Indiana Jones and the Gauntlets of the Crown
I hope you enjoy my first Indiana Jones story. :) Please leave comments of what you think! I would love to hear any thoughts!
Italicized with no quotations (") are thoughts.
Deep in the jungles of India
Tattered fingers gripped moss-covered rocks. Biceps straining, he drew himself further up with a grunt of effort. Sweat rolled down his face and neck in rivers from the humid heat, soaking the half buttoned shirt beneath his open jacket. Small insects droned annoyingly about his head in thick swarms and buzzed in his ears. Birds chattered and monkeys screeched overhead in the dense mangrove trees, thickly draped with vines. The strong aroma of new growth and decaying vegetation was amplified by the humidity hanging on the heavy air. Vapor swirled in playful shafts of sunlight that pierced through the dense canopy to dance across the green earth below. All around, the jungle held a captivating splendor and majestic air to it.
But Indiana Jones seemed unaware of it all as he continued to climb. He carefully placed a shoe on a jutted rock, testing his weight on it before pushing himself upward reaching for another hold. The damp moss made traction difficult, but he'd had worse. For almost ten minutes he had slowly been making his ascent up the cliff that rose like a jagged shelf from the jungle floor. And now he was finally nearing his goal – the top. A few more feet and his fingers dug into the moist dirt around the edges of an embedded rock at the edge. Drawing himself upwards with a grunt, his feet searched for another hold. He got his chin over the top, now for the shoulders, now the chest. With one last effort, clawing at the loose soil, Indy brought the knees up onto level ground. Getting to his feet, he stood breathing heavily, sharp eyes scanning the jungle floor below.
He'd come here, to India, three days ago on a quest to find a rare and valuable artifact: the jeweled crown of Chandragupta Maurya, ruler of the ancient Mauryan Empire. It had been rumored throughout ancient legend that the crown had been buried along with the great ruler in a hidden crypt underground in this area. And it was this tomb that he now searched for. Or rather, he was searching for a wooden pole at the moment. This pole was the totem pole of the India god of the "Other World", guardian of the dead warriors. This was the guard for the tomb, and the first marker that would tell him that his goal was near.
Indy pushed the tall-crowned brown fedora to the back of his head. A few locks of slicked colored hair peeped out at the action and plastered themselves against the sweat-slicked forehead. He passed the back of hand over it, wiping away the droplets from the resolute brow. The few days' growth of stubble rasping against the side of a scraped hand as he let it fall across his cheek and down over the square jaw to the scar on his chin. The action left a smudge of light grime behind that turned dark as it absorbed the dampness. He readjusted the holster on his belt and checked that the long leather bullwhip still hung snugly at his hip after the tedious climb. They didn't make that tomb easy to get to, that was for sure.
Turning away from the ledge, Indy started at a fast walk deeper into the jungle. The branches hung low and were difficult to maneuver through. He held his arms out, trying to push them out of his way. The knotted underbrush grabbed at his ankles, forcing him to pick his knees up high and work for every step. A twig snapped and he instinctively shut his eyes. He felt the sharp sting on his cheek. He pushed the fedora back down.
Not the best protection, but better than nothing, Indy thought.
The branches and twigs continued to push back and spring up again behind him, the ones he missed reaching out in their attempts to scratch at his face. He continued to push forward for a long while, or at least it seemed like a long while. Then, drawing away some low hanging vines, he froze in his tracks; gazing at what stood before him. An ancient stone totem pole, at least eight feet in height, three ominous looking faces carved down its front, each above the other. This was it! Indy quickly covered the distance in a series of short hops. He slowly lifted an arm, reaching out, and a shiver tickled up his spine as his fingertips came in contact with the rough surface. It was always a thrill to find something of the ancient past. For a few moments Indy studied it carefully as he ran his hand over the engraved timeworn surface.
Now, the tomb should be somewhere around here, Indy scanned the area. He saw more brush, more knotted trees, more hanging vines, twigs, leaves – and more leaves; nothing that he hadn't been seeing in abundance for the past few hours. With all this thick growth, it could easily be covered after all this time, he reasoned.
