The Anomaly(39)

“You’d be thinking of a real archeologist.”

“Good. Because in the movies, most of the time it turns out to be a curse that raises an ancient demon or something, and to be honest that’s kind of the last thing we need right now.”

“No idea what it says?” Ken asked.

“None,” I said. “I’m sure this is what Kincaid described as hieroglyphs. But that’s not what they are, at least not Egyptian. Egypt was big in popular culture back then, and they leaped to conclusions. I don’t know what this actually is. Phoenician. Ancient Anasazi. JavaScript, for all I know.”

We left the room and walked to the first door on the other side of the passage. This led to another, narrower passageway.

“Ha,” Ken said. “This heads toward the canyon wall, doesn’t it?”

“Well, yes. Though it’s a long way from here.”

“Still worth checking out. And look—more of that writing.”

This time there was a single row of the composite characters, running along the wall about four feet from the ground. I lagged behind the others as we walked deeper into the side passage, and yes, I did even trace my finger along the carvings, as if that might help. The symbols in the previous room had been a seamless, orderly mass; these came in clumps, about three feet long, with a gap of a few inches between each section. Like sentences, perhaps, or observations or instructions. Somebody more learned than I was going to have a field day with this stuff.

Assuming they got to see it.

“Christ,” Gemma said suddenly. She sounded some distance away. I realized they’d gotten twenty or thirty feet ahead of me, and hurried to catch up.

“Careful, mate,” Ken said.

They were standing close to a side wall. At first I couldn’t see why. Then I realized the passage stopped abruptly right in front of them.





Chapter

23



Gemma’s headlamp wasn’t cutting it so Ken pulled out his light, too. Together they shone them into the blackness.

“Hell is this?”

Water, appeared to be the answer. A lot of it. It started nine inches below the ledge we were standing on. It was clear and still, and shining light down through it revealed a flat rock floor three or four feet below.

I maneuvered myself carefully to the edge of the drop. The walls on each side were flat and smooth and disappeared into blackness.

“Well, that’s our fluids problem solved,” Ken said.

“Seriously?” Gemma said. “I’m not drinking that.”

“Why? Looks clear to me.”

“But where’s it come from?”

I took Ken’s light and shone it upward. The roof of the room was about six feet above my head. It, too, had been worked—of course; this was hardly a natural feature—but was cracked and uneven. “Above, maybe,” I said. “Some of it, at least. Dripping down through the rock, very, very slowly.”

“Filtered, in other words,” Ken said. “Nice. Shame we don’t have any single malt with us.”

“I’m still not drinking it,” Gemma said. “We don’t know how long it’s been sitting here. It’s got to be full of bugs and microbes.”

I squatted and looked at the water. Even close up, it seemed very clear. Strangely clear, in fact—as you would indeed have thought that standing water would become infested with algae and microscopic creatures.

I sat on the floor and took off my shirt and shoes and socks, putting phone, lighter, and cigarettes safely to one side. I discovered a battered and bent matchbook in my back pocket that I hadn’t even realized was there, and added that to the pile.

Ken watched this process. “Fuck are you doing, Nolan?”

“Taking a closer look.”

I swung my legs over the edge and down into the pool. It was not cold, though below body temperature.

I eased myself down into it. The water came about halfway up my chest.

“There’s no lifeguard on duty, dude,” Gemma said.

I turned my headlamp on and walked out into the pool. The rock underfoot was smooth. The water stretched around me, the far edges hidden beyond the glow of the light, the surface fading into darkness as though it went on forever.

I started moving diagonally, in the hope of finding its extent, and I kept a close eye on the floor as I went. After about twenty yards I started to make out a wall.

When I got to it I saw there were small square openings in a line along it.

“See anything?”

Ken’s voice was surprisingly clear. I looked up and saw now that the space was domed above, in a low curve.

“Holes in the wall,” I said. “I assume that’s what keeps the level constant. Water drips in, then slowly pours back out of these holes. Keeps it from ever getting high enough to flood the rest of the passages, I guess.”

“Does that also explain why it isn’t manky?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. Though it’s going to be a very slow process.” I dipped my hand into the water and brought it up to my face. “No smell at all.”

I turned from the wall and took another diagonal course, this time heading right. After a few yards my foot met resistance. I looked down and saw why.

“There’s some of those pyramid-shaped rock things in the water,” I said. “Sticking up from the floor.”