Eviskar Island (30 page)

Just past the pond the fissure ended.  Before him lay an irregular, gaping hole in the side of the mountain.  At this point the cleft in the rock yielded to a volcanic blow hole of impressive size.  While there had been a modicum of natural light that filtered down between the walls of the crevasse, inside the cavern that yawned in front of him there was none.  Absolute darkness reigned.  Without the lantern he would have had to stop.  The footprints he’d been tracking for almost an hour disappeared into the void.  Spencer followed.

Here the footing was poor.  Instead of sand and gravel washed in by the action of water, the cave was lined with rocky projections.  Sharp, scoriated edges stuck out from the walls, threatening to cut and lacerate those daring enough to pass through.  Basketball-sized shards littered the floor of the tunnel, detritus that volcanic gases had deposited as they’d charged through with explosive, unimaginable violence, splattering plastic blobs of molten rock along the way.  Some of the rocks were smooth, but most were jagged, infused with small holes left by escaping gas, turning them into giant Brillo pads.  Spencer picked his way through carefully, thankful that his shoes had good, thick soles to protect his feet.  He guarded against a slip that would hurl him against the nasty silicate knife edges that seemed to jump out from nowhere.

For the most part the tunnel was straight.  Occasionally a huge boulder appeared, acting as a baffle to limit visibility down the shaft.  Spencer stopped beside one such obstruction.  This particular rock was glassy, a large block of obsidian that had caught in the throat of the ancient belching inferno.  Indentations covered its surface, but these weren’t the product of escaping gas.  These were man-made.  He swept the beam of the flashlight across its face.  The carvings constituted some sort of text.  No hieroglyphics or pictographs accompanied them.  These were definitely letters, and they conveyed some sort of message.  It was an alphabet, however, that Spencer had never seen.  Fantastic images of men from outer space came to mind.  He envisioned them beaming down to Earth thousands, no,
millions
of years ago, long before humans were around to record their visits.  He let his imagination take over.  These strange writings were conceivably etched using some sort of laser or plasma tool, perhaps even a weapon like the light sabers in Star Wars.  “Maybe the idea of a light saber isn’t so far-fetched,” he thought.

Continuing along the subterranean passageway, Spencer suddenly realized he wasn’t climbing any more.  In fact, ever since he’d left the fissure on the ocean side of the mountain and entered this cavern, he’d been moving slightly
downhill
.  By his estimate he hadn’t yet gained enough elevation to have reached the level of the ridge.  He didn’t think he’d even reached the height of the shelf on which Debbie lay.  Nonetheless, he could tell he was headed in the right direction.  If this tunnel continued much farther, he reasoned, it would eventually pass completely through the mountain.  That thought spurred him onward.  His spirits lifted into the stratosphere when the damp, cold stagnant air of the cave seemed to move.  He licked his finger and held it up.  There was a very slight breeze, and it came from up ahead.  “I’m gettin’ close,” he muttered.

A spot of light soon appeared, the light at the end of the tunnel.  Relief surged through him and he picked up the pace.  His thoughts turned to Debbie and Marcie.  Where exactly was the outlet to this passage relative to the shelf where they were stranded?  More importantly, were they still alive?  If Endicott had gotten to them and killed them, this journey would be for naught.  Also, if Endicott had indeed murdered his friends, the first place he would head for would be this cave.  He would want to destroy all evidence of their landing on the beach.

His pace slowed at the prospect of an ambush by his nemesis.  I’ve got to dim the light before I reach the opening, he reasoned.  Using his bandana, he covered the front of the lantern, allowing only a fraction of its output to illuminate his route.

Just before Spencer reached the cave entrance, the passageway opened up into a large chamber.  Recognizing this as a superb spot for an ambush, he turned off the light, picked up a baseball sized rock and crept forward slowly, scanning the area, poised to react quickly should he have to defend himself.  But no attack came.  Once he assured himself he was in no immediate danger, Spencer took a look around.

Several more large rocks bearing strange inscriptions stood along one wall.  Each weighed several tons, and it would have taken multiple men, or some futuristic anti-gravity device, to set them into place.  Stashed among the stones were several plywood crates filled with an assortment of metal objects.  Cautiously, a nervous Spencer turned his back to the cave entrance and bent to study their contents.  He lifted the topmost item.  It appeared to be the handle of a sword, heavy and made of a copper alloy covered by a thick layer of green tarnish.  Underneath it lay a pile of metallic buttons and jewelry.  Those made of gold gleamed brightly in the light of the flash.  Most, however, were made of silver, thoroughly blackened by the sulfurous atmosphere of the cave.  Next to one box sat satchels made of cynodont hide, secured by crude leather drawstrings.  Spencer grabbed one but could barely lift it.  When he opened it, he saw that it was filled with crudely-struck silver coins.

