by Ian Woodhead
“This means there’s bound to be another way out of here, Nelson.” Bradley ran over to the wall and started to run his fingers along the stone. “Shouldn’t be that hard to find.”
The poor deluded fool. Bradley obviously didn’t see that the only footprints near the wall were his. Nelson now understood why he’d chosen the career of a bruiser. He’d be useless as a college tutor, unless his students needed their heads kicking in.
Nelson lowered himself to the floor and rested the back of his head against the wall. Was he being rather harsh with Bradley? Probably. He knew from previous experience that the chap wasn’t a complete meathead. It might be childish and immature, but it certainly made Nelson feel better.
Once again, Marlon found his fingers drifting into his pocket and reaching for those five coins. Of everything that had happened to him and the others ever since waking up down here, it was the appearance of those silver coins which plagued him more than anything. Nelson knew there had to be some valid reason, some meaning behind them. The annoying thing about it all was that if he’d showed them to Dane as soon as he’d found them in there, the chap would have solved the puzzle in ten seconds flat.
Of course, that meant having to explain everything to him and the others. Nelson glanced over at the thug. Right now, he was trying to scoop out a line of dirt with his pointy stick. From his actions, it looked like the idiot had finally realised that the white rabbit hole wasn’t going to magically appear after all.
Bradley would murder him if he ever discovered just how deep his involvement went with the organisation who orchestrated this whole mess. He wouldn’t understand any of it, but that wouldn’t matter. As far as Bradley was concerned, Nelson was the betrayer, the turncoat, the one who deceived his friends.
“Oh shit,” he gasped. “No way, it can’t mean that!” Nelson slammed a hand across his mouth. Had the thug heard him? He counted to five while watching him push his stick further into the hole he was making. Bradley looked like a dog burying a bone. No, he was too engrossed with his own thing to notice poor Nelson finally solving the problem.
Is that what Marlon was trying to say to him, that he was another Judas? Five wasn’t exactly thirty. Then again, he wouldn’t be able to lift his coat off the floor with so much metal inside his pocket.
There had to be another explanation, there just had to be. That fat, boss-eyed psycho didn’t strike Nelson as a man who went for leaving cryptic clues. He’d never been that great at being subtle. Him blundering about was the whole reason as to how he’d ended up as a very loud ping on The Trust’s radar.
Until the sudden appearance of Marlon, The Trust believed they knew of every unconventional adventurer and archaeologist in pursuit of the strange, weird, mythical, and downright ridiculous. It was, of course, utterly impossible to try and keep track of every crackpot who believed in Bigfoot or that the government was covering the existence of aliens, or that the biblical Nephilim giants still walked amongst us. Nelson’s superiors believed that Marlon belonged to the latter category. Or, perhaps, because of the seemingly unlimited amount of funds available to him, Marlon should belong to a category made just for him—a billionaire nutter.
The Trust only became more interested in this strange little man when an article appeared in a South American newspaper, claiming that some European had not only found proof of the existence of the Nephilim, but had even captured one.
The interest changed to involvement when an agent for the Trust returned with photographic evidence, as well as information regarding news about a Trust-funded expedition from 1968. Once that was mentioned, then Marlon became a Trust priority.
“I think I’ve found something.”
Nelson got onto his feet and attempted to look excited. It was unlikely that the thug had found anything other than a few bugs and more dirt. The man didn’t turn around, he just continued to push the now blunt point into the widened groove. Bradley had succeeded in isolating a small stone by scooping out most of the dry mortar between the stones.
“Even if you remove that stone, we’re not going to fit through the tiny hole.”
Bradley stopped his exertions and turned his head. “Are you taking the piss? I’m not an idiot. I think there’s somebody behind here. Can’t you hear the noise?”
He could hear something, now that Bradley had moved the stick from the wall. Nelson placed his ear against the stone. It sounded like there was another Bradley on the other side of the wall armed with a pointy stick.
“Move out of the way.”
