Seizure tb-2

by Kathy Reichs

  “What tipped you off?” Hi joked. “The ceiling, or the tunnel?”

  I pulled the lantern from my backpack and powered it on. Light filled the room, more than enough for canine eyes.

  “Look!”

  Hi pointed to a line of narrow wedges cut into one wall. Arrayed vertically, the indentations marched upward toward a hole in the ceiling.

  “Steps,” Ben guessed. “This must be how the builders entered and left.”

  “Out we go!” Shelton said. “Follow my lead!”

  “Hold on!” I grabbed his arm. “We must be standing in Anne Bonny’s treasure tunnel. We found it! We need to go that way!” I pointed to the opening on the chamber’s far side.

  Shelton looked like I’d offered a swim in a shark tank. “We don’t know this was Bonny’s tunnel. Or where it leads.”

  “We’re in the right place,” Ben said. “This cavern must be directly under East Bay Street.”

  “See how smooth these walls are?” Hi said. “Water did that. At some point, this chamber was completely submerged.”

  “Sea cave?” I asked.

  Hi nodded. “I think this is it. There might be chests of diamonds right down that passage! We’re all gonna own private islands!”

  “Okay!” Shelton surrendered. “We’ll keep going. For a bit, anyway.”

  “What’s that?” Ben trained his light halfway up the primitive ladder.

  A horizontal wooden beam crossed the ladder’s path, its far end attached to a rusty iron hinge. Three feet to the beam’s left was a massive iron spring. Above the spring hung a frayed rope.

  Using the foothold indentations, Ben climbed up and gave the beam a tentative tug. The hinge screeched as the timber swung out from the wall.

  “God in heaven.” Ben’s eyes went round as golden soccer balls.

  Attached to the beam’s wall-facing side was a three-foot metal blade.

  “Booby trap,” I whispered.

  “Had to be.” Shelton’s brow glistened. “Pirates don’t give up their treasure without a fight.”

  “That’s some serious Goonies action right there.” Hi whistled. “Trip that spring release and the blade cuts you in half. Bad day.”

  “Ben, please come down from there,” I said.

  He dropped to floor level.

  “The mechanism was triggered but never reset,” Ben said. “Maybe the other traps are disarmed, too.”

  “Others?” Hi said.

  “You think that’s the only one?” Shelton’s voice was back in the stratosphere. “That whole passage is probably a death trap.”

  “Keep your flares lit,” Ben ordered, “no matter what.”

  “We’ll proceed slow and steady, like the turtle.” I sounded like a high school coach prepping his team. “Our senses will detect the traps before they activate.”

  Would they? They had to. No way I was quitting. These pirates weren’t going to outsmart me.

  “You still want to go in there?” Shelton. Incredulous.

  “Of course,” I said. “If something’s hidden in that tunnel, I intend to find it.”

  “Treasure,” Hi said. “Mucho dinero. I’m so in.”

  “Then we better hustle,” Ben said. “It’ll be dawn in a few hours.”

  At the mouth of the passage, cool air washed over me. I sniffed, straining for clues of what lay beyond.

  Stone. Mildew. Salt water. No help there.

  The others gathered behind me.

  Deep breath.

  I stepped into darkness.

  THE SECOND TUNNEL was wide enough for two to walk side by side.

  Well constructed, the passage had semi-smooth walls and a level floor. Stout oak crossbeams braced the ceiling at regular intervals.

  Yet the passage was clearly ancient. Despite air movement, the atmosphere was musty and sour. Slimy mud coated the ground.

  Slowly, we edged forward, clumped close, our flare senses on high alert.

  Hi was beside me, holding the lantern. Its halogen bulb illuminated a ten-foot radius, allowing my pupils to register details with remarkable clarity.

  As we crept along, the beam-and-blade trap dominated my thoughts.

  I remembered the verse on the treasure map. Not the first line. I was sure we’d bypassed the tunnel entrance, making “Lady Peregrine’s roost” a moot point. My focus was on the second line.

  “Begin thy winding to the dark chamber’s sluice.”

  Dark chamber’s sluice? What could that be?

