Sea of Dreams (The American Heroes Series Book 2) (15 page)

He shined his flashlight on the faded writing, scratches in the hard-packed earth wall, blowing away the years of dirt that had settled.  After a moment or two of studying the words, he looked unsettled.

“Oh, brother,” he sighed. “You’re not going to like this.”

She looked concerned. “Why not?”

“Because from what I can see, it says ‘camino del pinche’.”

“What does that mean?”

He looked at her. “Road of the Damned.”

Her eyes widened. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

She looked uncomfortable as she began to look around, as if expecting devils to come jumping out of the walls. “Why would they call it that?” she wondered.

He shook his head. “I have no idea,” he said. “Do you still want to have a look down the tunnel?”

She nodded, although with less enthusiasm than she had show earlier.  “Just a quick look,” she said uneasily.”

He squeezed her hand. “Quick enough,” he said softly, shining the flashlight down the pitch black passage. “Watch your footing as you walk. There are things all over the ground.”

Blakesley fell in behind him, shining her light at the floor and seeing all sorts of implements tucked up against the walls.  They were rusted and dusty, like a thousand years old, and she received an overall impression of being caught in a time capsule.  It was like people had just dumped stuff and left, ghosts from times past when the West was truly wild. There were old crates, shovels, bits and pieces of what looked like forks or knives, old lanterns, and then she suddenly came to a halt. Her eyes widened.

“Look,” she pointed to the wall. “Is that an old rifle?”

Beck saw it, kneeling down to take a better look but not touching it.  He inspected it closely, the shape of the barrel and the firing pin.  He blew on it, blowing off decades of dust, and took an even closer look.

“I’ll be damned,” he finally shook his head. “It’s a Winchester Model 1885 single-shot rifle.”

Blakesley peered at it. “Really?” she said, surprised. “Do you know much about them?”

He shrugged. “Maybe a little more than most,” he said. “Weapons are kind of my thing.  This rifle was manufactured between 1885 and 1920, but this one looks like one of the first models ever made because of the full barrel and the high walls on either side of the hammer.  Can you see it?”

Blakesley had no idea what he was talking about but she nodded as he pointed, smiling at him when he looked at her with a happy grin.  It was a neat little treasure.

“That’s really cool,” she said, looking around.  “It makes me wonder what else we’ll find down here.”

Beck stood up, clutched Blakesley’s hand, and continued very slowly down the tunnel.  The ceiling was fairly low, so he kept hunched down to avoid hitting his head.   The beam from the flashlight danced along the walls, the white LDC stream hitting the old and dank walls.   There was more writing on the walls as they moved further back and Beck paused to read what he could of it.  Most of it was scratches, bits of words he couldn’t make out and nothing particularly organized, but there was one passage that he could make out down near the floor.  He could see the deeply carved words and he bent over, shining his light on it.

El hombre malvado,

yo maldigo el día que conocí usted y le puedo y su familia

nunca sabe un momento de la paz sobre esta tierra.

Pueda todos sus almas son maldecidas.

Blakesley had initially been watching him read but was distracted by something on the dirt floor reflecting the weak light.  She let go of his hand and crouched down beside it.

“Oh, my,” she gasped softly. “Look at this.”

Beck turned from the words on the wall to see that she had a pair of eyeglasses in her hand, old-fashioned, with the lenses remarkably still intact.  He crouched down beside her.

“That’s pretty amazing,” he said, looking at them as she put them in the palm of her hand. “The lenses are still intact.”

She was looking at the wire frames closely, the faded silver color. “How old do you think they are?”

He shook his head. “I have no idea,” he replied. “Pretty darn old, I’d say.”

Blakesley was still looking at them. “What does that passage say on the wall?”

Beck was kind of hoping she wouldn’t ask that.  His green-eyed gaze moved to the carefully etched words buried deep in the earth.  He debated how much to tell her but opted for all of it because, at some point, someone might translate the entire passage and he didn’t want her to become upset with him for not being entirely truthful. He sighed heavily.

“This is another one of those doom and gloom passages,” he told her.

She looked up from the glasses. “Why? What does it say?”

