firm.
'Bugger,' he said, then continued to saw.
She spied movement in three of the deepest holes, all at head height. Mesmerized, she watched three pairs of red eyes racing towards her – one straight at her face. Such was her terror that she didn't even try to move out of the way – there was no point. All she could do was rasp, 'I can see them. They're here.'
For the first time, Hackett looked up from his task. Despite her shock, she marvelled at his expression when he saw the creatures. He didn't exhibit the terror she felt or the horror she saw on Sister Chantal's face. He looked annoyed, as if the worms weren't playing fair. Then he went back to his task.
'Break, you bastard. Break.'
Even if Hackett cut the rope now the creatures were too close. She saw Sister Chantal start to pray. Zeb wanted to look away, but couldn't. She felt compelled to see what was about to kill her.
'Done it,' said Hackett, pulling the rope apart. Zeb detected a note of satisfaction in his voice, even though it was too late and they were seconds from death. She felt his hand take hers and squeeze. 'It's okay,' he said. 'We're all in this together.' He spoke with such composure that he almost calmed her.
When the first worm rifled out of the hole she closed her eyes and braced herself. Her anticipation was so intense that she didn't hear the sound at first. It was only when the attack didn't materialize that she became aware of the chanting. She opened her eyes. The worms had retreated into their holes and were now motionless.
The nymphs have returned, she thought, and looked down the tunnel, expecting to see Torino and the soldiers coming back. Sister Chantal raised her bound hands and pointed frantically towards one of the dark passages by the holes. Zeb saw an indistinct figure chanting the calming incantation and beckoning to them. She registered the staring rock worms and shuddered at the prospect of seeking refuge in their black, infested warren. No one wanted to enter the dragons' lair.
Then she heard more chanting coming from the tunnel of blood. Torino was returning with his nymphs in harness. 'The others are coming back,' said Hackett. 'We can't let them find us.'
They had no choice now. Zeb and the others ran into the dark passage. In the gloom, the shadowy figure stopped chanting, reached out and cut their wrist ties. 'Come with me,' a voice said, and led them into the darkness. 'I know another way down.'
Zeb gasped. It was impossible. Bazin had shot him and the worms had devoured him. Torino had told them as much. And yet, as his strong hand gripped hers and pulled her deeper into the passage, Ross Kelly didn't sound dead. On the contrary, he sounded and felt very much alive.
72
As they descended the dark passageway, Sister Chantal heard more shooting behind them. But she didn't care. Ross was alive. All was not lost.
'Must be killing more of the worms,' Hackett hissed. 'The bastards probably think they've eaten us.' He reached out for Ross. 'Torino said they'd eaten you. I can't believe you're alive. What happened?'
'Yes,' said Zeb. 'I thought-'
Ross put his fingers to his lips and resumed chanting. Then he pointed into the gloom. On each side of the dark passageway there were even darker fissures and side passages. Red eyes watched as they passed and Sister Chantal could almost hear the creatures breathing. The others might be desperate to know what had happened to him, but she felt no need for questions. Somehow the Source had saved him and that was enough for her.
His miraculous resurrection was a sign from God that she could still fulfil her sacred oath. She clutched the crucifix Father Orlando had given her and smiled at the demons in the dark. Do the dead dream? Do they have thoughts and feel emotion? mused Ross, as he continued to chant and led the others down the dark passages to the antechamber.
They must, he concluded, as his mind drifted back to the Source, to when he had died and looked down upon his body… He feels no pain or grief as, from above, he watches the nymphs strip off his clothes and lower his naked body into the small pool beneath the monolith and the hydra. He floats in the mineral-rich water, like a bather in the Dead Sea, as the bullet wound on his chest and the larger exit wound on his back bloom rose-red in the milky water.
The nymphs, at least twenty, form a semicircle round the monolith, as though in worship. Some of its facets remind Ross of the metallic, phosphorous-rich Schreibersite meteor-stone he gave Lauren after his last trip to Uzbekistan – but every other aspect of it is unique, unlike anything he has seen in all his years of geology.
The nymphs begin a new chant, high and pure, which makes the monolith vibrate. Then a small section of its crust cracks and shears off to reveal clear crystal, which quickly clouds, like metal oxidizing. As the segment falls into the pool and breaks into perfectly regular shapes the nymphs step back. The water fizzes and bubbles like a witch's potion and, as Ross's head sinks below the surface, his perspective changes. He is no longer in the chamber looking down on himself: he is staring out at an endless horizon, unlimited by space or time. He had read once that a dying man's life flashes before him in his last moments, but in this instance the curtain of time draws back and the history of all life flashes before him. He sees everything – from the birth of the planet 4.5 billion years ago to the present – with godlike intuition.
He can see hundreds and thousands of meteorites raining down from the heavens, scarring and deforming the Earth's barren crust. Until one seminal meteorite with exactly the right amalgam of amino acids hits a section of crust containing the perfect complementary mix of chemicals, heat and water. The massive energy generated by this unique marriage of amino-acid-rich meteorite and receptive Mother Earth fuses the donor amino acids into peptides – only a step away from lifegiving proteins – and creates a miraculous progeny: the monolith.
They say that water plus chemistry equals biology. In this instance, water catalyses the monolith's life-giving properties, seeding bacteria, germinating the hydra, and helping spread the spores of life across the globe. He sees the hydra begin as a single-cell bacterium then evolve to encompass all life forms – fauna, flora and mineral – in one organism, in one epic lifetime. He now understands why Father Orlando called it the Tree of Life and Death: it embodies every facet of existence.
He witnesses the moment, millions of years ago, when the Source and its garden are eventually cordoned off by lava and sealed in volcanic rock. By then, however, the genie has escaped from the bottle. The last outpost to benefit directly from – and need – the Source's miraculous power is the fountain in the doomed lost city. All other life on earth has long since learnt to adapt outside its orbit, upgrading its original genetic instructions to the more self-sufficient DNA. Only the garden and its inhabitants now depend on the Source's concentrated life force to survive.
Time rushes forward to Pizarro's conquest of Peru half a millennium ago. Ross sees the conquistadors and the Church lay claim and waste to the jungle and its inhabitants, exploiting what they can. Then he witnesses the loggers and the oil companies follow in their destructive footsteps. When Ross considers how he has served the oil companies, without thinking or caring about the consequences to the planet, overwhelming shame washes through him.
So this is what happens when you die, he thinks. There's no God or Devil, no Heaven or Hell, only a final reckoning with your conscience, when all lies are stripped away and you feel the collective pain of all those you've wronged and the collective joy of those you've helped.
Suddenly the nymph with red flowers in its hair appears before him, stroking its distended abdomen. It begins to speak in a disconcertingly familiar voice, listing Ross's actions, good and bad, as if it knows his innermost thoughts and motives. As it recounts his balance sheet of deeds, the nymph morphs into his wife. Lauren stands before him, naked, beautiful, stroking her pregnant belly.
'Are we dead?' he asks.
With a heartbreaking smile, she tells him that deeds are everything and that he can still make amends for any wrongdoing.
'How? What do you want me to do?'
'I love you, Ross, and I know you love me, but there's something you must promise me you'll do.'
When she tells him he begins to cry. 'But I can't do that.'