Nelson threw himself to the left when he saw the look in Bradley’s eyes. The man looked manic. He ducked past the man and tried to regain his composure while the weirdo started to punch the wall.
“You’re going to break every bone in your hand, you bloody idiot!”
The bodyguard stopped. He turned around and grinned at Nelson while showing him his fist. He saw that he wasn’t the only one who had found some coins in his pocket.
Unlike Nelson, the thug hadn’t contemplated or worried about the deeper meaning behind their placement. Oh no, like the practical man that he is, Bradley had simply constructed a set of knuckle-dusters using the coins and some strips of his own shirt. Apart from the brilliances of his single-minded approach, what astounded Nelson more than anything was he hadn’t even noticed Bradley constructing it.
“Move out of the way.”
“Wait a minute, Bradley. Even with that, you’re still going to cause some damage to your fingers. You’re not Superman.”
“True, but then it isn’t stone, just looks like it.” Bradley gently pushed Nelson to the side and smacked his fist against the surface.
He wondered if Dane and the charlatan were having as much fun as him. Nelson found that his obsessive worrying over those damn coins had lifted now that he’d discovered that he hadn’t been the only one burdened with them. The surface had started to crack. With each punch, more and more cracks spidered out from the centre.
Nelson placed his own fingers against the wall and felt for anything that might give more evidence to either another artificial stone or something else which could point to a way out of there. He should have adopted Bradley’s position concerning their predicament from the beginning instead of relying on simply thinking their way out of here. After all, his huge intellect hadn’t exactly been of any great service.
“Done it!” he announced. Bradley removed his hand and rubbed his bleeding knuckles against the palm of his other hand. “Hello? Is there anybody in there?”
Both he and Nelson jumped when a pair of eyes appeared in the small gap.
“Got anything shiny?” uttered a high-pitched voice.
“Excuse me?” Nelson leaned over. “Look, can you get us out of here? See if there’s a button, a lever, or anything else on your side.”
“Yeah, like a door handle,” said Bradley.
The eyes blinked. “Shiny thing first, otherwise Branch goes home, has food, has a nap, then comes back when you two little blokes are dead.”
“The watch, Nelson, give him the watch.”
He pushed his hand into his pocket and brought out the coins and the watch. After a moment’s hesitation, Nelson dropped everything back into his pocket save for one coin. He placed that on the top of the stone. A huge hand, twice the size of his, squeezed through the gap and flicked the coin backwards into the darkness.
“I think we’ve just met Charon,” whispered Nelson.
“That’s not a lass.”
He shook his head in disdain. “You’re unbelievable. Bradley, you have spent your career around archaeologists, and you don’t know about the ferryman of Hades who transported the new souls across the River Styx?”
“I can drive a car, but that doesn’t mean I know the inner workings of the internal combustion engine. I generally tune out when you guy go all technical.”
The dark eyes appeared in the gap again. “You’ve made Branch happier. Good job. Hang onto your balls while I sort you out.�
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“Why does he talk with a crap Australian accent?”
“Like I know the answer to that, Bradley?” He stood back when he heard the sound of huge stones grinding together. His heart sped at the sight of dislodged dust drifting down from the ceiling. Nelson tightened his fists and tried to remain calm and not cry out, despite believing that, at any second, that ceiling was about to start lowering.
“Bloody hell, look at that, it’s moving.”
Bradley was right, the wall in front of them had begun to slide back. His relief was short lived as his worse fear had also surfaced. The roof was moving as well! The bodyguard grabbed Nelson’s wrist and pulled him towards the widening gap. So far, only a couple of inches was visible, whereas the ceiling was dropping at a much faster rate.
At five inches, the wall stopped, but the ceiling continued to descend. Nelson bit his bottom lip to stop him from crying out. Oh God, this was worse than the Yeti mess up!
“One coin isn’t going to cut it, I’ll need more shiny things or Branch leaves the blokes and comes back when you’re as flat as bat shit.”
