The Book of Bones- a Bones Bonebrake Adventure

by David Wood

  Chapter 7

  Bones worked his way across the chasm, his thoughts focused on nothing but the next handhold or foothold. In the deep recesses of his mind he was aware of the precipitous fall that would result from a single mistake, but if he did what he was supposed to do, it wouldn’t matter. All he had to do was remain focused on the task at hand.

  Adrenaline coursed through him, all his senses alive. What was it about putting himself in mortal peril that excited him so? It was just the way he was wired, and that wasn’t going to change. Plenty of people had tried to break him of it, and all had failed.

  When he stepped onto solid ground again, he took a moment to look back at the way he’d come, making a mental note of the path he’d taken so he could reverse it on the way back. Finally satisfied he had it down, he hurried along the passageway.

  He rounded a sharp turn and stopped short. Twenty paces ahead, beyond a floor strewn with debris, and set in a wall covered in pictographs, a gleaming metal door barred the way. He saw no hinge or doorframe. It was as if the metal was part of the wall. He took a few steps closer, running his light up and down its length. It was flawless. Not a single scratch or spot of rust marred its surface.

  “What the hell is this made of?” he muttered. “Titanium?” He moved closer, picking his way through the debris that he now recognized as signs of sacrifice—shriveled ears of corn, dried flowers twisted into wreaths, fetishes crafted from sticks and yucca fibers, and the bones of small animals. Sometime, most likely in the distant past, the native peoples had known of this place and had apparently sought to appease whoever, or whatever lived behind the door.

  Bones extended a hand to touch the door but hesitated. Should he touch it? What if it was electrified or something? He reached out and tapped the door with his Maglite. Nothing. The door seemed to absorb sound. He repeated the procedure with the blade of his knife. Still nothing.

  “Oh, what the hell? You didn’t come all this way to wuss out now.” He took a deep breath and pressed his palm to the surface of the door. The icy cold metal grew warm at his touch and then went cold again. “That’s it?” He tried it with his other hand. Same result.

  Disappointed, he banged on the door a few times, then tried pushing it, but to no avail. He looked for a handle, a controller, or even a seam around the edges, but even up close it looked to be a part of the natural rock. He could no longer keep the thoughts of aliens out of his mind. All the stories he’d ever read about extraterrestrials in New Mexico began to scroll through his mind. Could this be proof? It was certainly something, but it wouldn’t mean much if he couldn’t get to the other side.

  He took a few steps back and shone his light over the cave walls, inspecting the pictographs. Many were common sights to the Southwest: spirals, suns, and animals, but he saw several variations on the same theme—people bowing down to starry-eyed men who were climbing up long staircases.

  “Well, they aren’t coming down from the sky, that’s for sure.” He took out his phone and snapped pictures of the cavern, recording the door and all the surrounding pictographs in as much detail as he could. He gave the door one more try to see if it would budge, but again he felt only the brief flash of warmth as if the door were trying to recognize him. Finally, he accepted there was nothing more he could do at the moment. He’d go back to the motel, get some sleep, and make a plan on how to further investigate. He could think of worse ways to kill a few days.

  The climb back over the chasm took a little longer than it had on the way in. No longer buoyed by the thrill of anticipation, he slogged across, trying not to let his thoughts drift to what lay beyond the door. Once he missed a step and let out a curse as he held on tight, his toe searching to rediscover its hold. Just as he found it, he heard a low, muffled sound drifting through the cavern. An echo of his cry?

  And then he heard it again. The sound of voices.

  Someone was coming.

  “That’s going to be Matthew. Crap.” He completed the climb across, hurried over to the pile of building materials where he ducked down to listen. The voices were still indistinct but coming closer. He could tell there were two different speakers. Perhaps Matthew and the deputy?

