3
“There!” Lukach said, his voice muffled by the half-face respirator. “I heard it again. Listen.”
Ernie tried but couldn’t hear much past the roaring in his ears.
What was wrong with him today? This was his fourth trip into the foundation of WTC-4 and he’d been fine the first three. But today . . .
Sweat oozed from every pore, soaking his hair under the hard hat, darkening his shirt, fogging his goggles. His heart pounded like a wild animal against the cage of his chest. He felt shaky inside and out, and didn’t seem to be able to draw a full breath. He fought the urge to pull off the respirator mask. The dust down here could be toxic.
Something else was toxic as well . . . something he couldn’t identify, couldn’t smell or touch, but he could sense it. It hadn’t been here yesterday, but sweet Jesus, it was here now.
Or maybe it was because they’d never been this deep—seventy feet below street level now. Like the towers, WTC-4, the nine-story building that had squatted next to the south tower, had six underground levels. No one had wanted to trust the weight of the Trade Center to the sediment and landfill at the site, so they’d excavated down to bedrock for the foundation. That’s where Ernie and the crew were now—level one, the very bottom.
He’d never had a panic attack, but he sure as hell felt panicky now.
Why?
It had started as soon as they’d reached this new search area. A little jittery at first, then building and building until . . .
“It’s coming from over there,” Lukach said, pointing to a pile of rubble. “And—damn! Turn off your lights.”
Alfieri and Ratner doused theirs along with Lukach, but Ernie left his on. He did not want to be in the dark down here. Not today.
“Hey, Goren,” Lukach said. “You deaf? Put it out.”
Ernie couldn’t tell them that, at age fifty-one, he was suddenly afraid of the dark, so he took a breath, held it, and hit the off switch.
Lukach’s voice floated out of the blackness. “See? See what I’m talking about? There’s light on the other side of that mound.”
Light? Any light would be welcome. Ernie squinted through his fogged goggles and saw it. Faint as could be, a dim, barely visible glow lit the upper edge of that pile.
“Got to be another team,” Ratner said.
“Yeah? Last I looked, that’s east of us, and we’re just about as far east as you can go in the foundation.”
“Then who’s there?” Alfieri said.
Lukach turned on his light. “Good question. Especially since there ain’t supposed to be any ‘there’ over there. Let’s go take a look.”
No-no-no, Ernie thought. Let’s not. Let’s not go near there. Let’s turn around and get back up to clean, pure sunshine.
But he couldn’t say that, because he couldn’t tell them why they shouldn’t go there. He didn’t know.
“Maybe we should wait for backup,” he said, holding back as the others moved ahead.
“ ‘Backup’?” Lukach said without turning. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
Ernie forced himself to follow, but trailed a good dozen feet behind. When they reached the pile of crushed masonry and began to climb, he hung back, watching, waiting, trembling. He saw Lukach reach the top first and motion the others to join him. Ernie saw them pointing, heard them babbling but couldn’t understand what they were saying.
Finally Ratner turned and waved him up.
“C’mon, Ernie. Y’gotta see this. It’s some sort of tunnel.”
Tunnel? Tunnel to where? The way he was feeling, it had to be a straight shot to Hell.
Steeling himself, he made the climb. When he reached the top he saw what had excited them. Below, on the far side of the mound, near the floor, part of the foundation wall had fallen away, revealing an irregular opening, maybe half a dozen feet across. Light flickered from within.
The fires of Hell. No, not Hell . . . something worse.
What was he thinking? Where were these ideas coming from?
He tried to shake them off but couldn’t . . . right now he wanted nothing more than to turn and run. But he was part of the team. He couldn’t leave these guys.
“Let’s go,” Lukach said.
“No-no-no!” Ernie said. “We should get backup!”
“Fuck backup. I’m going down.”
With Ratner and Alfieri on his heels, Lukach quickly descended the far side of the pile and picked his way to the opening. When he reached it, he stopped and stared, then stepped through, shouting, “Hey!”
Ratner and Alfieri followed.
Raised voices echoed from the opening, one of them unfamiliar. Had they found someone?
Fighting the fear, he eased down the pile and crept to the opening. Every step was an effort. He felt as if he were struggling against a hurricane-force wind roaring through that opening. When he reached it he dropped to his knees and peeked around the corner.