Still Life With Crows

by Douglas Preston

  Pendergast squeezed through a crack along the edge of one wall, then dropped into a narrow space that descended steeply. Weeks followed. They inched along for a while, arriving shortly at a veritable ants nest of natural boreholes in the cave wall, some with frozen rivers of flowstone erupting from their mouths. Pendergast played his light across the honeycombed face for a moment, selected one of the holes, and thento Weekss consternationcrawled into it. The opening was dank and wet-looking, and Weeks considered protesting, but decided against it as Pendergasts light abruptly vanished. Scrambling after Pendergast down the sharply descending passage, Weeks half jumped, half tumbled into a tunnel so heavily used that a trail had been worn in the soft limestone of its bed.

  He clambered to his feet, brushing the mud from his clothes and checking his shotgun. How long has the killer been living down here? he asked, staring at the track in disbelief.

  Fifty-one years this September, said Pendergast. Already, he was moving again, following the trail down the narrow corridor.

  So youknow who it is?

  Yes.

  And just how the heck did you figurethat out?

  Officer Weeks, shall we save the colloquy for later?

  Pendergast flew down the passageway. The crying had stopped, but now the FBI agent seemed sure of the way . . .

  And then, quite suddenly, they came to a standstill. Ahead, a huge curtain of crystallized gypsum flowed from a rend in the ceiling, completely blocking the passageway. Pendergast shone his light onto the floor of the passage, and Weeks noticed that the heavy track had disappeared. No time, Pendergast murmured to himself, angling his light back down the tunnel, up over the walls and ceiling. No time.

  Then he took a few steps back from the curtain of gypsum. He seemed to be counting under his breath. Weeks frowned: maybe hed been right the first time and Pendergast wasnt such a good choice to be tagging along with, after all.

  Then the agent paused, moved his head close to the wall, and called out, Miss Swanson?

  To Weekss surprise, there was a faint gasp, a sob, and then a muffled shout: Pendergast? Agent Pendergast? Oh, God

  Be calm. Were coming to get you. Ishe around?

  No. He left . . . I dont know how long ago. Hours.

  Pendergast turned to Weeks. Nows your chance to be useful. He moved back to the curtain of gypsum, pointed. Direct a shotgun blast at this spot, please.

  Wont he hear? said Weeks.

  Hes already close.Follow my orders, Officer.

  Pendergast spoke with such command that Weeks jumped. Yes, sir! He crouched, aimed, and pulled both triggers.

  The blast was deafening in the enclosed space. Pendergasts light exposed a pall of glittering gypsum dust and, beyond, a great hole in the diaphanous stone. For a moment, nothing further happened. And then the curtain broke apart with a great crack, dropping to the floor and sending glittering crystal shards skidding everywhere. Beyond was another passageway, and beside it the narrow dark mouth of a pit. Pendergast rushed to the edge and shone his light within. Weeks came up behind and peered cautiously over his shoulder.

  There, at the bottom, he saw a filthy girl with purple hair, staring up with a muddy, blood-smeared, terrified face.

  Pendergast turned to look at him. Youre the dog-handler. You must have a spare leash in your pack.

  Yes

  He found himself, in one swift movement, relieved of his pack. Pendergast reached inside and pulled out the spare, a length of chain with a leather strap. Then he fixed the chain end around the base of a limestone column and threw the other end into the pit.

  From below came the clank of the chain, the sobbing of the girl.

  Weeks peered over again. It doesnt reach, he said.

  Pendergast ignored this. Cover us. Ifhe comes, shoot to kill.

  Now, wait just a minute

  But Pendergast had already disappeared over the edge. Weeks hovered at the top, one eye on the passageway and the other on the pit. The FBI agent clambered down the chain with remarkable agility, and when he reached the end he hung from it, free arm down, offering the girl his hand. She reached for it, swiped, missed.

  Stand aside, Miss Swanson, Pendergast said to the girl. Weeks, nudge some of those boulders into the pit. Try not to brain one of us. And keep a careful eye on that tunnel.

