by D. A. Bale
“Like the one I found here, huh?” Maurice asked, snatching away the document.
“You found?” Lucas interjected.
“Yep,” Maurice acknowledged with another spit. “I caught ya diggin’ ‘round on both sides o’ this here fence and wasn’t ‘bout t’ let some Yankee transplant steal the gold right out from under me.”
“I wasn’t diggin’ for gold,” Lucas said.
The old-timer let loose with a cackle to wake the nearby dead. “Ya sure is a bad liar. I saw ya out here some nights, drillin’ with that little doohickey machine and leavin’ divots for good folk t’ trip over.”
That might explain all the small puddles we’d been tripping and traipsing through the last few days. And George’s stumble into a shit sandwich, even though it was well documented his clumsiness was more for groping opportunities. In this instance, perhaps I should give him the benefit of the doubt.
Nah.
“I wasn’t lookin’ for gold,” Lucas countered again. “I’m measurin’ underground water in the area.”
“Sure don’t look like it to me. Ya butt right inna my discovery after I’d searched that end of the tunnel.”
“Actually it’s an aqueduct,” Janine corrected.
“Tunnel. Aque…whatever. Point is the gold ain’t in this one, no matter what that thar journal says. Figured one o’ the ol’ De’Laruses musta moved it t’ another one, which I can now easily dig up thanks t’ your map, Missy.”
“How did you find out about the journal?” I asked.
Maurice snorted. “Known about it more’n a decade. The old man forgot t’ put it back in its hidin’ spot of’n enough and left it lyin’ on his desk more times ‘an I can count. Figured he was goin’ senile.”
“Sounds like someone else we know,” I muttered.
The next spit stream went wide of my shoes this time. “So now that I gots the final piece t’ this here puzzle, there ain’t no use t’ keep y’all around no more.”
Instead of getting smaller with fear, Janine’s tone grew in righteous anger. “Maurice, you can’t mean to shoot us. You’ve served in this household your entire adult life.”
“An’ what’ve I gots to show fer it?” he yelled. “My ancestors had nothin’ left but their land after that Civil War…and Everard De’Laruse stole it from ‘em.”
“He didn’t steal anything,” Janine said in righteous anger. “He paid for all those land parcels. I’ve seen the ledgers.”
“Paid only a fraction of its value after them Yanks left.”
He swung the gun directly toward Lucas but my brave bestie stepped in front of the barrel. “What would Maisie say if you shoot us? My grandma-ma?”
“I ain’t gonna shoot ya, Missy,” Maurice confessed. “I’ll just let nature take its course. After all, what’s three more bodies in a graveyard?”
“You can’t mean…,” Lucas started.
“Into the hole!”
Like a three-headed monster from a bad horror flick, we shuffled through the leaves over toward the giant oak. Despite his pledge not to shoot us, Maurice kept the shotgun trained on us until we stood near the hole’s edge.
“Ladies first,” Maurice directed.
Earlier bravado faded as Janine’s gaze darted between the hole and the family plot on the other side of the fence.
“I’ll go first,” I volunteered, looping the rope over my foot.
“Help her, Waterboy,” Maurice commanded. “And don’t try any heroic moves, or I’ll rescind my promise not t’ shoot ya.”
Lucas lowered me into the dark pit with a heave and a grunt. Guess I really should be grateful I was about to miss the big Thanksgiving meal. All that turkey. And mashed potatoes. Stuffing. More lemon meringue for Addie. No chocolate pie for me. My stomach rumbled.
Janine’s eyes rounded like dessert plates as she descended my way. Sniffles portended waterworks any second as she untangled her foot from the rope.
Lucas’ voice sounded muted as he confronted Maurice. “Guess you’re gonna have to put down that gun to lower me with the rope.”
“No need.”
A muffled whack and Lucas tumbled into the hole. I did my best to cushion his fall until his skull cracked with mine.
Lights out.
