Into the Abyss (Dark Prospects Book 2) Read online

  The screen lit up once more, albeit dimly. A single tiny light glimmered within the darkness. It had to be the searchlight glimpsed from far away. From the shakiness of the footage I knew the plane had already taken off and was now cruising through the abyss. Holding my breath, I stared straight ahead. A dark gray mist floated somewhere far below. Its appearance was odd, heavy yet indistinct, as if it were somewhere between a solid and a gas. But the light was too low and the film quality too poor for me to get more than the barest sense of it. The plane began to descend, but before reaching the mist, it stopped and began flying levelly once more. For the next twenty-some minutes there was not the slightest change. The plane cruised just above the uppermost reaches of the mist, which neither rose nor shifted at all. The abyss was beyond vast; the plane had been speeding across it this whole time and still there was no end in sight. Just how big was it?

  As the minutes passed, there was practically no change in the footage, but for fear we might miss something, none of us dared look away. Suddenly the screen went white and we all jumped in surprise. Another line of text appeared and then vanished. Ma Zaihai quickly stopped the film and rewound until the text reappeared. It was a string of numbers, written as illegibly as before, but these I at least recognized. They pertained to the height, time, and general position of the plane. These were the first coordinates on the film. The Japanese must have found something here. As soon as the numbers disappeared, the void reappeared onscreen. My heart skipped a beat. The plane was no longer flying smoothly and the camera was shaking violently. The entire screen juddered. I was dizzy enough to vomit, but I forced myself to keep watching.

  Despite the choppy images, I could tell that the plane was diving steeply and banking sharply to the right. Towering out of the dense, gray cloud ahead was a giant black shape, its visible portion already six or seven stories tall. I held my breath as the plane broke through the mist and the thing was revealed in full. My jaw dropped open. It was far bigger than I had imagined. Its lower half was sunk deep into the mist. More astonishing than its size, though, was its appearance. It looked just like a man.

  Stunned, I told Ma Zaihai to proceed at half-speed. Appearing out of the darkness was a great human-shaped thing, its "skull" enormous, its body slumped strangely over, as if in mourning. Both arms hung at its sides, disappearing into the lower reaches of the mist. Amid that thick cloud, the thing was far from distinct, yet it was clear enough to be identifiable. I couldn't believe my eyes. The hairs on my back all stood up. What could it be? Some eerily anthropomorphic mass of cave rock? A great stone statue carved by a god? Or was it a living organism, enormous, and shaped like a man?

  Though I might not want to acknowledge what I was seeing, there was no point in deceiving myself. I had glimpsed enough of its dark shape to know that whatever it was, it hadn't formed naturally. This thing was definitely manmade. But what was it doing down here? The dark structure filled the screen as the plane sped towards it. Veering in close, the pilot lapped it once, then cut a steep ascent. A moment later we were out of the mist. Just as I was hoping that the plane would fly back down and give us a closer look, the footage abruptly froze.

  We all flinched. Cold sweat covered my hands. Wang Sichuan ran to check the film reel. We’d reached the final frame. The movie was over. Silence descended on the room. We just sat there, staring at the frozen image onscreen. I don't remember who was first to speak or what he said. It couldn’t have been important. My own mind was blank. As if moving automatically, my right hand reached into my pocket for a cigarette, but I was shaking too much to pull one free.

  CHAPTER

  4

  The Figure in the Mist

  Only after Ma Zaihai shut off the projector, returning the screen to its original tattered, white appearance, did I begin to regain my composure. I was the first to ask the question on all of our minds. "What was that thing?"

  No one replied. I forced myself to calm down. Gradually my shaking stopped. I took out a cigarette, lit it and inhaled deeply. I looked over at Wang Sichuan. His normally dark face was somehow even paler than Ma Zaihai's.

