Cross Bones (21 page)

“Can’t we just move on to the IAA?”

“When I tel you what else we found here, you’l want the ful tour. And you’l want to see what’s at my lab. It’s amazing.” Jake handed me the flashlight.

“Back in a sec.”

“Look around while you’re up there,” I whispered. “Make sure there’s no papal vigilante crouched by the entrance.” The joke sounded lame.

“Wil do.”

I watched Jake muscle up the tunnel, hoping I had the arm strength to do the same. When his boots disappeared, I crawled along the wal I was facing and directed the light inside the first of the loculi.

Empty, but the dirt-covered floor was gouged and scuffed. Jake’s students? The looters?

I moved down the wal , then rounded the corner.

Same story in each loculus.

Duckwalking to the base of the tunnel, I looked up and listened. Not the faintest sound drifted down from above.

The air felt damp and cold. Inside my jacket, my sweat-soaked shirt adhered to my back. I began to shiver.

Where the hel was Jake?

“Jake?” I cal ed up.

No answer.

“Probably securing the perimeter,” I murmured to break the silence.

I was moving along the southern wal when the beam dimmed, strengthened, dimmed, and died.

Inky black.

I shook the flashlight. Not a flicker. I shook it again. Nothing.

I heard a sound behind me.

Had I imagined it?

I held my breath. One. Two. Thr—

I heard it again. The rub of something soft scraping stone.

Dear God! I wasn’t alone!

I froze.

Moments later, I sensed, more than heard, another whisper of movement.

The tiny hairs rose on my nape and arms.

I held absolutely motionless. A second. A year.

Another sound. Different. More terrifying.

My skin went taut from scalp to sternum.

21

GROWL? PURR? GROAN?

Before I could pigeonhole it, the sound stopped.

My brain groped for a familiar image to explain what I’d heard.

It came up empty.

I thumbed the flashlight switch. Nothing. I thumbed it in the opposite direction. More nothing.

Eyes wide, I searched my surroundings.

Blackness.

I was trapped underground, surrounded by stone and hil side a thousand feet thick. It was dark. And damp.

And I wasn’t alone!

Something’s in here!a voice screamed in my head.

My chest felt tight. I drew air through my nose.

The stench of urine seemed stronger now. And there was something else. Fecal matter? Rotting flesh?

I tried breathing through my mouth.

My mind flew in a mil ion directions.

Turn around? Scream? Break for the tunnel?

I was frozen in place. Afraid to move. Afraid to stay stil .

Then, I heard it again. Half growl, half rumble.

My fingers death-gripped the flashlight. It might at least serve as a club.

Something scratched stone.

Claws?

Cold fear sparked my nerves.

I shook the flashlight. The batteries rattled but offered nothing.

I shook harder.

A weak yel ow cone wormed into the darkness. Stil squatting, I pivoted slowly and lit the corner behind me.

And caught a shadow of movement in the last loculus!

Get out!screamed the voice in my head.

I was backing toward the tunnel when the growl started again. The message was low and feral.

I froze again. Hand shaking, I refocused on the loculus.

Eyes gleamed from low in the recess, pupils round and red as neon cranberries. Below them, the outline of a scarred snout.

Wild dog? Fox? Hyena?

Jackal!

The jackal stood with neck angled down, shoulder blades shooting to bony peaks behind its ears. Its fur was mangy and matted.

I took a cautious step backward.

The jackal bared teeth that were brown and glistening. It’s forelimbs flexed and its head shot up.

Every muscle in me went rigid.

The jackal swung its snout from side to side, nostrils working the air. The movement sent shadows rippling the hil s and val eys of its rib cage. Though emaciated, its bel y hung low.

Dear God! I was trapped underground with a starving jackal! Probably a pregnant female!

Where was Jake? What to do?

My brain coughed up facts garnered from some nature documentary.

Jackals are nocturnal in areas inhabited by humans.

The jackal had been sleeping. Jake and I had startled her awake. Not good.

Jackals are territorial and scent-mark their turf.

The urine smel . The jackal viewed the tomb as her territory, and me as an invader. Not good.

Jackals live and hunt as monogamous pairs.

