The graffiti on the wall seemed to mesmerize her, and she pointed her torch at the ancient drawings, her eyes widening in awe. The images depicted strange tribal people, their faces contorted in a mixture of ferocity and serenity. Abigail felt an inexplicable connection to the artwork as if she had stumbled upon a long-lost relative.
As she snapped pictures, a voice interrupted her reverie. "You've never seen anything like this before?" Smith asked, his voice low and even. However, his tone came across as almost accusatory, leaving Abigail to wonder if he was genuinely curious or simply making a statement.
Abigail turned to face him, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Have you?" she countered, her tone light and curious.
Smith's expression remained impassive, but his eyes seemed to cloud over for a moment. "Hmm... perhaps," he replied, his voice still low and even.
Abigail's gaze returned to the wall, her fingers tracing the contours of the ancient artwork. "I don't think they are as great as this one," she breathed, "Take a closer look, it's like a preserve new sheet among pages in a book that is kept in a safe and that's how it's going to remain " her voice barely audible over the sound of her heartbeat.
Smith's eyes crinkled at the corners, but his smile seemed almost... off. "Not all sheets are in books," he said, his voice still low and even. "I kept a file on the shelf, and guess what happened to it?"
Abigail's eyes brightened up as she wondered if Smith was intentionally trying to be obtuse. " I'm trying to get a description memorandum here, if you don't mind, please give Me a break to express my thought"
Smith's smile faltered, and for a moment, Abigail glimpsed a flicker of something almost like... vulnerability. But it was quickly masked by his usual reserved demeanour. "Well, this paint still looks new," he said, his eyes locked onto the wall. "The graffitis is well-crafted. I'm pretty sure they've all gone extinct."
As Abigail's fingers danced across the surface of the wall, she began to weave a tale that seemed to transport her to a world of wonder. "Hundreds of years ago," she whispered, her eyes sparkling with excitement, "have you ever heard of the Kariba's?"
Smith's head jerked to the side, his eyes narrowing slightly as he shook his head in a silent "no".
Abigail's laughter was like music, a melodious sound that seemed to echo off the walls. "Kariba's are one of the last tribes that ever existed," she said, her voice dripping with drama. "They reside on a deserted island located somewhere in Africa. It was like a country of its own with a high population and firm restrictions. No other dominant civilian is allowed in, otherwise... well, let's just say the next day won't break for them."
Smith's expression was a picture of confusion, his brows knotted in a quizzical expression. "So unfortunate," he muttered, his voice laced with scepticism.
Abigail's laughter erupted again, this time with a hint of mischief. "Not funny, it's written as blurbs to tell children," she said, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "When I was young, I listened to it all the time before going to bed. It was a trend back then."
Smith's expression turned from confusion to disappointment, his voice tinged with a hint of sadness. "You made it sound real," he said, his eyes dropping to the ground.
Abigail's gaze followed him, her expression softening. "Didn't you listen to it when you were young?" she asked, her voice gentle.
Smith's frown deepened, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don't remember my childhood."
Abigail's eyes widened in surprise, but she quickly recovered, her expression turning wistful. "Oh, I easily remember the story, and staring at this drawing... I'm hallucinating the Kariba's in my head already. What they would look like if they were real."
As she spoke, Abigail's hands moved with a life of their own, brushing away the dust from the wall with a gentle touch. Smith watched her, his expression unreadable, but his eyes seemed to hold a deep sadness.
"I don't get it," he said finally, his voice low and rough. "You keep switching sides. You sound real, then suddenly change the whole speciality into a blurb of yours."
Abigail's eyes flashed with amusement, but her voice was laced with a hint of annoyance. "Is your IQ below 80? Don't believe it, it's just a story. I don't think someone as macho as you is going to show a slight reaction over a just story."
Smith's expression turned glacial, his voice dripping with venom. "No, just feeling for those kids who have gone through the story of whatever like you've done. I wonder how psychopathic they may be now. You're a bad influence."
Abigail's eyes rolled heavenward, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Whatever."
As she spoke, she pulled out a book and pen, her hands moving with a fluid motion as she began to sketch the graffiti on the wall. Smith's eyes narrowed, his voice low and warning. "You're not going to draw the graffiti out of the walls, are you?"
Abigail's brow rose, her eyes never leaving the page. Smith's gaze lingered on her for a moment before he turned to leave, his parting shot hanging in the air. "I'll take that as a yes."
Smith ventured into the restricted area of the hole, he pulled out a yellowed map, its creases and folds a testament to years of use. The map depicted the intricate layout of the hole, with various symbols and markings that seemed to dance across the page.
Smith's eyes scanned the map, his gaze lingering on the most substantial marking - a treasure box situated at the center of the map. He noted the location and tucked the map away.
With a sense of purpose, Smith set off towards the dead end marked on the map. As he walked, the silence was oppressive, punctuated only by the sound of his footsteps echoing off the walls.
Finally, Smith arrived at the dead end, his eyes scanning the wall for any signs of hidden passages or secret doors. And then, he saw it - a small drawing on the wall, almost imperceptible to the naked eye.
Smith's gaze shifted to the instructions scrawled at the bottom of the map. "Follow its trail, and it will open." He nodded to himself and set off to follow the trail.
As he walked, the trail seemed to shift and twist, leading him on a merry chase through the winding passages. Smith's eyes scanned the wall, taking note of the subtle markings.
Finally, he reached the end of the trail and raised his head to gaze upon the wall. The eye drawing stared back at him, and Smith noted the subtle mechanism hidden within.
With a calculated movement, Smith triggered the mechanism, and the wall slid open, revealing a vast, cavernous space beyond. He stepped through the doorway, his eyes adjusting to the dim light.