Nelson thrust his hand into his pocket and brought out the rest of the coins. Before he could throw them into the gap, Bradley’s hand grabbed his wrist again. The bodyguard shook his head then placed his finger over his lips before Nelson could protest.
He took off his knuckle duster and held it in front of the gap. Three huge fingers appeared out of the other side and tried to snatch it out of Bradley’s hand. The bodyguard moved it out of his reach then pressed the wooden shaft against the fingers, pinning them to the stone. “We might end up flat, but you’re going to lose your digits as well, my friend.”
“Get off me, you ain’t supposed to do stuff like that. It’s not how it goes.”
“Let us out and I’ll give you the rest of the coins.” Bradley winked at Nelson. “We also have a watch. A really pretty one, really shiny.”
How could he remain so calm? That roof was getting lower and lower. It had now reached the stone monoliths. Nelson did release a tiny yelp when he saw the ceiling continue to descend. How was that even possible?
“It’s an optical illusion,” he replied. “Some kind of projection. It isn’t even bloody real.” Nelson listened to the man on the other side of that wall curse, then apologise before resorting to cursing again when Bradley refused to move the stick. That guy certainly believed that ceiling wasn’t an illusion. Nelson pressed his back against the wall and continued to watch that ceiling, pretend or otherwise coming closer and closer. The two of them continued to argue and beg. The ironic thing was that all he had to do right now was stand up and reach up. He’d be able to tell straight away if it was fake or not. “What if it wasn’t?” Nelson growled at the bodyguard. “Just give him what he wants!”
Nelson cried out in relief when the wall started to slide back. He ran over to the widening gap and pushed his body through before collapsing on the other side. As soon as his heart no longer wanted to jump out of his mouth, Nelson slowly raised his gaze from the floor. He nodded at Bradley before looking across at the chamber they’d just left. The wall was already sliding back but there was enough light to show Nelson that Bradley’s stick had snapped into two pieces. So much for that ceiling being a projection. He swallowed hard before looking at their reluctant rescuer. The man was too busy running his thick fingers across Bradley’s knuckle-duster to notice he was being studied.
Was this another one of the elusive Nephilim? Somehow, he had expected a tall, thick-set, scaled up version of a human. This chap reminded him of a surrealist’s interpretation of the classic fairy tale troll who lived under a bridge. The body proportions suggested that he shared more of his DNA to a gorilla than to a man. It didn’t make any sense. The female in the photograph looked just like a human female, only much larger. The image was too blurry to make out her face, but he assumed that it wouldn’t be too different to a human.
Nelson looked away when the creature jerked his head up.
“What’s with the looking, little man? Branch ain’t too fond of you little guys, staring. It makes me kinda mad.” He shuffled towards Nelson. “That’s ain’t a great place to live, if you know what I mean. If you don’t know, best to keep your eyes off my body, you understand?”
Nelson slowly nodded. “Sorry, I don’t want to offend. It’s just, well, it’s that I’ve not seen your type before.”
“Ain’t likely to either. You guys going to tell me what you want? Branch has his shiny things now wants a nap.” He paused. “Not all shiny things though.” He lumbered a little closer to Nelson. “I could help you out, if you give me the watch.”
“What watch?”
“The other guy is a bit handy, ain’t scared of me. You though,” the giant smiled, revealing a set of grey chisel teeth, “you’re a bit of a pudding, and I reckon tastes as good as one too.”
He had no idea if this abomination was joking. Nelson took the watch out of his pocket and dropped it into the huge hand that had unfurled before him. The hand was big enough to cover Nelson’s face. Imagining those big fingers tightening around his skull made his bowels loosen.
“We want you to help us find our friends, big guy.” Bradley pulled Nelson onto his feet and pulled him away from the giant. “Branch, that’s your name, right? Well, I think you’ve had quite enough shiny things from us. Why don’t you show a bit of consideration and help us? Do you know where they are?”
