"It's either a unicorn's horn or it's not," Shannon said.
Walcott's hoarse laughter turned into a spasm of coughs. "Stick to your Bible, Shannon, if you want absolutes."
"You said you were going to tell me about the history of it. I want to hear about it."
Walcott glanced toward the rock, then back to Shannon. "Why not?" He took another cigarette from the pack in his pocket, then began talking about an ancient secret order called the People of the Horn.
"Why did they destroy these horns?" Shannon asked. Walcott was getting caught up in his talk and paying less heed to him. Just what he wanted. Shannon's eyes darted for a moment to the shovel that lay a few feet away from Walcott, and estimated how long it would take him to reach it and hit Walcott with it.
"Because they became frightened of the horns. Things had reached a breaking point between what was real and what was not, and when they saw that the horns were losing, they appointed themselves as the ones to destroy them. Think about it. If people aren't going to believe in unicorns, you can't have any of their horns around. Somebody had to get rid of them, and they took the job."
"That doesn't make a bit of sense to me," Shannon said.
"No, I don't suppose it would."
"Well, were they unicorn's horns or weren't they? Tell me that."
"It doesn't matter."
Shannon realized that if he was going to act, he should do it soon. Once Walcott got the staff, Shannon and Rosie were expendable. "How do you know all of this stuff?"
Walcott flicked away the burning cigarette butt. "Mara told me all about the order." He reached into his pocket for his pack. "That was back when we were friends in Paris."
Shannon, seizing the opportunity, dashed toward Walcott and drove his head into the Englishman's injured arm. Walcott howled in pain, and tumbled over. Shannon reached down and grabbed the shovel with his bound hands just as Walcott drew his revolver. Shannon slammed the shovel against Walcott's hand. The .38 flew through the air, landing at Rosie's feet. She snatched it up and aimed it at the Englishman.
Shannon stood with the shovel raised over Walcott's head. "Give me the gun, Rosie. Quick." He glanced toward the rock, wondering if Jimbo had heard the ruckus.
"Don't listen to him, Rosie," Walcott said. "I won't hurt you. You do want to get out of here alive, don't you?"
Shannon realized that Walcott was stalling for time. He grabbed the Englishman by the back of his collar, jammed the shovel handle under his jaw, and spun him around so he faced the rock wall, which was about fifty feet away. Still no sign of Jimbo. Then he spotted the ranch hand peering out from the opposite end of the rock.
"Rosie, get down!"
Jimbo fired and Rosie dropped to the ground with a groan. Shannon dragged Walcott with him as he edged toward Rosie.
"Give up, Shannon. It's all over." Walcott struggled to get away, but Shannon squeezed the Englishman's injured arm and Walcott's knees buckled. They both toppled to the ground, but Shannon was exposed to Jimbo's aim of fire. Another shot exploded and the bullet glanced off the steel shovel.
Shannon instinctively ducked down and Walcott rolled over on top of him, pressing the handle of the shovel against Shannon's throat. Shannon twisted his head, taking the pressure off his throat. Blood streamed down Rosie's face as she reached toward Walcott's gun, which had fallen from her grasp. Her hand dropped on the weapon just as another shot fired from the rock. Her body jolted; she clutched her chest as blood spilled over her hands.
Shannon shoved Walcott away, but the Englishman rolled over and snatched the .38 and leveled it at Shannon. "Get over here!" He motioned Shannon away from Rosie, but the musician didn't care what happened any longer. He cradled Rosie in his arms and tried to stop the bleeding. When he raised his head, the barrel of the revolver pointed at his face and behind it, Walcott grinned like a maniac. Rosie was dead, and Shannon knew he was about to join her.
But Walcott was distracted as Jimbo screamed and flailed his arms against the assault of a huge bird, which had swept out of the dark sky and sunk its talons into his throat. It pecked at his face and tore into his throat as if in retribution for killing Rosie. Walcott took aim at the eagle. He fired; the bird let out a wild screech and flew off. Jimbo staggered a moment, but he was dead before he struck the ground. Walcott's bullet had struck him in the center of the forehead.