The jackal had a mate.

Sweet Jesus! The male could return at any time. He could be in the loculus with her!

I couldn’t wait for Jake. I had to make a move.

Now!

Waistbanding the light, I pivoted, and crawled toward the mouth of the tunnel.

Behind me I heard a snarl, then scratching. I sensed air movement. I braced and regripped the flashlight. Maybe I could jam it into the jackal’s mouth, prevent teeth sinking into my flesh. Maybe I could strike a blow to the head.

The jackal didn’t attack.

Get out before you’re one against two!

I resnugged the flashlight in my waistband, and gripped stones jutting from opposite sides of the tunnel. Thrusting with my legs and pul ing with my hands, I heaved upward with al my strength.

After repositioning my feet, I reached for another handhold, and pul ed and lunged upward again.

My right-foot support held. The left broke free.

Spinning, I fel back down the tunnel and hit the floor hard. A flash-fire of pain ripped my shoulder and cheek.

The tomb went black.

My heart went stratospheric.

I lay stil , taking in sound.

Blood roaring in my ears.

Stones rattling down the tunnel.

Thetic-tic-tic of the rol ing flashlight.

Theting of metal hitting rock.

Underlying it al , a low, rumbling growl.

Within seconds, the stones stopped fal ing and the flashlight lay silent.

Only my heart and the jackal played on.

The growling was no longer coming from the southeastern loculus. Or was it? The tomb was acting as an echo chamber, ricocheting sound from wal to wal . I couldn’t pinpoint the jackal’s location.

The darkness pressed in.

My options had tanked. The jackal now held an advantage. She could see, hear, and smel me in the dark. I had no idea where she was.

Weak as it was, my beam had confused the jackal, held her in place like a deer on a highway. It might work again.

Would my movement provoke the jackal? Would the batteries function? I took the double gamble.

Extending my left arm, I inched my hand across the tomb floor.

And found nothing.

My jacket swished, sounding like thunder in the smal space.

The jackal growled louder, and then went stil . I heard fast breathing. The panting was more terrible than the growling had been. Was she preparing to pounce?

I pictured eyes watching in the dark. My groping grew desperate. My hand swept right, front, left.

Final y, my fingers closed on a metal tube.

I drew the flashlight to me and hit the switch.

Sickly yel ow lit my body. I almost wept with relief.

The growling kicked into high.

Heart thudding, I pushed to my elbows and played the light over the northern and eastern wal s.

No jackal.

The southern wal .

No jackal.

Reorienting, I swept the beam over the western side of the tomb. Every recess was fil ed with dirt and rock, leaving no crevice in which a jackal could hide.

I was probing the loculus closest to me, when a trickle of dirt cascaded down the wal .

The batteries chose that moment to die.

I heard movement above my head.

Fighting back tears, I shook the flashlight. It kicked back on.

I raised the beam.

The loculi were stacked one above the other in the western wal . The jackal was crouched in one of the upper-level recesses.

When my beam hit her, the jackal drew back her lips and snarled. Her body tensed. Her limbs flexed.

Our eyes met. The jackal’s were round and shiny.

A sudden realization. The jackal, too, felt trapped. She wanted out. I was blocking the tunnel.

We stared at each other. I stared a split second longer.

Snarling, the jackal launched herself at me.

I reacted without thought, dropping to the floor, wrapping my hands around my head, and tucking into a fetal curl. The weight of the jackal hit my left hip and thigh. I heard a snarl, and felt the weight shift.

Levering an elbow, I tried dragging myself away from the tunnel mouth. Paws hit my chest and moved toward my throat. I tucked my chin and crossed my arms, expecting teeth to rip my flesh. Then, the press of weight against my torso, the brush of fur against my head, and sudden release. The jackal had bounded over me and upward.

I heard panting and claws scraping stone. I turned my light toward the tunnel. The jackal was slinking out of sight.

Amazingly, the flashlight continued to shine, though weakly. Quick assessment. I gave the jackal time to put mileage between us, then crawled toward the tunnel. There had been some col apse, but the stones were nothing I couldn’t handle.

