by Bill Myers
He didn’t. No one did.
Except Cowboy. “It’s a window box,” he said. “Like my mom use to have to show off her knick-knacks.”
“Well, that’s one possibility,” Andi said. “Or . . . ?”
She waited, but there were no takers.
“It’s a floor plan. Don’t you see it? There’s the front door down here at the bottom. It’s even open. Here’s the entry hall with one set of stairs. The living room, hallway with another set of stairs, dining room, kitchen. And over here is . . .” she slowed to a stop.
“Over here is what?” Cowboy asked.
She got real quiet. “I’ve seen this before.”
“Where?” Cowboy said.
We waited. Daniel reached up and took my hand.
When Andi continued, her voice was a little unsteady. “When we were up in Washington State. . . . It’s the House. The one that kept haunting Van Epps, the professor’s friend. It’s the floor plan to the House.”
CHAPTER
4
I grabbed shots of the floor plan with my cell phone . . . which pissed off some caretaker . . . which I ignored . . . which got him in my face . . . which got my elbow in his gut . . . which got us thrown out . . .
Which was getting to be a habit.
I squinted as we stepped out into the late afternoon sun. “Now what?”
“Cardinal Hartmann said catacombs,” Andi said. “Not catacomb, singular, but catacombs, plural.”
“There’s more?”
“Actually, 186 miles of them.”
“One-hundred-eighty-six miles of—”
“I suggest we continue next by exploring the Domitilla Catacombs,” she said. “They’re quite close and one of the oldest and best cared for.”
“How many rooms?” I asked.
“Tunnels,” she said.
“How many tunnels?”
“Nine miles.”
I swore. The professor joined me. But it didn’t stop our personal cheerleader from leading us forward.
When we got to the entrance, the ticket guy at the door shook his head. “Chiuso,” he said. “Too late. Come back tomorrow.”
Andi pleaded, said we were on an urgent mission. The professor even played his priest card (which had expired a few decades earlier). Nothing worked. The guard shook his head, pretending he didn’t understand . . . till I slipped a handful of euros into his palm. He understood that perfectly.
Andi had reconnected to Wikipedia. So as we headed down the narrow steps into the cooler air, she resumed the tour. “There are roughly forty catacombs built under the city. Despite legends that Christians hid in them during the time of persecution, it is more probable that due to restricted land use, as well as their insistence upon being buried instead of cremated, these underground chambers were dug to serve primarily as cemeteries.”
“More dead bodies,” the professor sighed.
“Actually, in these particular catacombs there are indeed a few remaining. However, in the others, the bones have long since been removed.”
“No doubt sold as picture frames,” he said.
Daniel giggled.
“Named after St. Domitilla, their history is as lengthy as their tunnels and tributaries, which, by the way, are stacked on top of one another up to four levels high. Now, coming up to our right you’ll note a delightful fresco painted by . . . by . . .” She lost reception. She waved her phone around to find the signal. The professor gave another sigh—this time out of gratitude.
“Hey, check out these symbols,” Cowboy said. I crossed over to look at his wall. “Here’s a guy with a lamb on his shoulders. I bet that’s Jesus. And here, look, it’s a dove with some sort of branch.”
“That would be an olive branch,” Andi said. “Together, the dove and olive branch would represent divine peace with God. In fact, in Greek, the very word cemetery means ‘place of rest,’ and in the Hebrew—”
“They’re here,” Daniel said.
It was the first words he’d spoken all afternoon.
“Who?” I said.
He pointed down the tunnel behind us.
“Someone’s coming? Who?” I asked.
“For us.”
The bare bulbs hanging along the ceiling gave off plenty of light, but I didn’t see anything.
“Listen,” the professor said.
I strained to hear. There were footsteps. Running. And getting closer. And hushed voices speaking a language I couldn’t make out.
I traded looks with the others.
Daniel didn’t wait for a discussion. He grabbed my hand and yanked me forward. We started down the tunnel. The others followed.
