by Tom Hunter
“So, what do you want to do?” his soldier asked.
“Nothing. Yet. We aren’t being paid to kill…” a slow grisly smile creased his face as he pondered his idea. “But, I may be able to change that. I will speak with Ashbridge,” Ramon answered cryptically.
Twenty-Two
The days had come and gone as Thomas Knight, his immediate team, and the auxiliary crew at the dig site coordinated efforts to get Johnson’s body back to his family for burial. Each team member, in their own way, had said their goodbyes. The comms teams, permanently down one man with several others missing, performed their jobs stoically. Thomas Knight thought about this as he glanced perfunctorily at two piles of paper. Every so often he’d simply close his eyes, fighting the demons he knew would come.
With a sigh, he picked up a paper from one pile, scanning its contents. It was his own report, the one he and Pediah had written together detailing their search for Team 3. “I must have looked at this damn paper a million times,” he muttered, for the million and fifth time. “What do I think I’ll find?” he wondered aloud. Some evidence, some clue I missed. We missed. There has got to be something here.
The second pile, a detailed account of the excavation findings to date, had grown tall in wake of the search for Team 3. A labored sigh escaped Thomas, as he scanned the pages, reading and re-reading them. “It’s been too long. Are they even still alive?”Doubt it, his gut replied. As he held the two reports in his hands, like so many times before, he dropped them both back onto their piles, like leaves in autumn.
Rallying to his own cry of survival and safety for his team, he scooped up one of the pages, exclaiming, “…even if there’s a shred of hope. No one dies. No one else will die on my watch.” And he began again, scanning the page in his hand, and others, with intensity.
Nearby, a table labored under the weight of the artifacts discovered so far. Thomas knew by heart. Among them, he now saw with fresh eyes a small long stick, with one end weighted. It looked like a drumstick. “A beater or percussion mallet, I think they call it,” he noted, aloud.
The next item looked to be a fossilized egg. The fossil had been brushed clean, and if the note under it was any indication, analyzed as well. Thomas picked up the note, disappointed it read only – lizard’s egg? It was a best guess, he assumed, but this is 2030, surely, we can do better than two words and a question mark! His fist found the table, and the artifacts jumped.
“I’ll analyze them myself,” he remarked out loud, then stopped. I’m talking to myself. Alone. In my tent. This is nuts. I’m worried and stressed…too much, too fast. First, Howard. Then a month later, Johnson. It’s like this expedition is cursed or something. Cursed? Okay, time to go check on the others, and be with people. You’re not considered crazy till you answer yourself, right?
“Right,” Thomas answered himself. With that, he flung open his tent flap, and was greeted by the blinding sun of Death Valley. He’d been up all night, and he was hungry. Looking at the sun’s angle in the sky, he guessed the team would be heading to the mess tent for lunch.
A few steps from his tent, he shielded his eyes against the sun, and saw Alexia running toward him. “What the hell is she doing running like that in this heat?” he asked himself, and grabbing her in mid-step, repeated the same to her. “Don’t you know how dangerous it is to exert yourself in heat like this? What’s going on?” His brow was furrowed with strain and concern.
Alexia nearly toppled forward at the force of her stop. “I know it’s dangerous.” She squeezed his arm briefly, in excitement, and declared, “We found something!”
“Team 3? Another member?” Thomas asked eagerly.
“No,” Alexia shook her head. “Bones! And you’re not gonna believe this…but, remember those cave paintings we stared at a few days ago?” her eyes wide, her grip pulling him toward the cave entrance.
Thomas Knight nodded slowly, “Yes…” he answered cautiously. “Why?”
“Because, if our calculations are right. The bones we found – and I know this is gonna sound crazy – but, the bones we found seem to match the elongation and curvatures, of the creatures pushing boulders and stone and digging. The ones we initially saw on the cave paintings.”
Shedding the strains and stresses of the last few days, he grabbed Alexia’s hand, and exclaimed, “Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s go!”