  With his foot, Weeks pushed half a dozen large rocks over the lip of the pit. Then he watched as the girl, who understood immediately, stacked them against the wall and clambered to the top. Now Pendergast was able to grab her hand. He hoisted her upward, planted his free arm beneath her shoulders, brought the hand back to the chain, and slowly climbed up the stone face. Pendergast looked scrawny enough, but the strength it took to climb up that chain while carrying another person was remarkable.

  They emerged from the pit and the girl immediately fell to her knees, clinging to Pendergast, sobbing violently.

  Pendergast knelt beside her. Taking a handkerchief from his pocket, he gently wiped the blood and dirt from the girls face. Then he examined her wrists and hands. Do they hurt? he asked.

  Not now. Im so glad you came. I thought . . . I thought The rest of the sentence was lost in a sob.

  He took her hands. Corrie? I know what you thought. Youve been very brave. But its not over yet and I need your help. He spoke gently but rapidly, in a low, urgent whisper.

  She fell silent, nodded.

  Can you walk?

  She nodded, then broke into a sob once again. He wasplaying with me, she cried. He was going to keep playing with me, until . . . until Idied.

  He put a hand on her shoulder. I know its difficult. But youre going to need to be strong until we get out of here.

  She swallowed, eyes down.

  Pendergast stood and briefly examined his map. There might be a quicker way out. Were going to have to risk it. Follow me.

  Then he turned to Weeks. Ill go first. Then Miss Swanson. You cover us from the back. And I meancover, Officer: he could come from anywhere, above, below, beside, behind. He will be silent. And he will befast.

  Weeks licked dry lips. How can you be so sure the killer will be coming after us?

  Pendergast returned his gaze, pale eyes luminous in the darkness. Because he wont give up willingly his only friend.

  Seventy-Four

  Hazen moved fast, pausing only briefly to reconnoiter at the twists and intersections of the cavern, not bothering to conceal the noisy sounds of his passage. He gripped his twelve-gauge with white knuckles, fingers resting against the dual triggers.

  This bastard was as good as dead.

  He passed another little arrangement, then another, tiny crystals and dead cave animals placed on a rock ledge. A psychopath. The cave was where hed practiced his craziness before going topside to do it to real people.

  The son of a bitch was going to pay. No Miranda rights, no call to a lawyer, just two loads of double-ought buck in the chest and then a third to the brainpan.

  There was such a confusing welter of footprints that Hazen wasnt sure what trail he was following anymore, or even if it was fresh. But he knew the killer couldnt be far away, and he didnt care how long it took or where he had to go to find him. The corridors couldnt go on forever. Hed find him.

  The rage prickled his scalp and made his face feel hot and flushed despite the clammy air of the cave.Tad . . . It was like he had lost a son.

  His grief was checked, at least for now, by a tidal wave of anger. He felt tears streaming down his cheeks but didnt feel the emotion behind them. All he felt was hatred. He was crying with hatred.

  The tunnel suddenly ended in a rocky cave-in. There was a black hole above from which the boulders had fallen. His infrared beam revealed a little trail, winding up through the debris and disappearing into what looked like an upper gallery.

  Hazen charged his way up the debris slope, head down, shotgun pointed ahead. He came out into a soaring vertical space. Overhead, feathery crystals hung on long ropes of limestone, swaying slightly in an underground
current of air. Passageways wandered off in all directions. He scanned the ground, fighting to get his breathing and his emotions under control; found what looked like a fresh track; and began following it again, threading his way through a maze of tunnels.

  After a few minutes he realized something was wrong. The tunnel had curved back on itself somehow, and returned him to where hed started. He set off down another tunnel, only to find that the same thing happened. His frustration grew until the red wash of his goggles seemed to dim from sheer rage.

  After returning to the chamber yet a third time, he stopped, raised his shotgun, and fired. The blast rocked the room, and feathery crystals tinkled gently down on all sides like giant broken snowflakes.

  Motherfucker! he screamed. Im here, come show your face, freak!

  He fired a second time, and a third, screaming obscenities into the darkness.

  The only answers that came back were the echoes of the blasts, rolling insanely through the honeycomb of chambers, again and again.

  The magazine was empty. Breathing raggedly, Hazen reloaded. This wasnt helping, hollering and shooting like this. Just find him. Find him.Find him.

