The tunnel walls were moist, and there were many old footprints in the sandy bottom—all, Colcord figured, from Willy Grooms, who it seemed had entered the mine often.
The tunnel, about fifteen feet wide, went straight in, not branching, not going down or up. Colcord felt himself running out of breath, the air strangely unrefreshing, feeling heavy and cold.
A shrill tone sounded from the gas monitor, confirming his fears.
Raising the device, he glanced at it and swore under his breath. “Methane,” he said. “Andcarbon dioxide. Use the mask.”
Cash turned on the oxygen bottle and held it to her face, taking a few deep breaths. She handed it over to Colcord, and he breathed likewise, feeling his head quickly clear. When he breathed in without the mask,however, he could feel a wave of dizziness take hold. He started holding his breath in between, taking extra deep breaths when he had the chance. That seemed to work better.
Moving as fast as Colcord was able, they eventually came to a bend, and another. This was not good: It seemed to be a single tunnel with no branches. The faint light from the entrance vanished quickly, the darkness pressing in on them. After another turn, the tunnel ended abruptly at a blank stone wall. Colcord’s heart sank.
“Fuck,” said Cash, staring, the beam of her penlight playing over the rock face. Her voice held a tinge of despair Colcord had never heard before.
The wall was almost entirely of white quartz, but as the light moved over it, Colcord could see a crooked seam running diagonally across it, gleaming in the feeble light. This was obviously where Grooms had discovered his gold. It was too bad they were trapped in a dead end—with no way out.
The alarm was beeping insistently. Colcord checked the screen. “Thirteen percent methane, five percent CO2.”
“We’re gonna have to turn around and fight our way back out.” Cash glanced at the Glock in his waistband. “Oh shit.”
“Yeah. Empty.” A fresh trickle of blood started down her arm.
“We’re really fucked now,” said Cash, her voice quavering.
Colcord realized this was the second time he had ever seen her truly scared. The first was when they were in the mines with the Neanders. He shone the light around, thinking furiously. They were trapped with an empty gun, no route of escape. Cash was injured and losing blood, and he could barely walk. Meanwhile, their armed pursuers were closing in. As if on cue, he saw two wavering lights appear in the darkness of the tunnel fifty feet away—the priest and the monk coming after them.
They were in a truly desperate situation. But they did have one advantage—the oxygen mask. “Maybe they’ll suffocate before they get here,” he said.
That proved not to be the case as the priest stepped into the glow of his flashlight, his gun aimed in their direction. The monk approached from the other side, his rifle also leveled. They were wheezing, but very much conscious.
“Drop your weapon,now,” the priest commanded.
Colcord hesitated, then let it fall to the ground.
Keeping his weapon aimed, the priest staggered toward Cash, gasping in the bad air, and snatched the mask and bottle from her. He took several deep breaths before passing it to the monk. They then backed off, passing the mask back and forth, gulping in air.
Breathing heavily in a rising panic, Colcord could feel the dizziness coming on. How poisonous was methane? He had no idea. The air was thick and toxic, and he could feel the hunger for oxygen building in his lungs. Another wave of dizziness passed over him. Unarmed, bad air, trapped like rats in a cul-de-sac—they were absolutely screwed.
He heard Cash cough and gasp.
“Where is it?” said the monk, raising his gun and aiming at Cash.
Cash coughed again. “What?”
“Youknowwhat,” the monk raised his voice, waving the gun.
“I really don’t…” Cash gasped.
“The alien artifact!” he shouted. “Where is it?”
“Artifact?” Cash tried to speak; now she could only seem to gasp.
Colcord’s throat felt like raw meat, his lungs burning. Another wave of lightheadedness passed over him, and he stumbled.
“Forget it,” said the monk angrily. “They don’t know anything.” He took a deep breath from the mask and passed it back. “Let’s go. Leave them to die in the dark.”
“Right,” the priest said.
They began backing up, guns trained on Cash and Colcord.
Colcord sucked in the bad air, his head spinning. Everything seemed to be getting far away. He looked over at Cash and saw the whites of her eyes. This was happening too fast. The cave was rotating. He needed to do something, anything, to rush at them, but found his legs weren’t working, his sense of balance nonexistent. Colcord gasped for air and fell to his knees. Bright stars popped into his vision.
Cash staggered and collapsed herself.
Colcord watched the flashlights of the monk and priest back down the tunnel, guns still raised. Even on his knees, he felt himself swaying, the last remaining strength draining from his body. He grimaced, trying to say something, but all that came out was a groan. He toppled to hisside, paralyzed, unable to move. The two men were thirty yards away and would soon disappear around the curve of the tunnel.
And then, from the dim recesses of his wavering mind, a desperate idea appeared. The empty gun lay in the sand nearby. He reached out and grabbed it, and then with a menacing shout, pointed it at the monk.
“Watch out!” the priest cried as the monk raised his rifle and fired.
There was a blinding flash and explosion, and then blackness.