  We’d both graduated from university and, while educational standards back then were nowhere near what they are today, China's schools of higher learning were hardly as abysmal as you might imagine, especially in technical fields like ours. We’d been taught exclusively by venerable scholars who had studied in the United States and the Soviet Union. We fancied ourselves pretty worldly, smart, and wise. Our teachers were all staunch materialists; it was the prevailing mindset of the academic environment in which we had grown up. For unswerving atheists like us to come upon so unexplainable a circumstance was terrifying. It jarred our well-ordered worldview much more severely than it would have the average person. I couldn't even begin to guess what we’d seen. With only a vague, mist-shrouded form to go on, the wheels of my mind refused to turn. All the same, I knew it wasn't an illusion. This great abyss, 3,600 feet underground, was already a kind of geological miracle. Now that we’d found some enormous, apparently artificial thing rising out of its center, one had to wonder: Just whose masterpiece was this? It had to be manmade, but who could have built something so huge in a place like this? My materialistic worldview began to waver. My mind was filled with questions, but I knew there was no one who could begin to answer them.

  Taking a deep breath, Wang Sichuan walked over and asked me for a cigarette. His hands were shaking. After handing one over, I passed him my lighter as well. I held one out for Ma Zaihai, but the poor kid was so stunned that it took him several seconds to respond. Turning back to Wang Sichuan, I saw that rather than smoke his cigarette, he’d lit it and placed it on the table in front of him. As I watched, he performed some strange ceremonial rite. Several sentences of Mongolian flowed solemnly from his lips. This behavior only increased the strangeness of our situation. Once he’d finished, he turned to me and said this was a prayer to Ehegazhar, the Earth Mother, asking for her protection. Lamps and sticks of incense were ordinarily placed burning on an altar for this ceremony, but now all he had was a lit cigarette and a wooden table. He had never before given any credence to his parents' faith in Ehegazhar, believing it was all just superstition. Even now he remained filled with doubt, but all the same he said it was wise to at least cover his bases by paying the appropriate respects. I wanted to tell him that this was nonsense, a relic of blind faith from the time of feudalism, but when I looked back at the image frozen onscreen, the words refused to come. Ma Zaihai asked Wang Sichuan how the prayer was performed, but he replied that only Mongolians could receive the Earth Mother's blessing.

  The film was definitively over and we had no desire to watch it again. Nor did we want to discuss its content. What could we say? This affair had already far exceeded the scope of our understanding. After Ma Zaihai said a few sentences asking Buddha for his protection, we all went silent.

  After a few minutes, Wang Sichuan got up, placed the film back in its canister and turned to us. "It's time we made a little pact," he said. We looked at him. The color had returned to his face. He seemed to have regained his composure. "There's no use in considering the matter any further," he said. "The three of us haven't got the barest chance of figuring out what that thing was, and in any case, its existence is simply not something that the world needs to know about. Once we deliver this to our superiors, it's going to be sealed away forever. So there's no reason for any of us to ever mention we watched it. Agreed?"

  I understood him completely. This clip was much too subversive. If we let on that we’d seen it, we were sure to be in for trouble. I nodded.

  "I've never been good at lying," said Ma Zaihai. "As soon as the Company Commander takes one look at me, I won't be able to hide it."

  "Don't be so goddamned soft!" snapped Wang Sichuan. "Keep your mouth shut and you'll be promoted to squad leader when we get out of here. You can count on it."

  Ma Zaihai's face lit up immediately. He turned to Wang Sichuan and gave a smart salute. "
Thank you, Engineer Wang," he said. "I swear I won't say a thing."

  Truth be told, we had no authority over who rose and fell in rank, but so long as we made it to the surface with the film intact, all three of us were sure to be rewarded. Even if Ma Zaihai didn't make it to squad leader, he’d at least be promoted to deputy squad leader.

  "It's time to get going," said Wang Sichuan. "The longer we stay here the more likely it is that something bad will happen."

  Ever since retrieving the film canister from the spy, I’d wanted to return to the surface as soon as possible. Watching the footage only increased my fear of this place. My desire to leave was stronger than ever, but for some reason I found myself momentarily unable to move. Still, spurred by Wang Sichuan's repeated urgings, we managed to rouse ourselves. With effort we gathered our things and strapped on our packs. I couldn't help but regret our decision to watch the film. What we’d seen weighed on my mind like a bad dream. Nothing good would come from it. Any sense of calm felt miles away.

