The Chasm

by Tom Hunter

  “That’s what I thought,” she heard Ramon say as he leveled his final threat. “I’m leaving – we are leaving – you are coming under your own power or mine. Choice is yours.” He glanced at the drum, which Noah had subconsciously gripped tighter in the exchange. “Relax, your stupid toy is coming, too.”

  Noah wondered briefly what there might be he could offer Ramon to get him to change his mind, and was surprised when Ramon answered an unasked question. “I see what you are thinking, Noah Ashbridge,” Ramon intoned. “The answer is no. My men are loyal to me, not you. They fight and protect you at my command.” He spread his hands across the expanse of desert, trained mercenary soldiers silently working toward Ramon’s orders. “Look around you, Ashbridge. My men are armed to the teeth compared to you and your lady friend here,” he explained, jerking his head toward Miss Welker. “Now, I want to be professional,” he wheedled coldly. “But, I must repeat myself. I want to be very clear. What matters most to me is my men and my men alone. So, I will do whatever I can to protect them and that includes going over “the boss’s” – one hand signaled air quotes as Ramon finished with a flurry, “head.”

  “Fine,” spat Noah through clenched teeth.

  “Good man,” exclaimed Ramon with a hearty pat on Noah’s back sending him forward. As the smaller man stumbled, he caught himself, and watched Ramon walk away still barking orders.

  “I hope this is all worth it,” Noah muttered to Ramon’s back. And with a sigh, added, “God, I’d hate to prove my father right.”

  Miss Welker, hands on her hips stared after Ramon, and after going through a few choice MMA (mixed martial arts) moves she’d like to use on him, she turned to Noah. Her once blazing eyes turned compassionate. “What do you need me to do?” she asked as she laid a hand on his shoulder.

  “I guess let’s get the RV cleaned up before they decide it, too, needs to be burned.”

  Twenty-Five

  Alexia was glad when their camp came into view, though she felt a shudder in her spine as she watched the people.

  Stumbling from time to time, their arms outstretched, they would pause and for a heartbeat, Alexia would wonder if they were thinking the same thing she was. She wasn’t usually given to dramatics, but she had decided several miles back she was due a little drama. Everyone needed to release their stresses somehow, she rationalized.

  Then, just as quickly, she scrapped the idea of throwing a hissy fit. She was a professional, dammit, and she was going to act like it. Never mind she was terrified.

  They drew up to the camp, at last, and Alexia parked by the entrance.

  Thomas’ voice cut into her thoughts. “You know,” she heard him say with a chuckle. “I can’t believe I only thought of this now. But, the tremors aren’t being caused by any shifting of tectonic plates a la Richter scale….” Alexia looked at Thomas questioningly. “Don’t you see?” he asked eagerly. “It’s the Kisgar!” Excited at having realized the cause, Thomas Knight’s face fell. “Shit. Man, I hope the camp hasn’t been – “ he stopped as another tremor struck the area, sending shockwaves across the camp to the mess tent, the clatter of dishes and cutlery confirmation of its reach. “Affected,” he finished.

  Then, he thought of something else. “But, more than that. The camp we can fix. I hope the Kisgar haven’t broken through to the surface. If they have, our camp could soon be under attack.” He shook his head trying to push away the images that were conjured up.

  Noticing the expression on his face, Alexia shivered visibly. “You cold?” Thomas asked her. She shook her head. “No, just a… a weird feeling. A foreboding.” She shrugged. “Blame my culture. This shit runs in the family.” Thomas chuckled and Alexia continued, “Seriously though, I sense there is something more you’re not telling me, or don’t want to tell me…” her voice trailed off as Thomas nodded slowly.

  “I just had a thought I’ve been afraid to voice,” he explained. Alexia remained quiet and waited. “I think when I dropped the drum and it rolled…. remember the sound it made?”

  “Yes,” Alexia said tremulously. She suddenly had a very bad vibe about where this conversation was going. Thomas exhaled a breath, he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, and declared, “I think there was enough of a beat as it bounced and rolled… I think enough of a beat,” he repeated still wrapping his head around the idea. “That the sound sank, er called -whatever name you want to put to it - to the Kisgar below. The sound reverberated into their surroundings and set them on a warpath,” he said slowly.

