Night Chill

by Jeff Gunhus

  “It’s simple. Align all three dials to zero, press this button. That primes it. Turn the dials to five. Press it again and boom. Find out if religion is for real.”

  “What about this up here? What does that do?” Jack asked pointing to a LED display and a touchpad.

  “It’s a timer. If we’re going to get out of here alive, this is the way we do it. Up arrow on the left for minutes. Up arrow on the right for seconds. Once you start, there’s no going back. Completely tamper-proof so even mind-reading a-holes like Huckley can’t do anything if they figure out what’s going on.” Lonetree shoved the detonator into one of the backpack’s pockets. “All right. Let’s do this.” Lonetree handed Jack a gun, knife and box of ammo. He positioned twice as many weapons on various parts of his body and then stuffed what was leftover into the backpack. “Hope for good aim,” he said with a smile. Rearing back, he flung the backpack over the river where it landed safely on the other side.

  “You want to throw me too?”

  “I’m going to try.”

  “Thanks but I’ll go with the rope.” Jack said, wading along the wall toward where the rope rested on a hook. The water was cooler than last time, fed by the rainwater, but still felt like a lukewarm bath. He waded in up to his thighs, his feet spaced wide apart as he braced himself against the current. Not daring to go any further, he stretched his arm out and managed to grab hold of the rope with his fingertips. Carefully he reversed course and carried it back as far as possible toward Lonetree.

  “O.K. Remember last time you did this?”

  “You mean when I almost fell in? Yeah, I remember.”

  “Well, this time has to be better.”

  “Thanks,” Jack said, tugging on the rope and shining his light up at the rusted hook drilled into the ceiling. He listened as Lonetree described the plan, realizing he really hadn’t been kidding earlier. With one last tug on the rope, Jack nodded. “Let’s do it.”

  Lonetree stood behind him and took hold of his jeans on either side of his waist. Jack shuffled backward as the big man pulled him back. Then his feet were off the ground as Lonetree hefted him up in the air. Jack pulled himself up a little on the rope as he was instructed and held his breath. He heard Lonetree grunt as he was lifted even farther off the ground and then hurled forward.

  Jack felt Lonetree shove against his back and then the pressure was gone. Everything was silent. The air rushed past his face. He felt himself reach the bottom of the swing’s arc and kicked his legs forward to maximize his momentum.

  He had to let go of the rope at just the right time and jump though.

  The timing had to be perfect.

  The difference of a second was the difference between life and death.

  Wait, wait, wait, now!

  Just as the thought to let go registered in his mind, the tension in the rope disappeared. Jack fell through the air, tangled in the rope that only seconds before had been his lifeline.

  He hit the water on his back, knocking the wind out of him. Reaching down, he could feel the rock floor but he could also feel the current pulling him toward the middle of the channel.

  Gasping for air, he clawed his way through the water, struggling to get a foothold on the slippery rock beneath him. He moved on instinct, not even certain he was going the right direction.

  But slowly the pull of the current weakened and the water became shallower. Out of danger, he turned and righted his helmet which had slipped backward on impact. He shone his light up to the ceiling. The rope was no longer suspended over the river. The rusted hook was gone, replaced by a gaping hole in the rock.

  Jack shuddered at how close he had come to death.

  “You all right?” Lonetree called over.

  “Yeah, I think so,” Jack said. He moved all his limbs to check for injury but found nothing. “The rope’s gone. How are you going to get across?”

  Lonetree’s light danced across the rock face on either side of the river. It came to rest on the upriver side. “Grab the rope. It should still be attached to the guidelines. Those small ropes on the side.”

  Jack waded over and pulled on the guideline. Sure enough it was still attached to the larger rope. Dragging it in against the current felt like fighting a big fish. Finally, he pulled in the end of the rope, including the clump of rock that still held the metal hook. Making sure Lonetree was ready, he threw the heavy end over and tied his end of the rope around his waist.

  “Are you braced against something?” Lonetree asked.

