The tight walls were constricting his chest, making breathing almost impossible. He was conditioned to holding his breath for extended periods of time, but his body was beginning to complain about the lack of oxygen. His lungs burned, craving more air.
He tried to move back toward the entrance, but could not. He was stuck.
Someone with less experience caving might have panicked in this situation and inadvertently gasped for breath. Maddock remained calm, adjusted his position, and relaxed. With a supreme effort of will, he coaxed the last remnants of air from his lungs, and pushed.
He did not budge an inch.
I should have skipped breakfast this morning.
He continued to lean in his intended direction, careful not to push too hard and perhaps wedge himself too tightly to escape. Spots danced in front of his eyes, and his lungs now screamed for air. He felt along the wall with his right hand and found an inch-wide crack into which he was able to work his index and middle fingers. He was unable to bend his elbow in these tight quarters, but he flexed his fingers, pulling with all the strength he had in his hand. Fire coursed down his arm, and his legs trembled.
After all my close calls, I'm going to die stuck in a freaking tunnel. All for a freaking rock. Thanks, Bones.
And then he moved. It was only a centimeter, if that, but he had definitely moved. His fingers flexed, his chest slid along the cold stone. He moved an inch…then another…and another.
And then he was free.
With agonizing slowness he continued to move forward, resisting the urge to take more than tiny sips of air and thus risk getting himself stuck again. It was only a matter of seconds, but it felt like a week before he could breathe freely again, filling his lungs deeply. It was better than a kiss. Well, almost.
No longer fearing for his life, he allowed himself a moment to take a closer look at what he had found.
Upon closer inspection, the spear point theory was a definite possibility, though the edge wasn’t as sharp as one made of flint. He turned the black triangle over in his hands. If it wasn’t a meteorite, it was crafted of some other unearthly stone. A few years ago, that would have seemed unlikely to him, but recent events had opened his mind to such possibilities. It seemed too substantial for mere stone, yet the substance was not quite metal. What was more, a virtual field guide to the fauna of the eastern United States was etched all across its surface: bears, cougars, wolves, coyotes, birds of prey, snakes, stags, alligators, even bison, and what looked like a woolly mammoth. He couldn't see anything especially mysterious about it, but it was a fine piece, and Bones would be stoked that they had solved the old family mystery.
Of course, he would have to mess with Bones’ head first. Maddock would tell him that, upon finding the cave, he’d discovered signs that it was no longer a secret location. Rednecks had found the place first and trashed it, leaving behind Bud Light cans, Marlboro butts, and Copenhagen tins. One of them must have found the treasure first, Bones. Sorry about that. I guess we’ll never know what it was. Grinning at the thought of his friend’s reaction, he stashed the stone in his mesh dive bag and donned his dive gear.
He had just put the regulator between his teeth and slid beneath the surface of the icy lake when he heard a muffled crack like a gunshot. He paused, straining to make out further sounds above the subdued rush of the waterfall, but he could hear nothing else. He was sure it had been a gunshot. Water was an excellent conductor of sound and Maddock had been under fire more times than he could count.
An icy ball formed in the pit of his stomach. He and Bones had stashed their side arms in the car in order to avoid raising unnecessary suspicion should the ranger pay them a visit. What reason would Bones have to retrieve his Glock, much less fire it? Certain he was not going to like what he found outside, Maddock drew his dive knife and began to swim.
He exited the cavern and surfaced beneath the waterfall. Careful to avoid notice until he knew what was going on, he pushed back his mask and inched out until he could see through the hazy mist kicked up by the churning water.
Seven armed men stood off to the side of the lake, pointing at something in the distance and laughing. Down on the far end, where the dirt road opened onto the battlefield, two pickup trucks had his and Bones’ vehicle blocked in. Something serious was going on, but what?
He weighed his options. He could swim to the far end of the lake, try to slip out unnoticed, and retrieve their weapons from the car. Problem was, Bones had the keys and Maddock had no idea if they had left the vehicle unlocked. If these men intended to do them harm, and he had a strong feeling they did, there was no way Maddock could sneak to the car, break a window, retrieve his Walther, and take out seven armed men before at least one of them got him. But he couldn't take out that many armed men with only a knife. In any case, he supposed he ought to make completely certain that these men intended him and Bones harm before he mapped out a battle plan. Of course, all signs pointed to that conclusion.
He would have to get closer in order to hear what they were saying, and he’d have to do it without being spotted. It was easily done — he'd had plenty such training, but in those cases he’d always been outfitted in something less conspicuous than a blue neoprene suit. He dove down deep, staying as close as he dared to the lake bed as he approached his target. Finally, he surfaced in silence among the thick reeds at the water's edge.
“Has it been five minutes yet?” a young man asked, tapping his booted foot on the soft earth.
“Hold your horses. It's almost time.” The speaker looked like an older, more sober version of the young man. “I want you to stay close to me. This one looks like he might actually give us a challenge.” The young man started to object, but the older man talked over him. “This is not deer hunting. A man, even an unarmed one, is an infinitely more dangerous quarry. That’s what makes this the greatest sport in the world, and the true test of a man.”
Maddock tensed. Was he serious? The pieces fell into place quickly. Bones was alive, unarmed, and in the woods somewhere in the direction in which the men were staring. And these men intended to kill him. The only positive of which Maddock could think was that these yokels didn't seem to know Bones was not alone. What Maddock could do about it remained to be seen.
“I reckon it’s been long enough.” One of the men checked his watch. “Yep. That'll do.” He turned to another of his party. “Bevel, it's your turn to guard the vehicles.”
“Aww! C'mon Carter.” Bevel took off his camouflage NASCAR number three hat and fanned his face. “The kid’s the new one in the group. Let him take the first shift.”
Carter shook his head. “No. He at least deserves a chance to draw first blood. If we haven't made the kill in an hour, you'll rotate in. Same as always.”
Bevel cursed and spat on the ground.
“Don’t get your shorts in a bunch,” Carter said. “If this one’s as resourceful as he looks, it’ll be a long hunt. You’ll get your shot at him.”
“If you get to him first, remember I want one of his ears for my collection.”
Maddock’s stomach twisted and he fought the urge to spring. This was as sick a collection of not-quite-humans as he’d ever come across.
The others fanned out, leaving Bevel alone. This was Maddock's chance. He slithered forward like a cottonmouth in the mud, careful not to make a sound. He was grateful for the rush of the waterfall that helped to mask any sound he might make.