Turning back around, a black hole appeared at her feet. She skidded a boot on its edge, tossing broken shards of stone into its gaping cavity. Her arms flailed helplessly as she lost her balance and fell forward. She reached out for something to grab onto and luckily caught a protruding rock to stop her fall. She pulled herself up and trudged ahead, eyes on the ground, heart pumping at full capacity.
Same time. Approaching the Weapon Room.
Jake hustled down a twisting cave corridor toward the last sounds of the firefight. With a backpack and Halligan strapped across his back and his helmet light shut off, he held his M4 rifle at the ready. Its rail mounted flashlight provided the thinner, targeted light beam he desired. A strange, disturbing feeling overcame him as he mentally switched back to combat survival mode once again. The rugged passage turned into a downward spiral. He narrowly squeezed through a bottleneck then made a sharp ninety-degree turn.
And stopped dead in his tracks.
His trigger finger twitched, almost shooting the skull face staring back at him. He inhaled.
Apparently it was a booby trap victim from many ages ago. All that remained was a skeleton in rags skewered on the tips of six spears that looked as if they had shot out from cracks in the walls. The victim wore several necklaces of beads and wampum over a buttoned red shirt, sleeves rolled up. Each of the skeleton’s wrists held brass bracelets. Its bony fingers were adorned with silver rings. One hand clutched a burnt out torch. A black leather belt held up green trousers wrapped around an exposed pelvis, the belt holding a tomahawk and dagger sheathed in leather. Knee high black leather boots rounded out the victim’s attire.
Jake noticed a deerskin pouch hung from a shoulder. He quickly perused its contents. He found several silver coins with British markings. From the clothing and the coins, Jake judged the person as being from colonial times. And from its jewelry and weapons possibly an Indian. Who knew what drew the victim to venture down here though. Might be the same reason Jake was risking his life? He used his Halligan tool and severed the tips of the spears on one side, freeing the skeleton to collapse in a heap of bones.
A cautious passage later and Jake met a warm orange glow. He emerged into a tall but narrow chamber illuminated by burning torches. He panned to his immediate left and noticed another passageway. A creepy looking false-face mask hung over its entrance. He panned right and followed his rifle barrel up into the expanse of the room. All types of ancient weapons were strewn about. It was a military historian’s dream. He told himself to keep focused. He continued up there under a vaulted ceiling of sparkling icicle-shaped stalactites sparkling in the light.
Clearing the room, he let his rifle hang vertically down on his chest harness. He pulled out a paper copy of the cave map. Not sure at all where he really was since he came into the cave network at an unmarked location, he looked for a sign or symbol that could possibly match the room he was in.
A shout echoed from behind him. Weird, it sounded like Nero’s voice. Jake whirled around, pointing his weapon. Another garbled voice, Kenny Rousseau’s for sure. It clearly came from the passageway on the right. He pocketed the map and eased his way back to face the right tunnel corridor.
He went in.
Not ten feet ahead Jake spotted a body slumped to the side, this one definitely a fresh kill — from the firefight he assumed. But upon closer inspection he saw spear tips on broken shafts protruding from the body. The victim had died in the same type of trap as the skeleton in the previous tunnel. Moving the head with his boot, Jake saw that it was a man. Looked like one of Nero’s guys. From the pool of fresh blood he was probably the one screaming just minutes before. Spent 9 mm brass casings and several red shotgun shells littered the ground. Jake lifted his M4, its beam and barrel pointed ahead. He noticed fresh pockmarks of limestone on the walls, probably from the shootout. But who had they been firing at? Maybe Anne Stanton, the mole?
He found three more bullet casings just before a tight bend in the tunnel, someone using the corner as cover. Swinging around, he found himself on the edge of fifty-foot shaft, complete with a crude rope ladder leading down. The ladder swung slowly, just used.
“Rae Hart! I will take your scalp!” shouted Alex Nero. His echoing voice rising from the same hole.
