The Depths Page 8

  Mark didn’t bother to wait for the answer. He followed Jen up the short street and toward the dark opening of the cave.

  Chapter 18

  A MOMENT AFTER THE CIVILIANS left, Carter ceased firing and took stock of the situation. The enemy was still far away, but he could count at least six—probably eight—soldiers. They were dressed similarly, wearing military fatigues and working in tandem.

  Carter was actually astonished they hadn’t been taken out, or at least suffered a casualty. Their group was half civilian, and they’d all been taken by surprise. The missed first shot meant that whoever was attacking them now was prepared for a close-range mission, not shooting them from half a mile away.

  He peered around the corner of the house again to get a better look. They had taken cover under the stairs during the counterattack and were now getting into a covered firing position. Carter looked to his three team members who were still taking turns firing a few rounds toward their opponents.

  “Before they get set up again, Saunders and Nelson, get to the houses and cover me and Mason. Mason, keep returning fire with me until they yell for us. We’re far enough away, and I don’t think they’ve got the firepower to get us from there.”

  Mason nodded, and Saunders and Nelson retreated.

  We don’t have the firepower, Carter thought.

  Soon Saunders and Nelson shouted for them to follow. “You’re covered, boss. Let’s go!”

  Carter and Mason turned away from the small building and ran toward their team at the line of houses. When they arrived, Carter looked up and down the street, sighed, and stopped. “Are they already in the caves? Either of you see the others?”

  “Nope.”

  “Nope,” Nelson added.

  Carter nodded. “Okay, well let’s assume they made it. Head out.”

  He took the lead, jogging through the street, trying to stay close enough to the houses that their would-be killers couldn’t spot them. He knew the small building would have blocked their retreat, and this housing district would provide ample cover, but he wasn’t about to take any chances.

  Carter held up a hand at the mouth of the cave. It had taken them a moment to spot it. He’d expected a large, gaping hole in the stone wall, but he knew they were in the right place when they reached it. The hole was about five feet wide and six feet tall. However, it was literally the only hole they’d come across. The entire face of the wall was smooth, and save for a few pockmarks and indentations here and there, it was almost perfectly flat.

  The others stopped behind their leader, and Carter turned on the flashlight mounted to his gun. Peering inside, he could see that the cave went straight for about one hundred yards and then curved slightly up and to the right. He hesitated, but then let out a soft whistle.

  Nothing.

  He took a few steps into the cave opening and whistled again.

  Still nothing. This time, he used his voice. “Hey. You guys in here?”

  He heard nothing in return, but continued walking slowly forward. He motioned for the rest to follow.

  Every twenty feet or so, Carter stopped and softly called out to the other team. He didn’t want to yell, unsure of who might hear, inside the cave or out, but he risked raising his voice a bit more. “Can anyone hear me in there?”

  “Carter?” A woman’s voice.

  “Jen, is that you?” Carter pointed his gun down the walkway, the flashlight beam illuminating the smooth interior of the cave. Still, he saw nothing but darkness stretching in front of him.

  “Yeah. Keep coming, you’re almost in. The path keeps bending up and to the right, but then it drops quickly down and veers back left. We’re just past that, in a sort of—clearing.”

  Carter and the three soldiers picked up their pace and got to the bend Jen was referring to. It indeed dropped quickly; if Carter hadn’t known about it, he might have tripped or twisted his ankle. The path turned left, and he let his flashlight beam lead the way.

  Turning into the new direction with his gun pointed forward, Carter finally saw the others. They were in a large cavern about twenty feet across and with a ceiling reaching about thirty feet high.

  “You guys alright?” Jen asked as he entered the clearing.

  The three others came in behind him, and Carter nodded. Realizing that they probably couldn’t see him, he verbalized his response. “We’re fine. I don’t think we hit anyone, but they certainly know we’re armed.”

  “And where we are,” Saunders added.