"Nice shot," Shannon rasped.
16
Sun Daggers
There was only an hour left before sunrise as the Ford bounced over the rugged dirt road. The ruins were close by now, but Indy didn't think the prospects of finding the staff were particularly encouraging. Even if the location was right, there were several clusters of towers at Hovenweep, and the first problem was locating the right one. Even then there was no guarantee that they'd find the three enigmatic symbols. Mara had even visited Hovenweep about a year ago in search of petroglyphs, but said she was certain she hadn't seen that particular set of symbols.
"What's that?" she asked, leaning forward as Indy slowed to a stop.
"It looks like a '27 Packard."
"Oh, my God. He's here," Mara groaned.
"Who?" Indy asked.
"That car belongs to Roland Walcott. He escaped from the Utes in it after he got shot."
"Well, ain't that somethin'," Smitty mumbled from the back seat. "He beat us here. How'd you figure?"
Mara pounded the dashboard with a fist. "How could he know it was here?"
They stepped out of the car and took a look at the Packard. Smitty bent down and picked something off the ground. "The bastard."
"What's wrong?" Mara asked.
"He's got Rosie with him." Smitty held up a piece of cloth. "She always tied the bottom of her braid with a green ribbon."
"If Walcott has Rosie, that means he's probably got Shannon too. And I bet Walcott's not alone," Indy said.
"Rosie must have known all along where the staff was hidden," Mara said. "She never told me."
"You? What about me? I'm her husband!" Smitty growled and threw down the ribbon.
"I didn't know you wanted it back." Mara sounded surprised by Smitty's anger. He didn't answer. Instead, he headed along the rim of the canyon, taking yard-long strides as he went.
Mara hurried after him and Indy trailed behind, his mind probing new questions. He couldn't tell whether Smitty was more angry because Walcott had abducted his wife, or because Rosie had never told him where the staff was hidden. Why was he suddenly so interested in it?
They moved along the dry, scrubby mesa top. The moon illuminated the trail, and cast shadows from the tall stone towers. Every time they came upon a tower, they quickly looked it over, then walked on. Indy was impressed by the stone structures rising out of desert, and wished he were there under different circumstances. The only thing he could recall reading about Hovenweep was that very little, if any, archaeological work had been undertaken here, and no one seemed to know why the Anasazis had built the towers. But there was little time to consider such questions. As far as Indy was concerned, locating the symbols and the staff was now a secondary matter to finding Rosie and Shannon. But he had the feeling that when they found one, they would find all.
"Do you know what Hovenweep means?" Mara asked, pausing at the point where the trail descended into the canyon.
"Can't say I do," Indy answered.
"It's Ute. It means deserted valley."
"It's lived up to the name so far," Indy said.
"They've got to be here. We've got to find them," Mara said impatiently.
"We'll find 'em." Smitty's voice rang with determination as he followed the trail toward the bottom of the canyon. "If I remember right, there's another set of towers about three miles up the canyon."
"That's right," Mara said. "The Holy Group."
Three miles. Indy knew it would be close to sunrise when they got there. Very close.
Shannon tossed a shovelful of dirt out of the crevice. A faint glow illuminated the horizon. It w
ould soon be daylight and he wondered how much longer Walcott would be willing to continue on. As Shannon figured it, the staff might have been here once, but it wasn't anymore. He was exhausted from digging and hauling dirt, which was all he'd done since he'd moved the two bodies behind a boulder. He couldn't see what difference it made whether the bodies were out in the open or hidden. There was no one around for miles. But Walcott apparently was the sort of person who liked everything neat and tidy with no loose ends, and Shannon knew that he was one big loose end. The only reason he was still alive was that Walcott couldn't dig with one arm.
He considered making a dash for the nearest boulder, but he knew that Walcott was standing near the other side of the rock with his revolver in hand. Even if Walcott missed, Shannon's chances of getting away, now that it was nearly morning, weren't very good. He should've made his break when it was still dark, but it was too late to think about that.
