Driver, T. C. (19 page)

Every one watched in horror as Peter’s tree started leaning seaward until he was now hanging out over the cliff far above the rocky beach below. Then suddenly it snapped
  
and the trees roots came out of the ground. Peter’s tree slowly went over the rock cliff stopping with the root end hanging on top of the cliff. We all ran to the edge of the rocks to see if he was hurt. Down at the bottom was Peter waving back at us and standing on a big rock, he was ok! The student girl standing next to me then said,
  

“Look his tree saved him.” The crowd all clapped and cheered. Peter, loving his tree now even more, walked over and wrapped his arms around his tree to say thank you. The heavy root end of the tree then fell outward toward the sea landing just past another big rock on the beach, and Peter Vault, Yes, he was vaulted out to sea! The crowds of people gasped, but then started clapping and cheering Peters name again when Peter waved at them from a big Rock out in the surf! The hero was victorious over death once again. Peter took a long bow, and jumped for joy! His tree was now floating away in the strong tide. Peter dove into the sea and started swimming after it, as if to save it! Halfway to his tree an Orca Killer Whale grabbed Peter and threw him high into the air, he landed like a ragdoll with a splash. Again and again the whales played with Peter Vaults limp body. Then in one big bite Peter was fish food. The crowd was solemn, quiet, and sad, all except for Duck, and I. We started laughing and could not stop, it happens. Hate crime charges were brought against Duck and me. They called it “ Gay bashing” We both had to pay a fine, apologize for laughing, and now we are on record as being “perverts” If they heard us telling this story again we would be fired, and or in the brig, so
 
please don’t say anything about all this.
  

Our little sea planes had one single engine, and two seats. We could put one person in storage behind us (like a boy) with no problem. We cruised at low altitude, at a constant one hundred and fifteen miles per hour. Unk, Suicide, Duck, Doc, and I flew the many hours back to Island number two. Unk ran the show. He navigated, and led the way. Just a little bit off, and we would miss the island completely. These sea planes were old school and a joy to fly, no fancy computer navigation or controls. The Blue Pacific was endless and beautiful. We could smell the sea, almost as well as when on board our ship. That smell is the drug that if the truth be told has held sailors captive, forever in the sea’s cold grasp. We were all as young boy scouts on a great adventure, the only difference between us and the boys we were rescuing is they had to “pay to play, and we earned “wages to work.”
 
The old playing the youth for a sucker game is fun, and often what life is all about!
                        

 
Son, congratulations, you’ve been qualified for the loan! We did the best we could on the interest rate (ha-ha).
                                                                                                                                      
You can now pay me three or four times what you borrowed, just send money to me each month for the next thirty years (ha-ha).
                                                                                                                                            

Son, we need you to go fight some bad guys, and make the world safe. We don’t have much money to pay all you brave men but you can be a hero (ha-ha). This sucker instinct does not last forever so we have to fool them while we can. Old men of every tribe have been playing this game for thousands of years. These young bucks are just not wanted around the house anymore. It’s hard to keep them doing chores for nothing, and they eat more than they’re worth. Yes, they need to be on their way. The herd needs to be thinned out, and or new land found. A war is always the answer. Yes a war would be nice. Maybe some more land if we win, or maybe just very much less young bucks or both. Some young brides are always needed for successful older men, to make more chore doers; I mean young children. Here son, take this rifle and charge up that hill over there. We need you to kill all those people and save the world. God told me to tell you that, and good luck son! We all hope you make it back in one piece. We are all counting on you. Dinner is at six don’t come back if you’re wounded, blood and guts upsets the women and children. Remember a real man fights to the death son. “Doc do you hear me?” I shouted. “Are you drunk or asleep?” He stopped talking so I did also. Our endless talking and joking had worn us out. The last two hours was spent in radio silence as our little gang approached Island number Two. My mind wandered as I flew across the hours. “Women talk about people, men talk about their toys. A full one third of all speech is nothing but crap anyway, so nobody listens! Who does tell lies’ the most, us bulls or the cows? Who knows? Who cares? Suicide said he was dry now after falling into the sea during refueling! I figure he’s lying! Patty said she would meet me in Hawaii! I think maybe she will, I sure hope so. Doc says he has water–skied on his motorcycle twice. Now ole’ Doc is pretending to be asleep… (Asshole) All of us guys are alligators on the radio. Big mouth, no ears, and we all talk too much when
  
drinking”.
       

      
“Wow am I tired” I yelled, and screamed out loud.
                   
                                                                                                                               
“No speak the truth Cornelius…. You are drunk, now put that bottle away!” a voice in my head said, so I did!
                    
                                                                                      
We landed our birds as planned, inside the one slight cove or reef around the back side of the Island. Each plane skidded up on the dry pebble beach as far as our little propellers could drive us.
 
We didn’t bother shouting out for the boys, we just took light packs of gear and headed toward the camp that we had finished building just seven weeks before. We hiked about four thousand yards. Over, through, and across the middle and narrow part of the Rocky island.
  

  
The door was slightly ajar on habitat one. We walked lightly across the porch, then swung the door open, and looked inside. Travis (Ting) Jones, the youngest student was sitting by himself at a table booth over flowing with brown M.R.E. food packages (
meal ready to eat)
mixing up the “good stuff” into the largest bowl he could find a plastic storage tote. He stared up at us with a glaring “oh shit” and only slightly slowed the stirring of his stew mix! “I’m making dinner” said Travis, “Have some.”
        