Indy picked up a long sturdy stick from the abundance of litter lying about and began to prowl around, poking into the bushes and swinging it like a machete at any thick patch of green. After a few minutes of this, he moved toward a massive growth of interwoven vines and lianas that had grown thickly together in that spot. But as his trained eyes flickered over it, he frowned. It looked merely like a massive tangle, but there was something about them – it made an odd shape. Curiously, Indy wedged the end of his stick through the tight weaves. It went in a few inches and struck something – something solid. Indy suddenly attacked, using both hands as he tore away at the mesh. Bits of broken vine and leaves fell around his feet and snagged to his clothes but he paid their tugs no mind. A second later a rasping sounded as fingernails dragged across a hard smooth surface beneath and breath of expectation escaped. He grabbed a handful of the stubborn foliage in both fists, braced his arms, and gave a heave, throwing all his weight back. The enmeshment gave way with a sharp snap. Indy stumbled back but caught himself and examined his find. The front of a large stone object was exposed. It appeared to be a type of doorway leading straight down into the earth below. But not just a doorway, an entire small structure: a four-sided stone-carved entrance that rose out of the ground with a dome shape roof. Naturally camouflaged by the jungles vegetation, it had been almost completely hidden from sight. The shape under the growth was what had caught Indy's attention.
Indy could feel the excitement mounting within him as he read the inscription chiseled over the doorframe. This was it! The crypt of the great Maurya himself where the crown was rumored to be hidden! He carefully leaned forward and peered through the doorway. Stone steps descended downward into nothing but darkness; holding an eerie silence about it, like a looming disaster were waiting below for whoever dared to venture further. But ghosts didn't worry Indy, nor could they stop him. Without looking away, Indy opened the deep satchel slung across his shoulder and felt around for the flashlight. He pulled it out and switched the beam on. Drawing in a breath of exhilaration, feeling the adrenalin race, he placed one foot over the threshold.
A startled gasp escaped Indy's lips when something like a giant claw yanked his collar from behind. Pulled off balance, Indy staggered backwards. For one brief second, he saw a faint outline of a face, then a sickening crack and stars flashed before his eyes. His neck snapped sideways. The flashlight flew from his hand as he landed flat on hard dirt with a hard thud. A stunned silence ensued. He lay there for some time eyes closed, mind in darkness. Finally, the haze began to lift, mind clearing. He put a hand to his aching jaw, a painful grunt escaping as he pushed himself up onto one elbow. Tasting the sickly taste of blood on his tongue, his fingers passed over his mouth and he felt the stickiness on his lower lip. He opened his eyes to see the red blood that stuck to his fingers. At the same moment, a low sinister laugh filled his ears that seemed to chill the humid air.
Indy's heart sank inside him.
"Nice to see you again, Doctor Jones."
Indy looked up just enough to see the tall laced boots before him. His gaze continued up over the tall skinny figure in typical safari attire until it ended on the pair of dark malevolent eyes and sickening smile beneath a wide-brimmed pith helmet. One other noticeable feature were the two well-muscled men beside him, each holding a pistol – their ugly snouts pointed directly at Indy.
He wiped at the blood that had trickled to his chin. "Glad at least one of us feels that way," he said flatly.
The man squatted down beside him. "Now, now, Doctor Jones. Fellow archeologists should be eager to see one another." He reached out and slid Indy's revolver from its holster. He casually looked it over before lowering it. "I, for one, am glad to have the opportunity to share your services."
"You mean use my services," Indy shot back. He sat up a bit more to look his adversary in the eye, "It's the same old story each time with you, Wilcox. You watch your prey as they figure out clues and risk their lives to find priceless discoveries; while all the while you stand innocently uninterested in the background. And when they finally make it, that's when you suddenly step in for the kill. You come in and take it all for yourself; the wealth, the glory, the fame; and without ever once getting your hands dirty. And then you leave your victims with – nothing." The last words were almost no more than a hiss. His eyes narrowed, "Just to what lengths will you go to get what you want?"
"I am simply a determined man; dedicated to my work just as you are. Let them verify that what you say is true," Wilcox said flippantly. "No one can prove that I didn't slave and sweat every minute just like all the others to find those treasures."
"I'm sure some of those "others" would've had a much different story to tell," Indy lowered his voice, "had they returned."
Wilcox's eyebrows went up. "You may be right. And unfortunately, Doctor Jones, this time you are going to have to become one of those people." He brought his arm up. Indy tensed, gazing down the barrel of his own revolver. "But I am not a man without heart, so I am going to allow you one last privilege before you die. You are going to go into the tomb with us and help me find my – excuse me – your crown."
