CHAPTER 5

 

Jill gasped. Don let loose an expletive. Colin remained impassive, but Stella thought she caught a tremor in his hand.

The enormity of the chamber stole her breath. Stella felt like a tiny spec in a grand theatre. Torches and lanterns dotted the walls, some so distant they seemed like a chain of fluttering fireflies. Even the fireflies could not reach the great heights of the vaulted ceiling. The natural dome crested over multiple pinnacles. It was the closest peak of bedrock that arrested her attention–or rather, what lay at the foot of it.

Buildings. Crudely formed from wreckage. Some dwellings were crafted from wooden ship carcasses, while others were more abstract configurations. The door from a yacht nestled into the fuselage of a war plane. A cargo container was capped with the skeletal remains of a ship’s bridge, forming a multi-story edifice.

These diverse habitats wrapped around the base of the lofty rock pinnacle and continued down a man-made avenue carved through the gritty cave floor. Aluminum railings scaled the rock peaks leading to even more dwellings. Stella noticed a wooden crow’s nest jutting out of the crag, a vantage point to survey this freakish city.

Dizzy, she grabbed onto the hemp rope railing that flanked the path, and then yanked her hand away, finding the accent just another bizarre touch to this subterranean realm.

“We call it the Underworld,” Etienne murmured with reverence. “I’m a bit of a Greek mythology buff. In fact, the stream you see over there, we’ve named it the Styx.”

Don stepped forward. A crease scored a forehead that was normally concealed beneath a baseball cap. For the first time Stella noticed how much gray had overtaken his dark hair.

“How quaint,” he spat. “Now let me see my wife. Then–” he hesitated, “–then maybe I can start to absorb all of this.”

Sarah turned around. In this enhanced lighting Stella could finally see her face. It was thin, triangular, with the wide-eyed appearance of someone with a thyroid problem.

“I’ll show you to the infirmary,” she spoke softly, her head bowing under the heightened agitation.

“The infirmary,” he jibed. “Of course.”

Stella couldn’t blame his sarcasm. What was next, a movie theater? She stared around the ramshackle maritime village and wondered who the makeshift houses were for. She didn’t see anybody, but something Etienne had said made it sound as if there were others.

Recalling one of the Greek mythology books she had read, she tried to remember what it said about the Underworld. Wasn’t it the kingdom of the dead?

“This way,” Sarah beckoned with a thin finger.

She led them to an airplane torso. The wings were sheared from the aluminum body and wood paneling closed off both open ends. A tarnished red cross plaque hung inside one of the square windows. Etienne tugged on the handle of a doorway marked Emergency Exit in red letters. The hatch swung open and he managed a brisk step up into the fuselage, beckoning them to follow.

Sarah stood below the hatch like some ghoulish stewardess in her soiled uniform, smiling and offering Don a hand. He looked at it and then up into her eyes and shook his head.

“Thanks, I’m good,” Stella heard him say.

Stella felt someone watching her. She turned to see Jill hesitating on her approach to the gutted plane. For the first time down here she witnessed a flash of clarity in her best friend’s gaze. Golden eyebrows lifted in silent inquiry. Is this really happening?

Shrugging, Stella reached for her friend’s arm.

“Let’s go in together,” she offered.

Jill’s lips curled up gratefully. Using Stella’s shoulder for support, she climbed the steep step as Stella quickly followed. The whole chassis shifted slightly when Colin climbed up behind her. Once he was inside, the floor stabilized. A quick survey of the surprisingly wide belly of the old aircraft determined that the ceiling was high enough for Colin to stand upright, and wide enough to house side by side cots. Two sets of them. One of these cots held a figure wrapped in a blanket. Stella noticed blonde hair spilling off the back end of the short cot.

“Mom!” Jill bolted and dropped to her knees before the inert woman on the gurney.

Don crouched down beside her, his palm cupping Anne Wexler’s forehead. “Annie, can you hear me?”

There was no response. Stella peeked over Jill’s shoulder to check the rise and fall of the blanket. Anne was still alive.

Desolation dimmed Don Wexler’s hazel eyes.

