The Cursed Pharaoh (The Hank Boyd Origins Book 1)

by Matthew James

  Taking the next right, I see that it continues for some time, disappearing into the darkness ahead. Oddly, there isn’t a secondary path anywhere in sight. It’s just one long passage directly through the center of the labyrinth.

  Every few steps I move my flashlight from one side of the corridor to the other, hoping to see another way. The straight and true route I’m on is making me really nervous.

  It’s just too damn easy.

  When I get stuck, or in this case, unsure of where to go next, I stop and point my light straight up for Dad to see.

  “Keep moving!” he calls out.

  Grumbling, I follow his instructions and take another step. When my foot hits the ground, I feel something beneath it shift.

  It’s quickly followed by a click.

  “Great…” I say, waiting for another trap to spring to life.

  But it doesn’t.

  Huh, I think, looking around. Maybe I got lucky and—

  Then, the walls start to move.

  “Good job, moron,” I say, scolding myself. I was thinking instead of hauling ass.

  I leap into motion, running as fast as my gelatin legs will carry me. Both sides of the open-air passage are quickly advancing towards the other, ready to smash me into paste. I have another twenty feet to cover, which on any other day, wouldn’t be a problem. I still run a pretty mean mile actually, even though I haven’t run much since I stopped playing ball. But with my fading health and the fact that the walls are barely five feet apart, to begin with, I’m in some seriously deep shit at the moment.

  As I move, I can hear Dad shouting at me, trying to figure out what the hell is going on. While the grinding walls are quieter than I expected them to be, the sound is still there and easy to pick out in the otherwise deathly silent air.

  “Harrison!” Dad yells.

  But I don’t answer. I’m too close to becoming a meat pie to do so. Diving forward, I clear the latest snare, feeling it clip the sole of my boot in midair. I tuck my legs into my chest and slam into the unyielding ground of a T-section, rolling into the adjacent wall.

  Panting hard and trying not to vomit…again, I flinch as something crashes through the ceiling above me.

  The hell?

  11

  Lancing pain woke him and when he opened his eyes, he was confused. By all accounts, he should’ve been dead. On his right side, he rolled onto his back and looked through the cracked glass of the upturned driver’s side window, seeing only stars. It was pitch black and the sky looked as breathtaking as it always did.

  No lights.

  Feeling beneath his Kevlar vest, Abe was shocked to feel wetness. But as he poked around he found what had happened. One of Hamza’s rounds just missed the protective layer, tearing through the meat in his left shoulder. The second round had harmlessly impacted the vest directly above his heart, knocking the air from his lungs.

  “Damn you,” Abe mumbled, twitching as he breathed. Not only was he bleeding but one or maybe even two of his ribs were broken from the violent thrashing he’d taken during the rollover. Thankfully, he could tell that the gunshot wound wasn’t terribly severe and he’d be okay.

  Shifting again, he looked into the rear of the SUV and saw that his men weren’t so lucky. Whoever was alive after the wreck had been shot point blank, like he. Only none of his men were wearing body armor. Even if they had been, they’d all been shot in the head.

  This was the first all-out attack on his forces since he took over as Chief of Police—and they’d never come after them with an RPG before. That was new, even for a man of Hamza’s reputation. The fact that he used such a devastating weapon told Abe just how dangerous he was. Zill Allah had just officially entered the world of domestic terrorism.

  But it also confirmed that they were close to discovering something big.

  Reaching to his chest, Abe clutched his radio’s handset and depressed the trigger. “Attention… This is Chief Ghannam. We have men down at the dig site. Requesting immediate assistance. All available units converge on this location. Full tactical gear. Location of the shooter is unknown as is their numbers. ID’d one as Hamza Abdul-Sharif. Proceed with caution. Ghannam out.”

  Carefully, he spun his body so his feet were aimed to the spider-webbed windshield. Holding his breath, he lashed out with a series of two-footed stomps. On the fourth heel strike, the glass gave way and broke, falling from the car frame in one large, mangled piece.