Indy's eyes flashed. "I'm not finding anything for you," he hissed through teeth.
Without change of expression Wilcox pulled the hammer back. "Would you prefer to die right now? I'd hate for you to have wasted your entire trip without even trying to find it."
Indy hesitated, glancing around at the three guns trained upon him. He'd had run-ins with Wilcox before and there was no doubt he meant what he said. He would easily pull the trigger without a second thought. The only chance Indy could see was that the longer he stayed alive, the more chances there could be for escape. With a resigned sigh, his eyes lowered in submission.
The corners of Wilcox's lips drew back slightly in what could have been a smile. He eased the hammer back into place. "I thought you'd be sensible about this." He straightened, tucking the gun into his belt. "Gonzalo, get him up."
The henchmen with wavy black hair and beady black eyes, obviously Gonzalo, stepped forward. He grasped Indy by the arm, the steel fingers biting into the archeologist's bicep so hard it made Indy wince as he hauled him to his feet.
Wilcox addressed Gonzalo, "You and Conyers follow us. And keep your eyes on him." He jabbed a finger Indy's direction.
"Yes sir, Mr. Wilcox," Gonzalo guttural voice replied.
Well, what'dya know, it talks, Indy thought, trying to keep himself calm. And surprisingly polite too.
The burly man then gripped him by the arm again, dragged him to the tomb door, and gave him a rough shove.
But apparently, only when he wants to be.
Silently, Indy he picked up his flashlight from where it had landed. At a gesture from Wilcox, he once again stepped over the threshold. Slowly, the small train disappeared as they descended down the narrow passage to whatever awaited them in silent darkness below.
For a while the stairs continued downward until it leveled out into a straight manmade passage, barely wide enough for two people to walk side by side, but the ceiling was a good five feet above their heads. The walls were chunks of stone cut into crude brick, stacked and mortared with some type of mud. Indy and Wilcox led with Gonzalo and Conyers following behind, still saying nothing and doing nothing unless Wilcox ordered them too. The air was dank and stuffy and the walls dripped with humidity. Sticky spider webs hung in their path and clung to their clothes. Every couple yards, an unlit torch was attached to the walls on both sides. Although the walls and ceiling were stone, the floor was a mixture of mud and dry dust that clung to their shoes with every step. Their flashlight beams pierced into the darkness ahead, only to fade away as more black proceeded them. They walked for a ways when Indy called them to a halt.
"What is it?" Wilcox asked in a loud whisper.
"I don't know," Indy muttered as he gazed around him. "Just got a feelin'."
Wilcox peered ahead. "I don't see anything."
Indy nodded. "That's what scares me. Nothing's happened yet. Keep your eyes open."
"Ah," Wilcox nodded. As a student of ancient history himself, he understood the precaution.
Both knew that the builders would not have left the shrine of their leader unprotected, it was only a matter of time before they ran across the first defense. Indy led them forward at a crawling pace, checking everything; the walls, the floor, the celling, even glancing behind them every so often.
The passage widened slightly and they halted again. Indy carefully stepped up to one of the walls and examined it. He found several small holes bored into the stone. He shone his flashlight down wall and saw even more scattered ahead. As the beam moved down, dozens of small circular stones strewn about at Indy's feet came into its light. At first glance they looked like no more than loose rocks, but upon closer examination it was evident they were not merely randomly dispersed. There was a pattern to them, set in an almost crisscross design. As Indy studied this, the brawny sandy-haired henchman, Conyers, stepped forward to have a look at the opposite wall for himself, stupidly insensible to any danger.
Understanding hit. "Don't step on–!"
Too late. As the words leapt from his lips, Conyers's foot came down squarely on a stone, pushing it into the ground. There was a high pitched "twang" and he suddenly doubled over with a shriek as a small dart drove deep into his chest. He fell to the ground; on top of many more triggers.
"LOOK OUT!" Indy yelled as dozens more of the small but deadly darts shot out both sides.
Wilcox and Gonzalo leap back well out of harm's way. Indy dropped, curling himself into a tight ball, covering his neck as darts flew around him. The onslaught suddenly ceased as quickly as it had started and a heavy silence filled the passage. Indy slowly opened his eyes and lifted his head, heart skipping a beat as he made out the shadows of darts stuck all about him in the light a flashlight behind. Many within less than a few inches. He slowly uncurled himself as Wilcox and Gonzalo joined him. The adrenaline still pumped through chilled veins as they all stared tensely at the lifeless form on the ground. Dozens more darts had struck him; they knew there was nothing they could do now.
