Angel Fall (6 page)

W
hen the Mountain disappeared, Alex was so shocked that he almost jumped out of the raft. The truth was that he had been so engrossed in looking upward that he hadn’t watched where the strong current was taking him. Silently the raft had drifted toward a shore of black cliffs that were hardly visible until he was upon them. In those cliffs was a rift with a jagged formation across it. The sky had vanished because he had entered the rift; over him now was a wide expanse almost like a stone archway, and when he emerged on the other side, only a few stars and a sliver of moon were visible.

Alex stared around. He was floating up a narrow gorge. Shafts of rust-red moonlight glinted on the water. On either side and to his front rose stone walls hundreds of feet high. He had come to land. But what land?

At first the walls of the canyon appeared to be natural formations, but it was hard to tell exactly what they were because they were covered with thick vines. The longer he stared, the more he thought he saw strange shapes spaced uniformly along the top, piles of rock almost like the battlements on a medieval castle. But in his overwrought imagination they could have been anything. A light wind had begun to blow, and its keening wail made him shiver.

The farther Alex drifted, the more the walls of the gorge became irregular, bending and twisting like the body of a huge snake ripped open in the moonlight. And with every bend the vines grew longer, spiraling out to brush the raft like tentacles. Constantly he jerked his head this way and that, straining to see every crevice and weaving form. The harder he looked, the more his imagination painted the gorge with horrors.

It wasn’t natural.

He was sure of it now.

Ages and ages ago someone had carved it out of solid rock. And he knew something else. It grew out of an awful feeling that welled up until his skin crawled. From the moment he had drifted into this place something had been watching him.

Abruptly there was a soft bump that almost made him jump out of his skin. The raft scraped to a stop against an odd embankment. Beside him in the moonlight was a ruined wall with ancient steps carved into it. For a moment all he could do was huddle in terror with his mind racing; he tried to see where the stairs went, but they vanished around a stone outcropping. They must lead to the top, but the thought of climbing into the darkness was beyond imagining. Yet what else could he do? He couldn’t keep floating forever. Pushing back out into the canal could mean landing somewhere even worse. And he had no oars. Alex might have sat shivering all night, if it hadn’t been for his thirst.

Suddenly it was unbearable.

No choice.

He had to find water.

Reaching out, he grabbed some vines and dragged himself onto the embankment. But when he tried to stand, he almost fell back into the canal. After floating for so long, his legs were like rubber. It took a few minutes before his balance returned. Then slowly he began groping up the stairs. He had to be careful because they were covered with debris. When he passed the outcropping, he stopped. They led into a vine-covered hole.

How could he do this? How could he bring himself to go in there? But he had to. His thirst was terrible. His throat felt like he’d been swallowing hot coals.

Gritting his teeth, Alex pulled back the curtain of vines. Beyond was a pitch-black passage with more stairs leading up. Creeping in, he smelled a sickening mustiness. Half gagging, he began to climb.

Alex found that the staircase twisted back and forth and was clotted with rotting vegetation. Many times he tripped and fell. Many times he jumped back shivering, brushing sticky webs from his hair and clothes. But always his thirst drove him on. At one point, after a nasty tumble, he discovered a stick. This he used as a sort of brush, swishing it in front of him. The stick helped with the webs, but it didn’t help with the small creatures that scurried past on the ground. Once, something larger brushed his leg, causing him to yell and almost fall backward. But he caught himself, sweating, trembling, and trying not to be ill.

At several places he came upon landings, like little oases. Each had a break in the wall that allowed in a glimmer of moonlight. Through them Alex was able to look out and mark his progress. Soon the dark gash of the canal was lost below. The cliffs were much higher than he had imagined; he began counting the stairs—one hundred, two hundred, three hundred, four hundred. Somewhere in the fives he lost track, and they just kept on.

It was at the end of the darkest and steepest passage, when Alex was sobbing from sheer exhaustion, at the very moment when he was ready to give up and die, that he broke through a mass of vines and found himself at the top. What he saw made him think that he was dreaming.