Sarah, the nurse, spared his unvoiced question.

“Only time will tell,” she offered gently.

Don’s glance flicked around the gutted plane in disgust.

“This isn’t an infirmary,” he fumed. “This is a rusted plane carcass with–with–” he searched the contents of a three-legged metal table supported by a wooden wheelchair, “–with a few glass bottles of God knows what and a bunch of other rubbish.”

His eyes volleyed frenetically between Etienne and Sarah. “You can’t take care of my wife. Are you playing some sort of game down here? Have you all lost your minds? This is some sort of mass hallucination.”

Sarah cringed and rushed over to the metal table, snatching up one of the tarnished bottles.

“These are antiseptics. They are unopened and one even has an expiration date of 1996.”

Stella flinched. She sensed the roar of the lion before it even sounded.

“Well, isn’t that just swell!” Don barked. “Maybe you have some Frankincense and Myrrh down here too.”

“Dad.” Colin placed a hand on his father’s shoulder. “We should all be dead already. There’s no sense in getting angry.”

Don shot him a contemptuous look. “Aren’t you just the festive one.”

His profile bore similarities to Colin’s. Both possessed dark features, but Colin’s eyes were a deep evergreen, like the depths of a forest, unlike his father’s more tepid shade.

Stella sensed an animosity between the two men that must have been established long before they went out to sea. Their silent face-off made for an awkward stillness. It was disturbed by a faint rattle from Anne’s chest. Don quickly stooped over her.

“Is there anything in this infirmary that can help her?”

Sarah looked sympathetic, but with that gaunt visage, she seemed like she belonged on the gurney as well.

“We’ve got her breathing and her blood pressure has stabilized. Her body temperature is too low at the moment. It’s warm in here and I have her wrapped in several blankets, but if you really want to help her,” she paused, “I suggest you hold your wife.”

The brevity left Don’s face. He slipped his arm beneath Anne’s shoulders and dipped his forehead against her throat as her head lolled to the side.

“Momma,” Jill whimpered.

Colin clutched his sister’s shoulder. “Stay with her,” he whispered. “Let me see if I can find out anything more.”

Jill met his eyes. “Okay. But, don’t go far.”

Her warning was sobering. Colin’s jaw muscle clenched as he nodded and squeezed her shoulder. He looked down at his mother and Stella could see the pain on his face. He cast a quick glimpse at his father, but the man was oblivious.

Colin turned to confront Etienne.

“Can we talk?” he demanded in a husky voice.

Etienne dipped his head in assent and pivoted to step down through the hatch. Colin started to follow and then paused to glance at Stella. She held her breath.

“Do you want to stay here?”

“No,” she muttered.

If Colin was going to grill this disheveled mariner, she wanted to be there.

He climbed down out of the plane–oh, excuse me, infirmary–and turned to offer her a hand. She took it, grounded by the strength in that grip.

Casting a quick glimpse back, she saw that Sarah remained behind with the patient. It was minimal comfort, yet consolation nonetheless.

Outside, the view still stunned her. Torches handcrafted with cloth tips lined a crudely carved path in the cave floor. The path was flanked with jagged bedrock, and on these pitted slopes more heaps of wreckage were fashioned into small houses and lean-tos. Stella saw a pair of deck chairs seated before a cabin door latched onto an inverted hull, its white façade stripped down to raw wood.

“This cabin is free,” Etienne remarked as they passed the upside-down boat. “As is the one next-door. They’re yours now.”

Stella glanced at the cabin next-door. It looked like an orange cargo container had been sliced in half, and the circular turret of a fishing vessel attached to the open gap. Ragged shards of tarp represented crude curtains hanging from glassless window frames.

“Oh, I’ll take the one with the sunroom,” she muttered.

Colin heard her, but did not react.

“You, Jill–” he hesitated, “–and mom can have that one. Dad and I will take this one. We’ll need some rest.”

Stella studied his face and saw that he too found this all absurd. That gave her some comfort. But their host seemed keen on their approval so they offered him weary smiles.

“Good,” Etienne beamed.