  “Maybe,” Carter replied. “They couldn’t see our retreat, just knew that we stopped firing. They’ll take awhile to search the main level before they get to these caves, so we’ve got some time.” Then, turning to Jen, Mark, and the rest of the crew, he asked, “Anyone see anything new? Find anything?”

  “Nope, not yet,” Mark said. “We just got here too. Had to move slow without light, but once we got to the bend, we had a little help.”

  Carter’s flashlight lit up Mark’s face, so he saw the man’s expression change to concern. “Bingham was already here—must’ve slipped back to the houses shortly after we started getting shot at. He showed up with his tiny flashlight at the bend and told us to follow him here.”

  It was only then that Carter noticed the smaller scientist at the edge of his flashlight’s peripherals. “Bingham,” he said. “Good to see you here. Thanks for helping my guys.”

  Bingham twitched but didn’t say anything.

  “Okay, let’s get to the geothermal level,” Jen said, ending the awkward silence.

  Mark stepped in. “Jen, wait. Maybe we should stop and rest; think about this a bit?”

  Jen’s expression betrayed her emotions. “No, Mark, we need to—”

  “I agree.” Carter’s voice boomed out, taking on the leadership role he was well-suited for. “We should take advantage of the fact that they don’t know our exact location. We can work our way through the caves a bit later, but we all could use some rest.”

  With that, Saunders, Nelson, and Mason walked around their commander and moved toward the other side of the cavern. They flipped on their flashlights and propped their guns against the cave wall. Their flashlights created a lantern effect, providing a dim orange glow that lit up the entire room. The three soldiers sat down.

  Jen didn’t try to argue; she moved away from Mark and joined Dr. Richards and Dr. Pavan. Carter thought for a moment and delivered instructions. “We’ll stop here for a few hours, then work down the cave system and have a longer rest later. There we’ll do shifts; one hour apiece for my team, and you all can take turns as well if you’d like. Try to get some sleep. You’ll need it.”

  “Corporal Carter, who shot at us?” Mark asked. He’d taken a place against the side walls and was now sitting on the cave floor as well.

  “No idea—looked military, definitely trained. I counted six to eight, but they were moving well.”

  “You think they were on the sub that shot ours?”

  “Most likely. There’s nothing but a lot of seawater around here. I doubt there are too many other boats floating through the water. They probably wanted to get us here first, then control the situation inside the base. That’s why they disabled the sub, let us dock, then followed us in.”

  Mark kept up his line of questioning. “Do you think they were Nouvelle Terre?”

  “Doubtful. They were probably hired by them, but who knows. This is, after all, a government research station—could have been any other government that doesn’t want this place to exist anymore.”

  Carter remembered that their team now had a new member, and he walked up to Bingham. The man was sitting cross-legged on the floor, eyes open wide. “Bingham—Elliot,” Carter said. He tried to calm his voice, soften it a little. “Thanks again for getting everyone here. Can I ask you a few questions?”

  Bingham nodded silently.

  “Elliot, can you tell me more about this station? About the work you did here?”

  Bingham didn’t respon
d.

  “Can you talk about the other scientists? Who did you work with?”

  Bingham looked up at Carter and whispered. “Who. Who? Who did he work with? What did he work with? How…” The man lolled back and forth, but continued. “They left.”

  “Who’s they?” Carter tried to keep his voice down, not wanting to excite the scientist. He wasn’t worried about the others. They’d certainly be able to overhear his conversation in the vacuum of the cave, but it was better that way anyway.

  “They—they left. The twelve. Gone.”

  “Twelve? Twelve who? Scientists?”

  “Twelve scientists.”

  “And they left. They took that last submarine and left?”

  “They left,” Bingham said, nodding. His eyes were closed now, deep in thought. “They left. Gone. Eighties. Nineteen-eighties.”

  Jesus, Carter thought. This man’s mind must be mush. There were more—a skeleton crew—that just left him behind. Bingham must have known something about how to manually open the docking station and launch the sub. They left him here—alone—for something like thirty years.