  He considered his options. He had as much right to be here as they did, so he could simply walk out and take his chances that they’d leave him unmolested. He discarded that thought as patently absurd. He wasn’t wanted here, and if the deputy was armed, what would stop him from shooting Bones and dropping his body into the pit or covering it in rocks and leaving it? No one would ever find him down here, of that he was certain.

  That left stealth or main force as his avenues for escape.

  The voices became clearer. He could tell for certain that two men were talking. He could make out a few stray words.

  “...not in his hotel room...”

  “...no way he found...”

  “...somebody moved the rocks...”

  They were talking about him. Time for action.

  He picked up a short length of two-by-four from the pile of building materials, moved off to the side, and turned out his light.

  Inky darkness enveloped him. The best night vision in the world was no good without at least a sliver of light. Fortunately, he was comfortable in the darkness and in confined spaces. He’d spent enough time in both over the years.

  Soon, a faint glow announced the approach of someone carrying a light of some sort. Bones gripped the chunk of wood like a baseball bat and tensed.

  “The pit’s up here.” The voice sounded like the deputy, though Bones couldn’t be sure. “I don’t see anyone.”

  “Maybe he’s lost in one of the tunnels.” A note of hopefulness rang in Matthew’s voice.

  “Probably. I’ll take a look in here just to be sure.” The deputy was looking back over his shoulder at Matthew when he stepped into the chamber and Bones took full advantage. He opted against the two-by-four and instead drove the heel of his palm into the man’s temple with all his might. The deputy’s knees buckled and Bones caught him and eased him to the ground. He hastily dragged the deputy off to the side, removed his boots, stuffed a sock into his mouth, and bound his wrists and ankles with his laces, and then extinguished the man’s flashlight and laid it on the stack of lumber.

  One down.

  “Hector? You okay in there?” Matthew called a few moments later.

  “Tripped and hit my head,” Bones groaned, trying to add a touch of the deputy’s accent to the words.

  He heard hasty footsteps coming down the passageway. He resumed his position, and when Matthew strode into the chamber, Bones was ready. He cracked Matthew in the back of the head with the two-by-four. Matthew cried out and staggered forward a few steps. Bones struck again, baseball style, knocking Matthew’s flashlight out of his hand and sending it spinning down into the pit.

  The light vanished as the flashlight disappeared from sight.

  “What the hell?” Matthew wailed.

  Bones backed away from the sound of the man’s voice, feeling for the passageway that would lead him out of the cavern. He’d love to stay and give Matthew the kind of beatdown a man who hits women so richly deserved, but decided against it. He’d assaulted a police officer, and a fight with Matthew, however brief, could leave marks on Bones that might identify him. Best to get while the getting was good.

  He found the open passageway and moved quickly and silently until Matthew’s curses faded away and he felt safe turning on his Maglite. He made the climb back to the surface as quickly as he could. It felt like an eternity, and when he finally emerged atop Halcón Rock, he fell to his knees, lungs heaving, clothing drenched with sweat. He spared only a few moments to rest before he pushed the slab of rock back over the hole that led into the pit.

  He wondered how long it would take Matthew to feel around in the dark and find the deputy’s flashlight. He hoped the idiot crawled off the edge of the pit by accident. He doubted he could be that lucky, but at least he’d made their lives difficult.


  “Score one for the good guys.”

  Chapter 8

  A sharp rap at the door roused Bones from slumber. He rolled over and cracked one eye. The digital display on the cheap motel alarm clock read 8:08. Too early after the night he’d just had. He closed his eyes and pulled the covers over his head.

  The knock came again.

  “I don’t need service today,” he called.

  “Sheriff’s department.”

  A low groan of “holy crap” escaped his lips and he sat up. “Just a minute. I’m not dressed.” He figured he didn’t need to hurry. There was no back window or other means of escape, so it’s not like the cops would be in a hurry to knock down the door and nab him before he slipped away. He pulled on jeans and a t-shirt and smoothed his hair back before opening the door.

