An Angel in Stone

by Peggy Nicholson

  The pile of rocks creaked as his weight shifted, but it didn’t slither. An old slide, he figured, the stones had found their resting points. Mindful of snakes in the crevices, he climbed deliberately, checking every handhold. Halfway up, he paused to look down at the pool. Not a killing height if he fell, but a broken leg out here was just a slower, nastier way to the same ending.

  He climbed another ten feet, then paused again. He turned to gaze out over miles of jungle lowlands. She should have showed by now. If she didn’t come by tomorrow, he’d have to give up hunting dinosaurs and start hunting Raine. The thought of her out there, lost somewhere in all that endless green, running low on food by now, maybe hobbling along on a twisted ankle?

  “You should have thought about that sooner,” he told himself bitterly. It was one thing to dream of revenge; quite another, he was learning, to achieve it.

  When he reached the hole at the top of the slide, it was smaller than he’d thought. Barely wider than his shoulders and about that high again. You don’t have to do this, he reminded himself.

  But he did. You didn’t chase a dino halfway around the world, then wimp out just because you hated dark, tight spaces. Turning onto his stomach at the lip, he eased his legs gingerly into the shadows, felt for a toehold. “Okaaay.” Like a diver preparing to submerge, he sucked in a breath, a deeper second one. He held the third—and slithered out of the sunlight, into dusk.

  Stood there paralyzed for a moment—then blew out his breath. And kept on climbing down the inner face of the rockslide. God, if the rocks tumbled now, maybe covered the hole?

  As he descended, his eyes adjusted to the gloom. No need, so far, for his flashlight. Pausing halfway to the floor, he found the hole let in enough light to show him an irregular cavern, at least thirty feet wide and who knew how deep? Here and there, stalactites and stalagmites had dripped, joined, built themselves into voluptuous, hourglass columns of glistening stone. They blocked much of his view of the inner reaches, but it seemed the cave didn’t drive straight in. It twisted off to the right, sloping gently, dreadfully down.

  Somewhere far off, water dripped and tinkled. He could hear the bees humming, but searching the ceiling, he couldn’t see the hive. Maybe it hung near the—

  He made the mistake of glancing up toward the hole. “Shit!” Bright as a spotlight, the glare dazzled him, robbing him of vision as his pupils contracted. “Smart move.” But he couldn’t stop here; he kept on descending toward the floor he’d seen. As his feet found level ground, he sighed with relief, backed away from the wall of rubble—and stumbled over something.

  He fell, twisting to one side, one hand flying backward to catch his weight. His right palm landed on a jagged stone and he bit back a yelp. Broke something? Wrenched the hell out of it, anyway. He sat for a minute, absorbing the pain in wrist and thumb, then realized his ankles were hooked over the bundle that had tripped him. Branches, he guessed, from the dry rustling sound as he disengaged himself. He rolled to his knees and crabbed closer to see.

  “Oof!” A body sprawled facedown at the base of the slide.

  For a stomach-twisting instant he thought it was Raine. God, no, I never wanted this! If he could stop time, turn it back, do it again, he’d never—

  Then he saw the white showing, where a hand rested by the head. The delicate fan of bones. All that remained of splayed fingers.

  “Oh, Christ!” Thank you! Anyone but her!

  Guilty at his rush of relief, he fumbled for the flashlight in his belt, found his right hand wasn’t working, dragged it out awkwardly with his left. Switched it on and to hell with his night vision.

  Bones gleamed whitely through tattered cloth. Once upon a time, the body had worn camouflage pants and shirt. Jungle boots. The deflated shape on his back must have been a pack? “A soldier,” Cade muttered, wearing clothes like that. Judging from the length of his legs and the breadth of his shoulders, he’d been too big for a native. “One of the paratroopers from Raine’s journal?” Lying here some sixty-odd years. Plenty of time for the bugs to pick him clean.

  Cade moved his circle of light over the ruined pack. Anything in there to identify the guy? He could make out nothing but bits of rusty junk and shredded material. He aimed his beam at the neck vertebrae rising above the pack, but if the soldier had worn a dog tag, it was gone. The head was turned to one side, as if it gazed at something in the back of the cave. And in the skull’s shadowed eye socket—

  Cade gagged—sat back on his heels. The thing blooming out of the eyehole was a blow dart!

