THE ANTHILL
Dale was a picture of barely restrained jubilance. Milo had the distinct impression he was used to working larger gatherings than the eight-person expedition; he paced as though he wanted to tell someone new the good news, issue further congratulations, but had cornered each and every person already. In some cases, he’d spoken with them twice, three times, as if he were still somewhat unconvinced of the find.
Though anybody could have found the inscription—and Milo was convinced someone would have, eventually—he still felt like he’d secured his place in the expedition, however tenuously. Almost everyone had come by to say something nice at some point, though Logan had waited until he’d verified the inscription himself. Milo didn’t take it personally; he wouldn’t have expected anything less from Logan.
Duck stood in the center of the chamber, inflating large, spherical balloons from a portable helium tank. Once full, the balloons were easily three feet in diameter. Unlike the shiny, high-tech look of the rest of the equipment—aluminum alloys, carbon fiber, advanced plastics—the balloons were made from an old-fashioned, cotton-like fabric. Once four were inflated, Duck aimed a small directional remote at each, turning on a bright LED light from within. Now illuminated, their brightness adjusted to a pleasant level, the balloons served almost like bright moons, filling the large chamber with voluminous light. Duck walked out from the center of chamber and released each one in turn, watching as they rose to the ceiling like an arctic sunrise.
Joanne had unpacked a laser scanner from one of the larger crates, attaching the football-sized, lens-studded head to a bulky tripod. She took the tripod to each corner of the room and pressed a button on the scanner. Each time, it would beep loudly and begin to rapidly spin, sending faint green bolts of laser light in all directions. The head whirring to a stop, the device would beep again and download hundreds of millions of directional data-points through a thick computer cord to a rugged, waterproof laptop on the cave floor.
With the balloon lights now casting a homey glow throughout the entire chamber, Milo and the rest of the cavers felt comfortable in taking off their helmets, headlamps, and harnesses, stacking up the equipment in tidy little piles next to their assigned tents. Duck handed out bunk assignments and earplugs, placing Milo with Logan. Milo hoped the large geologist didn’t snore, though he doubted he’d even hear it over the ever-present roar of the waterfalls.
Duck collected stacks of batteries from the camera equipment and headlamps, hooking them up to a portable methanol fuel cell for rapid recharging.
A top-to-bottom search of the chamber had revealed no other carvings or artifacts, no further clues of DeWar’s—or any other—expedition. Nor was Milo’s missing anchor discovered, though he suspected everyone had forgotten about it but him. The carving was vindication enough.
Though the inscription had now been photographed, laser-scanned, chalk-rubbed, and prodded, Dale made a special little detour to visit it whenever he went marching around the chamber. He would look at it from several different angles, holding up a flashlight to catch the relief of the etching before eventually moving on with no further clues gathered.
The last of the dangling crates reached the bottom shaft. Duck and Bridget carefully landed them on the cavern floor, unhooking and dragging them to the makeshift depot. A note was taped to the plastic lid of the final box. Duck pulled it off and carried over to Dale, who read it while frowning.
“Everybody circle up,” said Dale, waving the scattered party to come join him at the entrance to the row of five tents. He held out the letter in front of him, showing a black-and-white computerized weather map of northern Tanzania. “I’ve just received word that the surface is expecting a bit of a storm. It was set to miss us, but took an abrupt turn over the last few hours. A low-pressure zone with a lot of rain, early for the season but not entirely unexpected. We’ll be fine down here, shouldn’t affect us in the slightest. But it’s going to get messy up top. Can’t run the helicopters and the roads will wash out. I’m expecting our trucks will get bogged down as well. Nothing we’re not prepared for, but I wanted to make sure you’re all in the loop. Nobody likes surprises, right?”
A murmur went through the group—everybody agreed. Milo figured any issues far above would hardly matter in the cavern.
“Data from the scan has finished processing,” announced Joanne. “I could use some assistance with the analysis from Duck.”
“No prob,” said Duck with a smile, walking over to join her.
As the rest of the group broke up, Dale walked over to Milo, placing a fatherly hand on his shoulder.
“You convinced yet?” he asked for the third time.
Milo nodded. Either they were on the trail of Lord Riley DeWar, or it was all part of the most elaborate and useless hoax in history. Besides, Milo felt certain that DeWar wouldn’t have taken the dangerous fifteen-hundred-foot drop to the bottom if he hadn’t intended to explore the entirety of the cave. But whether or not he ever saw daylight again was another matter entirely.
While Duck post-processed the laser data, Joanne had moved on to other measurements. The cave guide gestured for Milo and Dale to come over to her.
“We’ve identified a minimum of three different branching passageways from this chamber,” she said, unfolding a small handheld camera and clicking it on.
“Is that the thermal camera?” asked Dale excitedly.
