Path of Destruction
Part Four: Yankees Doodling
The Americans squeezed their way through the small tunnel toward the ancient tomb. It wasn't long before they found the exit, through which, the CIA's agent Samuel Beeman was forcefully tossed. He fell sharply to the ground landing with an extraordinarily loud thump. For a moment he lay motionless unsure of what to do next. His hands were bound in front of his body clasped inside a set of handcuffs. "What are you doing," he finally yelled up at the passage, "you didn't have to push me!"
"Stop yer bellyaching," Devon replied crawling out of the narrow passage and dropping to the ground.
Still in considerable pain from the beating he had received earlier at the hands of Stanley Drake Beeman gingerly pulled himself up onto his knees. He felt as though he were a quarterback without an offensive line. The sudden shock of the quick movements in his legs sent intense pain coursing throughout every inch of his body.
"Can you at least take these off," he groaned attempting to focus his mind elsewhere. As he spoke he held his shackled arms high in the air. This created a distinct pose that would have caused any passer by to undoubtedly draw the conclusion that young Sam was a slave pleading with his master. This assumption would have been further substantiated to the onlooker when Devon, setting his weapon aside for the moment, clasped his hands tightly around the collar of his subordinate and lifted him off of the ground.
"How stupid you think I am," hollered the master, "I ain't gonna give you a chance to get away."
"Get away," the agent repeated inquisitively, "where am I going to go? And what do you need me for anyway."
Strengthening his grip on the young man's collar the Texan pulled his prisoner up from the ground so that they were nose to nose. "You're a hostage," he whispered menacingly, " Just in case Croft gets any wise ideas. Besides, you ought a be grateful yer still breathing." With that the captor relaxed his grip on his prisoner allowing him to drop once again onto the hard stone floor.
Suddenly it was very clear that any attempt to gain freedom through any sort of verbal banter would most assuredly turn out to be a pointless venture. That being the case the intelligence agent resigned himself to his fate, at least for the moment, and turned his attention to another treacherous task, getting up.
This was achieved in a very unorthodox fashion that basically consisted of turning himself back onto his knees and then painfully pulling himself upright onto his feet.
At the same time the already vertical man removed from his pocket a tiny flashlight. Its small beam shot across the room making visible for the first time the area around them.
They found themselves at the end of a small chamber that presented the appearance of something out of a movie. Six stone pillars stood ominously along the wall extending from the stone floor to the ceiling. Between the two foremost columns at the far end of the room sat a set of steps extending from one side of the room to the other. This opened up onto a small landing at the top where there stood a doorway shrouded in darkness.
As they traversed the room neither man spoke. The awesome stillness around them provoked thoughts of loneliness and despair while at the same time instilling a sense of wonderment at the stone formations around them.
These reflections were short lived, however, for upon arriving at the opposite side of the room they noticed a set of footprints etched out in the dust leading up toward the door.
"She's here," announced Devon almost eagerly when he saw the prints.
"Was that a surprise to you," Beeman asked from behind. He had been lurking there, ignored by his captor, the entire trip across the chamber.
The burly Texan now turned his attention back toward his prisoner. In the stillness of the walls around him he had almost forgot he had one. "If you don't shut yer yap," he said realizing once again where he was and what he was doin, "I'll shut for you, permanently."
The agent grinned sarcastically at the other man. "But then you wouldn't have a hostage would you?"
With that Devon brought forth from the depths of his gut a primordial grunt before proceeding on his way up the stairs.
The young man stood back and watched as his rival turned and ascended the stairs. This presented an opportunity he couldn't pass up. Throwing caution to the wind the g-man rushed forward and flung his handcuffed arms around the Texan. He pulled backward hard pulling the large man off balance causing him to tumble backward. There was a loud thud as southerner's head bounced off of the stone floor knocking him half cold.
The intelligence agent wasted no time in searching his victim for the keys to his handcuffs. In the midst of his search he removed from the man's pocket a small piece of folded parchment.