Twenty-Three
The hum and activity of an active dig site had quieted seemingly overnight. Production had slowed, and the bribery of the rangers now proved to be unnecessary. For one thing, most of them had gone to seek their fortunes at the dig site nearly thirty miles away. The workers, at the rangers’ lead, had followed suit, leaving Noah Ashbridge with not much more than a skeleton crew.
His sudden reduction in expenses did not bode well for his operation overall. And he took out his frustrations in spades, his RV rocking as he stomped, paced, and tossed anything not bolted down.
As Miss Welker and Ramon watched from the safety of their tents, they noted how from time to time, Noah would pick up his ancestor’s journal, glare at it angrily, and shake it as if it was the book’s fault he was digging in the wrong spot.
Ever the practical one, Miss Welker had, as she watched the drama unfold, taken the few steps from her tent to Noah’s RV. During a pause in his tantrum she swiftly opened the door and stepped in without knocking.
Miss Welker cleared her throat noisily. Journal in hand, poised for the bubbling hot tub, he glared at the interruption. “What the… what do you want?”
“Take a breath, Ashbridge,” Miss Welker directed. “Sorry to interrupt” – she looked around the space, noting its scale of its destruction – “your therapy session. Ramon’s been, as you know, watching Knight and his team.” Noah nodded. “Well, he’s got some news. This really is good news.” Miss Welker smiled coyly. “The ah, agents…oh, let’s call a spade a spade. The spies I hired to infiltrate, report that Knight’s team has discovered, not only gold and jewelry and such, but bones as well.”
“And?” Noah prompted.
“And…let me finish,” She held a finger to her lips to quiet him. “It seems to me, that the treasure cave your grandfather alludes to, and has been telling you stories about your whole life, must be somewhere in Mustard Canyon. Frankly, I think your gut instinct was right, and have no idea why you didn’t just run with it.” She shrugged, and shook her head, “Instead, you followed some wild goose chase based on the writings of an old man. Who says his memory was intact when he wrote it?”
“Why would he lie?” Noah asked genuinely curious. “How could he, or why would he, have written the details down wrong? It makes no sense.” Noah argued.
“Other than an epic memory lapse,” replied Miss Welker, “I could only really hazard a guess, unless I’d met the man. Or, I don’t know, maybe tell his story, but keep others from following in his footsteps.”
A shadow flitted across Noah’s face as she spoke. He raised a hand as if to stop her, but something held him back and he let her continue.
Miss Welker stopped for a minute. Speaking slower and in a lower voice, she posited, “Maybe he meant to come back for the treasure himself. Maybe the notes are only for him, clues to follow, a map to something only he could read.”
Noah’s eyebrows rose in thought, as he considered what she said. “Supposing all this,” she said, “what if he simply died before he could come back?” She stopped and fixed Noah with her killer eyes. “Let me rephrase. Not before he died. Before he was killed. By your father.”
Oh, she’s good, Noah thought. This was why he had hired her and paid her so well. “While I see your point, Miss Welker, I have no further argument. Yet. What can we do about it now?”
She laughed, then and exclaimed, “Seriously! You’ve stolen from Thomas Knight twice already. No reason you can’t do it again. What’s that saying… third time’s the charm?”
“Well, it’s not like we can walk right in the front door again, so
to speak. He’s a lot better guarded than before. How do you propose we get in to steal anything?” Noah asked, exasperated.
“Simple,” Miss Welker explained. “We’ll just need to find a way in, possibly by sneaking in through the front door…” Noah shook his head, and she laughed. “It can be done, either by sneaking in the front door,” she continued, “or discover a side entrance, or create a new entrance.”
Counting out the options, Miss Welker had been ticking them off on her fingers. At last, her eyes sparkled, not only at the possibility, but at Noah’s reaction.
His usually eloquent speech had been compressed into a caveman’s grunted “Huh?”
“If you can’t go in, around, or through the usual way, you have to get creative,” she explained. “This is especially useful if the place you want to get to is inaccessible, or in our case, heavily guarded. I think some well-placed demolition components or high-powered diggers could do the job nicely.” With a quick bob of her head, she was satisfied with herself, and her new plan to gain entry to the caves at Mustard Canyon.
