by Tom Hunter
Ramon shook his head, “I dunno. I’m not his keeper.”
“Well, he needs food, and fluids. Real ones, not coffee. Or next time, he will be dead.”
Waking as if from a deep sleep, Noah groaned slightly, his eyes widening as he realized he wasn’t alone. “What are you doing here?” he demanded of Ramon.
“Saving your ass,” came the reply. “You need to eat and drink, man. Doc said so.”
Noah ignored him and jumped away from his desk, as a rivulet of coffee made its way into his lap.
“Oh, shit! No, no, no, no.” Noah’s voice became a high-pitched squeak as he grabbed a fistful of paper napkins to soak up the flood of coffee covering his research materials.
“What’s going on Noah?” Ramon asked in the calmest voice he could muster.
Noah looked at him, but didn’t answer, still dabbing furiously at the spill.
Ramon grabbed Noah, spun him to face him, and tried to shake him out of his stupor.
“Let me go, you oaf!” snarled Noah.
Out of the corner of his eye, Ramon saw that a small group had gathered and were watching them. He let go of Noah.
“Sorry, man. Just worried about ya,” he explained, just loud enough for the onlookers to hear. Noah arched an eyebrow, and muttered, “Uh, huh. Sure.”
“Sorry, false alarm. He’s fine. Right, doc?” Ramon assured them. Noah nodded in agreement. The others drifted off, leaving Ramon and Noah alone.
“You should take better care of yourself, man,” scolded Ramon.
Noah brushed himself off, and said in a low, strained voice, “You could give a rat’s ass about my health. You just want to make sure your meal ticket is still on the table. Shit. You’re just like that bastard, Clark,” muttered Noah through clenched teeth.
“Who the hell is Clark?”
“Why are you here, Ramon? What’s going on?”
“Wanted to report we lost contact with one of the teams sent to explore the caves,” he explained.
“How long since they last made contact?” Noah asked, sharply. Before Ramon could answer, Noah went on, “I’d recommend following their last known twenty with double their numbers.”
“Agreed, but if I’m going to keep losing men, there’s a little matter of hazard pay. It will be the only way to keep those still around…around,” explained Ramon, then shrugged. “It’ll be difficult to run a campsite with no guards. It’d be open season on Noah Ashbridge,” Ramon threatened.
Noah held Ramon’s gaze for what seemed like an eternity, considering his options. But, a quick glance at Reginald Ashbridge’s journal clinched it. He nodded to Ramon in unspoken agreement.
As Ramon left, slamming the RV door behind him. Noah did a double take realizing it had been smashed nearly through. Angry at yet more money falling through the sieve of his pockets, he yanked open the door, and shouted after Ramon, “Door repairs are coming out of your check!”
To which Ramon raised his middle finger in answer, without turning around, and continued toward his men. Time was of the essence if the others were to be rescued.
“All this effort better be worth it,” Noah muttered. “Clark better not have been right about Reginald, or a lifetime of work has been wasted. Hell, counting old Reggie, two lifetimes wasted on this folly.”
Thirty-Four
With Miss Welker in tow, Donald Cunningham led the way back to Thomas’ tent. He held the tent flap open for her and ushered her inside. She nodded and fought her surprise as she took in stacks upon stacks of crates strewn throughout the man’s tent—some opened and in mid-assessment, others closed but unsealed, and still others with a layer of dust. She shook her head. A soft “wow” escaped her lips.
A proud Dr. Cunningham took her comment in stride, and muttered reverently, “Yes, impressive isn’t it?” Miss Welker could only nod. As she grappled with her shock, she made quick observations—a necessary evil in her line of work—and noted a strange rip or tear in one side of the tent. “What is that?” she asked, pointing toward it.
Dr. Cunningham strode over to it, poked his finger through, wiggled it about, and turning back to Miss Welker shrugged. “You know, I’m not sure,” he admitted.
“Hmmm…Abby Hogan mentioned something last time she and I spoke,” he began slowly. “She said…she said they’d had an intruder. Someone she thought looked like one of the cave dwellers of the cave paintings they’ve found.” He shook his head, and muttered to himself, “It can’t be. Can it?”
