Deep Down (Sam Stone Book 1)

by Worth, Janean

  “I’d guess she just had a severe brain aneurism,” Stone said. “Possibly several aneurisms, judging by the amount of blood that she expelled. The toxins from the bacteria must have caused the blood vessels in her brain and lungs to weaken and burst. There was nothing that you could have done to save her, Jenny. Nothing.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Jenny tried to block the memory of Tammi’s bloodied face from her mind as they all hurried out of the restroom, but she couldn’t stop thinking about how young the girl had been. Tammi had barely gotten a chance to live, and now she was gone. The poor girl would never have an opportunity to build a life, have a career, get married or have children. She’d never have a chance to find her niche in the world.

  Jenny felt a roiling anger settle in her gut. Tammi’s life had meant nothing to whoever was on the surface making the decisions. To that person, Tammi had been nothing more than a statistic. A number on a piece of paper. A percentage in a survival scenario. But the girl did have meaning. She did have worth. Somewhere, a mother or father or sister or brother would mourn her loss. Or perhaps a boyfriend, a guy who could have been Tammi’s true love, a guy who could have become her husband. A guy who would now mourn her.

  To those people, and to Jenny, Tammi had been a person, not a number. And now she was just a life that had been snuffed out too early. Needlessly.

  “Watch out, Jenny,” Stone said as he reached out to grab her arm, guiding her around a rusted excavator that was part of one of the museum displays.

  Jenny leaned in close to Stone, sidestepping the massive machine, realizing that she needed to focus more on the moment. If not for Stone’s guiding hand, she’d have run into the machine. The time now was for focusing on their own survival. Later, she’d worry about bringing those responsible for Tammi’s death to justice.

  “How did you get out of the cavern?” Jenny asked.

  “An old military tactic. Get them riled up. Draw them in close and then give them all you’ve got. Suffice it to say, it involved a bit of hand-to-hand and a small amount of gunfire. And, let me just tell you that I should have sent Gilbert to the restroom instead of you. Despite his time in the military, he’s a very poor shot,” Stone said. “But it all worked out. We had good odds. The two armed guards against the three of us. Harry and Sam chose not to participate, which was a good call on their part.”

  Jenny didn’t ask for more details because just then he led them around a curve in the tunnel wall, and there before them was the small tram that Alice had told them about.

  The thing did resemble a train made of motorless, topless golf carts, fastened together with v-neck hitches and pulled by a slightly larger car that did have a motor.

  “Take a seat in the front and I’ll join you as soon as I unhook some of these other cars. We don’t need all of them, and they’ll just slow us down,” Stone said.

  Jenny nodded and made her way toward the front motorized car, passing cars that contained Gilbert and Paul along the way. Debbie and Cheryl slipped in beside their men, but poor Alice was stuck in a car by herself, since the small seats were made to accommodate only two people. The young woman looked frightened, yet determined not to say anything about her fear as she settled in.

  Jenny patted Alice’s shoulder reassuringly as she hustled toward the front of the tram. Stone’s efforts to unhook the unneeded tram cars made loud clanking noises that bounced off of the salt walls as she took her seat in the front car of the tram. Jenny cringed inwardly at the sound, hoping that no one other than those in their small party had heard the noise.

  Even if Stone had completely disabled Stan and John during the altercation in the dining cavern, the two men in the quarantine suits could still be a threat. Jenny looked nervously down the tunnel, back toward the way that they had come.

  There was no one there. Thankfully.

  Finished with his task quickly, Stone joined her in the front tram car. He wasted little time in starting the car and soon they were racing down the tunnel at an exhilaratingly fast pace.

  The tram was surprisingly zippy for its size. Jenny had expected it to be cumbersome and slow, but the tram practically flew along the hard saltcrete floor, kicking up puffs and eddies of salt dust that writhed in the air for a moment before becoming lost in the darkness behind them.

  They quickly left the museum area behind, and along with it, the track lighting that had provided what little light there had been in the tunnels.