  Jack looked around the smooth walled tunnel. There was nothing he could use as a tie off. “Wait a second.” He grabbed the backpack Lonetree had thrown across and slipped it over his shoulders. At least the weight of the pack would give him a little more ballast. Then he sat on the rock floor and dug his heels into a deep crack in the ground. It wasn’t much but at least he could brace himself with his legs if Lonetree fell in. “Go ahead,” he shouted.

  He watched as Lonetree’s light bobbled through the darkness on the other side of the river. The progress of the light slowed and Jack knew he was climbing the rock face. Jack took up the slack in the rope, careful to not pull hard enough to make him lose his balance.

  “How is it?” Jack called out.

  “Piece…of…cake.”

  Lonetree’s response came in short, halting bursts. Jack knew the man was struggling. He had seen the rock face himself. It seemed impossible that anyone could climb across it. But he watched the light embedded in Lonetree’s helmet slowly float over the river and wondered if anything really was impossible for Lonetree. The guy was like some action superhero. Jack was half surprised he didn’t just leap over the water in a single bound.

  This thought disappeared at the sight of the light tumbling down the wall. A fraction of a second later, Lonetree’s cry reached his ears. The rope went slack in Jack’s hands.

  He watched in horror as Lonetree floated past him, beating his arms against the current.

  Oh shit.

  Jack realized what was about to happen and he braced for it. When Lonetree reached the opposite side of the passage the rope snapped taut.

  Jack cried out from the pain of the rope cutting into his side. Leaning back so that he was almost parallel with the floor, he tried to absorb the weight in his legs, but he knew he couldn’t hold it for long.

  Within seconds he felt his feet start to slip. Lonetree was too heavy.

  Slowly, inch-by-inch, the rope pulled him forward out of position. Soon, he was looking down the length of rope at Lonetree struggling at the other end.

  White water splashed everywhere around Lonetree’s hulking form. He was right at the mouth of the gaping hole where the river entered the rock wall. Working hand over hand, he was trying to pull himself up the rope, but the current was too strong. Lonetree’s helmet light shined right into Jack’s eyes, temporarily blinding him. When the light moved again, Jack could see Lonetree’s right hand held a knife. He was trying to cut the rope to keep Jack from being pulled into the water.

  “NO!” Jack shouted.

  His feet slipped forward another inch.

  He clenched his teeth and pulled back against the weight even as his brain surged with commands for him to stop.

  Let go of the rope. You need to stay alive so you can save your daughter.

  He ignored the warnings and cinched the rope tighter around his waist. He watched as his feet edged up the rock incline he was using for a brace. He had to readjust his position or he would lose all traction.

  With a heave, he pulled back on the rope and tried to jam his heels back down to get a better grip.

  His feet missed.

  They slipped forward and suddenly all his resistance to the rope was gone. With enough torque to squeeze the air out of him, Lonetree’s weight yanked him forward headfirst toward the river.

  Jack bounced along the rock floor like he was being dragged behind a truck. He reached out and clawed at the ground for something to cling on to, but he knew what was
coming next.

  Jack sucked down a lungful of air just as his body plunged into the water. He closed his eyes and curled up in a ball the best he could with the rope still tugging at his midsection.

  He knew that in less than a second he would disappear just like Lonetree had into the black hole cut into the rock. In that one second a cascade of images burst through his mind, as if every synapse knew it was about to blink out forever and wanted to fire one last time. His family. His girls. His wife. And with the images came an unspeakably cruel understanding that he would never see any of them again. The black hole ahead of him was death. Cold, dark and silent. He focused on the images of his wife and daughters as he rolled end over end through the water, carrying his memories into the darkness with him.

  He was sorry, so sorry, that hadn’t been strong enough to save his daughter. But it occurred to him that maybe he deserved to fail. After all, he had taken another father’s child away when he ran over and killed Melissa Gonzales. Maybe God did exist and He was settling a score, making sure all debts were paid off in the end.