“Yes indeed—your newest toy.” Joanne smiled. “Took me forever to set up. Temperature differentials between the chamber and the passageways are extremely slight; I had to take a sliver of heat variation and level the false-color display to maximum. Take a look.”
Joanne handed the thermal camera to Dale, who panned it across the chamber and the people within. The room itself was rendered in neutral reds; the people within were white-hot, their exhalations a brilliant yellow fire.
“Aim it over there,” Joanne said, pointing to the wall on the far side of the chamber. Dale obeyed, trying to hold the camera steady. All Milo could see was the featureless blood-red of uniform temperatures, punctuated only by a few fading footprints on the rock.
“What am I looking for?” asked Dale.
“Give it a second,” said Joanne.
A small patch in the corner of the screen slowly faded from red to a purple, then blue, as if a portal to another world had opened.
“The air in that passageway is slightly colder than ambient,” the cave guide explained. “I’ve measured the temperature differential for this and the other two passages we’ve discovered thus far. It’s the biggest.”
Milo nodded. “Amazing. Kind of like the high-tech version of holding a candle up to a passageway to see if the flame flickers.”
“Exactly. Only I usually use a Zippo.”
“Well, if you were Lord DeWar,” said Dale, handing the camera back to Joanne and slapping his hands together in anticipation, “which one would you pick first?”
“The biggest,” said Milo with a grin.
“My thoughts exactly,” said Dale. “Has anyone stuck their head in yet?”
“Not yet.” Joanne snapped the camera’s display closed and placed it back in a protective plastic crate. “Duck is still setting up—will probably be tomorrow before we make any further penetration. We’ve already accomplished a lot today.”
“Nonsense,” said Dale, a glint in his eyes. “Let’s go ahead and take a peek. Just a few of us. If we hit anything requiring rope work, we’ll turn around straightaway.”
“I don’t know,” said Joanne, unconvinced. “Now that we’re past the main shaft, the terrain will get more difficult with every step.”
“Back by dinner. I promise.”
Joanne thought about it for a moment. “I don’t see why not. I’ll let Duck know. Get your helmets and lights. We’ll have to keep this outing small, that means no camera team.”
“Probably means no Charlie either,” said Milo.
“I’d be more comfortable if we added one last person to our party,” said Joanne.
Milo wasn’t surprised when Dale made a beeline for Bridget. Logan wasn’t busy in the slightest, but no offer was extended him. Milo had a feeling that Dale wasn’t happy with Logan’s modern-explorer theory. His supporting role in the theory—the supposed discovery of the now-missing anchor—now seemed forgotten or forgiven.
Following Dale, Dr. McAffee came to join Joanne and Milo, making the final adjustments to her helmet strap and newly recharged headlamp. Though he was within earshot, Joanne instead radioed to Duck and explained the plan.
“Okay,” came the crackling response. “Keep regular contact. Out.”
Milo felt as though he were in a giant anthill. They’d only made it a hundred yards from the base camp, still close enough to see a faint refracted light from the balloons if he turned around and squinted. The curved cavern walls were claustrophobically narrow, forcing Milo to turn sideways to fit through, brushing them with both chest and spine. He was glad for the kneepads, as the ceiling drooped lower and lower with each step. The passageway twisted and turned, breaking off into smaller forking sub-passages. Finding their way back seemed easy enough, but Joanne still dutifully stopped at each intersection, marking the date and direction with thick white chalk.
Joanne led the party, followed by Milo, Bridget, and finally Dale. The passageway she’d chosen progressively shrank, like a withering artery slowly retreating from a belabored heart. Soon the ceiling was too low to even stoop, forcing them to crawl on hands and knees, pulling themselves ever deeper into the tunnels.
Milo quickly learned not to stop too suddenly. Bridget followed him closely, uncomfortably so, meaning that she’d bump her helmet into the seat of his pants if he didn’t keep a good pace. She’d mutter an apology each time but wouldn’t back off. He suspected she didn’t like the claustrophobic stillness of the passageway any more than he did and had decided to keep as close as possible. It was almost strange how normal it felt being around her, a familiarity both soothing and exciting.
Milo’s anxiety wasn’t gone, but it was now buried under curiosity and fascination. The exploration was physically challenging, mentally exciting, intellectually engaging—wholly consuming in every way. He hadn’t eaten anything in what must have been hours and he’d almost completely lost track of time. But he felt fantastic all the same, thrilled by his part in the grand adventure.
The passageway angled upward, the gritty flowstone beneath their knees turning dry. Above, the ceiling was filled with clinging calcium straws, small translucent tubes resembling upside-down candles beside the marble limestone walls and shimmering calcite drapery. He was reminded of a story he’d once read about early American masonic rituals. Potential members were often left abandoned in dark caves with nothing more than a candle and a book of matches. If successful, the men would emerge stark naked from the earth many hours later, having burned down the candle and every thread of clothing for light.