“Oh yes, I remember now,” feigned Miss Welker. “Thomas mentioned it when he asked me to come. I’d forgotten all about it until just now,” she admitted sheepishly.
Cave dwellers, topside? She thought to herself, her heart pounding. This is certainly a most interesting development. Now, do I tell Noah…or… She let the thought hang as she weighed the pros and cons of keeping this under her hat until it could be of the most use to her.
Under the guise of small talk, Dr. Cunningham asked questions, to which Miss Welker gave vague answers with just enough detail to satisfy.
Entranced by the woman’s beauty and charm, he regaled her with tales of Thomas Knight and his team’s finds, sharing his own small part as the expedition’s funder and recalling a time in his younger days when he’d been in the field himself.
Capitalizing on an old man’s need to regale people with stories, Miss Welker encouraged Dr. Cunningham to talk more deeply about the artifacts that had been found, and to pick his brain about his thoughts on the newly discovered cave dwelling civilization.
Warming to his stories, she noticed he’d taken a chair, and closed his eyes; all the better to tell stories as you see them in your mind’s eye, he’d explained. Fine by me, she thought, as she realized the opportunity to search for the drum with this guy in the tent was like taking candy from a baby. She kept waiting for the punchline, like he would suddenly catch on to her, but nothing happened. He talked, as though in a trance, and she walked around the tent, inspecting crates and pretending to be interested in his thoughts and stories as she searched for the ancient drum.
The steady drone of the man’s voice was a perfect cover for her when she, at last, stumbled onto the crate that held the drum. Knowing she would have to come back for it, she retrieved her standard issue Swiss army knife and carved a small symbol into the crate so she could find it quickly upon her return.
Her job nearly done, it was time to go. Unfortunately, it looked like Dr. Cunningham had settled in for the long haul. She had to get him out of the tent.
The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. An old wives’ maxim she’d heard her grandmother say came to her, and she smiled at the thought. Of course! Thank you, Mimi.
“I’m famished,” Miss Welker exclaimed, laying a hand over her flat stomach. “Have you eaten yet, Dr. Cunningham?”. He shook his head, as he came back to the here and now. She grabbed his hand. “Well, let’s go grab a bite and you can meet some of the team up here,” she said brightly.
As they left the tent, Miss Welker looked back longingly once more at the crate and began to plot her next move. She stopped suddenly, causing Dr. Cunningham to brush lightly against her. “Oh! Pardon me,” she exclaimed. “I thought for a moment I’d forgotten something in the tent. But, it’s right here,” she said, patting the small bag affixed to her waist. Almost invisibly, her nimble fingers picked his pocket.
Thirty-Five
Thomas Knight, flat on his back, unable to sleep on the cold stone floor, stared upward at the ceiling. His constant companion was his trusty beard comb. It helped him think, as he made the even downward strokes. Otherwise, he would just hold it, as he tried to work out what had happened and, at the same time try to calm himself down.
Though he’d been able to calm the others, his constant worry threatened to topple the slender thread he now clung to. Hearing strange sighs, and half-asleep whispers, Alexia crawled to Thom’s side. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s nothing, really.”
&nb
sp; The look she gave him cut him to the core. She knew he was lying. Thomas sighed. “Okay, so it’s not nothing. Guess I’m just getting nervous, and it’s taking every fiber of my being to keep it together. I can feel it, Alexia. One wrong word. One eye roll. A loud burst of sound. I don’t know what it’ll be, but one thing out of joint and I’m afraid I’ll blow,” he confided to her in a rush.
“I understand, Thom,” she said as she laid a hand on his shoulder. “When I shared the same with Abby, she offered me some sage advice.”
“Okay, what did our local wise woman have to say, then?”
“She said, it helps to have someone to share your fears and feelings with. That knowing someone had her back always helped her get through tough times,” Alexia said, tremulously. Then, in a bold about face, “And maybe that’s what you need, too,” she whispered, as she leaned in closer, her hot breath upon his cheek.