“Thank you for your hospitality,” Colin offered cautiously. “But you can understand that we’re eager to learn more about this place. It’s pretty unbelievable that you’ve been able to survive down here–that we’ve survived.”

Good ole’ Col. So level-headed, when all she wanted to do was grab this eccentric man by the collar and rattle him until answers tumbled out of his yellowed teeth.

What’s the matter, no dentists down here?

Even as she thought it, she took a quick glimpse, half expecting to see a DENTIST sign on an upturned airplane wing.

“Of course.” Etienne’s good spirits dimmed slightly. “We’re going up there.”

He pointed up a hill of packed rock that formed a plateau, the spot she had seen the crow’s nest.

Following him, they passed by a basketball pole and backboard, the ring void of any net. It stood askew, another tarnished slant on reality. Stella jolted when she saw a figure huddled in the deep shadows beneath it. She barely distinguished the form, but the dark eyes tracked her, shifting with her motion. Pinpricks of panic erupted on her arms.

“Col,” she whispered.

“I see,” he replied softly.

“You offered us this–” Colin searched for a word, “–lodging. How many others are here?”

As they climbed up the slope, Stella held the rope fence for support when the granular surface became slippery.

“A few,” Etienne hedged.

“Where are they?”

“Please,” Etienne held his hand out. “You will meet them in due time, but right now there is someone I’d like to introduce you to. Together we’ll be able to answer most of your questions.”

Finally. Stella’s steps accelerated.

At the top of the plateau the wooden crow’s nest perched above the ghostly village, its decaying pole penetrating deep into the red granular surface. Drawn towards it, Stella cautiously touched the wooden basket afraid of coming away with a splinter. From here she could see the top of the old airplane that now held most of the Wexler family. A light glowed from within, but there was no motion.

Who had been lurking in the shadows?

“Stel,” Colin called. “This way.”

Pivoting to follow, she noticed a slight waterfall trickling through the ceiling of the cave. It spilled into a black stream that fissured through to another chamber. The site of water leaking from above didn’t inspire confidence.

She was going to point it out to Colin, but she caught him eyeing the cascade. The telltale nudge of his chin upwards meant he harbored the same fears. There was an entire ocean above them. How long until this narrow torrent exploded and consumed them?

“Here we are,” Etienne interrupted their thoughts.

At first Stella couldn’t even recognize what was in front of her. A barnacle-encrusted wall nearly blended with the copper bedrock behind it. A window poked out of the barrier of shellfish, and it was the faint glow from inside that drew her attention. The light flickered as a shadow passed before it.

Etienne disappeared behind the wall and then poked his head out to summon them.

It was hard to read Colin’s eyes in the limited glow, but she could tell by his stiff stance that he was on high alert.

Around the corner of the barnacled wall was an open doorway, or the facsimile of one. A rotted wooden panel rested against the corroded metal. Etienne pushed it aside and light spilled onto the granular floor. Stella looked up, but Etienne’s silhouette now filled the gap as he dipped his head and stepped inside. She followed, able to stand upright inside the improvised hut. It looked like a section from a cabin. Not a cruise ship cabin, but something more utilitarian, like a naval vessel. It was as if the berth had been severed, losing one wall to some unknown fate. The remainder was lodged tight against the rock face of the peak, and along that earthen wall a desk sat with an oil lamp that warmly lit the quarters. A metal bunk jutted from the façade.

On the inside, all barnacles had been shaved off meticulously by hand. A burlap bag rested atop the metal bunk, serving as either a mattress or blanket. A few crates were stacked in the corners and atop these were some maritime gadgets that she couldn’t identify.

A warped painting of an old clipper ship hung from a spike hammered into the bedrock wall. As bizarre as that touch was, everything paled compared to the daunting figure now rising from the desk.

“Welcome,” the man extended his hand.

He was tall–not as tall as Colin, but he towered over Etienne. Thinning pale blond hair mixed with silvery strands ran slightly long. It flared around the collar of his tattered jacket. He wore a uniform of sorts, navy pants and jacket where a gap in the wool revealed a stained white t-shirt. On the open lapel of the jacket Stella could make out some of the stitching. N-I-C-H-O

“My name is Frederic. Frederic Nichols,” he offered, his sinewy hand still hovering in empty space.