“Faster,” he whispered. “Faster.”
We broke into a run for, I don’t know, forty, fifty yards, when he darted to the right. It was a little niche off to the side. Unlit, almost invisible. Stairs were cut into the wall. Steep and narrow. Almost a ladder. He started up them. I hesitated, then followed. Then the others, and finally the professor.
As we climbed, pieces of rocks crumbled and fell.
“Be careful up there,” he hissed.
The steps got steeper. The sides of the wall came so close they touched me. After a few minutes or so I saw some blue-green lights above us. Parking lot lights. The sun had already set and the parking lot lights had come on.
Down below a man’s voice shouted, “Up there!” It sounded Swedish or something. “You there. Halt!”
We kept going, not bothering to answer.
The light above got brighter. Pretty soon you could see it was coming through a round opening. In another minute we arrived at an iron grate.
The good news was there was a way out. The bad news was the grate wouldn’t budge.
“Keep going,” the professor whispered. “Why have we stopped?”
The voices below got closer.
Me and Daniel both tried pushing against the grate with all we had. “It’s no good,” I said. “They got it locked.”
Cowboy tried squeezing past. “Maybe, if I could just—” But things were too cramped. No way could he get past us.
“Doesn’t matter,” I said. “It won’t budge.” I gave it one last push. “It’s welded shut or something.”
“We’re trapped?” Andi asked.
I swore and nodded . . . until I spotted the girl. Her face so close to mine I gasped. It was the kid from that other world, Cowboy’s and Daniel’s friend. She was on her hands and knees, hunched inside a small tunnel connected to ours. A tunnel I was sure hadn’t been there till now.
Cowboy saw her, too. “Helsa?” He moved up closer. “Littlefoot, is that you?”
She smiled. Even in the dim light I could see the silver in her eyes sparkle. A sure sign she was happy.
“What’s going on up there?” the professor whispered.
“We missed you,” Cowboy said. You could hear the softness in his voice. “You come back to visit?”
She nodded, then reached out for Daniel’s hand. He let her take it and she pulled him into the tunnel. Once inside, he turned to help me. I took his hand and he pulled me in. I did the same for Cowboy, who did the same for Andi, who did the same for the professor.
Now we were all in the side tunnel crawling as fast as we could. No talking. No sound. Just lots of hands and knees scraping along the rocks. I felt something long and smooth in the wall beside me. Then it got bumpy, then ridges. Ribs. I yanked back my hand, not wanting to feel more.
Finally, the girl came to a stop.
The professor whispered, “What’s going—”
“Shh,” Daniel said.
For once in his life the professor obeyed. A good thing, too, because the men behind us had reached the top.
One of them was speaking Swedish again.
Another answered.
We held our breaths.
You could hear them strain and push against the grate as they kept talking and getting madder.
Finally the first one shouted in his heavy accen
t, “Hello? Is anyone there? Is there anyone who can hear us?”
We kept silent.
They talked some more. They pushed and grunted some more. Finally they gave up and started back down.
The girl motioned for us to wait till the sound of their climbing had nearly faded. Then she started forward again and we followed. After another minute or so the tunnel angled up. A moment later we were out in the open surrounded by bushes and shrubs.
It was good to finally stand up and breathe. And despite my promise never to light up around Daniel, I pulled a cigarette from my pocket. Things were eerily quiet. We were pretty far from the parking lot, but could still see each other’s faces in the shadows. Except for the girl’s.
She was gone.
CHAPTER
5
Hello?”
“Signora, the taxi, it is here.”
“We’ll be there in a sec,” I said.
“For your bags, shall I send him up?”
“No, we’re good.” I hung up the phone and faced the others. They’d been in Daniel’s and my room the last forty-five minutes begging us to stay.
“But you just can’t leave,” Cowboy whined.
“Watch us.” I crossed to the bathroom and dumped the free soap and shampoo into my bag.
