HYPOGEUM
Rolling to his side on the cold stone floor, he put his hands over his ears to block the sounds of playing children that crept along the dark halls of the labyrinth. The earliest tunnels, blind alleys, and burial chambers had been carved into the soft limestone by megalithic farmers over six thousand years ago, and they created perfect echo chambers for the pattering of small feet and high-pitched voices that rose up from the darker, deeper levels.
“Please, be quiet,” he called into the darkness. “I have to think.”
Brother Stephen, who sat cross-legged on the floor reading the Breviary by candlelight, said, “Everything is quiet, Brother. Too quiet, actually.”
A little girl’s bubbly laughter rang out. As it climbed upward, it bounced around the stone walls, returning over and over to bombard him.
“Please, stop! I must think!”
The childish voices died away, and the darkness swaddled him with such intense cold, it left him shivering.
Brother Stephen came over to kneel beside him. “What do you hear, Brother? Are demons tormenting you?”
“The girl. The little girl…”
He rolled away from Stephen, onto his stomach, and stretched his arms out from his body, making the sign of the cross on the stone floor. When he squeezed his eyes closed, the tears that had frozen on his lashes crackled loose and rattled across the rock. “Adjutorium nostrum in nomine Patris…”
As Stephen lifted the candle and brought it closer, yellow flickered on his closed eyelids.
“Brother, you’re scaring me. Please tell me what you hear?”
“V-voices.”
A little girl’s steps tapped on the stairs, climbing up the dark throat of the tunnel.
A few seconds later, she whispered, James? You awake? Your eyes are closed.
“Leave me alone.”
Stephen said, “I can’t. I’m sorry. The sickness is worse. The island is being evacuated. Brother Andrew Paul doesn’t want you to be alone down here. He knows you must speak with God, but he fears you’ll get lost, and we won’t find you when it’s our turn to go. We volunteered to be the last to board the ships.”
“How long have you and I … been down here?”
“Seven days, Brother. Don’t you recall?”
“How do you know the island is being evacuated?”
“Brother Andrew Paul leaves me letters just inside the mouth of the tunnel. All of the brothers are overwhelmed tending the sick. No one can take the time to come and find us in here. We are so deep, and the tunnels are so dangerous.”
The little girl bent down, pulled up one of his eyelids, and squinted at him. She wore a threadbare tweed cap, but short black hair stuck out around the edges.
You were praying it wrong.
“What?”
“Don’t be concerned. The mayor says we have a few days before we have to leave.”
You are so forgetful now. It should be Adjutorium nostrum in nomine Domini, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Our help comes in the name of the Lord, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit. You said it came in the name of the Father: Patris.
“What do you want?”
Stephen slumped to the floor at his side and tenderly patted his back. “I’m right here if you need me, Brother.”
The girl gave Stephen a suspicious glance, tucked her index finger into her mouth, and sucked it for a few moments. I came to get you. That machine is spelling again.
“Oh.”
Dragging himself to his feet, he blinked at the candlelit reflections fluttering around the large stone chamber.
Stephen rose beside him with his Breviary in one hand and the candle in the other. “Are you done praying? Shall we go back to the monastery now?”
“Not yet.”
Purposefully, he marched to the tunnel that wound around and eventually led to the lowest, darkest level of the labyrinth.
For another hour, Stephen followed along behind him, and the girl trotted at his side, trying to keep up.
It’s spelling cat. C-A-T. Around her finger, she slurred, Why is the machine spelling cat?
He tried not to answer her, or even to look at her.
She wasn’t really there.
As he descended, the passageways that defined the labyrinth shot off in every direction. He passed rock-cut pillars and beautifully carved catacombs filled with skeletons, all neatly stacked. In one chamber, about thirty small skeletons lay close together on the ground, as though the children had taken comfort in their friends’ warmth as they’d died.
“Dear God, does anyone know they’re here?” Stephen asked. “Someone should come get them and give them proper burials.”
He hesitated, staring in at the skeletons, and the girl grasped his hand and tugged him away.
Come on, James. I don’t want to look at them.
She dragged him down another tunnel.
“Let go of my hand.”
“Brother, I’m not holding your hand. Is someone else? Someone I can’t see?” Fear strained Stephen’s voice.