Beck looked at the writing.  “Well,” he grunted, standing up. “Loosely translated, it says, ‘Wicked man, I curse the day I knew you and may you and your family never know a moment of peace upon this earth. May all your souls be damned’.”

Blakesley’s jaw dropped and she stood up next to him, the glasses still in her hand. “Are you kidding me?” she exclaimed softly.

He looked at her. “It would be easier if I was. My first inclination was to lie to you just so it wouldn’t scare you.”

She put her hand on his arm sincerely. “I’m glad you didn’t lie,” she said. “I didn’t mean it the way it sounded. I didn’t mean to question your honor.”

He bent over and kissed her on the forehead. “I know you didn’t,” he looked back at the words. “But, I have to tell you, this whole tunnel is getting creepier and creepier.”

She nodded fervently. “No joke,” she looked around. “Where do you think this tunnel ends up?”

He shrugged. “Like I told you earlier, it leads off to the east towards the canyon but I have no idea what’s at the other end.  It could be caved in for all we know.”

Blakesley shined her flashlight back the way they had come, seeing the faint light from the floor hole in the distance. “Maybe it was an escape tunnel that led to the canyon,” she said. “Why else would it be here?”

Beck’s flashlight was shining in the opposite direction, looking into a dark hole with debris cluttering the way. “Any number of reasons,” he said. “It could be a smuggler’s cave, or built for storage, or maybe an escape route like you said. I’m sure there are experts who can tell us for sure.”

She nodded. “I’ll call the City in the morning and let them know about this.”

Beck nodded in agreement, but it was absently. His vision was locked onto something against the wall of the tunnel about twenty feet away, something that looked like a pile of clothing or bags. It was a big, dirty lump crumpled against the wall.  It took him a moment to realize that there were a pair of pants and a coat dressed on something he initially thought was a mannequin.  Gradually, he realized it wasn’t a mannequin; it was a body.  He could see a skeletal hand protruding from one of the coat sleeves. 

Startled, Beck positioned himself so he was blocking Blakesley’s view; he didn’t want her to see it, whatever it was.  His heart began to race and his palms started sweating.

“Seen enough?” he asked her as casually as he could. “We should start heading back.”

She didn’t sense his change in demeanor, completely oblivious to his edgy expression. “Okay,” she sighed, holding up the hand that still held the old spectacles. “What should I do with these?”

He wanted to get the hell out of the tunnel. “Just take them with you,” he told her, turning her around for the pit. “You can show the girls and tell them about your adventure.”

Blakesley let him turn her around and gently guide her back the way they had come.  She was still looking at the glasses, fascinated by them, as they passed the rifle propped against the wall. She pointed at it.

“Do you want to take that?” she asked.  “Do you think it’s valuable?”

He looked at the dusty old weapon. “I’m sure it’s valuable from a historic standpoint,” he said, trying to get her moving without shoving her. “We should probably just leave it there and let the experts handle it.”

Blakesley nodded and continued on, seemingly  in no hurry to leave while Beck was doing all he could to keep her moving and prevent her from backtracking.   Just as he opened his mouth to bring up the subject of dinner, a huge booming sound came from back behind them coupled by a great and unearthly howling. 

The noise shook Blakesley right out of her skin.  Terrified, she screamed and bolted for the pit, flying so fast that Beck lost his grip on her.  Last he saw she was already in the pit and heading for the crude ladder.  As a trained military man, and special ops at that, Beck didn’t run; he turned to face whatever it was, balling his fists and preparing for a fight.  He held the flashlight steady as he inspected the depths of the tunnel for the source of the sound but didn’t see anything.  In fact, it all looked suspiciously still and he cautiously made his way back into the tunnel.

The booming sound came again, followed by more howling and banging.  Flotsam from the ceiling floated down in the beam of the flashlight but Beck didn’t waver as he moved further back into the tunnel, passing the skeletal corpse without even looking at it.  There was debris scattered around him but he didn’t take his eyes off the flashlight beam to look around. He was more concerned about who was making the tremendous noise.   More than that, he wasn’t going to back down. It wasn’t in his nature.