“But what about the spear and the diagram and the Cardinal?”
“And saving the world?” Andi added.
The professor answered, “She’s more concerned in saving her inconsequential derrière.”
“You’re one to talk,” I said as I reentered the room. “I’m surprised you even bothered to come.”
“Call it scientific curiosity.”
“And the scroll,” Cowboy said. “Remember, he was going to tell us what it meant.”
“Which he didn’t.” I opened the mini-fridge, grabbed the two Cokes but left the booze—too many bad memories.
“We really need you, Miss Brenda.”
I slammed the fridge. “I got Daniel to look out for now.”
“And some enormous guilt to work off.”
I turned back to the professor. “Meaning?”
“We all saw what you went through at the Institute. All those fears . . . all that guilt.”
“Professor,” Andi warned.
“Not that I fault you. It must be a tremendous burden—giving up your spawn, knowing you were an unfit mother to raise it.”
The muscles in my jaw tightened.
He motioned to Daniel. “It doesn’t take a genius to see the boy is simply serving as a surrogate, a vain attempt on your part to work off all that—”
I didn’t hear much after that—saw nothing but his smug face as I sprang at it. I landed a couple good blows before Cowboy pulled me off. “Hey, hey, Miss Brenda! Miss Brenda, come on now!”
When things settled down, I turned to my backpack and finished shoving clothes into it. Daniel was already at the door, sitting peacefully on his own pack.
“She’s not going anywhere,” the professor muttered. He was nursing what would likely be a shiner. “The tickets are nonrefundable. She can’t leave until the date of departure, just like the rest of us.”
“Is that true?” Cowboy asked.
“Not without buying another ticket,” Andi said.
“Which means cash,” the professor said. “Something of which I’m sure she’s a bit lacking.”
I reached into my pocket and tossed his American Express back to him.
Now he leaped at me.
“Professor!” Andi and Cowboy shouted. It took both of them to stop him.
I zipped up my backpack and headed for the door. “Let’s go, Daniel.” But before I reached it, there was a knock. I glanced to the others, then opened it.
Two men in silver sunglasses stood there. “Taxi?” the biggest said. There was no missing his Swedish accent. I tried slamming the door but his size-14s blocked it. I yelled and swore as they threw it open and stormed in.
Cowboy was on his feet, doing what he did best. He flew across the room, decking the first guy, knocking off his glasses. We all stood and stared. And for good reason. The big Swede lay on the floor with no eyes. That’s right, his sockets were completely empty.
The second guy took advantage of our shock and landed a good punch into Cowboy’s gut and then his face. Not enough to ruin him, but enough to make his point.
“Run!” Cowboy shouted to us. “All of you, run!”
I didn’t need a second invitation. I grabbed Daniel and we headed for the stairs, the professor right behind. Andi needed more convincing. “Tank!”
“Go, Andi! Go!”
We got to the bottom of the steps, raced through the lobby and out onto the street. Wheels screeched and I spun around just in time to see a taxi mini-van. It barely missed us. The driver shouted through the passenger window, “Taxi?” He had a black beard and a Middle Eastern accent so thick I could barely understand.
“What?” I said.
“Taxi? Taxi?”
I saw Cowboy stagger from the lobby, a little worse for wear.
“Taxi?”
“No.” I turned from Cowboy back to the driver. “I mean, yes. Maybe. You’ll go to the airport?”
“Defeats,” he said.
“What?”
“I take you to defeats.”
“Defeats? What are you—”
“No. Defeats! Defeats!”
“The feets?” Cowboy asked. “You want to take us to the feets?”
“Yes, yes. Get in. All of you. Hurry.”
“Whose feet?” Andi said.
“Are you speaking of more skeletons?” the professor asked. “The catacombs?”
“No! No! Defeats!”
The hotel doors flew open and the two Swedes stormed out. During the brawl the second one had also lost his glasses. His eye sockets were as empty as his partner’s. And yet they raced toward us like they could see perfectly.