To spare the discomfort, Colin finally reached forward to shake it. Stella noticed the muscle in his forearm spasm on contact.

“Colin Wexler,” he stated flatly.

“Nice to meet you, Colin.” Frederic cocked his head to the side, and Stella felt herself under a penetrating gaze.

Frederic appeared to be slightly younger than Etienne, but both had such a gaunt expression it was hard to gauge age. Cerulean eyes stared at her from under hooded lids. Blue veins scored paths down each temple and disappeared back into the hairline. There was a sharp angle to his cheekbones and his chin was very pointed. Still, there was something vaguely appealing about him, as if at some point in his life he had been very handsome. Before her now was a ghostly version of that long-forgotten youth.

“I’m Stella,” she declared, and then cleared the frog in her throat. “Stella Gullaksen.”

“Swedish?” His blond eyebrows raised.

“My father was Swedish,” she mumbled.

Naturally, her father was alive and kicking, but somewhere along the line she had begun referring to him in the past tense. “Two generations ago,” she added.

“Of course.” He nodded with a fascinated smile.

Seeking a break from Frederic’s sharp eyes, her glance probed the lodging. A wooden collapsible chaise lounge was folded up in the corner. Next to it was a bucket of water with a clean cloth hung from a spike in the wall.

“You are the children of the woman we found earlier?” Frederic asked.

His tone was deep, with a strange inflection. Subtle, but definitely distinctive.

“I am her son,” Colin affirmed.

“I’m just a friend,” she muttered.

“Do you have any medical experience?” Colin asked. “Can you help her?”

Frederic’s lips thinned, but there was compassion in his steady gaze.

“Sarah is best equipped to care for your mother. She is a medic,” he assured. “It appears your mother went a long time without oxygen–”

“We all went a long time without oxygen,” Colin interrupted.

“She did not emerge from the water as quickly as you all did. And we did not notice her immediately. She surfaced in one of the back caverns.”

“You noticed us?” Stella asked, thinking of Colin’s mouth pressing life into her.

“We heard both of you,” Frederic’s eyes shifted between them.

“And you didn’t come to help when my father surfaced?” Colin accused.

Stella touched his arm. His gaze dropped down to that connection and he collected himself.

“You were all in a mild state of shock from the trauma of waking up in here,” Etienne spoke up. “If we were to suddenly appear it would have been too much for you to assimilate.”

“I can assimilate a lot.” Colin’s voice deepened. “I can assimilate that you have yet to tell us where we are, how we survived, and how we’re going to get back to the surface.”

Stella executed a mental fist pump.

Etienne and Frederic exchanged a long glance and then the shorter man sighed.

“Let’s step outside,” Etienne suggested.

The quarters were a little cramped for the four of them.

As they filed out onto the earthen path, he reasoned, “Remember, we were once as bewildered as you. Frederic, Sarah, and I were aboard the DONOVAN, a trawler owned by the Fisheries and Research Board of Canada.”

Following out of the cabin, Colin hesitated and held out his hand, prompting Stella in front of him. They approached the rope railing at the edge of the plateau and looked down at the cavern floor.

A thin stream of black water curled past the crude abodes and around the base of the very peak they stood on. Mist hung in the air, trapping the smoke from the torches to create a low, hazy ceiling.

“What happened?” Stella asked, dragging her eyes from the gutted military plane below.

“We were at sea pretty late in the fall–probably too late. We were trying to get in some last-minute lab work,” Frederic explained. “I was the hydrographic equipment handler.”

Stella searched Colin’s face for a translation. She knew he was more familiar with the sea and its sciences than she would ever be.

“Hydrography–” he read her questioning gaze. “They basically map out the sea floor.”

He turned to Frederic for verification.

Frederic nodded, pleased. “Yes. We measure depths, search for obstacles.”

“Then you would have known the depth you were at when–”

“Just before we sank,” Frederic filled in. “Yes, I was in the lab. The continental shelf was at about 150 meters there,” he paused and explained, “about 500 feet.”