  My mind sifted possibilities. Came up empty. I was forced to admit that, without more, the rhyme was too vague to be useful.

  And the map’s other stanza? What did those words mean?

  I felt Hi grab my arm. My head turned. He was staring at the ground.

  “Don’t. Move.”

  Ever so slowly, Hi knelt, then lay flat on his belly, eyes glued to a spot at my feet.

  “What is it?” Shelton’s face had drawn level with my ear.

  Hi’s gaze rolled to the ceiling. Gingerly, he eased back to his feet.

  “No one move. There’s a tripwire ahead, and it might not be alone.”

  “Tripwire?” Shelton quavered. “For what?”

  “For whatever’s above our heads. Snap the wire and something nasty’s coming down.”

  My eyes darted upward. Hi was right. Three vertical slots split the ceiling, spaced at one-yard intervals.

  Ben’s flashlight probed the far left opening.

  “Metal grates, hanging by ropes.” His beam worked its way right. “Spikes along the bottom.”

  Gulp.

  “Everyone stay still,” Hi said. “I’ll check for other wires.”

  “Go slowly,” I warned. “Please be careful.”

  Hi studied the ground, rotating the lantern in a circular pattern. Finally, he began inching forward.

  Step. Pause. Step. Pause. Then he lifted his knee in a long stride.

  I stared at the space Hi had high-stepped, stretching my flare vision to its limit.

  And saw it.

  A strand no thicker than fishing line. The filament crossed the passage at knee level, virtually invisible in the murky light.

  Without Hi’s sharper eyes, we’d have tripped it. A chill passed through me.

  So close.

  “There’s only one wire.” Hi was barely breathing. “I’m straddling the sucker to show where it is.”

  Sweat dripped from Ben’s chin. “Don’t screw up.”

  Legs spread, Hi gestured us forward.

  It was almost comical. A mime’s game. Hi squatted over nothing, poised in a shaky basketball defensive stance.

  “Come on,” he urged. “I can’t stay like this all day.”

  I went first, eyes never straying from the wire. Once over, I scurried from the danger zone.

  Shelton came next, moving slower, face a mask of concentration. Ben traversed the obstacle nimbly, then offered a hand back to Hi.

  Shaking him off, Hi swung his back leg over the wire, ballet style. He turned in a pirouette, grin already forming. Then his plant foot slipped on the slick floor. As he fell, his back leg slashed the tripwire.

  Something groaned and shifted overhead. Pebbles rained from the slots in the roof.

  Ben moved quick as a bullet.

  Grabbing Hi with both hands, he backpedaled with a powerful lunge. The two slammed into Shelton and me, bowling us over.

  Objects fell from the ceiling with a terrible shriek. Dust billowed in clouds.

  Then the clamor ceased. The dirt began to settle.

  Coughing and spitting, we picked ourselves up and inventoried the damage.

  “Anyone hurt?” I asked, wiping grit from my eyes.

  “No.”

  “Not really.”

  “Holy crap.”

  Back down the passage, three massive iron sheets lay jumbled on the floor. Right where we’d been standing.

  “Hi,” Shelton panted. “I love you, man.”

  “Back at you.” Hi s
pat gobs of filth. “I’m going to kiss Ben now, in case some of you don’t want to watch.”

  “I’ll pass.” Ben ruffled Hi’s hair. “Next time, show a little coordination.”

  “Stupid Nikes. Next time, I’m buying Adidas.”

  “Everyone still flaring?” I asked.

  Three affirmatives.

  “Then we need to keep moving.”

  All smiles faded.

  Who knew what other traps lay ahead?

  “Wait.” Shelton raised both hands. “Quiet.”

  Everyone froze.

  “Something’s changed. The wind sounds … different.”

  We held our breath. When it came to sonic hearing, Shelton was the undisputed champ.

  “Does anything look wrong?” Shelton was tilting his head from side to side, like a parakeet assessing a new cage. “Out of place?”

  “Holes in the wall!” Hi’s finger shot out. “Both sides.”

  Three yards ahead I could see four circles, two on each side. Shoulder high, each was roughly six inches wide.

  “That’s the noise!” Shelton exclaimed. “Air flowing over the gaps. Can’t you hear the whine?”