The mystery monster was now starting to make a ruckus.  Dirt was flying in great clouds and there was a lot of banging going on.  Beck just kept walking, his flashlight beam fixed on the area back in the tunnel where the sounds were emitting from.   There were more debris back here, an old dresser and a very old Grandfather’s clock covered in dust and cobwebs.

Everything smelled of damp and oldness. It was like an antique trove, but Beck wasn’t distracted. He was on a mission.  The noise grew closer and he eventually walked right into the source.

Chapter Eight

Old Mike was banging up a storm in the darkness.  He had been so busy slamming things around that he didn’t see Beck until it was too late. Even though it was nearly pitch-dark in the beam of the flashlight, Beck swooped in on the old man and grabbed him, pinning him up so he couldn’t move.  Mike tried to kick and swing his fists, but he was no match against Beck’s strength and experience.  The old man grunted angrily.

“Hey!” he yelled. “What are you doing? Let me go!”

Beck had the old man’s back against his chest, arms pinned to subdue him.  “I’ve got a better question,” Beck fired back. “What are you doing?”

“I live here!” Mike spat. “I told you I lived in the canyon!”

“This isn’t the canyon,” Beck said. “This is a tunnel that leads under the house. Is that something you made use of, maybe to spray-paint walls or break stained glass windows?”

Mike was squirming. “I didn’t do that,” he insisted. “I don’t go back in that tunnel!”

Beck didn’t like the answer and began lugging the old man back the way he had come. “Sure you don’t,” he said sarcastically. “You just about scared the crap out of Mrs. Masterson, so I’m going to let you explain to her what you were doing down here.”

Mike grunted and twisted but he was no match for Beck.  Beck hauled the old man back down the tunnel, hitting his broad shoulders a couple of times on the narrow tunnel walls.   Mike howled as he was pulled further back into the tunnel.

“Don’t come back here!” he yelled. “Don’t you know it’s cursed?”

Beck just lifted his eyebrows at the ramblings of the old man.   He continued back into the tunnel, finally emerging into the pit.   The setting sun provided enough light into the room, and into the pit, that Beck was able to see his way up the old ladder with a combative captive in hand.  He literally had old Mike by the scruff of the neck, pulling the old man up with him as he emerged into the darkened and abandoned room.

Blakesley was nowhere to be seen.  With the old man now in a choke hold, Beck called for her.

“Blakesley?” he called out. “Where are you?”

He heard a faint response so he emerged from the pit room into the big hall, dragging Mike with him and seeing Blakesley standing far down the building by the front entry. In the dim light, he could barely see her. As he came near her with his unwilling prisoner, she ran to him.

“Oh, my God!” she exclaimed as she saw Mike. “So it wasn’t a monster down there after all?”

Beck shook his head, letting the old man go as he reached Blakesley.  Actually, he sort of threw the man down and Mike ended up in a heap at Blakesley’s feet.   Furious, rubbing his neck, Mike looked up at the two of them.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he scolded Beck. “What’s wrong with you, hurting an old man like that?”

Beck was in professional mode and in no mood for a mouthy old man. “Shut it,” he pointed a finger at him. “Now, I want you to apologize to Miss Thorne for scaring her to death.  Do it or you’ll be very sorry.”

Mike believed him. Lord howdy, he did.  He looked up at Blakesley, his expression between defiance and submission.

“I… I didn’t know it was you,” he said. “I thought… maybe it was someone come to rob me.”

Blakesley opened her mouth but Beck cut her off. “That’s not an apology,” he growled.

Mike didn’t like his tone and he looked fearfully at Blakesley. “Sorry I scared you.”

Beck bent over to apparently intimidate the old man even more, but Blakesley put her hand on his shoulder, pulling him away from Mike.  She put herself between Beck and the old man.

“What were you doing down there?” she asked.

Mike felt better with her doing the talking. “That’s where I live.”

“In a tunnel?”

He shrugged. “I don’t live in the tunnel,” he said frankly. “That’s a cursed place. I live in the room by the canyon.”

Blakesley still wasn’t clear on what he meant, but one thing he said caught her interest. “Cursed?” she repeated. “What’s cursed?”

“The tunnel,” Mike repeated. “Don’t you know it?”

Blakesley shook her head. “No,” she said, half-fearfully. “Why do you say it’s cursed?”