Cross Bones

by Kathy Reichs

  Jake stuck a thumb at an ancient tree at my back.

  “Judas is supposed to have hanged himself there. According to tradition, his body fell from that tree and was disemboweled.”

  “You don’t believe that’s the actual tree—”

  A small bird darted between us, moving so fast I couldn’t make out its color. Jake threw up an arm, and a boot slipped. Pebbles shot downward.

  My adrenals opened fire.

  Regaining his footing, Jake continued with a question.

  “According to the Bible, where did Christ go after his crucifixion?”

  “Into a tomb.”

  “He descended into hell, and on the third day rose again. Right?”

  I nodded.

  “At the time that was written the Hinnom was constantly burning and had taken on the popular image as the place ‘down there’ where the wicked would be cast into the flames of destruction. Hell. Hell Valley. The biblical reference is to burial in a location in or near the Hinnom.”

  Jake left no gap for comment.

  “These valleys were the location of the tombs of the wealthy.”

  “Like Joseph of Aramathea.”

  “You got it.” Jake pointed flat-handed to our left and rear, then swept his arm in a clockwise arc. “Silwan’s the village behind us. Abu Tor’s across the way.” Jake closed his circle on the hill to our right. “The Mount of Olives is to the north.”

  I sited off his fingers. Jerusalem crawled the summit westward from the Mount, its domes facing off across the Kidron with the minarets of Silwan.

  “These hills are honeycombed with ancient tombs.” Jake yanked out a bandanna and wiped sweat from his head. “I’m taking you to one unearthed by Palestinian roadwork a few years back.”

  “How far down the valley?” I asked.

  “Way down.”

  Jake backhanded the bandanna into a jeans pocket, grabbed a bush, and hopped off the ledge. I watched him scrabble downhill, bald head shining like a copper pot.

  Using the same bush, I squatted, kicked out my legs, and bellied over the edge. When my feet made contact, I let go, turned, and began picking my way downhill, sliding on loose rocks and grabbing vegetation.

  The sun was climbing a brilliant blue sky. Inside my Windbreaker, I began to sweat.

  Again and again I thought of the pair outside l’Abbaye Sainte-Marie-des-Neiges. My eyes kept moving from the ground at my feet to the village at my back. The slope was at least sixty degrees where Jake had chosen to descend. If anyone wanted to pick us off, we were easy targets.

  On one backward glance I spotted a man walking a path on the valley rim.

  My heart gunned into overdrive.

  An assassin? A man walking a path on the valley rim?

  I looked downhill. Jake was drawing farther and farther ahead.

  I goosed the tempo.

  Five yards down, I slipped and cracked my shin. Tears shot from wherever they’d been waiting on call. I blinked them back.

  Screw it. If someone wanted to kill us we’d be dead by now.

  I dropped back to my tenderfoot crawl.

  Jake was spot-on. The tomb wasn’t at the bottom, but it was way down the valley, in a grassy stretch strewn with rocks and boulders.

  When I arrived he was squatting by an outcrop squinting into a rectangle the size of my microwave. I watched him roll a paper, light one end, and thrust the makeshift torch into the opening.

  Oh, God.

  Closing my eyes, I talked myself down.

  Feel.

  Wind on my face.

  Smell.

  Sun-heated grass. Garbage. Coal smoke.

  Taste.

  Dust on my teeth and tongue.

  Listen.

  The buzzing of an insect. Gears grinding way off up the valley.

  I took a deep breath. A second. A third.

  I opened my eyes.

  Small red flowers bloomed at my feet.

  I took another breath. Counted.

  Six flowers. Seven. Ten.

  I looked up to see Jake eyeing me oddly.

  “I’m a bit claustrophobic.” I offered the understatement of the decade.

  “We don’t have to go in,” Jake said.

  “We’re here,” I said.

  Jake looked skeptical.

  “I’m fine.” The overstatement of the decade.