“Holy crap,” he whispered in awe, “This looks like old Viking stuff—like that thing Jocelyn found at Endicott’s place.”  He would have loved to stay and examine the treasure, but there just wasn’t time.  Stowing the lantern behind one of the crates, Spencer cautiously moved out into the muted sunlight of the island’s interior.

* * *

It was getting late.  Marcie Van Wormer fidgeted with lengths of para-cord and the leather thongs that Spencer had brought back.  Apprehension and curiosity caused her mind to wander from her current task.  She was trying to fashion a basket in which to put Debbie when the time came to haul her up the cliff, but her thoughts were slowing her down.  Questions came and went, none of which seemed to have answers she could fathom.  Next to her lay the spear Spencer had brought.  Where had he obtained it?  It was made of wood.  She’d done some exploring in the immediate vicinity of the tent and hadn’t seen anything but rock…nothing but rock, cold, mist and snow, as far as the eye could see.  No trees, not even a blade of grass could survive here, and yet he’d shown up clad only in trousers and shoes, no shirt.  How had he kept from freezing to death?

Marcie bunched up one corner of her sleeping bag and tied a length of cord around it.  She cinched it tightly and then added another half-hitch.  Just after Spencer left, she had come up with her design.  She would run five lengths of cord from one side of the bag to the other.  They would lay Debbie in the bag and slip the spear handle through all of the loops so that it could be lifted as a unit, keeping the patient secure and horizontal.  They would still have to fasten the climbing rope to the ends of the handle for the harrowing lift up the cliff, but, hey, it was a start.

Again her mind wandered from her project.  That meat Spencer had given her: she’d already eaten more than half of it and it was darn good.  Of course it might just have seemed extra tasty because she was on the verge of starvation.  It was certainly different from anything she’d ever had before, though, a blend of chicken and pork, with maybe a hint of fish—strange stuff that he’d identified by an even stranger name.

The odd food, although interesting, wasn’t of immediate importance.  What really bothered Marcie were the ominous words Spencer had uttered as he’d begun his ascent of the cliff.  She eyed the spear as she recalled what he’d said: “If you see a cave man, don’t trust him.”  So, Spence had encountered other people in the past few days.  Correction: he’d encountered at least one other individual.  And the guy was a cave man?  Whom she was to fight off with this weapon?

She looked at Debbie and her heart sank.  The woman’s breathing was feeble and rapid.  Pain racked her body during what had become all too brief periods of limited consciousness.  Her brain was starting to shut down.  Not much of what Marcie said to her seemed to register.  Debbie had been only marginally coherent for more than a day now.  Watching someone suffer like this was hard on poor Marcie.  To assume such awful responsibility, to treat a gravely ill patient with the most meager of resources, had extracted a psychological toll.  The young woman’s chronically upbeat attitude was in danger of slipping into despair.  Spencer’s arrival and the hope it engendered, had come just in time.

              Forcing herself to focus on her job, Marcie fought to keep from losing faith.  Unfortunately she had begun to contemplate a number of plausible but unfortunate realities.  If Spencer couldn’t get out an SOS, Debbie was probably going to die of her injuries.  Even if help were to come, in say, a day or so, if they could somehow signal a search party from the beach, getting Debbie out in time to save her life would require a heroic effort.

              But that was all the more reason why this carrier had to work.  It would save precious minutes in the effort to extract Debbie if it were ready when needed.  Marcie willed herself into a resurgence of purpose and began to cut another length of rope.  As she began to attach it to the sleeping bag, she heard the unmistakable sound of footfalls outside the shelter.  Excitedly she pushed aside the door of the shelter to see who it was.  Probably Spencer.  The amount of time that had elapsed since his departure was about right.  She fervently hoped he was bearing good news.

              The approaching figure wasn’t Spence.  Marcie’s heart caught in her throat.  She turned deathly pale.  It was a “cave man.”  So, Spencer’s prophetic words were true.  There was indeed another inhabitant in this awful place.  She was trapped inside a tent alongside a dying woman and a dangerous man had just found them.

              Marcie fought the urge to panic.  She had to suppress her sudden fear and think cogently.  Maintaining her composure was the key to maximizing her odds for survival.  But what to do?  Clearly she had only two choices: to run like the dickens and hope to escape, or to stay and fight.  One glance at Debbie and her mind was made up.  There was no way she’d leave her friend and mentor to the whims of some barbarian.  Grabbing Spencer’s spear, she flung back the tent flap and adopted a menacing pose.

