Fawn squirmed, realizing that Nash’s and Rassle’s attention was focused elsewhere. She gripped the first wooden rod she could reach and tested its strength. It didn’t budge. There was no way they could break through.
“Well, this has been productive,” Nash said, holding up the sack as if admiring the sword inside. “While we’d like to stay and watch your lives end, we have work to do.”
“Tell me one thing,” Curt yelled. “Why the black sack?”
Nash hesitated then shrugged. “Because daylight will change the Sword of Michael into a ferocious and very large bird, and even though it’s nighttime, I’m not taking any chances. Don’t worry, you’ll never have to deal with it.”
There was a horrific groan of rock and the whir of pulleys working somewhere behind the wall. The slab continued its slow, steady descent.
“Nash,” Fawn yelled, “you can’t just leave us here!”
He smiled down on them. “I’m leaving you a lantern so you can see the simple, yet deadly relentlessness of this device as it slowly comes down and crushes you to death.” He placed a lantern on the edge near the depression, then he motioned to Rassle and the two disappeared from sight.
“Haven’t you seen every James Bond movie?” Curt yelled. “The bad guys always leave Bond to die in some heinous way, but he always escapes. Even Austin Powers escaped.”
“Good luck with that,” Nash chuckled callously in the distance. The two men filled the room with evil laughter, which faded as it was drowned by the whirling sound of the device.
“That’s what the line from the Scroll of Edict meant: ‘Found within the torturing rock’,” Curt said aloud.
“That’s great news, Curt, but we’re about to die,” Fawn said, gripping the wooden dowels again and trying to move them.
“Fawn, you can get out of here. These rods are spaced ten inches apart. It was made to hold men, not women. You’re small enough to squeeze through.”
Fawn lifted her head and tried to push between two dowels. She swiveled back and forth, but it was useless. “I can’t. I can’t get a good angle.”
She saw the outline of the massive slab above grow larger. Its ascent was slow but seemed to be increasing. “Is it falling faster?” Fawn asked.
“Yes,” Curt said, “and it will continue to pick up speed.”
For the first time, Fawn heard a maudlin tone in Dr. Curt Lohan’s voice.
“Fawn, try and wedge your feet out first.”
She hadn’t considered that. She lifted her feet and pushed them between two rods. She scooted on her buttocks, pushing her feet farther. Within thirty seconds, with extreme difficulty, she wedged her thighs through. Then things became tight, and she paused.
“Fawn,” Curt encouraged her, “it’s not going to be easy. You’ve got to scrunch up your body and continue.”
Above, the block seemed to have expanded. She took a breath and pressed her thighs, then hips between the rods. Her skin burned where it scraped against the dowel. With considerable effort and pain, she finally managed to get her hips through. Her contorted position made her back ache. She took a moment to rest and fend off the pain. The groaning sounds of the device sent her back into action. She used her heels to stretch out and lock over the next dowel while she scooted her shoulders, which, along with her head, were the only parts of her body still touching the ground, and pushed down, pinching her torso between the dowels. The pain in her back was excruciating, but her body was now more than halfway out. She reached her legs farther out on top of the rods, dug her heels into the next dowel, and used her legs to pull her body. As her chest reached the narrow gap, she exhaled, and pressed through, trying to ignore the agony from her breasts being constricted and crushed. Fawn reached through the wooden bars with her hands, freeing her arms, and grabbed onto a dowel to pull. With tremendous effort, she now had most of her back out, resting atop the dowels. Her neck and head twisted at a harsh angle, still restrained. Her shoulder, which had been injured in the helicopter crash, was throbbing. She tried to suppress a wince but was unable.
“You’re doing it, Fawn,” Curt said, offering encouragement.
Fawn labored to breathe. It occurred to her that it would be far easier to roll over at this point in order to retract her head. Pushed by fear of the ever-falling massive slab, Fawn turned her body while spinning her pinned head. She twisted her shoulder and body around onto her side. She finally managed to flip her body over, scraping her forehead on the stone ground.