Rae? What the hell was she doing down here? Nero was after her? Jake clenched his teeth. He reached out for the rope, tested its strength, found it was good, and stepped off the edge in a careful descent. With a quick rappel down, he hit bottom and switched off his rifle’s flashlight.
He stood in sheer darkness. The blackness was so intense he could not even see his own hand in front of his face. There were no flashes of anyone’s light beams whatsoever. Where had Nero and Rousseau gone? He stood and listened. Nothing stirred, but something large loomed in front of him. He turned his rifle light back on.
“Whoa!” A wall of crystal-covered columns stood in his path, a huge cavern just beyond. He stepped forward and was hit with a draft of cool air mixed with burning wood, probably from torches, he figured. He stopped and panned his weapon left and right. More icicle-like cave features ahead, plus a narrow, twisted trail skirting misshapen hulks of limestone. He trudged onward.
He encountered open holes or fissures, dense black drop-offs in which cool air rose from the depths. He could tell people had just passed through from a freshly discarded chewing gum wrapper.
A shotgun blast boomed up ahead.
A woman screamed.
“Here Piggy, Piggy, Piggy!” echoed Rousseau’s voice.
Jake’s heart lurched.
In the cavern.
Caught off guard when Rousseau had fired his shotgun, Anne Stanton had screamed in surprise. Nero cut her a stern look then asked Rousseau if he hit Hart.
“Just missed her!” Rousseau answered. “George, take point, I’ve got to reload. Stay on the bitch.”
Clutching an UZI submachine gun and chewing gum in an open-mouthed, cocky manner, Mr. George smiled as he took the lead position on the assault. He noticed flashes of light dancing upon the far cavern wall ahead. Depressing the trigger of his automatic weapon, he sent a chattering burst of bullets in toward the light. The light went dim. He moved in, wondering if he nailed his target.
As he swaggered closer, he sang out a familiar law enforcement television reality show tune, but with a twist. “Bad girls. Bad girls. Whatcha gonna do? Whatcha gonna do when they come for you?”
He blew a bubble.
BLAM.
A bullet cracked over his head. He ducked. Gum stuck to his cheek.
“That’s what I’m gonna do!” echoed Rae’s voice.
George responded with another deadly crescendo of fire. When his wall of 9 mm rounds smacked the cave rocks near Rae, sparks and stone fragments ricocheted all around. Rae gritted her teeth, ducked low, and crept forward. She felt her way through the dark and out of his line of fire. Another burst, more intimidating taunts, and Nero’s henchman moved even closer.
Stumbling on hands and knees she felt a mist of cool air in front of her and heard the sound of rushing water. She switched on her lights briefly and found she teetered on a rock ledge with a drop off of about five feet. Machine gun fire ripped the air above her as she flipped over the ledge.
She landed inside another high-ceiling cave, this time with a fast-moving twelve-foot wide underground river flowing across her path from right to left. Debris was littered all over the level floor surface. She noticed battered driftwood, blackened logs, and even fresh weeds. But she also saw a torn Nike sneaker, a broken fishing pole and reel, clothing, an assortment of beer cans, and other modern-day garbage. She panned her helmet beam into the water, but couldn’t see bottom. To her upper right the river seemed to originate from under a towering cliff wall. Just under the small falls shooting from the cliff was the partially decomposed carcass of a black and white dairy cow. Rae shook her head, shocked and confused.
She heard shouts behind her. She had no time to contemplate how all of this
junk had made itself into this cave. She looked around and found she had no choice but to head left, down river. She paralleled the strong torrent of water along the debris-strewn bank until the river dead-ended and disappeared under another cave wall. There, a built-up dam of waterlogged wood and litter formed a mound pushed up against the wall. Rae noticed several more skeletons, some dismembered, but definitely human. One was even in an advanced stage of decomposition and still partially clothed. Could these be some of the countless missing drowning victims from Seneca Lake?
Shouting came from the cave ledge entrance behind her.