              “One more step and you’re history, butt-hole,” she snarled.  She took a step forward and thrust the spear towards the man’s groin, causing him to jump back.  “Yeah, you’d best crawl back under the rock you came from if you have half a brain.  Make a move and you’ll be singin’ soprano in a heartbeat.”  Marcie trembled with fear, but her aggressive façade had the desired effect.  The attacker clearly believed she was a threat.

              “I, friend,” the fellow pleaded.  He held out his hands in a gesture of supplication.

              But Marcie didn’t buy it.  “Not according to my bud, Spencer, you’re not.  He warned me about you, ‘cave man.’  You’re not to be trusted.  Now…get lost.”

              “It’s all right, Marcie.  Wrong ‘cave man.’”

              It was a woman’s voice.  Marcie almost fainted when she recognized Jocelyn and Jack walking up the trail behind the bearded visitor.  “Marcie, this is Dr. Aage Randrup.  He’s a friend who saved our lives as well as Spencer’s.”  She addressed Randrup, “Monsieur, je vous present Marcie Van Wormer.”

              “Hello, I am nice to meet you,” the fellow smiled, holding forth his hand.

              Marcie paused and looked at Jocelyn.  The other girl smiled and nodded her approval.  Marcie slowly relaxed and lowered the spear.  “Nice to meet you, too,” she sighed.

XVII.

              A flurry of conversation ensued.  The returning students insisted upon knowing of Debbie’s condition, and Marcie was loaded with questions about what her friends had gone through in the past seventy-two hours.  Randrup stood quietly in the background, listening intently, picking up bits of information about the plight of the members of this small party who’d stumbled into his world.

              Marcie was explaining her plans for moving Debbie when Jack asked, “Have you seen Spencer?”  Marcie stopped talking and the others looked at here expectantly.

              “Yes,” she replied, “he was here a few hours ago.  He took the satellite communicator down to the beach.  He had an idea about how to charge the battery, and…”

              “Heah I am.”

              Everyone turned at the sound of Spencer’s voice.  Upon seeing her young friend, alive and well, an emotionally charged Jocelyn ran to him and threw her arms around him.  “Oh, Spencer, you have no idea how glad I am to see you.  Dr. Randrup told us what happened.  I am SO sorry we left you with Endicott.  We suspected…I mean, I suspected, he wasn’t right…”

              “Aw, fugetaboutit, Jocelyn.  It was my fault I stayed wit' him, besides, I’m okay now, and what’s more, I…”

              “Bonjour, Spencer,” Randrup spoke up, “Je m’appelle Aage Randrup.  C’est un plaisir de vous rencontrer.”

              Spencer smiled and greeted the man who’d saved his life.  “I can’t thank you enough, sir, for what you did,” he responded in French.  His speech was tinged with a Creole lilt that Randrup found amusing.  The two conversed briefly before Spencer asked, in English, of no one in particular, “Where’s Endicott?”

              There were a hundred other questions he wanted to ask.  He wanted to learn the details of how Jocelyn, Jake and Randrup had met, and how they had been forced to contend with Endicott.  But those things would have to wait.  The  pressing issue of Endicott’s whereabouts was more important.

              Jack and Jocelyn glanced at one another.  It was Jocelyn who responded.  “After he left you for dead, Endicott followed our trail and attacked us.  If it hadn’t been for Dr. Randrup, we’d almost certainly be dead.”  Still shaken by recent events, she didn’t want to go into detail.  “We don’t have to worry about him now, though.  He’s no longer a threat.”

              “Yeah,” Jack couldn’t resist adding, “when we left him, the three stooges were having lunch with him.”  The comment elicited a puzzled look from Marcie, a disparaging scowl from Jocelyn, and a broad smile from Spencer.

              It was then that Marcie did something strange and unexpected.  She went to Spencer and hugged him.  Tension flooded from her trembling body as she held her friend.  Even she, herself, was astonished by her feelings, the extent of her emotional outreach.

              None was more surprised than the target of her affections.  Spencer stood stock still, his arms pinned to his sides by the wonderful girl who was trying mightily to hold back tears of relief and joy now that he’d returned.  Their collective discomfort was enhanced by the knowing look and smile they received from Jocelyn.  Both blushed awkwardly.

              Marcie sheepishly released her hostage and tucked away her emotions.  “Happy reunions aside,” she said primly, “we still have a huge problem with what to do about Debbie.”

              “What we hafta do…” Spencer began, but he was interrupted by Jocelyn.

