by Tom Hunter
“Robbie, I’ll need your chair, and bring mine as well,” ordered Abby. “Oh, I’ll need my drawing things as well,” she said as she rubbed the coral brooch at her neck.
Well, Alfred, I bet you wish you were here for this doozy, she thought, as Robbie did as he was directed. The others were rooted where they stood.
“To borrow a hackneyed phrase from an old friend, she began, ‘close your mouths children, we are not codfish.’” Then, at their incredulous looks, she added, “Oh stop, it’s a line from Mary Poppins, and for just now, I think it fits.”
Arranging herself in a chair, Abby sat in front of the man dressed in furs and cooed at him to calm down. Though they’d finally got him seated opposite her, he vacillated between shouting and whimpering, and shook his head vigorously as Abby spoke.
“My name is…” she shook her head and changed her tactic. “I am Abby,” she explained, pointing to herself. Then, in Spanish, “Me llamo, Abby.” She touched her chest with her index finger, then pointed at the youth in front of her. “Now, you,” she said brightly and again in Spanish, “Como se llama?” The man-child shook his head again.
He looks more like a teenager. The thought gave her an idea, “Robbie! Come help me with something.”
Robbie came and stood beside her. She pointed first to herself, “I am Abby. Me llamo Abby.” Then she pointed to Robbie, “This is Robbie. His name is Robbie. Es Robbie.” She pointed again to herself and said, “Abby.” Then pointed to Robbie, saying, “Robbie.” Then, Abby pointed to the boy from the cave, “You? Tu?”
He shook his head, frustrated. This is getting us nowhere, Abby thought to herself.
Thomas, Pediah, and Alexia had stepped past the guards standing sentry on either side of Abby’s tent and watched the painful exchange.
The guards chosen to remain, had been commissioned almost as an afterthought, when they were asked to let the figure go. But, in a flash of insight, Thomas had thought they might be a good idea. He was having a lot of these little flashes of late, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on why. He just knew they always felt right. Almost as if he was preparing for something. Coming back to the present, he watched Abby in action.
Abby fingered the coral brooch at her throat and turned to Thomas. “I can’t tell if he’s simply too afraid or if he really doesn’t understand. I’d hoped that because the scrolls had Spanish written on them, it might be a common language.”
Thomas laid a hand on her shoulder, and said with a sly smile, “You speak Elvish and Klingon. I think you can crack this case.”
Robbie and Alexia gasped, “No way!”
Abby smiled, “I’m a linguist and an anthropologist who married an archeologist. What did you expect?”
Robbie laughed, “Well, you learn something new every day, I guess.” Then turned to Thomas, his expression serious, “So, why did you bring him here if he’s potentially dangerous? Didn’t I hear something about a knife being thrown at you?”
“I think it was a knee-jerk reaction. I startled him. But, he could easily have hurt me.” Thomas stroked his beard, considering the youth. He’d come to the same realization as Abby. This boy was still quite young. “I think one of our cave paintings has come to life.”
Robbie’s brows furrowed as he looked more closely at the boy. “I doubt it. He looks…normal. Except for his height and clothes. If he lived underground, wouldn’t he be even paler from lack of light?”
“How do you mean?” asked Pediah, as Thomas interjected, “I think you’ve read too many comic books.”
“Would you boys shush?” chastised Abby. “I think he knows you’re talking about him,” she explained, as she reached into her messenger bag beside her chair and withdrew a sketch pad. “You gave me the idea, Thomas. When you said a cave painting came to life.”
“What’s that phrase?” Abby said, as she began to draw bold strokes on the page. “A picture is worth a thousand words. Or in this case, all we need is one word to start.” Pausing for a moment, her pen suspended, she added, “You know, if he were truly afraid, he’d have already busted out of here. But, he didn’t. I think he’s as curious about us as we are about him.”
With a flourish, she finished her drawing, and turned the picture toward the youth. He smiled and pointed, nodding eagerly.
Ten
As the pictures Abby drew took shape, she handed blank pages and a pencil to the youth in front of her. Together, they began to tell a story.