  “The air’s okay,” Jake said.

  “What more could one ask?” I said.

  “I’ll go first,” Jake said.

  He slid down the incline and disappeared, feet-first.

  “Hand me the bones.” His voice came out muffled and hollow.

  My heartbeat revved as I maneuvered the bag. I breathed it back to normal.

  “Come on down.” Quiz-show dramatic.

  Deep breath.

  Turning, I thrust my feet into darkness. Jake grabbed my ankles. I inched backward until I felt hands on my waist. I dropped.

  Murky dimness. One skewed rectangle of light squeezing in from outside.

  “You okay?” Jake asked.

  “Dandy.”

  Jake’s flashlight clicked on.

  The space was approximately eight feet square, with a ceiling so low we had to crouch. Food wrappers, cans, and broken glass littered the floor, graffiti marred the walls. The air smelled like a mix of mud and ammonia.

  “Bad news, Jake. Some have come before.” I pointed at a used condom.

  “These tombs are popular with drifters and kids.”

  Jake’s beam darted here and there. It looked yellow and wavery, and not reassuring.

  As my eyes adjusted, I picked out details.

  The tomb’s entrance was to the east, facing the Old City. The northern, western, and southern walls were cut by a series of oblong recesses, each approximately two feet wide. Stones blocked the entrances to a few of the recesses, but most were wide-open. In the amber beam I could see their interiors were packed with fill.

  “The little chambers are called loculi,” Jake said. “Kochim in Hebrew. During the first century, the dead were shrouded and left in loculi until decomposed. Then the bones were collected and permanently stored in ossuaries.”

  I felt a tingle on one hand. I looked down. Jake noticed and shot the beam my way.

  A daddy longlegs was high-stepping it up my sleeve. Gently pinching one leg, I displaced the arachnid. I freak in tight spaces, but I’m cool with spiders.

  “This tomb has a lower level.”

  Jake duck-walked to the southwest corner. I followed.

  Jake pointed his light at what I’d assumed to be a loculus. It disappeared into total darkness.

  “You game for the cellar if I’m there to catch you?”

  “Go,” I said, not granting my amygdala time to react.

  Jake rolled to his stomach, inserted his legs, and wiggled downward. Closing my eyes I did the same.

  I felt hands.

  I felt terra firma.

  I stuck the landing.

  I opened my eyes.

  There wasn’t a pixel of light. Jake was so close our shoulders were touching.

  I became intensely interested in the flashlight.

  “Light?”

  A yellow shaft cut the darkness.

  “Those batteries new?” I asked.

  “Relatively.”

  The ammonia smell was stronger at this level. I recognized what it was. Urine. I made a note to keep my hands off the floor.

  Jake played his beam over the wall we were facing, and then over the one to our left.

  The lower chamber was smaller, but appeared to be laid out like the one above. That would mean two loculi to the north. Two to the south. Three in back.

  “You say there are thousands of these tombs?” My voice sounded dead in the underground space.

  “Most were robbed long ago. I stumbled onto this one while hiking with students in the fall of 2000. Kid spotted the opening, saw artifacts scattered outside. It was obvious looters had just hit, so we cal
led the IAA.”

  “You did a full excavation?”

  “Hardly. The IAA archaeologist couldn’t have been less impressed. Said there was nothing left that was worth protecting, and left us to our own devices. We salvaged what we could.”

  “Why the disinterest?”

  “In his opinion, the site wasn’t anything special. I don’t know if the guy had a hot date that night, or what. He couldn’t get out of here fast enough.”

  “You disagree with his assessment?”

  “Less than two years after we found this tomb, Oded Golan, the antiquities collector I told you about, revealed the existence of the James ossuary to a French epigrapher named André Lemaire.”

  “You think the ossuary was stolen from here?”

  “It makes sense. The ossuary is rumored to have come from somewhere near Silwan. Within two years of the looting of this tomb the ossuary was presented to the world.”