Chapter Twenty-Six
How many times can you get hit in the head before it starts killing off cells and affecting brain function?
Don’t answer that.
And I’d thought this particular little misadventure wouldn’t involve dangerous situations or guys aiming guns at my tender carcass. I shoulda taken Zeke’s advice and carried my gun with me at all times.
I wouldn’t make that mistake again – if I got out of this situation intact. Don’t they say third time’s the charm?
In this case, I hoped they were wrong.
Voices flickered and fizzled around the periphery of consciousness, blinding lights from miner’s hats sparking a headache bigger than Lake Pontchartrain – until I realized it was simply the backlight from Janine’s phone in my face.
“I think she’s coming around.”
“I’m around,” I groaned then coughed. “What happened?”
“There was a collision during my rapid descent,” Lucas said. “You took the brunt of it, I’m afraid.”
I opened my eyes a little wider to see Lucas holding a wadded up piece of his shredded t-shirt to his temple, stained with what I assumed was blood.
“I beg to differ,” I said, sitting up from Janine’s lap.
“Oh this?” Lucas said, pulling the makeshift bandage away from a nasty gash extending from his ear into his hairline. “This wasn’t your fault. It was a partin’ gift from the gardener and the butt of his shotgun.”
“Some gift,” Janine muttered.
“Now this?” Lucas continued, lifting his right hand with a hiss and a grimace. “It’s gonna need more than stitches.” The wrist cocked at an awkward and unnatural angle.
“Broken?” I asked.
“Ya think?”
“I was trying to help catch you…you know, cushion the fall.”
“I’d rather have taken my chances with the ground.”
“I’ll remember that next time,” I said, trying to rub away the throbbing in my own head.
“He’s just kidding, Vicki,” Janine soothed. “You are, aren’t you?”
Lucas shrugged. “Sure.”
“Well while you figure that out, how about we figure a way out of this hole?” I said. The passageway in either direction was black as night. I must’ve been out for more than a little bit if darkness had already descended. “I assume Maurice took the rope with him?”
“Among other things,” Janine said.
“Like?”
“He dropped a concussion grenade in after us,” Lucas said.
No wonder my head rang. “Good thing I was out for that.”
“But bad thing for us,” he continued. “It collapsed this end of the duct.”
“Meaning?”
He hemmed and hawed around the question. “Let’s just say it disturbed a few nearby inhabitants that must’ve migrated a bit over the years.”
Was that Jacob Marley’s chains clanging in the distance?
Janine trembled in fear. “That idiot desecrated the graves of my ancestors. He should be shot before a firing squad of my family members.”
‘Scuse me – make that trembled in outright anger.
“We’ll have to either dig through the…debris,” Lucas suggested with a nod Janine’s way. “But then risk the rest of this thang comin’ down on us. Or we can search for another way out…if that’s even possible.”
“Don’t say that,” Janine said, her bravado evaporating. “Otherwise that means we’ll be…be…”
“Buried alive,” I finished.
“Don’t say that either. There’s no way my family will leave us to such a fate. They won’t let us die down here in this cold, dark tunnel…with all of the bugs…the spiders…the worms…”<
br />
“The well-fed worms,” I insinuated with the graveyard nearby and tried desperately to steer the conversation away from creepy crawly spiders.
“They wouldn’t forget about us,” she continued. “What about Thanksgiving? The football game? Oh no! Vicki, you missed the football game.”
“Don’t remind me.”
“The turkey and the trimmings are gonna go to waste. All those pies Maisie baked the last two days. The birthday bash. Vicki, I can’t miss my birthday bash. What will Grandma-ma say?” Janine’s ramblings faded like a defensive back heading toward the end zone after an interception. “We’re gonna die. Dear God, we’re gonna be the Thanksgiving meal for the worms. Vicki, I can’t be eaten by worms!”
“Janine,” I commanded, rubbing her heaving back. “Deep breaths. In and out. In and out. Do it with me.”
