by Logan Ryles
They hurtled through the open entrance to the catacombs and the consuming darkness beyond. There was a deafening boom as his feet crossed through the doorway, and then a wall of sand and sordid air pelted his back, hurling him forward. Both he and Amelia crashed to the ground, tumbling over one another as a deluge of rocks and sand filled the doorway directly behind them. Wolfgang came to rest on his butt, his back slamming against a rock wall as the sand poured in. He thought the deluge would drown them both, but the sand reached the top of the doorway and stopped, completely blocking their escape.
Wolfgang sat in the shadows, the penlight still clutched in one hand. It trembled as he lifted it and stared at the wall of sand and rock. The gunshots and engine noises ceased. In an instant, even the roar of the cave-in fell silent, and all he could hear was the total stillness of the tomb he was locked in, mixed with his and Amelia’s ragged breathing.
Wolfgang forced himself not to panic as he panned the light to his right, farther down the hall. The stones that made up the tunnel on either side weren’t like those of the cavernous room behind them. These walls were inscribed with hieroglyphics and covered in colorful drawings of an ancient world. Wolfgang stumbled to his feet and leaned against a wall, sweeping the light down its length. He knew nothing about what he was looking at, and of course he couldn’t read the hieroglyphics, but the painted imagery was brutally clear.
Death by the thousands. The images displayed in perfect clarity the swollen, blackened faces of men and women in an ancient world. They lay on the ground, their mouths open, their eyes closed. A sweep of his light farther down the hallway revealed images of animals lying in piles, with fire rising from them and men and women standing back and covering their faces.
Then more bodies. Pictures of piles of bodies and of robed priests lifting their hands toward Heaven, and of fire raining down from the sky to consume cities. Every perfect detail of this ancient artwork was preserved in such vivid clarity that it looked to be only hundreds of years old, not thousands. In this tomb of silence, where wind and water never touched the stone, there was nothing to deteriorate the art—nothing to wash away the story of the death that visited.
Wolfgang looked down at Amelia. She stared at the paintings, her eyes alight with a fascination that eclipsed his own.
This is what she’s dreamed of . . . a discovery to put her in the history books.
Wolfgang wiped his lip. Right then, he didn’t care about history. He didn’t care about artifacts and old plagues. He only cared about being trapped, and the fact that whatever oxygen they had left to breathe was a finite resource.
Then he heard the distant sound again—a soft grinding, and then a gentle tremor in the floor. He snapped the light toward the ceiling, where dust fell from the tight spaces between the stones. The vibrations in the floor grew louder and stronger, and he couldn’t tell from which direction it was coming, but the cloud of dust overhead thickened.
It’s all caving in.
Wolfgang stuck the flashlight in his teeth and bent to scoop up Amelia. She didn’t resist as he lifted her onto his back and held both of her hands over his shoulders.
As he ran, the rumbling behind him grew steadily louder, now accompanied by a shower of dirt so thick it was difficult to see. Wolfgang’s mind clouded in panic as the hallway on either side of him flashed by, dimly lit by the penlight. He choked on dust and sprinted toward the darkness ahead as the floor shook beneath him.
A loud crash sounded, followed by a shockwave that ripped through the tunnel. Wolfgang hurled himself forward, his mind blinded by an overwhelming desire to get out. Whatever he had to do, wherever he had to go, he had to leave.
The end of the tunnel came abruptly, opening up into a wide chamber with a high ceiling. The crash and boom of the collapsing passage behind him grew louder, and dust rained down from overhead. Wolfgang looked around the chamber, choking on dust as the light cast eerie shadows around him.
There were bodies everywhere, lying on pyres and wrapped in white burial strips with their arms crossed over their chests. Mummies—dozens of them—were lined up in neat rows all across the room. Wolfgang would have been shocked, or maybe even terrified, but the threat of the impending cave-in was too present to ignore.
Wolfgang dashed across the room, weaving between the pyres as Amelia bounced on his back, one leg hooked around his waist and the other flopping next to his hip. She choked in a pain-filled scream, but he kept running, reaching the far wall of the tomb as bits of rock fell from overhead.