  He plunged down yet another passageway. This one looked different: a long, glossy tunnel of limestone, little pools of water dotted with cave pearls. At least he had escaped the merry-go-round of endless returning passageways. He could no longer remember where he had been or where he was going. He simply plunged on.

  And then, off to one side, he saw a dark, hulking figure.

  It was the merest glimpse, just a shadow flitting across his goggles; but it was enough. He spun, dropped to one knee, and firedlong practice at the range paying offand the figure dropped, tumbling to the ground with a crash.

  Hazen followed immediately with a second shot. Then he scuttled forward, ready to pump out the final round.

  He stared down, the red glow of the night-vision goggles revealing not a dead body but a lumpy stalagmite, cut in half by his gun, lying shattered on the cave floor. He resisted the impulse to curse, to kick the shattered pieces away. Slowly and calmly, he raised the shotgun and continued down the echoing tunnel. He came to a fork, another fork, and then he paused.

  He saw movement ahead, heard a faint sound.

  He moved forward more carefully now, gun at the ready. He swung around a rocky corner, dropped to his knee, and covered the empty tunnel ahead; and in doing so he never did see the dark shape that approached swiftly out of the shadows behind him until he felt the sudden blow to the side of his head, the brutal wrenching twist, but by then it was too late and black night was already rushing forward to embrace him and he didnt have enough air left in his lungs to make any sound at all.

  Seventy-Five

  Perhaps, Corrie thought, it was all just a dream: this breathless, desperate dash through an endless gallery of caverns. Perhaps Agent Pendergast had never arrived and she hadnt been rescued, after all. Perhaps she was still down at the bottom of the pit, in a nightmarish half-doze, waiting to be awakened by the return . . .

  But then, the ache in her wrists and ankles, the throbbing pain in her temple, would remind her that this was, in fact, no dream.

  Agent Pendergast raised his arm, signaling for them to stop. His flashlight bobbled as he consulted the strange, soiled map. This hesitation seemed to greatly agitate the man who was accompanying them. It had taken Corrie several minutes, in her near-stuporous state, to even notice that somebody besides Pendergast had been running along with them. He was a little man with a high voice, sandy hair, and a scraggly goatee. His police fatigues were splattered with mud and clotted pieces of something else she didnt want to think about.

  This way, Pendergast whispered. Corrie roused herself to follow, feeling as she did so the vague, dreamlike sensation return.

  They passed through a low, chilly cavity that took a series of turns, first to the left, then to the right. And then quite suddenly, the ceiling rose into blackness. Corrie sensed, more than saw, that a large chamber lay ahead. Pendergast hesitated once again at its mouth, listening. When he had satisfied himself that there was no noise besides their own, he led the way forward.

  One step, then another, as the walls fell away from the beam of Pendergasts flashlight. Despite her shock and exhaustion, Corrie looked wonderingly around at the extraordinary space that was revealed, in bits and pieces, by the FBI agents flashlight. It was an immensely tall chamber, of blood-red stone so wet and slick that it appeared in places almost to be polished. Pools of shallow water dotted the floor. Near the top of the chamber, the rock face was broken by a series of horizontal cracks, through which the long seeping action of water had built up veils of calcite. These immense white veils, draped over the red stone, gave the uncanny appearance of a richly appointed gallery in a theater.

  The only problem was there wasnt any exit at the far end. The dazed sense of relief that had been settling over Corrie was suddenly lost beneath a fresh wash of fear.

  Where now? the man in uniform said, panting. I just knew it. This shortcut of yours led us to a dead end.

  Pendergast peered at the map another moment. Were no more than a hundred yards from the public area of Krauss Kaverns. But a portion of that will be along the Z-axis.

  The Z-axis? the man said. The Z-axis? What are you talking about?

  Our route lies up there. Pendergast pointed to a small arched opening that Corrie had not noticed before, situated about forty feet up one of the curtains of stone. A stream of water poured from it, splashing down the huge masses of flowstone and disappearing into a yawning crack at the caverns base.

  Just how are we supposed to get up there? the man asked truculently.

  Pendergast ignored him, searching the wall above with his beam.

