by Brian Harmon
“I’m coming right back.” But she wasn’t listening. With Brandy on his heels, unwilling to be left alone, Albert ran back up the slope toward the praying statue. About halfway there he stopped and began to rifle through the backpack.
Brandy watched as he withdrew the paint can and removed the lid. He placed both on the floor, spacing them out so that they would be hard to miss in the darkness. She immediately understood his plan. Without a light, anybody following them would likely trip over one or the other, causing one or both of the objects to roll down the gentle slope to the water. The noise would alert them if they were still anywhere in the vicinity.
With one quick look back up the slope toward the statue, he grabbed Brandy’s hand and hurried back to the still pool of water at the bottom of the tunnel.
“Can you go on?”
“Through the water?”
“Yeah.”
The look on her face told him she didn’t think so.
“Come on. I’ll go first, but you have to stay close.”
The mirrored surface shattered as Albert’s foot struck the water and a shimmering ripple of reflected light instantly flooded the room. It was cold, probably the same temperature as the cool air that surrounded them, but upon their naked flesh it was hard to believe it could be so cold without freezing. Behind him, Brandy gasped, the cold as sudden as an electrical shock on her bare toes.
“So cold,” she hissed, and Albert could hear the shiver in her voice.
“I know,” he said. “Just be strong, okay?”
“Okay.”
Albert had hoped that the water was only knee deep or so, but step by step it grew deeper and deeper as the floor sloped downward, slowly creeping up their sensitive thighs to the base of their buttocks, and mercilessly climbing the tender flesh of their lower backs and bellies. Violent shivers raced through them. Their teeth hammered together. Albert felt the weight change on his back as the backpack filled with water, growing lighter and lighter as more of its weight slipped beneath the surface.
As the water reached Brandy’s armpits, she whimpered Albert’s name, a pitiful, broken sound no louder than a whisper.
“I know,” said Albert again, his voice no stronger than hers. “I know. Just a little farther.”
The flashlight dipped beneath the water and their submerged bodies were illuminated by the glow. Albert could see nothing below the surface. No fish or frogs or snakes made their home here. It was pure and clean, which was certainly good, but the cold made it hard to relish such fortune.
The water slipped over their shoulders and they began to swim, their feet losing the welcome touch of the stone, and as they pushed farther, the ceiling drew down upon them. Albert prayed that the tunnel did not submerge completely.
The backpack, now fully soaked, again began to work against Albert, threatening to drag him down as he struggled forward. But he did not have time to think about it. At that moment, from somewhere in the darkness at their backs, came the clang and clatter of the paint can as it rolled down the slope of the tunnel. Albert’s trap was sprung.
“Albert!” This time Brandy’s voice was sharp and clear, tinged with a harsh edge of panic.
“Come on!” They swam on, struggling against their shivers. Behind them, the paint can continued its long chorus of clanging and clattering as it tumbled down to the water where it was finally silenced with a hollow splash.
Albert was suddenly thankful for their lack of clothes. It made swimming easier and he knew they would dry much more quickly without their jeans and shoes. But even with this going for them they’d be lucky to get out without catching pneumonia.
He could hear Brandy gasping and spitting behind him. It was hard to swim in water this cold. The shivering interfered with breathing, making each breath a struggle and therefore every stroke more laborious than the last.
Suddenly the flashlight fell dark and Albert’s panic was matched only by Brandy’s terrified shriek. She gave it a violent shake and light again flooded the passage.
“It’s okay,” he assured her, but he knew the water wasn’t good for the batteries. A battery-powered flashlight could shine for hours underwater, the charge merely spent faster, but it could possibly cause further blackouts like the one they just experienced, and they needed the light in this place.
It occurred to Albert that the ceiling was again retreating from their heads, and when he tried to touch bottom he found that he could. “Almost there,” he told her. “It’s getting shallower.”
Brandy did not respond.
As the water withdrew from around their necks and past their shoulders to their chests, the air became like snow, chilling their dripping bodies until they were nearly numb with cold. As it sank down his thighs and walking became easier, Albert pulled Brandy forward and walked behind her, trying his best to warm her by rubbing her shoulders, knowing he was probably doing little to help, but trying anyway.
“Oh God,” Brandy stuttered as she stepped onto dry land, her arms wrapped around herself in a fierce hug, clutching the flashlight so tightly that her knuckles had gone white. “So cold.”
Albert dropped the backpack and pulled her into his arms. Her skin was icy to the touch and he worried for her health. He did not know how close they were to hypothermia, and he’d already done enough to the poor girl just by bringing her to this twisted place.
“Freezing!”
“I know.” He looked back at the water they’d just crossed, back into the darkness that shrouded the dangers beyond. The cold was bad, but he had a feeling it was far from the worst thing in these tunnels.
Chapter 12
“I’m sorry about your stuff.”
Brandy shook her head. “Not your fault.” She had dumped most of the contents of her purse onto the stone floor and was picking through them. Her cigarettes and lighter were both ruined, as was a small collection of gum, cough drops and breath mints. Much of her makeup was also among the casualties. But the worst was her cell phone, which was still on, was still glowing, but would probably be ruined long before it could dry. She shook some of the water off it and then turned it off. There was nothing she could do now.