  I shook my head. “I’m glad you did.”

  “The ground,” Ben hissed. “The center of the passage humps up slightly.”

  “He’s right,” I said. “Looks like another trap. But what kind?”

  Ben withdrew a water bottle from my pack.

  “Head’s up!” He tossed it directly onto the mound.

  Click.

  Spears shot from each side, crossed, and slammed into the opposite wall. Wooden shafts snapped and clattered to the ground like pick-up sticks.

  “Whoa,” Hi said.

  Agreed.

  We picked our way through the debris, carefully avoiding the hump. Who knew if the trap could reload?

  We’d gone another thirty yards when I noticed a glint in the distance.

  “Stop!” I raised the flashlight as high as I could. “Something’s reflecting.”

  “Great,” Shelton muttered. “Probably machine guns.”

  As one, we crept forward, senses firing. Sweat slicked my palms, soaked my shirt, and drenched my face.

  Ten yards. Fifteen. Twenty.

  A starburst of light danced around us.

  “Oh my God!” Hi dropped the lantern in shock. The light tilted, casting ghastly shadows across the passageway.

  Before us lay another trap, already tripped.

  Twin metal spikes had swung down from the ceiling, one in front, the other from behind, their deadly points meeting like monstrous pinchers.

  An object was caught between them.

  Shelton screamed.

  Ben cursed.

  Hi puked on his Nikes.

  I stood, speechless.

  Eyes glued to an impaled corpse.

  THE DEAD MAN dangled, arms outstretched, jaws wide, as though frozen by the horror of his fate.

  Iron talons pierced his chest front and back. The guy hadn’t stood a chance.

  Never forget. Pirates are merciless.

  It took a few moments to calm ourselves.

  “Poor bastard,” Hi said. “Dodged the first three traps, but not this nightmare.”

  “Don’t touch anything,” Ben warned. “We don’t know if it’s safe.”

  “How long?”

  I knew what Shelton was asking, but had no answer. Though the body was mummified, it was clear that the man’s death hadn’t been recent.

  “Not centuries,” I said. “The clothes are modern, and haven’t completely rotted. The skin has gone leathery. No animals or insects down here, and the cool temperatures would’ve helped with preservation.”

  “Check for a wallet?” Hi suggested.

  No one moved.

  Fine.

  Stepping forward, I delicately poked through the man’s pockets. Jacket. Shirt. Pants.

  “Nothing. He’s not carrying any personal items.”

  “What’s below him?” Ben asked.

  Lying beneath the body was a grimy canvas sack. Upending it, I shook out the contents. Canteen. Rotting Archie comic. Wax paper wrapping something that might once have been food. And a polished stone disk the size of a hamburger.

  The disk was an inch thick, with four holes running vertically and three more crossing its face. A tiny triangle protruded from the center.

  “What the hell?” Shelton sounded puzzled.

  “No idea.” I shoved the thing in my backpack. “No ID on the body, either.”

  As I stood, my elbow accidentally grazed a shriveled leg. The body shifted, then one black boot dropped to the earth.

  I danced back, heart pounding.

  Nothing happened. My pulse returned to a normal pace.

  The boot set a bell dinging inside my skull. Curious, I dropped to examine the desiccated foot. The bell dinged louder as I peeled off the sock.

  The boys sounded their disgust. Ignoring them, I prodded the hard, leathery skin. Traced the ankle with one finger.

  “I know who this is!” I said.

  “Not a chance,” Ben scoffed.

  “See how this foot angles medially at the ankle? There’s inversion at the subtalar joint, adduction at the talonavicular joint, and ankle joint equinus.”

  Blank stares.

  “Maybe try English?” Hi suggested.

  “Clubfoot! A common, correctable birth defect. But this person never had treatment or surgery.” I tossed the boot to Hi. “Notice the sole. It was custom made to reduce pressure on the ankle.”

  “Okay, clubfoot,” Shelton said. “But how does that tell you who this guy is?”

  “Because I know of a missing clubfooted man who obsessed over Anne Bonny. This must be Jonathan Brincefield.”

  “Who?” Three voices.

