Spider Lines

by Terry Trafton

  Moving to the back of the room, he tried Jenna’s mobile again—nothing. If her phone had at least picked up a signal, maybe they could trace it. He’d heard accounts of this being done when hikers were lost in heavy timber. People missing in woods or mountains were sometimes found because they had cell phones. But this enclosure was like a tomb, and in the end, it might be a tomb.

  Then it hit him. Was this the room the Youngs had walled shut? According to Larry Collins, it was a gateway they had closed. If this was that room, the portal should still be here. Or was that just too illogical to consider? Switching on the light again, he walked carefully around the room, searching every crease and crevice for a possible exit. He even walked every inch of the room, brushing the air with his hands, attempting to find a portal. Absolutely nothing, except a slight crack in the bricks along the back wall.

  Putting his fingers up to the space, he felt a pulse of cool air. If only he had something to use as a tool, anything, even a pocketknife. But he had nothing—except his fingers. It was a ridiculous thought to expect his fingers to loosen the mortar between the bricks. If it worked at all, it would take weeks. By then, it would be too late. Ben Manning was a man who needed a miracle—and he knew it.

  Shining the light across the floor revealed nothing more than a few pieces of brick and loose mortar. Maybe he could use a piece of broken brick as a knife. Would it be substantial enough to widen the crack? He pushed a few pieces of broken mortar into the small opening, and heard them drop on the other side. So, there was a space behind the bricks. But how much of a space? With the light aimed into the hole, that was a three-inch vertical crease where both brick and mortar had fallen away, he thought he could make out a void in the narrow beam of light. It seemed to go on for several feet. Maybe there was another room behind this one.

  Trying to pull himself together before real panic set in, he looked more closely at the area around the opening and noticed several other areas where the mortar was either loose or had cracks. Concentrating on one specific vertical seam in the wall, he realized the bricks were aligned in a straight line, unlike the pattern repeated on the rest of that wall. Six feet from the floor was a horizontal line running about four feet, before stopping at another vertical line. With a sharp piece of brick, he was able to chip away the mortar, which had many age cracks, and to his surprise, pieces of masonry fell to the floor. He kept chipping until he had a two-foot section where most of the mortar had been removed. After several more minutes, other sections loosened, and Manning was ready to try something else.

  Leaning his shoulder against one of the vertical seams, he was sure he felt movement. More pieces of mortar fell to the floor, and when he put the light on the other vertical seam he saw cracks at various points along that seam. He could get a running start and strike the wall harder with his shoulder, but this was too risky. What if the bricks didn’t budge?

  He’d kick it lightly and see what happened. When he heard the breaking sound, he was sure one of the bones in his lower leg had snapped. Instead, a brick fell to the floor, then another, and mortar shook loose along the line where he had snapped a forceful kick. When he looked again, there was separation along the seam, so he kicked again, this time harder. Other bricks gave way.

  A door on a vertical axis creaked open to reveal two stone walls and a tunnel stretching several feet into darkness. Six feet in height, the ceiling, though reinforced with timbers, had several cracks, and debris lay scattered on a dirt floor. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to construct this tunnel. What was it though, and where did it lead? Dust particles floated in the light from his mobile phone. Gradually, he made his way into the tunnel. He shined the light into the darkness ahead, turned it off, and then took several steps before turning it on again to reconnoiter the next few yards.

  After he’d walked at least 40 yards, the tunnel split off into two others, one running west, the other northeast. Continuing in the same tunnel, which he thought went northwest, and walking less than 20 more yards, he soon came to a wall, or what he hoped was a door. Why would this tunnel end here? He could see no reason for it ending so abruptly, so he pushed hard against one side. Nothing moved. Trying the other side, he expected something to give way, but again, nothing moved. It was only after he kicked hard against one side that a door began to move. He kicked until there was space enough for him to enter what he realized was another room. He’d have to use the light to see what was inside, and after turning it on, he saw three strange people looking back at him.