  Wang Sichuan strode over to the door and pulled free the iron club he’d wedged behind the handle. He yelled back to us to hurry up, saying we’d already delayed two hours and couldn't afford to waste any more time. We gathered beside the door. He cautiously pressed against it, as if afraid someone might be waiting in ambush.

  "We have to be careful," he said. "It could swing open at any time."

  He gave it a little push. The door didn't budge. Surprise flashed across his face. He pushed harder. The door shifted a smidgen, but would go no farther. Wang Sichuan looked back at me, his expression worried. Grabbing hold of the door handle, he yanked it with all his might. Nothing. Something was wrong. The door was not simply stuck. Again he tried to heave it backwards. Sheets of dust fell softly to the floor, but the door did not move.

  Turning around, Wang Sichuan took a few steps back. "Goddamnit," he said, a trace of astonishment in his voice. "That son of a bitch locked the door."

  CHAPTER

  5

  Trapped

  This was a military base. Everything within it was military-grade, the doors all triple-proofed, iron-sheeted and lined with cotton, the walls thick of concrete. Once a door like this was locked, even dynamite might not blast it open. Not that we had any, of course.

  I gave the door a push. It was sealed tight. Someone must have snuck up while we were watching the movie and trapped us inside. My mind was filled with unease. Wang Sichuan was right. This had to be the work of the enemy agent. Could he have followed us all the way back here? How had we not noticed?

  In a rage, Wang Sichuan violently smashed his bearish frame against the door. I tried to help, but it was like ramming into a cement wall. Wang Sichuan's anger seemed to reach its peak. With a terrible look on his face, he slammed into the door again and again—to no effect. Undaunted, he tried to kick it open, but this made even less of an impact. Still, he gave it several more kicks before, huffing and puffing, he finally stopped and sat down heavily.

  "You underhanded mother-fucker," he panted. "Get out of the goddamn shadows and face me like a man."

  From beyond the door there came only silence. This was a projection room. Its soundproofing had to be excellent. That was how the spy who had chased us all this way had locked the door without Wang Sichuan and the rest of us realizing. He’d pulled this same trick on us back in the warehouse. My blood boiled. After getting the drop on him and retrieving the film, how could we have fallen for this again? But I knew that anger would achieve nothing. "See how fast he followed us?" I said to them. "It's obvious he'll stop at nothing to get the film back. Trapped like this we're at a severe disadvantage. He's definitely planning something. We have to get out of here before we find out what it is."

  "Not so fast," said Wang Sichuan. "We need to stop and think for a second. If we start behaving rashly, we're bound to spring his trap. And anyway, with the door locked there's nothing else he can do."

  But the moment the words left his mouth, all the lights in the room abruptly flickered and died. Once more our surroundings were bathed in darkness. The power had been cut. We switched on our flashlights.

  "Fucking cunt!" yelled Wang Sichuan. He angrily kicked the door.

  Suddenly, from all around us there came a strange sound. It was a kind of low hum. Feeling along the walls, I discovered they were softly vibrating, as if some nearby machine had been switched on. Fear crept up my spine. This sequence of events had occurred extremely fast—it must have been planned out in advance. While I didn't know what was going on, it was obviously nothing good.

  "Come on," I said. "We need to find another exit—now."

  At once the three of us split up and began turning the room upside-down. The space was not large and soon we had covered nearly every inch of it, but all we found was an air vent hidden behind the projection screen. The opening was circular, covered by an iron grate and about the size of a large foot basin. Just inside was a small fan covered in thick dust like wads of dirty cotton. Clearly it could no longer turn. This vent was much cruder than the one we’d seen earlier in the caisson. The Japanese had probably decided that air filtration wasn’t necessary here. I knelt down beside the opening. A breeze blew softly from it and a flurry of noise was emanating from somewhere deep within. The strange sounds I’d heard moments before must have been a machine starting up inside the ventilation system. Wang Sichuan attempted to remove the grate, but the edges were tightly sealed with cement as thick as a finger. He could pull all he wanted, it wasn't going anywhere.