Upon spreading out the cloth the American discovered what appeared to a map of some sort. The edges of the fabric were frayed with ware making it flimsy and fragile. In the top left corner of the paper was a set of characters so faded that they nearly did not exist at all.
He had never seen any such letters before. For several minutes he gazed intently over the letters trying to come to some conclusion as to their meaning. He found none. Instead, he found himself starting blankly at the page. Several times he apprehended his subconscious just moments before it plunged him deep into far off thoughts and daydreams.
Finally, he resigned himself to the fact that only Lara Croft could decipher the ancient text. Sam refolded the parchment and placed it into his own pocket before continuing his search for the keys to his handcuffs.
As he thumbed his way through the unconscious man's pockets he heard a slight grumbling sound wafting through the air. Devon was waking up.
The other man, who was in a more cognizant state, stepped up his effort by turning what was a calm treasure hunt into a severely frantic search. A few seconds later the state of affairs was upgraded once more when the stirring Texan's limbs began to slowly flail about.
This served as a sign to the young man that his search was about to come to a nasty and abrupt end. Thusly, he abandoned his activities and instead made a hasty beeline for the weapon that had fallen on to the staircase.
By this time Devon had fully revived from his forced slumber and his faculties, what there were of them, had begun to return. His head ached. It was as though the inside of his skull was under attack by a assemblage of jack hammering pigmies. To make matters worse Sam Beeman was towering above him, still handcuffed but now wielding a very menacing instrument of destruction.
"I suppose you think yer tough now, eh," the southerner asked hoping to intimidate the young man.
The g-man stood firm, refusing to move or even blink. He simply stood silently over his former captor with the fires of revenge burning in his eyes.
"Go on," the Texan urged, "do it."
"Do what," responded the other uneasily shifting the rifle in his hands.
"FIRE," Devon yelled out with all the might he could muster.
The agent stood perplexed. As he stared down at the man below him the fire began to flush away from his eyes. He gripped the weapon tighter in his palms almost afraid that it would escape if he didn't.
"What are you waitin' fer," the man shouted again, "kill me. Or don't you have the guts?"
The armed man stood powerless. Everything inside of him told him to squeeze the trigger and end it all right then but something was stopping him. His mind flew in several directions at once trying to decide what action his body should take.
Meanwhile, the large bear of an American sat up. He stared deep into the eyes of his counterpart who was still deep in the process of making up his mind. "You don't have the guts do you," he mocked.
The youngster said nothing. He merely stared blankly at the man in front him. His mind was still running on overdrive trying to decide what to do. That was when it hit him. The fact was that he had never actually shot another person.
"That's what I thought," the other man continued as he rose to his feet. He reached out with lightning fast proficiency snatchin the gun away from the petrified boy. "You get a hold of a gun like this," he chastised, " you best be willing to use it."
Beeman remained motionless. He stood as if he were a stone statue. He felt all of the power he had a moment before slipping from his grasp. In that moment he was struck by the awesome revelation that perhaps Miss Croft was right about him after all. Maybe he was just a kid.
"Get moving," came a gruff voice from behind. This was followed by a hard shove that sent the youngster up the stairs and nearly into the passage beyond. But before he could get too far the Texan shoved a small flashlight into his hand and flipped on the switch. "If that light goes out," the southerner threatened, "you go too. Get it?"
The young man "got it" all too well. Still reeling in disbelief from the previous events he took the flashlight firmly in both hands. Under his breath he persisted in yelling at himself under his breath attempting to ascertain what exactly had happened to him to return him to his previous role of captor. Now, once again, under duress he moved forward into the dark passage followed closely by his subjugator, rifle at the ready.
As the two men traveled forth deeper into the recesses of the ancient structure they found themselves being inundated by a strange odor. It was reminiscent of the moldy smell one may encounter in cellar of one's grandmother. This, however, brought in a different element. On the back of the wafting odor rode the fowl stench of decay.
It crept slowly out of the dark corridor like a specter in search of some unsuspecting victim. This was soon to be found in the form of Devon and Mr. Beeman. As the odor entered their lungs, the amateur explorer and his prisoner found themselves engrossed in a fit of coughing and wheezing.