  Thomas Knight looked around then, and muttered, “We’re lucky they’re not here already.”

  Alexia nodded slowly. “And yet,” she posited, “I got the impression from Lt. Whipkey the tremors could be far worse.”

  Thomas twisted his mouth as he considered her statement. His fingers, seemingly of their own accord, had fished his beard comb from its pocket, and begun quick, downward strokes.

  “I think it isn’t worse because the Kisgar we’re familiar with are much smaller than those depicted in the cave paintings,” he reasoned. At Alexia’s questioning gaze, he continued, “I mean, remember how huge the Kisgar was I tangled with just a few weeks ago?” he asked.

  She nodded.

  “Another thought, of course, is this. Maybe the drum wasn’t played long enough. Like someone caught it and the beat stopped.” He paused for a moment, his hand stopped mid-stroke. “Of course, it means the area is no longer safe to explore….” He trailed off as he finished combing his beard, the comb dangling absentmindedly from his fingers.

  Alexia considered his reasoning. It’s possible, she thought. She shook her head in amusement. “That really does help you think, doesn’t it?”

  “Mmmm…” He grunted, as he weighed the next steps.

  Tapping her fingers on the steering column, Alexia broke the silence at last. “Remember the legend of Lt. Whipkey’s disappearance?” she asked.

  “What are you thinking?”

  “Well, remember how the legend talked about the disappearance was attributed to the caverns shifting; essentially burying him?” she asked. Thomas nodded.

  Alexia speculated, “What if the Woidnuk or Kisgar are able to make the sands shift and their caverns collapse?”

  “That’s possible, I suppose,” he ventured. “But, then… the sands of time are always shifting,” he intoned. “Sometimes, you must bury the past to carve a better future.” There it was. That voice again. The voice that was not his own.

  Alexia watched as his eyes grew wide and a hazy film seemed to cover them. “Are you alright?” she asked, laying a hand on his arm. She yanked it back as though she touched fire. The look Thomas gave her was…different.

  She’d heard this voice once before, and it had landed him in the infirmary. What was going on here?

  Alexia stared wide-eyed at him but he couldn’t stop its pronouncements. “If there is no resolution to this problem, then the secret of the Woidnuk will be lost to time,” Thomas finished, his eyes glazed and wild.

  Twenty-Six

  Alexia caught her breath and Thomas shook the haziness from his mind, his words echoed in their ears. “Thomas…” Alexia had begun hesitantly.

  “I’m okay. It’s okay,” he said trying to console the fear he saw in her eyes. He looked around them then and took stock of his camp. Though tremors still rattled the earth, no one seemed uneasy or out of sorts. They continued in their duties as though the rumbling ground was just a hiccup; an annoyance.

  She followed his gaze and remarked, “Well, I guess they’re just chalking it up to being life in California. Besides,” she went on, “after the Kisgar, I’m going to assume it will take a lot more than a few tremors to shake this crew.”

  “True…” he admitted. “Also, the tremors are really more of a hindrance than anything, aren’t they? I mean, for the area, they’re relatively light.” He paused briefly, and wondered what else might be causing the tremors or if was just the reverberations from the drum.


  Alexia twisted her mouth and posited, “Maybe the drum has a limited effect above ground. I mean, there’s still an effect. But, somehow it’s…diluted.”

  “There’s a thought,” Thomas acquiesced as he thought about the implications. “So, it affects them, but the farther away it is – say at a higher elevation – the less dangerous the drum is.” He began calculating mentally the distance of Noah’s campsite from the cave entrance. “Would you call Noah’s campsite – its positioning - being on a ridge of sorts?” he asked Alexia.

  “I guess so. I mean, we’re more in the ‘valley’ of Death Valley”.

  “Thought so. But, I’m not sure I’m ready to test the theory yet, either,” he explained as he turned a wary eye back toward Noah’s campsite. He wondered suddenly if Noah had any idea what it was he insisted on stealing.