“Watch this,” said Joanne. She took off her headlamp and pressed it upward into the straws. The fragile geology glowed like a candlelit chandelier, illuminating the tight passageway with warm, inviting luminescence.
“It’s beautiful,” breathed Bridget, in awe. Milo couldn’t agree more.
“I can’t see it,” complained Dale from the back of the line. But Joanne didn’t pause, just kept moving. The foursome soon passed another fork in the passageway, one leading upward and a second leading further down. Joanne frowned at the steep, muddy slide and instead took the tighter passageway above it, dutifully marking the intersection with chalk.
The ceiling dipped again, now so low that Milo had to shuffle forward on his belly like a snake to catch up with the British guide, inadvertently smacking his boot against Bridget’s helmet as he squirmed away.
“Hey!” said the doctor from behind him. Milo muttered an apology as he reached the passageway, feeling genuinely terrible about the accidental kick.
Ahead, Joanne had stopped. She silently gestured for Milo to come join her at the head of the line, right below where she’d just made a directional mark at a forking passageway, the arrow aimed at the larger of the two options.
“Take a look at this,” said Joanne, tapping on the ceiling above her with a single gloved finger.
Milo immediately caught sight of what Joanne had discovered. Below the guide’s white chalk mark was a second, much fainter mark. Milo took a closer look at the black smudge. Was it mold? No—it wasn’t growing on the wall—it was a tailed triangle, a man-made drawing. His eyes widened with realization.
“What do you think?” asked Joanne beside him.
“What’s happening?” demanded Dale from the back.
Milo raised his voice so that everybody could hear. “Joanne found something,” he said. “I think it’s a calcium hydroxide marking—it looks like someone painted an arrow with it.”
“Is that another cave painting?” asked Bridget. “Like what we found in the galley?”
“Oh,” said Joanne from in front of him, her voice indicating her immediate realization of the implications. “Oh. I’ve never seen one so old before, didn’t know what I was looking at.”
“I don’t understand,” said Bridget.
“Back in DeWar’s time, they used calcium carbide gas lamps,” explained Milo, loud enough for everyone to hear. “An upper reservoir was filled with water, which dripped a bit at a time into a lower chamber filled with calcium carbide. This produced acetylene gas, which was burned for light. They’d use the leftover hydroxide ash to mark passageways. Definitely not native art.”
Dale cleared his throat. “He’s right,” he said from the back of the line. “Would have been cutting-edge technology in 1901. No doubt more evidence of DeWar. No way one of the local tribes could have made it this deep. Milo, my boy—you’re becoming my good luck charm!”
“Let’s continue, see if we find more,” said Joanne. “Don’t want to hang out here for too long—we’ll run the risk of hypothermia if we stop moving. I can’t turn around, but we can take some photos and samples on the way back.”
“We’re on the trail!” said Dale excitedly. “I can feel it!”
“Just be careful around this next bend,” said Joanne from up ahead. “Looks like a bit of a drop to one side.”
The guide was right—when Milo caught up to her, he found the passageway had opened up to form a natural bridge over another chasm, deep enough to where he couldn’t quite see the bottom. Milo snuck a look back to see Bridget smiling behind him.
“I didn’t expect this to be so . . . fun,” she said. “So long as nobody gets sick or hurt, I’m officially on vacation!”
Milo turned to flash a grin when his hand suddenly slipped out from underneath him, the slimy flowstone betraying his grip. He grunted, losing his balance and falling over to one side, and slid over the edge of the natural bridge.
“Milo!” screamed Bridget. Milo was in freefall, but before he could even process the feeling of weightlessness, he slammed against the side of a curving wall, sliding and rolling through a tinkle of fragile calcium straws as he was unceremoniously dumped at the bottom of the chasm. His helmet had stayed on but the headlamp had come free, lying a few feet away from him.
Moaning and with his eyes watering, he barely saw the flashes of light from the rest of the party above him. Milo tried to say something reassuring, but the wind had been knocked out of his lungs by the impact. He could only manage a labored wheeze.
Dale, Bridget, and Joanne called his name over and over, shining their lights down from the bridge, trying to see him. But he was directly below and in the shadow of the natural structure, as good as invisible.
“I’m fine,” groaned Milo, bringing himself up to a sitting position. “Everything is okay . . . nothing broken, I think . . .”
Milo checked himself again. Only his ego seemed bruised.
“Stay put,” ordered Joanne, her voice echoing throughout the chamber. “We’ll find our way down to you.”
He nodded—an easy enough request to obey. Fighting his own protesting body, he reached over to retrieve his still-lit headlamp, placing it back on his helmet.
Milo turned to survey the small chamber, slowly rotating in a lazy circle. Just inches before him, the illumination fell upon the grimacing, empty-socketed face of a mummified human body.