Despite all of this the two men sallied forth into the bowels of the ancient structure. As they entered the passageway before them the illumination from the small flashlight fell upon a large pile of deceased insects. They had huddled themselves along side the left wall where they had been searching desperately for something or another. In the end they were forced to resign themselves to defeat on the point and subsequently fell dead amidst the others. This, in turn attracted a host of different hexlegged creatures that busied themselves devouring the first ones.
The entire presentation served to sicken the young man holding the flashlight. From the moment he set eyes on the display he could feel his stomach churning below him. If that were not bad enough his mind now began to work against him as well causing him to wonder what had doomed so many to death and if it was a sign of things to come.
He did not have time to deliberate on the subject at length, however, for the gentleman to his rear had grown slightly impatient. Thusly, he found himself being heaved forward yet again, this time into one of the many pillars that lined the hall. "Miss Croft isn't going to like the way you're treating me," he bellowed checking his nose for blood.
Devon seized the boy firmly by the rear of the collar and hulled him backward. "Good," he whispered into the young man's ear, "If she hates it, I love it."
"Do you have any redeeming qualities at all," Beeman choked.
The husky Texan smiled wryly as if he knew something that his counterpart didn't. "Ya, I'm crack shot with this rifle."
The agent swallowed hard. He could almost feel pure malevolence radiating from behind him. It was becoming increasingly apparent that his captor had no intention of releasing him even if he did get what he was after. He would have to escape, but how? His first attempt was nothing less than laughable.
As he moved forward through the corridor his mind ran wild with horrific thoughts. To his left, the walls were covered in a strange mold like substance not unlike the niter from Edgar Allen Poe's Cask of Amontillado. The mere thought of this sent a cold chill down the kid's spine.
Nearly half way down the corridor the flashlight beam from fell onto a large formation of rocks at the end of the hall towering before them as if it were Goliath standing over the Israelites. The rubble covered the entire exit of the tunnel except for a small space on the upper left side. Beyond that a mysterious glow spouted forth causing an eerie lumination through out the hall.
Just above a stream of water flowed gently from the wall. It trickled down on to the debris below reminiscent of a great waterfall. When it finally reached the ground the stream formed a small pool before slipping between the cracks on the stone floor.
The light from the flashlight seemed to enhance the scene one hundred fold. The water gleamed brilliantly in the artificial beam, far brighter, the men thought, than the sun at high noon. It was so much the case that when the light first reflected off of the water both gentlemen were forced to shield their eyes for a moment.
Upon the request of the armed gunman the handcuffed agent made a closer examination of the opening atop the rubble pile. At first glance it gave the appearance of being easily crossed. This, however, soon gave way to reality when, upon the demand of his counterpart, the amateur explorer attempted to climb to the other side. While steadying himself for his first step on a small boulder his foot gave way sending the climber, along with a great number of stones, sprawling to the ground.
For a moment the Texan, who was standing to one side, stood motionless taking in the scene that he had just witnessed. When the whole episode had registered he let out a tremendous outburst of cackling.
This entertainment was short lived, however, for in his hilarity Devon failed to take notice that one of the free sprawling rocks had landed directly in front of him. In an attempt to add insult to injury he started to lumber forward to chastise the young boy but was soon deterred by unwittingly stepping on the rock that he had failed to notice before causing him to fall off balance nearly landing on his unwilling companion who was still lying on the ground in a state which strongly resembled that of a man who's liquor content had been far exceeded at while earlier.
"Git to yer feet," yelled the other in very gruff voice, "and git back up there." The mirth that he had been feeling a moment before had vanished without a trace, leaving only the usual grim demeanor that had followed him every since his first run in with Miss Lara Croft.
The handcuffed agent pulled himself up slowly to his knees and then to his feet. Once again he stepped up to the mountain of stone. "I - I can't," he pleaded still trying to collect himself from the fall, "It's too steep."
