Search for the Buried Bomber

CHAPTER 36





The Air Shaft



The three of us gulped. It took me a long time before I was brave enough to take another look. I don't know whether it was from the buildup of psychological pressure or if the face really was that terrifying, but as I examined it in detail my fear somehow became even more intense. I felt as if I were suff ocating.

It had a nose like an eagle's beak and an abnormally tall forehead. Had it been squashed into this form or did it normally appear this strange? If it was a person, he had to be dead, his brain matter crushed into tiny pieces. There was not the slightest trace of Yuan Xile in this demonic face. That was good at least. A long time passed as we looked at one another in blank dismay. No one knew what to say.

Ma Zaihai was first to react. He stood up, went over to his backpack, and pulled out a rope with a three-pronged pig-iron hook at the end. Then he made to dismantle the long iron desk. He wanted to use one of the desk legs as a handle for the hook. Unfortunately, the desk was too solid. It was welded to the floor. Though we tried for a long time to move it, the thing never even flexed. We rummaged about for a while, until at last the deputy squad leader found a length of iron wire—thick as a thumb—welded to the wall. We tore it down and wrapped it around the base of the grapnel. Then we all squatted down, curious to see what was really back there.

It was a chaotic scene. The deputy squad leader was still injured, so it was I who took the flashlight and illuminated the vent, while Ma Zaihai reached in with the hook. In fact, Ma Zaihai was far from willing, but he had to obey orders. His lips trembled as he lay prone. We told him to be careful, but what use was that? All three of us lay down in front of the opening and watched as bit by bit the hook moved farther in.

The whole thing took less than half a minute, but I felt as if I'd been staring for a whole day. At last, when the hook was about to bump into the strange face, my eyes were already sore. By then we were ready for anything—the thing suddenly moving or dodging quickly backward—but the hook knocked into it and the face didn't move in the slightest. No matter how we prodded it, the thing made no reaction. "It seems all flopped over," said Ma Zaihai. "The feel of it is wrong." He finally caught the grapnel around the thing's neck. The point dug in, giving him a tight hold around the head. There was almost no resistance as it came sliding toward us. My heartbeat abruptly quickened its pace. All of us stood up at the same time, each preparing to jump backward at a moment's notice. No one wanted to react too late.

The pale white head was first to emerge. Next came the body. I saw things like feet and hands and in that moment my mind went numb. How incredibly strange, I thought. Its whole body has gone soft, like some enormous mollusk. My heart gave a leap. Then I realized what it was.

This was no monster. It was a strange rubber suit. It was timeworn and probably left by the Japanese. The twisted face was no more than a squished gas mask attached to the top of the suit. The mask was really more of a helmet. It had a very high forehead and an odd-looking design. The clothing and mask were one piece. It was a model I'd never seen before and presumably protected against much more than just poison gas. Ma Zaihai poked at it with the iron hook. There appeared to be nothing inside. Seeing this, he relaxed and made to swear once more, but he seemed to remember what the deputy squad leader had said and his jaw snapped shut. The deputy squad leader's countenance remained imposing. Ma Zaihai wanted to take a closer look, but the deputy squad leader grabbed him. "Leave it alone for a moment," he said.

But nothing happened, so we crowded back around it and the mood eased up. Spreading it open with the hook, Ma Zaihai poked and shined his flashlight over the thing. I remembered the time a gold-striped snake had gotten into my clothing. My mother had whacked at the clothes until the snake slithered back out. There was nothing like that, nothing hidden or the least bit amiss, about this suit.

At last Ma Zaihai turned the suit over. The spot where the rubber body connected to the helmet was already torn, most likely the autograph of Ma Zaihai's hook. The area around the suit's chest was also rotted. It had probably been sticking to the bottom of the shaft and ripped open when we yanked it. Inside was absolutely empty. Everyone relaxed. False alarm. Ma Zaihai knelt down and began ripping off sections of the suit. He tore it to shreds. There truly was nothing inside.

"Strange," said the deputy squad leader, "who would have stuffed this thing back there, and toward what purpose?" As he said this, Ma Zaihai squatted back down and shined his flashlight into the air shaft.