  Then, Thomas Knight’s heart sank into a knot in his stomach as another thought struck him. Dear God, if Noah knew what the drum could do, what the Kisgar could do, they were all doomed. He thought suddenly of Pediah and a long-lost phrase slammed into his mind, so as above, so below and vice versa, he thought. He’d have to check with Pediah on the correct version.

  “We have no ideas the power of the drum – only the barest inkling of an idea,” he mumbled, praying Noah would consider the ramifications of his actions. He doubted it, but it was worth a shot.

  He, Alexia, and the rest of the team had long since disembarked from their vehicle. Thomas had been mulling over the past events as they all walked into the camp, each lost in their own thoughts. He spotted Dr. Cunningham striding toward them and marveled at his still-pressed khakis. How does he do that? Thomas wondered ruefully as he glanced at his own clothes, still dusty and glued to his body like a second skin.

  His hand outstretched to welcome them back, Dr. Cunningham asked, “What happened?” A shadow of worry crossing his otherwise placid face. His eyes took in their appearance. With a start, he realized not everyone who’d left had come back.

  “Noah happened. Or rather, Ramon and his goons,” replied Thomas morosely. “Started out simply enough. We found the camp. Someone hadn’t closed the holo-flap all the way to conceal it, or someone snuck out for a smoke or something. Whatever it was, we spotted a light and entered. It was relatively quiet. Small groups patrolled. Most of them we could take care of,” he said with a glance at the guards behind him.

  “As planned, I went to Noah’s RV to get the drum. I had the damn thing in my hands when…” He shook his head, and posed his hands as though he were still holding the drum. He pinched his lips. His face was drawn, as he looked at Alexia.

  She shrugged. “What none of us knew or expected was Miss Welker – “

  “Miss Welker what?” Dr. Cunningham asked through clenched teeth. He was afraid he already knew the answer.

  “Miss Welker was, er is, Noah’s girl. Lady friend. Whatever. They’re sleeping together and she surprised us. Me,” finished Thomas exasperated with himself he hadn’t seen that possibility.

  “And?” Dr. Cunningham asked again drawing from Thomas what he didn’t want to admit.

  “And she pulled a gun on me.”

  “Noah slept through the whole thing. Well, almost,” Alexia continued. “He woke up as Thomas was escaping and that’s when the shit really hit the fan.”

  “Because once Noah was up and giving orders, bullets started flying,” Thomas replied. “And that’s when we lost a few of our own.”

  Dr. Donald Cunningham’s eyes blazed with fury. He was already angry about the situation Abigail Hogan had gotten herself into. He’d be damned if he was going to see one more person dead because of Noah Ashbridge’s greed. “I don’t care how much time or resources we have to throw at this guy, but we will catch them,” he finished through clenched teeth.

  Putting a hand on the man’s shoulder to calm him, Thomas asked, “Have the others returned?” His eyes searched the area behind Dr. Cunningham, who began shaking his head slowly.

  “No, they haven’t come back up yet,” he answered, and dropped his gaze slightly. Thomas knew who it was he thought of now and his heart felt for the man. “The rumblings aren’t bad today,” Dr. Cunningham continued. “Up here. But, down there?” he shrugged. “I don’t know and I’m worried.”

  “I know you are, and it’s my fault they’re all down there,” replied Thomas. “I’m going down after them,” he declared, a sidelong glance to Alexia at her soft gasp. “I’m going to get them out of this mess.”

  “What about Noah?” asked Alexia. “His camp, I mean.”

  “Why don’t you handle the data, Alexia. Have all the Is dotted and Ts crossed, then gather the forces –“ he stopped himself. “I mean, the park rangers and the Feds. Get the information to them and hopefully” – he crossed his fingers – “they can pick up Noah before he spirits himself out of Death Valley scot-free and with an alibi ready. We have to strike while the iron is hot.”

  As if on cue, Alexia grabbed his wrist at the word “hot” and his heart skipped a beat. He looked sharply at her as she narrowed her eyes in contemplation. Thomas lay his hand over hers and asked in low voice, “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  Furrowing her brow, Alexia shook her head. “Nothing. Never mind. It’s nothing,” she knew she was repeating herself, but couldn’t seem to stem the flow of rambling. At Thomas’s questioning look, she pulled herself together and took a deep breath before she added, “Just be careful. And come back soon.”

