Shadowmark (The Shadowmark Trilogy Book 1) (9 page)

“Another reason why we don’t need extra people in here,” replied Lincoln. He coughed and waved away the smoke. “Don’t you want to make those things last as long as possible?”

“Why? Either way, I’m going to run out, I think. Might as well get it over with instead of drawing it out. I need to quit anyway.”

“Still,” joined Alvarez, “I don’t want to die an early death. Put it out, will you?” She pointed to a pile of coal gleaming off to the left, then looked at the torch in Lincoln’s hand. “Will it ignite, do you think?”

Carter looked at the coal and took one more puff before stubbing out the cigarette on his shoe and putting it back in his pocket. “Odd, isn’t it? Leaving the coal like that. Wonder why?”

Since no one had an answer, the group continued on. The shaft sloped downward quickly. A few times, Lincoln consulted the map to make sure they had made the correct turn. Several more piles of coal were scattered throughout the tunnels. Finally, they reached a point where the rock shaft ended in ten wide, shallow steps cut directly into the mountain. Lincoln took the first step without hesitation. He knew where he was now.

“Lincoln.” Alvarez’s voice bounced off the walls. “Stop for a minute.”

“What is it?”

She grabbed Lincoln’s torch and held it out in front of her, looking at the steps in the flickering light. “Let me see your shoes,” she said.

“What? Like take them off?”

She shook her head. “No, just let me see the treads.”

Lincoln raised his foot behind him, grabbing hold of it while Alvarez peered at it.

“Are these the shoes you wore in earlier today?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Then someone else has been here.” The stairway grew quiet as everyone looked to where she was pointing—at a large boot print on the stairs ahead of them, heading down.

Carter lit another torch and held it out. “She’s right. Completely different tread.”

“Are there any coming back up?” asked Nelson.

“I haven’t seen any. Keep an eye out.” Alvarez walked out ahead of them now, holding her torch low. More of the same boot prints marked the stairs, all heading down, along with some of Lincoln’s own treads, headed in both directions.

“Looks like someone’s still down there,” said Carter. He stopped walking. “What do we want to do?”

Lincoln pulled out his gun.“This might be our only chance without Nash.”

“But shouldn’t we bring in the troops now?” asked Nelson, his voice shaking slightly.

“There might be troops down there,” said Lincoln. “For all we know, Nash sent someone down here and the guy got lost.”

“Maybe.” Carter frowned.

“I’m going down. Everyone still with me?”

They all nodded. Lincoln led the way to the bottom, his finger resting beside the trigger of his gun. They reached the bottom of the stairs and stepped into the concrete tunnel.

“Lincoln,” said Nelson from the back. “You misrepresented this tunnel. Didn’t tell us how creepy it was.” His voice echoed off the walls, mingling with the sound of dripping water. In the flickering torchlight, the square passage looked more like an underground bunker than a mineshaft. The ceiling crumbled in places where water had forced through, leaving large puddles on the rough floors.

“Careful of those puddles,” Lincoln advised, remembering his soggy shoe. Again he experienced the sensation of the walls closing in around him. He paused to take a few deep breaths.

“How long since anyone was actually here? Did Cummings tell you, Lincoln?” Alvarez asked.

“No.”

The team reached the end of the concrete passageway and spent a minute examining the edge of the concrete and the beginning of the dark rock. The torchlight illuminated the space better than Lincoln’s flashlight had, and they saw clearly where the concrete tunnel opened into the top of the rock tunnel, leaving a two-foot drop-off into the drier area in front of the ARCHIE sign. The first time Lincoln had thought the step was intentional, but now it looked more like an accident.

“Why would they build a rough square tunnel into the corridors?” Alvarez asked. “If ARCHIE could do this fine stonework in the corridor, why not in the tunnels leading to it?”

“Maybe the corridor was already here,” Lincoln said, helping her light two more torches.

“Before the concrete tunnel? Who put it here?”

“Dunno.”

“Let’s make sure we ask Nash.”