“I think diggers are a little over the top. They’re not cheap, you know. This treasure is costing me a pretty petty to claim.” His frustration mounting, as the dollar signs ticked up in his mind, Noah began to vent. “Oh, no, Reggie couldn’t just hand it over like a regular grandfather, he had to go and make it into some kind of puzzle to solve and, in the meantime, get himself killed.”
Miss Welker let him vent, realizing it was also his way to process information. True to form, his next sentence was business as usual.
“Guess we could blast a new entrance into that cave system. That’s a little more doable, I think. We might not be right on the location, but we’d be pretty close. We’ll need to set up holo emitters: the old wizard-behind-the-curtain trick. The mercenaries, led by Ramon, can protect the site as we establish a new HQ.”
They set about their plan to design their own entrance to the caves.
Twenty-Four
Steaming water relaxed his aching muscles and cleared his mind. Sometimes, you just need a good soak in the tub, Donald Cunningham thought. Bubbles were many, and candles burned. As Director of the California Museum of Science, he didn’t often give in to the esoteric therapies and candles that filled shelves and online stores. But, the sanctuary of his bathroom was his exception.
His phone was on speaker, as he listened to Abby Hogan’s report of Thomas Knight’s team and their progress to date. When he’d left them, his plane barely off the ground, he’d looked out the window and seen the flurry of activity with Matthews, Adam, and Thomas Knight. It hadn’t boded well. A quick command to his pilot who’d patched him into the comms tent had explained their loss of contact with Team 3.
I should have stayed, he thought. Unfortunately, duties at the museum had taken precedence. He shook his head, glad to have Abigail Hogan on the ground in his stead. That lady’s worth three of me.
Abby had kept him apprised of their progress in trying to locate the missing team, and while he’d hoped for good news, he knew from Abby’s voice it was not to be. The team had been missing for too long.
“Don,” began Abby, her voice crackly with the very poor reception in the desert, “I’m worried. This dig has been in chaos since the moment we arrived. Hijacked by the unfortunate case of the missing survey team, and the state of Mr. Johnson. It was awful!”
“Abigail, I am so sorry.” Donald Cunningham spoke evenly, his professorial tone at the ready. “I know thoughts and prayers don’t mean much these days, but still they are offered. If not for the missing team, then for you and yours.” He paused briefly. “But, please remember, I am also a man of action and have already begun drafting letters to their families. It is hard not to sound trite, but I wonder if you and Thomas should do the same.”
“Donald Cunningham. Did I say they were dead?” Abby demanded to know. “No, I did not. I said they were missing. There’s hope yet. I’m just frustrated, and hot. Good Lord, the desert’s got artifacts galore, but the working conditions… I guess that’s why nobody else has been here.” She knew he couldn’t see her, but in example she tugged at her shirt hoping to create her own natural cooling system.
“Abby, listen to me.” He sat up straighter in the steamy water, and leaned toward the phone. “I understand how you feel. Truly, I do. But, the fact remains that they haven’t been missing for a day or two. They’ve been missing for a few weeks. In Death Valley, California.” He knew Abigail Hogan well, and as she took a breath to interrupt him, he cut her short. “Think about it,” he cautioned. “They only packed enough food and water for a few days. Which means, that if they were alive, dehydration or starvation has likely killed them. You know as well as I do, people cannot last long in that extreme climate. I can’t imagine there are any underground streams at all.”
“I see your point, Don. I do. But, the hope is they’re still alive…. especially after…well, you didn’t see it. That sliver of hope is the only thing holding us together out here. It’s what keeps us going,” explained Abby. She took a deep breath, and he listened to her exhale slowly, “but, you’re right. No one could survive out here for weeks without food and water.”
She sounded so dejected, Donald’s heart went out to her. But, he knew it was time for Abby Hogan and Thomas Knight to face facts, and admit that Team 3 was lost to them.