Walcott had been considerably more cautious since Shannon had attacked him. His revolver was never out of his hand and he stayed far enough away from Shannon so that he couldn't very easily throw dirt in his face or hit him with the shovel. If he tried it, Walcott had promised to shoot him dead before the dirt or shovel hit its mark.
As he slowly moved back down the corridor, Walcott let him know he was close by. "It's got to be here somewhere, Shannon. It's just a matter of finding where that place is. Keep digging."
Following Walcott's direction, Shannon had dug down to a depth of about four feet, then moved a couple of feet and started over. But other than pieces of broken pottery, nothing else had turned up, and he'd had enough. He threw the shovel into a hole. "You're going to have to find it on your own, Wally. I'm done. Finished. I don't work overtime, especially when the only payment I can expect is to be shot at sunrise."
Walcott moved into view at the end of the corridor. "Oh, you might live to see many more sunrises. That is, if you keep at it. But if you don't, I'm not going to be very pleased with you. Now pick up the shovel and get back to work."
Shannon considered walking away, but he knew he'd never make it out of the rock alive. He had to play on the hope that Walcott wouldn't carry out his threat. Or that his gun would jam. Or that a miracle would happen. He hadn't forgotten about the bird that had attacked Jimbo. Anything was possible.
"I'll give you to the count of five to pick up that shovel and start digging," Walcott said. "One... two..."
The muzzle of the gun was pointed at Shannon's heart. He thought of his wife and infant son. He couldn't give up. He had to find a way out of this.
"...Three... four..."
Shannon stepped down into the hole.
"That's better. Now dig."
He snatched up the shovel and was about to slam it into the ground when he heard a muffled call.
"Rosie... Rosie... you here?"
It was Smitty.
"Out of that hole," Walcott growled. "Now. Get over here, and drop the shovel."
As Shannon worked his way across the honeycombed floor, he heard Indy's voice calling for him. Walcott pressed the gun to Shannon's head and pushed him toward the entrance. He heard Indy saying something about splitting up to check the three towers.
"Don't say a word or I'll blow the back of your head off," Walcott hissed. When they reached the entrance to the crevice, Walcott ordered him to get down on his knees.
Shannon dropped down and craned his neck, but he couldn't see either Indy or Smitty. He knew they were probably heading toward the towers, and away from the rock.
"Okay. Stand up." Still holding his .38 to Shannon's head, the Englishman peered out into the dawn. "When I say go, you run for those boulders. I'll be right behind you. And don't forget, open your mouth and you're dead."
The first rays of sunlight spilled over the canyon wall as Indy climbed toward one of the towers. As in the ruins they'd already visited, there was no sign that anyone was here. Yet, Indy sensed something was wrong. He felt that familiar tingling along his spine that had always warned him when he was in danger. It was a feeling that he trusted and had learned not to ignore.
He touched his empty holster. He'd given the Webley to Mara when they'd split up, but now he wished he had it. The truth was they were all equally susceptible to an attack and it might come at any moment.
Suddenly, a shriek split open the silence of dawn. He dropped to the ground, and twisted around.
"Rosie, my God, Rosie."
Mara. Indy scrambled over the rocks until he reached her side. Rosie's bloodied body lay lifeless, and a few feet away was another body. At first, Indy thought it must be Shannon, but the body was too large. He moved closer, turned it over, and winced. He recognized the face as one of the men from Mesa Verde. Jimbo. His neck looked as though it had been ripped open as if by an animal, but a bullet hole punctured the middle of his forehead.
"Oh, no! Not Rosie!" Smitty moaned, dropping to his knees beside his dead wife. But his sorrow quickly shifted to anger as he leaped to his feet and pulled out his .45. "Where are you, Walcott? Get out here where I can see you." His voice echoed in the canyon. "You coward. You bastard." He fired the .45 in the air. "You said we were partners. Is this what partners do?"
"Partners?" Mara said. "I should have known."
Smitty charged away, yelling for Walcott.
Indy was even more surprised than Mara. He gazed up into the rocks as a pale yellow light flooded the canyon. Were they still here? How many were there?
"Stay put," he told Mara, and he crept away, darting from rock to rock. His intent was to climb to a higher point where he'd have an overview. But suddenly he felt exposed. They could be anywhere in the rocks, taking aim at him right now.