  “We’re not going to the main lift? And the telephone?” Jenny asked as they left the last of the lights behind.

  “No,” Stone answered. “Too risky for an uncertain outcome. Since the CDC has sent down a quarantine team, and no one else, they’re most certainly the agency in charge on the surface. If we do manage to get a call out, it won’t matter, because anyone who tries to intervene on our behalf will be told that the CDC has it covered. And there would be no arguing with that. No way around them. The CDC always handles things like this. Bacterial and viral outbreaks, risk of global pandemics, that sort of thing. So, anyone who tries to help us will be told that the CDC will handle it. Period. End of story.”

  “Can they do that?” Jenny asked.

  “Yes. And that’s only part of what makes it a bad risk. The CDC could be monitoring that line. Or, even redirecting calls made from that line to somewhere other than the number called. The person on the other end of the call could be anyone. Maybe even a CDC employee who would pretend to be the person we intended to call and then tell us what they thought we wanted to hear. So, even if we did manage to make it to the phone and back out of that cavern again, there’s no guarantee that our phone call would go anywhere other than where the CDC sent it. And, if what the doctor said is true, and they’re not interested in helping us survive this infection, if they’re only interested in containing it instead, then the CDC would surely make our call for help disappear,” Stone said.

  Jenny felt a chill skate up her arms that had nothing to do with the cool temperature of the air that rushed past them, and everything to do with the knowledge that they were completely, and utterly, on their own now. There would be no outside help.

  If anyone other than the doctor and his suited companions were going to survive the evening underground, then it would be up to their small group to make it happen.

  Ahead of them, the dim headlights of the tram revealed a fork in the tunnel. Another tunnel bisected the one they were currently in, jogging slightly left. Both led into black nothingness.

  Stone slowed the tram, gradually bringing it to a stop at the intersection of the two tunnels.

  He turned slightly in his seat and looked over his shoulder at Gilbert.

  “Gilbert, could you hand me the map?” Stone asked.

  There was a long pause. Gilbert didn’t answer.

  Jenny turned in her seat to look at Gilbert.

  “Um…,” Gilbert mumbled, looking very sheepish. “I, uh, was supposed to grab that while you got the ladies out of the restroom, wasn’t I?”

  Only Jenny heard Stone’s quiet sign of frustration.

  “Yes,” Stone answered. “You were.”

  “I don’t know how I could have forgotten to get it,” Gilbert said. “Maybe in the rush…”

  Gilbert’s words trailed off into silence.

  There was another long pause.

  Finally, Stone said, “Do you remember where it was in the museum?”

  “Yes, I do. It was on the other side of the dining cavern.”

  Stone backed the tram up a bit, then turned the tram in a gentle arc, squeezing the cars skillfully between walls of the intersecting tunnels. In moments, they were on the way back, heading now in the direction that they’d come only moments before. Jenny watched with apprehension as whatever small progress they’d just made was quickly reversed.

  No one said anything more for whole, long minutes. The lack of conversation lasted all the way back to the edge of the museum area, where the track lighting ended.


  The tram had only travelled about fifty yards into the dim light when the sound of a gunshot rushed down the tunnel toward them, overly loud in the enclosed space. Less than a second later a bullet pinged off of the salt wall so close to the tram that Jenny felt a chip of dislodged salt slap at her cheekbone.

  “Damn!” Stone muttered, swinging the tram rapidly into another tight turn.

  He got the tram turned around just as another gunshot split the air. Again, the bullet pinged uselessly along the tunnel wall, missing them completely.

  Jenny swung around in her seat, craning her neck to look behind them. Stan had emerged from a cavern farther back down the tunnel. He was now sprinting after them, his gun held out in front of him.

  He fired a third shot, and Jenny saw the muzzle flash in the dimness of the cavern and heard the roar of sound, but again, the bullet missed, hitting no one.

