The Eden Project (Peter Zachary Adventure)

by John Bolin

  “No! Please, no!” Diego pleaded. Even as he cried out, his body began moving toward Tima. He fell and clawed at the sandy floor of the cave, but still his body was dragged along.

  Peter’s mind ordered his body to act, but he seemed unable to move. It was as if someone had frozen his limbs, like he was comatose within his own skin.

  Gator had somehow managed to stand to his feet. He set his gun down in the sand and moved toward Tima. He was standing between the girl and Peter. Tima ignored Gator, focusing on moving Diego’s body along the ground. Diego screamed hysterically. Then, suddenly Tima snapped her head toward Gator.

  “Oh, no,” Gator sighed, backing up. “Help me, Jesus,” he said loudly, sounding more like a prayer than anything.

  “Gator, be careful” Peter said.

  Gator spun around carefully and faced Peter.

  In that instant, everything changed.

  The voices behind Peter went dead. Diego’s body fell slack to the floor. Tima toppled down in a pile. Peter fell forward, as if some giant hand had been removed from holding him back. Everyone except Gator and Peter rushed to Diego and Tima.

  Gator turned to look back at Tima, and as he did Peter couldn’t help but notice the tattoo on Gator’s back. He’d seen it a hundred times but this time it was like he was seeing it for the first time. It was unmistakable.

  Etched in black ink, an ornate, medieval cross was stretched between his shoulder blades and down his spine.

  Peter shook his head in disbelief.

  A cross.

  “What was that?” Gator asked, turning back to Peter.

  Peter shrugged. His mind was spinning. “Whatever is was, it’s over now.”

  * * *

  “This might sting.”

  Alex sat unblinking as Peter bandaged her leg. Even though he was sitting right in front of her, he seemed far away, like he was in another room, another place. The whole room seemed to be moving, spinning. She looked at her arms. The cuts from Tima’s nails were deep, and blood still oozed from her cuts and dribbled down her arm.

  “Ouch!”

  A sudden white-hot pain shot through her arm, and she jerked it up, accidentally hitting Peter in the face.

  “Easy. It’s just rubbing alcohol,” Peter said, carefully lowering her arm.

  She looked up at him. Peter’s face was lined with concentration as he worked, blue eyes narrowed, his mouth biting his lower lip, fingers steadily applying the bandage, not too tight or too loose. Even as she looked at him, she took comfort in the way he’d so quickly regained composure and set about pulling the group back together. There was more to him than he let on, more than just the fast-moving military man. There was a deep well of strength from some other story. As if sensing her eyes, he looked up. She quickly glanced away. Peter reached for her arm and moved closer so that her arm rested on his knee.

  For leverage, she told herself, feeling her face flush. Nothing more.

  “You okay?” Peter asked.

  Alex shrugged. “I guess.”

  Peter poured more of the disinfectant over one of the gashes. She winced and looked away.

  Alex’s eyes traveled to the burro’s body, still impaled on the pointed rock. She turned her eyes, focusing on Tima instead. The girl was sleeping, as she had been since she’d collapsed after the ordeal, in the fetal position on the other side of the fire.

  “You don’t seem okay,” Peter said.

  Of course she wasn’t okay. How could she be okay? “I’m fine.”

  “Really? Because you look like you’re—”

  “Acting like I just saw my friend drag a donkey across this cave? Freaked out because Eeyore over there is a bloody mess. I appreciate you acting brave. I really do. But come on, tell me you’re not disturbed by what we saw in there.”

  Peter took a drink from his canteen. “I’m not disturbed by what we saw in there.”

  “Come on, Peter.”

  “All right, fine. A little. I’ve seen a lot in my life. Nothing like that, but that doesn’t mean it can’t be explained.”

  “Well, then explain it.”

  “Why don’t you tell me? You’re the enlightened one.”

  “All right. Go ahead and laugh, Peter. Make fun of it. Ignore what we just saw. But it was spiritual; it was otherworldly. And I’ve got to be honest; that scared me.”

  “Why?”

  “Because . . . I’ve experienced spiritual things. I’ve felt God in the cosmos looking at the stars at night. I’ve had spirit walks in the desert that have enlightened me. But I haven’t felt anything like that before. It was spiritual. But . . .” She swallowed. “But it was dark.”

  “It wasn’t her,” Peter said. “Tima’s losing control over her own mind. Same thing happens to Alzheimer patients. Happens all the time where people start saying and doing things they never would otherwise.”

  Tima moaned and sat up on the other side of the fire. Alex quieted, and Peter stopped working. They both tensed, and Alex squeezed Peter’s leg.

  Tima blinked and turned to Alex. “Hello, sister,” Tima said, still groggy.

  Any signs of strange behavior seemed to be gone. Alex smiled back at her as Tima pulled her knees to her chest and scooted closer to the fire.

  Peter put away the bandages and zipped up the first aid kit. “Sorry. I definitely have an opinion. I know you didn’t exactly ask for it. I’m just not going to believe in something I can’t see or feel.”

