God Stones: Books 1 - 3

by Otto Schafer

  Breanne hesitated for a moment. It was one thing to work the pit with its open sky, but to go down there into the tunnel made her pulse quicken and her hands sweat. Please, not like Mexico, she thought.

  She drew up her courage, pulled her cave helmet on over her braids, cinched up the strap, and began descending the ladder into the muck. As soon as her boots touched down, they were sucked into the spongy floor, and her breath caught as she drew in the odorous air. God, it was so pungent. She wasn’t ready. She gagged and heaved, nearly losing her lunch. Somehow, she kept it down.

  “Yeah, it’s gross, but you get used to it,” her brother said, backing up in the other direction to allow her room to move ahead. The tunnel was tight. “Watch your step, guys, the floor is really soft.” He pointed his flashlight down the tunnel to illuminate the strangely shaped cross. “Check this baby out!” he said with pride, as if showing off his freshly waxed car.

  The roof of the tunnel was low, forcing Breanne to hunch awkwardly as she followed her father to the cross.

  “My God, my God, my God,” her father whispered. With shaking hands he attempted to steady his camera as he began photographing the wooden cross. Finally, he said, “Bre, take this and photograph it all – remember how I’ve shown you?”

  She took the camera eagerly. “I remember,” she said, the camera already clicking and flashing.

  He pulled a sample bag from his shirt pocket and carefully removed a small piece of the cross, gingerly placing it inside the bag. The cross had been preserved in the swamp water for centuries, but now that the swamp, and therefore the tunnel, was drained, the air had dried it out.

  “I was afraid of this. This is a typical concern when trying to preserve archeological finds that include submerged organic specimens. Sometimes specimens can slowly devitrify into useless slivers or powder within hours of removal from water. This looks to be the case here. The cross has devitrified and might very well be destroyed if we try to remove it.”

  “What do we do? How do we remove it without damaging it further?” Paul asked.

  “We’ll have to try and get it out of the tunnel carefully. From there we can submerge it in preservation solution.” Charles pulled a small notepad from his shirt pocket and began scribbling. As he wrote he shouted back through the hole. “Ed, radio Jerry and tell him you’re heading topside. Then get these supplies pulled together.” He tore loose the piece of paper and passed it through the hole.

  “Roger that,” Edward said.

  In the background, “War” played on the radio.

  Her father set to work taking measurements, sketching the position of the cross and its orientation in the tunnel, as she continued photographing from every angle possible.

  After close examination they concluded that the cross was simply hanging on the wall rather than set into it. Breanne exited the tunnel to stand ready to help maneuver the cross through the tunnel opening and out into the pit. From above she listened nervously, biting at a fingernail as her father and brother struggled to free the cross.

  “Careful, Paul, damn it, I can’t see what’s holding this thing – it should come loose,” her father said.

  “I don’t understand what’s… holding it,” Paul grunted.

  Then she heard it. A gut-wrenching crack from inside the hole. Her father’s colorful choice of words told her the priceless artifact might have come free, but not without a cost.

  “Shit – that’s fine… it’s – shit! Motherfu— It’s fine. Just very, very carefully set your side down and help me with this side, then we will get your half—”

  Then she heard more confused shouting. She threw herself onto her belly and looked into the hole. Her father’s half had broken into three more pieces right there in his hands.

  “Okay, well, it’s okay, hold still, Paul – don’t move a muscle.”

  Her father carefully handed the three pieces out of the hole one by one as she accepted each piece with reverence.

  In the meantime, Paul stayed frozen in place, as unmoving as the cross had been for centuries. She had never seen him like this. He was never one to get invested in the find. His idea of fun wasn’t the artifacts; it was the adventure. It was flying the chopper, operating a massive crane. She smiled. She liked seeing this side of her brother.

  As they worked to remove Paul’s half from the tunnel and get it to the pit floor, it too broke, but only into two pieces rather than three like his father’s half. Paul was very quiet as Breanne and her father packed the large chunks into the tub of solution and prepared them for extraction from the pit.

