Crown of Serpents (42 page)

For the next twenty agonizing seconds all Rae could hear was Makowa’s throes of agony until finally his cries became a whimper. She stole a glance back from around the corner and saw Makowa’s head bow down on his chest, his light beams shining on a pool of blood at his feet. Rousseau and George were busy trying to dismantle the body from the booby trap in order to get by. Nero barked orders at them to hurry up.

After an unwitting escape, Rae was happy to be alive and armed once again. But she also realized she was stuck ahead of Nero’s group and had no chance of getting back topside. She flicked her helmet lights back on and turned down the unknown passageway.

To her dismay, she almost stepped into a deep hole. Steadying herself against the walls, her helmet beams revealed a wide shaft about fifty-foot deep with a corn-fiber knotted rope ladder leading the way down. She had no choice but to go in and to make it fast before her would-be killers overtook her. Hoping the ancient rope ladder still had enough strength left she grabbed a knotted rung and stepped into the abyss.

Same time. Bunker A0101. Sub-level six. Toilet room.

“What are you thinking? I can’t just leave you here,” said a distraught Jake. He had just finished a makeshift splint for his uncle’s ankle and a sling for his arm and wrist. Joe simply moaned as he sat against the toilet room masonry wall.

After the fall, Jake had diagnosed all of his uncle’s wounds. He had injured a rib, probably broke his wrist, smashed his elbow, a high ankle sprain, and a very sore back. Plus, his shotgun was useless as a weapon.

“I can’t go on, but you must,” Joe insisted.

Jake shook his head. “That’s crazy. This thing is over. I’ve got to get you to a hospital. Maybe we can start up one of those motorcycles and I can ride you back up?”

“I don’t need a friggin’ hospital. I need you to bust down a wall to see if this damn cave even exists.”

“What if it does? Then what?”

“If the cave is there then you need to head in — alone — and not worry about me. I’ll mess around with one of those motorcycles and see what I can do by the time you get out.”

“Really?” said Jake. He stood up with hands on hips. “And what if I screwed up and there is no cave?”

“If there is no cave behind these walls,” Joe tapped with his knuckles. “Then I suppose our next bet is to get you back down into the Cranberry Marsh well.”

“Agreed.” Jake pulled out his crumpled bunker floor plan. He flipped the page over and read the construction crew report one last time to verify which wall supposedly held the cave void behind it. He nodded, stuffed the paper back in his pocket, and grabbed the sledgehammer. “If there is a cave, then I’ll continue with the mission only after I get you to a hospital.”

“Fine. Just hit the damn thing!”

Jake swung his demolition tool about knee high. It hit with bone-crushing force. A masonry block cracked in half. Joe covered his eyes from the shower of concrete fragments that sprayed all over him. Jake swung again, blasting more of the block away. As the dust cleared, he noticed solid limestone in its place. He cursed.

“Go a little higher,” directed Joe.

Jake hit the wall at waist level and crunched through another block. Two more swings and the block disintegrated, inward. To his astonishment the limestone surface was absent. Instead, he peered into a dark void. With a racing heart, he stood up and hammered away at a half dozen more blocks at waist and chest level. He blasted away a hole large enough to stick his head and shoulders through. White dust swirled in the dimly lit room as he stuck his head in and inspected what lay beyond. Just as the construction crew from the 1960s had reported, there, on the floor among the masonry chunks were several shards of broken pottery and an arrowhead. He panned around the walls with his helmet mounted light and found some strange cave paintings on the stone wall. Jake pulled back into the toilet room and looked at his uncle with a smirk. “The cave exists. There’s Indian paintings on the wall.”

Joe grinned, then sighed with relief.

And from the void they suddenly heard the terrifying echoes of a man wailing in death. They froze, chills shuddering through their bodies. Their smiling faces changed to looks of horror. Was it a ghost spirit? A burst from an automatic weapon then echoed from deep within. A shotgun report followed. A firefight was raging. More gunfire. Silence. Another shotgun blast echoed their way.

Jake moved quickly, demolishing more blocks to widen the hole. He stuffed his backpack, Halligan tool, and M4 rifle through, then squeezed his bulky frame in too. He told Joe to hold the fort — that he was going in to check out what was happening.

“Jake, if you come across a young lady with blonde hair, named Anne Stanton, please make sure you protect her at all costs. She’s one of us.”

Jake shook his head and bit his lip, pissed that his uncle held back on him again.

“She’s the mole inside Nero’s organization,” Joe added. “I’ll explain everything once you get back.”

“Fine,” Jake said, firmly. He the disappeared into the dark unknown.

35

In the caves.

T
HE ROPE HELD fine as Rae jumped down onto a rocky surface. The impact of her boots echoed across a darkened area she perceived as very large. She peered ahead with her helmet beams as an enormous cavern opened before her eyes. She held her breath. Directly in front of her was a tall row of connected stalagmites and stalactites forming a glistening forest of solid columns. Beyond, the cavern widened into a maze of rolling limestone humps, flowstones, and more icicle-like cave structures.

She heard a noise up above her in the shaft. Peeking up she noticed a faint glow of light spreading. They were coming down.

She moved quickly down a worn path, carefully shuffling her way between the natural columns and limestone outcrops. Her head was filled with questions. Were there more booby traps? Was there another way out of here? She only had one set of batteries in her helmet, a container of water, a gun, and no food. She couldn’t keep running forever. As soon as her helmet light gave out she was all but done. She kept her head down on the trail, trying to determine clues of past visitors to make sure she headed in the right direction. Hell, any direction away from Nero. She felt dampness and cool air upon her face, then shouting from back at the shaft entrance. Nero yelled her name. She turned, a feeling of panic welled up inside of her. Tears tugged at her eyes.

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.