  “If the James ossuary came from this tomb, that would suggest this is the place Jesus’ brother was buried.”

  “Yes.”

  “Making this the Jesus family tomb.”

  “Awesome, eh?”

  I didn’t know what to say, so I said nothing.

  “We found twelve boxes, all smashed, the remains tossed aside.”

  “Remains?”

  “Bones.”

  Jake dropped one knee and raised the other. His movement sent shadows dancing the walls.

  “But that’s not the best of it. Golan’s James ossuary has elaborate detailing, and the motif’s a dead ringer for the boxes we found here. What’s more—”

  Jake’s head shot up.

  “What?”

  His fingers wrapped my arm.

  “What?” I hissed.

  Jake clicked off the light and touched a finger to my lips.

  Ice flooded my veins.

  I remembered the man on the valley rim. Had we been followed?

  How easy it would be to block the entrance! How easy it would be to shoot down the tunnel!

  Beside me I felt Jake go totally still. I did the same.

  Heart hammering, I strained for the faintest sound.

  Nothing.

  “False alarm,” Jake whispered when an eon had passed. “But we left the bones topside. I’m going to grab them.”

  “Can’t we just move on to the IAA?”

  “When I tell you what else we found here, you’ll want the full tour. And you’ll want to see what’s at my lab. It’s amazing.” Jake handed me the flashlight. “Back in a sec.”

  “Look around while you’re up there,” I whispered. “Make sure there’s no papal vigilante crouched by the entrance.” The joke sounded lame.

  “Will do.”

  I watched Jake muscle up the tunnel, hoping I had the arm strength to do the same. When his boots disappeared, I crawled along the wall I was facing and directed the light inside the first of the loculi.

  Empty, but the dirt-covered floor was gouged and scuffed. Jake’s students? The looters?

  I moved down the wall, then rounded the corner.

  Same story in each loculus.

  Duckwalking to the base of the tunnel, I looked up and listened. Not the faintest sound drifted down from above.

  The air felt damp and cold. Inside my jacket, my sweat-soaked shirt adhered to my back. I began to shiver.

  Where the hell was Jake?

  “Jake?” I called up.

  No answer.

  “Probably securing the perimeter,” I murmured to break the silence.

  I was moving along the southern wall when the beam dimmed, strengthened, dimmed, and died.

  Inky black.

  I shook the flashlight. Not a flicker. I shook it again. Nothing.

  I heard a sound behind me.

  Had I imagined it?

  I held my breath. One. Two. Thr—

  I heard it again. The rub of something soft scraping stone.

  Dear God! I wasn’t alone!

  I froze.

  Moments later, I sensed, more than heard, another whisper of movement.

  The tiny hairs rose on my nape and arms.

  I held absolutely motionless. A second. A year.

  Another sound. Different. More terrifying.

  My skin went taut from scalp to sternum.

  21

  GROWL? PURR? GROAN?

  Before I could pigeonhole it, the sound stopped.

  My brain groped for a familiar image to explain what I’d heard.

  It came up empty.

  I thumbed the flashlight switch. Nothing. I thumbed it in the opposite direction. More nothing.

  Eyes wide, I searched my surroundings.

  Blackness.

  I was trapped underground, surrounded by stone and hillside a thousand feet thick. It was dark. And damp.

  And I wasn’t alone!

  Something’s in here! a voice screamed in my head.

  My chest felt tight. I drew air through my nose.

  The stench of urine seemed stronger now. And there was something else. Fecal matter? Rotting flesh?

  I tried breathing through my mouth.

  My mind flew in a million directions.

  Turn around? Scream? Break for the tunnel?

  I was frozen in place. Afraid to move. Afraid to stay still.

  Then, I heard it again. Half growl, half rumble.

  My fingers death-gripped the flashlight. It might at least serve as a club.

  Something scratched stone.

  Claws?

  Cold fear sparked my nerves.