Spread out in the moonlight were the ruins of a vast and terrible city. Before him stretched the jagged hulks of ten thousand ancient buildings. Huge pyramids, domes, obelisks, towers, arches, all lay in rubble like the rotting bodies of stone giants. And blanketing all of it were vines. Like waves of long black hair they drifted in the wind that moaned through the desolation.

Cowering in the staircase, Alex couldn’t comprehend what he was seeing.
This
was what he had climbed so far to reach? Better to die at the bottom of the ocean. He was about to turn and run back down to the canal when he heard the one sound that mattered more than anything else.

Splashing water.

Faint.

Far away.

But very clear.

Suddenly not even the terror of the dead city could overcome his thirst. Where was that sound coming from? Alex scanned the buildings. Directly in front of him stretched a broad avenue lined with massive columns. The splashes were coming from that direction, he was sure of it. He told himself that he would find the water, get a drink, then go back down to the raft and try to float out into the ocean. Just one drink, that was all.

Cautiously he stepped from his hiding place and began creeping down the avenue. But the farther he went, the more jittery he became. The buildings were hideous. Where the vines didn’t cover the walls, he could make out huge grotesque slashes like letters in a strange language. And carved into the street were monstrous flat heads with wide eyes and gaping mouths as though trying to swallow the sky.

Alex did his best to think only of the water and how good it would taste. Instead, he thought more and more about the twisting shadows that loomed around him. On and on he went, but the splashing didn’t seem to be getting any closer. Finally, ahead he saw it: a fountain. Like everything else, it was crumbled with age, but dusky moonlit sparkles still gushed from it.

He ran.

When he reached it, he fell down and let the cold liquid pour into his mouth. Unlike the ocean, it had a metallic taste, but he didn’t care. And if it killed him, what did it matter? After drinking all he could hold, he let it splash over his head. He was drying his face on his shirt, when the same awful feeling returned.

He was being watched.

And this time it was close.

For an instant Alex was afraid to move, terrified of what he might see. And then the sound began. From everywhere came a mournful cry, as though the whole dead city had begun to weep with one unearthly voice. Starting in a low moan, it rose to a bloodcurdling scream…and then fell back, vanishing in a thousand echoes.

Alex thought he was going to be ill. Forcing himself to turn, he looked behind him. A hundred yards away, in the center of the street that crossed the avenue of the columns, stood a gigantic shadow, and it wasn’t the shadow of a building.

In the moonlight loomed the silhouette of a bird with its huge wings outstretched. And it was staring straight at him with shimmering eyes. He froze; all he could do was wait for it to sweep down and crush him. But it didn’t move. Squinting at it, he almost sobbed with relief. It wasn’t a real bird at all. It was only a statue with moonlight shining through jagged holes in its head.

But it wasn’t like any bird that he had ever seen. Instead of two wings, it had four, and its feathers looked like shards of broken glass. It had a yawning beak, lined with teeth, that hung open as though caught in an endless shriek, and above the beak were the
eyes
. Even after Alex understood that they weren’t real, he couldn’t rid himself of the sensation that they were watching him. So the bird was a statue, but that didn’t explain the awful scream. The thought had barely come into his mind when it began again, wailing higher and higher. This time, as it faded, he heard something else: a dull clattering roar.

He knew that he had to hide and there was no time to run back to the stairs. Across the street was a building. Rushing over to it, he buried himself in the vines. Slowly the clatter grew. What was that sound? It was familiar. Then he recognized it; it was like
marching
. Thousands of feet marching, but not in unison. More like a shapeless mob. Soon the city shook with it.

The scream sounded a third time.