  Keeping his left arm tight to his body, Abe wriggled himself from the Suburban and stood, using the vehicle’s vertical fender for support as he caught his breath. The fact that he could move as well as he was confirmed that the injuries he sustained weren’t life-threatening…but he’d be sore for a while.

  Better than the alternative, he thought, seeing more bodies littering the ground around him.

  He was the only survivor of Hamza’s assault.

  Heading to where the excavation should’ve been, Abe drew his sidearm, ready for an ambush. But none came. Even though he was alone, he refrained from using his flashlight, not wanting to give himself—or the fact that someone survived—away. With no city lights polluting the sky, he’d be able to use the stars to get around.

  The area was empty, save for a depression that should’ve been the tomb entrance. It’s as if a sinkhole had opened and swallowed everything within a forty-foot circumference. Abe knew of some of the countermeasures used to dissuade grave robbers but nothing like this. The explosions must’ve caused a cave-in.

  What can I do?

  The answer was clear: Nothing.

  So, instead, he turned and faced north, coming up with the next best option. Looking for tire tracks, he ventured deeper into the darkness, hoping his hunch would pay off. A hundred paces later, it did. He knelt and fingered a fresh track, noticing how violently it had dug into the hard-packed sand.

  “You were in a hurry, weren’t you?”

  Standing, he mentally followed the vehicle’s direction. He smiled, starting off on foot, still clutching his side in agony.

  If Hamza’s ultimate goal was to preserve Menkaure’s true location, then maybe there was more to the king’s monument than originally thought. Why else would the man travel off-road in that direction? It was only a couple of miles away, at most, and the air cool. If he hurried, Abe was sure he could get there in time to stop whatever the maniac planned to do next.

  * * *

  Ben landed awkwardly, twisting his ankle as he did. Teetering over the next set of tiles, Ben dug his toes in as hard as he could and attempted to balance himself.

  He cringed as the tip of his left shoe shifted forward, cracking the corner of one of the next tiles. Panicking, Ben swung his arms in the other direction.

  “Give me your hand!” Yasin shouted, leaning towards Ben.

  Obliging, Ben clasped the man’s outstretched hand. It gave him just enough support to avert his eventual fall. Calming, and with Yasin’s help, Ben shuffled his feet back a few inches. Standing upright, he peeked down into the newly formed void and laughed, relieved to still be alive.

  “You okay?” Yasin asked, letting go.

  Ben nodded. “Thanks to you, yes.” He looked the man in the eyes. “You have earned my unquestioning trust.”

  Yasin smiled and looked at his cousin, speaking to Ben.

  “Trade places with me, will you?” Ben nodded and stretched over to Yasin’s tile, thankful they were strong enough to hold two of the men’s weight. They each held the other steady as they quickly, but carefully, switched.

  “Your turn Aziz,” Yasin said, holding out his hands. “Take it easy. I’ll catch you if you stumble.”

  Nodding, Aziz readied himself. Ben clenched his hands tight, knowing Aziz wasn’t that overly athletic. While he had almost plummeted to his death, the fact that he overshot the landing spot dug at him. If Aziz tried to adjust to his rough landing and aimed short…

  Aziz jumped, arching towards the safe tile. Ben’s hands went to his head in worry a
s he watched the younger man’s trajectory.

  He’s not going to make it!

  But he wasn’t able to voice his concern. Instead, Aziz landed a few inches short and disappeared from sight, falling through the trap like it wasn’t even there.

  “No!” Yasin shouted, jumping back to the tile. He knelt and pointed his light down the two-foot-square hole.

  What he saw scarred him deeply.

  Before Aziz’s face disappeared beyond his light’s reach, he saw a look of shock on his cousin’s face. Then, he was gone. Aziz landed somewhere below with a solid thump, loud enough for him to hear.

  His arrival didn’t go unnoticed by whoever was in the chamber beneath them.

  “Holy shit!” a voice yelled. “Oh, my God! Oh, my God! He’s dead!”

  Ben’s eyes watered when Yasin shouted in anguish, his voice echoing around them. He understood the two men’s relationship from talking to Aziz over the years. Until then, Yasin had never opened up about his private life. But the one person Yasin had in his life—the only family he had left—was gone.

