Clinging to Father Moore, who, although short, was as sturdy as a fireplug, they staggered down the tunnel, only to be blocked by an unstable heap of fallen rocks. As Moore shone his light ahead of them, it illuminated a gruesome sight—the monk’s dismembered arm, still enrobed in tattered black cloth, plastered against the tunnel wall, bony fingers splayed out like a white spider. Farther on, the light glinted off a shoe sticking out from under a heap of boulders.
Moore looked on the remains without comment, then turned and played his light over the heap of rocks. “We’re going to have to climb over that. All together now. Hang on to me.”
Slowly and painfully, they worked their way up the unstable surface, the rocks shifting and grinding against one another as they climbed. At times, the priest hauled them along. As they reached the top, Cash heard a sudden cracking noise from above. But Father Moore remained calm.
“One step at a time,” he said.
He helped her down the shifting rock pile, leaving her at the bottom and going back for Colcord. A few minutes later, he reappeared, bracing Colcord, even as a frightening sequence of cracks, like gunshots, camefrom above. A huge rock fell with a shuddering crash—and then another and another—barely missing them. What remained of the ceiling began to crumble and rain down upon them.
“Run, my friends!” Moore cried. The priest practically dragged them along with fierce energy as rocks peeled from the roof and crashed down around them. A rock fell in front of Cash and she tumbled over it, Moore hauling her back up, and they loped and staggered to keep ahead of the collapse.
Eventually, they reached the canoes, as well as the rowboat that had evidently delivered Moore to their rescue. One canoe was now half sunk, but the other was good. Cash grabbed the dirty yellow dry bag that had been stuffed into the hole in the bottom of the sunken canoe and tossed it in the other, then scrambled in herself. Moore followed and helped Colcord in. They could hear continuous cave-ins behind, the thunder drowning out the sound of the waterfall. Huge clouds of choking dust billowed past them.
“Paddle!” cried Moore, sitting cross-legged in the center of the canoe. He had grabbed a paddle from the other canoe and now started flailing uselessly at the water. Cash and Colcord began paddling in unison, Cash almost fainting from the pain of using both arms, but adrenaline kept her going. They propelled the canoe forward and around the bend in the tunnel. The waterfall came into view and they shot through it, once again drenching them in freezing water.
They emerged out into the lake to find that the storm had subsided and the rain and wind had ceased. They glided across the still water and were well away from the mine entrance when a thunderous final roar came from the tunnel, along with a dirty cloud billowing out of the side of the hill from the hole left by the cave-in.
The canoe glided along. Cash breathed deeply, again and again, sucking in the good air. The cold shower from the waterfall had done wonders, jolting her mind and washing off the dust. She could feel her strength returning, despite the throbbing pain in her arm. It was a miracle they had made it out. The priest, who didn’t seem quite so spiteful anymore, sat in the middle of the canoe, swiping at the water with a paddle, having no idea what he was doing, but trying nonetheless.
“Hey, look over there,” said Cash, pointing to Colcord’s Stetson floating in the water, waterlogged and half sunk.
“I want it,” Colcord said.
They paddled toward the center of the lake where he could snag it. He shook it out and secured it on his head once more. He looked a fright.
“That’s a sad sight,” said Cash.
Colcord tried to smile. “It ain’t just felt and leather—it’s my badge.”
As they continued paddling, Colcord asked, “What’s this?” nudging the dry sack with his foot.
Cash hesitated. “Willy’s artifact.”
A silence. “Thealienartifact?” he asked.
“You said it, not me.”
Just then, the cabin, its windows still aglow, came into view in the distance.
“Let’s have a look at it,” Colcord said. He laid down his paddle and pulled the dry bag toward him.
“What are you doing?” asked Moore. “We really should try to keep going. You both need to get to the hospital.”
“Give me a moment,” said Colcord as he hefted the bag, unlatched the fasteners, and unrolled the top. Then he tipped the bag over, and an object fell out, landing in the water in the bottom of the canoe. Colcord stared at it and then began to laugh. “Old Willy,” he said. “Crazy old bastard to the end. There’s Willy’s alien artifact for you.”
Cash and Moore stared at the thing wallowing about in the bottom of the canoe: a cue ball. A ridiculous dirty white cue ball.
Colcord laughed. “Like I said right from the beginning, total madness. That’s just something Old Willy found in some junkyard with the rest of his stuff.” He picked up his paddle and dug it into the water, the canoe skimming forward.
Cash stared at the ball now rolling about in the dirty water in the bottom of the canoe. It wasn’t quite round, like a real cue ball, but ever so slightly egg-shaped. And it had the faintest purplish sheen to it. She suddenly realized she’d seen something like it before: the illustration from the medieval manuscript in Castillo’s apartment, of a scholar in a trance holding that strange egg aloft. She reached down and picked it up. Heat suddenly emanated from the center. It didn’t hurt, but she wasn’t expecting the sensation, and it surprised her. “Whoa!” she cried, dropping it.
“What?”
“It… started to heat up.”
“Real funny, Cash.” Colcord laid down the paddle, reached into the bottom of the canoe, and picked it up himself. Then he gave a cry and dropped it. “What the hell?”
They both stared at the thing lying by their feet. Cash reached out and picked it up again.
