Labyrinth. James Axler

construction and engineering you’re talking about is way beyond anything I’ve seen before,” Ryan said. “The question is, why wasn’t hollowing out a mountain good enough in this case? Why the hell did they put it under all that water?”

      “Mountain complexes are designed to keep out nukestrikes, radiation and uninvited guests,” Mildred said. “Maybe this one was meant to keep something in.”

      Ryan picked up on her train of thought at once. “You mean because of the water depth?” he said.

      “That’s right. Without a pressurized suit or transport vehicle, no large organism could make it from the bottom to the surface alive.”

      “So we’re not just talking concealment, then,” Krysty said. “We’re talking total isolation, maximum quarantine.”

      “Predark whitecoats left behind some triple-ugly surprises,” J.B. said. “Maybe we better find out more about the place before we stick our beaks in there.”

      The sounds of muffled singing and drumming, which had momentarily waned, suddenly swelled.

      “It’s coming from the other side of the square,” Krysty said. “One of those buildings in the middle of the block.”

      “Time we introduced ourselves to the locals,” Ryan said. “See what they can tell us about Minotaur.”

      They followed the noise to its source, a two-story structure with a big marquee over the entrance. The marquee’s frame bore the name El Mirador Theater; a row of black plastic letters spelled out the current attraction: “Prays Bob & Enid.”

      There were no guards on the movie house’s front doors and wild festivities were in progress inside. Clapping hands, stamping feet and sticks thumping on metal kept the rolling, musical beat. The singing, now that they could clearly make it out, was more like yelling. There were no words to the tune, just nonsense syllables, joyfully shouted at top volume.

      Dee-dit-deedee. Dee-dit-deedee.

      “Here comes the bride?” Mildred queried.