The Deep Zone

Making it all the way back to her own spot felt just about impossible. “D’you mind if I sleep here a while.” More a statement than question.

“Do you snore?”

“Been known to. Jus’ elbow me.”

“Fair enough.”

“Wha’ about you?” She could feel her eyes drooping.

“What about me?” Bowman tilted his head.

“Do you snore?”

“Never.”

“Never? Come on. Ever’body snores.”

“True. There’s a surgical procedure. Reduces the uvula, tightens up surrounding tissue.”

That woke her up a bit. “You’re not kidding.”

“No.”

“Why in hell would anyone do that?”

“There are places where snoring can get you killed.”

Yeah. There must be. Her eyes were beginning to fall shut again. She was easing into the misty, unfocused place between here and there. There’s something else I want to ask, she thought, but for the life of her she could not remember what it was. “I think I’m going to sleep.”

“Good idea.”

He turned over onto his back. She shifted her position and their bodies settled and softened, molding against each other. She lay with her head on his shoulder, his arm around her. She folded one arm against his side and lay the other across his chest. His breathing was slower and deeper than hers, but every once in a while they would breathe together and she liked the unison. He felt solid next to her, but warm and yielding at the same time. And he smelled even better close up.

The last thing she remembered was him kissing the top of her head, and then she was asleep. She snored softly a few times, but Bowman didn’t elbow her. He lay awake for a while, listening, feeling her chest and belly move against him as she breathed. When he knew she was deep in REM sleep, he drifted off himself. Or as much to sleep as he ever went. She dreamed of swimming in cool, blue water. He dreamed of black mountains and red muzzle flashes.

TWENTY-TWO

THE NEXT DAY, HALLIE WAS LEADING THEM ALONG AN AIRY spine of whitish rock, a natural catwalk that looked like frozen milk. It was two feet wide, its surface slightly convex, and glistening-slick with moisture. Mountaineers would have roped up before crossing such terrain. They had been moving for fourteen hours.

“How deep are those drops beside us?” Cahner was playing his light down into the darkness. The beams disappeared into a yellowish fog before hitting anything solid.

“About two hundred feet on the right, two-fifty the left.” Hallie had laser-ranged them the last time. “Not as big as Don’t Fall Wall, but nothing you want to go down.”

“I am not enjoying this part.” Arguello was shuffling along in baby steps, barely picking up his boots, his arms raised and outstretched like a wire walker’s.

“Put your weight in your feet.” Hallie shone her light on his boots.

“My weight is on my feet.”

“Not on. In. Think like all your weight, all your thoughts, and all your energy are dropping into your feet. Make them part of the rock.”

“Aikido,” said Bowman, right behind her.

“Yep. A master can plant himself like that and you couldn’t move him with a tractor.”

“Seen it.”

“That is better, yes,” said Arguello, his arms coming down a little.

“Keep your eyes focused on the trail three feet ahead. The rest of you will go where you look.”

Half an hour later, Hallie held up one hand. “Stop here.” She had been watching a yellow Sirius atmosphere analyzer, about the size of a deck of cards, which showed an increasing concentration of hydrogen sulfide. They had all been able to smell the rotten-egg odor, too. “Rebreather time.” Because the rebreathers were closed-circuit systems that did not draw in external air, they could function as gas masks like those used by firefighters. They all retrieved the rebreathers from their packs, put them on, and checked their functions. Doing that made Hallie think of Haight.

Too good a man to have died like that.

Hallie realized the others were all looking at her. She raised her voice to be heard through the mask: “Let’s go. Be especially careful with these things on. They’ll restrict your peripheral vision. You’ll lose some view of the footing.”

After another quarter mile, Hallie’s skin began to tingle inside her caving suit. She looked at the Sirius and saw its red warning LED illuminated. The concentration of hydrogen sulfide here was now lethal. If any of them had a mask leak or failure, they would die like the soldiers gassed in the trenches of World War I.

They passed through a stadium-sized chamber with a domed ceiling fifty feet overhead and walls striped red and white like a barber pole from alternating layers of iron sulfide and calcite. The air filled with a yellow-green fog that diffused their light beams and, in low places, collected into a gaseous soup so thick it hid their feet.

After another five minutes, Hallie stopped. The others came up beside her.

“Holy Mary, Mother of God.” The rebreather did nothing to muffle the horror and awe in Arguello’s voice.

“Welcome to the Acid Bath.” Hallie played her light beam back and forth, out in front of them. “Pure, industrial-grade sulfuric acid.” The light reflected off the surface of a subterranean lake filled with shining liquid about the consistency of kerosene, glistening and oily. Even though there was not enough air movement to create wave action, the liquid had a life of its own, colors changing on its surface in a slow, endless upwelling of iridescent reds and yellows and greens. Vapor floated over the liquid and collected in a urine-colored fog.

“Without rebreathers, standing here you’d be dead in five seconds.” Hallie picked up a rock and tossed it far enough out into the lake that no liquid would splash on them. When the rock hit the lake’s surface, there was an instantaneous boiling, accompanied by a sound like sharp static electricity. And that was it. The lake had eaten the rock that quickly.

Bowman stepped closer, using a stronger hand light to see farther. “We can’t go through it, so we must be able to go around it.

Right?”

“Yes.” Hallie led them to the right, following the acid lake’s shore, and came to the place where the cave floor met vertical wall. Two feet above the floor there was a ledge no more than twelve inches wide, like those that ringed older buildings in cities.

“A section of wall peeled off, leaving that ledge. It’ll take us around to the lake’s far side. No other way.”

“How far?” Bowman asked.

“A thousand feet, give or take. The ledge isn’t wide, but it’s dead flat all the way. Like a traverse on a rock climb.”

“I have not climbed rock as much as you,” said Arguello, tense but under control. “What is the best way to do this?”

“Keep as much boot sole on the ledge as you can. Hands shoulder height. Never move both hands at the same time. Left hand moves forward, finds a hold, secures, then right hand follows. Then left foot, then right. Don’t overreach. You want to stay balanced on this thing.”

“That will not be so easy with such packs.” Arguello, again.

“It’s doable. We made it before. Just cinch your shoulder straps and waist belts as tight as you can get