the shadows. 'They took me to the Source.'
Sister Chantal smiled. 'It brought you back.'
'Yes.' As Ross led them to the antechamber he explained all that had happened to him. 'When Torino entered the chamber I slipped out of the back exit into the dark passageways, which eventually led to you.'
There was a pause, then Hackett said, 'You could have escaped. You could have got out and saved your wife. Why didn't you?'
'Too much unfinished business here.'
'But you could have cured Lauren,' said Sister Chantal. She sounded angry. 'That was why I brought you here. So she could be the new Keeper.'
'The Keeper of what?' said Ross. '
By the time I got to Lauren's bedside, the Superior General would have killed all of you and gained control of the Source.' He turned in the gloom and put his face near the nun's. 'And he'd have destroyed the garden. Wiped it off the face of the Earth.'
'What?' said Sister Chantal, horrified. 'He wouldn't do that.'
'Why not? You yourself said it embarrassed the Church, raised too many questions. The point is, Lauren would never forgive me for letting that happen. I led Torino here. I'm responsible. I must stop him.'
'You sure he's going to destroy the garden?' said Zeb.
'Not just the garden. Every living thing, except the Source. Those yellow parcels the soldiers brought are incendiary devices – firebombs. I've seen stuff like that used to clear ground for oil exploration.'
Hackett frowned as they passed the ledge by the magma pool and the broken bridge. 'I can see how he might napalm the garden and kill everything in it. But how's he going to kill the nymphs and rock worms – and those?' He pointed at the tubular tentacles running along the walls.
'His soldiers just need to place a few incendiary devices throughout the tunnels. Thermite generates huge temperatures – over a thousand degrees – and in these confined spaces a fireball would destroy everything. Now they've thinned out the worms they could conceivably get close enough to do the same thing with them. The Source would be untouched but everything else would be purged.'
Sister Chantal shuddered. 'So what do we do?' she said.
He smiled at her. 'It's time to stop being the passive Keeper of the Garden and waiting for the cavalry to come. We are the cavalry. It's up to us to stop Torino abusing this place – particularly the Source.' He turned to Hackett and Zeb. 'What about you guys? I know it's not really your fight—'
'Bollocks,' said Hackett. 'Of course it's my bloody fight. I'm not letting some arrogant priest control what I saw up there. Count me in.'
'Me too,' said Zeb. 'You're not having all the fun, Ross, just because you finally jumped on the conservation bandwagon. I've always been on it.'
73
As they headed for the glow of the antechamber, a throng of nymphs appeared, silhouetted against the light. Ross heard an electronic crackle and a man's voice. He gestured for the others to be quiet and pushed them into a recess. Although they were together again, united behind a single purpose, he still wasn't sure how they could stop four trained, armed killers and a fanatical priest convinced he was on a mission from God. Peering out, past the nymphs, he saw a soldier talking into his short-wave radio. He was alone, laden with a flame-thrower and a bulging backpack. 'There are about ten of them,' the soldier was saying. 'Probably more in the tunnels behind them. Over.'
'Disperse them with the flame-thrower, Gerber, then place the charges,' said a crackly voice. 'Don't worry. So long as you have the flame-thrower, you're safe.'
'I can handle them,' said the soldier, curtly. 'Over.'
'Then handle it. Out.'
There was a click, then a roar of flame. The man laughed as the nymphs turned and ran. The one with the red flowers tore past Ross in a blind panic, heading for the dark tunnels. The soldier followed, throwing out bursts of flame. 'Run, you fuckers,' he shouted. 'Pest Control's here. You can run but you can't hide.'
Ross and the others pressed themselves deeper into the recess. As the soldier passed, Ross held his breath. He didn't allow himself to think about what he was going to do next. He just acted. He leapt on the soldier's backpack and pulled back with all his weight and strength. The other man was strong and for a few seconds he supported Ross's weight as well as the cumbersome backpack and the flame-thrower fuel canisters.
Then he grunted and fell on to his back.
Hackett leapt on him and wrestled the flame-thrower nozzle from his hands. Zeb grabbed for his radio and pulled it from his fingers. Even Sister Chantal held down one of his legs. Between them they peeled off the backpack and flame-thrower. The soldier struggled and cried out but when he saw Ross take his gun he froze. 'You're dead.'
Ross levelled the pistol at the man's head. 'Apparently not.'
'But the Superior General saw you die. He said the nymphs took you to the worms.'
'You can't trust everything he says. By the way, where is the Superior General, Gerber? And where's Marco Bazin and the other soldiers?'
Gerber spat at him. 'You're all going to die.'
Zeb kicked him hard in the genitals. He doubled up and she cocked her leg ready to kick him again. He pointed to the tunnel.
'They're up there?'
A nod.
'All of them?'
Another nod.
Ross saw the nymphs closing in. There were more than before. Many more. His friend with the red flowers was in the vanguard. 'Can you defuse the incendiaries in the garden, Nigel?'
'If you tell me how.'
Ross took a yellow parcel from Gerber's backpack and pointed at two pegs sticking out of it. 'Just remove these detonators. It takes an incredibly high temperature to activate this mixture and without the detonators the stuff 's pretty inert. But you'll need to remove them from every parcel in each stack. Only one needs to go off to generate the necessary heat to ignite the others.'
'I'll come with you,' said Zeb.
The nymphs were pressing closer and Ross felt something touch his arm. The nymph with the red flowers pulled at him and pointed away. Nymphs were shepherding the others away too. When he and Hackett grabbed Gerber the nymphs reacted angrily, exposing their razor-sharp teeth – the same powerful teeth Ross had seen chewing through crystal rock.
'I think they want us to leave him to their tender mercies,' said Zeb, as two nymphs pushed her and Sister Chantal away.
'We can't do that,' said Ross.
'I don't think we've got much choice, unless you want to start firing at them,' said Hackett. 'And considering they saved your life I wouldn't recommend it.' The nymphs reached for the terrified soldier and began to drag him away.
'Help me!' Gerber begged. 'I was only doing what the Superior General told me to.'
'Just obeying orders, eh?' said Hackett, gathering up Gerber's backpack and the flame-thrower. 'Where have I heard that before?'
Ross held on for a moment longer but the red-flower nymph and others kept pushing him until he had to release his grip. He weighed the pistol in his hand but knew he wouldn't use it against them. For a long while, he stared into the dark, listening to Gerber's screams echoing in the tunnels.
Hackett was the first to speak. His face was pale. 'Ross, what are you going to do while Zeb and I defuse the incendiaries?'
Ross pointed back to where they had come from. 'I'm going to stop the Superior General carving up the Source.'
'I'll come with you,' said Sister Chantal.
Ross was about to protest until he saw the look in her eyes. She had as great a stake in this as he did – if not greater. 'You sure?'
'I'm sure.'
As they wished each other good luck and prepared to go their separate ways, Zeb gripped Ross's hand and kissed his cheek. 'Lauren would be proud of you,' she said.
'I hope so,' he said.
As Hackett and Zeb set off for the garden, Ross and Sister Chantal retraced their steps into the dark recesses of the antechamber, grateful that Gerber's screams had finally stopped.
74
Torino was convinced he was about to touch the face of God. As he stood in the crystal chamber and reached for the Source his hands trembled. The fizzing static round the monolith was so strong that the air had acquired a palpable texture. He pushed harder and encountered more resistance until, six inches from its surface, his fingers seemed to meet an invisible barrier. The harder he pushed, the stronger the resistance. When he pulled his hand back and thrust it at the rock, it was deflected with such force that the air seemed to ripple outwards. The hydra shook and the ground trembled.
The Source Page 31