A great scowl of contempt crossed Devon's face. Grabbing the boy's collar he heaved the young man backward into the rock pile.
With only a return scowl Beeman repositioned himself in front of the rock pile and began to climb yet again. It was soon apparent, however, that the result of the climb would be no more successful than the previous attempt for, as before, the boulder on which he had chosen to steady himself stubbornly refused to comply with his wishes sending him tumbling backward.
But before he could reach the stone floor a second time his body was intercepted by Devon who promptly shoved the climber forward sending him hard into the rock face. He then proceeded to hold his captive upright until he had cleared the barrier sending the young lad sliding head first down the embankment with great folly to the floor below.
As he struggled back to his feet Sam was blinded by a brilliantly bright light that surrounded him on all sides. In time, and after a great deal of vigorous rubbing, his visual receptors adjusted from the dark hall that he had been in to the new brightly lit environment he now inhabited; a huge stone room.
The source of the radiance, he discovered, was a set of six torches that upon the walls, three on either side of him. The edifice directly in front of him supported only two torches one on each side of a very large wooden door that stretched high into the air.
The glow given off by these flames extended the length and breadth of the room invading every crack and crevasse within the stone floor and walls. The only area that was safe from the intense luminosity was the very top of the room. This area was shielded by a large stone outcropping that extended out from the wall on three sides high above the torches.
It started high on the left and moved around the corner to a small space over the door on the opposite side of which hung wooden plank. From this angle the agent noticed what the outcropping really was. It was set up in a U shape making it appear as though it was designed for the transport of something., water by his guess. Just below a small cup was attached to the wall.
On the other side of the gap the outcropping continued on past the next corner moving up along the wall on the right side until it ran into yet another gap. This time, however, the space was created from a collapse of the rocks that made up the structure.
"She's been here alright," Beeman smiled noticing a makeshift grappling hook dangling from the rocks high above him, "But where did she go?"
"Now that's the smartest thing I've heard you say," came a voice from behind. Looking over his shoulder the agent saw noticed Devon, rifle in hand, skidding down the rocky embankment like a penguin on ice. "The question is, where is she now?"
As obvious as it was Beeman suddenly realized that he had not made any sort of investigation into the question at all. Once again he gazed across the room in search of a point where Croft may have escaped the room.
He finally found it sitting quite prominently in the corner to his left in the form of a pitch-dark hole. He must have missed it completely while trying to discern the nature of the other objects in the room. "It's over here," the agent called back as he moved to investigate the find.
The Texan, who had finally managed to place himself on his feet once again, lumbered over to his unwilling accomplish. "Well, go on and git down there," he ordered.
"Just a second," responded the other equipping his flashlight. An instant later a beam of light shot forth from the device landing on a small stick at the base of the hole.
"She's been here all right," observed the armed man, "that there is one of her flares." A smile not unlike an evil grin slowly crossed his face as if he's life long ambition was about to be fulfilled. Undoubtedly, it was the largest of such things that had ever crossed his lips.
The young agent, on the other hand, turned to his cohort wearing an expression of bewilderment. "Why doesn't she use a flashlight," he inquired.
"How should I know," came the response. It was more than enough to make clear that that Devon's trigger finger felt as if it had been incased in poison ivy for a great deal of time.
That being the case Sam concluded it better not to press the issue. Instead, he dropped to one knee and prepared to descend into the blackness of the pit below him.
Before he could, however, he was interrupted by the sound of a distant rumble from above. It quickly grew louder and more intense of the next few moments before bursting out into the aqueduct far above in the form of a rapidly moving wall of water.
It rushed through the stone structure like a freight train before reaching the wide gap where it was forced to succumb to gravity and fell helplessly into the small cup affixed atop the large wooden doors. This was soon followed by another much louder sound in the form of intense creaking.
The whole ruckus caused both men to abandon their ever so intense search for Miss Lara Croft in favor of their curiosity to the present situation. Moving into the center of the room to better witness the scene both men were confronted by yet another mystery. The huge wooden doors before them started to shudder ever so slowly, then, they opened.