  “I give up!” he yelled.

  But there was no response.

  Chapter 49

  Looking more carefully at the three people, he realized that if they were people at all, they were certainly not alive. They wore black helmets with visors over the eyes and slotted opaque covers over their mouths. What seemed to be lights and other technology were identical on all three helmets. They were dressed in identical uniforms, unlike anything he’d ever seen—white porous material, with black and red vertical piping at various points on the legs, thick circular piping around the arms near the shoulders, and the wrists were banded with more black piping, only larger and heavier. Thin black breastplates were impressed with UAC in red lettering. He poked at one as though he expected it to move, then poked again sharply into the side, and was amazed at how light the material was to the touch.

  Already assuming there might be a corpse inside each, he looked away to see what else was in the room. This entire ordeal was getting more bizarre with each passing minute. He snapped three pictures with the mobile camera. The flash was weak, but strong enough to capture much of what was in this unusual room, which, the more he looked, could have been constructed inside a natural cavern. Because his light was weakening, he could not be sure of the enormity of what he had discovered.

  To Ben’s amazement, the room was substantial in size, and looked as if it had been lived in many years ago. Near several wooden crates and what he was sure was electrical equipment arranged on metal tables, a rising stairway stopped under a large piece of black rock, resembling closely what they had found in the ground near the church foundation. His body was on the edge of convulsing, and he knew if he didn’t escape from this tomb soon, he was going to lose his mind.

  At the top of the steps, the stone slab wouldn’t budge. No matter how hard he pushed, it wouldn’t move. He had two options left, to take the tunnel west, or return to the one that led northeast from Atwood House. After backtracking, he headed down the northeast tunnel, walking in darkness as much as possible, or at least until he could no longer endure darkness. After ten minutes of stumbling, he arrived at another wall, or doorway, or dead-end.

  To come this far and find no opening, no way out, was frustrating. Panic gripped him. In a few minutes the battery would be dead. Turning off the light and sinking to the floor dejectedly, he prepared to accept his fate. His back against the wall, he felt something sharp poking his ribs. He jumped to his feet quickly and backed away. Shining the light on the wall near where he’d been sitting, he saw a large protrusion of rock glinting in the weakened light. It looked like a large vein of quartz crystal, and these tunnels were probably old mining tunnels sealed decades ago. In several places, gaping holes indicated removal of large chunks of quartz.

  One peculiar aspect of his hurried observation deserved more deliberation. The quartz vein passed through the obstruction in front of him, and that was enough to suggest something on the other side. Leaning heavily against what he thought was another door, he was sure his weight had dislodged it slightly. Pushing harder against it, he heard chunks of mortar and brick falling to the floor. Undoubtedly, like the other doors, this one had been sealed for many years and Ben was sure the builders had intended to keep the tunnels, the doors, the stairs, and all that was down here, sealed forever.

  Turning the light on the floor, he noticed what looked like a gap between the door and floor. Kneeling to get a better l
ook and thinking that these bricks remained enough of a barrier to make escape impossible, he pushed his fingers into the space beneath the door. Nothing. No breeze, nothing but more brick. His anxiety mounting, the mobile phone battery continuing to weaken, the darkness increasingly frightening, his determination to survive abating, Manning turned off his phone and sat down in what had to be everlasting darkness—and much too soon, the formidable blackness of his own grave.

  Surprisingly, there was a distinguishable creaking—and movement. Something was here in this dark labyrinth with him. He thought about running, but to where, back the way he came? No, he already knew what was behind him. Going back was not going to work. Maybe the wall was coming closer. It was a trap, the kind ancient Egyptians built into their pyramids. But this was Indiana. At least, that’s what he thought. Something was on the other side of the door—a door slowly opening.