He chuckled softly, “And when, pray tell, are you ever nervous, Alexia?”
She opened her mouth to respond, but the sound of stone grinding on stone stopped her. The great door opened, and silhouetted in its frame stood Lt. Whipkey. Mochni and a small contingent of guards flanked him.
“I—the elders and I—we have come to a decision. Who is the leader here?” Lt. Whipkey asked.
Robbie jumped up to volunteer as Thomas Knight answered, “I am.”
“Sit down, Robbie,” chided Abby. “You know perfectly well Thomas is the man-in-charge. I said as much the very first day, remember?”
“But, I’m better known,” he pouted.
Thomas and Pediah wanted to laugh. They only knew about his YouTube celebrity status from Abby. “We don’t watch internet TV. And I can guarantee you, Lt. Whipkey and the Woidnuk don’t know anything about your show. So, you’re certainly not famous in these parts.”
Abby chimed in, “Well, I have to watch it. I’m your mother-in-law.”
“I’ve seen it,” needled Alexia. “But the fact remains—Thomas is the man in charge. Has been since day one.”
Lt. Whipkey pointed to Thomas and gestured for him to come forward. “Follow me, please.” Thomas looked back over his shoulder to the others and shrugged. Expecting to be led to a meeting room, he was surprised they walked only far enough to be out of earshot of the holding cell.
“Everyone is free to leave,” confided Lt. Whipkey. “But, I do have one”—he held up a finger for emphasis—“condition.”
Thirty-Six
“What is your condition?” Thomas asked, with both a sense of foreboding and his desire to do right by these people.
“I will let your team go to retrieve and bring back the drum, Eknom’s Folly.” Lt. Whipkey explained. “But, I need an assurance that you will do what is asked.”
“One of us must stay behind as collateral,” confirmed Thomas immediately grasping Whipkey’s intent. Thomas Knight sighed deeply as Lt. Whipkey formally bowed his head in a graceful nod, affirming Thomas was right.
“I don’t think you are like the others,” Whipkey continued, “but I must protect my people. I must be sure,” he explained. “Please understand. I don’t have to make this offer. But, young Mochni trusts you, or rather, he trusts the older woman…Abby? I think you call her. He says she was kind and patient.
“You are the leader of this team, are you not?” asked Lt. Whipkey. At Thomas’ nod, he continued. “Then as the leader, you may choose who gets left behind.”
“My team doesn’t work that way. We come to our decisions together. Equal in all things,” Thomas explained.
“As you wish,” Lt. Whipkey said quietly. “But, the fact remains, you must decide who will stay when the rest of you are released to retrieve our drum. In the wrong hands, well…” he spread his hands palms up and shrugged. Leaving the implication hanging in the air, Lt. Whipkey motioned for Thomas to follow him back to the cell. As he shut the door he bid him quietly, “Good luck, my friend.”
Thomas Knight grimaced as the team gathered eagerly around him. Alexia and Pediah shared a knowing look and understood immediately something was wrong. But, they weren’t prepared for how wrong.
Someone finally asked, “So what did he say? Whipkey. What did he say?”
Thomas shook his head, his eyes downcast, he scuffed a toe against the dirt floor, took a deep breath, and began, “You’re not going to like it…”
Thirty-Seven
“You’re damned right I don’t like it!” exclaimed Robbie, as Thomas finished his tale. “Can’t trust any of them, those lying sons of…ugh! This is bullshit!”
Alexia and Pediah remained silent, but moved toward Robbie and Thomas as if to step in should a fight break out.
“Calm down, Robbie. I’m angry, too. But, a drum with that kind of power in the wrong hands could be catastrophic.” Taking a deep breath, Thomas continued. “I believe we can trust Lt. Whipkey. What would it serve him to do us wrong? He’s trying to protect not only his people down here, but those topside as well.”
Abby stepped in before Robbie could speak. “I’m with Thomas. But, here’s something you may not have considered: the drum was safely ensconced in a temple area well below ground, hidden from anyone who didn’t know its power. We took it from its place of safekeeping and it’s only right we return it.”