“Do you have insurance on it?”
Brandy nodded. Thankfully she’d decided to pay the extra couple of dollars a month for the protection plan just for such an emergency, but it was still a pain. She gathered her belongings back into her purse, salvageable and ruined alike, and began to rub her hands over her arms and shoulders. The chill was lessening, but it would not go away completely. The shivers remained, like unending aftershocks in the wake of a great earthquake. She was beginning to think she might never be warm again.
Albert closed and locked the box and put it back into his backpack. Its contents had remained dry throughout their frigid swim. “We should probably keep moving.” They had been sitting there for almost fifteen minutes now, warming up as well as they could and listening for telltale splashes that would announce the approach of their mysterious pursuer. “It’ll help us to stay warm if nothing else.”
He stood up and shouldered his backpack. He hissed at the icy feel of its wet fabric against his naked back. Brandy stared up at him, her lovely eyes swimming over his naked body. She looked him up and down, actually looking at him for the first time since he lost his clothes, and she did not care that he saw her looking at him. Her eyes ultimately fell upon his privates. He was of a modest, but not unpleasing size, not big enough to have hurt her in the sex room, thankfully, but certainly large enough. She saw that he was circumcised, and that he had shriveled in the cold. She wondered what it would look like if he were hot instead of cold, and what it would look like fully erect. In the insane lust of the sex room, she had not actually seen him. In fact, she barely remembered any details at all. It was nothing more than a blur of insane and insatiable desire.
Albert felt uncomfortable. He watched her as she stared at him, her expression nearly empty, as though she were staring at some boring piece of art rat
her than at his personal anatomy. He wanted to turn away, to start walking up the slope and toward the unknown that lay ahead, just to get away from those eyes, but he could not. He was easily as fascinated by her looking at him as he was embarrassed by it. He wondered what she was thinking. With all that had happened down here, he couldn’t imagine what she must be feeling. He could barely comprehend all the things he was feeling.
The truth of the matter was that she was hardly thinking anything at all. Her head still hurt. Her shivering had only worsened the throbbing pain that she awoke with in the sex room. More than anything she wanted to go home, to forget this hateful place and move on with her life. But at the center of all this was Albert, and she still did not know what to think of him. Somewhere deep down, she believed—or maybe just wanted to believe—that he was as much a victim of that horrible room as she was, but she still didn’t know him.
At last she shifted her eyes to his, her face still empty of any perceptible emotion, and nodded. She was ready. She stood up and slid the strap of her purse over her head and arm, still shivering.
They stood for a moment, looking at each other with their teeth chattering and their skin covered with gooseflesh. Albert wanted to speak, but all of the words that came to him were inadequate. He turned instead and looked into the tunnel ahead of them. Their destination waited up there somewhere, undiscovered, unknown. He was afraid of what was ahead. He was afraid of what was behind. He was afraid to stay where they were. Yet he was intrigued. He was fascinated by what frightened him, as all people are to some small extent. All the answers lay there in that mysterious darkness, all the answers to all his questions. Surely, they must be there. He was afraid, he was unsure, he was cold, but he needed to move on. The box. The statues. This whole unearthly labyrinth. He wanted to know. But then again, who said there was a choice? There was no turning back now. There was no way out but in.
Brandy took his hand and squeezed it. Another unspoken moment passed between them, and then they began to walk, leaving the cold pool of water and the mysteries before it behind. They moved slowly, their muscles stiff from the cold, shivering and anxious, toward dangers much worse than hypothermia.
Chapter 13
Albert expected to see another statue waiting where this tunnel ended, but there was none. Instead, the tunnel made an abrupt, six-foot drop. It was almost identical to those in the first room, from which a stone finger helped him to choose. But this time there was only one choice. As he peered into the darkness below, he wondered what the purpose to such a drop might be. It seemed inconvenient, possibly even problematic, yet pointless. He remembered the two in the first room and again wondered what would have awaited them in the other tunnel.
“What’s wrong?” Brandy had seen the concern upon his face, had recognized it for the same expression he’d worn several times before, including when he saw the still surface of the water and realized that their pursuer was still behind them.
“Nothing. Just wondering.”
“If there’s one thing I’ve noticed about you it’s that you don’t ‘just wonder.’”
Albert looked at her, impressed, but trapped. “I don’t know. Just something odd about this drop-off.”
She peered down into it. Now she was concerned, too.
“I’ll go first. You stay back a little, okay?”
“Is it safe?”
“I don’t know. Probably. I’m a little on edge.” He bent down, planted his hand on the floor for support and dropped into the lower passage.
“Here.” Brandy knelt and held the flashlight out for him to take.
“You sure?”
She nodded.
He took the flashlight and turned back to the tunnel ahead. It was only about five feet tall, forcing him to duck down and walk with his back hunched. He took several steps forward and then stopped as his light fell on something that was lying on the floor, next to the wall.
Behind him, Brandy dropped down to follow him. “Wait up,” he warned.
“What’s wrong?”