I spent two minutes lifting and rol ing rock, then positioned my feet as before and flexed to heave myself upward.

And realized my left hip had taken a hit. Great. Al I needed was another tumble and I’d be down here for a very long time.

Dropping back, I tested my legs.

As I shifted from foot to foot, my light angled upward and caught a hol ow from which rocks had been knocked free.

I let my beam sniff the scar.

It looked deep. Too deep.

I rose and wedged myself upward into the tunnel for a closer look.

The scar wasn’t a scar. It was a breach.

Angling the beam, I peered into the void beyond.

It took a moment for my eyes to pick it out.

It took another for my mind to comprehend.

Oh my God! I had to show Jake!

Injuries forgotten, I pul ed myself upward.

Just below the tunnel mouth, I paused and peeked out, prairie-dog style.

The upper chamber looked empty. No Jake. No jackal.

“Jake!” I hissed.

No answer.

“Jake!” I repeated as loudly as I could without bringing in vocal cords.

Same nonresponse.

I braced my feet, threw out my arms, and pul ed and pushed myself onto the upper-chamber floor.

Jake didn’t appear.

Ignoring the objections of my shoulder and hip, I rose to a squat and looked around in the flashlight sweep.

I was alone.

I listened.

No sound filtered in from outside the tomb.

Rotating quickly, I moved my beam through the velvety black around me.

Blue flashed in the darkness of a northern loculus.

What the hel ?

I knew what the hel .

I worked the light. I was right. The hockey bag.

But why? Where was Jake?

“Jake!” Ful vocal.

I dropped to al fours, crawled toward the loculus, stopped. Jake had hidden the bag for a reason. Reversing, I crawled toward the tomb’s entrance.

It was then I heard the first sound since leaving the tunnel. I froze, head cocked.

A muffled voice.

Another.

Shouting.

Jake’s voice. Words I couldn’t make out. Hebrew?

More words I couldn’t make out. Angry words.

A soft thud. Another.

Running footsteps.

The blackness grew blacker. I glanced toward the entrance.

Legs were blocking the smal square of sunlight.

22

IN A HEARTBEAT,BOOTS SHOT INTO THE TOMB . ABODY FOLLOWED .A large body.

I scrabbled backward and pressed myself to a wal . Crumpled cans jabbed my knees and pop-tops gouged the palms of my hands.

My mind flashed again to the man on the val ey rim. My heart pounded. Sweet Mother of God! Would I live through this day?

Tightening my grip, I raised the flashlight, ready to strike.

The body had settled onto its haunches, back to me. My beam lit coconut palms on Waikiki blue.

I took my first breath since seeing the legs. Outside I could hear shouting.

“What the hel ’s going on?”

“Hevrat Kadisha.” Jake threw the words over one shoulder, never taking his eyes from the entrance.

“I don’t speak Hebrew.”

“The goddamn bone police.” Jake was panting from exertion.

I waited for him to explain.

“Da’ataim.”

“That clears it up.”

“The ultra-Orthodox.”

“They’re here?” I pictured men inshtreimel andpeyos rol ing over the rim of the Kidron.

“In force.”

“Why?”

“They think we have human bones in here.”

“We do have human bones in here.”

“They want them.”

“What do we do?”

“Wait them out.”

“Wil they leave?”

“Eventual y.”

That was not reassuring.

“This is insane,” I said after listening for a few moments to the shouting outside.

“These cretins show up at excavations al the time.”

“Why?”

“To harass. Hel , we often need police protection just to do our jobs.”

“Isn’t access to archaeological sites by permit only?”

“These head cases don’t care. They’re opposed to the unearthing of the dead forany reason, and they’l riot in order to stop a dig.”

“Is theirs a majority view?” In my mind’s eye the bearded men now carried posters and placards.

“God, no.”

Outside, the voices eventual y stil ed. Somehow, I found the quiet more disconcerting than the shouting.

I told Jake about the jackal.

“You’re sure it was a jackal?”

“I’m sure,” I said.

“I didn’t see it run from the tomb.”

“She was moving fast,” I said.

“And I was focused on those morons out there. You’re okay?”

“I’m fine.”