Then he saw the next door. It was framed in the middle of the far wall, filled with blackness, but he thought the floor of that passageway led upward, not downward. Wolfgang sprinted for the opening without pausing to think. Chunks of rock crashed down around him, one of them striking a pyre and obliterating it in a shower of dust. Wolfgang choked and slid through the door as more explosions of rock on rock burst from behind him.
The floor of the passageway did indeed lead upward—but only at a slight incline. Wolfgang ran like he’d never run before, and Amelia bounced along on his back. A sudden tremor in the floor sent him crashing against a wall, and the light flew out of his mouth. He stumbled and looked back, but there was no time to go back for the light. The floor beneath him shook like an earthquake as the chamber caved in and the flashlight disappeared into the dust cloud.
Wolfgang ran up the passage. He couldn’t see anything now, and he could barely breathe. Everything was a choking, suffocating smog of dust and darkness, and the desperation that set in was unlike anything he’d ever felt.
I can’t die here.
Wolfgang imagined Megan’s face that night in Paris when they danced together at the art gala. He remembered the black dress she wore, the mocking smirk she gave him when he struggled to keep up with her smooth dance steps. What a strange thing to think about, he thought, here at the edge of eternity. Of all the memories in his life, he thought about that night. He thought about Megan.
I’m going to see her again.
Wolfgang stumbled forward, still clinging to Amelia with both hands. His shoulder struck a rock wall, and he immediately turned and felt around in the darkness until he found an opening again. The tunnel switched back on itself, like a stairway in a building, and as he stumbled into the next passage, he felt a slight incline beneath his feet.
That’s all I need.
Wolfgang wheezed and almost fell as another tremor rocketed through the floor. He heard the tunnel behind him collapsing, and he leaned forward into the run as the floor beneath him became steeper.
Then he saw light. It happened all at once as the tunnel suddenly leveled out, and bright sunlight streamed through a hole in the ceiling. The momentary hope that flooded his mind was quickly extinguished, however, as cracks shot out from the ceiling, and more chunks of rock fell to the floor, followed by a deluge of sand.
Wolfgang could see clearly now. Beams of bright light shot through the ceiling on all sides as the roof collapsed, and he could see the surface of the desert fifteen feet overhead, but the gaps in the roof allowed a tidal wave of sand to crash in. Within seconds, the surge covered his feet and worked its way up his legs. Wolfgang thrashed free and fought upward, dragging Amelia behind him as rocks and sand poured in on every side, but he already knew the effort was useless. There was no way he could fight his way out while dragging another person—however small—on his back.
It’s me . . . or her.
Wolfgang fought his leg free again, coughing and ducking his head to avoid the spray of sand. It was like a shower in a fancy hotel, blasting in from all sides. No sooner did he jerk one leg free, did the desert tsunami bury it again, up to his knee now. It was becoming increasingly difficult to find stones to stand on, and even though massive chunks of the roof were now gone and there was little risk of being hit in the head by rocks, the gaps only left more room for sand to pour in.
“Climb on my shoulders!” Wolfgang shouted.
Amelia thrashed on his back,
but to no avail. Her broken leg dangled next to him, quickly becoming buried by the sand.
“You have to climb on my shoulders!”
He couldn’t move his legs now, and there was no longer a point in trying. His best bet now was to lift Amelia onto his shoulders and maybe get her far enough from the floor to somehow avoid being buried.
Amelia tried to climb, but her body was weak, and Wolfgang couldn’t help much.
“Climb!” he said.
Amelia couldn’t move. She clawed with both hands, but her broken leg kept her from obtaining any usable leverage.
She’s going to die with me.
A whirring, buzzing noise came from someplace above them, and he looked up into the bright sun, blinking away the sand and searching the sky. The buzzing grew louder, coming in from his right . . . or maybe his left.
