The tunnel narrowed even further. Sonny had to turn his head sideways to fit through. Twice he bumped his head on unforgiving rock overhangs, but he ignored the pain. Soft, flourlike sand lay under his chest, leftovers from an ancient river that once flowed through the passage, carving the tunnel from solid limestone and leaving the powdery sediment behind. Jagged walls closed in on either side of him like a limestone coffin. There was no sound other than his breathing. His flashlight clumsily played down the tunnel, and he thought he saw an opening in front of him. He pushed forward, ignoring the panic that lurked in his belly.
After another twenty feet, the ceiling suddenly slanted up, almost high enough for Sonny to stand up straight. The tunnel continued on. He wiped sweat from his face, leaving a smear of cave silt. He moved down the tunnel, one hand clutching the flashlight, the other gripping the Hopi charm.
Sonny played his flashlight around the cave, knowing the BYU students had traveled this same path over a half-century ago. Evil-looking white spiders sat motionless in their webs. Small crickets with long legs and even longer antennae moved slowly along the walls and ceiling.
The confining space made him nervous. The dark, foreboding feeling he'd experienced his first day on this mountain returned, only stronger, more intense… thicker.
He came to a massive pile of boulders, obviously the site of an ancient cave-in. A small, dark hole rested at the bottom.
This is where you boys stopped the first time, Sonny thought. And when you came back here the second time, no one heard from you ever again. Sonny stood, shivering, his flashlight beam frozen on the opening. He couldn't go in. He had to go in. Maybe the evil that was this mountain lay just beyond this jumbled pile of huge boulders. Maybe Jessup's demons waited for him just past the opening, waiting for him to poke his too-damn-curious head through, waiting to grab him and drag him off to some unknown horror.
Sonny pinched himself hard. Get ahold of yourself, you cowardly old You've got to see what's past here or it's all you'll think about for the rest of your days.
Without giving himself time to reconsider, Sonny flopped to the ground. He moved past a pumpkin-shaped boulder and wormed his way through the opening. He stood up, shaking, the cold feeling of terror rippling up and down his body in endless waves.
His flashlight beam traced across the tunnel walls, then came to rest on a small charcoal drawing. It was the only drawing he'd seen in the tunnel. It captivated him. It looked like a primitive sun. Six curving sunbeams reached out from a central circle, representing the sun's heat, presumably. The drawing was simple enough, but there was something odd about it. Very odd. Sonny couldn't place it, and at the moment he didn't give a shit — he suddenly suffered the unmistakable feeling that he was not alone.
Panic engulfed him like a snake swallowing a bird's egg. He scrambled back through the cave-in opening, and once through sprinted up the tunnel slope, bending at the waist to keep his head from scraping against rock.
Just like on the way in, the tunnel narrowed. He dove to the ground, crawling toward the outside. He fought back creeping, gnarled fingers of primal fear, fought back the feeling that there was something behind him, something moving effortlessly through this tiny stone coffin.
Stinking with the sweat of panic, Sonny grunted his way out of the cave and back onto the mesa. He finally stood up straight in the fading sunlight, his breath ragged. He'd cut his knuckles in his haste to get out. Blood fell in small droplets against the sun-heated rocks.
He sat perfectly still, save for his heaving chest. Nothing came out after him. He heard nothing moving inside the tunnel. Back in the open air, the feeling of panic evaporated. He'd imagined it, that was all there was to it. Just claustrophobia brought on ‘cause that cave reminds you of the coffin you'll be wearin’ before too long, old-timer.
But somewhere inside him, inside the part that had taken to the land, the part that embraced the desert like a lost love, he knew it was a lie. Sonny sat down on the edge of the cliff, his feet dangling above the fatal drop, his eyes staring out into the sunset. The mountain was death. A war raged inside Sonny McGuiness's mind. His emotions and his intellect battled for dominance. To stay was to get rich. Rich enough to retire forever. To leave? To leave, his instincts told him, might not make him rich.
But it would let him live.
Katerina Hayes snagged a quick peek inside her silver locket. On one side was a picture of herself with her husband, Harry. It was an excellent picture, although a little small, of them on vacation in Puerto Rico. The faces were tiny, but she could make out their matching blue floral shirts. He had black hair, just like her. This was the only picture that made her agree with her friends’ constant observation — Harry and she did look like brother and sister. Their daughter, Kelly, smiled out of the locket's other side. The tiny three-year-old simply beamed, seeming to have a light all her own.
Katerina hadn't seen either of them for over a month, not since this whole Wah Wah situation erupted. First, she'd worked incessantly in the lab with that bastard Angus, who never seemed to get tired and was never satisfied no matter how many hours the staff put in. Then straight from the lab to a plane, to Salt Lake City, to a Jeep that took her straight to this infernal desert. She'd only managed a quick phone call to Harry before she left, telling him that she was going to be on-site. No, she didn't know how long. No, she couldn't tell him where. No, she wouldn't be able to call him. No, she didn't know when she'd be able to call at all.
Yes, it did mean big things for her career.
That was all Harry needed to hear. He was so damn supportive of her career. She often had to work late (as did everyone on Angus's staff), yet Harry never complained. Not once. Inside the fridge she always found a meal waiting to be microwaved. Outside the fridge she always found a new crayon drawing from her daughter.
Keep working hard Mommy.
I love you Mommy.
I'm proud of you Mommy.
She knew Harry coached his daughter with the messages. He never let his daughter write things like “I miss you,” or “come play with me,” things that would have drowned her with guilt. Even after two years of Angus's unending demands, there was nothing but support from her wonderful husband and her growing daughter.
That's why she peeked at the locket before she went in to see Mr. Kirkland, to remind her of the reasons why, despite her “genius,” she worked for a man who treated her like an imbecile. She was doing it for Harry and Kelly. Harry had always told her someday it would pay off.
It looked as if today was going to be that day.
With Angus and Randy gone, someone had to take charge of the lab's enormous workload. Someone had to take control and make sure everything continued at a flawless level.
Within an hour after the accident, Connell Kirkland had sent for her. O'Doyle gave her the order. She didn't like the big security guard. In fact, he scared the hell out of her. He'd killed people, or so the story went. Rumor had it he served in an Israeli commando unit, and had once single-handedly slain eight terrorists using nothing but a combat knife.
She knew her summons could only mean one thing. She took one last look at the locket, shut it, tucked it inside her shirt, and knocked on the door to his office.
"Come in,” Connell called. She walked into the trailer, trying to look confident, but knowing she didn't.