“Some folks.” Cowboy sighed. “I try to be polite, but they just won’t take a hint.” He positioned himself at the back of the taxi between us and them for another round.
“Hurry!” the driver shouted. “All of you, get in!”
The men kept coming. “Stay calm,” the first said. “No one need be hurt.”
“Get in!” the driver kept yelling. “Everyone, get in!”
I threw open the back door and shoved Daniel inside. Andi raced to the other door as the professor squeezed in beside me and Daniel crawled into the rear seat.
“Stay calm. No one need be—”
“Cowboy!” I shouted.
The first guy came at him. But the second headed around front for the driver, who panicked and dropped the van into reverse. A good idea, except for the first guy. The taxi slammed into him and knocked him to the ground. The wheels bumped over something that was not a curb. And when I looked out the back window, there was no bad guy.
Cowboy dropped to his knees, looking under the car. “Mister? Mister, are you okay?”
Off in the distance, I heard a police siren. “Cowboy,” I shouted. “Get in!”
“But, he’s—”
Meanwhile, Bad Guy #2 had reached the driver’s window and was banging on it. “Stay calm. No one need be hurt. Stay calm. No one need be hurt.”
“Now!” I shouted at Cowboy. “Get in, now!”
Reluctantly, he rose, headed to the front door, and climbed in.
“Stay calm. No one need be hurt. Stay calm. No one—”
The driver stomped on the gas, throwing the attacker to the side while again bouncing the rear wheel over his partner.
“I take you to defeats,” the driver shouted as he picked up speed. “Defeats in the kitchen!”
“What are you saying?” the professor demanded. “What defeats?”
“No,” Andi said. “Not defeats.” She turned to the driver. “Are you saying ‘the feast’?”
“Yes, yes! De feasts, it is in the kitchen! That is what I am saying!”
She looked to the pr
ofessor. “‘The feast is in the kitchen.’ Cardinal Hartmann’s parting words.”
“Yes, yes! Defeats in the kitchen. Hurry! We must hurry!”
I looked out the back window. The bad guys were nearly a block away. And the one we’d run over twice? He was getting back to his feet.
CHAPTER
6
For half an hour we’d been playing Q and A with the taxi driver. The problem was, he did most of the questioning.
“Why do you persist in asking us?” the professor called from the back seat. “You seem to be the one with all the answers.”
“‘The feet are in the kitchen.’” Cowboy chuckled. “That’s a good one.”
“I do not know, that is why I am asking. You said the airport, but there is no airport on the beach.”
“Beach?” I said. “Why are we going to the beach?”
The professor interrupted. “Cardinal Hartmann instructed you to pick us up, did he not?”
“I know no Hartmann. I know very little of nothing.”
“But you knew where we’d be,” Andi said.
“I know only what I hear.”
“From whom?” the professor asked.
“From my head. Words. I hear words. And sometimes, as you may tell, I do not always hear so well.”
Cowboy chuckled. “The feet are in the kitchen.”
There was a loud thud on the roof and we gave a start. I looked out the windows. Nothing to see but the thick blanket of fog we’d been driving through for the past few minutes.
“We’re at a beach?” I said.
“Yes, yes. But as I have told you, there is no airport at the beach.”
“Then why are you—”
There was another thump, and then another. I saw something bounce off the hood.
“What was that?” the professor demanded.
More thumping.
“What is going on?”
“That is what I keep asking you.”
I looked out the side window. There were dozens of birds, mostly seagulls, flapping around on the road.
“Well, will you look at that,” Cowboy said.
One hit the windshield. Blood and feathers everywhere.
Andi shuddered. “That’s gross.”
The driver turned on his wipers. It pushed off most of the feathers but left a smear of blood that took several more swipes to get rid of. Another one hit the roof. And then another. They came faster, like a hail storm—hitting the roof, hood, windshield, the rear window.