Rae needed to move, or die. She had to cross the river. It was her only escape. The mound of wood and bones seemed like it was stable, in fact there looked to be a rickety narrow wooden footbridge underneath holding everything up. She held her breath and lumbered across, crunching bone and branches under foot until she reached the far side. She stole a glance back up toward the rock ledge where she had entered. Approaching flashlight beams lit the entrance. Then something unusual caught her eye. A small black object the size of a racquetball was tossed through the light. It bounced once with a metal clang, giving Rae the only clue she needed.
She flattened herself behind a limestone hump and covered her head as the grenade exploded in an ear-shattering blast. Hot deadly shrapnel zipped off the walls and sprayed the water. A BB-sized piece of hot metal lodged in her left forearm. She grunted in pain. One of her helmet lights shattered. Her ears rang. The cave filled with gray smoke.
Kenny Rousseau and Mr. George jumped down off the ledge and plunged into the smoke. They blindly sprayed the area with shotgun and submachine gun fire. Nero and Stanton climbed in right behind them. Nero produced his Glock pistol and joined in with the wild firing squad. Beams of white light, amid Stanton’s flaming torch, bounced in every direction as they advanced through the swirling smoke and crash of exploding gun barrels.
Rae remained flat as the spray of lead tore up the rocks all around her. When the firing ceased she heard the sounds of weapons reloading. Time to leave. With just one helmet beam now guiding her every step she got up and ran for her life.
Rousseau and George both saw the flash of light through the smoke — about fifteen yards away, off to their left. Fumbling to reload their weapons as they pursued the light source, they never saw nor heard the river of water obscured in smoke directly in front of them. Their next steps sent them tumbling over a large piece of driftwood and face first into the cold rushing current. With muffled shouts their heads went under. Their bodies were caught by a strong undertow. In an instant, their still-glowing helmet lights traveled toward the mound of debris and disappeared under the cavern wall.
Same time. Approaching the river.
Jake’s pounding heart felt like it leapt in his throat as he heard what was definitely a grenade exploding. He watched as several helmet beams disappeared down into a hole, followed by a womanly figure holding a burning torch. The gunfire then started again, in heavy volumes. It was a classic urban combat tactic of clearing a room. Toss in a grenade, enter immediately after it detonates, then sweep the room with non-discriminating fire. Basically, fire first and ask questions later.
Jake flicked on his rifle flashlight and made the best possible time he could on the treacherous cavern path. Would he be too late? Again?
He finally came to the lit opening where gray wispy smoke trailed. He turned off his light. Flickering reflections of orange and red flames met his eyes about five feet down as he peered over a rock ledge. Without the slightest hesitation he jumped down — his rifle poised to fire.
River chamber.
As the grenade and gun smoke dissipated, a hoarse blood-curdling scream of pure rage shot from Nero’s mouth. He had watched his two bodyguards simply vanish in the river that emerged before his eyes. From across the stream, somewhere in the darkness, he saw the faint glow of light and heard the rising laughter of a woman. He walked forward through debris and litter and stood at the edge of the river looking both ways. Anne Stanton approached him from behind and tried to speak. Nero silenced her.
Boots hit the floor behind them.
They spun around to face Jake Tununda’s M4 assault rifle.
“YOU!” roared Nero. He shook with demented fury.
“Good to see you too,” winked Jake. “Drop the weapon in the water or die right now!”
Nero’s jaw muscles pulsed. His face turned red.
Jake took two steps closer. “Do it now!”
With grinding teeth, Nero flung his Glock into the dark water. “How did you get here?” he asked in a low, fury-etched voice.
“I’ll ask the questions,” replied Jake. “Where’s Rae Hart?”
“She’s across the river,” pointed Stanton. “Somewhere over by those rocks at the far end of the cavern. You can barely see her light.”
“RAE! It’s Jake Tununda. Are you okay? You can come out.”
Jake heard female laughter from the darkness. Or was it crying? He cocked his head, confused.
“Rae, it’s me Jake!” he yelled again.
“Die Nero!” Rae screamed. She fired off a round. The bullet struck Stanton’s torch, knocking it out of her hand. Stanton squealed. Jake ducked instinctively, losing his aim on Nero for a split second.
