by Tom Hunter
But, not before its flailing claws caught Thomas Knight’s side, slicing through his skin. Without examining it, Thomas knew it was deeper than a skin laceration, but not deep enough to kill. Rolling onto his back in exhaustion, he began to laugh. He turned back to the falling creature, as it disappeared into the darkness. “There you go,” Thomas said. “Go down fighting.”
Thomas’ side began to throb and, though he gritted his teeth, he still cried out. Then, as if coming out of a haze, he felt the warm trickle of blood begin to seep from the long, shallow opening the creature had wrought.
He lay still for a few minutes to catch his breath, sweat running down his cheeks, utterly exhausted. Then, gritting his teeth once more, he rolled to his side and pushed himself up. He prayed there were no more Kisgar nearby. “I don’t have anymore fight left in me. Not right now,” he muttered. “I’ve got to get to the others. Something is terribly wrong.”
Thomas Knight took a few steps toward the short incline that would lead him to the others. “Of course, I’ve got to climb something. Oh no, it couldn’t be easy, could it?” The blood from his wound bled profusely down his side. I can’t take another step without staunching this wound, at least. Too bad I just don’t have the strength.
Thomas’ head felt heavy and fuzzy. The air smelled of stale cigarettes and perfume, or perhaps cologne. It was an unctuous combination making him sick to his stomach. Against the pain, he bent over and grabbed his knees.
Catching his breath, he took one more step. His foot bent under him and his knees buckled. Exhausted and in pain, Thomas Knight collapsed.
“Thomas!” Robbie and the others had doubled back. Robbie, the first to reach him, held him in his arms trying to help him sit up. “Let’s get you back topside,” he said. Thomas nodded, half in and half out of consciousness.
“Is he…?” began Abby.
“I’m fine,” Thomas managed, his voice thick.
“You are so not fine, Thomas Knight,” Abby chastised, as her eyes took in the bleeding wound in his side. “Robbie, Pediah, we need to get that wound taken care of before he can go anywhere,” she ordered. “Pediah, we’re going to need your suspenders to keep the bandage wrapped tight and Robbie, I think your shirt will do.”
Both men nodded. Thomas was surprised Robbie would give up his own shirt so easily and rasped, “My shirt is okay.”
“Your shirt is NOT okay,” explained Abby. “It is full of sweat, dirt, dust, and God knows what else. We don’t want anything getting into that wound which might infect it. You got me?” Thomas nodded slowly, the pain somehow getting more intense as they spoke.
With a twinkle in his eye, always on the lookout for levity in dire situations, Robbie quipped, “A little younger, like me. You wouldn’t be in this state, would you, old man?” Thomas glared at him, first, then a slow smile spread across his face.
“I’m in perfect health,” he rasped. “Now, help Abby get side stop blee…” Before he could finish the sentence, he lost consciousness. The others looked at each other. Mochni had been pacing while the others gathered around Thomas.
“Thomas danger help,” said Mochni. Abby looked at him sharply. “What do you mean, Mochni? Explain, er tell more,” she demanded.
“Kisgar cut,” Mochni said as he pointed to Thomas Knight’s wound already bleeding through the fresh bandage. “Kisgar cut, bad. Very bad.” Not knowing any other words to use, Mochni motioned for the others to carry him topside.
Robbie, Abby, and Pediah looked from Thomas to Mochni and back again. Would they even have time to get him to the infirmary topside? And once there, could those doctors do anything?
“We have to get him some medical help,” Robbie said. “I don’t know what our guys can do, but they can do more than us standing around here.” He looked worriedly at Thomas, then at the others, adding, “And if Mochni’s right…” his voice trailed off as the others nodded. They all knew the implications.
“Pain. Kisgar. Drum. Noah. Kisgar. Drum. Noah. Pain.” Thomas speech had the slow staccato of a drum roll. He looked around at everyone, his eyes glazed over as if he was in another world.
“He’s delirious,” said Pediah. “Listen to him. He’s not making any sense.”
“Yeah, time to go old man,” Robbie said as he adjusted Thomas to help ease any pain in his side. “Let’s get you topside and to the docs.”