Don Cunningham, lost in thought, jumped at the sound of Abby’s voice again. “Well, you’re right about one thing. I’ll speak with Thom about getting a letter written to Johnson’s family, for sure. As for the others, I think the families should at least be made aware, so we’ll draft letters to them as well.” She sighed in resignation. Letters meant this was all real.
“Good Abby. I think that’s a good idea,” Don nodded, glad to see she was slowly coming around. Thinking to take some of the load from her, he went on, “why don’t you send me the letters when they are ready and I’ll prepare small packages for the families?”
“I’d like to send the families a little something. Donate some money perhaps – can be for plane tickets to come out here, help with funeral costs for Johnson, what have you,” mentioned Abby, as they worked out the details of the condolence letters.
Donald Cunningham smiled, “That is a kind gesture, Abby. But, I wonder if the families might be offended at the offer.”
“Yes, I see,” agreed Abby. He imagined her crestfallen expression and went on, an idea taking shape in his mind.
“Should the topic of funeral arrangements come up, I’ll offer to help financially and if you wish, we can combine our monies. To that end, even if there are no bodies to bury, I can’t help but wonder if death isn’t harder for those who must accept the possibility without the proof of a body. What do you think?” The touchy subject broached, Donald waited for Abby’s response.
It didn’t come. And, after a long pause, he wondered if they’d lost connection. Then, a quiet, calm voice, spoke slowly in his ear, “I think, for now, we’ll just worry about the letters. But, my offer remains.”
“Now we’ve got that business settled, I want to hear about our progress on other fronts?” Donald Cunningham smiled and shook his head. Ever the adventurer, the explorer, he could hear the heaviness drop from her voice, and her excitement rise.
“I’ll start with the punchline. We’ve discovered artifacts, while searching for Team 3, which points to an unknown ancient civilization that may have once existed beneath the surface of Death Valley!”
There was a long pause. “Say again?”
And with those two words, and the incredulousness in his voice, Abigail Hogan did something she hadn’t done in quite some time. She laughed.
“Well, initially, Thomas found things like flattened coins, jewelry, and some kind of leather-bound doll. But, then as we searched for Team 3, we found a number of items of interest, and brought them to the surface. Oh! Did I tell you about the single room with the stone table? Not sure what that is, yet, but the paintings are marv
elous. Cave paintings of epic proportions. They’re a lot like those photos Pediah took, their first time down here.” Donald Cunningham didn’t interrupt, which was fine with Abby. “Regardless, what’s really got us excited is the discovery of a percussion mallet, a drum stick. Music, Donald! There are musical elements. I’d say that’s pretty civilized. Wouldn’t you? Amongst ourselves we’ve been toying with the notion this civilization had dealings with Native Americans in the area. Like the Shoshone, perhaps?” Abby stopped, breathless with excitement and anticipation.
“Oh, and one more thing.” Abby had saved the best for last. “Proof positive, you might call it. We found…bones. Of a creature that otherwise exists only on the walls of these caves.”
“Wow!” Don shook his head, hardly able to believe her tale. “I sure picked the right team to back, didn’t I?” He laughed. “Are there enough bones to create a skeleton? I’ve got a few grad students who’d love to work ono that.”
“Thomas is already on it, Don. He’s identified the pelvis and skull. Both of which are definitely humanoid. Based on the cave paintings and the bones identified so far, it seems to be a creature evolved between great ape and human. But, the sizes are off. Wrong. They’re too small.” Abby explained.
“Perhaps a child?” Don supposed.
“I don’t know. However, Thomas, deep in his perfectionism and professionalism – and more likely than not to keep from thinking about the missing team and a certain young woman – has already got them safely stored and boxed up to ship to you.”
“Excellent! I’ll round up that group of grad students I mentioned and ensconce them safely in a lab to see what we can learn from the bones. And the other artifacts, of course. I think it would be more cost effective to send a one and done package. I’ll be in touch to arrange shipping.” Dr. Donald Cunningham beamed with pride. “You’ve done a really great job, Abby. You should be proud. I know I’m proud of you and it was great to hear you laugh. It’s been too long.” Don’s comments overflowed, and his feelings in them tumbled one over the other.