by Tom Hunter
Alexia cut him off sharply, “Home, you idiot! Why do you think we’re here with him? The plan was to bring him home. Remember?”
“I’m just sayin’, he was still as a statue back in Abby’s tent and now he looks as if he’ll jump ten feet if I say ‘boo’. I just want to know the difference,” explained Robbie, exasperated with Alexia’s needling. She was like the sister he never wanted.
Pediah watched Alexia work on her drone. He was fascinated, though he didn’t understand much of what she was doing. He was an adventurer; a mechanic or machinist, he was not.
He stepped back as she made the final adjustments, returned her tools to her belt, and let the drone fly.
“Why are you bringing that?” asked Pediah.
“It’s an idea I had when I was working with the police topside to find Noah’s hiding place.” Alexia shrugged. “Figured a remote camera following us on low frequency might be useful as we travel through these tunnels. Besides, she went on, wouldn’t you rather any future rescuers could easily pinpoint our location?”
Pediah nodded, about to say something else, when his eyes were drawn back to the drone as it buzzed past his ear and toward Alexia.
The drone descended into the palm of her hand, and Pediah stared as the machine folded itself into a cube. A chorus of “oohs” and “ahs” caused him to turn his head. He nearly laughed as he realized most of the team had gathered around them, just as fascinated as he was at her technical prowess.
“And what if he bolts?” asked Robbie, then, “I mean, he’s our guide, right? Who’s to say once he’s back on his own turf, he doesn’t leave us stranded? Or worse, left for lizard food.” The lopsided care-free smile of the YouTuber was gone.
“Relax, I’ve got that covered,” Thomas confirmed. “We’ve got one more we’re waiting on to join us, then we can begin”. He smiled as he saw her trek up the path toward them. Robbie’s sharp intake of breath meant he’d seen her, too.
He began shaking his head vigorously, words unable to form. Robbie was worried, but he couldn’t place his finger on why. Just a feeling I can’t explain, I guess.
Abby arrived as if on cue, dressed in her own khakis and cream outfit, laden with spelunking gear and tools. “Hi guys!” she said brightly, adjusting her gear. “Everyone ready?” she asked.
“No! Absolutely not,” vetoed Robbie. “Thomas, no. It’s too dangerous.”
“Robbie, I can take care of myself, thank you very much. But, I appreciate your being worried.” She took his hand and squeezed. She looked at Mochni. “Besides, I’m here for him. He and I have an…understanding of sorts. He trusts me, I think.”
In demonstration, she waved him to come stand with her. He did so and laid a giant hand on her small shoulder.
Thomas and Pediah smiled at the exchange, as Thomas turned to address the group. “Each of you has been chosen because you’ve been down here before. You are aware of the dangers and have handled yourselves admirably. The rest of the team will continue work as usual.”
He stopped and turned to Abby. “What did Dr. Cunningham say?”
“He’ll be here. But, until then, he’s left Matthews, the foreman we met when we first arrived, in charge.”
With a sharp nod, Thomas turned to the team. “So. Any questions?”
Silence was his only response. “Okay then. Let’s get going!”
At Thomas Knight’s jubilant cry, the others joined in, “Yeah!” and “Adventure time!”
Pediah, still grasping with life outside his Amish upbringing, snapped his suspenders, and lifted one hand up, exclaiming, “Rock on!”
Robbie couldn’t help himself, and laughed. “Pun intended, huh, Pediah?” As they made their way toward the rocky entrance of the cave’s tunnels.
Abby produced a drawing and gave it to Mochni. Using the sleep gesture, she’d used the night before, and wrapping her arms around herself, she worked to convey the plan.
As she used body and sign language, she repeated the word “home”, and again when she showed him the drawing. It was his, and it showed a group of people in a circle with a backdrop of what could only be construed as simple dwellings.
She took Mochni by the hand and pulled him toward the front of their small band. When they were in front, Mochni understood he was to guide them. He felt the call of home. This woman conveyed the warmth of home, and he smiled at her in return.
He ducked under the archway entrance, and smiled a sheepish smile as he led them down through the tunnels and deeper into the cave.