  Aziz was dead.

  The tears flowed freely as Yasin and Ben openly wept.

  * * *

  There’s nothing like a body falling from above to sober one up. In a blur of motion, I go from lounging against one of the stone walls to standing at attention like a soldier.

  “Holy shit!” I yell. “Oh, my God! Oh, my God! He’s dead!”

  A voice bellows from above and I follow its origin to a hole in the ceiling above me. I see a flashlight too. Ben, Yasin, and…I look down…Aziz must’ve made their way through a passage and gotten into trouble.

  “What happened?” Dad asks.

  “It…it’s Aziz, Dad,” I reply. “He’s dead.”

  Dad doesn’t reply but I know he heard me. I’ve spoken softer than that before and he heard me just fine. I know I need to get moving but I can’t get my legs to work. Instead, I just stand there and look at the body lying not ten feet from me.

  “Hank!” a voice yells. “William!”

  I look up and see the light again, waving my hands as I answer. “Down here!”

  “Ben?” Dad asks.

  “And Yasin!”

  Oh, God, I think, Yasin…

  With a newfound determination, I set off and move quickly, shining my flashlight over my head. Dad understands the signal and begins giving me directions again. Neither one of us says a word unrelating to my success. We both know the consequences of this place.

  Death.

  The adrenaline spike has also backseated the more painful of the virus’ effects. With a clearer mind, I move, occasionally pounding a fist on the closest wall. Anger is a good source of fuel sometimes. Like now. In what seems like only seconds, I get to the end and see what I was secretly dreading. Nothing. There’s a similar stone slab blocking my egress.

  “There’s gotta be a switch or something,” I say to myself, thinking aloud.

  Sheathing the dagger in my belt, I place both hands on the blockade and push. Amazingly, it moves, but only slightly.

  “That’s it, son!” Dad yells, excitement in his voice. “Whatever you’re doing, it’s working. The slab is lowering.”

  Great, I think, clenching my teeth so hard, I feel like they’re about to break. Getting out won’t be hard thankfully, I’m almost there now, in fact.

  “Okay, son, almost there. Just a little more.”

  More? Ugh…

  Driving into it with everything I have left, I finally hear Dad shout that he’s through. Relieved, I slip through, soaked in sweat, tripping and falling on my ass. Unsure if anything else is going to happen, I try to get up and move away from the labyrinth but can’t. I’m exhausted and my body refuses to move any further. I need to rest.

  “Ben!” I shout, lying on my back. “Help Dad!”

  Lifting my head, I watch as the light above returns. Then, just as quickly as it does, I hear Ben begin to guide my father through, his own personal “eye in the sky.”

  Seeing that my job is done, I lay my head back on the bottom-most step of the exit’s inclining staircase and close my eyes. I’m not sure what to expect but if it’s like any of the other times I’ve been sick, I imagine the room will start to spin uncontrollably once they’re shut.

  Huh…

  Nothing out of the ordinary happens.

  I do feel something strange, though. It’s as if the toxin within me is laying off while my body is still in overdrive, pushed aside by an adrenaline spike. Trying something, I will my body to sit up and lay down over and over again.

  That’s right, here, in this awful place, me, Hank Boyd… I’m doing sit-ups. As my heart rate increases again, my head begins to clear. I also start to sweat like a pig too—the perfect way to get rid of an illness like the flu.

  “If,” I say to myself, breathing hard, “I can delay it enough…I think I might just…make it.”

  I must’ve lost track of time, because I get startled and smack the back of my head on the step, seeing Dad squeeze through the exit slab-door combo.

  “What are you doing?” he asks, confused.

  I smile. “Oh, you know, just trying to get in a quick workout. I had some time to kill and figured why the hell not.”

  But then I see his eyes widen slightly, understanding what I’m doing. Helping me up he slaps me on the back. “Good thinking.” He tips his chin to the stairs. “Let’s get moving.”

  Taking them two at a time, we make it to their peak in no time and continue through an opening similar to the one that greeted us on the other side of the chamber. Hopefully, unlike this one, the next room contains fewer obstacles and leads us straight and true.