  He’d expected to see Hector, the deputy whom he’d knocked unconscious the night before, but the man who stood there was a solid fellow of late middle years. He was Anglo; his neatly-combed brown hair dusted with silver. His reflective sunglasses told Bones just how bad he looked after his late-night exertion and limited sleep.

  “How can I help you?”

  “I’m the sheriff.” The man didn’t provide his name, but his name tag read W. Craig Jameson. Bones didn’t need a full night's sleep to put the pieces together. The man was Matthew’s father. Great.

  “Good to meet you.” It was a lie, but Bones wasn’t holding any cards in this situation, so he opted for courtesy.

  Sheriff Jameson took off his glasses and tilted his head, inspecting Bones up and down with rheumy blue eyes. “You don’t look so good. Have a late night?”

  Bones forced a laugh. “If there’s any nightlife here nobody told me about it. I’m just a late sleeper. I’m not at my best until lunchtime. Coffee helps, too.”

  Jameson nodded. “Can I come in? I need to ask you a few questions.”

  Bones stepped to the side and allowed the sheriff to come inside. The man took a seat at the small window side table, and Bones took the chair opposite him.

  “What’s your business in Quemadura?”

  “I don’t have any. My truck broke down, and I’m waiting for Manny to get the parts in to fix it.”

  “Where are you headed?”

  “Meeting friends in Vegas. I should have been there last night.” He grimaced at the thought of Matt and Willis partying without him. He was missing it all: drinks, casinos, and the girls.

  “I understand you were out at Halcón Rock yesterday.” The sheriff arched an eyebrow.

  “I went for a run and ended up at a rock formation. I guess that’s the name of it.”

  “What were you doing out there?”

  “Like I said, I went for a run, and that’s where I ended up.” Bones pushed back from the table. “You mind if I make some coffee while we talk? I can make you a cup, too.” His thoughts were cloudy and he didn’t want to slip up and say something that could implicate him in what happened last night.

  “You go ahead. I’m fine.” Jameson cleared his throat. “It seems a little strange that you would end up at Halcón Rock of all places. That’s a restricted area.”

  “Not that strange,” Bones said, keeping his back to the sheriff while he busied himself with the coffee maker. “It’s public land and a nicer place to run than the highway. The rock was the only thing on the horizon, so I ran to it.”

  “That’s a long way to run.”

  Bones shrugged. “I didn’t have anything better to do.”

  “You had an incident with my deputy while you were there.”

  “If you call him telling me to leave and me complying an ‘incident’, then I guess so.” Bones hit the button to start the coffee brewing and turned to face the sheriff. “I’ve got to ask. How can that be a restricted area if it’s public land? No offense, but your deputy isn’t a Fed and neither are you.”

  “Is that why you went back last night?” The question came sharp and fast, but Bones had been ready for it.

  “I haven’t been back. Dude told me to leave so I left.”

  Jameson folded his arms. “Why don’t I believe you?”

  “Probably because working in law enforcement doesn’t exactly reinforce your faith in the human race.” Bones smiled, but the sheriff didn’t return it.

  “Can anybody verify your whereabouts last night?”

  “I don’t know anybody except Manny.” Behind him, the coffee maker began to sputter and spit, and the welcome aroma of brewing coffee filled the air.

  “You know Mari.”

  “She gave me a ride when my car broke down. The only thing I really know about her is she’s got a boyfriend who hits her.”

  Jameson flinched at that. Bones had drawn first blood. How would the sheriff respond?

  “I’m going to be honest with you, Mister Bonebrake.”

  “That’s always nice.” Bones turned and busied himself with the coffee. He normally took it black, but he added cream and sugar just to kill a little time while Jameson stared at his back.

  “I did some checking on you. For some reason, I could learn almost nothing about you. Why?”

