Cavern of the Blood Zombies (2011) (11 page)

Other than my dim lamp, there was no other light. In the darkness beyond the chamber, I was unable to see what the corpses were doing—sitting up and down doing abdominal exercises in their coffins, for all I knew. I had no idea and that scared the hell out of me.

Then a gust of wind blew into my chamber from the robbers’ tunnel and my brain came to life again. That’s right! I said to myself, This cave must go somewhere else and wherever it led, it had to be better than here. I carved a mark on the edge of the chamber, so if Uncle Three came back, he would see it and realize I had gone into the cave. Then I picked up my lamp and the abandoned bag and went off into the darkness.

As I climbed into the cave, I recalled my childhood memories of everything my grandfather had told me, that caves dug in modern times were rectangular as opposed to ancient ones which had a circular form, about the summits in the Qing dynasty versus the slopes in the Han dynasty, about the sex technique of going nine strokes shallow and one stroke deep…Hell, none of this was helpful. As I looked at the robbers’ tunnel, I couldn’t determine whether it was more circular or rectangular, nor could I figure out when it had been excavated.

I mulled over whether it might have been dug by the fellow with the crock on his head. But if he had dug this crawlway, then when he knocked on the bricks, he would have triggered some sort of trap. And even if he was an expert and knew how to get rid of the vitriol, he would have at least made some kind of noise. But none of us noticed him when he first came near us until his shadow gave him away. So this crawlway had to have been here for a long time, and he must have entered through a tunnel that somehow led him to this one.

Sure enough, after climbing for a while, I saw a fork leading away from this tunnel. It had been dug in a whole other manner, obviously done by a different group of people. Either route must lead to the outer surface, so I could get out regardless of which one I followed. Leaving Uncle Three a sign by drawing a mark on the tunnel that I chose, I crawled in.

I was looking forward to a breath of fresh air and the sight of moonlight. The best part would be to see a cheerful, blazing fire and people above ground who would help me, pull me out of the tunnel, and invite me into their tent. I would have a meal and a good night’s sleep and then Uncle Three and everyone else would find me and we would all go home together.

Grave robbing? My ass. I’d had enough. Other guys might rob graves all their lives and bump into one or two unforeseen incidents. This was my first time, and no matter where I went, there were zombies and corpses and insects that feasted on them. I didn’t even have time to catch my breath—this was too hard on me! I could only hope that when I found those helpful people above ground, one of them would be a pretty woman who would give me a shoulder massage—I needed it.

My imagination boosted my energy and I picked up my pace. Soon I could see a fire in the distance ahead of me and I was overjoyed. I crawled up as fast as I could and stuck my head outside the tunnel, eager to inhale some fresh air. Then I looked and my face went blank.

It’s quite true that the higher one’s hopes, the bigger the disappointment. There was only another tunnel in front of me, and it looked very much like the one I just crawled out of. This tomb was far more complex than I had thought.

I cursed, held my lamp high, and looked around, feeling horrified as I carefully studied the walls. Wasn’t this the exact same tunnel where I had come in? It turned out that this robbers’ crawlway and the one on the other side were linked, while we had thought this one was an escape route out of the cavern. Why, I thought numbly, had this tunnel been dug at all?

I remembered that there were some papers with diagrams and sketches of maps in the bag left by that fellow that scared the hell out of us. Perhaps these papers might hold some clues about how to get out of this place. I certainly had no other hope. In front of me there were Seven Deceptive Coffins. Behind me was the monster even Poker-face had to kowtow to. I couldn’t go either way; I was safest if I stayed right where I was.

Sitting on the ground, I spread out the papers and skimmed through them. One of them was a blueprint for robbing this grave. Many ideas were written down, especially speculation about the zombie tomb, but the handwriting was so illegible I could barely read it. I could decipher several words about some sort of glass roof and I understood that they had put a lot of effort into figuring out ways of getting past the traps and pitfalls, although it was unclear whether any of these plans had been implemented. Someone had drawn a picture of a treelike object opening its mouth and waving its claws, which also looked like ghostly hands.