Too bad. Never did know if he could talk or not, Indy mused.
With much less concern for death then one would expect, Wilcox looked away from the grim scene. His widened eyes went up to Indy, flickered up slightly and stayed there. His rigid expression remained unchanged, but his eyebrows quirked up a bit. Curious, Indy removed the fedora. Through the middle of the pinched crown stuck a dart. He pulled it out, rubbed his fingers over the sharp tip, and put them to his tongue. An extreme bitter taste made him instantly spit.
"Poison," was all he muttered.
He replaced his hat and, with hearts still racing, they continue on.
They carefully made their way between the trigger stones for almost ten yards before coming out of them. After only a short ways further, Wilcox called a halt. He pointed to the ground up ahead. "Look. It's different than the rest," he stated. To an untrained eye it was hardly noticeable, but scattered about were large rectangular spots of dirt that were a lighter in color than the rest of the damp floor.
"I saw it. They're dry," Indy stated. "Step around them," he instructed as he started forward, sidestepping around one.
They all cautiously began to pick their way through, each setting their feet carefully down. The patches were not particularly close together, but were large in size. Though watching his own feet, in his peripheral Indy could see Gonzalo's foot coming down on one.
On impulse, he thrust a hand out. "Watch it!"
Gonzalo quickly shifted his bulky mass to avoid it. Though he missed hitting it dead on, the corner of his sole caught the very edge. The dirt suddenly gave way and all at once the rectangular patch turned into a gaping hole so black that it seemed to go down to the bowels of the earth itself. Gonzalo gave a gasp as he quickly recoiled away. For a brief second it remained this way, then there was a low squeak and the dirt flipped back up and the ground was smooth once again.
Wilcox looked up. "A trap door. Must be some kind of spring mechanism that allows it to open and then return into place."
Indy merely nodded as he continued to pick his way forward again, Wilcox following.
Breathing deeply to calm his hammering pulse, Gonzalo paused, placing his hand on the near wall and leaning against it. To his astonishment, the rock under his palm suddenly slid into the wall. All froze as a grinding noise filled their ears.
"DUCK!" Indy and Wilcox yelled in sync. Three cylinder iron beams swung down on a hinges from the ceiling. Wilcox hit the ground full force and his flashlight's beam disappeared. As Indy sprawled to the dirt, his hand broke through the ground as a trap door fell away. Just in time. The beams whooshed by, only inches above their heads, the gust of air fanning their necks. They heard a sharp thud and a grunt. Then a terrified scream echoed in their ears and swiftly died away, leaving only the whoosh and creak above. Both knew Gonzalo had been struck, but there was nothing they could do but hug the ground and wait.
Whoosh, creak. Whoosh, creak.
For almost a full minute the rhythm continued. Then a low grinding of wood gears moaned from above and the beams stopped their cadence and were slowly reeled back into deep slots cut into the ceiling. A heavy silence descended upon the tunnel, as did the menacing darkness. From it came only the sound of labored breathing.
Indy said finally spoke. "Don't touch the walls."
"I'm not even considering it," Wilcox's voice came from somewhere else.
Indy looked at his flashlight, realizing he'd been gripping it so hard his fingers had become stiff. The lens was cracked and the light so dim it barely shone three feet. Indy tapped the side, hoping that it might brighten, like hitting a stubborn watch that won't go after it's been wound. When nothing happened, he tried again, this time the light flickered and grew bright.
Ah, good, Indy thought, relieved. As he pointed it near where Wilcox's voice had come from, it flickered again. He caught a brief glimpse of the pallid face a few feet away before it winked out and stygian darkness enveloped. A grumbling sigh echoed hollowly from it as Indy tapped it again. Nothing happened. It was obvious it was broken for good.
Oh, crap. "Where's your light?" he asked darkness.
"I think it fell through one of the trap doors," came a reply.
Figures. Indy carefully reached a hesitant hand out in the darkness feeling for the wall. Touching nothing but air, he slowly felt his way along with his other hand, crawling on all fours, testing the ground inch by inch. His slight movements made soft scuffling sounds that seemed louder than usual in the hollow tunnel. After a few agonizing moments, he felt the damp rock of the wall under his fingertips. He quickly retracted, not wanting to touch anything he shouldn't. Slowly, cautiously he stood to his feet.