He nodded. “Sure I do. Branch knows lots of things.” He looked at Nelson. “Branch knows all about you too, Mr. I’m an important guy because I work for The Trust. To me though, you’ll always be a pudding.”
Chapter Eight
He listened with half an ear as his companion recounted his heroic exploits in the heart of the Madagascar rain forest. Dane had found it increasingly difficult to separate fact from fiction about an hour ago. It just made better sense not to listen to anymore of Benedict’s words. He had enough on his plate without having to listen to the other man’s insufferable chatter.
Unless his sense of direction was wrong, then the pair of them were walking further and further from his two friends. Dane felt responsible for their disappearance. He didn’t think he’d be able to live with himself if anything happened to them. It didn’t make any difference that, in reality, Dane had nothing to do with their separation, nor the fact that Bradley was perfectly capable of handling himself. Come to think of it, Nelson had been in more than a few near fatal scrapes.
“That is rather peculiar. See how the markings on the wall to the left of you, Dane, have altered. We now have several groupings of random shapes.” He turned to face Dane. “Do you have any explanation?”
Dane shook his head while trying not to berate himself for not paying attention to their surroundings. The fault lay with Benedict and his incessant chattering. He had a vocal tone that could put screaming babies to sleep. “They could be signposts, directing the traveller to their intended destination.” The old man nodded slowly. The disguised smirk plastered over Benedict’s face did not go unnoticed. Was he making fun of Dane? Or just silently annoyed that Dane had an answer? “It could mean nothing as well.” He patted his fingers against the wall. “As we have no other choice than to keep travelling in this direction, I suggest we do that.”
“Why not indeed?”
He was, the older man was implying something! Before Dane had a chance to grab him and demand an explanation, Benedict was already over a dozen steps in front of him. Dane had to jog to catch up to him. “What the hell is wrong with—?”
Benedict slapped his large hand across Dane’s mouth. “Quiet!” With his other arm, he pointed to his right.
Dane removed the man’s hand. He followed Benedict’s pointed finger and noticed a narrow intersection. A gap just wide enough to allow one man to squeeze through. “A way out?” he hissed.
“You tell me, Dane.” Benedict offered the man a sly grin. “Maybe there’s a surprise waiting in there too? I mean, that�
��s how this is supposed to work, is it not?”
“I really have no idea what you are talking about.” His next words were left unsaid when his ears picked up the sound of footsteps. “Wait, can you hear that?”
Benedict nodded. “It’s why I stopped.”
Dane took out his torch and shone the beam against the wall, sliding the light along the stone until it reached the gap. He kept the beam steady and crept a little closer, watching as the torch picked out more detail. “Is there somebody in there?”
The closer he got to the gap, the more convinced Dane was that someone or something was hiding in there. Dane stopped dead when he heard scraping. It sounded like the end of a metal stick running across the stones.
“I’m not sure that this is a good idea, Dane.”
The man’s sudden air of arrogance was nowhere to be seen. Dane ignored him anyway. He hadn’t any idea what had brought upon Benedict’s sudden outburst of smugness, not that he cared about the man’s bee in his bonnet.
He lowered the light beam, his heartbeat starting to speed up when the torch picked out a clump of feathers. “Oh shit,” he muttered as the light settled on the evil-looking eyes of another terror bird. Dane backed away, keeping the torch light fixed upon the creature’s thickset body. Was it stuck in there? “Benedict, I think we’re all right. I don’t believe it can move.” The other archaeologist had already left him. The dark was already swallowing up the man’s back and heels. “You bloody coward,” he spat. Dane turned back around and yelped. The bird was trying to pull itself free! The sight of a prospective meal must have rekindled the bird’s will to survive. It had already moved a couple of inches towards Dane.
He played the light over the floor, looking for a rock large enough to bash in the bird’s skull. He saw nothing larger than a marble. Dane moved further away, keeping the light fixed on that entrance. When the bird’s head jutted out of the intersection and released a terrifying squawk, Dane spun around and raced along the corridor, now eager to catch up with Benedict.