“I get the impression he doesn’t know anything about it,” volunteered Nelson as he picked at the metal sign.

“The round room is this way.” Lincoln turned to go down Corridor B when the sound of ringing metal echoed across stone. Thinking Nelson had done something to the sign, Lincoln looked back at him, but Nelson was standing immediately to his left. “Did you hear that?” he whispered.
 

Nelson nodded and swallowed.
 

Lincoln remembered the metal stairs in Corridor A and turned, taking a few steps in that direction. “Hello?” he called. “Who’s there?” He walked to the head of the steep stairs, gun ready, while Carter held the torch aloft.
 

A man in Army fatigues stood several steps down—Lieutenant Halston. He held up his hand and squinted against the sudden brightness of the torches. “Oh, thank God,” he sighed. “Got turned around. Thought no one would find me.” Lincoln lowered his gun in relief. Halston hopped awkwardly up the remaining stairs, and everyone took a step back to look at him. Once again, the man seemed to take up all the space around him. Beads of sweat ran down his face and neck despite the cool air flowing through the passage.

“What are you doing down here without a light?” asked Lincoln.

“Colonel sent me down this morning. I stayed in here too long and my light went out. Batteries must have died.”

“Power’s out all over camp,” said Lincoln. What kind of power meltdown could have affected a flashlight underground? A chill ran through him.
What if I’d stayed in here a few more minutes and been lost in the dark?
He suppressed an urge to shudder and said, “Nash told me he couldn’t send anyone in without the map. Why’d he change his mind?”
 

“Don’t know. My orders were to have a look at the tunnels. I was the only other person to have seen the map. I wandered in this general direction for a while until I found the stairs.”

Nelson whistled. “You went down the stairs in the dark? Why would you do that?”

“I didn’t go down them on purpose. They just sort of jumped out in front of me, you know? Let’s get out of here.”

“We’re on our way in, not out,” said Lincoln.

“I twisted my ankle on the stairs and I’m really sick of this place.”

“We’ll leave a torch with you then. We’ll get you on the way back if you want to wait.”

Halston straightened. “I think we should head back,” he said. “There’s been a lot of rumbling in here. Don’t want to get trapped.”

“We haven’t felt anything since we came down,” remarked Alvarez.

“And you’ve been here all of what? Two minutes?”

Lincoln growing irritation erupted into anger. “You know what?” said Lincoln. “I think you can wait here in the dark until we get back. Let’s go.” The four of them turned back toward the sign, but as they reached it, Lincoln was shoved violently into the wall, the air forced out of his lungs. Pain seared through his side. Dazed, Lincoln felt Halston grab for the gun, but he could do nothing to prevent it as he fought to breathe. Debilitating pain washed over him, and he slid down the wall.
 

For a moment, the others didn’t seem to understand what had happened. Then everyone shouted at once. The torchlight danced on the walls as Lincoln sank to his knees, the tunnel echoing with the group’s shouting and swearing. As he fell forward, the ground rumbled beneath him. One of the torches dropped into the puddle in front of Lincoln. The light flickered on the water and then sizzled out. As his vision blurred, he rolled onto his back and saw Halston run by.
 

The mountain shook again. Then the other lights went out.

DAY 5

C
ALLA
STARED
AT
THE
MASSIVE
carved doors. A moment ago, when she arrived, they had glowed golden as the sun, the round hieroglyphs shifting to announce her arrival. She did not cover her eyes or squint at the flares, but remained still, in unspoken communication with them. When the swirls and patterns stopped changing, the door turned dark again, as if it were nothing more than simple stone.

And Calla waited. She stared at the door, standing tall and motionless as if she, too, had been carved out of the dark. Footsteps echoed softly down the gallery, growing slightly louder. As the Sacred One passed behind, Calla sensed, rather than saw, its presence. Despite the delicate footfalls, the being took up all of the space behind her. The silence pressed against her back, crowding out everything in the dark passage. The skin on her face stretched taut over her high cheekbones as she held herself in place. Remembering her orders, she kept her gaze on the doors in front of her. Finally the passage cleared—the Sacred One had passed.

