A/N: Chapter seven is finally here! Thank you SO MUCH to all of my readers and reviewers. You make writing so worthwhile!
Disclaimer: I don't own National Treasure . . . just in case that wasn't common knowledge.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Ben
Sometimes I think that life has a way of balancing itself out. You can be having the worst luck of your life one moment, and stumble across something wonderful and completely incredible the next. It had happened to me twice so far—finding the Templar treasure after being left for dead, and discovering Cibola at gunpoint.
Now, it was happening again.
By the light of Riley's iPod, I could make out perhaps the most unusual and unexpected find of all. Carved into the stone wall was a mural of simply gargantuan proportions, stretching from the cave floor to a ceiling so high that it was lost in darkness. The carvings depicted ancient Native American images: eagles, the rising sun, cities carved into cliffs, and most interestingly, people. Each face was unique, protruding from the wall.
What caught my attention, though, was a recessed archway about twenty meters away. The stone lintel above it was carved with symbols both like and unlike Olmec characters, and decorated with carvings so intricate that they seemed impossible.
"Wow, Ben," Riley said softly, and I turned to him with the iPod.
My enthusiasm and curiosity were abruptly quashed as life reminded me that balance worked the other way, too.
When the light fell on Riley, I could see for the first time how badly he was hurt.
Riley was positively white, his pupils much too large in the sudden brightness. Dark blood had matted his hair and was drying on the side of his face, and I could see his chest heaving unevenly with each breath. What shocked me most, though, was the state of his hands. The skin on his palms and fingers was torn and bleeding, and it looked like he had completely ripped off one of his fingernails.
Following my gaze, Riley's eyes widened. "Ow?" he said uncertainly, and I realized that he hadn't even noticed his hands until now.
I felt a physical pain, understanding that his panic had overcome pain in his attempt to dig himself out. "Riley . . ."
He didn't even look up, still staring at his hands with a sort of detached horror. "I . . . don't even feel them," he said, more to himself than me.
I was already kneeling beside him, digging in my backpack for my first-aid kit. I emerged with a roll of bandages and a water bottle, leaving the rubbing alcohol in the bottom of the bag. I didn't want to cause Riley any more pain than was necessary, since help was on the way.
"Let me see," I said gently. Gripping one of his wrists, I inspected his hand. There was a lot of dirt in the cuts, which were still seeping blood, so I opened the bottle and rinsed his fingers and palm as best I could. Riley flinched, and then moaned when the movement jostled his head. "I'm sorry. Just give me a minute," I soothed, sounding much calmer than I felt. I wrapped his left hand in bandages and then moved on to the right. This time Riley just hissed through his teeth.
When I finally moved back, he was whiter than before, his eyes less focused.
"Hey. You still with me?" I asked.
Riley blinked. "What? Oh . . . think . . . so. Th-thanks."
I frowned at his response. I sat down beside him again, touching his shoulder. "Don't go to sleep."
"Won't. Hurts . . ." Riley mumbled, and then his head came up a little. "Why aren't you . . . looking around?" he asked, sounding more lucid.
I almost rolled my eyes. "Riley, you're hurt. I'm not going to leave you here to go explore a cave."
Riley's eyes slid closed. "Oh. Thought this m-might be a book thing."
"What?" I asked, completely nonplussed, and more than a little concerned at the apparent incoherency of that statement.
"Y'know . . . my book. Thought you might be more interested in t-treasure."
It took me a moment to comprehend the meaning behind his slurred speech, but when I did, an almost unbearable guilt swept over me. We'd never actually discussed this before, beyond that brief moment in our search for Cibola. That brief moment where Riley had voiced his unwavering support for me, for my ideas and theories, and his disappointment at my failure to reciprocate.
"Riley . . . I'm so sorry. I know it doesn't make up for it, but I—" But what? I had simply been too wrapped up in my own problems with Abigail, too busy to make time for my best friend. And that wasn't the first time. I had put myself, my obsession with treasure, over my friendship with Riley.
It hurt that he thought I would do that now, that I would abandon him to go look at cave carvings when he was injured and frightened.
Riley interrupted me, re-opening his eyes. "It's okay, Ben. I didn't mean . . . to s-say that. Not thinking straight."
"You don't have to apologize. I should be the one doing that," I said firmly. "Riley, you're my best friend. You're much more important to me than scratches on a rock. Don't ever think otherwise."
"I . . . don't. I trust you, B-ben."
My throat tightened. What had I ever done to deserve that? "No more 'book things,' I promise. If you ever need me, I'll be there." I said.
Riley smiled a little. "Okay. You c-can proofread my sequel."
NTNTNTNTNTNTNTNT
Several hours later found us sitting against the wall in the darkness, Riley leaning on my shoulder, his breathing ragged. We were both exhausted, slipping in and out of sleep. I was getting extremely hungry, but at least Riley wasn't suffering from that particular need; the concussion had taken care of that.
Though we were sharing the dry blanket, it was uncomfortably cold in the cave. I was deeply worried about Riley, who was no longer responding to my voice. Abigail, where are you? I thought tiredly.
Almost in answer, I heard a loud crunching noise in the adjacent cavern, and the rush of water. There was a sudden smattering of voices.
Hardly daring to believe it, I listened for a moment longer, and then common sense took over. "Here!" I shouted. "Over here! Help us!"
"Ben Gates? Riley Poole?" an answering voice called.
"Yes! Over here! We're over here!"
"Stay where you are! We're coming for you! Keep talking!"
"There's a cavern adjoining the first one! We're just beyond the wall!" I said helpfully.
"I see the opening. We're coming!"
A new voice joined the first, sounding scared. "Ben? Ben, can you hear me?"
"Yes, Abigail, I hear you!" I shouted.
"Thank God! Are you hurt? I love you, Ben. I love you." I didn't get the chance to respond before she cried, "Riley? Riley, are you okay?"
There was a moment of silence, and then my brain processed her words. The desperation in her voice mirrored my own as I felt Riley's weight against me. Though I had been yelling as loudly as I could, he had not stirred in all this time.
"Riley?" Abigail called again, the panic creeping back into her voice. "Answer me!"
"Riley?" I asked, more softly, jostling his shoulder gently. "Answer me."
Neither of us got a response.
A/N: So, what did you think? Cliffhangers are evil, aren't they?