“Fawn, hurry,” Curt said with urgency.
Lying on her stomach, Fawn drew her legs underneath her creating an easier angle for her neck. She turned her head sideways, and drew it through the dowels, finally freeing herself. The abrasion on her forehead felt like fire, but she ignored the pain.
“Go to the stand where Nash found the trigger,” Curt yelled. “There’ll be a switch or a dial. You can stop the device.”
The rumbling grew louder and faster. Fawn struggled to crawl over the dowels on her hands and knees. She reached the lip of the depression and escaped from the pit. Fawn stood and dashed to the stand. At first, she saw nothing unusual. The panel, which had pivoted open at the top to release the sword, was still open. Then she spotted it: a small stone dial. Fawn grabbed the knob and tried to turn left, but it wouldn’t move. She spun it to the right, and the dial turned three-quarters of a revolution. She expected the whirling of the device to cease, but it continued. She watched in horror as the slab closed to within three feet of the pit, falling quickly.
“Fawn, did you find the trigger?” Curt’s dire words were barely audible.
She tried turning the handle back to the left and then to the right again. “Yes,” she cried, “but it’s not working!”
Fawn spun and searched the room, but saw only the rows of benches.
She had one option left.
The thick slab was now within two-and-a-half feet from sealing the hold and crushing Curt. Fawn circled to the other side of the four-foot stone stand. She glanced at the base. It appeared to have been quarried from a single piece of rock and wasn’t attached to the floor.
The massive stone lid was two feet from crushing Curt Lohan.
“Fawn!” Curt shouted in desperation.
She backed away several steps from the stand and quickly ran forward, slamming it with her hands and full body weight. The stand teetered and then fell back in place. Her hands stung from the impact and her shoulder ached, yet she wasted no time. She retreated a short distance and ran at it again. Catching it more at the top, the stand teetered farther, and Fawn used every ounce of strength she could summon to knock it off balance.
The pulpit eased past the midpoint and slammed down to the ground. At least six inches of its length spilled over the edge of the depression, directly in the path of the lowering slab. A second later, it intercepted the massive rectangular block.
Please let it be enough to stop the slab from falling.
“Curt, move toward this side!”
She watched as Curt quickly slithered over on his back. As the weight of the slab settled down, the stand acted as a brace, holding up that side of the slab. On the other side of the depression, the weighty slab continued to descend, smashing the wooden dowels in sharp, terrifying cracks. With the stand wedged between the floor and the slab, the massive block leaned down and away at an angle. Curt was barely visible in the shadows, but Fawn could see he was unharmed. She watched as he struggled to pull a long dowel aside, which had snapped in two. He no longer appeared to be trapped by the wooden rods.
The device stopped falling and went quiet.
Fawn reached into the narrow opening. “Give me your hand.”
Curt pressed his body toward the opening, and Fawn took his extended hand and began to pull. The clearance was barely eighteen inches but with the device silenced, they could take their time.
Then she heard a faint crack.
To her chagrin, Fawn saw a fissure had developed in the side of the sto
ne stand. It was giving way under the tremendous weight bearing down.
“Curt, hurry!” Fawn said. “It’s not going to hold!”
Curt pushed his head free, and Fawn tugged mightily on his arm as he used his other hand to pull his torso through.
The cracking of the stand grew louder.
Fawn stood, still holding Curt’s hand, and pulled so hard she tumbled backward, yanking him from the depression. Almost the instant his feet cleared the pit, the end of the stand collapsed. The stone slab fell into place with a giant crash, thoroughly smashing what was left of the wooden dowels, locking in place within the rectangular cavity.
Fawn and Curt lay sprawled on the floor, breathing heavily. The device came back to life, and slowly the megalithic lid withdrew from the mirrored depression and began its upward ascent.
“What’s it doing?” Fawn asked, brushing her disheveled hair out of her eyes. She was drenched in perspiration and laboring to breathe.
Curt took several deep breaths, obviously frazzled. “Resetting for the next human sacrifice.” Curt rolled toward Fawn. A bead of sweat dripped off his cheek. His voice was sincere, “Fawn, thank you. You saved my life.”