  Still, what kind of God would punish children for the sins of their fathers? Only a God who didn’t care or didn’t exist. Either way, Jack held no desire to meet Him. He expected that death would be as dark and lonely as the tunnel looming ahead of him.

  Time snapped back into place and the world moved again in full motion. The river carried him into the rock wall, his helmet scraping against the ceiling as he tumbled through the water.

  The narrow beam from the waterproof helmet light cut through the dark water and lit up the smooth walls as they flew by. Jack knew he was a dead man but still he reached out for something to grab on to, as if gaining a handhold was the only thing keeping him from clawing back upstream and escaping the clutches of the river. Both times he managed to grab onto a crack in the rock, the rope around his waist tightened and ripped him from the wall.

  It suddenly occurred to Jack that Lonetree might already be dead. The thought of being dragged through the dark tunnel tied to a corpse struck Jack as a particularly gruesome way to die. He idly wondered where the river ended and how long he and Lonetree would be joined together. Maybe forever. Buried underground. Their bodies seeping into the ground water a little bit at a time.

  Jack choked down the little air left in his mouth and throat. His ears rang. He wanted to fight back, scrape and beg for every spare second, but he felt his muscles loosening, surrendering, as he started to float through the water instead of struggle.

  The blood in his temples beat in a rising tempo, quickening. He couldn’t hold his breath much longer. He had only seconds left before his body betrayed him and sucked the lukewarm river water into his lungs.

  Then rope around his waist went slack. The meaning of this worked its way through his oxygen deprived brain. Lonetree’s body was probably hung up in a crevice, or wedged between rocks up ahead. It occurred to him that whatever it was, maybe there was an air pocket.

  But the burning in his chest had gone from pain to desperation and thoughts of survival disappeared.

  Seconds later, even as he floated through coils of rope bunching up in front of him, his lungs gave way.

  With a choked inhalation, Jack’s lungs filled with water and he lost consciousness. His brain burned off the last remnants of oxygen still available, then, without fuel, ceased to function. The rest of his body did the same.

  Deep inside the mountains of western Maryland, in a dark underground river without a name, Jack Tremont’s dead body floated with the current, drifting toward wherever chance might take him.

  SEVENTY-SIX

  Consciousness came like a sunrise viewed through antique glass, distorted and blurred. Pale shadows swirled in faded degrees of color. Muffled sounds reached her ears in undulating waves, like listening to a talk radio station through blown speakers.

  “She’s waking up,” someone said.

  She recognized the voice, but she couldn’t attach a name to it. Hearing it made her feel comfortable. Made her feel safe.

  Everything was confused, but she knew something bad had happened to her, she was sure of it. And the owner of the voice would tell her what it was. He would help her.

  She squeezed her eyes shut and willed the pain in her head to go away. The voice came back to her through the velvet darkness and asked her how she felt. It was just like Stanley Mansfield to ask such a question.

  That was it. That was who the voice belonged to, Dr. Mansfield.

  It was just like him to look out for her. She smiled and tried to say hello but there was something wrong. The words wouldn’t form on her lips. She carefully opened her eyes, aware at some level that the bright light around her would be painful if taken in too quickly. Dr. Mansfield’s face hovered in front of her, blurry at first, and then sharpening into focus as if someone were fine tuning the reception in her head. Then, in a rush of images, she remembered what had happened. She remembered the basement in the hospital. She remembered Dr. Mansfield was not her friend. He was the Boss. The person in the crazy story Jack had told her.

  In an emotional plunge that left her stomach turning, she remembered seeing Sarah.

  The burst of adrenaline from that memory pushed her consciousness through the thick drug-induced blanket around her brain. She pushed herself up off the floor.

  “Sarah? W-wh-where’s Sarah?”

  Strong hands pulled her up to a sitting position. Dr. Mansfield’s voice came at her from what seemed multiple directions. “Easy. The drug is wearing off.”