Abby gasped slightly, as Thomas Knight’s eyes seemed to roll back into his head. “We’ve got to go now, Robbie. Can you carry him, or maybe Mochni? I don’t think he can walk on his…” Before she could finish her thought, Thomas Knight fainted. “Own.”
Thirty
Miss Welker drove as Noah kneeled on the bed toward the rear of his RV. His knees were pressed into the mattress, and his face and hands were pressed against the window glass. He watched his world burn in dejected resignation. The world he’d worked so hard to build and to maintain had been compromised.
But, it was the right thing to do. He knew Ramon had been right. Like a cowed child, Noah wanted only to sit in the far corner of his RV, wrap his arms around his knees, and pout. What he hadn’t expected was the looting. He was glad the workers were just scared enough of him to not come near his trailer. Otherwise, anything that wasn’t nailed down was taken. Plenty of his comms equipment. Gone. Medical supplies. Gone. Even some of the field lights, all the spelunking gear, and even bits of metal which could be used for scrap. Noah shook his head and sighed. Then, in a moment of self-awareness, he almost wanted to congratulate them. They were doing what he’d have done himself if the shoe were on the other foot.
What remained had been set ablaze. He hadn’t agreed with that part, arguing fires could be seen. But, Ramon had already given the order and once the match was lit, there was no going back.
Noah sighed deeply and gritted his teeth as he watched his world fade from view. As Miss Welker drove away, the site became smaller and smaller.
Noah felt a visceral realization. He’d sunk so much money into this expedition and all it had caused him was trouble. Well, Thomas had caused trouble, or rather having him move in on his prize had been the problem.
Miss Welker had been silent. Like any creative project, she knew this had been his baby. She also knew, though she hated to admit it, Ramon had been right. They had needed to erase all trace of their camp and any clues it might have left behind. But, against her better judgement, she worried about Noah.
Looking up at the rearview mirror, she caught Noah’s reflection. He looked like a dejected child whose toys had all been taken away from him. With a frown, she glanced back at him over her right shoulder, and asked, “You okay?”
Noah peeled himself away from the window. Slowly untangling his legs, he got off the bed, and began making his way to the passenger seat. He didn’t speak and Miss Welker didn’t press him. As he passed through the narrow hallway to the front, he glanced at and stepped over a few crates. Though they contained a few relics he’d managed to save, he didn’t pay them too much attention. Instead, he focused on the drum, and as he passed it; he paused.
He thought about picking it up then. It seemed to almost call to him to be held, to be used. But, Noah stayed his desire to possess it, if only for a little while. Though Miss Welker had been watching, almost warily, she acted as though she were more focused on driving. She turned to him only when he sat down next to her.
At last he spoke, his words thick with emotion that was foreign to him. “I’m fine. I’ll be better as soon as I can figure out how to…consolidate the expense of…this,” he explained, his hand waving toward the burning embers of his campsite.
Miss Welker frowned and took her eyes off the road for a second to look at him. Whatever expression he might have worn a moment ago was wiped into the stoicism of statue.
Finally, she asked a question she’d been longing to ask for quite some time.
“I don’t get it,” she began, shaking her head slowly. Her eyes were now fixed on the road. “I mean, I get the mo
ney thing. Don’t get me wrong. But, why here? Why now? You’ve been harping on money regarding this project, but as long as I’ve known you, it hasn’t been an issue before. Care to explain?”
She glanced sideways at him when he answered immediately, “I should think it would be obvious.” He stared at the road ahead, his hands clasped in his lap like a chastised schoolboy.
“Could you be a bit more…cryptic?” Miss Welker asked in a huff. Without waiting for him to get a jab in, she continued. “If it were obvious, I wouldn’t need to ask now, would I?” she demanded, signaling her frustration with her hand in a flourish.
“You know what I’m saying, but in case it isn’t obvious, I’ll spell it out. You have always been about the bottom line, sure. But, this place. Death Valley….” Her voice trailed off as she glanced sideways at him again. The tension was palpable, and she didn’t think it was the kind she could relieve. “It’s an obsession,” Miss Welker finished quietly.