  The sounds of stones crushed under the weight of movement. More creaking, as the door rotated on a center axis, exactly the way the other doors had opened. Only this time, Ben wasn’t opening it. A slender wrinkle of dirty light crawled along the wall and caught the quartz, which slowly brightened enough to reveal movement in the narrow opening. Ben saw a shape, dark, sinister, barely discernible, but moving deliberately, menacingly around the door, which was clearly opening wider.

  Something gnawed at his shoe. He looked down and saw a rat the shape of Pennsylvania. If there was one, there had to be more behind the door that continued to squeak open. With no weapon to defend himself, he shook the rat loose and started kicking furiously, until he heard it scurry away down the dark tunnel.

  He raised the mobile phone and started snapping pictures, hoping the flash would frighten any other rats. The door swung shut immediately, leaving him more confused, and wondering about his fate in a darkness deeper than before. Again, he thought about going back to the other tunnel, find a weapon among the things in the room he had discovered. Before he could move, he caught sight of a white light spilling under the doorway. The light brightened, dimmed, brightened again. Then, after a couple of seconds, it was gone. A mutant rat with a flashlight! That was not possible. He had to know what was on the other side of the door.

  Pushing the right side of the rock inward about six inches, he heard deep exhalations, as though the thing had difficulty breathing, or was trying to catch its breath, as it prepared for an attack. Another blast of light, and then another. Something shot through the light and fastened itself to his wrist. He could not tell if it was pulling or pushing him back into the tunnel. He was sure he caught a glimpse of two large eyes. In each flash of light, the eyes grew bigger and more appalling.

  Then, without warning, the Pennsylvania rat was gnawing at his other shoe. The unholy beast was starving, and right now Ben’s shoe, and possibly his foot, were dinner. He felt the teeth cutting like knives through the leather. If only he had a weapon. But something stronger was fastened to his arm and kept yanking at it as though it wanted to pull him into the space behind the door. Trying to pull away, he felt the grip tighten.

  If it was another mutant rat, Ben Manning was finished. He still had battery power and thought if he pushed on the light suddenly it might scare at least one beast away. He’d better do it fast before he lost his arm. Illuminated by the weak light, he could at least get a look at what he would have to fight, and what was most likely going to kill him.

  Before he could switch on the light, the grip on his arm loosened. Again, the rat darted off down the dark tunnel. The rank air smelled strangely fresh. A small stream of light plunged into the room. Whatever had grabbed his arm suddenly relented, allowing Ben to draw back his arm. At least he’d have two arms to defend himself. More fresh air came from the other side of the door that was not quite wide enough for him to push through. Thrusting his face into the crack, trying to see what was behind the door, he caught sight of an ascending stairway.

  Just as he was about to push his head deeper into the crack, something shot through the opening, nearly striking him in the face. The thing had shot out at him like a snake striking. Shocked, he fell against the wall and was instantly conscious of a sharp pain in his back. He knew a jagged edge of quartz had pierced his clothes into his flesh. He was bleeding but couldn’t tell how badly. Putting his hand where the crystal had struck him, he felt a small dampness in the jacket. He thought it strange that he should worry about what Anna would think when she saw the damage to the coat that she had bought him at Christmas.

  Anna might never see him again. He’d be dead, down here with the Pennsylvania rat stripping away his cold flesh. Since he would never be found, Jenna would assume he was living happily with Anna, more than a hundred years in the past. If he could only see where the light was coming from, there might still be a way out. What about the jumbo rat though, and what waited for him behind this door that would no longer budge?

  “There’s something down here.”

  He heard the voice clearly and thought he recognized it but stayed silent at least until he could be sure. Footsteps crushing stones. The sounds of metal scraping against the bricks. Was someone attempting to beat down the door? He tried to clear his thoughts. If there were people, then they would get him out of this tomb. He would get a second lease on life.

  It no longer mattered whose voice he heard. There was hope on the other side of these bricks, while on this side, certain death. Just as he was about to yell out, a hand poked through the space, and to his surprise, the door squeaked slowly on its axis. Manning would soon be face-to-face with someone, and that was much preferred to the darker option of retreating into the tunnel.

