“I wondered about that. This must be where they mined the adamantine to make their devices.”
Newcombe frowned as if Dodge had missed the point. “Their reach extended across the entire globe. I believe that may explain the similarities in the myths and legends of different cultures around the world. But their civilization was centered in Asia, far from here. It was their technology that enabled them to explore the rest of the world. They would have needed their devices to find this place and carve out the city.”
“So it’s a chicken-or-egg question.” Dodge tried to ponder the paradox, but his mind felt sluggish, mired in a mist-induced fugue. “Maybe they found a different source of the metal somewhere else, and then after getting established, used the technology to find and create this place.”
“Possibly. But I have another hypothesis. Some scientists theorize there is a network of connected caves that run throughout the earth’s crust, like the pores of a sponge. I think that may be how the ancients were able to find places like this. They must have extensively traveled the roads of the subterranean world.”
Hurricane, who had been listening from a few steps away, joined the conversation. “Do you mean there’s a tunnel here that leads to India?”
Newcombe nodded. “Or rather a tunnel that connects with another tunnel and another. And not just India. There are vast cave systems on every continent. Africa, South America… If we started walking, we might eventually reach Mammoth Cave, in Kentucky.”
“That’s a bit further than I’m prepared to travel right now.”
“You and me both, Hurricane.” Dodge said. “So, wandering around exploring the cave could get us lost forever. What are our other options?”
“The way we came in is the only sure pathway back to the surface.”
Hurricane scowled. “In case you hadn’t noticed, Doc, there’s a small army of ugly beasties between us and the exit door. And from what I can tell, Dodge’s little trick with that gizmo of yours brought the roof down, which is the only reason why those critters didn’t come in after us.”
“If there are other passages that connect this cavern with what’s on the other side, then those creatures may already be on their way here.”
Dodge studied the scientist’s face, looking for some small seedling of hope. “He’s right, Hurricane. Like it or not, our best chance to get out of here is to find a way to get back through that gate.”
Hurricane sighed. “I suppose digging is as good as walking. Won’t be easy though.”
“Maybe there’s a better way.” He glanced up the path and saw that the rest of the group was getting spread out. He called out to them, mindful of the fact that his shout might attract attention from the unseen denizens of the cavern. When they were finally assembled, Dodge led them all back to the bridge where he quickly explained the situation, leaving out Newcombe’s revelation about the link to the builders of the Outpost. “We can’t afford to spend hours looking for an exit,” he concluded. “And digging through the cave in could take even longer, but I think there’s another way through the gate. The river has been eating away at that wall for centuries. The gate is thinnest there, and there are already cracks that the river flows through. We might be able to break through to the other side.”
“Not to rain on your parade,” Vaughn countered. “But you do remember that the river is made of pure sulfuric acid, don’t you?”
Dodge nodded. “That river has been here a long time. It was here when they built the city; that’s why there’s this bridge. We need to look around and find something we can use to build a platform or a causeway.”
Hurricane leaned over the side of the bridge and cast his light down onto the fog shrouded surface of the river. “How ‘bout a boat?”
It was, in retrospect, ridiculously obvious.
The ancient architects had built their subterranean city long the banks of the river Fiona had dubbed “Acheron” for a reason. While the acid flow could not sustain life or facilitate agriculture, there was one trait the stream shared with its freshwater counterparts on the surface; it was a natural means of easy transportation.
In legends of the underworld, a mythical ferryman — Charon, in both Greek and Roman mythology — bore the souls of the dead into the afterlife, guiding his boat along the river that separated the living from the dead.
Of course, both the city and the river existed firmly in the realm of the real, and the usefulness of the latter to the long forgotten citizens of the former was almost certainly banal in nature, but whatever their purpose, the ancients had left behind one of their boats.
Dodge and Hurricane made their way cautiously down to the craft, which appeared to be made completely of adamantine. It resembled a flat-bottomed canoe, about fifteen feet in length, and had been left on the bank just downstream of the bridge. Jutting out of its interior was a long pole of the same metal. A quick inspection revealed that the hull was sound, and given its composition, Dodge was confident that it would not spring a leak. Nevertheless, he wasn’t enthusiastic about the idea of venturing out onto the deadly river.
“I’ll do this,” Hurricane said. “Remember, I’m pretty good at breaking through walls.”
Dodge shook his head. “If those creatures show up, your guns are about the only chance we’ve got of holding them off.”
The big man simply nodded, and gripped the prow of the boat as Dodge climbed aboard. “Hang on,” he said, and when Dodge was situated, he gave it the craft a sturdy shove, launching it into the stream.
The river was almost completely hidden in a blanket of mist, and as the boat splashed into it, vapor spilled over the sides, filling the bilges. The gentle current immediately tugged at the boat, drawing it further away from the bridge, but Dodge extended the pole cautiously into the river finding the bottom only a few feet down, and pushed back. As he punted the craft under the arch of the bridge, he glanced up into the expectant eyes of the rest of the group. “See you back at the gates.”
The task of propelling the boat upstream was not particularly arduous, but after just a few minutes of exertion, Dodge felt lightheaded. The river course was the lowest place in the cavern and the concentration of vapors was greater here. The giddy sensation was not much different than the effect of a couple pints of beer, but he made a conscious effort to avoid abrupt movements that might cause him to lose his balance.
He will….
Dodge froze at the sound, tightening his grip on the punt. The current pulled the boat back, curling it around the pole, but Dodge remained statue still for a moment.
“Hearing things,” he muttered. “This mist is getting to me.”
He shoved the boat forward again.
He will destroy….
Dodge tried to ignore the whisper — the auditory hallucination — and continued methodically pushing the little craft through the fog.
He will betray you. Don’t trust him.
This time, the sound was no mere whisper, but a stern warning, delivered by a voice that was eerily familiar.
“That’s helpful,” Dodge said, under his breath. He knew exactly what the warning meant — a warning that surely originated from his own subconscious. Deep down, he knew that Von Heissel was plotting something terrible, and that he would betray Dodge as soon as he had what he wanted.
He will destroy everything.
I know that voice, Dodge thought. But from where?
He tried again to focus on the immediate goal, all too conscious of the fact that every moment spent breathing the poisonous air surely brought him closer to the point where hallucinations would give way to delirium and unconsciousness.