Colcord reached down and picked up the football, examined it, tossed it from hand to hand. It was of the best quality, a Wilson GST, well used, partly deflated. What the hell was it doing there? Maybe left by workmen, who tossed it around during their breaks? And why this long, empty hallway? He felt tense and edgy, the same feeling he’d gotten in Iraq just before things went south.
He quietly set it back down on the floor, looked at Cash, and shrugged.
She gestured for them to keep going.
As they proceeded, the corridor made a shallow turn. Colcord led the way, scouring the corridor ahead with his beam. As they went around, he saw, far ahead, that the corridor ended in a set of double doors like you might see in a hospital.
Colcord motioned for everyone to turn off their flashlights. In the ensuing darkness, a faint light could be seen seeping from the bottom crack of the door. They were approaching an area where there was light. He listened. Were those ever so faint sounds, at the edge of audibility, coming down the corridor?
He turned his beam on low and kept it angled down as they approached the set of doors. They were crash doors with no lock or handles, the kind that swing both ways, and they had stainless steel crash plates that were much dented from use. But what kind of use? They seemed strangely out of place.
He motioned for everyone to be still, and put his ear to the vertical seam where the two doors came together. He could feel, on his ear, a cool stream of fresh air flowing through the crack. Oddly, the flow seemed to carry the faint scent of vegetation, and he wondered if they were approaching an opening to the outside. He listened for a while and again heard a faint susurrus, impossible to identify—possibly the reverberations of a forced air system?
He was just about to move his ear from the crack when he thought he heard something sharper—like a distant shout. He held up his finger for more silence and listened intently. He heard it again, several emphatic voices coming from a long way off, distorted in their passage down the corridor, so faint he could only hear the high points, like cries you might hear from a distant playground. Then there ensued a silence, and he heard another raised voice, a woman’s, speaking shrilly. He strained to make out the words, any words, but it was too far away and scarcely audible. But as he listened, he began to wonder—was this voice really of a woman? It was high and punctuated, rising and falling in a cadence more like a child’s. But what would a child be doing deep in the Erebus labs? And then he heard a laugh, quite distinct, and a thwapping sound, like a tennis racket hitting a ball, and another high-pitched laugh.
He gestured to Cash and stepped back as she took a turn to listen. After a minute, she touched Colcord’s arm and leaned toward him. She whispered, “I heard, quite distinctly, the laugh of a child.”
Colcord listened again and then heard it—without doubt, the happy, high-pitched laugh of a child. There must be a day care center up ahead, perhaps for the children of the scientists and lab workers.
He tried to peer through the crack in the door but could see nothing but the continuation of the corridor to another set of double doors. With the palm of his hand, he eased open the door to get a better view. The next set of doors had windows in them, one on each side, and through them shone a bright light. He could hear the distant sounds more distinctly: faint mingled voices, shouts, cries, and laughter, like children on a playground during recess.
With a nod, he signaled they were to pass through as he held the door open. They went through at a crouch and he followed, easing it shut behind him. There was just enough light coming through the windows to allow them to turn off and stow their flashlights.
Colcord felt his uneasiness increase. He told himself it was irrational—they were approaching a day care center, for heaven’s sake. But what was it doing so deep in the mines?
They walked down the corridor single file, keeping the tread of their feet as silent as possible and moving along the right-hand wall. As they approached the second set of doors, the sounds became more distinct—shouts, cries, laughing of voices raised in play, the sound of a ball being hit back and forth as if on a tennis court. No doubt now—this was some sort of playground. The light coming through the windows was cool and friendly—and it had the feeling of outdoor light, not artificial. Was this an opening to the outside? The flow of fresh air seemed to suggest so.
As they neared the set of doors, staying low to remain below the height of the windows, the sounds became more distinct. Colcord reached the doors first. He looked at Cash. This presented a problem with their plans to search the premises. Search a day care center? How silly that would be. She signaled that she was going to take a look through the window. She slowly rose, keeping her head well back in the shadows, and peered through. She looked for what felt like a long time, then she lowered herself. Colcord was surprised; the expression on her face was one of astonishment. She gestured for him to take a look.
He rose and cautiously peered out. Beyond the door was a catwalk that circled above a large interior space below. Above the catwalk was a dome, like the interior of a cathedral, painted blue with white clouds. Set into the dome were powerful lights. What lay below was extraordinary: an enormous open space with trees and grass, bisected by a stream that entered from one end of the area and flowed in a meandering course to the middle, where it had been dammed to produce a small pond with a sandy beach. The water continued flowing over the dam and ran merrily among rocks and cattails to exit on the other side. Behind the beach was a green lawn that led to a soccer field, where some children and young teenagers were kicking about a ball. On the other side of the stream were picnic tables, a playground with a jungle gym, swings, tennis and basketball courts, and some game tables.
But what floored Colcord were the children. There must have been a dozen of them, ranging from three or four all the way up to the midteens, playing soccer, making sand castles on the beach, shooting hoops. Several older kids were playing chess at the game tables.
He slowly lowered himself.
“Day care?” asked Cash.
“That place cost a fortune,” said Colcord. “And it’s September—most of those kids should be in school.”
“Let me have a look,” said Romanski.
He took a turn, peering through the window a long time. The seconds ticked on. Then he finally crouched back down. “No way is that a day care,” he whispered. He took a deep, shuddering breath. “Those children aren’t normal. They’re … strange.”