  “We’ll have to try to do without the map for now,” Stone said grimly. “Stan seems to be only too happy to shoot us all for the fun of it. And, since the oxygen already seems to be at a dangerously low level, despite what we were told, we don’t have time for a game of cat and mouse with him right now.”

  Jenny knew that he was right. They would need every second if they were going to find the other lift used by the working mine and get to the surface in time to send back help before everyone else suffocated or died from exposure to the bacteria. She sat quietly, watching the tram’s headlights flash and flicker over the glittering salt embedded in the floor and walls as Stone accelerated again, wondering how they’d find their way through the maze of tunnels without the map. The tour guide had mentioned that there were miles of tunnels that branched off from the museum, some of them still used to transport salt that was excavated from the parts of the mines that were still active and others being used as passages to the Underground Storage Facility areas.

  Underground Storage Facility, or USF as the tour guide had called it, was said to be the perfect place to store valuables or sensitive corporate document. The constant temperature of the underground vaults and the lack of both humidity and UV rays provided the ideal environment for preserving the condition of antiques, artifacts and valuables. Plus, the security was top notch. It was much harder to break into the underground vaults than it would have been to break into any bank vault on any street above ground. In order to even get near the USF, a person would have to obtain a ride underground from one of the lifts. That was the only way in or out. And a person couldn’t do that without a legitimate reason and a show of ID.

  Even the trip down to the museum had required ID. Jenny had been asked for her driver’s license before she’d been given her lift ticket.

  The tram quickly arrived back at the place where the two tunnels intersected. Stone turned into the one on the right.

  “I’m thinking that there must be a lift near the salt plant in Sareyville. On the surface, Sareyville is due west of the museum, so this tunnel might lead us at least part of the way there, since it goes in a westerly direction.”

  Jenny just nodded silently. She had no idea how Stone had managed to keep his bearings underground. As soon as she’d stepped of the lift, she’d only cared about one direction: up. North, south, east and west had all become irrelevant to her at that moment, which was good, because she felt no sense of direction underground like she did above ground, where she could use the sun to orient herself. She was glad that Stone seemed not to have that same issue.

  “Good plan,” Gilbert said from the car directly behind theirs. “I’m sorry about the map. I don’t know how I could have forgotten something so important. I don’t think I’m firing on all cylinders anymore. It feels like my thoughts are running in slow motion.

  “Don’t worry about it, Gilbert,” Stone said. “We’re all under quite a bit of stress, both physically and mentally, so I guess a little mental confusion is to be expected.”

  Jenny realized that Stone was trying to avoid stating the obvious, which seemed obvious to her. Gilbert was beginning to be affected by the toxin produced by the bacteria.

  “Speaking of mental confusion,” Gilbert said conversationally. “Has anyone else noticed the extremely large bats that have been following us?”

  Jenny wrenched around to look behind them, panicked at the thought of one more thing to deal with, but she saw nothing behind them in the gloom. No bats at all, either large or small.

  “There are no bats following us, Gilbert,” Debbie said to her boyfriend, her tone soothing, as if she were talking to a mental patient fresh out of the asylum.

  “Yes, yes there are. Have been for quite a while. They’re nasty looking buggers too, about the size of a large dog, I mean, if a dog had wings like a bat, that is. Are you sure you don’t see them?” Gilbert’s voice had a plaintive note, as if he desperately wanted someone to agree that there were large dog-sized bats chasing along behind the tram.

  Jenny was deeply relieved when no one did.

  “You’re hallucinating, Gilbert,” Stone said calmly. “Try to keep it together a bit longer, okay? When we get to the surface, a good dose of oxygenated air should clear your mind.”

  “Perhaps that’s why you forgot to get the map. You’re low on oxygen,” Debbie said, a note of relief in her voice, as if she’d been silently angry at her boyfriend for forgetting something so important to their survival, but she now had an explanation for his behavior, so she no longer had to be angry about it. Or, perhaps she’d also realized the obvious, that the bacteria was affecting his thought processes, and so she seized upon the theory of oxygen deprivation eagerly, rather than to accept that her boyfriend’s mind might slowly be turning to mush inside his skull.

