The Anomaly(53)

Lascaux has been dated to around 15,000 BC. There are other illustrated Paleolithic caves twice that old, however, and recent discoveries suggesting more basic Neanderthal decoration of underground locations as long as 170,000 years back.

“Except, there’s a human,” Ken said. “Huge one.”

I was turning to shine the flashlight to see what he was talking about when the illumination it provided suddenly dimmed to a low, dirty yellow. And flickered.

And then went out.





From the files of Nolan Moore:





CAVE PAINTING FROM LASCAUX





Chapter

31



I flipped the switch on the flashlight back and forth. All this achieved was another dim, dying flicker as the batteries gave their last. Then blackness again.

“Bollocks,” Ken said.

“Anybody got another light?”

“Nope,” Molly said. Her voice was flat.

I was waiting for my eyes to adjust, but realized this was dumb. These weren’t low-light conditions. These were conditions of no light at all. No sunlight had fallen here, ever. None. Since the dawn of time. All my eyes could come up with was sparkles in the blackness as my brain tried to make sense and patterns from random retinal firings.

“Okay,” I said. “Okay. This is…not great, but it could be worse.”

“I’m looking forward to hearing how, Nolan.”

“We know where we are, and how to get back.”

“Fuck,” Molly said, suddenly and very loudly. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.”

I’d never heard her swear before. The words rebounded in the cavern and then it was very quiet again.

“It’s all right, love,” Ken said. “Nolan’s right. All we’ve got to do is retrace our steps.”

I reached out in the dark and found Molly’s shoulder. It was shaking. “It’s going to be fine, Moll.”

She didn’t say anything.

“Nolan,” Ken said. “You’re going at the front. Moll, stand behind him and grab hold of that ridiculous shirt. By the way, Nolan, have I ever mentioned that you look like someone playing Hamlet in amateur dramatics in that shirt? Or like a waiter in a really gay restaurant? In 1982?”

“Several times. You even emailed me to that effect once.”

“Did I? I don’t remember that.”

“You may have been drunk. You misspelled your own name.”

“I like the shirt,” Molly said quietly.

“There you go,” I said, relieved that our little double act seemed to have achieved its goal. Or what I assumed had been its goal—it’s possible that Ken really had just wanted to be rude about my attire. “And either way it’s what I’m wearing, so yes, Moll, grab the back of it.”

“And don’t be alarmed if you feel a hand on your shoulder,” Ken told her. “For it shall be mine.”

We got in a line and readied ourselves.

I steered us toward the side opposite the paintings, so we didn’t mess them up by running our hands along them while following the wall. I walked slowly and steadily, knees bent, sweeping each foot out to tap the way with my heel and check for unevenness, lowering the front of the foot, then repeating with the other side. This mode of locomotion came to me without thinking, and it took a moment to remember where from. For my birthday one year Kristy got me a couple of months’ private Tai Chi classes. I’m not sure why—I’d never expressed an interest—but I did kind of enjoy it. I didn’t practice enough in between sessions to improve much, though it did change the way I moved. And here I was, a decade later, walking that Tai Chi walk, in a cavern, in the pitch dark, and not falling over or banging into anything, like a total stealth ninja.

I was just glad that Ken couldn’t see me doing it.



It took ten minutes to get the length of the cavern. Ken swore quietly, twice, presumably having stubbed his toe. Molly said nothing but kept a firm grip on the back of my shirt. The wall finally started to bear in toward me and I used my left arm to keep myself at a consistent distance while flapping out with my right, trying to find the end wall. When I felt it under my fingers I stopped moving.

“Okay,” I said. “Time to shuffle to the right and find that passage. Then the fun part starts.”

“Christ,” Molly muttered.

It took only a minute to find the fissure. I felt around the opening with my hands, then stepped up into it while crouching. I did this slowly and carefully but still managed to crack myself on the top of the head.

When I was properly inside I paused.

I hadn’t enjoyed this part before. Having no light shouldn’t make it worse. Not rationally, anyhow. I’d feel my way. Probably I’d end up scraping my elbows or knocking my head, but otherwise, what difference?

All the difference in the world. In the same way that anybody can walk along a single line of bricks, but if you build that single line up to a hundred feet high, then almost everyone will fall off within a few feet. It’s no harder, for the body anyway. But for the brain…that’s different. The panicking, consequence-aware mind will interfere with the body’s innate ability to balance.

Pushing yourself into a confined space in pitch blackness is similar. The mind has a whole lot of things to say about the prospect, and none of them are “Bring it on.”