Noah turned over in his head what Miss Welker said. She was right. But, it was a familial obsession, not his alone. He had, for all intents and purposes, inherited it. “If you can call it that,” he muttered.
“What?”
“Nothing, never mind.” He answered Miss Welker, but he spoke to his lap or the view in front of him. The smell of burning things singed into his nostrils and his psyche. He thought back to his dreams the last few nights and long forgotten memories. He remembered a child full of innocence dashed on a clear and starry night. No dark and stormy weather to cloud that tale, Noah mused.
A quick intake of air that might have been a chuckle caused Miss Welker to look at him sharply. Noah sighed and repeated her question back to her. “Why is money so important to me and Death Valley, in particular?” he intoned. Miss Welker didn’t answer nor did she nod. She simply waited. He would tell her when he was ready, and it sounded like he was ready.
“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever spoken of this to anyone,” Noah began. “But, maybe if I say it out loud, it will all make sense. Eventually.” Miss Welker kept her eyes on the road as Noah spoke.
She always knew what men needed, that was part of her social skills. It was the discernment of what was required or needed and when. Right now, Noah needed a listener. Miss Welker resolved not to say a word until his story was finished. For someone so secretive, she wondered what he’d say.
“I grew up in an archeological paradise. Walls decorated with masks, weapons, and cases full of trinkets. Never mind giving artifacts to the museum. We were the museum.” Noah paused conjuring up long remembered images of his life a lifetime ago. “Don’t touch,” he said, his voice almost childlike. He waggled his finger for extra measure. “Oh no. We could look, but we couldn’t touch.” He smiled briefly.
“Of course, those were my father’s rules. Clark had waited a lifetime to get his hands on those relics and he didn’t want them sullied by his four-year old son. But, my grandfather on the other hand, he was more…lenient. To put it mildly.”
“Reginald told the most amazing stories. But, I digress. I was never much of a storyteller…” his voice trailed off as Miss Welker smiled to herself. Storyteller. Liar. Tomato. Tomahto. Noah caught her unawares and whispered, “Touche.”
“Anyway,” he went on. “I learned later that the opulence and wealth I’d grown up with was thanks in no small part to my grandfather digging up and selling relics. Sometimes legally. But, mostly on the black market.” Without looking at Miss Welker, he added, “What? Legal takes too damn long!” They both laughed then. Tensions released from the last few days.
“And the problem was….?” Miss Welker asked tentatively.
“The problem, so Clark Ashbridge claimed, was that while my grandfather could make money easily enough, he had a hard time keeping it. Whatever money Reginald made from his sales was poured right back into his digs. Not just any dig, mind. Most of his money went to his digs here, in Death Valley. There was something he was looking for…” Noah stopped and stared at the vast expanse of desert out the passenger window. He needed to gather his thoughts.
Would he tell her everything? He wondered. Or would he hold some of it back? He wasn’t a naturally trusting person and though he’d been with Miss Welker, he wasn’t sure how much he could trust her. He liked her because she operated similarly to the way he did. And that was the problem. Taking a gamble, he all but mumbled, “I think Clark had Reginald killed to keep him from coming back to Death Valley. He thought grandfather’s trips to Death Valley were a waste of time and money. Clark always said Reginald was worth more dead than alive, and I don’t think he always meant monetarily.” Noah shrugged. “But, then again. I was a toddler. What did I know? Of anything?”
They drove in silence as Miss Welker processed what he’d told her. And was debating whether or not to ask if there was anything more to the story, when Noah said simply, “I loved him, you know.”
“Who?” She knew who he meant. It was because of Reginald she was here.
“My grandfather. Reginald. Oh, he was rough around the edges, don’t get me wrong. No cardigans and loafers for him. But, he was more of a father to me than Clark was. That’s for sure.” Noah pursed his lips and sighed, “Clark’s idea of fatherly affection was slipping the nanny fifty bucks to keep me quiet for a few hours. Reginald would sit me on his lap and regale me with stories of giant peoples and lizard like creatures. He made it sound so real. As if he’d seen these things with his own eyes.”