Albert probed the tunnel with the flashlight, washing the walls, ceiling and floor with light, as far as it would reach, looking for something unusual, some crack or hole or crevice that might indicate some sort of trap.
Brandy looked past him to the thing on the floor. “What is it?” she asked again.
When he could find no signs of danger, he turned the light back to the small object on the floor. It was dingy white, about two inches in length. A second, smaller shard of the same material was lying next to it.
“Bone.”
Brandy was silent for a moment, considering, as did he, the meaning of such a find. “Is it human?”
“I don’t know.”
The pieces were too big to belong to a rat, but they were only fragments. It could have been human or it could have been from a dog or a cat or a dinosaur for all he knew. In a dry tunnel like this, he didn’t know how long bone fragments could last before turning to dust. And if the two of them could make it this far, any number of creatures could have done the same over the years.
Albert started forward again, sweeping the floor with his light. He felt like a soldier who has just realized that he is standing in a minefield.
“Be careful,” Brandy begged him. She followed slowly, keeping some distance, but not too much. To stay behind was to be swallowed in darkness and left alone.
The tunnel was approximately forty feet in length. Along the way, Albert spied several more small bone fragments, all of them swept up against the wall like the dust that gathers around the baseboards where a vacuum cleaner doesn’t quite reach. The two of them made their way to the end, stepping gingerly, holding their breath, hoping like hell that their next step did not bring death swooping out of the darkness. But death did not come. Death in this place was not so obvious.
They found themselves in a round room, standing at the mouth of one of five tunnels that led in five different directions. There were more bones here, all of them shattered fragments impossible to identify, and all of them shoved up against a surface somewhere.
Another statue stood in the center of this room, this one of five faceless sentinels. All of them were bloody and dying, with gory, ragged holes torn into their chests, backs and stomachs. One had bloody stumps for hands and one was clamoring for safety on a shredded foot. They were each reaching desperately toward one of the five tunnels.
All of these sentinels they’d encountered seemed to hold some sort of message, each one vague, but this one was obvious to Albert, and he did not need the crushed and shattered bones that littered this room to illustrate it.
“What is this place?” Brandy was gazing around at the bones and the statues, her heart pounding. She was still cold, still shivering, but she no longer noticed. There was a hot fear rising from somewhere deep inside her, and it was far more commanding than the cold.
Albert stared at the statue. “That last statue,” he said, explaining as much to himself as to her. “It represented faith, sacrifice, that sort of thing. We had no choice but to go on. Something was behind us, but imagine if there hadn’t been. To get this far we would’ve had to have faith in where we were going, in the box and all the things in it. It makes sense, really. Someone else would have turned back, tried to find another way, probably would have gotten killed somewhere along the way. We had to keep going to get this far.”
Brandy nodded. She understood. “And this thing?”
Albert looked at the statue, not liking it for more than one reason. “Decisions. Deadly decisions.”
“Oh good.”
Albert stepped closer to the statue. The message was bad, but that was not all. He looked down at the bones at his feet, then bent and looked closer. Deep groves were carved into them, as though they’d been slashed repeatedly with a knife. As he looked closer he realized that many of them were not just broken, but cut. He stood up and looked at the statue again. It looked more real than the others, more physical somehow, and he quickly r
ealized why. With the exception of the broken-fingered one in the first room, all the other statues were perfect, carved immaculately from stone, without a single flaw. These sentinels were scarred, and not merely by the will of the artist. Two of them were missing fingers not by design. One foot was broken off and was lying against the wall, looking morbid even in stone. They were scratched and chipped all over, as though someone had been hacking at them with a hatchet. He looked at the floor and found that it, too, was covered with faint scratches.
“So which way do we go?”
Albert lifted his eyes to the statue again. That was easy. He lifted his hand and pointed at a piece of gray cloth that hung from a sentinel’s outstretched hand.
“What is that? A coat?”
Albert didn’t know. It was heavy cotton, badly torn and stained. He unwound it from the statue’s hand and held it before him.
“Looks kind of like part of an old Civil War jacket, doesn’t it?” Brandy observed.
“Not sure,” Albert replied. “Could be. Whatever it is, it’s pointing the way.”
Brandy leaned in to take a closer look. “How can you be sure?”
“The buttons.”
And then she understood. The buttons on the fabric were simple brass with no markings, exactly like the one they’d found in the box. A closer look revealed that it was, in fact, missing one.
Albert didn’t need to open the box and retrieve the button. He was certain this was their clue. He studied the garment for a moment longer, considering it. It didn’t have any distinguishing designs, but only a small amount of it remained. Could it actually be a piece of a Civil War uniform? It seemed unlikely, but then again, after what he experienced in the sex room, “unlikely” had apparently taken the night off. Perhaps a unit was sent down here all those years ago to sweep the tunnels for enemy troops or supplies.
But more than likely, even if this was a part of a Civil War uniform, which was by no means a proven fact, it could have been worn down here by anyone in the many years after the war. Perhaps it was an old hand-me-down that kept someone warm in the winter months. Hundreds of scenarios could have brought this particular piece of fabric down here.