  You dont expect to climb that, do you? Without a rope?

  Its the only choice left us.

  You call that a choice? With that huge gaping hole at the bottom? One slip, and were as much as

  Pendergast ignored this, turning to Corrie. How are your wrists and ankles?

  She took a deep, shuddering breath. I can make it.

  I know you can. You go first. Ill follow and tell you what to do. Officer Weeks will come last.

  Why me last?

  Because you need to provide cover from below.

  Weeks spat to one side. Right. Despite the chill damp air, the man was sweating: rivulets that traced clean lines through the muck that covered his face.

  Quickly, Pendergast glided toward the cave wall, Corrie following close behind. She felt her heart begin to beat hard and fast again, and she tried to keep her eyes off the rock face above them. They stopped a few yards short of the wide fissure in the floor. The spray of falling water formed a curtain of mist that coated the already slick rock. Without allowing her time for second thoughts, Pendergast gave her a boost, directing his light toward the initial footholds.

  Im right behind you, Miss Swanson, he murmured. Take your time.

  Corrie clung to the rock, trying to suppress the pain in her hands and the still greater burden of her fear. To reach the opening overhead they had to climb diagonally, out over the yawning fissure. The ribbed limestone offered plenty of good hand- and footholds, but the rock was wet and smooth. She tried to think of nothing, nothing except raising first a hand, then a foot, and then pulling herself up another six inches. From the noises below, she could tell that both men were now on the rock face and climbing as well. Pendergast murmured directions, once in a while using his hand to direct her foot to one ledge or another. It was more frightening than it was difficultthe handholds were almost like the rungs of a ladder. Once she looked down, saw the top of Weekss head and the gulf that now lay directly beneath them. She paused and shut her eyes, feeling a reeling sense of vertigo. Again, Pendergasts hand steadied her, his smooth, gentle voice urging her along, urging her to look ahead, not down . . .

  One foot, one hand, the other foot, the other hand. Slowly, Corrie crept up the rock. Now, blackness yawned both
above and below, barely pierced by the glow of Pendergasts flashlight. Her heart was racing even faster now, and her arms and legs were beginning to tremble from the unaccustomed effort of climbing. Somehow, perversely, the closer she got to the lip of the passage overhead, the more desperate she felt. She did not dare look up anymore, and had no idea if there were five feet, or thirty feet, still to go.

  Theres something down here! Weeks suddenly shouted from below, his voice pitched high. Something moving!

  Officer Weeks, brace yourself against the rock and provide cover, Pendergast said. Then he turned back to Corrie. Corrie, just another ten feet. Pretend youre climbing a ladder.

  Ignoring the pain that shot through her wrists and fingers, Corrie grabbed the next handhold, found another foothold, pulled herself up.

  Itshim! she heard Weeks shout. Oh my God,hes here!

  Use your weapon, Officer, Pendergast said calmly.

  Desperately, Corrie grabbed a fresh handhold, found a higher ledge for her foot. It slipped and her heart almost froze with terror as she lurched away from the wall. But Pendergast was there once more, his hand bracing her, steadying her, guiding her foot to a better hold. She stifled a sob; yet again, she was so frightened she could barely think.

  Hes gone, Weeks said in a tight voice. At least, I cant see him.

  Hes still there, said Pendergast. Climb, Corrie.Climb.

  Corrie, gasping with the effort and pain, pulled herself up. Peripherally, she was aware that Pendergast, with a lithe maneuver, had turned himself around on the ledge to face outward. His flashlight was in one hand and his gun in the other, its laser sight scanning the cavern below.

  There! cried Weeks.

  Corrie heard the deafening blast of his shotgun, followed by another. Hes fast! Weeks screamed. Too fast!

  Im covering you from above, Pendergast said. Just hold your position andfire with care.

  There was another blast from the shotgun, then another. Jesus Christ, Jesus Christ, Weeks was saying, over and over, sobbing and gasping.

  Corrie ventured a glance overhead. In the dim glow of Pendergasts flashlight she could see that she was now just five feet below the lip of the archway. But there did not seem to be any more handholds. She felt around, first with one hand, and then with the other, but the stone was smooth.