“Too many to count.”
“Plus, the Shenandoah was only two hundred thirty feet long and thirty-two feet wide. That ravine is”-Sam did the calculation in his head-“twenty-five times longer and forty times wider.”“You’re no dummy, Sam Fargo.” Remi looked down the slope before them. “What do you think?” she asked. “Straight down?”
Sam nodded. “I think we can manage it.” THE GOING WAS SLOW but not particularly treacherous. Using the trunks of diagonally growing trees as makeshift steps, they picked their way down the slope and back into deeper jungle. The sun dimmed through the canopy, leaving them in twilight.
Sam called a halt for a water break. After a few gulps he wandered off along the hillside with a “Be right back” over his shoulder. He returned a minute later with a pair of heavy straight sticks and handed the shorter of the two to Remi.“A poker?” she asked.
“Yes. If she’s here, the only way we’re going to find her is legwork. Likewise, if she’s covered in a layer of petrified vegetation and ash, there are going to be gaps and voids. If we probe enough ground, we’re sure to find something.”“Assuming-”
“Don’t say it.”
FOR THE NEXT SIX HOURS, as the afternoon wore toward evening, they marched side by side across the ravine floor and up and down hillocks, poking with their sticks and doing their best to keep to a north/south- oriented, switchback pattern.“Six o’clock,” Sam said, glancing at his watch. “We’ll finish this line, then call it a night.”
Remi laughed wearily. “And retreat to the lovely confines of our hammock-” She stumbled forward and landed with an “Umph!”
Sam strode over and knelt beside her. “Are you okay?”
She rolled over, pursed her lips, and puffed a strand of hair from her cheek. “I’m fine. Getting clumsy with exhaustion.” Sam stood up and helped her to her feet. Remi looked around. “Where’s my stick?”“At your feet.”
“What? Where?”
Sam pointed down. Jutting two inches from the loam was the tip of Remi’s stick. Sam said, “Either that’s a fantastic magic trick or you’ve found a void.”
CHAPTER 44
PULAU LEGUNDI, SUNDA STRAIT
STEPPING CAREFULLY, THEY BACKED UP A FEW FEET AND SCANNED the ground nearby. “Anything?” Sam asked.
“No.”
“Hop onto that tree.”
“If we haven’t fallen through yet, we probably won’t.”
“Just humor me.”
Remi backed up until her butt bumped into the trunk, then turned and climbed onto the lowermost branch. Sam shrugged off his pack and laid it on the ground. Next, holding his stick parallel to the ground at waist height like a tightrope walker, he crept forward until he was standing over the tip of Remi’s stick. He knelt down, placed his stick in front of his knees, then pulled Remi’s free. He dug his headlamp from the thigh pocket of his cargo pants and shone the beam into the hole.“It’s deep,” he said. “Can’t see the bottom.”
“What do you want to do?”
“What I want to do is widen it and crawl down there, but it’s almost dark. Let’s set up camp and wait for daylight.”
THEY SLEPT FITFULLY, passing the hours dozing and talking, their minds imagining what might lay only feet away from their hammock. Having both metaphorically and literally traced the same course Winston Blaylock followed during his quest, Sam and Remi felt as though they’d been hunting for the Shenandoah for years.
They waited until enough morning sun was filtering through the canopy to partially light their work, then ate a quick breakfast and climbed back up the hillock to the hole left by Remi’s stick, this time equipped with a thirty-foot coil of nylon boating rope that had come with the pinisi. Remi looped one end of the line twice around the nearest tree; the opposite end of the line Sam formed into a makeshift horse collar that he slipped over his shoulders and tucked under his armpits.“Luck,” said Remi.
Sam paced over to the hole and knelt down. Carefully, he began jabbing with the stick, knocking chunks of loam and congealed ash into the unseen voids below, backing away on his knees as the hole widened. After five minutes’ work, it was the size of a manhole.Sam stood up and called over his shoulder, “Have you got me?”
Remi grabbed the line tighter, took in the slack, and braced her feet against the trunk. “I’ve got you.”
Sam coiled his knees and jumped a few inches off the ground. He did it again, a little higher. He paused and looked around.
“See any cracks?”
“All clear.”
Sam stomped on the ground once, then again, then six times in quick succession. “I think we’re okay.”
Remi tied off her end of the line and joined Sam at the hole. He unraveled the horse collar and knotted it around the strap on his headlamp, then clicked the lamp on and started lowering it into the hole, counting forearm lengths as he went. The line went slack. At the bottom of the hole, the headlamp lay on its side. They leaned forward and peered into the gloom.After a moment Remi said, “Is that a . . . No, can’t be.”
“A skeleton foot? Yes, it can be.” He looked up at her. “Tell you what: Why don’t I go first?”
“Great idea.”
AFTER RETRIEVING THE HEADLAMP, they spent a few minutes tying climbing knots in the rope, then dropped it back into the hole. Sam slid his feet into the opening, wiggled forward, and began lowering himself hand over hand.
Like a geologist examining an exposed cliff face, Sam felt as though he were descending through history. The first layer of material was regular soil, but passing two more feet the color changed, first to light brown, then a muddy gray.“I’m into the ash layer,” he called.
Clumps and veins of what appeared to be petrified wood and vegetation began appearing in the ash.
His feet touched the bottom of the shaft he’d excavated from above. He kicked toeholds into the sides of the shaft and slowly transferred his weight to his legs until he was certain he was steady. Jutting from the side of the shaft was what they’d thought was a skeletal foot.“It’s a tree root,” he called.
“Thank God.”
“Next one will probably be the real thing.”
“I know.”
“Stick, please.”
Remi lowered it down to him. Using both hands, he worked the stick first like a posthole digger, then like a pot stirrer, knocking and scraping at the shaft until he was satisfied with the width. Plumes of ash swirled around him. He waited for the cloud to settle, then squatted on his haunches and repeated the process until he’d opened four more feet of shaft.“How deep so far?” Remi called.
“Eight feet, give or take.” Sam lifted the stick up and slid it into his belt. “We’re going to have to evacuate this debris.”
“Hold on.”
A moment later, Remi called, “Bag coming down.”
One of their nylon stuff sacks landed on his head; knotted to the drawstring was some paracord. Sam squatted down, filled the bag with the debris, and Remi hauled it up. Two more times cleared the shaft.
Sam began lowering himself again. Under the weight of the layers above, the mixture here had become more and more compressed until finally, at the ten-foot mark, the color morphed again, from gray to brown to black.
Sam stopped suddenly. He felt his heart lurch. He turned his head sideways, trying to aim the headlamp’s beam at what had caught his eye. He found it again, then braced his feet against the shaft’s sides to steady himself.“I’ve got timber!” he called.