Fifteen
As they began their trek into the caves, Thomas ran his fingers along the rough walls, still not quite believing he was back. His fingers bent against the curves, indents, and pockmarks from erosion, and whatever thing or tool had helped to shape it. The dust tickled his nose. His sneeze, loud enough to wake the dead, echoed in the chamber. A haunting note, he thought.
“Bless you!” Alexia exclaimed, only just now realizing Thomas didn’t look quite like himself. Perpetually dusty, his sleeves rolled up, his beard comb had begun to gather the ever present dust. And that was not like him at all.
“Thanks,” he muttered, barely noticing her. The walls began to undulate, a wavy mirage he tried to blink away. I know this place. It’s more than the fact I’ve—we’ve—been here before. There’s something else. He’d fought for it, survived it, and come back for more.
“What are you thinking about?” Alexia’s voice sliced into his reverie, and he stared at her for a moment. The tilt of her head seemed familiar, as did her furrowed brow. He knew she was worried.
As if he’d read her mind just a moment ago, Thomas reached for his beard comb. He tried to shake the haziness from his mind, as he began the downward strokes. “I’ve been watching Mochni,” he confessed. Her gaze followed his. “Watch him. See?” Thomas pointed, as Mochni continued his routine.
From time to time, Mochni would leave Abby’s side. He would either move a few paces ahead or back track a few steps to peer deep into the cavernous recesses of some of the tunnels they passed. Occasionally, Abby would join him.
Alexia nearly cooed as she watched Mochni and Abby. Turning to Thomas she whispered, “He likes her. I think he thinks of her as family. A grandmother, maybe?”
Thomas shrugged, but before he could answer he heard footsteps and turned to see Robbie join them.
Breaking into their tete-a-tete, Robbie, with a nod to Alexia, whispered, “Thomas, look, I’m really worried. I have nothing to back it up, but I have a bad feeling.”
The hair on Thomas’s neck stood up. The boy echoed what he’d been thinking. “I mean, what if his”—Robbie nodded toward Mochni—“what if is his family isn’t as understanding as we’d like to think they’ll be?”
“Robbie, I”— began Thomas.
“I mean, do you think they’ll be…reasonable?”
This kid’s seen a lot. More than he expected on this trip, Thomas thought as Robbie spoke. He heard the concern in his voice, but he didn’t want to worry the boy further, so he kept his eyes on their path and whispered back, “Listen, I realize we’re kind of flying blind here, but I don’t think anything bad’ll happen.”
He raised a hand, and began to tick his reasons off one finger at a time. “Here’s why: one, Mochni didn’t escape here to come after the drum, he was sent; two, if these cave dwellers really are a race of warmongers, then they’d have sent more than a boy to steal back the drum, don’t ya think? And three, if Mochni came from a trained warrior class, he wouldn’t have been so startled when I came upon him in my tent.”
“I see your points,” Robbie conceded. “But it doesn’t change the fact, he’s gotten awful chummy with Abby.”
“Jealous?” teased Thomas. “Afraid he’ll sweep her off her feet?”
“Knock it off, you two,” Alexia admonished. “Whisper all you want. But, if the wrong”—she nodded toward Abby and Mochni—“people hear you, misunderstandings will be the least of your worries.”
Pediah, overhearing only bits and pieces of the conversation, took Thomas’s words at face value. “Sheesh, I’m pretty sure any of these giant cave dwellers could sweep any of us off our feet!”
Sheesh? Thomas smiled, always amazed at Pediah’s attempts at slang. Before he could tease him, Robbie leaned in and whispered, his devil-may-care smile surfacing again. “He knows that’s just an expression, right?”
Thomas, still smiling, fought back a laugh and shook his head.
A deep, highly pitched clacking cut into their bantering. Mochni had stopped and pointed toward a cavernous tunnel, larger than most of the ones they’d passed. He looked to Abby, pointed at her, then the tunnel. Then, shaking his head, Mochni pointed to his ear, then to Abby, then to the tunnel. Listen! His gestures said.
A small chasm had opened where they had stopped. Just the other side was the tunnel. Was this his way home?