To be continued...
Part Four: Yankees Doodling
The Americans squeezed their way through the small tunnel toward the ancient tomb. It wasn't long before they found the exit, through which, the CIA's agent Samuel Beeman was forcefully tossed. He fell sharply to the ground landing with an extraordinarily loud thump. For a moment he lay motionless unsure of what to do next. His hands were bound in front of his body clasped inside a set of handcuffs. "What are you doing," he finally yelled up at the passage, "you didn't have to push me!"
"Stop yer bellyaching," Devon replied crawling out of the narrow passage and dropping to the ground.
Still in considerable pain from the beating he had received earlier at the hands of Stanley Drake Beeman gingerly pulled himself up onto his knees. He felt as though he were a quarterback without an offensive line. The sudden shock of the quick movements in his legs sent intense pain coursing throughout every inch of his body.
"Can you at least take these off," he groaned attempting to focus his mind elsewhere. As he spoke he held his shackled arms high in the air. This created a distinct pose that would have caused any passer by to undoubtedly draw the conclusion that young Sam was a slave pleading with his master. This assumption would have been further substantiated to the onlooker when Devon, setting his weapon aside for the moment, clasped his hands tightly around the collar of his subordinate and lifted him off of the ground.
"How stupid you think I am," hollered the master, "I ain't gonna give you a chance to get away."
"Get away," the agent repeated inquisitively, "where am I going to go? And what do you need me for anyway."
Strengthening his grip on the young man's collar the Texan pulled his prisoner up from the ground so that they were nose to nose. "You're a hostage," he whispered menacingly, " Just in case Croft gets any wise ideas. Besides, you ought a be grateful yer still breathing." With that the captor relaxed his grip on his prisoner allowing him to drop once again onto the hard stone floor.
Suddenly it was very clear that any attempt to gain freedom through any sort of verbal banter would most assuredly turn out to be a pointless venture. That being the case the intelligence agent resigned himself to his fate, at least for the moment, and turned his attention to another treacherous task, getting up.
This was achieved in a very unorthodox fashion that basically consisted of turning himself back onto his knees and then painfully pulling himself upright onto his feet.
At the same time the already vertical man removed from his pocket a tiny flashlight. Its small beam shot across the room making visible for the first time the area around them.
They found themselves at the end of a small chamber that presented the appearance of something out of a movie. Six stone pillars stood ominously along the wall extending from the stone floor to the ceiling. Between the two foremost columns at the far end of the room sat a set of steps extending from one side of the room to the other. This opened up onto a small landing at the top where there stood a doorway shrouded in darkness.
As they traversed the room neither man spoke. The awesome stillness around them provoked thoughts of loneliness and despair while at the same time instilling a sense of wonderment at the stone formations around them.
These reflections were short lived, however, for upon arriving at the opposite side of the room they noticed a set of footprints etched out in the dust leading up toward the door.
"She's here," announced Devon almost eagerly when he saw the prints.
"Was that a surprise to you," Beeman asked from behind. He had been lurking there, ignored by his captor, the entire trip across the chamber.
The burly Texan now turned his attention back toward his prisoner. In the stillness of the walls around him he had almost forgot he had one. "If you don't shut yer yap," he said realizing once again where he was and what he was doin, "I'll shut for you, permanently."
The agent grinned sarcastically at the other man. "But then you wouldn't have a hostage would you?"
With that Devon brought forth from the depths of his gut a primordial grunt before proceeding on his way up the stairs.
The young man stood back and watched as his rival turned and ascended the stairs. This presented an opportunity he couldn't pass up. Throwing caution to the wind the g-man rushed forward and flung his handcuffed arms around the Texan. He pulled backward hard pulling the large man off balance causing him to tumble backward. There was a loud thud as southerner's head bounced off of the stone floor knocking him half cold.
The intelligence agent wasted no time in searching his victim for the keys to his handcuffs. In the midst of his search he removed from the man's pocket a small piece of folded parchment.
