The Descent

'That could work,' Ike  allowed. 'But it's backward.'

'Backward?'

'Can't  you  feel  it?'  Ike  asked.  'This  is  a  sacred  space.  You  always  walk  to  the  left around   sacred   places.   Mountains.   Temples.   Lakes.   That's   just   how   it's   done. Clockwise.'

'Isn't that some Buddhist thing?' said Pia.

'Dante,'  said  Ike.  'Ever  read  the  Inferno?  Each  time  they  hit  a  fork,  the  party  goes left. Always  left. And he was no Buddhist.'

'That's  it?'  marveled  a  burly  geologist.  'All  these  months  we've  been  following  a poem and your  superstitions?'

Ike  grinned. 'You didn't know that?'

The  first  fifteen  days  they  marched  shoeless,  like  beachcombers.  The  sand  was  cool between  their  toes.  They  sweated  under  heavy  packs.  At  night  their  thighs  ached. Drifting on rafts  had taken  its toll.

Ike  kept  them  in  motion,  but  slowly,  the  pace  of  nomads.  'No  sense  in  racing,'  he said. 'We're doing fine.'

They  learned  the  water.  Ali  dipped  her  headlamp  underneath  the  surface,  and  she may  as  well  have  tried  shining  her  light  from  the  back  of  a  mirror.  She  cupped  the water  in her palms and it was like holding time. The  water  was ancient.

'This  water  –  it's  been  living  here  for  over  a  half-million  years,'  the  hydrologist

Chelsea told her. It  had a scent like the deep earth.

Ike  stirred  the  sea  with  his  hand  and  let  a  few  drops  onto  his  tongue.  'Different,'  he pronounced.  After  that,  he  drank  from  the  sea  without  hesitation.  He  let  the  others make up their  own  minds,  and  knew  they  were  watching  closely  to  see  if  he  sickened or his urine bled. Twiggs, the microbotanist, was especially attentive.

By the end of the second day, all were  drinking the water  without purifying it.

'It's delicious,' said Ali. Voluptuous, she meant, but did not want to  say  it  out  loud.  It was  somehow  different  from  plain  water,  the  way  it  slid  on  the  tongue,  its  cleanness. She scooped a handful to her face and pulled it across the bones of her  cheeks,  and  the sense of it lingered. It  was all in her head, she decided. It  had to do with this place.

One  day  they  saw  small  sulfurous  flashes  along  the  black  horizon.  Ike  said  it  was gunfire,  maybe  as  much  as  a  hundred  miles  away,  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  sea. Walker was either making trouble or having it.

The  water  was  their  north.  For  nearly  six  months  they  had  advanced  with  no foresight, trusting no compass, trapped  in blind veins. Now they  had  the  sea.  For  once they  could  anticipate  their  geography.  They  could  see  tomorrow,  and  the  day  after that.  It  was  not  a  straight  destiny,  there  were  bends  and  arcs,  but  for  a  change  they could  see   as  far   as  their   vision  reached,   a  welcome   alternative   to  the   maze   of claustrophobic tunnels.

Although everyone  was hungry,  they  were  not  famished,  and  the  water  was  always there  to  comfort  them.  Two  and  three  and  four  times  a  day,  they  would  bathe  away their sweat.  They  tied strings to their  plastic  cups  and  could  scoop  up  a  drink  without bending or breaking  stride.  Ali's  hair  had  grown  long.  She  loosed  it  from  its  braid  and let it hang, lush and clean.

They  were  pleased  with  Ike's  regime.  He  did  not  drive  them.  If  anyone  tired,  Ike took some of their load. Once  when  Ike  went  off  to  investigate  a  side  canyon,  some  of them  tried  lifting  his  pack,  and  couldn't  budge  it.  'What  does  he  have  in  there?' Chelsea  asked.  No  one  dared  look,  of  course.  That  would  have  been  like  tampering with good luck.

When  they   turned   their   last   light  off  at   night,  the   beach   gleamed   with  Early Cretaceous  phosphorescence.  Ali  watched  for  hours  as  the  sand  pulsed  against  the inky sea, holding back the darkness. She had taken  to lying on  her  back  and  imagining stars  and saying prayers.  Anything not to sleep.

Ever  since Walker had overseen  the massacre, sleep meant terrible  dreams.  Eyeless women pursued her. In the name of the Father.

One night Ike  woke her from a nightmare. 'Ali?' he said.

Sand was sticking to her sweat.  She was panting. She clung to his hand.

'I'm okay,' she gasped.

'It's not quite that easy,'  Ike  breathed,  'with you.'

Stay,  she almost said. But then what?  What was she supposed to do with him now?

'Sleep,' said Ike.  'You let things get to you too much.'

Another week  passed. They  were  slowing. Their  stomachs rumbled at night.

'How much longer?' they  asked Ike.

'We're doing fine,' he heartened  them.

'We're so hungry.'

Ike  looked  at  them,  judging.  'Not  that  hungry,'  he  said  mildly,  and  it  was  cryptic. How hungry did they  have  to be? wondered Ali. And what was his relief?

'Where can Cache V be? We must be near.'