After a couple of breaths coated with limestone dust and graveyard dirt, Janine calmed and returned from the edge of a full-on breakdown, while I tried not to think too hard about where we were either. If we weren’t at the table by mealtime, everyone would come searching for us – well, everyone except George.
“What time is it, Janine?” I asked.
She checked her phone. “Almost six.”
“Which means everyone is about ready to sit down to dinner.” My stomach rumbled at the thought of the missed meal. “That means Addie will send out the cavalry as soon as we don’t show up, so when we hear voices up above we’ll all scream together.”
“If we can hear anythin’,” Lucas said, splashing water on the fiery outrage I’d prepared to unleash all over Maurice’s ass when we got out of here.
“What do you mean?” Janine asked, her voice disintegrating into a squeak.
Lucas sighed. “Sound does not travel far underground. Even with the limestone surroundin’ us, at best we’d pick up a few decibels if someone yelled directly into the hole. But you’re both forgettin’ somethin’.”
Sickening realization dawned on me. “We’re on your land.”
His nod was barely visible in the ambient light cast from Janine’s cellphone. “And even if we move through here to the De’Laruse side of the fence, the farther we head down this duct, the deeper underground we’ll most likely be.”
“Deeper? Why?”
“Toward the water source…the aquifer that once fed this system.”
“But doing something to help ourselves is better than just sitting here,” I returned. We can’t just sit here, hoping someone will rescue us.”
“I don’t know,” Janine said with a hiccup. “There could be another cave-in farther down. Or a den of snakes.”
“Don’t head down that rabbit hole again,” I cautioned. “I’d rather be doing something to get out than sit here.”
“But Lucas’s hand?”
“Hey,” he said, “if a three-legged dog can get around, I think a three-limbed man can crawl along a duct leadin’ to God-knows-where.”
So with the ambient light from Janine’s phone leading the way and me holding up the rear – no wise cracks – we trekked our way down the spooky tunnel beside the De’Laruse graveyard. According to what I’d estimated while we’d been aboveground, that meant toward the mansion.
The image of the drawing Janine had made of the survey came back to me as we slid and grunted our way along. “Maurice said something about seeing you drilling around on both sides of the fence, Lucas. What did he mean?”
Another sigh. “Guess I don’t have to worry about you two spillin’ secrets to terrorists.”
“Whaff terroriffs?” Janine’s surprise echoed up ahead, garbled by the phone in her mouth.
“The terrorists who want to destroy our country. Our way of life.”
Janine stopped to remove the phone. “What does my family history have to do with modern-day terrorism?”
“Nothin’ directly,” Lucas admitted. “But Homeland has been charged with protectin’ America in the event of any form of terrorist attack, which could be against our infrastructure, our power sources, our natural resources…”
“Like water,” I interrupted.
“Yes. Right now the Mississippi is the primary source of drinkin’ water for the borderin’ states. But what would happen in the event that source was contaminated?”
“Bioterrorism,” Janine whispered.
“And ground water is the next best option we have to keep Americans alive until any aboveground contamination is remediated. Since I grew up in this area, I’ve been charged with workin’ with the Army Corp of Engineers here in Louisiana to determine the size of the aquifer so we can calculate how much output capacity is available in the event of such an emergency.”
“And my family’s land sits on this aquifer?”
“Smack dab in the middle of it.”
“So,” I said, “it probably was water rights your great-great-great grandpappy was after when he bought up all this land after the Civil War.”
“But how would he have known it was all over…er, under this area?” Janine asked. “They didn’t have the technology we do.”
“Ever hear of water witchin’?” Lucas asked.
My hand passed through something I didn’t want to think too hard about – and prayed was uninhabited. “Where they used a stick to figure out where to dig a well?”
“I always thought that was a silly superstition,” Janine said.
“There is some science involved in it all too,” Lucas continued. “It can be an effective tool if you know what you’re doin’. They used to use somethin’ similar to figure out where to drill for oil.”