  “Poor bastard!” He’d climbed up there, stuck his head out the gap in the rocks toward freedom…Probably been dead before he tumbled to the floor.

  Cade stood and played his light around. Shouldn’t waste the batteries, but he didn’t feel like blundering along half-blind, after this special treat. The beam swept over pale stalactites and stalagmites like a great beast’s dripping fangs. At one end of the rockfall, a pool of water gleamed, opaque in his light.

  There wasn’t much else here in this front gallery; just the blackened remains of an ancient campfire. A stack of moldering wood piled against a nearby wall.

  He steeled himself and walked deeper. Farther in, colonnades of glistening limestone divided the depths of the cavern into alcoves. Some of these were dead-end rooms in the rock; others seemed to be passages, extending endlessly into the black. Odd how you could feel the weight of the mountain pressing down, making it harder to draw a full breath. Cade hated the way the floor slanted. He could imagine the pitch suddenly steepening, his feet flying out from under. Could picture himself sliding down into narrower, deeper, darker chutes, bloody fingers scrabbling at slimy stone.

  But there’s no use pretending this isn’t the place, he had to admit. Not with that bag of bones standing sentry.

  Prowling deeper, he probed each dusky pocket with his light. He came to a column wide and thick enough to be a load bearer for the whole damn mountain overhead, the king of all columns. To its left, the main passage swept clockwise around its massive, baggy curves, then out of sight. On its right a smaller opening, about the size of a garage door, cut past it to a deep alcove.

  He’d search this one last space, then he’d have to reconsider. His batteries were working fine so far, but after weeks in the tropics, how long could they last? Or think if he slipped—dropped the flash, broke the bulb…“Get a torch or three or twelve and come back,” he decided reluctantly. But first, this last alcove…He turned, aimed the light—

  Fireworks!

  “Ho-o-ly—!” Flames danced in stone—a dragon’s snarling mask. The monster leered at him from the shadows—seemed to lunge—fangs burning, eyes glowing with hellfire. A skull as big as the hood of a speeding Mack truck, coming right at him, grinning its gemmed, carnivorous grin…A predator’s joke.

  Not really moving, it was just the light made it leap. His knees trembled; the beam danced as his hand shook, setting off more sparks and showers and fountains of light. “God…”

  Hypnotized, snake charmed, moth to the flame, he drifted past the king column, into the lair. The T. rex skull rested on a crude altar made of logs. Devil worship!

  Or no—the platform was a sledge. Which balanced on log rollers. “Good ol’ yankee know-how,” he marveled.

  “The can-do boys,” agreed a man’s drawling voice to his right.

  The hair shot straight up on Cade’s neck as he froze.

  “Smart boy. Come on in and join the party.”

  From the corner of his right eye he saw the sweep of the gun, motioning him in toward the beast. Should have jumped back at the first sound, but with his senses on overload—Too late to try it now?

  “Don’t even think it. Move straight ahead,” said the Cracker. “Keep moving. Yeah…That’ll do.”

  Cade stopped when his knees bumped the front fangs.

  “Look at him, Gran. It’s the big guy off the plane.”

  “The name’s Kincade. Who the hell’s Gran?” He sk
ated his eyes left, toward a gap on the far side of the column. That should lead back to the main passage. Through there, then turn right and he’d be running deeper into the mountain. Dodge left around the column and he could cut back toward the mouth of the cave. Or he could spin on his heel and bolt back the way he’d come in. But the guy was fast as a snake; remember how he’d moved on the dock?

  “Gran? She’s the ol’ bag who sent me. Allll those years of bedtime stories, readin’ me my granddaddy’s letter from Borneo, treasure and stuff, when all I ever wanted was Goldie and the Three Bears like the other kids got. But hey, you gotta admit, Gran knew best. Just look at this sucker. He beats the bears hollow.”

  “He sure does.” Let’s be agreeable here. Is he drunk? Crazy? And what’s he got for a gun?

  “And m’granddad? Reckon you’ve already had the pleasure. That’s him out there with a dart in the brain. Dang gooks and their blowpipes. Guess I was collecting some family payback, back there by the lake. Something told me I oughta blow him away. You figure that something was Granddad?”

  “Might have been. You mean you shot somebody?” Damn, no, he shouldn’t have asked. Too late now.

