THIRTY-SEVEN

KNIGHT DREAMED OF his mother, calling him in for lunch, and then woke to silence. He had slept through the wailing calls of the Nguoi Rung, through the echoed reports of Rook’s powerful handgun, through the gruesome death suffered by Somi, and lastly, through the shouts issued in Rook’s direction from Red, in plain English. Had he heard any of this he might have not lingered upon waking. And as a result he would not have made the mistake that carried him deeper into the ancient layers built by inhuman hands.

He sat on the bed of bones and rubbed his head. Though his slumber had been sound, his body ached after lying on a bed of knobby limbs. He stretched his back, breathed deep, stretching his battered rib cage. Relief came as a pop in his sternum signified a realignment—of what he couldn’t tell, but he felt better.

In the darkness created by the bone structure, he had a clear view of the space outside. He could see the wall of the cavern, glowing green, and the skeletal structures at its base. The view was just a sliver of the interior, but the cavern’s light was steady. He looked for movement. A shifting shadow. A flicker of light. Anything that would betray the presence of somebody, or something, waiting for him. He slowed his breathing so that he could no longer hear his own breath, and listened.

He saw nothing.

Heard nothing.

Then stood.

His ankle throbbed, sending him back down onto the bone bed, which rattled under the sudden return of weight.

Knight froze, watching and listening again. When no one approached he was even more sure that he was alone. In the quiet cavern his rattling bed would have been like an alarm bell. Or dinner bell.

Leaning over, he took hold of a conjoined radius and ulna that made up a decorative pattern running the length of the bed and yanked them free. He then separated them from each other with a quick pull. Though the bones were solid, the tissue holding them together turned to powder in his hands. Using duct tape kept in his cargo pants he lashed the forearm bones to the sides of his wounded foot and lower leg.

Not exactly a gel cast, Knight thought, but it will have to do.

He stood with a grunt, but the pain was bearable. The makeshift splint would serve its purpose, to help take the weight off the ankle and distribute it to his calf. Limping, he moved to the doorway and took a peek outside. Nothing but the emerald sheen of ancient bones.

He slid silently from the doorway and rounded the side of the building that had provided his refuge. He peeked around the corner and saw a long, straight passage, what could only really be called a street, stretching straight away for a distance that looked greater than several football fields. Both sides of the street were lined by more buildings ranging in size and intricacy. There was no way to know the original purpose of the place, but the design, the craftsmanship, that went into each building was impressive, if not hauntingly beautiful.

After a quick listen, Knight whisked across the street, to the far side, where buildings rose up into the bone-covered stone wall. He hoped to find a tunnel that would take him out of this place and into the bright yellow light of day. Hell, even the dull filtered light of the jungle’s canopy-covered day would be an improvement. Even the humidity and heat of the jungle, which could not be found in the cool, dry caves, held greater appeal than the necropolis. It was the air that bothered him. He could feel the dusty air clogging his nose, dust created by the bones and bodies that were left to rot in this cave. He was breathing the dead.

Doing his best to stay in the shadows, Knight moved as swiftly as possible on his injured leg, but the glowing green moss that covered every external surface filled the cavern with ambient light. If one of the creatures that lived in this cave happened to look in his direction, he would stand out like a black meteorite on an arctic ice shelf.

So it was, when he heard the steady slap of broad bare feet approaching from a side corridor, he ducked into the first dark tunnel he found. Before disappearing into the darkness he removed a bandanna from his pocket and wiped several bones clean of their green moss. He pocketed the glowing rag and moved away from the necropolis.

When the footfalls came closer he had no choice but to follow the tunnel. It ran straight for fifty feet, and as Knight covered the distance he hoped to find it turning upward, but it didn’t. It descended, deeper into the mountain. Deeper into the lair of the Nguoi Rung.