  “Son, this could have been much worse – the whole thing could have disintegrated right before our eyes. We’re actually pretty damn lucky the moisture inside the tunnel floor has kept the humidity high enough that it didn’t completely dry out. With the right conservation techniques applied, this cross can be preserved and pieced back together.” He placed a hand on Paul’s shoulder. “You did a good job, son. There is nothing more you could have done. Now let’s get back in there and see what is behind that wall!”

  Her brother nodded, the corner of his mouth curling into a slight smile. “Right, the wall.” He hurriedly climbed back into the tunnel.

  Once back inside, Charles began examining the tunnel where the cross had hung. “I don’t see any latches or hidden levers, and the corners are laced together like the interlocking logs of a cabin.”

  “Can you see anything behind the wall, Dad?” she asked.

  He pressed the flashlight up to the gaps, trying to see between. “There’s indeed a void behind this tunnel, but how far it goes or to what end, I can’t tell. Go get the Sawzall, Paul – we’re cutting our way through.”

  The wood beams cut very easily, and in minutes they were through.

  “Here we go,” her father said, cautiously stepping forward to poke his head through the newly cut opening as he flashed his light into the darkness.

  “The good news is there’s no more of those cursed stones to move, nor is it made of wood. But the bad news is that this tunnel drops away at a steep angle.”

  “How steep is it?” Breanne asked.

  “Well, steep enough I don’t want to step inside. Christ, I can’t even see the bottom. I swear, nothing wants to come easy on this island, does it?” he said, running his hand over his face.

  “What now, Pops?”

  “This tunnel appears to go down right into the bedrock. How in the hell is that even possible?”

  “I think we’re going to need to rig up some rappelling gear – I’ll be back in a few minutes,” Paul said, rubbing his hands together.

  Stooped awkwardly, she and her father waited at the edge of the sloping tunnel, staring in quiet awe down into the darkness.

  It was Breanne who broke the silence. “Dad, how are things going with you and Sarah?”

  “Good. Great, actually. My first order of business after we finish here is to get back to Mexico and join her on the site. Phone conferences are one thing, and she has done a fine job keeping me posted on the progress, but I will be ready to get back in there for sure.”

  “Uh-huh.” She arched her eyebrows. “Let me try this again. How are you and Sarah doing?” She wished she could see his face, but she didn’t need light to recognize the sound of uncomfortable shuffling. She knew he didn’t want to talk about this.

  “Ah, fine. We are fine. Listen, I know, you must wonder why I did what I did.”

  She blinked. Well, that was unexpected. “Why did you, Dad? Why did you leave her?”

  She heard him swallow.

  “I wasn’t ready. I thought I was but I just wasn’t, or at least that’s what I told myself. But I miss her.”

  Her heart broke a little as he sighed heavily there in the darkness. She was suddenly glad she couldn’t see his face as she felt the weight of it. Maybe talking here in the darkness made it easier somehow. “Daddy, was it because of me that you weren’t ready?”

  “What? What do you mean because of
you?”

  Now she shuffled. “Because of Mom, what happened, or maybe because you worried about me?”

  “God, no. It had nothing to do with you and everything to do with me. I was the one who messed it up. I am the one who thought I wasn’t ready and blew it. It had nothing to do with you or what happened. It was all me.”

  “Yeah,” she said.

  “Okay, now I was honest. I want you to be honest. I know you don’t want to talk about this, but you need to—”

  “Dad, I don’t want to talk—”

  “Yeah, well, dammit, I didn’t want to talk about Sarah, but you asked me and I was honest. Now I am asking you, are you okay? What’s going on with your sleep and the nightmares? I know you’re not sleeping.”

  “Dad…” Now it was her turn to shuffle her feet. “Fine. The dreams about Mom and what I did… they’re bad, really bad. It’s this place, and the bodies and the swamp.” She shook her head as if to shake away the thoughts. “But I just need to stay busy, and it will all be fi—”

  “Wait, what do you mean what you did? Bre, you didn’t do anything. It was an accident. You know that. I want you to talk to me or to someone.”