  “That could very well be the case,” Gilbert said. “Although I’m not happy to know that I’m losing my mind, I am very relieved to know that the bats are not real. They’re nothing pretty to look at.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Dennis snatched the paper from Logan’s hand, glaring, as if Logan had committed some heinous offence in taking the paper from the printer without first asking permission.

  Logan ignored the man’s attitude. In fact, he was trying his best to ignore his superior all together, and most especially, the man’s current instructions.

  As Dennis pored over Dr. Fasstine’s most recent lab tests, the ones that had just been printed, his eyebrows beetled down into a frown.

  “How can this be right?” he muttered.

  Logan remained silent, standing stiffly at his side. He knew that Dennis was not asking him for the answer to his question, but only speaking his frustration at the perplexing results aloud. Dennis hadn’t allowed Logan to have any input in the proceedings since Logan had first voiced his formal protest to the man’s intent.

  Logan still could not believe that Dennis had insisted on waiting to hear the specialist’s expert opinion of the bacteria before bringing the infected people to the surface, even if this meant allowing the oxygen in the museum and surrounding tunnels to become completely depleted before that opinion could be heard.

  “No, this can’t be right,” Dennis said, now shaking the paper under Logan’s nose. “There’s nothing that could have caused the bacteria to mutate so quickly. Nothing.”

  Logan couldn’t resist a comment, though he knew one was not wanted.

  “That we know of, Sir. Nothing that we currently know of.”

  Dennis glared at him, and Logan reminded himself that he needed to keep his mouth shut if he wanted to keep his job, which, considering Dennis’s behavior, and the way things might play out, he wasn’t sure that he did.

  “Get that damn specialist in here before he suits up and goes down into the museum. I want an explanation for this,” Dennis growled, shaking the paper again and almost jabbing Logan in the nose with it in the process.

  Logan nodded, then turned stiffly and stalked out of Dennis’s “command center” as the man called it. The thing was a truly remarkable vehicle. Even though Logan was not impressed with Dennis’
s methods, he was unwillingly impressed with the command center. Originally a sleek tour bus, the thing had been completely gutted and then, as per Dennis’s orders, retrofitted with every amenity, as well as every technological and communications advancement known to man. The vehicle had everything, including a full bar, which Logan highly doubted anyone needed while they were in charge of a CDC matter. Yet no one had questioned Dennis when he’d requested that the bar be installed in his new mobile command center.

  Logan had found, in the few years that he’d been working with the man, that this sort of behavior was often the case. No one questioned Dennis Malnon’s orders. No one, that is, except Logan.

  Outside the command center vehicle, the museum’s small parking lot was a mass of controlled chaos. CDC personnel were everywhere, although they made a concerted effort to hide exactly which organization they worked for. CDC emblems on vehicles had been covered for this occasion, and the employees acted for all the world as if they were just assembling the makings for a rowdy tailgate party, scurrying from vehicle to vehicle. Of course, Logan knew differently. He could practically see Dennis’s instructions behind the covert actions of the crew outside the command center, certain that the man had insisted on secrecy. If he was planning to allow over one hundred people to die in a ‘mining accident’, then, of course it would be mandatory that no one took notice of the CDC’s presence in Hawkington, Kansas.

  The most horrible part of Dennis’s plan was that it would probably work perfectly. The ‘accident’ would not be questioned, and the CDC would seem to have had no participation in the events at all, having easily kept their presence in Hawkington under the radar.

  From what Logan had seen, Hawkington was about as far from a hub of activity as you could get, especially near the Strata’s location. In fact, few cars rarely drove anywhere near the entrance to the Strata museum’s small parking lot. In explanation for this behavior, he’d been told that the museum had been closed for a special event that weekend, open only to a select few. Poor, unlucky individuals that they were.