Uprising

Chapter Sixty-Two

The shock of the icy water was stunning. The pressure roared in his ears. He could see the church’s craggy foundations through the swirling murk. He was too worried about getting poisoned or hypothermic to be angry that he was probably getting soaked for nothing.

All the stonework was crumbling. He’d once read that Venice was a sinking city, disappearing a few more inches into the sea every year. By the time he was an old man, many of its walkways and buildings would be under water forever. That was, if he ever got to become an old man…

The decaying foundations disappeared downwards out of sight in the gloom.

Kicking with his legs, he shone the torch and ran his free hand along the slippery stone.

He could see nothing that could give him access under the church. He’d been down for more than twenty seconds already. He was on the verge of giving up when, through the murk, he spotted a fissure in the stone. It was almost completely covered with algae. He kicked his legs and dived a little deeper to examine it.

Scraping away the slime, he found that it was big enough for a man to slip inside. Forty seconds under. He could still make it. He squeezed his body through the gap, shining the torch ahead of him. All he could see were the floating particles of dirt he’d dislodged as he forced his way in. He kicked out to press deeper into the fissure. It widened a little, and now he was a long way in. He kicked again.

But his foot wouldn’t move. It was trapped. He was stuck here, deep inside the crack in the church’s foundations. Horror lanced through him, and a stream of bubbles involuntarily burst from his mouth. He struggled to release himself, losing more precious air with the effort. He kicked with all his might, almost dropping the torch in the process — and suddenly he was free again.

But now he had only seconds before his lungs reached bursting point. He wasn’t sure whether he had enough air to get back to the surface. Thrashing wildly about in panic, he lost his bearings. He didn’t know which way was up and which was down any more. His fingers raked the slimy stone. His heart was pounding.

Then his head was bursting clear of the surface and a long gasp exploded from his lungs. But when he blinked the filthy water from his eyes and shone the torch beam around him, he saw that the surface he’d found wasn’t the one he’d just dived into. He was inside an underwater cave, a craggy ceiling of wet stone just a few inches above his head. By his reckoning, he must be right beneath the church. At one time there might have been room in here for a man to clamber almost clear of the water, but with the progressive sinking of the city there was only enough space for his head and shoulders.

Something was sticking out of a crack in the cave wall. An old bit of sacking, rotted with age. Bracing his legs for support, he reached out and grasped it, and found that the decayed cloth was wrapped around something hard and cold that had been wedged into the crumbling foundations. He gave it a tug and a wiggle, and it came out with a shower of stones. With his heart in his mouth he tore the layers of sacking away.

He let out a whoop when the gleaming Celtic cross fell into his hand.

It was about fifteen inches long, with rune-like markings and strange designs sculpted into the outer ring that connected the crosspiece to the shaft. It was made of some type of stone that he’d never seen before — quartz-like, denser than granite, creamy white in colour with flecks of black and vivid green. He clutched it to his chest and closed his eyes. He’d found it.

He couldn’t wait to show Alex. He stuck the precious relic in his belt, took a deep breath of the cave’s stale air, and swam his way back out of the cave. Seconds later he broke the surface and clambered up onto dry land, too excited to feel the numbing cold.

‘Alex! Look!’

No reply. She was nowhere to be seen. Glancing around, he saw that she’d unzipped her backpack while he’d been underwater. It lay empty on the pavement near the water’s edge, and beside it was the mysterious object she’d been toting around with her. He crouched down to examine it. An oblong steel case, the kind photographers used to protect their fragile equipment. The latches were undone and the lid was open, showing the foam padding inside. As well as something unusual. The case was thickly lined with a dark material that he realised with bemusement was lead.

That explained the weight of the thing. But why had she brought this with her?

‘Alex?’ he called again.

‘I’m here,’ she replied. She was twenty yards away, hanging warily back behind another pillar.

‘What’re you doing hiding behind there?’ he asked, puzzled. His extremities were beginning to tremble with cold now. ‘I found the cross, Alex. I found it!’

‘Put it in the case,’ she called over to him. Her voice sounded terribly weak, as if she was having to make an extreme effort to push the words out.

‘What’s wrong with you?’

‘I’m not well, Joel. Put the cross in the case, okay? It’s radioactive,’ she added desperately in a rasping croak. ‘I was going to tell you. It’s not safe to handle.’

He frowned. ‘Why the hell would it be radioactive? It’s only a bit of old stone.’ He took a step towards her, waving the cross in the air. ‘Look.’

‘Don’t come near me!’ she screamed. The exertion caused her to collapse to her knees, clutching her sides with a moan. Under the glow of a streetlamp, he could see from the pallor of her face and the dark rings that had suddenly appeared around her eyes that there really was something terribly, shockingly wrong with her.

He was about to say something when the wind was knocked out of him by a heavy impact that came out of nowhere. It sent him tumbling to the ground, still clutching the cross. He twisted up to see a big guy in a black bomber jacket and beanie hat moving in to stamp on his ribs. Joel rolled out of the way of the kick, but suddenly another man came running out of the shadows and booted him in the stomach. Joel doubled up in pain. He lashed out with the cross, felt it connect with bone, and heard a yell of pain. He staggered to his feet, only to be sent crashing back down on the hard ground by a punch to the face.