“No, no, I—I’m sorry, Brother.”
The deeper he went the more stale the air smelled, as though every step he took stirred up the dust of ancient civilizations. When he finally stepped down to last tunnel, he stopped.
See? The girl pointed with a wet finger.
Twenty feet ahead, the heavy iron door stood open.
He swung around. “Did you open my door?”
Shocked by his tone, Stephen recoiled a step. “Brother? I’ve never been here before.”
You left it open yourself.
“Oh, yes, of course. I-I must have. Done it myself.”
Pale blue flashes, like a lighthouse beacon, escaped from the bomb shelter and rhythmically flared into the tunnel where he stood.
He walked forward, shoved the heavy door open wider, and entered the large chamber.
When Stephen entered behind him, he said, “Look at all the food and water in here! This would feed our small monastery for months.”
Jugs of water, candles, and packets of dried food were stacked floor to ceiling on every wall. None of that interested him. His gaze was riveted on the computer resting on the table in the middle of the room. Batteries, solar panels, and a small satellite relay crammed the space beneath the table. On a counter across the room, test tubes, syringes, needles, a centrifuge, and other lab equipment rested.
The girl skipped forward, aimed a hand at the computer screen, and said, See? C-A-T.
“Those are just three of the Word’s letters.”
Stephen didn’t ask what he meant. Instead, his gaze darted back and forth from the computer screen to the empty air where the girl stood.
Ben Adam walked forward, dropped into his chair, and studied the genetic sequence. It was so elegant … so utterly beautiful … a symphony of geometry and light. When had this result come in? He shook his head, trying to recall. He thought he’d seen it before, long ago, but maybe not … maybe God had just written this on the screen today. He couldn’t remember, and it broke his heart.
Why is it talking about cats?
“It isn’t about cats. It’s about the mystical properties of the blood of Christ.”
Stephen listened with wide blue eyes. He kept nervously licking his lips. “What is, Brother?”
Drawing the handheld quantum computer from his pocket, he transferred the information, so he would have it in two places.
As they always did when he came to this room, the other children started talking in the hall outside. Soon dozens had entered the room and crowded around him to gawk at the screen.
I told you it was important, the little girl said. Are you going to send it to Anna?
Swallowing hard, he convinced himself to swivel his chair around to look at the children. Their hazy bodies appeared half transparent in the blue gleam. He could see through their chests to the jugs of water beyond.
Stephen seemed to be trying to follow his gaze, to see what he saw standing in the room. Reflexively, the young monk crossed himself and whispered, “Adjutorium nostrum in nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti.”
From beneath the table, Ben Adam pulled out the satellite relay and other things he’d need, rose to his feet, and carried them with him as he headed for the surface.
Stephen asked no questions. He just quietly followed along behind.
* * *
Two hours later, he knelt on the rim of the sea cliff with his heart pounding and set up the relay. After he’d connected it to his handheld computer, he had to wait for it to contact the orbiting satellite. In the meantime, he watched the chaos in the distance. Every road to the docks was filled with honking vehicles and jingling bicycles. People crowded along the shore, waiting their turns to climb into the small boats that would take them out to the ten big ships floating in the harbor. Shouts and cries carried on the wind. Police with truncheons moved through the people, striking anyone who tried to push through to the front of the line. So far, it was mostly an orderly evacuation.
When a cool wind shoved his hood back, he quickly grabbed it and pulled it back up to hide his face from the eyes that he knew were watching. Eyes everywhere, searching for him. Panic surged in his veins. He had to get out of sight. If they found him, they’d take him back to the locked room, fill him with drugs, and God’s voice would die. Then the world would die.
Stephen walked up and crouched at his side. “Brother? May I ask you a question?”
“Of course.”
“I don’t know much about computers, but I think that’s a satellite dish. Are you sending out the Word of God? Who are you sending it to?”
“Anna.”
He kept his head down and his eyes on the screen. When the green light flared, he typed in:
Encrypt.
Waited.
Hit send.
“But I thought you said Anna wasn’t real.”
Somewhere below him, water dripped, and it sounded like the last clock in the world counting down the seconds to oblivion.
“She must be. She must be.” He recited the words like a prayer.