  Or he just drew the short straw.

  But it doesn’t make sense, Carter thought. If he had to stay behind, why? Why did one of the scientists need to stay back to keep the base operational?

  He looked toward the strange scientist again and knew the truth. The man had been through his own version of hell. He’d been marooned here, a vast, empty space devoid of human life and interaction. He’d kept the place functioning well enough, but Carter knew that most of this work would have been rote chores, almost routine.

  He felt sorry for Bingham. No one deserved this.

  Carter took up a position facing the tunnel they’d entered to. Saunders was there, and had fallen asleep waiting for Carter to take first watch. He ordered the lights to be flicked off, and the eerie darkness descended around the group, seeping into every crack and space in the cavern.

  Carter watched the darkness in front of him for some time, listening intently to nothing. The deep quiet of the suboceanic cave was daunting, enveloping. The black swirls of nothingness haunted his vision, but he refused to close his eyes.

  He thought more about Bingham and tried to piece things together.

  He thought about the team; the scientists and soldiers he was tasked with protecting. He thought about Jen and Mark, the estranged couple who’d suffered unbelievable psychological pain in the past day. They’d lost a son, and he had no idea if they’d be able to find him. For them, their struggle was just beginning. They were blocking out the pain of loss, replacing it with resolve, vigor, willingness to fight, and a bluntness toward the consequences.

  He knew that their psychological torment, while generated and exacerbated by nothing more than chemical reactions in their brains, was a very real torment. Their pain was as excruciating and tortuous as its physical counterpart.

  Carter knew the pain all too well.

  Chapter 19

  “CRAIG,” THE VOICE ON THE other end of the phone said, “that can’t work.”

  “I understand where you’re getting held up.”

  “No. You don’t, Larson. It’s not feasible. What you’re implying is that we’ve—”

  “Implying?” Larson shot back. “I’m not implying anything. I’m asking you. We need this. You asked for my help first, remember?”

  There was a brief pause. Larson could hear Malcolm Vertrund’s deep breath. “I know. I did. I called you, but here’s the deal. I’m getting a lot of pressure to wrap this thing up quick—like yesterday, and you’re telling me you don’t even have a lead?”

  “I’m not telling you that at all,” Craig Larson said.

  “So you’ve got something?”

  “I’ve got a little. Probably what you already have. I’ve been doing research. You know, looking into the organization and trying to piece things together. They did a pretty good job of tying up their loose ends, covering their tracks.”

  “What did you find?” Vertrund asked.

  It was Larson’s turn to hesitate. “My assistant found something yesterday. It’s not much, but it at least gives me an idea of what they were trying to do back in the seventies.”

  “They were studying the effects of nuclear radiation on biospheres, I thought.”

  “They were. Seems like they were at ground zero during the Three Mile Island meltdown; not sure if it’s related…”

  Vertrund didn’t react, so Larson continued. “Anyway, they moved—set up shop somewhere else—and we don’t have anything on them after that.”

  It was a blatant lie, but Larson needed to hear Vertrund’s response. “Okay, well, just know that I’m trying as hard as I can to get you into the database. It’s a chain-of-command thing, and…”

  “And I’m not high enough on it.”

  “Listen, Craig, it’s not like that—”

  “It is, if that’s the answer. That’s exactly how it is. That’s fine, Larson. I charge by the hour, and I’m going to find what I’m looking for.”

  “Craig. Stop. Slow down. What I’m telling you—I can’t believe I have to spell this out—what I’m telling you is this: this thing is big. Bigger than both of us. It’s over your head; it’s over mine. I’m getting pressure to wrap this up and move on.”

  “You mean you’re getting pressure to wrap this up without finishing it. That’s your government at work, Malcolm.” Larson could almost see the younger man cringe at the detective’s emphasis on your government.