Lyle’s monstrosity of a drone rocketed out of the sky like a helicopter descending on a war zone. The big black machine blasted down on them with all eight rotors spinning, sending up another cloud of dust that was almost too intense to see through. The drone’s motors slowed a little, then it began to drop. Wolfgang noticed the strap that hung down from the middle of the drone. It was the same strap Megan had used to fly into Amelia’s apartment, and at the end, the repelling harness still swung like a life buoy.
Wolfgang reached up, his fingers scraping the bottom of the harness as the drone hovered ten feet overhead. He remembered Lyle talking about the weight of the battery and reserve lift and motor output—all things Wolfgang didn’t understand or really care about.
It can’t lift her . . . not with the battery. But it can help.
Wolfgang snagged the harness on his second attempt and pulled down, looping one side of it beneath Amelia’s left arm, then helping her to get her second arm through the other side. The sand was up to his waist now, pouring in a little slower than before, but still rising inches per minute, with no signs of stopping. Wolfgang was completely immobile from the stomach down, but Amelia still had a fighting chance.
He gave her hand a squeeze and shouted over the roar of the drone. “Climb out, Doctor! You’ve got to climb!”
Amelia gave him a brief nod, then Wolfgang flashed a thumbs-up at the drone’s belly-mounted camera. The drone surged to life and shot upward, its accession slowing almost to a stop when the strap became tight. Amelia grunted in pain but then began kicking her good leg and using her arms to claw her way up the side of the deluge of rocks and sand.
The drone strained overhead. Wolfgang thought he saw smoke rise from its motors, and he pushed upward on the bottom of her shoe. She groped upward at the shifting pile of sand and rocks, and then Dr. Amelia Pollins broke free and disappeared over the side of the collapsing tunnel. Wolfgang coughed and grabbed at the wall in a last desperate attempt to free himself. The sand had almost reached his armpits, and in another minute it would cover his face. He’d be buried alive.
What a strange way to die. At least I saved Amelia.
Wolfgang pawed sand out of his eyes, then took a deep breath.
I wish I’d gone upstairs to see Collins.
The sand rushed in on all sides, up to his shoulders, and Wolfgang looked up at the sun, hoping to catch sight of the blue sky far above. Then something rocketed through the air and smacked him in the face. The object landed directly in front of him, coiled up like a snake and trailing back over the edge of the tunnel.
“Grab on!” somebody shouted.
Wolfgang flailed out with both hands and caught the rope. He wound it around his right arm, and clamped his left hand around the tail end. Then he heard the familiar growl of Charlie Team’s Toyota 4Runner.
The motor roared, and Wolfgang’s body ached as the strain descended on him. He felt like he was being pulled apart, like an insect between the chunky fingers of a child. Then the suction of the sand around his legs gave way, and he rocketed upward, plowing headfirst through the sand and over the side of the tunnel. Dirt filled his mouth, and he skidded along the rough surface, rolling through rocks before coming to a stop twenty feet beyond the tunnel.
He came to rest on his back, his arms still outstretched, and he heard the beat of footsteps nearby. Dirt exploded next to his head as somebody’s knees crashed down only inches away. A gush of water descended on his face, washing away the dirt and running over his dry lips in a glorious, unbelievable surge of pure goodness. He gulped at the stream and caught his breath, sucking in as many mouthfuls as he could before the water was suddenly taken away.
Then someone leaned over him, blocking out the sun.
Megan.
“Wolfgang! Are you hurt?”
Megan’s eyes filled with a level of concern he’d not seen before. Despite the pain that still throbbed through his body, Wolfgang felt suddenly awkward, as if she’d walked in on him in the bathroom.
He ran his tongue over busted lips, then offered a sheepish grin. “Hey, Meg. Found that tomb we were looking for.”
14
Wolfgang waited on the Gulfstream, a glass of Sprite in one hand and an ice pack in the other. He moved the pack every few minutes from his neck to his shoulders, then his thighs, then his back.
Absolutely everything hurt. Every joint, every muscle. It was like a giant had grabbed him by the feet and slung him into a block wall multiple times, then stomped on him for good measure. All his major joints were swollen, and aggressive rope burns ran down the length of his right arm. No matter how he adjusted himself in the plush seat of the private jet, Wolfgang couldn’t get comfortable, but all things considered, he wasn’t too worried about it.