From where he hid Alex could see all the way back to where he had emerged from the staircase. He knew there was nothing beyond the wall but a sheer drop into the gorge. Yet from out of the vine-covered stone appeared a cloud of luminous shapes. At first they were indistinct, but as they drew nearer, he saw that it was a great mass of people—thousands of them, all swathed in black—marching toward him in utter silence. Their bodies were like mist, yet it was the sound of their feet that shook the city. He panicked. These must be the ones who had been watching. And now they were coming for him. He had to run, but he was too terrified to move. On and on the apparitions marched, down the street of the columns, until they were almost in front of him. Alex could hardly breathe.

But they passed right by.

They didn’t even seem to know that he was there. When the first row reached the fountain, they turned and headed in a new direction. The street was jammed with shadow-forms. Men and women, old and young, so close he could almost touch them. Individual faces became visible in the moonlight, each was different, yet all were the same. They were like sleepwalkers, without the slightest trace of life in their eyes. And there was a dustiness about them, as though they had been wandering in a desert.

Finally Alex mustered enough courage to turn and see where they were going. They were headed straight toward the statue of the bird. When they reached it, they disappeared under its claws, almost as though they were melting into the stone. The moon was sinking when the last of them had vanished and the city was empty and silent once more.

Suddenly Alex felt desperately tired. He had to find some place to sleep. At his back was the building; maybe he could get inside. Groping through the vines, he began searching for an entrance. Gradually he worked his way down one wall. Then another and another. Nothing. Not even a window.

Finally he was at the place where he had started, and he discovered that wasn’t a building at all; it was a solid block of stone. He wondered if the other ruins were the same, but there was nothing to do but step out into the street and take a look.

Creeping into the moonlight, he scanned the piles of rubble. Quickly he realized that what he had taken for buildings might not be buildings at all. Most were exactly like the one he had examined. Then, several blocks away, he saw a structure with a dome. Around the bottom were shadowy arches. Beneath them he thought he could make out entrances. To get there he would have to walk straight past the statue—down the same street the phantoms had traveled.

Alex told himself that there must be some other choice, but there were no other buildings like it anywhere.

From across the street came a new sound. A kind of scurrying and scraping. Definitely animal. Not a small animal either. He envisioned giant rats—the city might be crawling with them. Maybe they came out at night for food. And maybe they were looking for a nice pile of fresh, sweaty meat.

It was the dome or nothing.

Rushing out of his hiding place, Alex ran down the street. With every step the monstrous bird loomed larger. And with every step the animal sounds increased. Faster. Gasping for air. Finally he was beneath the statue’s wings and could see the place where the ghosts had vanished. It was solid rock. But he only glanced at it. He was fifty feet beyond the sculpture when the animal sounds began coming from everywhere.

He stopped and froze.

A block ahead something was pushing through the vines. Out of the shadows crept dozens of huge black dogs. The animals had seen him. One gave a low growl that was answered by all the rest. He tried not to panic. Slowly he turned his head to see if they were behind him. His heart sank. The street on the other side of the bird was filled with them. He was surrounded. But then he noticed that at the base of the statue was a small open door. Maybe he could get to it.

More growls.

The dogs were coming toward him.

Very slowly Alex began to turn, hoping the gradual movement wouldn’t be noticed. But it was like a trigger. Instantly the street was filled with enraged snarls…and they were after him.

He ran for his life. When he reached the statue, the dogs were only a few feet behind. Rushing inside, he found an iron door that was still on its hinges. Though it was old and creaked horribly, he managed to slam it shut and throw his shoulder against it just as the first of the beasts arrived. In a mindless rage they threw themselves against the rusted metal. Alex knew he couldn’t hold them off for long. Groping in the dark, his fingers found a latch.

Shoving it in, he tested it.

It held.

For the moment he was saved. Dripping with sweat, he staggered back—the snarling and crashing were horrible. How long could the door withstand such a beating? He scanned his hiding place; the statue was hollow all the way to the top. Moonlight flooded in through its carved-out eyes. There was just enough light to see that once, long ago, this must have been a storage chamber. Twenty feet up was a ledge, and a primitive ladder had been gouged out of the wall to reach it. Rushing to it, he began to climb.