Indy dashed ahead to a rock wall and pressed against it. Safe from one side, but exposed on the other. He didn't like the creepy feeling of an invisible enemy, watching, waiting. He didn't know if they were behind him, above him, in front of him, or to one side or the other. He could still hear Smitty's angry voice echoing in the canyon, growing more distant. But all extraneous thoughts were suddenly wiped from his mind as he saw a snake just inches from his foot. He didn't dare move, but then he realized it was dead and headless.
His momentary relief was replaced by astonishment as his dream once more came back to him—the dream that was like no other dream. The eagle had dropped its snake down a rock face. Was it the same one? He recalled that the rock had been hollow, and he'd seen into it through a crack, and that was where he'd spied the symbols. He looked up, searching for a crack, but he could see only a few feet above him, and he didn't want to step away from the boulder for a better view. But if someone had carved the symbols, there must be a way inside.
Indy had started moving to his right along the rock when he saw a pile of dirt. He bent down and ran his hand through the debris. It hadn't been here long enough to settle.
He moved forward and glanced around the corner of the massive boulder. He saw that it was actually two rocks, the outer one lying at an angle against the other one with a crevice between them. He crept toward it, wary that Walcott might still be inside. Again, he touched his holster and wished that he had his Webley. He cautiously peered into the shadowy hollow. A beam of sunlight penetrated a crack in the outer wall. He saw a series of holes on the floor, and the handle of a shovel sticking out of one of them.
Indy eased forward, carefully stepping between the holes. They'd been digging here for the staff, and by the looks of it, they hadn't had an easy time of it. Then he saw them. It was hard to believe, but there they were, the three circular symbols. He moved closer. The beam of light formed two horizontal sun daggers on the wall. Both pointed inward, cutting through the spirals on either side and touching the outer ring of the concentric circles.
As he stared in fascination, he realized that the points of the daggers were moving. They now penetrated the second outermost ring. The daggers crept toward each other, closing the gap, then moved toward the center of the circles in a cosmic duel. Indy counted ti
me in rings, instead of minutes. The Anasazis priests had been astronomers. How else could he explain what he was seeing at the very onset of the solstice?
Then the tips of the two daggers touched and merged. The light seemed to explode in front of him. Indy covered his eyes against the sudden brightness, and heard a ringing, like the sound of bells or chimes. He couldn't tell whether the sound was coming from inside or outside of him.
When he dared to look again, the beam of light penetrated a triangular-shaped hole, illuminating inner walls that he hadn't noticed. How could he have missed seeing it before? It hadn't been there, couldn't have been. He squinted. The triangular tunnel appeared to open into an immense cavern. Mesmerized, he crawled through the tunnel, and into the cavern.
As soon as he was inside, he saw a block of stone. On top of it was a silver, double-headed eagle. Indy moved toward it, blinking his eyes. He had trouble focusing. He felt oddly light-headed; the bells and chimes were ringing loudly. He touched the silver heads, took them in both of his hands. There was a crack in the rock, and a staff of spiraled ivory was fixed to the eagle heads.
He lifted the staff and ran his fingers over the shaft, feeling its cool, smooth, ivory surface. He saw the Greek words on the handle, which identified it as an alicorn owned by an emperor. On the lower part of the shaft another Greek inscription jumped out at him.
"Ayιος Θεδς "Ayιος Θεδς íσχuρδς "Ayιος 'αΘávατος
He recognized it as New Testament Greek taken from a service in the Byzantine liturgy called the Trisagion. It read: Holy God, Holy Mighty One, Holy Immortal One. The final words of the phrase, Have Mercy on Us, were missing from the staff. Rightly so, he thought considering the history of the staff.
Indy raised his head. The air around him was like the wavy surface of a lake with the sun shining on it. Translucent images, mirages, and rainbows shimmered around him. He felt incredibly exalted as he raised the staff over his head. He couldn't help thinking of his father's continuing quest for the Holy Grail.
Indiana Jones and the Unicorn's Legacy Page 16