Calla did not know how long she had waited at the door—time had little meaning here—but her back and feet ached from standing, a remarkable occurrence since Calla rarely tired.
 

The doors glowed yellow again in the deepest parts of the hieroglyphs, as if a light were shining through a thousand tiny cracks. But when they parted, the thick solid doors showed no defects. Calla slid silently between them. Blackness surrounded her. Instead of a floor, Calla stood on nothing, yet she did not fall. The space she entered had no walls, only darkness. She saw the darkness as it moved. The aether swirled and gathered around her in deep shades of purple and black.

the voice of the Condarri echoed in her mind.
 

she answered.

Calla’s body grew even more tired as she received her orders, but she did not complain, nor did she move.

The void pressed in around Calla, suffocating her.

Calla’s body twisted in pain. <
Yes, My Lord
.>
 

When the voice dismissed her, she almost stumbled through the door on her way to the oxygenated corridor.

She kept her eyes down on the way to her new ship—her prize. As Calla left Condar, her thoughts remained on her orders. By the time she landed, she had already picked her team and sent her summons.

Mina hadn’t eaten or slept in more than twenty-four hours. She had pushed hard to get away from Charlotte, jogging west along the interstate as fast as her burning lungs would allow. Thousands of travelers, stranded when their cars stopped on the roads, now walked on the asphalt in varying stages of panic. Some ran through the maze of cars, peering inside each one, looking for loot. Most trudged through the mess in small groups, avoiding strangers, their eyes fearful and wary.
 

 
Mina had no idea why the cars had stopped, but they clogged the roads heading west in all lanes. No helicopters buzzed overhead. No emergency sirens sounded. Nothing stirred except the mass of people. The longer Mina went without food, the more tempted she was to check the vehicles herself. But the crowds were nervous, and Mina was nervous, so she kept moving.
 

After a while she slowed to a walk at the edge of the trees lining the interstate, keeping the road on her left, looking for opportunities to dash down to the cars for a quick search. So far she had returned to the trees empty-handed.
 
A group of teens sauntered down the shoulder, breaking out car windows with a crowbar. Mina considered walking inside the trees, but the tangled undergrowth would slow her down, and she would be alone. She had no way of defending herself if she were threatened. As far as she was concerned, the crowds offered protection. The teens moved toward the median and pushed their way through the large group of people walking there.
 

A twinge of pain spread across Mina’s forehead, and she reached up to gingerly touch the cut near her hairline, wondering for the hundredth time if she had a concussion. Earlier in the day, she had kept up a jog, but the exertion, hunger, and fatigue had coalesced into a pounding headache. And running had brought on more painful coughing fits.
 

Just another marathon, she told herself. Mina had run several, and her training paid off as she mentally blocked the pain threatening to bring her to a halt. Her body responded: one foot followed the other, moving her forward, until her thin leather boots wore large blisters on her swollen feet, and her clothing chafed her skin in ways she’d never thought possible.
 

As she grew tired of the heavier, more rambunctious crowds on the interstate, Mina merged onto a smaller state highway and jogged west, looking for a safe place to rest. The crowds thinned until she approached an exit ramp with a gas station at the top. Abandoned cars and trucks lined the entire ramp, along with the grass around the station. Under the awning, cars and motorcycles sat at awkward angles, as if they had all stopped in the middle of jostling for the coveted spots next to the pumps. People hurried in and out of the darkened store, broken glass crunching underfoot.
 

Mina hung back, observing the store from behind the parking lot dumpsters, the sickly sweet smell of rotting garbage invading her nose. She breathed through her mouth as a never-ending stream of people arrived to loot the store. The larger truck stop across the street had gone through a similar ransacking. Bands of people still mingled around an abandoned eighteen-wheeler and were attempting to pry it open. Two large oil trucks rested near the underground tanks.
 

Mina needed food, water, matches, anything. Whatever she could find would be better than nothing. Still she hung back, her need for safety warring with her body’s cry for nourishment.