I flipped through the pages again and finally saw something significant, an aerial map of the tomb. I saw a tunnel under the water and the place where the Seven Deceptive Coffins lay. The map was drawn very clearly, but the tunnel where we came down was not on it—evidently, these people had not yet found this route. I also saw the cave which I climbed into just now. From the way the subfork was marked, I could see that if I had chosen to go into the other cave, I would have been barred from exiting when I reached the end, where the word
collapse
had been written.

The message was clear—my dream of returning above ground was shattered. I studied the map again, and found something strange and unusual. To the left of the place where I was now standing, where no tunnel could go through, a tomb had been drawn. This tunnel and that tomb were connected by a dotted line, making me think that this tomb seemed to be in another separate area. I touched the wall behind me. Could there be a secret path behind this wall?

Carefully I examined it and refreshed my memories of the construction of stone trapdoors that I had read about in my grandfather’s journal. Generally speaking, if this trap could withstand deterioration after a millennium, then it could probably only be blasted open with water and mercury. The trigger of the device had to be a flat board.

The wall near me was filled with inscriptions and statues. If there really was a trapdoor here, one of them could definitely be moved. But such a piece would be placed on a spot that would hardly be noticeable.

Following this line of thought, I bent down to look at the juncture of the stone wall and the floor. Sure enough, there was a suspicious-looking square piece connected to the floor. I pressed it and although it didn’t move, it seemed to dislodge a trifle. I pressed again, but there was still no movement. Thinking I must have been wrong in choosing this tile, I stood up, gave it a slight kick, and heard a rumbling sound.

Then the floor beneath my feet gave way with no warning and my whole body fell into the opening. This was no trapdoor, only a crude trap. I had no idea of what waited at the bottom of the hole I had plunged into but I imagined a steel knife poised to turn my bones into sharpened stakes. I knew I was going to die.

In a flash my butt thumped firmly upon a floor. I was unharmed, but my lamp had gone out as it hit the ground and I was in total darkness.

Losing the light from my lamp could mean losing my life. I reached to see if perhaps the battery had been jarred loose by the fall but when I reached out for the lamp, what I touched in the blackness was an icy-cold hand.

I screamed, and drew my hand back in revulsion and terror. It was horrible to touch something unexpectedly in this place I knew nothing about, especially because the minute I touched that frigid, swollen hand, I could tell that it belonged to a dead man.

Remembering I still had some matches with me, I lit one quickly and saw a man’s body lying on the floor, with a big gaping wound on his stomach. Corpse-eating bugs swarmed around the wound, each one as big as the palm of my hand, and all a light green color. As I looked, I could see smaller corpse-eaters crawling out of the body’s mouth and eyes.

I felt sick as I looked at the dead man. He had apparently been dead for about a week, and was doubtless another victim from the group that had left the map. Could he have died here after plummeting through the same trap that I had fallen through?

My match was flickering but in its remaining seconds of illumination, I saw my lamp with its battery lying beside it. Quickly I reinserted the battery and to my great relief the light went back on. Damn, I thought, the guy who sold this to me swore it could withstand a fall of up to ten feet and he wasn’t lying. I felt almost happy now that I had my lamp again.

I got up and looked around; there was nothing in this place. It was a square cellar enclosed by walls made of carelessly piled stones. There were many ventlike holes between the rocks, and bursts of cool air blew in through these openings.

Next, I inspected the corpse, a middle-aged man who looked as though he died from the huge hole in his abdomen. He was dressed in camouflage clothing and his pockets were so full that they bulged into little mounds. From one I pulled out a wallet with some money and a railway ticket stub. On his belt buckle I discovered an embossed stamp, engraved with the numbers 02200059. Other than that, there was nothing to prove his identity. I put his wallet into my bag, planning to investigate it further once I had found my way out of this place.

The architectural style here looked much like the tombs from the Western Zhou dynasty and the place I was in looked a bit like an impromptu escape tunnel. I thought it unlikely that anyone would have put a grave right on top of someone else’s tomb. This was probably an escape route that the craftsmen of the tomb had built for themselves.