  Hopefully.

  12

  “Ben,” Dad says, embracing his longtime friend, “thank goodness you’re safe.”

  While the two of them catch up, I go to Yasin and see how he’s doing. “Hey,” I say, sitting across from him, “how are you holding up?”

  He glances my way but doesn’t speak. So, we just sit and listen to Ben explain what happened to them.

  “After you two fell, we broke through into a false chamber.”

  “What of the earthquake we felt?” Dad asks.

  Ben shrugs. “I’m not sure. Could’ve been a countermeasure meant to trap whoever accessed the tomb.”

  “Well,” Dad says, “whatever it was, it worked.”

  Ben continued. “Once we made it out of the dreary antechamber we had to crawl through a claustrophobic tunnel, popping out in front of a passage filled with uh…” he glances at Yasin, “…breakaway tiles.”

  “What happened?” I ask Yasin.

  Sighing, he speaks. “Aziz fell short of one of the safe tiles and broke through.”

  I nod, remembering. “I’m sorry we had to leave him.”

  “It’s okay, my friend. There’s nothing more we could’ve done.”

  I look at Ben. “What happened after the tile room?”

  He motions to us. “The chamber ended at a crude stairwell that exited here. We’re apparently supposed to finish this together.” He cringes and glances at Yasin. “I apologize.”

  Yasin forces a smile and stands. “He’s still with us.”

  I also stand and reach out my hand, shaking his hard. “How ‘bout we get out of here?”

  “Oh, God, please,” Ben says, getting an audible snort from my father.

  “Second-guessing your profession for the hundredth time, are we?” Dad asks.

  Ben just rolls his eyes and follows Yasin and me as we lead the way. Walking next to me, he notices the dagger hanging from my belt.

  “What’s that?”

  I pull it free and carefully hand it to him. “Watch the blade… It’s Menkaure’s.”

  He stops and stares at it. “The king’s?”

  I nod. “Yep. Dad and I found it buried in his chest.”

  Yasin’s eyes snap to mine. “He was murdered?”

  “No. His own hands were wrapped around its hil
t.”

  “He took his own life,” Dad adds softly. “We aren’t sure why.”

  “He must’ve been suffering,” Ben says, looking over the dagger next.

  “It was an act of honor,” Yasin says. “A person of Menkaure’s stature would’ve been too proud to let a sickness end him.”

  Recalling a few of the books I’ve read, I actually agree. Some ancient warriors would rather take their own lives than be captured or killed by the opposition. Cleopatra was known for doing just that instead of falling under the Roman emperor, Octavian. The Japanese Samurai were also known to do the same thing.

  “The blood looks fresh,” Ben says, shining his light on the blade.

  My attention goes from Ben to Dad.

  “What?” Ben asks, seeing our reaction to his comment.

  Instead of telling them what happened, I simply hold up my hand.

  “The curse…” Yasin’s eyes are wide and he takes a step back.

  “Relax, man,” I say, smiling. “I’m not exactly sure what it is but based on how I feel, I think it’s just a really aggressive flu. As long as I stay moving, it seems to level off enough to function.”

  “He’s trying to sweat it out,” Dad says. “I found him doing sit-ups just outside the labyrinth. He looked ridiculous until I figured out what he was doing.”

  “Smart boy,” Ben says, carefully handing the dagger back to me.

  I look at Yasin. “I took it so we could prove he was down here. It has his name on it, along with a bunch of other glyphs I can’t read.”

  “I’m not as versed as Ben here,” Dad says, squeezing Ben’s shoulder.

  Ben smiled nervously. “I’ll take a look when we see daylight.” He then shines his flashlight on his watch. “Or should I say, starlight…”

  “I don’t know about you,” I say, heading off again, “but I’m due for a shit, shower, and shave.”

  Hearing Dad moan and Ben snicker, I grin and keep moving, as does Yasin. Since we are all together and tired, I set our pace at a slow meander. After ten minutes of nothing, we come upon another ominous archway. What lies beyond the opening is still in darkness.