I’m alive.
The single thought raced through his mind over and over, like a CD with a scratch on it, repeating the same lyric from the same song for all of eternity. When he closed his eyes, he saw the sand again, closing in all around him, and all he could think was . . .
I’m alive. I shouldn’t be, but I am.
He adjusted the ice pack to his neck and glanced to the tail of the plane, where Lyle was busy disassembling what remained of his drone. The motors were cooked, apparently—something about overstressing them with too much payload. After dropping Amelia on the dirt outside the tunnel, the drone had crashed into the ground and wrecked half of its propellers, along with some of its superstructure. Lyle was pissed, but Wolfgang figured he’d get over it.
As of yet, nobody else was on the plane. Wolfgang and Lyle had sat there for the better part of the morning, alone except for Charlie Team’s pilots, who never left the cockpit while Edric worked to clean things up with the Egyptians. There was apparently a lot of confusion and no short amount of angst about what had happened near the airport, and even though Charlie Team used a private airfield outside the city, the Egyptians would not let them take off until certain questions were resolved. Questions like: “Why was there a gunfight in the middle of the desert?” “Are you responsible for the invasion of the IronGate tower?” And Wolfgang’s personal favorite: “Who’s going to pay for the mess?”
Wolfgang had a pretty good idea that SPIRE would not be paying for any mess. Sure, there was a network of gaping holes in the desert near the airport where various tombs and tunnels had caved in, but if what Amelia said about those tombs was true, it was probably just as well if they remained buried. After Wolfgang slid down the chute into the first room and found Amelia, everything that transpired above ground was pretty much as he had guessed. There was, in fact, a second and a third man, and after covering the hole to keep it out of sight, they had gone back to the city to get some rope. Apparently, Amelia’s car wouldn’t start, so they walked back to the road and caught rides, then returned in a large stolen truck.
The gunfight that resulted when they attacked Kevin and Megan ended when Kevin accidentally shot out the gas tank of the truck, which eventually set off an explosion and triggered the cave-in. During the course of the gunfight, both men had been shot—probably by Kevin, although he wouldn’t admit to it—but neither man was killed. They were no
w in Egyptian custody.
Wolfgang turned to the nearest window at the sound of a car grinding to a halt outside, and watched as Edric, Megan, and Kevin piled out. They were accompanied by an Egyptian police officer, who shook Edric’s hand and said a few words before the three of them climbed the stairs and entered the plane. Edric proceeded immediately to the cockpit and said a word to the waiting pilots, then walked to the minibar and poured himself a drink.
Wolfgang eased the ice from his neck to his right thigh, watching Megan out of the corner of one eye. He remembered the look on her face when he’d first seen her, only moments after being saved from the mouth of the desert. The concern in her eyes . . . the sincerity in her voice.
She’d have looked that way for anybody on the Team. Don’t read into it.
Wolfgang told himself that multiple times, but he still wanted to read into it. He still wanted to think that maybe . . .
“That was one hell of a mess,” Edric said. He took a seat across from the others as the plane’s door hummed shut. Only moments later, the aircraft began to roll, and Wolfgang fastened his seatbelt.
Edric took a sip of the drink and shook his head. “Dr. Pollins is in the hospital being treated for a broken leg, a couple fractured ribs, and no small amount of shock. Her sister is with her.”
“So, is it true?” Lyle asked.
Edric swirled the drink and cocked his head. “About the plague?”
Lyle nodded.
“It’s true that we didn’t find the tomb of a pharaoh,” Edric said. “Dr. Pollins believes that the catacombs Wolfgang so graciously uncovered were used sometime during the waning years of Ancient Egypt, primarily to bury plague victims. At first, they would’ve used the catacombs, but when the plague got out of hand, they started dropping bodies straight down the ventilation shoot that Wolfgang fell through and then dumping sand on top of them. Hence the giant pile of buried bones you landed in.”
Wolfgang grimaced, recalling the sand dune and the skulls he’d touched. It wasn’t a memory he was eager to relive.