  Alex looked at him. “That’s just it. I did see something. We all did.”

  “Maybe, maybe not,” Peter said standing up. “Either way, we’ve got to get going in a few minutes. I’ve got a suspicion that once we find whoever is responsible for Tima and Bogart, we’ll have the answers we’re both looking for.”

  “Thanks,” Alex said, “for patching me up.”

  “Yeah, sure,” Peter said. He looked distracted, or maybe embarrassed; she couldn’t tell. He just nodded and walked away. Maybe he needed to do some thinking, too.

  She picked at her new bandages. She didn’t care what Peter believed; she knew what she saw, and that was that. What bothered her was the idea of some evil force. Surely it could all be explained.

  Then she thought of Diego being dragged across the floor, screaming. Surely Tima, or the spiritual force behind her, hadn’t intended to actually harm Diego. Certainly not kill him or impale him on a stalagmite. Surely she’d just seen it all wrong. That was it, it had to be.

  Seek first to understand, then to be understood. Those were words she’d heard a hundred times from her mother.

  Maybe what had happened last night was some kind of warning. Could Tima have been a channel for some ancient voice? She’d heard of that before. Maybe the spirit or ancestor or karma or whatever it was knew that there was some horrible danger ahead and was trying to protect them from going into the cave by scaring them away.

  That had to be it. What they’d witnessed last night was a rescue attempt. She had to try to warn them.

  Gator stood near the cave wall deep in conversation with Skins. Linc was busy making a few more of the makeshift torches.

  She looked across the fire. There was Peter at the cave entrance, talking to Diego. Peter was going to be a problem. She knew he’d already made up his mind to explore the cave further. The fact that Tima had insisted that this was the very cave she’d come through only fueled his decision. Now, he was trying to convince Diego to stay.

  But apparently he wasn’t doing a very good job of it. Diego shook his head vehemently and led the remaining burros out into the rainy morning.

  Alex was jealous. There was nothing she wanted more than to hike out of the cave, forget about what had happened last night, and catch the first boat to a bigger city and then a plane to Cusco. She’d take a shower with the little hotel soap and wrap herself in a clean towel. And then she’d order rooms service with hot coffee. That’s what she’d do if she were Diego.

  Alex sighed. Why hadn’t she gone, too? Tima, of course.
The soap and coffee and clean towel would have to wait.

  She watched Peter unload the remaining burro, organize the equipment on the floor of the cave, and busily give commands. It was almost as if nothing had happened at all, or maybe that the happening itself actually energized Peter, focused him.

  She walked over to where Peter and Linc were working.

  “So, what’s the plan?” Alex asked Peter.

  Peter didn’t answer. He leaned over neat little stacks of cans and plastic pouches. He nodded back and forth, and Alex could see his mouth moving. “Forty-two,” he said out loud to no one in particular. “Someone remember that number. We have forty-two rations left. That means if we limit ourselves to two per day, this should last us four days.” His eyes flicked to Tima, then back to the little piles. “Should be enough.”

  “Hope you got some gumbo in there,” Gator said as he walked up, holding a coiled rope in one hand.

  Gator’s voice caught Alex by surprise. The last time she’d heard it was when he’d quieted Tima. “Hey,” she said to him, stepping away from Peter, “whatever you did back there, that was great. Thank you.”

  Gator shrugged. “To tell you the truth, it surprised me. My momma had always taught me to do that if I was ever in trouble. Never did it until last night. It just seemed to fit. Who knew Jesus had dibs all the way down here?”

  Alex didn’t want to fight. She just smiled.

  Peter looked up at them. “We head into the cave, take the most obvious route.”

  “Huh?” Gator said.

  “Alex asked what our plan was. We take the clear route and see if we can’t find where this guy is hiding.”

  “Route?” Alex said. “There’s a route?”

  “Uh-huh,” Peter said. “After last night’s little freak fest we swept the perimeter again and found three cavities that lead further into the mountain. Two of them lead to small underground lakes, which, by the way, probably explains the weird echoes. The other tunnel seems to have been used before. It appears to go much deeper. I could make out slight footprints in the dirt. That’s where we’re heading.”

  “I’ve been thinking,” Gator said. “I’m not sure how smart it is to go in there. I mean, with what happened, it just seems like maybe we should find another way.”

  “I agree,” said Alex hurriedly.

  Peter frowned. “What are you saying, Gator?”

  “I’m just saying”—Gator fished for the words—“that I’d hate to go through that again with no way out. Pete, there’s no telling what else could be waiting for us in there. I just don’t think we should play around with this.”

  “This what? You mean the paranormal bull?”

  “That was no bull, brother.”

  “Look, man,” Peter said sincerely, “I appreciate what you did back there, how you tricked her into calming down and all.”