  Chapter 50

  The shape on the other side had a hat pulled low on his forehead. In front of him was a shovel that he was prepared to swing at Ben, who drew back against the opposite wall, this time striking his head sharply against the bricks. Dazed, he felt his knees begin to buckle. As he fell, he saw clouds, wispy clouds in a blue sky, and four faces staring down at him.

  “It’s one of them—one of the aliens!” yelled Lacey, backing into Jenna.

  “Get a grip, Lacey. There aren’t any aliens,” said Jenna.

  “Well, it’s something awful. You heard it, grunting like some wild beast.”

  The man with the shovel was helping the counterfeit alien to his feet. “I don’t believe it.”

  “Nice to see you again, Matt.”

  Once he was out of the hole, Ben stood silently, looking first at the sky, then across the long lawn at Atwood house. “Hello,” he smiled.

  “Dr. Chase,” said Jenna, “let me introduce Ben Manning. He’s the owner of Atwood House.”

  “Mr. Manning,” Charlie nodded.

  Lacey noticed blood on Ben’s fingers. “Something bit him down there.”

  Smiling at her, he shook his head, saying, “I fell is all.”

  As Jenna helped him out of his jacket, she saw the cut through the rip in his shirt. “I think you’ll survive,” she said warmly, “but we need to clean this before it gets infected.”

  Everyone except Liz, looked at him curiously. He realized they had questions, especially Jenna, who must have been upset, seeing him in the suit that Anna had given him. He was happy to be alive and back home. Still a bit dazed and unsettled, he could not say for sure how long he’d been in the dark. He squinted. His eyes still hadn’t adjusted to the bright sunlight.

  “How are you, Liz?”

  “Fine, Ben. I’m sure you have plenty to tell us.”

  “I’m not sure what happened, or how I ended up down there.”

  “Dr. Chase has some information we think you’ll be interested in hearing,” informed Liz.

  “What is this thing, other than a big hole in the ground?” Ben asked.

  “A communication tower,” Charlie answered.

  Almost as soon as he said it, a terrible thought went through Charlie like a shot of electricity. Wh
at if he’d been wrong about Smith’s intentions? What if Smith’s entire purpose had been so well concealed, that Chase had been deliberately deceived and hadn’t even considered, until now, something that had maniacal potential? How could he have been so naive? If it was true, Chase realized he had sold out, never suspecting that Smith and his colleagues had wanted to develop a particle beam accelerator—Nikola Tesla’s Death Ray Machine. It was now a frightening possibility to be considered seriously, and Charlie Chase was shaken by the thought that he had not considered this possibility before now.

  If Chase had provided critical pieces, innocently enough, he’d still have to accept ownership for what Smith had been so anxious to discover. The thought that Smith’s organization was already in possession of Tesla’s papers was much more than presumption. These important papers had been immediately confiscated at the time of Nikola Tesla’s death, and among them were the constructional and operational plans for a particle beam accelerator, or Teleforce, as Tesla had called it—the Death Ray Machine. If successfully constructed, its capabilities would be enormously consequential, especially to a government wanting the ultimate super weapon. Chase didn’t like where these thoughts were taking him.

  Liz had a way of keeping things in focus. She suggested they go to the house to continue any further conversation. “Why don’t we get that cut taken care of, Ben? Then we can talk.”

  “Lacey and I have a house to look at in an hour, so maybe we’ll see you afterwards,” Matt informed them. “It’s a nice place on Second Street, and a house inside our budget.”

  After Matt and Lacey had gone, the others walked across the lawn to Atwood House. Charlie and Liz were several steps behind Ben and Jenna. Although their conversation was pleasant and sustained, neither Jenna nor Ben paid much attention to what was being said. Jenna recounted her surprise at seeing Ben climbing out of a hole in the ground, while he talked of blue skies and apple trees that were blossoming.