“Well, you did warn the bastard about James Bond,” she offered a faint smile.
Curt pulled himself upright. “Let’s go. We’ve somehow got to find out what they’re going to do with that Tool and where the opening to Eden is located.” He reached down and helped Fawn to her feet. He grabbed the lantern, and they hurried up the middle aisle. Fawn battled through sore muscles, but the more she moved, the easier it became.
Fawn paused as they reached the bloody body of Lindsey McSweet slumped on the ground in front of a pew. “I still can’t believe she was involved with this cult.”
“Remember what Nash said: she had a boyfriend. He might have drawn her into all this.”
“Yeah, and if I had kept my mouth shut last year about the details of what I’d found in this fort, she would never have been in this situation.”
“You didn’t force her into a cult, Fawn. People are accountable for their own decisions in life.”
The two passed through the short corridor into the room with the Mesoamerican wall art. Curt reached up and, with great difficulty, pulled himself up onto the angled lip. He swung his leg over to gain purchase and secured his body by reaching a hand up to the edge of the upper floor. He reached down and helped Fawn onto the angled lip. The two rose, stepped into the upper room, and sidled through the narrow corridor as quickly as they could. Fawn now had so many cuts, scrapes, and abrasions, she barely cared that her skin was acquiring more. They reached the room that led to the high opening.
As Fawn had expected, Nash and Rassle had sealed the entrance behind them.
“I was afraid of that,” Curt said. “We’re trapped down here.”
“No, we’re not.” Fawn recalled how Detective Michael Mayes had discovered a secondary exit. She approached the wall where the handholds led up. She spied the abnormality at the base of the wall on the right. Fawn knelt. With her hand, she found a small, steel ring and gave a tug.
On the other side of the handholds, a section of wall retracted, revealing a tunnel just as Mayes had described.
A short time later, they were walking Fernandina Beach in the dark heading south. Ample moonlight showed them the way.
Now that the cult had the Sword of Michael in their possession, Fawn wondered if it even mattered that they had escaped the Aztec sacrificial device alive. She touched her belly, wondering what fate awaited her unborn child—the lone descendent to the Seminole warrior, Osceola.
CHAPTER 20
Dr. Lila Falls awoke in full daylight. She sat up with a start. Dripping with mud, she pushed herself to her feet. She was in a swamp mired with vines and low brush. It was hot, but a moderate breeze wafted through the vegetation, making the heat bearable.
Where am I? What happened?
She searched her memory but had no recollection of how she’d gotten here…wherever here was. She paused, knocking clumps of mud from her clothes. Her memory refused to coalesce. A large flying insect harassed her, then flew off. A putrid stench rose from the swamp and now clung to her.
Lila faced a thicket of brush which appeared impenetrable. She sloshed parallel to it, laboring with each step through the mud. The smell proved relentless.
To her side, a movement caught her attention. A large snake with green and orange rings slithered away. Lila wasn’t squeamish. She had been on enough excavations, encountered enough exotic venomous snakes, that their appearance didn’t bother her. What troubled her about this one though, was that she didn’t recognize the species, and that it burrowed in the mud headfirst like an earthworm, immersing itself in the swamp and disappearing. Strangest of all, the long, wide body was multi-sectional like an insect. It was unlike any snake she had ever seen.
“Where the hell am I? Am I dreaming?” she asked aloud to no one.
Somewhere beyond the wall of brush, she heard a faint feral noise resembling the growl of a large cat. A chill ran up her spine.
Wracking her brain for any memory of how she had gotten here, Lila continued along the line of brush until she found an opening in the thicket. She passed through, nearly walking into a large spider web, ducking only at the last possible moment to avoid contact. Once beyond, she looked back at the spider. The web was intricate, which was not uncommon for spiders, but the spider perched in the middle of the web was over eighteen inches long with a red body and scales that reflected the sunlight. Like the snake, this was a creature not only unfamiliar to her, but which seemed to defy any normal characteristics of the species.