“Dr. Randrup has figured out a way to stabilize her injuries.”

“But when I was on the beach, I…”  Again, Spencer was cut off, this time by Marcie.

“I’ve already taken care of that,” she said proudly.  “Using the spear Spencer brought with him, I’ve made a litter I think will hold her.  C’mon, I’ll show you.”

“Wait a minute,” Jack interjected.  He had a bemused look on his face.  Turning to Spencer he asked, “If you just came from the beach, how come we didn’t see you come down the cliff?”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you,” came the exasperated reply.  “There’s anotha way to get to the beach.  We don’t need any ropes.  All we hafta do now is make a stretcher to carry Debbie ‘an get goin’.”  He then paused for effect.  “The rescue party’ll be here in a coupl’a hours.”

              “You mean you got through?  You were able to send a distress call?!” Marcie asked excitedly.

“That’s right,” he proudly replied, “’an you’ll NEVAH guess what else I found.”

* * *

              “You’re going to need quite a few stitches in your arm, maybe one or two in your back.”  Marcie poked around the cuts Jack had suffered at the hands of Loren Endicott.  “The doc at the dig site can do that.  For now we should leave them somewhat open so they can drain.  I put antibiotic cream on ‘em and wrapped ‘em in sterile gauze.  As long as you don’t develop an abscess you should be fine in a week or so.  Plus, you’ll have a really macho scar to show the ladies.”

“Thanks, Doc.”

They were sitting in a temporary shelter against the wind, made by leaning their zodiac against a huge rock halfway up the beach.  In front of them lay the North Atlantic, stretching out to the curve of the Earth.  They were alone save for an unconscious Debbie, and both of them were anxiously watching for a rescue craft to round the point that lay to the north.

Marcie put her hand on Debbie’s forehead.  “No fever; that’s good.”

They were silent for a while.  Both were tired from the long walk they’d just endured.  Everyone had taken turns, even a one-armed Jack, carrying Debbie’s stretcher.  They were taking a well-earned break.  Presently, Jack said, “That was quite a hug you gave Spencer back at the cliff.”

The comment caught Marcie off guard.  She let out a deep breath.  “Yeah.”  She paused.  “You know, I had a bit of a crush on you, Jack…for a while anyway.”

“Really?” he asked, feigning surprise.  “And now?”

"Um, don't take this the wrong way okay?  You’re a really great guy and all, but…let’s be realistic, you’re too old for me.  And Cleveland is so far from Albany.  And besides that, Debbie says Spencer likes me.  I know what you must be thinking, ‘What’s up with that?’ Right?  Well, she seemed pretty sure about it and, I guess, well, I sorta like him too.  You gotta admit he’s kinda cute, and he really saved our bacon by getting that message through.  And you should have seen him when he climbed up that cliff.  I mean, it was the bravest thing I’ve ever seen, overcoming his fear, risking serious injury to send for help…”  She stopped when she realized she was rambling.

Jack just smiled.  “So, are we good then?”

She blushed and nodded.

“For what it’s worth, I think Spencer is one lucky guy.  Give yourself some credit too, Marcie.”

Marcie stood to stretch and gazed back towards the fissure entrance.  Jocelyn, Spencer and the ‘cave man,’ Randrup, had been engaged in serious conversation since they’d arrived at the beach.  All the talk was in French, so Marcie and Jack had moved off to stay with Debbie.  Marcie knew what they were talking about, though.  It had to do with all the stuff they’d seen in the cave, all those old coins, jewelry, statues…

Dr. Randrup had been overwhelmed.  He’d stammered words like ‘encroyable!’ and ‘magnifique!’ along with many others in language or languages that were totally foreign to her.  But the meanings were clear enough.  What had impressed him the most were the big stones with writing on them.  “Runestones” he’d called them.  Marcy had taken photos of everything they’d seen.  As owner of the only remaining charged and functioning cell phone in their group, she’d been enlisted as chief photographer of what Randrup claimed was the largest, most impressive and by far the most valuable store of Viking treasure ever discovered.

She bit her lip in concentration.  If Randrup were simply describing the significance of what they’d seen, shouldn’t he be doing most of the talking?  It looked to her as though Jocelyn and Spence were adding their share—and the discussion seemed to be a very serious one indeed.

“Hey, Jack,” she said, returning to the rock on which she’d been sitting, “What do you know about the Vikings?”

“Not much I’m afraid.  I know they’re in the NFC North, along with the Packers, Bears and Lions.  Why?”

His humor was lost on Marcie.  She was deep in thought.  “I don’t know.  It seems those guys have a lot to talk about, and that’s the topic of conversation.  The prehistoric world you were telling me about appears to play second fiddle to the relics we passed in the cave.  What do you think about that?”