  “Another shrink? To tell me what? No. I just need to work.”

  “You can’t bury this forever, baby girl. What happened was an accident.”

  “You know it wasn’t!” Her hands began to shake. “I forgot! Me! And we had to go back because of me! God! She shouldn’t have been driving so fast. She wouldn’t have been rushing!” She began to cry. “She wouldn’t have been driving so fast on the snow. Goddammit, it was my fault!” she choked.

  “Oh, Bre, it was not—”

  “Back!” Paul said from just behind them, a length of coiled rope in hand.

  Her father flinched, smacking his head on the roof of the tunnel. “Christ! You scared the crap out me, kid!” he said, removing his fedora and rubbing the top of his head.

  Breanne turned her face, allowing the darkness to hide her tears as she tried to pull herself together.

  Her father situated his fedora back atop his head. “Bre, I want to finish this conversation later,” he said, reaching for her hand and squeezing.

  She squeezed his in return. “I need to get some air,” she said quietly. “I’ll be right back.” She slid past her brother.

  “I miss something?” Paul asked.

  “No, she’ll be okay,” she heard her father say. “Alright now, you have the rope secured?”

  “Yep, and I am ready to rappel in.”

  She climbed up through the hole and onto the floor of the pit, pulling in a shaky breath. Despite being at the bottom of a deep pit, the air seemed fresh and crisp. Turning her face upward, she gazed out beyond the dirt walls, past the crane cables, and into the circle of blue sky above it all. No sun. No clouds. Only pale-blue nothingness. She thought about her mom – her mom’s smile, her laugh, and even her voice and the way it sounded when she sang. That was the hardest, and she felt her chest ache with shame. She couldn’t remember the sound of her mother’s voice. For a few minutes she sat and cried. More salt – cake it in, and rub it deep. Feel it burn. You deserve every bit. You deserve every single bit. An unmeasured moment of time went by. Finally, she pressed her lips into a tight line and climbed back into the tunnel.

  13

  Lincoln’s Secret

  Present day

  Petersburg, Illinois

  Garrett watched with wide eyes as Pete pulled on his jersey gloves and ever so gingerly worked to finesse the page over to reveal the next part of what just could be a long-dead president’s secret journal. Pete had been careful with the journal from the start, but now that he had established and spoken his theory aloud, Garrett could see clearly the newfound level of reverence with which his friend handled the journal. Garrett couldn’t blame him; after all, if Pete was correct, this was no longer just some really old book. This was Abraham Lincoln’s journal. He felt his own palms growing damp and his mouth dry, suddenly glad he wasn’t the one trying to turn the page.

  Neither dared gamble a breath as they watched the page fold over without incident.

  “Okay,” Pete said in a loud exhale, “I will start transferring the text.”

  Garrett swallowed dryly, staring over Pete’s shoulder as he began to write.

  Let this journal be your guide in gaining access to the temple entrance, but understand, dear friend, I cannot tell you what traps lie beyond the final path. I only looked onto the chamber within from the temple entrance and never xxx xxx xxx xxx xxx xxx place. Thus, I can only offer assistance to get you past the traps Bowling Green and I put into place to ensure no man casts eyes upon it or what foulness it holds. Bowling and I worked meticulously to set traps that, without this account, will surely put end to any man seeking entry. Should you choose to gain entry to this most unholy place, you must follow the direction here told within.

  I began my survey for the town of Petersburg in 1835, and in doing so, I ensured the tunnel entrance was concealed but still accessible through clever brickwork hidden inside of a drainage duct. You can find this duct spills into the Sangamon River.

  “Holy shit, Garrett! Holy shit!” Pete exclaimed.

  “What? What is it?”

  “Don’t you see!”

  Garrett shrugged pleadingly.

  “I began my survey of Petersburg in 1835! Seriously? Come on, Garrett. I know you know this. You don’t even have to be smart to know this one!” Pete said hopefully. “Who surveyed Petersburg?”

