Abandon - Crouch Blake - Страница 34
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THIRTY-EIGHT
L
awrence and Abigail stood at thirteen thousand feet, already a foot of snow at the pass and the wind screaming beyond comprehension, so hard that they could lean into it at forty-five-degree angles and be held upright. They watched their captors trudge upslope, wearing those acrylic black masks again to shield their faces from the stinging cold.
Lawrence waved them over and shouted above the wind, “I wanna explore this side first! There’s a recess in the cliff that looks very interesting!”
Isaiah gave a thumbs-up, and they worked their way over from the saddle to the base of the palisade, a series of broken crags that, from Abandon, resembled an old saw blade cutting at the sky. When she saw where he was leading them, Abigail grabbed hold of her father’s arm. Accessible from the pass, a ledge traversed the escarpment. To her right—vertical snow-glazed rock that lifted beyond the range of her headlamp. To her left—a stomach-churning drop into darkness. She shone her light over the edge and watched snowflakes swirling and tumbling down through the beam, losing sight of them long before they reached the bottom.
Near the pass, the ledge was four feet wide—broad enough for Abigail and Lawrence to walk abreast. But it narrowed as it crossed the face of the palisade, and Abigail had to follow behind her father, hugging the cliff as with each step she punched through a foot of fresh powder.
The ledge went on and on.
It narrowed to three feet, then two.
Toward the end, the ledge sloped down just enough so that Abigail’s boots would slide over the icy rock toward the edge if she lingered in one spot too long.
Suddenly, Lawrence turned and pulled her underneath an overhang, out of the snow, out of the wind, the rock dry. Abigail’s face had gone numb, and she took off her gloves, pressed her palms into her cheeks.
“Listen, Abby,” Lawrence whispered. “I’m gonna try to—”
Isaiah and Jerrod emerged from the ledge and ducked into the overhang.
They collapsed onto the rock, their black parkas blanched with snow.
“This it, Larry?”
“This is the place I wanted to check out, yeah.”
“Don’t look like much to me. You ain’t fucking around again—”
“How about that? Does that look like something?”
Isaiah aimed his headlamp at the back wall, the corners of his mouth lifting, his bright, perfect teeth shining their malevolent smile. “Now, that does look like some shit.”
Isaiah got up, walked over to the opening in the rock. He squatted down, peered inside.
“How far’s it go back?” Jerrod asked.
“About four feet.”
“Can you see anything?”
“Nah, this tunnel slants down and to the left.” He put his light on Lawrence. “You been in here before, Lar?”
“No. I’d planned to come up here on some downtime during our three days in Abandon.”
Isaiah pushed back his hood and pulled off his face mask. From underneath the overhang, the wind sounded like a fleet of jet engines as it tore across the pass. “See, part of me’s thinking that you might be a conniving motherfucker. You feel me?”
“No, I don’t feel you.”
“You’re telling me that’s an old claim hole?”
“Far as I know.”
“Well, I’m all for sending your ass in first, but what if it’s in fact a cave? And you just disappear once you get inside? Only one of us can fit through that tunnel at a time.”
“Look, I have no idea what’s in there,” Lawrence said. “I hope for our sake it’s a shitload of gold. Based on my research, everything I know about Oatha and Billy, I have a feeling that’s exactly what we’re going to find. But I’m not leaving Abigail, so you don’t have to—”
“All right, tell you what. We’ll send Abigail in. Jerrod, undo Larry’s end of the rope and whip up one of your fancy knots for the lady.”
It took Jerrod less than a minute to untie Lawrence and prepare a harness for Abigail.
“Second time you’ve done this,” she said as he ran the rope around her thighs. “Remember yesterday?” He’d taken off his mask, and when he looked up, her headlamp shone on the crescent moon scars that ruined his face. In spite of everything, she found it impossible not to feel a flicker of compassion for what he’d endured in Iraq.
“She’s ready,” he said.
Abigail approached the opening and shone her headlamp inside.
“What’s the story on there being bad air in there?” she asked.
“Guess you’ll let us know, huh?”
She climbed in and wormed her way through the tunnel, arriving after ten seconds in a small chamber roughly the size of her studio, but with a much lower ceiling—just barely over six feet. Isaiah crawled through the passage now, and she moved away from the opening as he stepped down into the chamber. “Get your ass in here, Larry!”
They shone their headlamps over the bare rocky floor, across the walls, the low, jagged ceiling. Isaiah walked the circumference of the room, returning to the opening of the tunnel just as Lawrence emerged. He grabbed the professor by the scruff of his yellow parka and dragged him out into the chamber.
“Fuck,” Lawrence said.
“Fuck is right. What the fuck, Larry?”
Lawrence struggled to his feet. He walked to the farthest corner and squatted down, carefully lifting the only man-made object in the chamber.
“What you got?”
Lawrence held up the scraps of an old burlap sack. “This is what the gold was carried in. Probably used a team of burros to bring it to the pass.”
“So what’s the good news? There a secret passage? I push one of these rocks and the treasure room opens up? Larry? I know you got some silver lining for me.”
As Lawrence stood up and looked over at Isaiah, Abigail saw something in her father’s eyes she’d not seen until now: fear, bewilderment, a hint of real desperation. “This is where they brought the gold. I’m sure of it. It was stored right here on Christmas Day in 1893. Now it’s gone. So they must have come back and taken off with it after they’d murdered most of the townspeople. I feel more strongly than ever that it was Oatha and Billy who somehow wiped out Abandon in an unprecedented act of mass—”
“See, I don’t give a fuck about all that.”
“What else do you want from me? At this point, I’ve done everything I can.” Isaiah closed the distance between himself and Lawrence. “I’m not jerking you off here, Isaiah. I could lead you on some wild-goose chase all night long. ‘Oh, I think it’s here. Well, maybe they hid it there. Okay, one more place to look.’ I’m not doing that. This is the honest, stone-cold truth. Now that I know it’s not here, I don’t have the first fucking clue where the gold is. May not even be in the San Juans.”
Isaiah just stared at him, and Abigail could sense the internal debate going on behind his chocolate eyes, knew their fate was being decided, thought how Isaiah’s silence was so much more horrifying than his noisy stream of threats.
He knelt down slowly, deliberately, lifted the right pant leg of his waterproof trousers.
Lawrence was trembling now, his hands behind his back.
He left his gun outside with Jerrod, but not the knife. He’s going to kill my father. Then murder me. What a perfect place to leave our bodies.
Isaiah unsnapped the ankle sheath, and as he grasped the knife, Lawrence’s right arm swung out in a wide arc that ended in a muffled cracking collision with the side of Isaiah’s head.
Isaiah groaned, fell over unconscious.
Lawrence staring at the fist-size rock still gripped in his hand, half-stunned, as if in disbelief that his arm had done this thing.
THIRTY-NINE
L
awrence knelt down and unclipped the sheath from Isaiah’s ankle. He cut the rope that linked Abigail’s harness to the overhang, and as he slid the sheathed knife into his pocket, Abigail ran her hands up and down Isaiah’s legs, his arms, and around his waist before suddenly stopping. She unzipped his parka, reached into an inner pocket, and plucked out an olive-colored ball the size of an apple and weighing just under a pound.
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