Restless Soul. Alex Archer

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      He paused again, grimacing as he obviously searched for the words to phrase his explanation. “My father taught at the university when I was young. Taught history, and so I know about all of the Hoabinhiam because he taught me, too.”

      “My father was also a teacher,” Luartaro said. “Archaeology. I followed in his footsteps, so to speak. He still teaches, guest lecturing mostly at schools and universities in Argentina and Chile.”

      “You are an archaeologist?”

      Luartaro nodded animatedly to Zakkarat. “For quite a few years. Her, too.” He pointed at Annja. “A famous one. She is on TV. She is the star of Chasing History’s Monsters. Ever see it?”

      Zakkarat seemed unimpressed about the television mention. “The United States man,” he continued, “found this very cave. Burma, we are not far from Burma here. Were it not raining you might see a stream outside through that crack on the other side. Burma is past it. Supposedly the stream was a river in ancient times, and the Hoabinhiam hunter-gatherers lived by it…and lived in this cave.”

      Still listening to Zakkarat, Annja strolled nearer the closest cave wall. It was covered in drawings of pigs and birds and a trio of images that looked like two-legged lizards. The shifting light from the lamp made it seem as if the figures were moving. Though faded, they were in far better condition than the smudge she saw in Tham Lod Cave.

      Zakkarat continued to talk, and she listened closely, about the American fifty years past finding plants—beans, peas, peppers, something like a water chestnut, cucumbers and gourds—all fossilized in this cave.

      Annja knew that with a map, she and Luartaro could have likely found this cave with little trouble on their own, but she was glad to have Zakkarat with them, providing information about the ancient-plant discovery.

      Zakkarat explained that carbon dating placed all the fossils at roughly 8,000 BC. There had been stone tools, too, which were quickly ensconced in a museum in Bangkok, as well as remains of small animals that suggested the primitive people were not so primitive, after all. They roasted their meat, maybe in containers of green bamboo, a method still used throughout Thailand.

      Zakkarat led them into a tight passage with a roof barely six feet high. His voice echoed softly against the stone. “They found pots and pieces of pots, some made with woven cords to make them stronger, some with evidence they were used over a fire. Found lots of tools. My father called them adzes, and they were polished, those tools. You know, the Chinese learned how to polish stones and tools from us, not the other way around.”

      He stopped when the passage forked, one route rising steeply, the other passage twisting down at a sharp angle. He took off his helmet, scratched his head and then put the helmet back on. “It has been quite some time since I took people here. I’m not sure—”

      “I vote for down,” Luartaro said. “If it’s wrong, we can backtrack and take the other one.”

      Annja nodded in agreement. She and Luartaro had discussed last night the possibility of going without a guide, as they were both reasonably good cavers. In the end, they had decided to stick with Zakkarat.

      “Down, then,” Zakkarat said, leading the way with Annja right behind him.

      The rock was so thick, she could no longer hear the rain, and they were going deeper still. She tried to imagine what living in these caves must have been like centuries upon centuries ago—without such modern conveniences as flashlights and Zakkarat’s gas lantern.

      Their course leveled off, then descended again, and the passage became so low they had to crawl. Water covered the floor by several inches.

      Annja was struck by the cold air and the stink of patches of guano that floated on it. The floor was alternately squishy and slick with mud, and she struggled to keep her face and shoulders out of the water. Farther, and the air became heavy and saturated with water, the smell of mud hitting her like a wall.

      “Underground rivers in these mountains,” Zakkarat said. “Maybe they are rising because God needs to wash away still more dirt.”

      The rock floor was sharp in places, evidence that few people came this way, and it bit into Annja’s legs through her now-soggy jeans. Despite it being summer, it was cool in there, and she wished she’d brought a jacket.

      “My sister is terribly claustrophobic,” Luartaro said. He was a few feet behind her.

      Annja realized she knew actually little about him; she’d never asked about his family. Now she knew his father was a teacher, and he had at least one sibling.

      “My sister…she wouldn’t… What is the American expression?” Luartaro continued.

      “Be caught dead in here?” Annja suggested.

      “Yes, be caught dead. Here, or in any of the other caves I’ve been to. Still, you’d like her, my sister. I hope you get a chance to meet her. Even though she is claustrophobic, you would get along.”

      Caught dead. Annja froze. She felt certain that whatever was bothering her had something to do with death.

      Free me.

      She twisted in the tiny space, looking left, then right, then back over her shoulder. Was someone there?

      Zakkarat kept crawling ahead, dragging the lantern with him, the jostling and sloshing of the base of it in the water sending shadows dancing maniacally across the walls and reflecting off the wet stone. He was careful to keep as much of it out of the water as he could; if it got too wet, it would go out. Fortunately, the lantern had a reflector in it, which made its light fairly bright.

      Annja felt an icy jab rise up from her knees. Had she heard something, or was her imagination dancing in time with the shadows.

      “Something wrong? Something I said?” Luartaro asked.

      “No, Lu,” she said. “Nothing’s wrong.” She hurried to catch up to their guide.

      The passage twisted sharply and, for several yards, Annja and Luartaro had to crawl on their stomachs, their packs scraping against the ceiling, their faces just above the water. Then the passage rose again, and they were back to crawling on dry stone.

      “It cannot be far now.” Zakkarat’s voice bounced off the walls. “I believe we are near. But it has been too long since I’ve been to this cave. Nothing looks familiar.”

      “He’s earning his baht,” Luartaro said. A moment later he added, “I’ve a thought, Annja. He’s taking us to see more of these teak coffins, right?”

      She nodded, but realized he couldn’t see her.

      “But there’s no way those coffins could have fit through this twisting tunnel. So the ancient Thai people couldn’t have brought them down here. We should have taken the other passage. This is my fault. I suggested we take the downward slope.”

      “We’re all in this together,” Annja replied.

      A few minutes later they were standing in a chamber that stretched at least thirty yards across and at least twice that high. There was a massive crystal flowstone immediately to their right. It ran nearly the height of the chamber and was dotted with delicate calcite and aragonite crystals.

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