“He’s in shock,” Shenjung said.
Yang’s jaw jutted. “And I have two dozen people missing. He knows what happened. You make him tell us, or I will. Quickly now.”
Soong was scrolling through the camp’s personnel records on a computer pad, and turned the screen to Shenjung. “The man’s name is Lim Daiyu. He’s the base cook.” She leaned forward and gently placed a hand on Lim’s shoulder.
“Mister Lim, Lim Daiyu…”
“Zhàyǔ!”
The shouted word made Soong fall back.
“Zhàyǔ — Zhàyǔ — Zhàyǔ!” Lim lunged at her, his face streaked with tears and eyes showing whites all round.
Yang kicked him back. “Be careful.”
Lim covered up his head again, sobbing. Shenjung clicked his fingers at one of his team. “The medical bag; get me two mls of Librium, quickly.”
Yang leaned over the chanting man. “What is that imbecile saying?”
“Zhàyǔ.” Shenjung snorted. “Do you not know your Chinese mythology, Captain? Zhàyǔ is an ancient evil. It is supposed to be made up of pure yin, and devours men whole.” He looked up at the tall soldier. “And it lives in the underworld.”
Yang snorted. “Like most demons, I’m sure.”
A syringe of golden fluid was handed to Shenjung, and he stuck it immediately into the man’s arm. Shenjung handed the empty syringe over his shoulder and nodded to Soong.
She talked softly, her hand on Lim’s shoulder. “You’re safe now. You’re safe, Mister Lim. Do you know where you are?” she asked.
Lim moaned, but breathed deeply, his taut frame visibly relaxing. In a few seconds he nodded.
“Good.” She continued to pat Lim’s arm.
Shenjung leaned forward. “This is important, Mister Lim. What happened here? Where is everyone?”
Lim shook his head, crushing his eyes shut. “I don’t know.”
Shenjung put a hand on his shoulder. “Yes, you do. You hid in the refrigerator for a reason. Tell us why, Mister Lim. You’re safe to speak now.”
Lim Daiyu made a small sound in his throat. “I want to go home, please.” He looked up, his face running new tears. “We are all dead.”
Yang growled his impatience, and Shenjung ignored him.
“Why do you want to go home? What scared you?”
Lim looked towards the elevator shaft room. “They all went down to the lower levels to find the missing workers. A few of us had to remain here.” He rocked back and forth. “It came, came up, took them all. No escape for us…” He howled. “Zhàyǔ-ǔǔǔǔ!”
Yang’s lips curled. “Superstitious idiot.” He kicked the man over, his howl shutting off. “Our answers are not up here. Ready your people. As soon as that cage is repaired, I want the first team to descend.”
Shenjung nodded, and then looked back to the elevator room. He felt a warm breeze on his cheek. Like breathing, Soong had said.
It didn’t take long for the engineers and soldiers to agree that the elevator cage could not be rebuilt — time and materials were both nonexistent. Instead, the engineers had straightened the guide-rails and created an open wood and steel platform. The metal sheet that had been the roof of the cage was too buckled to be of use and remained against the wall, a mute but stark representation of the power that had burst forth from the depths.
The first Chinese team descended slowly. Shenjung Xing stood to one side, with Soong crowding in close to him. He felt her small fingers intertwine with his. At the other side of the ten-by-ten platform stood Yang, immobile, a small reflection of the control panel’s lights in his coal-black eyes. Other than that small spark, the man might have been made from the same stone just beyond the cage.
Shenjung watched as the rough hewn walls shot upwards as they descended. The crowd on the platform meant those closest to the rushing stone were little more than inches from the jagged, uneven rock. A stumble would mean snagging on the stone and having clothing, and perhaps skin, shredded away in an instant.
Shenjung tilted his head back. There was a dot of light far above them now. The base camp — light and life, now dwindling away to nothing.
The last communication from the former engineer, Zhang Li, was that he was heading down to the lowest level tunnel — half a mile still to go. They would assemble at the bottom, and while Yang would send out scouts, the rest of them would wait for the entire team of engineers, miners, and soldiers to arrive, leaving just a skeleton crew topside.
A mile down now, and Shenjung already felt unsettled. At first they had passed through a layer of bone chilling cold emanating from the dark stone. But now in the depths, there was a warmth and humidity rising around them, and a smell that hinted at something vaguely reminiscent of humid shorelines or rotting vegetation. Methane pockets, Shenjung thought. We need to be careful of sparks.
They passed by multiple cross tunnels on their way to the deepest level, and finally the elevator whined to a halt with a final jerk and bounce at the bottom. Shenjung cursed softly; it was too much to hope the lights would still be working, and the huge man-made cave was a solid wall of darkness.
Yang ordered everyone off the platform, and immediately sent it back to the surface for the next group. He then turned to click his fingers and point, sending two of his men scurrying off, guns up and the barrel beams of their automatic rifles leading them away into the darkness.
Shenjung noticed all the PLA soldiers carried huge packs, probably additional ammunition, climbing equipment, and supplies. More than he would have expected, and more than any of his own team brought with them. So much for this being a rapid search and recovery mission, he thought glumly.
The PLA leader turned to his men. “We need to gather any evidence of the American assault on the base, and we need to locate that source of the signal. This is the priority.”
Shenjung cleared his throat. “And we need to find our missing people.”
Yang grunted, not turning. “They are either here or not, alive or not.”
Shenjung was determined not to let the man ignore the possibility of survivors. “You do care about our people, yes, Captain?”
Yang turned, his dead eyes never flickered. “Comrade Shenjung Xing, I care about our people, and their safety and security. I also care about our people of the future, and their children and children’s children, and their ability to live in freedom and prosperity. I do not like an aggressor to have superiority over the oceans where they can seal us off when they choose to. We will locate the missing American submarine, and I expect we will find out what happened to our people on the way.” He took a step closer, towering over Shenjung. “Yes?”
Shenjung saw then the zealotry in the man’s eyes. The facade had cracked open and the unbending soldier stood ramrod straight within. To this man, Shenjung knew he was necessary baggage at best, and an expendable irritant at worst. He needed to take care. He nodded.
Yang spun away. “Get those lights working. Hurry.” His voice boomed in the dark tunnel.
One of Yang’s soldiers jogged back from the darkness. “Sir, there are no lights.”
Yang made a gravelly sound deep in his throat, and the man quickly pointed his rifle beam upwards as explanation. There was nothing above them — the cords, light fittings, support rails, all were gone — also the land lines for communication. They’d be out of contact until they surfaced. The soldier moved his light and they could see there were fresh gouges in the stone as if some sort of heavy machine had been dragged along, scraping everything away as it passed.