“Come on son, lets go!” stated Duck calmly, “Where are the others?” Marshal Moore had taught Travis
  
Jones and one other of the boys named Malcum, in his air craft maintenance school on ship. He knew them very well.

“We can’t go yet Mr. Moore” cried out Travis! “You don’t know what we’ve found. There are artifacts, ancient Roman maybe, we’re not leaving until we finish!”

Marshal Moore helped Travis up, and brought him outside. He explained to him the cost of breaking the seal on a habitat container. Ducks mouth was chewing the boy’s ear off. Little Travis, was barely nineteen, with short blond hair. He looked like he was sixteen, and weighed one hundred thirty-five pounds at the most. Moore’s large left hand was wrapped around the boy’s right arm, half suspending Travis in mid air as he walked.

  
Suicide and I left the “riot act” to Duck and started checking the other habitats. Unk was on the edge of camp coming out of the South Power Station. Two habitats were still locked but their doors had obviously been “played with” yet unopened. The next was unlocked but shut. Opening it up, we found sleeping bags, and a mess but no students.

“They’re at the dig” yelled Travis! His arm firmly in the grip of Duck’s gorilla like hand, Duck dropped Travis onto the ground. He landed center stage between all of us Unk, Moore, Doc, Suicide, and I. While still lying
  
sideways on the ground Travis broke the tense silence!

“Ok…….. I’ll take you to them!”

Our group hiked back across the island. We were now only five hundred yards from our planes. Travis led us to a cave opening that was sixty feet wide and ten to twelve feet high. On the back wall of this round natural cave, some fifty-sixty feet deep, forming a large almost flat “front room” was a section of old powdery bricks. This brick part of the other wise natural wall was covered up with cement or mortar in stucco fashion very close in color and texture to the real surrounding back wall of the cave. I looked out of the wide cave into the sunlight and could see an obvious path, flat spot, or road. Grooves or ruts were worn into some of the rocks. This “road” leads out of the cave and parallel into the sea in the general direction of our planes. This is or was a mine I thought to myself.
 

The boys had opened up a five foot wide three foot high hole in the brick about five feet off of the cave floor. These bricks were old, dry, and crumbling. They were thick at the bottom and narrow at the Top. Steve and Doc went back to the planes for flashlights and rope. Moore and I looked around. Travis yelled to his buddies through the opening.

“Travis hold it right there!” bellowed Unk. “No one goes inside that cave until Steve gets back.”

While standing just inside the cave, I pointed my road out to Unk. Tommy Rosenberg came out first, not because Travis had called but to fix his glasses in the sunlight. Tommy saw us, shrugged his shoulders, and sat down quietly next to Travis Jones. Five minutes later the smaller fragile slightly darker hared blond named Tony also came out, again saying nothing. Shaking his head and rubbing his eyes he sat down next to his friends. Young Malcum jumped out of the cave next. He ran over to Marshal Moore and slugged him on the arm while laughing, running around in circles fist fighting the air and waiting for his whipping. Malcum and “Duck” often played like this aboard ship. We sailors often made fun of Moore and his “Son” Malcum. The two were very close for a student and teacher. Duck was a redneck father figure; Malcum was a fatherless spoiled brat with a very light Negro complexion. Malcum continued running in circles, taunting his mentor and embarrassing his friends. Moore just smiled at him with that “I’m gonna kick your ass” smile of his. Suicide (Steve Miller) then walked up with two more packs of gear. Doc, behind him carried one more. They both piled them on the ground in front of us and said,
   

“Well, what’s up?”

Malcum, standing still now, was trying his best to act “grown up” and said. “There’s ancient stuff in there, Roman maybe.”

“No man” interrupted Travis, “It has to be at least civil war…” His friends all shook their heads no. “Well we haven’t got it figured out yet…….but we know this is big”

“Yea, really big” said Tommy.

“The cover of National Geographic big” declared Travis. “We’re all gonna be famous man.” The two boys’ fist bumped in agreement. The other two just murmured and looked up to us for the next move.

We adults huddled at the wide mouth cave entrance. Most figured we might as well have a look see while we’re

here. Why rush back to that mountain top antenna job, anyway. The boys led us into the brick opening, all of us with better and stronger lights now. We were all eyes wide with wonder.

        
“This is Hebrew writing I believe Tommy” said Duck. “All three are the same word most likely, do you know any Hebrew?

“No,” said Tommy!

“This middle arch center stone in the ceiling look the word or name could translate as Josh if you make a J out of that odd mark. The others we can’t read but I believe they mean the same thing” said Duck.

One hundred and fifty feet into the mine were three more signs. These were more polished and much more professionally done. The one in the center we could read. This sign read Amaziah. The other two signs were vaguely similar and unknown to us, we could only guess.
   

          
“Look in here Cornelius,” said Unk waving his flashlight up and down. We had walked about two hundred feet deep into the cave, the first fifty feet being the wide natural cave. This hallway was man made, cut out of the rock with the ceiling arched in the center. No other writing or signs were seen after Amaziah. We never did find the end of this mine. There were always more unexplored and or sealed up passages. In this first straight hallway we found openings on first the left, then the right each one was bricked up and then carefully stuccoed over with cement. The boys would pound on the cave walls with a large pick, sounding it out and listening for a sound change. Then they would dig out a hole and crawl through.

The ceiling was over eight feet tall at its center, but once it was somewhat taller. There was six eight or ten inches of sediment and dust lying on top of everything.