After another hour, it still seemed they were no closer to the surface. Out of water, down to one flashlight with working batteries, they were running out of time.
Hank heard a strange popping-crackle sounding underfoot. A rock had shattered under his boot. He pointed his light down. Bits of black-and-white pottery skittered across the limestone.
It wasn't a rock, but a pot.
He bent down and picked up a shard. "This is Anasazi handiwork."
Painter focused his beam up the rocky chute they'd been climbing along the past ten minutes. He spotted more bowls and clay vessels resting on shelves of rock.
"Look at this," Jordan said behind him. "Cave art."
Hank moved down to the youth's side. Painter had missed seeing the clue when he passed by it a moment ago, exhaustion making him sloppy.
"Petroglyphs," Hank said, and stared up the chute. "Painter, could you turn off your flashlight?"
Painter sensed that the professor was onto something and flicked off his lamp.
Total darkness closed over them.
No, not total darkness.
Painter stared up. Faint light glowed up there, barely more than a grayness against the black backdrop.
"I think I know where we are," Hank said out of the darkness.
Painter turned his light back on.
Hank's eyes were huge as he waved Painter forward. "It shouldn't be much farther."
Painter believed him. Their pace became hurried, especially as crude steps appeared, carved into the rock. They led up to a square of moonlight overhead, crosshatched by a steel grate. Painter had seen that grate before-but from the other side.
"This is the blowhole at Wupatki," he mumbled. He remembered the park ranger's estimation of the cavern system beneath it.
Seven billion cubic feet... stretching for miles.
That had proven to be true-and might even be an underestimation.
Hank could not restrain his excitement. "This must be how the surviving Anasazi escaped the massacre here. They fled down here, crossed underground through this cavern system, and set up a new home beneath the other blowhole. There they lived until the flood wiped them out."
With one mystery solved, Painter faced another.
He reached up and rattled the grill. "It's padlocked."
"No worries." Kowalski pushed forward and raised his pistol. "I got the key."