Upon spreading out the cloth the American discovered what appeared to a map of some sort. The edges of the fabric were frayed with ware making it flimsy and fragile. In the top left corner of the paper was a set of characters so faded that they nearly did not exist at all.
He had never seen any such letters before. For several minutes he gazed intently over the letters trying to come to some conclusion as to their meaning. He found none. Instead, he found himself starting blankly at the page. Several times he apprehended his subconscious just moments before it plunged him deep into far off thoughts and daydreams.
Finally, he resigned himself to the fact that only Lara Croft could decipher the ancient text. Sam refolded the parchment and placed it into his own pocket before continuing his search for the keys to his handcuffs.
As he thumbed his way through the unconscious man's pockets he heard a slight grumbling sound wafting through the air. Devon was waking up.
The other man, who was in a more cognizant state, stepped up his effort by turning what was a calm treasure hunt into a severely frantic search. A few seconds later the state of affairs was upgraded once more when the stirring Texan's limbs began to slowly flail about.
This served as a sign to the young man that his search was about to come to a nasty and abrupt end. Thusly, he abandoned his activities and instead made a hasty beeline for the weapon that had fallen on to the staircase.
By this time Devon had fully revived from his forced slumber and his faculties, what there were of them, had begun to return. His head ached. It was as though the inside of his skull was under attack by a assemblage of jack hammering pigmies. To make matters worse Sam Beeman was towering above him, still handcuffed but now wielding a very menacing instrument of destruction.
"I suppose you think yer tough now, eh," the southerner asked hoping to intimidate the young man.
The g-man stood firm, refusing to move or even blink. He simply stood silently over his former captor with the fires of revenge burning in his eyes.
"Go on," the Texan urged, "do it."
"Do what," responded the other uneasily shifting the rifle in his hands.
"FIRE," Devon yelled out with all the might he could muster.
The agent stood perplexed. As he stared down at the man below him the fire began to flush away from his eyes. He gripped the weapon tighter in his palms almost afraid that it would escape if he didn't.
"What are you waitin' fer," the man shouted again, "kill me. Or don't you have the guts?"
The armed man stood powerless. Everything inside of him told him to squeeze the trigger and end it all right then but something was stopping him. His mind flew in several directions at once trying to decide what action his body should take.
Meanwhile, the large bear of an American sat up. He stared deep into the eyes of his counterpart who was still deep in the process of making up his mind. "You don't have the guts do you," he mocked.
The youngster said nothing. He merely stared blankly at the man in front him. His mind was still running on overdrive trying to decide what to do. That was when it hit him. The fact was that he had never actually shot another person.
"That's what I thought," the other man continued as he rose to his feet. He reached out with lightning fast proficiency snatchin the gun away from the petrified boy. "You get a hold of a gun like this," he chastised, " you best be willing to use it."
Beeman remained motionless. He stood as if he were a stone statue. He felt all of the power he had a moment before slipping from his grasp. In that moment he was struck by the awesome revelation that perhaps Miss Croft was right about him after all. Maybe he was just a kid.
"Get moving," came a gruff voice from behind. This was followed by a hard shove that sent the youngster up the stairs and nearly into the passage beyond. But before he could get too far the Texan shoved a small flashlight into his hand and flipped on the switch. "If that light goes out," the southerner threatened, "you go too. Get it?"
The young man "got it" all too well. Still reeling in disbelief from the previous events he took the flashlight firmly in both hands. Under his breath he persisted in yelling at himself under his breath attempting to ascertain what exactly had happened to him to return him to his previous role of captor. Now, once again, under duress he moved forward into the dark passage followed closely by his subjugator, rifle at the ready.
As the two men traveled forth deeper into the recesses of the ancient structure they found themselves being inundated by a strange odor. It was reminiscent of the moldy smell one may encounter in cellar of one's grandmother. This, however, brought in a different element. On the back of the wafting odor rode the fowl stench of decay.
It crept slowly out of the dark corridor like a specter in search of some unsuspecting victim. This was soon to be found in the form of Devon and Mr. Beeman. As the odor entered their lungs, the amateur explorer and his prisoner found themselves engrossed in a fit of coughing and wheezing.
