Free Subterranean by James Rollins Page B

place. The study of a site involves more than just numbering and cataloging.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    She drew a long breath. How to put this into words? The more you worked on a dig, the more each site developed its own character—or soul. For instance, the Gila dwellings “felt” different than the Chaco Canyon site. She found this perspective added a unique level of insight into the people and customs.
    â€œNever mind,” she said. “It’s just what I do.”
    He shrugged. “I’ll leave you on your own, then. I wanted to recheck some measurements anyhow.”
    She nodded. Good. He was starting to grate on her nerves.
    Settling back into her seat, she allowed the road to lull her. Just as her eyes half closed, Dr. Symski stopped the Mule with a hard brake. “Here we are,” he said.
    She looked out. Nothing but darkness beyond the stretch of headlights. “Where?”
    â€œGot to kick up the generator first.” He opened his door, and the vehicle’s interior lights flashed on. Ben awakened with a startled grunt.
    â€œAre we there yet?” he asked huskily, rubbing a hand through his hair.
    â€œYes,” she said, trying to drip as much disdain into her voice as possible. “You know, you could have caught up on your sleep back at camp.”
    â€œAnd miss this? No way.”
    She watched the young doctor, flashlight in hand, cross to the far wall where the generator sat. He bent over and began fiddling with the unit. Frowning, Ashley climbed from the truck, hoping the ham-fisted military researchers hadn’t corrupted the dig. So many times in the past, key clues to an ancient society’s history had been trampled on by the incompetent.
    Within moments, the generator coughed, sputtered, then settled into an even rumbling sound. Floodlights ignited, blinding after the dark ride. The north wall lit up like a huge stage.
    â€œWow,” Ben said as he climbed out next to her.
    A scaffolding of metal frames and warped boards covered the honeycombed wall of the cavern. Dwellings extended up the wall in five distinct levels, she estimated a total of about forty yards in height. The levels connected to one another by either a series of handholds or sets of crude stairs. She squinted to the left; the excavated dwellings even extended over the lake, with plateaus of rock jutting over the water like porches.
    â€œWhat do you think, Ashley?” Ben stood to her left.
    â€œI could spend years here.”
    Ben nodded. “Who do you think built this place?”
    She pointed at the wall. “One thing I know. This was not built by Homo sapiens .”
    â€œThen who did it?”
    â€œAn earlier species of man, I suspect. Look at the size of the caves. None over four feet in height. Too small for modern man. Perhaps Homo erectus , but I doubt even that.” She found herself thinking out loud. “A Neanderthal tribe? I don’t know. I’ve never seen evidence of a Neanderthal tribe building this extensively. And how did they get here?” She shrugged. “I’ve got to get a closer look.”
    â€œShouldn’t we wait for Dr. Symski?”
    â€œI don’t think that’ll be necessary.” She strode toward the wall, placing a mining helmet on her head.
    She heard the scuff of Ben’s boots as he followed her.
    Dr. Symski called to her. “Careful where you step. There are many crevasses, some quite deep.”
    She waved at him in acknowledgment, but shook her head. What did he think, that she was some damned novice? She marched faster.
    Suddenly something grabbed her from behind. Instinctively, she rammed her elbow backward.
    â€œOuch!” Ben said, releasing her and stepping back. “I was just trying to stop you from stepping in a hole.” He pointed in front of her, rubbing at his solar plexus. “What do you do, sharpen that thing?”
    She cupped her elbow, as if trying to hide