  “Fine. Think what you want. I’m telling you what I know. You’re hitting a brick wall here, and you need to redirect your efforts if you want in. I can’t help you anymore unless you’re going to help me.”

  Larson held the phone out away from his ear, thinking. He frowned, then placed the earpiece back on his head. “I understand. Thanks for your time.”

  The phone went silent, and Larson sighed. He turned off the phone, and placed it on the counter in front of him. Standing, he looked across the counter at Ken Dawson. “I think we’re further behind than we thought.”

  Dawson rose from the armchair and joined Larson in the kitchen. “How far behind did you think we were?” he asked, a smirk growing on his face. “Sounds like our friend isn’t going to be much help.”

  “He’s not. He wasn’t going to be. But we’ve got what we need.”

  As was often the case when Dawson and Larson worked together, the younger man was a step behind. He looked visibly confused, but Larson let the awkwardness sink in before he explained.

  “Vertrund and whoever’s giving him orders want us to slow down. You and I both know we’ve got information that can lead to our bringing anyone in who’s even remotely connected to Nouvelle Terre.”

  “Right, but—”

  “But Vertrund knows that too. That article you found isn’t written in Sanskrit, Ken. It’s pretty clear that we’re playing with something here that’s going to be a big deal if it gets out. We know, and we found it after looking for a day. You’d better believe they know about it too.”

  He paused to make sure Dawson was following. “But Larson didn’t say that. He didn’t even let on that he knew I was lying. He wants us to think we’re the only ones who are a little concerned about what Nouvelle Terre might really be up to.”

  Chapter 20

  THE DARKNESS CHILLED HER TO her core.

  Dr. Lindsay Richards was not a fan of dark spaces, creepy halls, haunted houses—pretty much anything dark. She hated Halloween, and she had a nightlight in each of her rooms at home.

  As an adult, and as an academic, she knew this fear was nothing troublesome. It wasn’t a fear that manifested itself often. She was fine in dark theaters, walking at night, and in other normal circumstances. It was the odd time when the darkness itself played a larger role. She liked to think she was most scared when the reason for the darkness was the darkness itself.

  She’d grown up wanting to be an astronaut, but when she visited a space
museum as a child, her father had taken her into a planetarium. They’d stared at the constellations and dancing stars and comets for an hour, but when the guide plunged the room into pitch black and spoke about black holes, the vastness of the universe, and the sheer nothingness of deep space, she was positively terrified. She’d clutched her father’s arm and began to cry. Logic told her it was just a dark room, but it was revolting.

  Now, Lindsay could feel that same fear creeping toward her. It had been enveloping her since they’d stepped into the cave system. She knew better than to speak up, especially now that their lives were in danger. Nonetheless, she knew she’d be getting no sleep.

  She tried to force her eyes closed and mouthed the lyrics of an old folk song that she’d been taught as a girl.

  She was through three verses, and her nerves were starting to cool down, when she heard a voice that was not inside her head.

  “Leave, left, leaving. Go, went, going. Stay, stayed, staying…”

  It was a whisper, but she jumped anyway.

  The voice was right next to her head. She thought it was directed at her. No one else seemed to hear it. She thought about saying something out loud to the group, but didn’t want to come across as crazy as—

  Bingham.

  She recognized the incoherence and could even hear the singsong lilt of the man’s voice. It was so soft—almost impossible to discern.

  “Restent, restant, resté…”

  The voice continued, right in her ear, in French this time.

  “Elliot?” she whispered, as quietly as possible. “Is that you?”

  There was a pause. “Going, leaving, staying…”

  She rolled to her side and squinted into the darkness. It was hopeless. The darkness was all-consuming; she could see nothing. She whispered again, a bit louder this time.

  About twenty feet away, the faintest of lights emanated an orange glow along the cave wall. It was near the exit to their cavern, the side of the path they’d not yet traveled. As she watched, the light danced and flickered a bit brighter, then disappeared. It reappeared again a few yards farther down the path. It was leaving the cavern.