In ancient times, especially during the Warring States Period, if one was to take part in the construction of a noble’s tomb, it automatically meant a death sentence. The craftsmen would either be poisoned or buried alive with the dead bodies. But the wisdom of the working class should never be underestimated, and many craftsmen would build themselves a secret passage so they could escape. I swept my lamp across the room and saw a small and narrow door on the wall quite close to the ceiling, just a bit beyond my reach. Below this was a wooden ladder, but it was rotten and had almost completely fallen apart. I estimated the height of the tiny doorway from the ground, and decided I probably couldn’t jump that high. And then a face popped in from the tunnel.

Once I saw who it was, my spirits lifted and I called out, “Panzi! It’s me!”

Panzi jumped in shock when he saw me, without the slightest sign of happiness. Instead, he looked as if he had seen something terrifying, pulled out his gun and pointed the muzzle directly at me.

What was wrong here? How come Panzi was treating me like a zombie? I shouted, “Panzi, it’s me! What the fuck are you doing?”

As if he heard nothing, Panzi fired. The sound of the shot was surprisingly loud in this cave and the bullet came so close to my face that I felt it whistle past my ear. It hit something behind my back and a bubbly gel that smelled like rotten fish splattered all over the back of my head.

Turning quickly, I saw clinging to the wall several large green things that looked like turtles without shells. A few of them had climbed to the ceiling right above me and were only four feet away from my head, getting ready to attack my brain.

Before I could take a few steps back to get as far away as possible from these horrible creatures, two of them launched themselves toward me as though they were propelled by springs, aiming for my face. Two loud bangs announced two more bullets that soared across my head, destroying the two reptiles in midair. My face was covered with gel from the creatures’ bodies and Panzi yelled, “I’m almost out of bullets. Why the fuck are you still standing there like an idiot? Get over here now!”

With Panzi protecting me, my mind was much more at ease. I turned and ran. Panzi fired yet another shot at these turtle-like monsters just as I reached the end of the wall. I grabbed his outstretched arm and jumped as he began to pull me up to the tunnel. I hadn’t yet reached the top when he extended his pistol-holding arm between my legs and fired another shot. The shell of the bullet landed directly on my crotch and I screamed, almost passing out from the pain, “What the hell? Do you want to castrate me?”

Panzi shouted back at me, “Holy shit! If you have to choose between your dick and your life, don’t you think your life is more important?”

I no longer held my lamp; I had dropped it as I climbed and now it was covered with corpse-eaters of all different sizes crawling around the light in a pale green layer. I had no idea where they had all come from and I asked Panzi, “How many bullets do you have left?”

He rummaged around in his pocket and smiled wryly, “Still have one bullet left—for you or for me?” His words were barely out of his mouth when a corpse-eater jumped up into our tunnel, making a creaking sound as it came toward us.

Panzi had once been a soldier and he knew how to deal with this kind of emergency. Holding the barrel of his pistol, he used the wooden butt as a hammer, knocked the insect flat, and kicked it back down below. But more had already reached us. We battered at as many as possible, but a few still climbed onto our bodies and ripped flesh from us with their barbed claws.

“Let’s run,” I said. “There’s simply no way to keep so many of them away from us.”

Panzi grimaced. “Where should we run to?” I pointed to the back and said, “There must be a way out here. Look at this tunnel. It had to be built by the craftsmen in the ancient times so they were able to escape death. As long as we run along this tunnel, we’re certain to find our way out.”

Panzi cursed, “Bullshit. You nerds always think whatever’s written in a book is right. Let me tell you. I’ve scoured all these tunnels for a way out. This is a maze. The fact that I found this place by the skin of my teeth is a miracle to me. If I were to go back out, I don’t know how long I would wander around before I got here again.”

Perhaps my theory was wrong but there was no time to think of an alternative. More and more insects appeared and I shouted, “It’s still better than feeding these things!”