He’d looked at Abby in wide-eyed wonder, a look that seemed to ask, “How did you know?”
As he reached for the materials she handed him, he’d instinctively known what to do as he watched Abby work, and eagerly reached for the materials she’d offered him. Some images lay in his lap, his large hand brushing lovingly over the images, others having fallen at his feet.
Watching the boy draw, Abby remarked, “We’re going to have to call you something. Let’s see if we can figure out a name for you.”
When he handed her back his own drawings, a single blank sheet fell from between the others. Abby nearly laughed. “I don’t usually believe in signs, but I may have to make an exception,” she explained to the boy. His eyes narrowed in confusion, and Abby brushed it off, “Never mind.” Then, “Now, about your name. Hmmm…” She reached for her coral brooch, a gift from her husband just before his death, and fingered it gently. She took her pencils and began to draw Robbie, Thomas, Alexia, Pediah, and herself. Below each image, she wrote their name, and finally drew the image of the figure in front of her.
“See?” she asked, saying each person’s name, pointing first to the image, then the person. When she came to the last name, and the last image, she pointed to the figure in front of her, and shrugged.
Pointing to himself, he said a word that Abby thought sounded like “Mochni.”
Below his image, he wrote in a language she didn’t understand and repeated, “Mochni.” Abby nodded, and said his name back to him, pronouncing it, “Mo-shnee.” The boy offered her a wide grin, his eyes bright, and bobbed his head forward.
The pinks, yellows, and oranges converged to announce the new day. Having been up all night getting Mochni’s name and story through drawings had taken their toll. Abby sat back exhausted, and let Thomas and his team begin to draw their own conclusions from the information now available to them.
Thomas picked up one of the images that lay at Mochni’s feet. His pictures weren’t Van Gogh, but they weren’t stick figures either, Thomas thought to himself. He was thankful for small blessings. Then, as Mochni began to draw a new pictures, Thomas Knight’s eyes widened. “It can’t be,” he breathed.
A single image began to appear, when Thomas Knight asked, “Abby, ask him to stop for a minute.” She held up a hand and the pencil stopped. “Does that object look familiar to you?” he asked her.
Abby looked closely and gestured to the boy to turn the picture so she could see it better. He did so and Abby jumped, a squeaky gasp escaping her lips. “The drum!”
Thomas nodded, then laughed, as the boy in the chair imitated Abby by jumping and making a high-pitched squeak-like gasp.
“See, he understands you just fine, Abby,” quipped Robbie. “You’ve got the dirt on him, now. Don’t you?”
Turning back to Abby and Mochni, Thomas asked, “Let’s see if he’ll hand you the other pages. They’re too difficult to see upside down like that.”
Abby did so and began to spread a few of the pictures on her lap. “Well, Thomas. Looks like you were right.” Images of single and grouped cave homes, the drum, humanoid giants, and even a few of the lizard-like creatures Thomas had fought in the temple chamber, filled the pages.
The youth pointed to himself, then the pictures of first single cave homes, then several together; like a community.
She nodded toward Mochni, who’d begun to beat his hands on her desk in a steady rhythm. Abby’s eyebrows knit together as if working to understand what he was communicating. Then, when he pointed from the
image of the drum to Thomas, and back again, she understood.
“I think he knows we’ve got the drum Thomas,” Abby ventured. Then, at Mochni’s vigorous nod, as if he understood her, she added, “And he wants it back.”
Pediah expounded, “Well, Thom, that would certainly explain what he was doing in your tent.”
“Robbie put it in a crate, which was a good move,” began Alexia. “Maybe that’s why he was having so much trouble finding it.”
Robbie looked at his shoes, a slow flush creeping up his cheeks at Alexia’s compliment. His heart belonged to only one woman; Abby’s daughter. But, he felt he’d won Alexia’s respect, and he knew it was a hard thing to do.
Abby smiled wanly at Mochni, who seemed to have suddenly found new energy. Then to Thomas, she said, “I’m beat.”
“I was going to say,” Thomas teased, “he doesn’t look so tired. What time is it?”