Despite all of this the two men sallied forth into the bowels of the ancient structure. As they entered the passageway before them the illumination from the small flashlight fell upon a large pile of deceased insects. They had huddled themselves along side the left wall where they had been searching desperately for something or another. In the end they were forced to resign themselves to defeat on the point and subsequently fell dead amidst the others. This, in turn attracted a host of different hexlegged creatures that busied themselves devouring the first ones.
The entire presentation served to sicken the young man holding the flashlight. From the moment he set eyes on the display he could feel his stomach churning below him. If that were not bad enough his mind now began to work against him as well causing him to wonder what had doomed so many to death and if it was a sign of things to come.
He did not have time to deliberate on the subject at length, however, for the gentleman to his rear had grown slightly impatient. Thusly, he found himself being heaved forward yet again, this time into one of the many pillars that lined the hall. "Miss Croft isn't going to like the way you're treating me," he bellowed checking his nose for blood.
Devon seized the boy firmly by the rear of the collar and hulled him backward. "Good," he whispered into the young man's ear, "If she hates it, I love it."
"Do you have any redeeming qualities at all," Beeman choked.
The husky Texan smiled wryly as if he knew something that his counterpart didn't. "Ya, I'm crack shot with this rifle."
The agent swallowed hard. He could almost feel pure malevolence radiating from behind him. It was becoming increasingly apparent that his captor had no intention of releasing him even if he did get what he was after. He would have to escape, but how? His first attempt was nothing less than laughable.
As he moved forward through the corridor his mind ran wild with horrific thoughts. To his left, the walls were covered in a strange mold like substance not unlike the niter from Edgar Allen Poe's Cask of Amontillado. The mere thought of this sent a cold chill down the kid's spine.
Nearly half way down the corridor the flashlight beam from fell onto a large formation of rocks at the end of the hall towering before them as if it were Goliath standing over the Israelites. The rubble covered the entire exit of the tunnel except for a small space on the upper left side. Beyond that a mysterious glow spouted forth causing an eerie lumination through out the hall.
Just above a stream of water flowed gently from the wall. It trickled down on to the debris below reminiscent of a great waterfall. When it finally reached the ground the stream formed a small pool before slipping between the cracks on the stone floor.
The light from the flashlight seemed to enhance the scene one hundred fold. The water gleamed brilliantly in the artificial beam, far brighter, the men thought, than the sun at high noon. It was so much the case that when the light first reflected off of the water both gentlemen were forced to shield their eyes for a moment.
Upon the request of the armed gunman the handcuffed agent made a closer examination of the opening atop the rubble pile. At first glance it gave the appearance of being easily crossed. This, however, soon gave way to reality when, upon the demand of his counterpart, the amateur explorer attempted to climb to the other side. While steadying himself for his first step on a small boulder his foot gave way sending the climber, along with a great number of stones, sprawling to the ground.
For a moment the Texan, who was standing to one side, stood motionless taking in the scene that he had just witnessed. When the whole episode had registered he let out a tremendous outburst of cackling.
This entertainment was short lived, however, for in his hilarity Devon failed to take notice that one of the free sprawling rocks had landed directly in front of him. In an attempt to add insult to injury he started to lumber forward to chastise the young boy but was soon deterred by unwittingly stepping on the rock that he had failed to notice before causing him to fall off balance nearly landing on his unwilling companion who was still lying on the ground in a state which strongly resembled that of a man who's liquor content had been far exceeded at while earlier.
"Git to yer feet," yelled the other in very gruff voice, "and git back up there." The mirth that he had been feeling a moment before had vanished without a trace, leaving only the usual grim demeanor that had followed him every since his first run in with Miss Lara Croft.
The handcuffed agent pulled himself up slowly to his knees and then to his feet. Once again he stepped up to the mountain of stone. "I - I can't," he pleaded still trying to collect himself from the fall, "It's too steep."