  “Little brown guy with some mighty fine tattoos. But not polite. He had him this blowgun and he kept on lookin’ at me funny. I figured the minute I turned my back it was pincushion time, so-o-o…”

  Bang!

  Cade jumped in his tracks as the gun barked. Rock shattered overhead; chunks of limestone rained down; echoes rumbled way back in the mountain.

  “Bang, just like that.”

  A twenty-two, Cade figured. But how many rounds? “Nice shooting.” And it was, fast and straight. The odds increased that his friend was not drunk. Which left crazy. “So I’m Kincade, and I didn’t catch your name?” Hostage negotiators maintained that a gunman found it harder to kill somebody he’d connected to, than a stranger. So let’s get friendly here. Pals forever. Moving slow and easy, Cade turned just his head.

  Shoulders pillowed on his pack, pistol propped on his bent knees, the Cracker lounged in the shadows along the wall. Unshaven cheeks, mad-dog grin, eyes fever bright. He groped awkwardly with his free hand, to lift a metal rectangle hanging at his throat. “Amos Szabo, same as it says here on Grandad’s dog tag.”

  “Pleased to meet you.”

  “Oh, yeah, pleased as punch. I can surely see that.” His wolf smile wavered. “Hey…you bring any antibiotics?”

  Ahhh. That explained his left arm. The sleeve had been torn entirely away, and though the light wasn’t good over there where he sat, his limb seemed all wrong. Grotesquely swollen except for that odd, deep dent along the bicep. Or maybe that was a trick of the light—a shadow, not a hole?

  “Sure,” Cade lied easily. “I’ve got ointment and pills in my pack.”

  He didn’t; he’d used the last of his meds on the boatman from Putussibau. The lacerations on his chained ankle had been infected. Your doing, you crazy bastard.

  “And where might your pack be?”

  “I hid it outside, the other side of the mountain.” No place you’ll ever find by yourself, was the implicit message. But don’t sell it too hard. Let Szabo come to his own conclusion that he’d need Cade alive, if he wanted relief. “Got yourself a touch of jungle rot?”

  “Huh! That Dayak bitch back in the States. She bit me, is why I wrung her scrawny neck. ’Fore I found out how high she’d bounce.”

  Shit. Szabo intended to kill him. He was talking to Cade the way you pour out your heart to a stranger on the plane. Knowing you’ll never see him again, you can confess the damnedest things. Revel in the telling, then walk away clean.

  “It keeps on itchin’!” His voice rose to an anguished snarl.

  “Little penicillin should fix that.”

  “Yeah…that’d be nice.” He shifted restlessly, but the gun’s round eye didn’t blink. “So…here we are, and who’da figured? Here I’ve been frettin’ all along ’bout the blond bitch, Ashaway, but then it’s you shows up. Or maybe…” His smirk faded, his eyes narrowed. “Ya’ll working together?”

  “With that she-devil? Not a chance.”

  “Hmm.” Szabo tilted his head, trying to scratch his left shoulder with his left ear. Gave it up and straightened. “So where is she, Gran? We ’specting more company?”

  Stone crazy or delirious, it hardly mattered which while he still could aim a gun. Cade answered for Gran. “I left Ashaway back at the headwaters of the Kapuas. Wrecked her kayak. You won’t be seeing her.”

  “Now ain’t that a shame? I figured on asking the expert could I pull a few teeth off ol’ Brutus, here, without ruining his value. Funny how all along I’ve been picturing this sucker, but I never really believed he’d be so…dang…big! Looks like I’m gonna have to rent me a cargo chopper and some coolies. Come back for the rest of him.”

  “That’s a plan.” Sooner or later Szabo would have to scratch with his gun hand, and when he did—Spring straight back—twist around and dive, Cade told himself. Keep rolling till I’m out of the room.

  “Yeah…pull some teeth. Sell one in Singapore and I can rent the chopper. I was counting on Ashaway, when I heard you scufflin’ around out there. Figured she’d make me a nice little pack mule. Oughta be able to carry half a dozen teeth or so, if I whip her along.”

  You’re dead. Dog meat. Shuddering with rage, Cade waited till he could trust his voice, then said evenly, “Instead you’ve got me. I can carry more than that.” Till I get a chance to waste you.

  “Reckon you could, but looks like I’ll have t’shoot you first.” Szabo tipped his head again, craning to reach the wound without looking away. He failed, grimaced.