Nero seized the distraction and plunged headfirst into the river. Underwater, he switched off his helmet lights and disappeared into the blackness. Jake leveled his rifle, flicked on his rail light beam and fired several bursts where he saw Nero go in. Nothing. Then he turned and aimed his rifle at the blonde haired woman behind him. Her eyes grew large. She threw her hands up in surrender.
“Don’t you move an inch,” he ordered. The woman merely nodded. Jake spun back around and followed the river in the direction of its current. He waited for a head to pop up. As he ran, he unexpectedly dodged debris scattered about until finally slipping on a dead lake trout clipped with an orange tag. His legs split, feeling like he pulled his groin, but he kept upright keeping his focus on the river in case Nero surfaced. Nothing. He approached a wood and bone-filled pile against the cavern wall. The river disappeared underneath, sucking downward. Nero was nowhere to be seen. Jake hustled back to the woman, her hands still in the air.
“Where did he go?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where’s Kenny Rousseau?”
“He fell in the water too.”
“Are there others?”
She nodded her head again. “Yes. Another man, Mr. George. He fell in with Rousseau. They both just disappeared in front of our eyes. They didn’t see the river in the smoke.”
“Who are you?” Jake spat, anger in his eyes.
“Anne Stanton. I’m the director of Nero’s collection,” she replied. She trembled with fear. “I’m actually on your side. Please don’t kill me, sir. Please.”
Jake’s eyebrows rose momentarily. “Why is Rae Hart down here? Why are you trying to kill her?”
“I’m not trying to kill her,” pleaded Stanton, her chin quivering in panic. “I’m unarmed. Nero and his men kidnapped her back when the Depot’s airfield control tower blew up. They forced her to come down here. I had no choice but to go along too.”
“What? The control tower blew— What are you talking about?”
“I, I’m sorry. There’s so much to explain.”
“Shut up and lay face down, arms and legs spread apart.” Stanton immediately complied. Jake knelt down over her, pressing a knee into her back to keep her pinned down. He switched off her two helmet lamps then killed his own rifle rail light again. The only source of illumination was the burning torch on the ground, a good ways away. He patted her down and found no weapons.
“Rae!” Jake shouted again. “It’s Jake. For real. Nero’s gone. Do not shoot! It’s me.”
Rae fired off another round from her Glock. The slug smacked a rock near the torch. Jake saw the flash of the muzzle this time, marking her location just twenty feet away across the river.
> “God dammit Rae! It’s me, Jake. Stop shooting!” His voice boomed this time.
“Jake?” shouted Rae, in a confused tone.
“Yes! It’s safe. I’m here to help you.”
“How do I know you’re not working for Nero? How can I trust you? You’ve held back on me this whole time.”
“The truth is I’m working for a Seneca clan mother who heads a secret Iroquois society,” he shouted. “We’re called the White Deer Society. Nero is our sworn enemy. I’m trying to stop him from getting an important crown that we protect.” Stanton squirmed underneath him. He pressed his knee harder in her back. “The crown is down here in these caves somewhere,” he continued. “Okay? That’s the truth. Now please come out.”
Jake saw a flicker of light pierce the darkness, then a white beam turn his way. “Where is Nero?”
“He and his men fell in the river and disappeared. I’m here with this Stanton woman.”
“Okay! I’m coming back over,” Rae yelled.
Jake sighed.
Stanton grunted, trying to shift her body under Jake’s weight. “We’ve got to talk.”
“Oh, I’m sure we do,” replied Jake. “I was warned about you. Let’s just wait until Rae gets over here.”
Same time. Waterfalls chamber.
Alex Nero’s biggest gamble paid off — he was still alive. Banged up, but still breathing, as were his men Kenny Rousseau and Mr. George. They had fished him out of a deep pool of swirling water after he too rode the underground river and small waterfalls beneath the cavern wall. They pulled him up onto the limestone bank of a small cave. The cave was dimly lit by one of their hand-held flashlights propped against the wall.
Crown of Serpents Page 32