TWENTY-TWO
ROOK WOKE TO find the air cleared and his head throbbing. He pulled his small Maglite flashlight from his vest and twisted it on. A small amount of dust flitted through the air, but it was breathable. He examined the tunnel, solid stone on all sides. As claustrophobia threatened to take root in Rook’s mind, he turned his attention to the others.
Bishop sat up and rubbed his forehead. He looked Rook in the eyes and slowly shook his head.
“We need to get out of here,” Rook said. He pointed the light toward Somi’s shirtless, supine body. She showed no sign of consciousness, but her red-stained, gauze-wrapped chest rose and fell. “She’s alive.”
Rook stood and bent down to avoid hitting his head on the low ceiling. “You manage to grab one of our packs?”
“No,” Bishop said. “I got this, though.” He held up Somi’s shotgun.
“Well, that’s something,” Rook said. He took Somi’s hands and pulled up. Her head hung down, but cleared the floor by a few inches. Bent over and holding half of Somi’s weight, Rook pulled her through the tunnel. There was no discussion about which way to go and no debate over whether or not they should go at all. If they stayed still they would die, and there was only one direction they could go.
Ten minutes later they reached the three-pronged fork in the road. Rook set Somi down with a grunt. He lay flat on his back, which throbbed from the constant bending. His head ached from bumping it several times while pulling Somi. He reached into a vest pocket, pulled out a small packet of painkillers, tore it open, and swallowed four dry. “Which way, big guy?”
Bishop inspected each of the three tunnels. He noted the scripted symbols etched into the walls but couldn’t make sense of them. He turned to Rook. “No idea.”
Rook sat up and groaned as blood rushed from his head, bringing a new wash of pain. He looked at the tunnel floors. Each showed signs of movement, one more than the other two. “Look there,” he said, pointing at the right-hand tunnel. “I’m guessing King and Queen went that way.”
Bishop nodded and leaned into the tunnel. “I think we should—”
A muffled whump sounded in the distance and the tunnel shook. A rushing hiss of air and dirt grew louder from the right-side tunnel.
“Don’t we have all the luck,” Rook said. He took Somi under the arms and charged into the left-side tunnel as a breeze began to swirl the dust in the small crossroad section of tunnel. Bishop followed close behind.
They’d covered fifty feet of tunnel when the shock wave hit the four-way junction. Dust exploded through the three open shafts.
Rook charged on, banging his head, pulling Somi, determined to not lose consciousness a third time in the same day. Then the tunnel disappeared beneath his feet. He fell and took Somi with him.
As he fell, Rook pulled Somi close and kept his back facing down, cushioning Somi’s body with his own. He landed hard and the sound of snapping bones filled his ears. He expected a jolt of pain, but none came. His senses returned. He twisted Somi off of him. A second later Bishop came down on top of him like a wrestler from the top rope.
Rook coughed as air escaped his lungs. After a deep breath he laughed, then groaned and shoved Bishop off of him. “You’re not my type, big guy.”
With Bishop’s weight off of him, Rook turned his flashlight on and pointed it up, just in time to see a plume of dust explode from the tunnel, ten feet above. It spread into a cloud and drifted down around them. Rook could taste the grit, but it wasn’t enough to make him gag.
Bishop picked up his flashlight, which he’d dropped upon colliding with Rook, and shined it around the room. Rook followed suit. The two beams cut through the dust-filled darkness, revealing a cavern fifteen feet tall and thirty wide. But the details were obscured by dust.
Rook shivered. “Hey, it’s cold in here.”
“We’re under the mountain,” Bishop said. “Ambient underground temperature is fifty-four degrees.”
“Cold enough to chill a beer,” Rook said.
“Or something else.”
Rook turned toward Bishop and found him staring at the side of the cavern. The air had cleared enough for them to see the far wall. Three bodies, bound at the feet, hung upside down from the wall. Ropes tied to their ankles rose up and over the edge of the rise and disappeared into a tunnel above.
Rook’s memory recalled the sound of breaking bones when he’d fallen into the cavern. He shined his light down.
Human bones lay scattered around the room like discarded trash. They weren’t complete skeletons, just a mix of body parts casually dumped into the space.
Rook shuffled through the bones and stood next to Bishop, who was inspecting the bodies. Two were men, one a woman. All Vietnamese. All naked. Strips of flesh had been peeled off the meaty portions of their bodies—thighs, calves, shoulders—like they were giant sticks of string cheese. “Bishop, what the hell?”
“Villagers from Anh Dung.” Bishop looked Rook in the eye, his face deep in shadow. “You were right about the beer, Rook. This is someone’s refrigerator.”
Distant noise echoed from the tunnel above, like a foghorn, only more organic. Rook and Bishop quickly stepped through the field of bones, knelt next to Somi, and turned off their flashlights. But the darkness didn’t fade completely. Flickering light poured out of the tunnel.
Bishop raised the shotgun up. Rook snapped his wrist guards into a locked position, allowing him to fire his two Desert Eagle handguns with one hand each. He raised them up, ready to unload a volley of .50-caliber rounds.
Both men jumped as Somi’s voice cut the silence.
Rook looked down and put the barrel of his handgun in front of his lips. He shushed her quietly, shaking his head. Of all the times to regain consciousness. He refocused on the tunnel as a figure stepped into view. His eyes went wide. He had no clue what the thing holding the torch was, but he recognized the limp body over its shoulder.
Knight.