  “Maybe Google is not your friend?” Bones took a sip of coffee and locked eyes with the sheriff. He had to be careful here. If he followed his normal instincts, he might piss the guy off enough to get himself locked up on some bogus charge. Time to rein it in. “Actually, I’m ex-military, and I’ve been involved in a lot of sensitive stuff. I can’t say for sure, but I think the powers-that-be have erased a lot of my history.” That was half-true. A government agency had, in fact, gone to great lengths to hide much of his history, but that had mostly been done by Tam Broderick, head of the Myrmidon Squad, for reasons of her own.

  Jameson nodded. “I did learn that you have an interest in aliens.”

  “Aliens, Nessie, Bigfoot, I love all that crap. Have since I was a kid.”

  “So you know the legends surrounding Halcón Rock.” It wasn’t a question. When Bones merely shook his head, the sheriff continued. “Some of your UFO-crazy friends have tried to say there were alien encounters there. It’s based on an old Indian legend. Since you’re both a UFO nut and an Indian, I have trouble believing you’ve never heard about it.”

  Bones took another sip of coffee to prevent himself from making a sarcastic reply. “First of all, I’m a Cherokee. Suggesting I’m related to the local native population would be like calling you Canadian just because you’re white. Second, if I wanted to check out Halcón Rock, I’d do it. I wouldn’t sabotage my transmission and cost myself a chunk of change when I’m supposed to be partying in Sin City with my friends.”

  Jameson stared, letting the conversation lapse. It was a common tactic. People had a natural urge to fill silences, and patient silence often proved more effective than asking questions. Bones knew that trick and many more. As a former Navy SEAL, he’d been trained to both to utilize and resist much more severe interrogation tactics than this. He stood there, drinking his coffee, until the sheriff relented.

  Jameson stood and let out a long, slow breath.

  “Mister Bonebrake, I know you went to Halcón Rock last night, and you assaulted two men. And when I can prove it, I’m going to make your life very unpleasant.”

  Bones merely smiled and waited for the man to see himself out. When the door closed behind Jameson, Bones let out a groan. Why did trouble always seem to find him?

  Chapter 9

  Bones pulled into the parking lot of the University of New Mexico public library. Manny had taken pity on Bones and lent him the battered old pickup he called Consuela. She had no air conditioning and shimmied past sixty miles per hour, but Bones was delighted to be free of Quemadura, if only for a few hours.

  Outside the library, he spared a moment to check out the scenery. Though it was an urban campus, the university had its share of green spaces that gave it that unique college flavor. The influences of southwestern architecture were all around. But he was mostly interested in the coeds. H
e smiled at a group of young women who were doing a poor job of hiding the fact that they were checking him out.

  “How’s your day going, ladies?” He flashed a disarming smile.

  One young woman, a raven-haired Latina, bolder than the rest, broke off from her group. “Do you go to school here?”

  “No, I’m just doing some research. You don’t know anyone who could show me around the library, do you?”

  She smiled. “I can help you. I just took my last exam for the semester.” She looked up at him from beneath thick lashes. “I’m Yesenia, but everyone calls me Jessie.”

  “Everybody calls me Bones. You’ll have to get to know me a lot better before I tell you my real name.”

  She laughed and led him into the library. Inside, they found a quiet table near a group of students who cast envious looks at Jessie. She turned and gave them a sarcastic wave, clearly loving the attention.

  “So, what are we researching?” she whispered. “Definitely not physical fitness. I can tell you’re already an expert at that.” She immediately blushed and covered her face. “I’m sorry. My friends have been pushing me to come out of my shell. I’m a grad student, and I’ve had exactly two boyfriends since I’ve been here. Both of them possessive, controlling jerks.”

  “There seems to be a lot of that going around. Tell you what—one of them shows up, point him out to me and I’ll put a scare into him.”

  “That won’t be necessary. I can handle idiots just fine. It’s the girly flirting stuff I’m lousy at.”

  “Cool. Well, there’s no need to flirt with me. I’ll be grateful for the help.” Already he was revising his opinion of this attractive young woman, and feeling a touch guilty for having tried to charm his way into getting free library assistance. “I can even pay you for your time.”