  “Antibiotics would stop that itching. Save your arm. But shoot me and you’ll never find my pack.”

  “Yeah?” Szabo showed his teeth. “Seems to me you’ve got the wrong end of the bear trap. Tell me where I can find that pack—or I’ll shoot your knee.”

  “Then it looks like we’ve got a standoff,” Cade allowed, swallowing hard.

  “You think? By the time I blow the second kneecap to Kingdom Come, you won’t be precisely standing. So…nice and easy. Turn around t’face me. Good…Now I’m asking one last time, polite as I can. Where’d you hide that pack?”

  Chapter 28

  No, no, no—oh, no! Raine could hear the smirking anticipation in Szabo’s voice; whatever Cade answered, he’d shoot him anyway. If only I’d gotten here sooner!

  Fingers shaking, she rubbed the dart’s point in her bag of gum—no time to measure the dose, and if the curare smothered him, so what? She jammed the missile up the butt of the pipe, rolled around another column on the far side of the passageway—nearly groaned aloud.

  Still no view of the gunman! From this new angle, she could finally see Cade’s back. Infinitely precious, horrifyingly vulnerable, his big body blocked whatever lay beyond.

  “Not gonna tell me?” Szabo chortled. “Then where d’you want it first? Left knee or—”

  No choice, then. Raine inhaled, aimed…Pfft!

  The dart struck Cade in the right bicep. “Ow! What the hell?” He clawed at the pain, his knees already buckling.

  Szabo yelled—erupted to his feet.

  Bang! A bullet slapped the column by her head. Raine whirled off down the passage, sprinting deeper into the cavern. She dodged around another column just as a bullet sang past to—smack stone somewhere ahead. Echoes cracked and rumbled. Damn, but he was fast!

  “Fucking gooks!” he screamed after her. “Heathen fucking headhunter! You’re dead! Nobody ever told you the cowboys beat the Injuns?”

  Not this time they don’t! Raine gummed another dart, rammed it into place. Dropped to a crouch with her hips pressed to the column. She could hear him shuffling deeper into the darkness, mumbling curses. Come on, come on, bring it on! He’d be looking for her high; she’d attack low. She drew a slow breath, put the pipe to her lips—pivoted gracefully on one bent leg around the column, her other leg stretched s
ideways to support her.

  “Hey!” His gun dipped as her pipe rose…centered on his looming silhouette…

  Flinching in every atom of her body, she held her ground. Puffed—

  Blam! Fire kissed the inside of her arm—she fell on her butt—scrambled backward, then rolled for cover. Sparks flew as another bullet hit by her heel. Shit, shit, shit, how did I miss?

  “Fuck! You hit my Granddaddy’s dog tag! You think you can kill me? Not with luck like that!” he yelled after her. “Angels are on my side, you tattooed murdering moron—my side! So come on out with your hands up!”

  Leaning against the column, she tipped back her head and laughed half-hysterically. He thinks I’m a Punan! His eyes hadn’t adapted to the dark yet. He was shooting at shadows.

  She groped for her blowgun, gummed another dart. He’d gone utterly silent; what was he doing out there? And Cade—oh, God, what was she thinking? She had to get to Cade!

  Not with Szabo standing between them. Then I won’t miss again.

  She shoved—frowned. The dart wasn’t sliding easily up the pipe; it rebounded softly, compressed air pushing back. What? Raine slid her fingers up the pipe—her heart stood still in her breast. Oh, nooo! Two-thirds of the way up its length, the metal tube was smashed flat. His last bullet must have struck it.

  Grimly she set the pipe aside, drew the knife from her ankle sheath. She’d have to get close. Couldn’t risk a throw, because if she missed and the blade sailed off into the black? She’d never find it. So up close and very personal. She sidled around the backside of the column, eyes so wide she feared he’d see their whites…Where the hell are you?

  And Cade, if he regained consciousness, crawled out into Szabo’s path?

  Get him, get him, end this! She crept closer to the passageway, then startled at a distant sound. Coming from the far front of the cavern! Oh, Cade, if it’s you, be still! Let me handle this!

  The sound came again—a rock rolling, rattling other loose rocks. Szabo’s at the hole! She took to her heels, flying through the dark, knife tipped up and ready.