  “Tricked?” Gator said. “That w—”

  “But I’m not going to let a little sleight of hand and freaky echoes sidetrack us,” Peter said. “We know from the maps that there’s a basin on the other side of this mountain. There’s a big valley between this range and the next one that seems to be covered in clouds. All the time.”

  “A city in the mist,” Alex said.

  “I hear what you’re saying,” Gator said, “but we could just as easily go over the mountain as through it. I don’t mind beating up on some freaky demon thing again, but we need to be real sure it’s the right way to go, you know?”

  “There’s no such thing as demons,” Alex said, “but I agree that maybe we’re being warned away from some danger. We should go another way.”

  Peter shook his head and looked from Gator to Alex. “Look, my ‘spiritual’ friends, it would take us at least twice as long to go over the mountain. If Bogart’s killer is in there, I’m not going to waste any time.” He stood and patted Gator on the shoulder. “Come on, buddy, let’s go take this guy out.”

  Gator didn’t argue, but Alex could see he wasn’t happy. He was being a good soldier.

  When Peter walked away, Alex put her hand on the rope coiled on Gator’s forearm. “Well, if we’re going through these tunnels, I’m glad you’re with us.”

  Gator smiled. “So when do you want to talk about your ‘no such thing as demons’ theory?”

  Alex patted his cheek. “Don’t hold your breath.”

  Within five minutes, Peter had the equipment distributed between the remaining team members. Linc finished up a quick video recap of last night’s ordeal and began stowing the camera gear. Skins tested the weight of his newly loaded backpack.

  Tima was now fully awake. Her eyes were human again, and she was talking to Alex normally. She claimed to have no memory of the strange events. Her skin continued to show the dark crisscrossed lines of her veins, but she seemed strong enough to walk, energetic even.

  Peter led the group, carrying a torch. Alex followed behind Linc, Gator, and Tima, with Skins taking up the rear and holding another lit torch. The group walked in single file to a narrow opening in the back of the cave. Peter squeezed through to check it out, then returned a moment later. The others followed.

  The space they entered wasn’t actually a cave at all. It was a tunnel no more than five feet high and shoulder-width across. Peter had to bend over and shuffle sideways in spots. It was cooler in this small space and dank. Water dripped from the ceiling and ran down the walls, leaving the sides of the tunnel wet and slick.

  Alex noticed the way the light from the torches illuminated the walls in odd shapes and shadows. For a moment, she was sure that the shadows themselves were alive, moving on their own, following them.

  She had to be seeing things.

  * * *

  “We’ll be fine as long as the air stays decent,” Peter said.

  Linc stumbled a bit but caught himself. “You think the air could get bad in here?”

  “We’ll be fine,” Peter said, ducking under a low-hanging rock. “But, you know, anytime you’re underground, you run the risk of overexposure to CO2.”

  Linc took a deep breath. “Air seems pretty good to me. Dank, but that’s normal, right?”

  “Can’t tell. CO2 doesn’t have a smell. Some people say they can taste it, but mostly it’s pretty undete—”

  “Watch out!” Linc shouted.

  Peter turned in time to see Gator slipping on some loose shale.

  “Sorry,” Gator said. “Tripped on a stinkin’ rock.”

  “Hey, Pete,” Linc said, “is clumsiness one of the signs of too much CO2?”

  “Off me,” Gator said with a snarl.

  They moved forward again.

  “Seriously,” Linc said, “how are we supposed to know if the air is bad?”

  “The open flame test,” Peter said.

  “The who?”

  “Cavers say that if CO2 levels are too high, an open flame will go out,” Peer said. He hefted his torch. “We’ve been walking for over an hour, and our torches are fine. We’re good to go, Linc.”

  Linc didn’t answer right away. Peter could hear him breathing behind him. “Well,” he finally said, “at least we’re alive. So long as creepy here doesn’t start throwing around any more donkeys.” They walked along in silence for ten steps. Then: “So,” Linc said, “what did you make of that whole deal?”

  In his mind’s eye, Peter could see the animal being dragged along the ground, its mouth open in horror. He forced his mind to focus on something else. He thought of his mother smiling and waving from the front porch of her farmhouse. He remembered the guys in his platoon. He even pictured his college sweetheart. It was no use. He couldn’t shake the image from last night. It had happened.

  “Hadn’t really thought much about it,” he said. “There’s a logical explanation. There has to be.”

  Linc laughed. “Oh, yeah? Like what? This, I gotta hear.”

  Peter shivered as a rush of wind pulsed through the tunnel, threatening to extinguish his torch. The breeze was cold, and the chill was
magnified as the wind cooled the sweat soaking through his clothes. He could feel the goose pimples on his arms.

  “Well, for starters, the voices were the result of the latent reverberation of sound off the hidden lakes.”

  “Okay,” Linc said dubiously, “I might be able to buy that. At least it’s in the realm of reason. What about the girl?”

  “Easy,” Peter said, shining the light on an especially low overhang. “Her irrational response was a psychosomatic reaction to her deteriorating condition.”