“Yeah, my dad would buy that magic wand,” I mumbled.
“So all this time you’ve been running around my family’s property looking for water, not the gold from the local legends.”
“That about sums it up. Besides, if the gold actually existed, the Union probably shipped it north at some point, melted it down, then spent it on the war effort.”
We returned to squirming and crawling like – well, those worms we spoke of earlier, as we made our way down the tunnel. Or pipe. Or this stupid, ancient Roman wannabe aqueduct thingy that seemed to get narrower the farther we traveled. Lucas sucked in a breath to cover a barely concealed moan.
“Janine, stop for a sec,” I called. “Lucas needs a rest.”
“No,” Lucas groaned. “Let’s keep goin’ and at least see where this thang leads.”
Lucas shivered noticeably in the waning phone light, likely going into some sort of delayed shock. Hey, I’m not a medic, but at least I read. Sometimes.
Okay, more along the lines of graphic horror where the kids get caught in a haunted house with only a candle to light their way and get butchered by the ghost of someone’s aunt twice removed. Or a stepfather who ends up being someone’s real father.
Or three adults stuck in an old irrigation waterway leading to nowhere, injured and bloody with only a phone to light their way. A fading phone.
“My battery is dying,” Janine cried, panic in her voice rising like the cream over milk on a farm.
A farm? Where did that weird thought come from? The only farm I knew was...
Zeke’s parents.
Instead of the once popular WWJD – What Would Jesus Do – my strange and unsated mind conjured up WWZD – What Would Zeke Do?
I’ll tell you what take-charge Ranger Zeke would do to shepherd such a situation – he’d knock a few heads together to calm down the panic, take charge of the injured, and lead the scared sheep to safety.
‘Course I’m far from being anything like Zeke, and I wouldn’t bash my bestie in the head – especially with the goose egg currently growing on my own noggin. Then with Lucas’s current state, another knock in the head would only serve to guarantee more blood loss and potential memory impairment from a concussion. So now it was up to Vicki Bohanan to save the day.
Damn. We were all doomed.
“Here,” I said, tossing my phone toward Janine’s shaky hands. “No need to p
anic again. And we still have the Boy Wonder’s cell as backup, so we’re good.”
“No we don’t,” Lucas clarified for my sake as he sat up and leaned against the duct wall – or tried to. “My phone got used up while you were out of it.”
“Well, that was quick.”
“I didn’t charge it before headin’ out earlier today.”
“The flashlight?”
“My tailbone took it out in the fall.”
“That’s quite a tail then.”
A weak but wolfish grin. “Glad you like it.”
I tossed him an eye roll for good measure. “Give me that damn piece of shirt.”
“Gonna ask for my pants next?” he asked, handing over the sweaty, dirty, bloody shirttail.
Hmm. Not gonna be long enough – and asking him to remove his shirt in these confines, with a broken wrist? Not gonna happen. Janine? Nope, I couldn’t embarrass my bestie like that. Only one thing left – after all, I was used to traipsing around all trampy.
“Since you’re apparently going into shock…,” I said, stripping off my t-shirt to my bra. “…I’ll let that one slide. Bend your arm and tuck it against your stomach.” The chill of the underground hit me like passing through a specter.
He grit his teeth but did as instructed. “This is gonna hurt, isn’t it?”
“Yep,” I confirmed, stretching out the tee a bit before looping it around his forearm. “But I’ll try to be as gentle as possible. Lean forward.”
Janine held his good hand and kept eye contact with my patient while I set to work. Keeping a little slack, I wound my shirt around his muscular torso and folded it once loosely before doing what had to be done. With one pull, I tightened the shirt and pinned his wrist against his stomach. My ears rang with the reverberation of the release of his pain. It took a few minutes before any of us breathed in the close foul air again.
“Thanks,” he squeaked, perspiration trickling down his neck as shivers set in. “I think.”
“Sorry,” I said. “But it’s gotta be easier than leaving it swinging loose.”