  Lauren smelled manure. And damp straw. She rubbed her eyes and looked around. They were in a barn. The interior was lit by massive halogen lights so that everything stood out in sharp contrasts. There, on the ground next to her, blond hair fanned out around her head, was her little girl, curled as if she were asleep in her bed at home. But something was wrong. She was too still, too pale. Lauren’s heart thumped hard in her chest. She lurched forward but several hands held her back. She screamed in frustration and lashed out, but she couldn’t break free. Rope appeared and she sobbed as her hands and feet were bound, her eyes never leaving Sarah’s unmoving body.

  “Is she alive?” she sobbed.

  Dr. Mansfield crouched down in front of her, putting himself into her field of vision as she continued to stare at her daughter. “Yes, she’s fine. She’s had the same medication I gave you. Now, try to calm down, all right. You’ll feel the effects of the drug for a few more minutes.”

  “Why are you wasting your time with her?” Huckley asked, spitting on the floor. “She’s going to die just like her daughter. What’s the big deal?”

  Lauren’s eyes went wide. She struggled at her bindings until the rope started to cut into her wrists.

  “You’ll just make it worse. Please calm down.” Dr. Mansfield said. “Please.”

  Once she stopped struggling, Dr. Mansfield rose and faced Huckley. Lauren tore her eyes away from her daughter and watched the two men standing only a few feet from her. No words were exchanged, but Huckley stared at the ground, his shoulders slumping forward like a kid pouting from a parent’s reprimand. No, Lauren thought to herself, more like an animal’s show of submission. The simple gesture confirmed to her that the doctor was not only part of the madness but he was leading it. And if he was the leader, the one Jack called the Boss, was it possible that the rest of Jack’s story was true? Was it possible that these lunatics meant to kill her daughter in some kind of ritual sacrifice? Lauren shook her head, willing the thoughts to go away, as if that alone could change the situation she found herself in.

  “Moran and Butcher will need more time in the cave. Get the others around. Janney’s over at the house. Tell him we’re going down in half an hour.” Dr. Mansfield gave a slight nod toward the door and Huckley left the barn without comment.

  Lauren started at the sound of the sheriff’s name. Like snippets of a bad dream, scenes in the hospital basement pieced themselves together in her mind. The psychiatrist, Scott Moran,
he had been there too.

  Jesus, who isn’t part of this?

  Then she remembered her last meeting with Jack. How she had refused to believe him and had run away just when he needed her most. He hadn’t been crazy, but trying to save their daughter. How horrible he must have felt when she turned on him while he was telling the truth.

  It still didn’t explain why this was happening. It didn’t explain that poor girl on the gurney in the elevator. Or what Dr. Mansfield was up to. Lauren shuddered as she pictured the girl’s one open eye staring at her. Confused and in pain.

  “Will you tell me what the hell is going on? Why are you doing this?” Lauren asked. “What are you mixed up in?”

  Dr. Mansfield sat next to her and ran a hand through his hair. “It’s complicated. I’m just sorry you had to get involved. It wasn’t supposed to work out like this.”

  “Whatever it is, you don’t have to go through with it,” Lauren pleaded. “You could let Sarah go. Help us get out of here. We wouldn’t tell anyone. We would—”

  “You don’t seem to understand. Your daughter’s here because I ordered it. Huckley found her, but this is my decision,” Dr. Mansfield said. “I’m afraid you’re asking the wrong person for help.”

  “This is crazy,” Lauren said, mostly to herself. “This is all insane.”

  “I know it must seem that way. But you don’t understand the magnitude of what’s happening here. This is bigger than me or you. Or your little girl. This is something that could change the entire world. It could change everything.”

  “What are you talking about? In the hospital I asked if you were conducting human experiments and you didn’t deny it. Did you kill Felicia Rodriguez?”

  Dr. Mansfield nodded. “And others like her. But they didn’t die in vain. Some day they will be looked at as heroes. They were sacrifices for the greater good of society.” He stood up and moved closer to her. “It’s not like this is the first time it’s happened. Louis Pasteur used human subjects in his experiments, many who died, but now he’s revered. Would you have blocked the development of vaccines because of risks to the first human recipients?”