At first, Abby, Thomas, and the rest of the team, thought he meant them to follow him. Pediah now strode to where Abby stood and leaned down to ask her something. Before he could do so, Mochni leapt from the walkway and jumped across the short chasm. He motioned for them to follow, then disappeared into the yawning darkness of the tunnel.
“Wait!” Robbie called to Mochni. “I told you he’d run, dammit!”
“Hold on, Robbie,” cautioned Alexia. “I think he wants us to follow him.”
Thomas, his hand down, his palm facing the team, held them back. He gauged the distance, and made quick calculations. “Pediah and I will cross first.”
Thomas caught Pediah’s eye, who nodded immediate understanding. Thomas explained, “Once we’re across, we’ll set up a rope bridge for everyone else.”
Alexia took his outstretched hand in both of hers, “Be careful, Thomas,” she cautioned. “You’ve been through quite a bit already.” Thomas turned and smiled, squeezing her hand in understanding.
With his other hand, he reached to take the length of rope Pediah was handing him. He slung it over his shoulder. He then turned his full attention toward laying the bridge. He knelt down to drive two large spikes into cracks in the rocks, and secure the near end of their jury-rigged rope bridge.
“It’ll be alright, Alexia,” his voice low and full of feeling. He’d come to care for her more than he cared to admit.
Pediah gathered his spelunking gear and followed Mochni’s movements from afar. “It’s not that wide, Thomas,” Pediah began. “I can make the jump.”
Gauging the distance, Thomas stood, and took a few steps back. “I know you can, Pediah. But, as the leader of this team, I think I should go first.”
“Okay, Thom. I’m right behind you.”
With a running start, he leapt across and landed deftly. Or so he’d thought.
As his feet the touched the ground, the sound of stone grinding on stone met his ear, and his heart sank.
Should have aimed for a little further in, he admonished himself.
He knew that sound well. It bore the sound of doom, and of haunted men. With no time to confirm his landing or plant his feet for balance, the shifting earth melted beneath his heels.
From the other side of the chasm, the others watched in horror as the shifting earth crumbled beneath his feet and Thomas Knight grasped at air.
Sixteen
A man with a red Oakland A’s baseball cap sat at Thomas Knight’s desk, with papers and books scattered everywhere. He had a pen in one hand and a growing list in the other. His head bobbed as he looked first to an artifact, marked its details on paper, checked the proper boxes were ticked, and repeated the procedure.
Stephen B. Matthews had been tasked with preparation of a full artifact list to be presented to Dr. Donald Cunningham upon arrival. As foreman, it was his responsibility to manage the camp while Thomas and the others were away.
He was so caught up in his work, he almost didn’t hear it. The noise came from just outside the tent, but shadows from the setting sun played with his mind. He shook his head and returned to his work. Just someone from the camp walking by. Relax, man.
But, a niggling sensation in the back of his mind latched on to the idea that the step was lighter than any of the others in the camp.
Stephen had been in this area a long time, and he had his father’s tracking ability. Each person had their own distinct step, especially those in standard issue tennis shoes or light hiking sandals. These footsteps felt heavy, though carried by someone light. It was a juxtaposition of the usual. He shook his head to try and shake the feeling that something was out of place.
He glanced at the paper in his hand and tried to focus. Rubbing his neck, he sighed, and reached for a bottle of water.
Stephen’s head jerked up as he heard the sound again. It was getting louder and more pronounced.
Who or whatever it was, it was just outside the tent. He laid down the paper and put the artifact, a spear tip, on it to weigh it down.
Large hands clenched the lip of the desk, and he pushed himself away. Rising from his seat, he stealthily made his way to the tent flap, and lifting one corner, peeked outside.
Everything looked to be in order. Workers, volunteers, and students strolled the path or were busy at work in the coolness of their respective tents, he guessed. He watched a group enter the mess tent, and his stomach grumbled. He pushed the thought away.
A glint of warm sunlight flashed, and he turned his head to see what had caused it. His eyebrows reached toward his hairline, as just to the right he noticed a woman he didn’t recognize.