“Wake up, Lila,” she said.
Past the wall of brush, Lila found herself on mostly dry land, with a thick cluster of trees ahead. Thankful for firm footing, she weaved through them, careful with each step that she didn’t encounter some new creature. Soon, the light wind sweeping across her face intensified.
She finally broke through the copse of trees. A few feet away, the land sloped in a gradual decline. Unlike the woods she had just left, the valley extending out before her was green and lush with vegetation, but absent trees. The gorge was not particularly deep; no more than thirty-five or forty feet at the middle she estimated, but exceedingly wide, and extending several miles to the tree line on the far side.
She plopped down on the ground, placing her face in her hands. Where am I? What happened to me?
As hard as it was, she took a deep breath and slowly exhaled, drawing on Yoga training to help calm herself. She cleared her mind and allowed her body to relax. Images began to appear in a tapestry of motion. She was under water, then in a boat. She remembered her excitement over finding something…the Egyptian writing. Someone else had been with her. That grad student. They were diving in the St. Johns River, but she couldn’t recall what happened next. Had the boat crashed? Clearly this wasn’t the St. Johns River.
Lila raised her head. She peered across to the other side of the valley, into the distance along the far shore in both directions. There was no manmade structure in sight.
It was as if she was deep in the jungle where civilization had yet to encroach, with no recollection of how she had gotten here, or worse…how she could get back home.
CHAPTER 21
With the Sword of Michael securely wrapped in dark cloth, Nash gave instructions to the four members led by John Footman. Their mission was to get the Tool in place prior to first light; eight hours from now.
After he made sure they understood his orders implicitly and they were dismissed, Nash motioned Laval to the side. He spoke in a whisper, “Time to get on the road. We have to be at the portal at precisely the right time. Rassle has already loaded the car with the supplies we’ll need.”
“Oui monsieur, I saw him. Do you really think there’s a need for all that equipment? Grappling hooks, rope, ladder, a paraglider?”
“I have no idea what we’ll need, but we have to be prepared t
o deal with any obstacles which might prevent us from reaching our objective.”
As if on cue, Jed Rassle emerged from the tent carrying Tina. Her face remained expressionless. The other cult members meandered around the camp as Rassle, Nash, Laval, and Tina climbed into Nash’s Toyota Land Cruiser and drove off.
When they reached the highway, Nash steered the vehicle north. “This way, right?” Nash said, turning toward Tina in the back seat beside Laval.
The little girl nodded silently.
Nash suppressed an inward smile: It won’t be long now.
CHAPTER 22
Back at Fawn’s house, Curt felt as if he had been kicked in the gut. Sure, they had survived the Aztec torture device, but to what end? They had lost the third God Tool and still didn’t know the location of the portal that led to Eden. If everything Father N had told him was true, mankind was about to be wiped off the face of the Earth by Nash and those lunatics.
Fawn’s house phone rang. She answered, “Hello?” After listening for a moment, she handed Curt the phone. “It’s a woman for you.”
“Hello, Ms. Bar?” Curt guessed.
“Jesus Christ, you’re a hard guy to track down. Did you lose the second cell phone?”
“We almost had the third Tool. We were so close, but Nash arrived and took it from us.”
“Are you okay?” her concern seemed genuine.
“Yes, peachy, given that we’re screwed.”
“Maybe not. I’ve had a breakthrough. Remember I told you I tracked down Cary Ogden in Sioux Falls, South Dakota? He’s the tattoo artist who inked the script on the head of at least one of the cult members. Although Mr. Ogden is no longer with us, I talked to the parlor where he worked, and they told me he kept the sketched art of every tattoo he had inked in a file in a cloud account. I guess the man never told anyone the password, and it’s still there. I hacked into it and found ten different tattoos each with a stanza of text in ancient Aramaic script. One was an identical match to the tattoo on the head of the deceased member Tolen encountered. I’ve just translated the other nine stanzas.”
End in the Beginning (The God Tools Book 3) Page 10
