CHAPTER 89
Kate squinted, trying to read the journal. The sun was setting over the mountains and dread was building in her stomach. She glanced over at David. His expression was almost blank, unreadable. Maybe somber.
As if reading her mind, Milo entered the large wood-floored room with a gas-burning lantern. Kate liked the smell; it somehow put her at ease.
Milo set the lantern on a table by the bed, where the light would reach the journal and said, “Good evening, Dr. Kate—” Upon seeing that David was awake, he brightened. “And hello again, Mr. Ree—”
“It’s David Vale now. It’s nice to see you again, Milo. You’ve gotten a lot taller.”
“And that’s not all, Mr. David. Milo has learned the ancient art of communication you know as… English.”
David laughed. “And learned it well. I wondered at the time if they would toss it out or actually give it to you — the Rosetta Stone.”
“Ah, my mysterious benefactor finally reveals himself!” Milo bowed again. “I thank you for the gift of your language. And now, may I repay the gift, at least partially,” he raised his eyebrows mysteriously, “with the evening meal?”
“Please,” Kate said, laughing.
David gazed out the window. The last sliver of the sun slipped behind the mountain like a pendulum disappearing in the side of a clock. “You should get your rest, Kate. It’s a very long walk.”
“I’ll rest when we finish. I find reading relaxing.” She opened the book again.
December 23rd, 1917
I strain to see as the dust clears. Then I squint, not believing me eyes. We’ve uncovered more stairs, but there’s something else, expanding to the right of the stairs — an opening, like a gash in the metal.
“We’re in!” Rutger screams and rushes forward into the darkness and floating dust.
I grab for him, but he breaks my grasp. My leg has gotten some better, to the point where I only take one pain pill, sometimes two, each day, but I’ll never catch him.
“You want us go after ‘im?” The Moroccan foreman asks.
“No,” I say. I wouldn’t sacrifice one of them to save Rutger. “Hand me one of the birds.” I take the Canary cage, switch my headlamp on and wade into the dark opening.
The jagged portal is clearly the result of a blast or a rip. But we didn’t make it. We merely found it — the metal walls are almost five feet thick. As I cross into this structure the Immari have been digging and diving for going on almost 60 years, I’m finally overcome by awe. The first area is a corridor, ten feet wide by thirty feet long. It opens to a circular room with wonders I can’t begin to describe. The first thing that catches my eye is an indention in the wall with four tubes, like massive oblong capsules or elongated mason jars, standing on their ends, running from the floor to the ceiling. They’re empty except for a faint white light and fog that floats at the bottom. Farther over, there are two more tubes. One is damaged, I think. The glass is cracked and there’s no fog. But the tube beside it… there’s something in it. Rutger sees it just as I do and he’s at the tube, which seems to sense our presence. The fog clears as we approach, like a curtain rolling back to reveal its secret.
It’s a man. No, an ape. Or something in between.
Rutger looks back at me, for the first time with an expression other than arrogance or contempt. He’s confused. Maybe scared. I certainly am.
I put my hand on his shoulder and resume scanning the room. “Don’t touch anything, Rutger.”