A great scowl of contempt crossed Devon's face. Grabbing the boy's collar he heaved the young man backward into the rock pile.
With only a return scowl Beeman repositioned himself in front of the rock pile and began to climb yet again. It was soon apparent, however, that the result of the climb would be no more successful than the previous attempt for, as before, the boulder on which he had chosen to steady himself stubbornly refused to comply with his wishes sending him tumbling backward.
But before he could reach the stone floor a second time his body was intercepted by Devon who promptly shoved the climber forward sending him hard into the rock face. He then proceeded to hold his captive upright until he had cleared the barrier sending the young lad sliding head first down the embankment with great folly to the floor below.
As he struggled back to his feet Sam was blinded by a brilliantly bright light that surrounded him on all sides. In time, and after a great deal of vigorous rubbing, his visual receptors adjusted from the dark hall that he had been in to the new brightly lit environment he now inhabited; a huge stone room.
The source of the radiance, he discovered, was a set of six torches that upon the walls, three on either side of him. The edifice directly in front of him supported only two torches one on each side of a very large wooden door that stretched high into the air.
The glow given off by these flames extended the length and breadth of the room invading every crack and crevasse within the stone floor and walls. The only area that was safe from the intense luminosity was the very top of the room. This area was shielded by a large stone outcropping that extended out from the wall on three sides high above the torches.
It started high on the left and moved around the corner to a small space over the door on the opposite side of which hung wooden plank. From this angle the agent noticed what the outcropping really was. It was set up in a U shape making it appear as though it was designed for the transport of something., water by his guess. Just below a small cup was attached to the wall.
On the other side of the gap the outcropping continued on past the next corner moving up along the wall on the right side until it ran into yet another gap. This time, however, the space was created from a collapse of the rocks that made up the structure.
"She's been here alright," Beeman smiled noticing a makeshift grappling hook dangling from the rocks high above him, "But where did she go?"
"Now that's the smartest thing I've heard you say," came a voice from behind. Looking over his shoulder the agent saw noticed Devon, rifle in hand, skidding down the rocky embankment like a penguin on ice. "The question is, where is she now?"
As obvious as it was Beeman suddenly realized that he had not made any sort of investigation into the question at all. Once again he gazed across the room in search of a point where Croft may have escaped the room.
He finally found it sitting quite prominently in the corner to his left in the form of a pitch-dark hole. He must have missed it completely while trying to discern the nature of the other objects in the room. "It's over here," the agent called back as he moved to investigate the find.
The Texan, who had finally managed to place himself on his feet once again, lumbered over to his unwilling accomplish. "Well, go on and git down there," he ordered.
"Just a second," responded the other equipping his flashlight. An instant later a beam of light shot forth from the device landing on a small stick at the base of the hole.
"She's been here all right," observed the armed man, "that there is one of her flares." A smile not unlike an evil grin slowly crossed his face as if he's life long ambition was about to be fulfilled. Undoubtedly, it was the largest of such things that had ever crossed his lips.
The young agent, on the other hand, turned to his cohort wearing an expression of bewilderment. "Why doesn't she use a flashlight," he inquired.
"How should I know," came the response. It was more than enough to make clear that that Devon's trigger finger felt as if it had been incased in poison ivy for a great deal of time.
That being the case Sam concluded it better not to press the issue. Instead, he dropped to one knee and prepared to descend into the blackness of the pit below him.
Before he could, however, he was interrupted by the sound of a distant rumble from above. It quickly grew louder and more intense of the next few moments before bursting out into the aqueduct far above in the form of a rapidly moving wall of water.
It rushed through the stone structure like a freight train before reaching the wide gap where it was forced to succumb to gravity and fell helplessly into the small cup affixed atop the large wooden doors. This was soon followed by another much louder sound in the form of intense creaking.
The whole ruckus caused both men to abandon their ever so intense search for Miss Lara Croft in favor of their curiosity to the present situation. Moving into the center of the room to better witness the scene both men were confronted by yet another mystery. The huge wooden doors before them started to shudder ever so slowly, then, they opened.
To be continued...