“500 feet!” Stella exclaimed. “If we had oxygen, we could possibly survive an ascent.”

The grim faces around her stole some of her enthusiasm.

“True,” Frederic agreed, “but, that is not where we are. When the abandon ship alarm sounded on the DONOVAN, I was literally charting the floor beneath us for a map I had to submit. We were crossing over a canyon at the time. I recall it vividly because I was working with the Hydroplot system and it was passing back data that confirmed the canyon’s existence. I had been trying to plot the canyon depth, which was growing deeper by the minute. At the time of the abandon ship we were at 1840 meters, or about 6000 feet.”

“Well over a mile,” Colin calculated.

“Whoa.” Stella’s hand snapped out. “You think we’re over a mile under the ocean surface?”

Frederic shrugged. “Close to it. The storm was fierce. The DONOVAN was tossed around by the waves. Some life rafts made it into the water. The labs were on the second to the last deck. Etienne was across the hall from me, and Sarah was on the same level, in the first aid center. We tried to reach the main deck, but by then the DONOVAN had started listing too far for us to climb.”

Despite the heat and humidity, Stella clasped her arms about herself as she listened intently.

“What happened?” she asked.

“We made it astern,” Etienne filled in with his hoarse voice, “but a wave came–it knocked us over the railing.”

That sensation was all too real for her. She recalled the surf crashing down and tossing her into the ocean like she was chum for the tuna.

“I tried to hold onto Sarah, but the churn of the wave yanked us apart. And then I was caught in a current that hauled me down no matter how hard I kicked against it.” Gray eyes looked haunted. “I knew I was going to die. I knew I’d never see my wife again.”

“But you didn’t die,” Stella offered feebly.

Etienne’s pale lips twitched. “True. I was caught–” he looked towards Frederic, “we were all caught in this strong down-current. We descended so fast.”

Frederic interrupted. “Even in the confusion of darkness, I knew we had traveled well greater than 150 meters. There was nowhere else for us to go. We had to have been dragged down into the canyon. No one had done any studies on the currents there yet. Whatever we were experiencing was something undocumented.”

“No shit,” Colin mumbled.

Stella shot him a glare, but he remained resigned.

“And you all surfaced in the same cave we did?” he asked.

“I did,” Frederic stated. “Sarah and Etienne surfaced in the cavern where your mother emerged. You can imagine our surprise when we found each other.”

“Yes, I can imagine your surprise,” Colin replied with a hint of cynicism. “Can you imagine our shock at seeing this?” His arm swept at the peculiar village below.

Stella was studying Frederic and Etienne’s faces. Etienne followed the sweep of Colin’s arm and an expression of near contentment passed over his gaunt features.

“This is the product of years of salvage. That siphon had dragged more than us down here. Wreckage from a host of ocean disasters has turned up in our pools.”

Our pools.

Still scrutinizing his expression, Stella thought Etienne seemed awfully possessive. And honestly, downright creepy. He kind of looked like a rodent. Small face. Upturned nose. Sunken eyes. Fuzzy hair. Gray.

Frederic, by comparison seemed slightly more refined, but no less disturbing.

“Some of this seems really old,” Colin observed. “Like the airplane chassis that is serving as your infirmary. That looks like it’s from World War II. Was some of this here before you arrived?”

Frederic nodded. “Indeed. We spent a long time just scavenging what was already here, but flotsam keeps streaming in. This place is like a vacuum. It sucks in everything that passes by above.”

“And how long have you been down here?” Colin asked.

Stella’s gaze clung to his face. It was so vivid. So strong. So alive compared to the ghostly visages of Etienne and Frederic.

“It’s very hard to keep track of time. There is a single wind-up clock that still functions. Using that we’ve been able to calculate that it must be getting close to the year 2000 now.”

“2000!” Stella spurted.

“Yeah, you’re close,” Colin replied flatly. “Only off by twenty years. It’s 2019.”

He acknowledged their raised eyebrows and didn’t wait for them to comment. “When did your ship sink?”

Etienne and Frederic stared at each other until Frederic finally cleared his throat.

“November,” he asserted.

“1978.”