Abby checked her watch. “Well, dawn is breaking. I can see the light seep in. And my watch says…yikes!— it’s a little after 4AM! No wonder I’m exhausted.” She looked at the fur-clad boy, still stomping his feet in staccato against the dirt floor of her tent.
“He is topside,” she reasoned. “Maybe his sleep schedule is upside down. I imagine they don’t look at time passing the same we do up here.”
Abby sat upright suddenly. “Oh! If he sleeps here. Up here, I mean. We should put him somewhere the morning light won’t hurt his eyes.”
Thomas agreed. “I’ll make the arrangements. Besides, I want him safely away from my tent for the time being.” He turned to the boy and wagged his finger. “No fishing around in the crates before Dr. Cunningham can arrange pick up.”
Abby and Robbie chuckled, as Robbie exclaimed, “You might want to watch your finger, there Thomas. He may try to bite it!”
Abby swatted at Robbie, “Shame on you, Robert Blake! Go with Thomas to help make the arrangements for Mochni.” Her eyelids heavy, and her voice thick with sleep not yet realized, she found it more difficult to focus and form words.
Abby placed her hands palm to palm, laid them next to her cheek, and tilted her head as if laying down on a pillow, all the while, saying the word, “sleep.” Then moving toward one of the beds in her tent, she sat down, patted it, and made the same gestures.
The boy nodded and made a move to stand. Abby shook her head, pointed to Thomas, and held up her index finger, which he seemed to understand meant “wait”. Mochni nodded and sat back down.
“Before you go, Thomas, I need to speak with you a moment,” Abby crooked her finger for Thomas to follow her outside the tent as Robbie waited impatiently. Something about Mochni’s drumming had set him on edge.
“What is it?” Thomas asked, once they were outside. “You okay?”
“Yes, yes. I’m fine. It’s just, I had a thought in there,” she began. Pursing her lips briefly, she wondered how best to explain. “Well, to be honest, I’ve been thinking about it since he finished his drawings,” Abby spoke quietly, but intently. “I know how we can reach the dwellers below safely. That is, if any of the boy’s family remains…”
Eleven
The chill of the desert night had faded into day. A rosy glow awash on the desert sands hid from casual view a camp that was more bootcamp than dig site. Overnight it seemed, Ramon and his mercenaries, along with the volunteers he had coerced, had managed to camouflage their surroundings. Armed guards patrolled the area added to the tension.
Ramon’s voice cut through the thick, sultry air already choking the day. “Watch for drones, men!” he bellowed. Then, almost as an after-thought, he added, “Keep your eyes peeled for anything unusual.” In answer, each man nodded a sharp salute and continued their rounds.
Noah Ashbridge heard Ramon before he saw him. Taking a break from the study of his grandfather’s journal, he stepped outside the coolness of his RV and called to Ramon. “What was that all about? I don’t remember giving the order to, well, give orders.”
Ramon’s dark face deepened in shadow as he pinched his lips tight. Who was this guy to tell him what to say to his men? Oh yeah, the man with the money. Noah had hired him for a reason and he saw it plainly now as Ramon stood at attention, his feet hip width apart, his back straight. A piercing gaze held Noah, as he struggled against the desire to take a step back.
“I’ve been thinking,” he began. Noah arched an eyebrow, about to explain he hadn’t hired him to think, but thought better of it and remained silent.
Ramon went on. “With everything that’s happened, it stands to reason that Thomas Knight’ll be more cautious. He has already increased security and his girl—the mechanic—she is very good at her job. If we’re not careful, our covert surveillance may be comprised. We are risking much as it is.”
“Brawn and brains,” Noah whistled under his breath. “Damn, I’m good.”
Ramon stared at him quizzically, his too-thin eyebrows vying for attention against his scars. Noah clarified, “Between you and Miss Welker,” Noah explained, “what do I need the rest of these guys for?” he asked, jerking a thumb toward the nearest machine-gun wielding mercenary.
“Backup.”
“Fair enough,” Noah conceded. “What concerns me more is not realizing how much ahead of the game Knight is these days. I had no idea he’d beefed up his own security so heavily.”