  I shook the flashlight. The batteries rattled but offered nothing.

  I shook harder.

  A weak yellow cone wormed into the darkness. Still squatting, I pivoted slowly and lit the corner behind me.

  And caught a shadow of movement in the last loculus!

  Get out! screamed the voice in my head.

  I was backing toward the tunnel when the growl started again. The message was low and feral.

  I froze again. Hand shaking, I refocused on the loculus.

  Eyes gleamed from low in the recess, pupils round and red as neon cranberries. Below them, the outline of a scarred snout.

  Wild dog? Fox? Hyena?

  Jackal!

  The jackal stood with neck angled down, shoulder blades shooting to bony peaks behind its ears. Its fur was mangy and matted.

  I took a cautious step backward.

  The jackal bared teeth that were brown and glistening. Its forelimbs flexed and its head shot up.

  Every muscle in me went rigid.

  The jackal swung its snout from side to side, nostrils working the air. The movement sent shadows rippling the hills and valleys of its rib cage. Though emaciated, its belly hung low.

  Dear God! I was trapped underground with a starving jackal! Probably a pregnant female!

  Where was Jake? What to do?

  My brain coughed up facts garnered from some nature documentary.

  Jackals are nocturnal in areas inhabited by humans.

  The jackal had been sleeping. Jake and I had startled her awake. Not good.

  Jackals are territorial and scent-mark their turf.

  The urine smell. The jackal viewed the tomb as her territory, and me as an invader. Not good.

  Jackals live and hunt as monogamous pairs.

  The jackal had a mate.

  Sweet Jesus! The male could return at any time. He could be in the loculus with her!

  I couldn’t wait for Jake. I had to make a move.

  Now!

  Waistbanding the light, I pivoted, and crawled toward the mouth of the tunnel.

  Behind me I heard a snarl, then scratching. I sensed air movement. I braced and regripped the flashlight. Maybe I could jam it into the jackal’s mouth, prevent teeth sinking into my flesh. Maybe I could strike a blow to the head.

  The jackal didn’t attack.

  Get out before you’re one against two!

  I resnugged the flashlight in my waistba
nd, and gripped stones jutting from opposite sides of the tunnel. Thrusting with my legs and pulling with my hands, I heaved upward with all my strength.

  After repositioning my feet, I reached for another handhold, and pulled and lunged upward again.

  My right-foot support held. The left broke free.

  Spinning, I fell back down the tunnel and hit the floor hard. A flash-fire of pain ripped my shoulder and cheek.

  The tomb went black.

  My heart went stratospheric.

  I lay still, taking in sound.

  Blood roaring in my ears.

  Stones rattling down the tunnel.

  The tick-tick-tick of the rolling flashlight.

  The ting of metal hitting rock.

  Underlying it all, a low, rumbling growl.

  Within seconds, the stones stopped falling and the flashlight lay silent.

  Only my heart and the jackal played on.

  The growling was no longer coming from the southeastern loculus. Or was it? The tomb was acting as an echo chamber, ricocheting sound from wall to wall. I couldn’t pinpoint the jackal’s location.

  The darkness pressed in.

  My options had tanked. The jackal now held an advantage. She could see, hear, and smell me in the dark. I had no idea where she was.

  Weak as it was, my beam had confused the jackal, held her in place like a deer on a highway. It might work again.

  Would my movement provoke the jackal? Would the batteries function? I took the double gamble.

  Extending my left arm, I inched my hand across the tomb floor.

  And found nothing.

  My jacket swished, sounding like thunder in the small space.

  The jackal growled louder, and then went still. I heard fast breathing. The panting was more terrible than the growling had been. Was she preparing to pounce?

  I pictured eyes watching in the dark. My groping grew desperate. My hand swept right, front, left.

  Finally, my fingers closed on a metal tube.

  I drew the flashlight to me and hit the switch.

  Sickly yellow lit my body. I almost wept with relief.

  The growling kicked into high.