Wide eyes appraised her appreciatively. Short black hair framed her round-ish face. High, sharp cheekbones breached the light caramel smoothness, and rose to meet her almond shaped eyes. A sand-colored button down with the sleeves rolled up, met high-waisted khaki shorts, showing off long legs. A beige belt cinched the outfit, showcasing a tiny waist. Her shoes were some kind of high-heeled combat boot.
Ah, that explains the weird footsteps. Stephen stepped outside for a better look.
He sucked in his breath at the perfection he now witnessed.
Matthews, at last, cleared his throat and asked, “Can I help you find something?”
Her head snapped up and angled itself toward the voice. Dark eyebrows arched in surprise. She had expected Knight’s tent to be empty. She would have to make adjustments to her plan. Mentally rolling her eyes, Miss Welker coolly looked the man over.
His skin, a shade south of the color of sand, had a strange glow to it; set off by the red cap, she imagined. And since no hair peeked from its under edges, she deduced he wore it to keep from burning his bald head in the blistering desert sun.
“No, I’m cool,” she replied.
Matthews ran his hand over the bill of his cap. He’d been so caught up in assessing a beautiful woman, he’d only just noticed her perfectly pressed clothes and clean white fingernails. He frowned. Either she’d only just arrived and didn’t know what it meant to be on a dig or…in any case, she didn’t belong.
“What I mean is, who are you?” he asked again.
Eyeing the man and assessing his weaknesses, Miss Welker changed tactic, turned to face him directly, and plastered a smile across her face. In a coy, Southern drawl she’d perfected, “People call me ‘Birdie”.
“Look, Mr., uh,”
“Matthews. Stephen B. Matthews.”
Her smiled deepened, reaching her dark eyes. Her nearness to him was stifling in the heat. “Ah yes, of course! Mr. Matthews, I’m terrible embarrassed, but I’ve been sent here to assist and got turned around. This such a big and confusing compound, I mean, camp,” Miss Welker cooed.
Matthews melted.
“Um, is this Thomas Knight’s tent? I was hoping to speak to him,” Miss Welker continued.
“I’m sorry, Birdie,” Matthews replied. “Thomas and his team left for the caves early this morning. Too early for my blood, that’s for sure.”
“Damn! Got here too late!” she exclaimed, then covered her mouth, “Oh, I’m sorry, pardon my French
.” She could barely hide her smile.
“I’ve heard worse spoken around these parts,” Matthews joked. “Did you come alone?”
“Actually,” she began, breathless. “I was quite lucky. On my way here, I caught a ride with a Ranger. I figured it would be easier and quicker than waiting for a car or the shuttle.”
The shuttle’s pretty fast….Matthews wanted to say, but stopped short as she brushed his arm with her hand.
“Matthews, it’s absolutely stifling out here. Is the tent air-conditioned?” He nodded.
“Then can we go in?”
Red flags flew up as he spoke. “I’m sorry, Birdie. I can’t. I’m under strict orders to not let anyone in until Dr. Cunningham arrives.”
Miss Welker nodded, and exclaimed, “Of course. I understand. Orders are orders.” She moved as if to turn away, then turned back toward Matthews as a seemingly new thought struck her, “I’m still a bit lost. Anywhere I can find a bedroll and some food?”
Matthews smiled broadly, “That, I can help you with.” He pointed across and to the left. “That is the mess tent,” he explained. Then, stroking his chin, he mumbled, “bedroll, bedroll—ah, yes, see that tent, three down from the mess tent?”
Miss Welker nodded. “They’ve got an extra bedroll and space for one more.” He pulled himself up straighter, and exclaimed, “Tell them Matthews sent you. They’ll get you squared away in no time.”
Miss Welker thanked him and sauntered away. Watching her leave, Matthews glanced at the white band around his finger and smiled.
Seventeen
Amidst screams of “Thomas!” and “Oh my god!”, Thomas Knight grasped at air, as his feet slid further into the crumbling rock. Though he knew his call would be futile, he bellowed, “Hel -!” as the ground gave way completely below him.
Thomas resigned himself to his fate, as the chasm yawned below him waiting for its prey.