Suddenly, Noah wasn’t talking to Miss Welker at all. He was talking to himself, she realized. His child self. “I wanted to prove Reginald had been right all along. I wanted to prove there was real value and treasure in Death Valley. I wanted to make him proud of me,” he finished sheepishly. “And the last thing I don’t want is to prove Clark right about Reginald or me. But, I seem to be headed straight there.”
“What do you mean? The money?” asked Miss Welker nudging him toward the final bend in his long curvy tale to answer her initial question.
“Yes, the money. I’ve spent way more than I should have had to for this venture. My outstanding debts are innumerable. I have this sense they’re only going to climb. Unless I can sell something….significant, I don’t know how I’ll pay everything off, er down. Whatever. You know what I mean.” Rising from his seat, Noah stepped behind it and picked up the drum. “Something like this. If it’s what I think it is and can do what I think it can. Then, maybe. Just maybe.”
“I see.” She reached a slim hand and lay it on his leg in a gesture of support. “And I understand. Whatever comes next, you’ve got me by your side, Noah. I’m here. For you.” She gave his leg a slight squeeze. Something primal in him tingled at her touch.
“I know,” Noah answered and took her hand. “I was thinking…” his voice trailed off as he gave Miss Welker a side long glance. “I was thinking,” he repeated. “After we pay off Ramon and his ilk, I’m planning a little retreat in one of my safe houses for a while. Recoup and regroup as it were. Would you care to join me?” he asked Miss Welker.
“I would love to,” Miss Welker said with a smile. “Which one do you like best?”
“I was thinking the Riviera….” Noah’s voice trailed off as Miss Welker’s hand slid a few inches up his leg.
“French or Italian?” asked Miss Welker suggestively.
“Whichever one has you in it.”
Thirty-One
Thomas Knight’s side throbbed. Good, he was still alive. But, if the Kisgar hadn’t killed him, the assault on his senses might. With his eyes still closed, he listened to the rattle and clank of tools being dropped into trays.
The air was filled with the overwhelming mashup of ammonia, vinegar, and something that hinted vaguely at moonshine. Well, they were on native lands, he reasoned. If the usual antiseptic couldn’t be used, then moonshine was a good solution. He suddenly thought of the old man. Geez, hadn’t thought of him months. The old man who had told the story of tripping over a stone to discover the min
es, and the disappearance of Lt. Whipkey. Remembering it now gave Thomas an oddly haunted feeling.
Testing the air to see how deeply he could breathe without straining the wound in his side, he opened one eye. He rolled his head to the left and watched a cluster of doctors and volunteers discussing some procedure or event. Or hell, for all he knew, what football team was playing at the weekend. Then, he turned his head to the right. Alexia was asleep in the chair next to him.
He started to laugh, but just the little bit of air he expelled, pulled his wound taut. Pins and needles exploded in his side and instead of laughing, he cried out in pain. Alexia’s eyes flew open and as she sat up, she wiped her mouth.
Does she know she drools in her sleep? Thomas wondered.
“Thomas! You okay?” Alexia asked, anxiously.
His hand went to his side as if he wanted to hold the pain at bay. “M’fine,” he answered.
“You passed out. Fainted.” Alexia waved her hand at the scene before them. “You’re in the medical tent.”
“Really?” he quipped, his eyes twinkling.
“Yes, yes. I’ve heard it before. It’s true. I have a firm grasp on the obvious,” Alexia explained defensively. “Brothers, mothers, sisters, cousins, friends, and now you. Thanks. I was just…worried. And flustered.”
“Sorry. I’m sorry. I was just kidding. I know what you meant,” flailed Thomas, trying to stop what he thought might be tears brimming in her eyes. Oh God, please don’t cry.
Thomas tactfully changed the subject. “Med tent. Check. So, we’re still in Death Valley and Death Valley is still here. I worried I might wake up and find half of it gone with all the tremors threatening epic Richter scale quakes.” Thomas paused for a reason he couldn’t fathom and tried to get a glimpse through the tent flap to gauge the time. Artificial light threw his body out of whack at the best of times.