  “I will,” he promised. They let go of each other as he went in search of ammunition and supplies, Dr. Cunningham and some of the guards with him. The tremors had grown steadier. It’s like being on a ship. Like a ship as it gets buoyed and bounced over the ocean.

  At the supply tent, he quickly grabbed a box of ammunition, dumped the contents on the nearest table, and began placing them in his gun and belt for quick access. Next, some rope and carabiner clips for rappelling, a knife, and a few other items he wasn’t really sure he needed.

  He checked the tautness of the rope and that the clips snapped open and closed without any hiccups. Gun loaded and safety on, he tucked into his belt. Knife in its sheath and he was ready.

  “You good?” asked Dr. Cunningham. Thomas nodded once. “At least take some of the guards with you,” the older man pleaded. “Abs will never forgive me if I let something happen to you.”

  “And she’ll never forgive me if I let anything happen to Robbie or Pediah or Mochni,” retorted Thomas. “Besides,” he smiled. “I made a few friends down there. I’ll be okay,” Thomas explained as he turned on his heel and began walking toward the tunnel entrance, some fifty yards away through the stifling heat. Though he wobbled slightly, he quickly balanced himself, and headed toward the caves seemingly heedless of the danger the tremors posed.

  Twenty-Seven

  Mochni, Robbie, Pediah and Abby trudged further through the tunnels. The long, cold walls of hard-packed sand and stone were a silent witness to what they’d just been through. As the darkness of shadows grew in the passing of their headlamps and flashlights, their own moods were reflected. A heavy weight, a foreboding that what they’d already seen and witnessed was only the beginning.

  Mochni was on edge. Little sounds gnawed at him. His heart was heavy as he thought of his parents and all his kin and community now eradicated. He was exaggerating he knew, there were other Woidnuk, in far away caves, he knew. But, his world, his family, were wiped away.

  Abby and Robbie walked behind, their heads bowed together in quiet conversation and contemplation. They cast worried, furtive glances at each other, at Mochni, and at the walls which ushered them through and toward the entrance of the cave. There was an unspoken fear that if voices were raised a decibel, it might wake the remaining predators and their escape would be futile. Tension was high and silence was better than screams.

  Pediah, who brought up the rear, felt his heart jolt at each scrape behind the walls or one misplaced shadow, as he looked warily at the walls which he suddenly
felt were closing in on him. He knew it was a ridiculous thought, but the idea remained rooted in his mind just the same.

  After a while, Robbie moved forward into the lead, and used his headlamp to guide their way.

  “Mochni,” Abby called softly, quickening her stride to catch up with him. He looked down at her and nodded once. “I thought you might like to… to go over some things as we walk. Would you like that?” she asked.

  Mochni shrugged, but fell behind Robbie to walk next Abby. She looked up into his big sad eyes, and her heart went out to him. She knew. She understood. He’d lost parents. She’d lost a daughter and a husband. Her process had been to keep herself busy and push through. It had helped her, she reasoned, so why not Mochni.

  Fluidly moving into her professioral persona, she continued their lessons. Pediah raised an eyebrow, surprised she would bulldoze into his grieving process in such a way. She was usually much more tactful. But, lost in his own worries, concerns, and thoughts, he said nothing.

  “You’ll need to know this when we get to the surface again,” Abby chastised, when Mochni mispronounced the umpteenth word she’d given him. “This is important,” she insisted.

  Mochni quickly grew tired of Abby’s soft voice, testing and probing his language skills. In a fit, he snarled and waved her away.

  “Give him some space Abby,” Robbie suggested. “He’s just lost his father and I doubt English lessons are what he needs right now.” He glanced at Mochni who bobbed his head once in thanks. Robbie imagined a breather from the self-proclaimed mother hen was probably just what the doctor ordered, but wondered too, if it wasn’t also a good way to distract the boy.

  No, Robbie thought to himself. Don’t distract yourself – him – from the pain. Face it, so you can process it and move on. It was something Abby had said herself when they’d first really gotten to know each other after losing her husband and his young wife.