“But, Abby. Thomas. I make a good point,” Robbie tried to explain. “How can we trust those we saved who have now essentially jailed us?” he asked, his eyes pleading for understanding.
“You know,” Thomas began, “it was Abby’s work with Mochni that made them decide to simply have us return the drum in exchange for…” he stopped and caught Abby’s eye.
“One of has to stay behind, don’t we?” she asked as she took hold of both Thomas’s hands.
“I’ll do it,” Robbie said. He turned to Abby. “I can help protect you. You’re like my mother—no, you’ve been more like a mother to me than my own mother.”
“That’s sweet,” whispered Abby, “but it is because I’m your mother-in-law that I’m the one who should stay. Besides, I’ve mother henned you guys to death. It’s time I found someone else to mother hen.”
“You know, Abby,” interjected Thomas, “it was Mochni’s favorable opinion of you that made this deal happen at all.”
Abby smiled, and considered the ramifications of her staying behind as well as the possibilities. “You know, it might not be so bad. It would be exciting to learn another language. An ancient language.”
“Really, I should know better than to argue with you. By the way, you taught Annie well. She had me over a barrel most of the time,” Robbie joked, trying to sound light-hearted. “I understand what you’re saying, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
Abby shrugged, “Life is tough kid, but the answer is easy. Return their drum, and these kind people will return me.”
“Hey Robbie, I know it’s not ideal,” began Thomas. “But, let’s think of it as not only a good faith effort to get our girl back, but a good start of first contact with a new civilization.”
As Robbie nodded resignedly, Thomas made a fist and pounded three short bursts to get the Woidnuk’s attention. Startled to see who opened the door, Thomas remarked wryly, “Well, I guess you know what we’ve decided.”
Lt. Whipkey stepped into the room and nodded, “Yes.”
“Great. Just one question left then,” quipped Thomas. Lt. Whipkey tilted his head to one side. “How do we get topside?”
“Ah, yes, of course,” Lt. Whipkey turned and called for Mochni, who appeared in their door frame, his eyes dancing. “Mochni will guide you back up. We will return all your supplies, as well as that of our attackers.”
“But, how—?” Robbie asked.
“Oh, yes, the most important part. You’ll each be given a Kisgar to ride. Mochni will show you how to mount and control them. It’s not that much different from horses. Just a few different commands.”
Robbie, Thomas, and the rest of the team nodded, their mouths open and their eyes wide as Moc
hni left to gather the animals and the supplies.
“We’re actually going to…” Robbie uttered.
“Yes. Ride the same species that almost killed me,” said Thomas.
As the team made their own preparations, some of the Woidnuk tribe arrived with their confiscated supplies, as well as the items left behind by Noah’s crew. Before they knew it, Mochni had returned with the animals.
Thomas, Alexia, and Pediah, hugged Abby, and whispered variations of “see you soon” and “god speed” on their tongues.
Robbie hung back a bit and watched, a sliver of fear creeping down his spine, and a foreboding he couldn’t place.
At last, when the others had gathered their packs and were high atop their Kisgar rides, only Robbie and Abby remained. The Woidnuk tribe, with Lt. Whipkey and Mochni’s urging, had melted into the shadows to watch the group depart.
Robbie hugged Abby and whispered, “Be careful.”
Thirty-Eight
“How are we going to get back up the path, Whipkey? We jumped down, er rappelled down, remember?” recalled Thomas as he looked for equipment, gear, even a ladder to climb back up to the surface.
“Kisgar. We ride. Go up wall over bridge,” explained Mochni in broken English.
Robbie blinked. “Wait, what? Since when, do you speak English?”
Lt. Whipkey smiled, “Oh, I taught him a few words. A few things I thought would be useful.”
Thomas shook his head, and exclaimed, “I don’t get it. You said we’d be riding the Kisgar up the wall.” He looked around and threw up his hands, half shrugging, “But, I don’t see any Kisgar around here.”
Whipkey called to his people in his new language, and as they gathered in a circle, they began to stomp their feet. A rhythmic reverberation, not unlike that of a drum, Thomas thought idly.