Ramon arched an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth pulled up in his attempt at a smile, “You have taught him well.”
Noah furrowed his brow, his lips pursed. He fixed Ramon with an icy stare, shook his head, and asked, “Okay then. What should we do?”
Noah caught himself too late, and rephrased, “I mean, what do you recommend? What course of action?”
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“On whether or not you want to maintain the current camp,” Ramon answered.
“Go on,” encouraged Noah.
“If you don’t care about the camp, then the best thing to do is to shut it down.”
Noah’s eyebrows shot up into his receding hairline. Willing himself not to use his cane, he asked, “Come again?”
Vexed, Ramon let out a rush of air in frustration, swallowed, and tried to explain. “I mean simply to shut down this campsite, and all the little devices we’ve used to date—the drones or planes or whatever gets in our way—and move to a different location.”
Before he could continue, Noah asked incredulously, “Again?” Then, “I swear I waste more money moving this campsite around, than—“
Ramon interrupted his tirade. “We need to be more mobile. We’ll be harder to track and less likely to be discovered. A moving target is more difficult to shoot.”
“Well, that’s one option, I suppose,” muttered Noah. “But, there’s a problem with that.”
Ramon arched his eyebrows in question. Seemed pretty open and shut to him.
Exasperated and exhausted from his studies, Noah explained, “The area mentioned in the Ashbridge journal is here.” He pointed to the ground for emphasis. “I am not leaving this spot until we, a) discover the artifact Grandfather Reggie mentioned in his journal and b) ensure there’s a way to make back all the money spent so far on this dig.”
“I thought it might be something like that. Hence, my orders. Keep an eye out for drones or anything unusual. Duck, if you must, but otherwise, misdirect.”
“Very good,” Noah nodded in approval. Then, crossing his arms slowly, he wondered aloud, “Do we have any spies or agents we could send in?”
“I would caution against it,” advised Ramon. At Noah’s arched eyebrows, Ramon explained, “Listen, we’ve lost one spy already. Or have you forgotten him? Six went in, but only five came out. I’m sure with what Knight and his team have told the rangers, everyone is on high alert. Spies, for now, should be a last resort.”
“Your reasoning is sound. No spies. Yet. You’re a study in subtlety of late. Have you been taking lessons from Miss Welker?”
Ramon snarled her name a
nd Noah beamed. He’d hit a nerve! He was feeling better already. Ramon went on, “Nothing to do with her. It’s basic strategy.” Realizing too late, the verbal arrow had hit its target, Ramon turned the tables. He said simply, “You could also be direct and simply take the other camp by storm. What do they call that in business, those guys in the ivory towers? Ah yes, hostile takeover.”
“I am not a fan of Thomas Knight, not by any stretch,” began Noah. “But, I will say this: the man excels at his job. He was born to it.”
Without further discussion, Noah turned and headed back toward his RV. His mind was already focused on returning to his grandfather’s journal. Ramon, shaking his head, stood and watched him go.
“That Welker woman sure has him wrapped around her finger. I think she’s playing him,” Ramon muttered under his breath. How much of what he says is really his idea? Women’s wiles are a slippery slope for most men. But, for him, I suspect it’s more like quicksand.
Twelve
Noah opened the door to his RV, stepped inside, and let the coolness wash over him. He really did hate the desert and would be glad to leave it behind.
He’d spoken longer with Ramon than he’d intended, and crossed over to his desk. His laptop was still open. The screen was dark. He moved his finger across the track pad and it came to life again. The screen also illuminated those loose pages before him, which were held steady under the stone tablet, and his grandfather’s journal.
Noah eyed his bed. He was utterly exhausted. He quickly pulled his blinds and locked the door.
He didn’t dare tell anyone about the dreams that plagued him when he did sleep. It was one of those reasons he was so intent to stay awake. It wasn’t just his desire to solve the riddle of his grandfather’s journal. It was his need.
Like a man lost in the desert needs water—and—blood is thicker than water. Two prevailing wings of thought beat a silent drum in his mind. Not just at night, but in his waking hours. He suddenly wondered if it wasn’t more akin to a ticking time bomb.