“Well, Randrup is an archeologist.”  He shrugged, “Finding those artifacts had a big effect on him.  He was happier than a pig in slop when he saw what Endicott had collected.  That, by the way, is a direct quote from Jocelyn.”

“Hey, guys.”  Jocelyn ducked into the shelter.  Randrup and Spencer were on their way as well.  The meeting was over.  Jocelyn pointed to Debbie and motioned for the other two to follow her outside where the older woman wouldn’t hear them.  Even though Debbie had been largely incoherent since their return, for some reason Jocelyn wanted to avoid involving her in the conversation.

A stiff breeze was now coming from offshore.  The low-hanging Sun passed behind a cloud, causing an uncomfortable chill to descend upon the inhabitants of the beach.  Jocelyn hugged herself and rubbed her arms to keep warm.  “Dr. Randrup has asked a favor of us,” she began, “Spencer and I agreed, but we told him it had to be a unanimous decision.  You two have to approve it as well.”

“What does he want?” Marcie asked.

“Dr. Randrup has asked that we not tell anyone about the early Triassic ecosystem in the island’s interior, or about the Viking relics that we saw today.”

“What?  Why?”

“Yeah, these are important discoveries,” said Jack, “especially the biological part.  Scientists have to know about this; there’s so much they can learn about evolution and adaptation, not to mention the possibility of finding new drugs, cures for cancer, produced by some of the plants.  It’s unethical to keep this from the rest of the world.”

“Oh, the world will be informed, and soon; Randrup agrees with that.  But think about what will happen if the island is opened up to study right away.  The place will become a zoo.  In addition to scientists flocking in from all parts of the globe, hordes of tourists and souvenir hunters will descend upon it.”

“Okay, I get it, but once people find out about it, that’s going to happen anyway.”

“Maybe not.  Spencer and I presented the same argument to Dr. Randrup.  He’s convinced that if strict controls are enacted by the Greenlandic government, the ecology of the island can be protected.  He likens it to the Galapagos.  Ecuador has regulated access to those islands very successfully for many decades.  Randrup thinks Greenland can do the same thing with Eviskar.  All he wants is time, time to set up Greenlandic and Danish naval patrol of the waters surrounding the island, and to establish protocol for access.”

Jack and Marcie looked at one another.  When Jocelyn had compared Eviskar to the Galapagos Islands, it made a lot of sense.  “I agree,” Marcie sighed.  “I mean, let’s face it, I don’t know of any place on Earth where modern society openly lives in harmony with nature.  Randrup has a point.”

“Me too,” Jack agreed.

“And, I think there’s more to Randrup’s request than he’ll admit,” Jocelyn offered.  “He’s a dedicated scientist, but he’s also a proud Greenlander.  I think he wants his country to play the lead role in the study of this fascinating place and its history.  And, personally, I think we owe him a great deal.  He saved our lives and he’s lived here under the harshest of conditions for more than a year.  He’s earned the right to ask this of us.”

“I think I detect a bit of feminine intuition at work.”

“Yes, you do, most definitely.”

“There’s one problem I see with his plan,” Marcie said.  The others regarded her questioningly.  “There’s no way he’s going to convince anyone that he’s survived on this beach for a year.  I mean, look at the way he’s dressed—half naked in a land where the high temperature in the summer is a balmy sixty degrees.  Those people at the dig site are scientists; he won’t fool a single one of them.”

“When the rescue crew gets here, he won’t be around,” Jocelyn said.  “That’s why he wrote this.” Jocelyn produced a sheet of paper that contained a brief note.  “It’s written in his native language, Kalaallisut.  I’m supposed to give it to Ittuk; he and Randrup are close friends and he’s one of only two people at the dig who can read and understand it.  Randrup is apparently going to take Endicott’s raft a couple of nights from now, and land south of the excavation.  Ittuk will hide him and find a way to smuggle him off the island.”

“How?”

“Beats me.  I suspect…”

Jocelyn was interrupted by a shout from Spencer.  Rounding the point to the north, motoring through the mist, were two zodiacs.  Standing in the bow of the lead vessel was a dapper man wearing a safari vest and bush hat.  Clenched between his teeth was an unlit pipe.  Morgan Holloway and the cavalry had arrived.

* * *

Debbie rested peacefully on one of the two beds in the medical tent at the Eviskar archeological site.  Tethered to one arm was an IV line through which flowed electrolytes, antibiotics and morphine.  She was weak but responsive.  Her husband sat contentedly by her side.