  “Remember the old man from our ghost tour?” I told them about my chat with Rodney Brincefield at the yacht club. “He said his brother Jonathan disappeared while searching for Bonny’s treasure. That was sometime in the forties.”

  “So this stiff is Brincefield’s brother?” Hi asked. “That’s one hell of a coincidence.”

  “Not to mention that geezer being on our tour in the first place,” Shelton said.

  “Maybe he followed me.” I didn’t really think so.

  “Unreal.” Hi leaned against the wall. “You attract weirdos like—”

  Click.

  Ben yanked Hi sideways as spikes snapped from the walls, slamming into the sides of Jonathan Brincefield’s rib cage.

  Hi panted like a greyhound. Once again, only Ben’s reflexes had saved him.

  “Please stop doing that!” Ben barked.

  “Please keep doing that!” Hi warbled.

  Smashed segments of the cadaver’s upper body littered the tunnel. The legs and pelvis remained intact, now fastened in place by two pairs of pincers.

  “Let’s keep moving,” I said. “We’re running out of time.”

  “You guys hear that?” Shelton’s voice was hushed.

  Everyone went rigid. I closed my eyes and listened, hypersonic ears on max. Heard nothing.

  Shelton broke the silence. “Thought I heard shifting, or crunching. Like movement.”

  “The trap probably dislodged some dirt,” Ben said. “It must be centuries old.”

  “Could be.” Shelton glanced back the way we’d come.

  “Keep moving,” I repeated, picking up the lantern. “We’ve got to be close.”

  “Stay alert,” Ben said. “I don’t want some douche finding our bodies sixty years from now.”

  I seconded that.

  More careful than ever, we picked our way forward.

  SOMETHING ECHOED IN the distance.

  A gurgle. Soft swishing. My ears identified percolating liquid.

  “Water,” I whispered. “Not far ahead.”

  Just then, the ceiling rose sharply, disappeared into inky black.

  Holding the lantern before me, I led the group into a small cave. Tiny
waterfalls trickled the walls. Moonlight oozed down from above. A mound of boulders and stones spilled across the floor, evidence of a long-ago rockfall.

  The passage we’d been following exited through an opening at the chamber’s far end. I could see the tunnel veer sharply before continuing out of sight.

  “See that?” Hi pointed skyward.

  Even my enhanced vision couldn’t penetrate the murk.

  “There’s a fissure!” Hi was excited. “Maybe forty feet up. That’s how the light is coming through!”

  “We could climb up!” Shelton crowed. “It’s a way out!”

  True. The rockfall was steep, but nothing we couldn’t handle.

  “The tunnel keeps going,” I pointed out. “This isn’t the end.”

  Hi rubbed his face.

  Ben and Shelton just stared.

  “We’ve nearly been killed,” Shelton said. “Twice.”

  “But we escaped.”

  “You think the way will be easier ahead?” Hi said. “As we get closer to the prize?”

  Ben strode forward to examine the stones. “Move aside in case anything tumbles.”

  Vaulting onto the pile, Ben clambered from boulder to boulder, moving higher with every step. In seconds he was swallowed by shadows.

  Silence. Hi and Shelton avoided my eye. If Ben found a way out, I doubted they’d continue.

  “There’s a metal screen covering the opening,” Ben called down.

  A lot of banging and clanging followed.

  “It’s bolted in place. I think this fissure opens into a sewer.”

  “Ha!” Shelton elbowed Hi. “There are sewers under East Bay.”

  Hi ignored him. “How big is the gap? Could we fit?”

  “Probably, but it’s locked. We’d need the bolt cutters, but I left them back in the dungeon.”

  “Shoot!” Shelton began pacing. “Can you see anything else?”

  “The chamber overlying this one is still below ground level,” Ben answered, “but I can see something through what looks like a sewer grate.”

  “What?” Hi asked.

  “Yellow monkey bars.”

  “Monkey bars?” Shelton stopped in his tracks. “You sure?”

  Hi snapped his fingers. “The East Bay playgrounds! They’re a few blocks south of the Exchange.”

  “Make noise!” Shelton urged. “Attract attention! This is our way out!”