Luciano sensed her hesitation and turned to face her with a look of concern. “Aida?” he asked, his voice steady but filled with worry.
She looked up at him, resolve warring within her. “I... I don’t know if we can do this, Luciano,” she admitted. “We can’t even see the end of this water ahead.” She waved her arm down the dark tunnel. “What if we can’t find her? What if we get trapped? I can’t—I don’t want to die here, not in this darkness.” Tears mingled with the cold water on her cheeks, the weight of their predicament crashing down on her.
Luciano put his hands on her shoulders. “I would hug you, but then I’d get you all wet.” He leaned forward and gave her a soft kiss. “We knew this wouldn’t be easy,” he said gently. “We can’t give up now, not when we’re so close.”
Aida nodded, trying to muster even the smallest amount of courage. She took a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment, willing her heart to steady. In the previous months, she had often said little prayers to Sophie and Aggie for guidance, but this time, she spoke to Effie, a desperate request for help.
And then, miraculously, as if in answer to her silent plea, it came—the scent that stirred memories of sunlight and open skies, of running across green grass and into the arms of her Papa, who would ruffle her hair and laugh. The subtle, sweetfragrance of Russian olive trees, so intrinsically linked to her happiest memories, intensified, a burst of comfort in the darkness, then it dissipated.
Her eyes snapped open, a renewed sense of purpose washing over her. “Did you smell that?” she asked.
Luciano shook his head. “No, but if you did, that’s a good sign. Let’s get out of this water.”
They trudged forward, their light greatly diminished by Luciano’s darkened headlamp. Bones from the lowest niches had come loose and floated around them. Aida did the best she could to avoid their touch—to bother the dead in such a way seemed not just disrespectful but also unlucky to her. It didn’t help her sorrow either. The farther they pushed through the water, the more the oppressive atmosphere of the catacombs seemed to concentrate, a presence that pushed against their minds with whispers of despair.
Ten minutes later, they reached a dry part of the tunnel and sat on the floor to dig through their packs. Aida wished she could tell Yumi how glad she was that she had insisted on packing everything inside the packs in plastic bags. Yumi had done so to help organize and save space, but they had helped save nearly everything inside Luciano’s wet pack. They first wrapped the space blankets around them for warmth and broke open some of the hand warmers that Yumi had tucked into their packs. But Luciano’s headlamp didn’t work at all.
“Damn it,” he muttered. He shook it, then flipped open the battery compartment. Aida leaned over so her light shone on the lamp. The batteries looked fine—but a thin sheen of water coated the inside.
“The seal must have been loose,” he said, frustrated. “Water got in and shorted something.”
Aida frowned. “Did you check it before we left?”
“I thought so.” Luciano sighed. “Maybe I didn’t close it right? Or it might’ve gotten knocked loose when I fell.”
“We should have brought a backup,” Aida lamented. She handed Luciano one of the extra flashlights in her pack. It wassmaller to help conserve space and weight, and didn’t have the impact of the headlamp.
“It’s better than nothing though.”
“I don’t think we can stop for long, or we’ll get too cold being so wet. I still think we could have brought a backpacker’s space heater,” Aida said. “Even if we didn’t use it for very long.”
“No, Felix was right to discourage us. There could be all sorts of gases down here we don’t understand. And there’s no ventilation.”
Aida peered down the passage ahead of them. There wasn’t a sliver of light. The idea of moving forward filled her with dread. “I can’t smell the trees. Maybe we should go back.”
“But you could smell it when I fell in the water, and we were heading in this direction. We must be going the right way,” Luciano said. “Besides, do you want to go back through that? Come on, let’s keep going.” He scrambled to his feet and held out a hand to help her up.
After thirty minutes of trudging through the gloom, they reached another staircase heading down even deeper. Aida would have balked if not for the fact that the scent of the trees had returned and was growing stronger with every step.
But only a short way down the new gallery, they hit a wall, a literal wall, nicheless, blocking their path. It loomed before them, solid and seemingly impenetrable, an ancient boundary set in stone. The smell of her childhood was concentrated at the wall and Aida breathed deep, letting the scent fill her with courage. She ran her hands over the wall’s cold unyielding surface, feeling the tiny imperfections and the chill of the rock seeping into her skin. She pressed her ear against the stone, half expecting to hear a heartbeat from the other side, anything that would give them a clue.
Luciano joined her, examining the wall with an intense gaze. “There has to be a way through,” he murmured, more to himself than to Aida.
Aida pulled away, her mind racing. She recalled the stories ofsecret chambers and hidden doors that were common in places like this. She doubted all the movies she had watched and books she had read could be real, but she wasn’t sure what else to do. “Luciano, help me look for any signs of a mechanism or anomaly, something that doesn’t belong.”
They split up, tracing the expanse of the wall with their fingers, tapping lightly, listening for the hollow sound that would suggest a passage. Minutes passed, and the only sounds in the silence were the soft thuds of their explorations and the distant water drip. The passage was narrow, and their backs bumped against each other, a comfort in the depressing darkness.
Aida’s fingertips moved across the cold stone, tracing lines and patterns worn by age. The scent of the Russian olive tree was stronger now, as if urging them on. And then, in a spot low to the ground on the left side of the wall, a stone seemed ever so slightly recessed. It shifted a bit when she pressed it.
“Here,” she said. She shifted so Luciano could try pushing it.
“Nothing.”
The olive tree smell intensified. An idea came to her. “Wait, what if there is another spot on the other side?” She leaned over to that side and felt around, and her heart lifted when she found the same sort of recession in the wall. “Yes!”
Together, they pushed. A faint grinding noise filled the gallery, barely audible at first but growing louder. The wall began to tremble, and dust fell from the ceiling above them.
Luciano’s voice was a hushed undertone of excitement. “It’s giving way.”