  "Goddamn, the Japs were thorough," said Wang Sichuan. He turned to Ma Zaihai. "You're an engineering corpsman. What do you think we should do?"

  Ma Zaihai took a long look at the grate, then rubbed his fingers across the cement. He shook his head. "This stuff is much too thick. We’d need a geological hammer or a blowtorch, maybe even dynamite."

  None of which we had.

  Suddenly Wang Sichuan leapt to his feet and hurried off. A moment later he was back, carrying the iron club. Kneeling down, he smashed it again and again into the hardened cement. The skin between his thumb and forefinger was soon cracked and raw, but only the smallest fragments of cement skittered to the ground. This place might have been crudely built, but it was sturdy. We’d have to try something else. Wang Sichuan struck the cement a few more times before stopping. Then without pausing for a moment, he stuck the club into one of the big spaces in the crisscrossing bars of the grate and attempted to pry it open. The opening widened slightly. Encouraged, he kept at it, but the wider the space got, the less leverage Wang Sichuan could get. Eventually, the hole was too big for the bar, but not nearly big enough for us. Wang Sichuan hurled the club into the darkness, bent over and began panting heavily. His expression would've been funny if the situation weren't so serious.

  I returned to the center of the room and swept my flashlight across the cement walls, searching for another opening. Suddenly, I realized something wasn't right. A queer odor filled the air. I turned in the direction of the iron door. It was open, though only slightly. When had this happened? Snapping my fingers to draw my companions' attention, I pointed towards the door. Then I hurried over, the smell growing stronger with each step. Soon enough I realized what it was. Smoke.

  As if by instinct, I pushed against the door as soon as I reached it. It moved and my heart skipped a beat. Was the door unlocked? Leaning heavily into it, I watched the opening widen slightly, but at the same moment a thick cloud of smoke rushed into the room, burning my eyes until tears streamed forth. As I rubbed my eyes, I called out for Wang Sichuan to come quick and give me a hand. He sprinted over. Together we tried to force the door open, but it held fast. There seemed to be something attached to its apex, fixing it in place. Though we rammed into it again and again, the opening grew no wider. All the while smoke continued to fill the room.

  So this was his plan—he meant to suffocate us. I shouted for Ma Zaihai to come as well. All three of us tried pulling it closed. It wouldn't budge. We pulled
harder. Still nothing. I cursed under my breath. A thick rope or something had probably been hooked to the door and tied tightly to the frame overhead. We could push or pull all we wanted—it wasn't going to move.

  Soon the smoke was so thick we could barely breathe or open our eyes. Coughing hard, Wang Sichuan began tearing off his clothes. "Help me!" he shouted between coughs. "Seal the door!"

  Shutting our eyes, we rushed forward, undressed, and stuffed our clothing into the gap, but the opening was much too large. We would never fill it. By now Wang Sichuan's clothing was already flame-licked. He pulled it free, stamped it out, and put it back on. Ma Zaihai and I quickly followed suit.

  Exploding with rage, Wang Sichuan picked up the iron club, swore violently, and shoved it through the crack in the door. He roared with effort as he tried to force it open, but it was no use. The club bent from the strain and he had to give up. Then I noticed something—other pry marks had been scraped all along the door. Had others been trapped in here as well? But I had no time to consider these questions. The billowing smoke had already spread throughout the room. Even at some distance from the door our throats constricted and breathing was difficult. If this kept up, we’d be done for.

  After bellowing a final string of curses, Wang Sichuan went silent. We retreated to the back of the room where we tore dust-covered strips from the projection screen, wetted them from our canteens and placed them over our mouths. Amid the chaos, I somehow caught sight of the air vent. Plumes of smoke were billowing out of it. I thought of the noise I’d heard humming from within. That son of a bitch must have used some machine to redirect the smoke through the vent. Wang Sichuan was howling in blind fury—he had completely lost control. I was just afraid. There were only two ways out of here and both were belching smoke. Everything else was seamless concrete. We were screwed. I looked back at Wang Sichuan. There was no time to calmly consider the situation. His eyes blazed like hot coals through the smoke as he yelled for us to make way.