  Too excited to be offended, Garrett slowly sat down on the edge of Pete’s bed. “Oh my God, Pete,” he said, his eyes wide. “It can’t be. It just can’t. God, Pete what have we found? What the hell have we found?!” He shouted the words and leapt back to his feet. Hell, if you lived in Petersburg, you damn sure should know who surveyed the historic city. Garrett cupped his face with both hands, “Abraham Lincoln! It’s Abraham Lincoln’s journal. You’re right, Pete. I… I didn’t believe it, but this is proof that this was written by him, right?”

  “Well, it was either written by Lincoln – and yes, I believe it was – or it was written by someone from the time period pretending to be him, because I think this thing is definitely old enough!”

  “Transfer the other side,” Garrett said, feeling the excitement build inside of him.

  Begin at my survey marker and walk directly east until you reach the river. At the end of the street head due xxx xxx xxx paces. Look carefully over the side, and you will see a drainage opening large enough for a man to enter upright.

  “Drainage pipe.” Garrett pressed his fingertips into his pursed lips.

  “What are you thinking?” Pete asked.

  “I don’t know yet – keep going.”

  Pete eagerly continued to write.

  Once inside, look for the archway, which holds a xxx xxx xxx. When you find xxx xxx remove xxx beloved xxx and, once removed, reach inside and pull the lever. This will allow the way to open, showing you the path.

  “Okay, there’s some kind of roughly drawn map on the bottom part of the page, but it’s all smudged up. I can’t make much out of it.” Pete turned the book towards Garrett. “These two squiggly lines here” – he pointed – “see how they run horizontal, then they bend? These could be the river?”

  “Yeah, that makes sense. Pete, if this leads to a temple, it must be underground. What do you think is in it?” Garrett cocked his head to one side as he studied the smudged lines.

  “I don’t know, man. He talks about a temple and booby traps. What’s in the temple is anybody’s guess, but it has to be something of great value or importance.”

  “Jesus! This is some Goonies shit, Pete!” Garrett said. “Can you turn to the next page?”

  Pete bit his lower lip, considering. “Let me try.” Carefully, he slid one gloved finger under the page, almost as if trying to will it to just bend over. But this time the page didn’t bend; it began to crack.

  For a heart-stopping secon
d, Garrett thought it would break in half.

  Pete froze, slowly extracting his finger. “We really need to put this back in the humidity chamber before we go further. The pages need to moisten up a bit.”

  “You mean, back under the garbage bag?” Garrett asked, smiling.

  “The humidity chamber,” Pete stressed, correcting his friend.

  “Okay, genius, we know the beginning of this thing starts at the river… somewhere.” Garrett began to pace. “We need to figure this out and decide how we’re going to deal with Jack.” Garrett stopped pacing, abruptly turning to Pete. “What the hell could be in this temple?”

  “Like I said, it’s anybody’s guess. We’re missing the first section of the book, plus we’re missing words so I don’t even understand which way to go once we get to the river, but I do know one thing.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I know exactly where to start.” Pete carefully placed the journal back under the bag before grabbing his notebook and stuffing it into his backpack. “We need a meeting. Let’s go to my office.”

  Garrett smiled. “I’ll call Lenny.”

  14

  Hardheaded

  Present day

  Oak Island, Nova Scotia

  When Breanne approached the opening cut into the back of the tunnel wall and peered down the slope, her headlamp fractured the darkness, revealing a taut rope vanishing around a bend. She was not happy. “You let my daddy go down there by himself? Why didn’t you go?”

  Paul held out his hands helplessly. “He insisted. I argued, but he wouldn’t listen to me. Almost as soon as he started down, he vanished.” He pointed his light. “Right there, you see? He must have… I think he went around a corner. Damn old man is going to get himself killed.”

  “Jesus Christ, Paul!” Breanne glared at him.

  “Don’t do that, and don’t stand there and act like you’re surprised he insisted on going.”