"What are you doing?"
Indy started, jarred from his concentrating. "Finding some light," he answered Wilcox coolly, but his pulse raced. In his head he scolded, And don't scare me like that while I'm concentrating. I accidently touch the wrong thing on these walls and it could be a free trip to China – the hard way.
After fumbling in his jacket pocket a bit, he pulled out his lucky lighter. He flicked it twice before the spark caught hold and ignited, a small soft glow that appeared somehow feeble against the surrounding depths. Holding it out, he slowly probed his way along with the toe of his shoe, other hand at his side, fingertips barely brushing against the stones, keeping his body no more than two inches from the wall. A few seconds later and the little globe of light revealed what he wanted. The wooden shaft of an old torch which he'd happened to see before losing their light. He gave a hard yank and it came off the hook. Indy held the flame to the torch's end. After so many years down here, the torch was slow to ignite, but it finally caught and was soon burning brightly. Indy held it up, much better than the lighter. In the flickering light he could now make out Wilcox, still coiled on the floor. Behind them, the last of the dust settled around a patch of dry dirt, where Gonzalo had fallen. No words were spoken as they turned their backs. Again there was nothing to do but press onward, their group now cut down to two.
After many a strained moments, they successfully maneuvered the trap and Indy lit another torch with his own, giving this one to Wilcox. They had to be doubly cautious, now only led by the flickering light. They made their way slowly through the dank passage, any missed sign of a hidden trap would be a last mistake. It was a strange procession indeed: two men who searched for the same goal, yet with totally opposite intentions, forced to work together to find that goal. Each one with a hate for the other, yet a respect for the others strengths or reputation.
More minutes dragged by. Just when Wilcox started to grumble something about the passage leading on forever, Indy stopped in his tracks. So abrupt was it that Wilcox almost collided into him. He saw Indy's body stiff, his face rigid with eyes fixed ahead. He followed the gaze and together both stared. The passage abruptly ended before them at a wide doorway leading into a large hollow blackness on the other side. Indy held his torch up. As he did, two faint lights flashed from deep inside the blackness. They glittered in the flickering light, like a small pair of smoldering red eyes staring at them.
"What is it?" Wilcox whispered.
Indy said nothing as he studied the flickers. With hearts in their throats, the two rivals advanced and the eyes grew brighter. Then they were through. The sound of their footsteps suddenly changed, now echoing loudly all around them. Indy knew instantly that they had entered some kind of gigantic chamber. The light of the torches was only strong enough to penetrate the immediate darkness that surrounded them, but no further. They paused and the echoes quickly died away into shrouded silence. Ahead, the red eyes continued to stare down at them.
Wilcox leaned closer to Indy. "It's not moving," he said in the softest whisper, but it might as well been a scream as it rebounded hollowly around them.
Indy began to take a step closer but felt his hand brush against something. In his limited light, he saw a kind of shallow stone trough leading off into blackness, in it was what looked like fine-shaven wood chips. He curiously touched them. They felt greasy with an oily substance that stuck to his fingers. On a notion, he put his torch down and touched the flame to the chips. There was a fiery whoosh and the two men jumped back as a bright blaze erupted into existence. The sheet of flame raced down the trough and its glowing light began to fill the room.
"There's our 'eyes'," Indy pointed.
A few yards before them, was a large stone statue of what appeared to be a type of dog, gaunt looking with a long pointed snout, lips curled back in a menacing snarl. Where the eyes would have been situated, two sparking red stones had been imbedded. It sat like a poised sentry toward the opening of the room, waiting to attack whoever dared enter.
The trough was now completely lit. It ran down each of the walls till it came back to the opposite side of the door from where it had started. Both men stood in awe for a moment. The room was large, carvings and etchings written on each stone brick wall. A stone canine, similar to the one before the door, filled all four corners with two more situated at the far end of the room to their left.
It was this pair that interested the archeologists. Larger than the others, these sat on either side of a raised platform, and on it was a large rectangular shaped stone box.
They walked around the red-eyed guardian and to the platform. Wilcox stepped up and brushed away the dust from the curved top, holding his torch close. As the dust cleared, a strange cuneiform symbol appeared, etched into the stone.
"It's the Mauryan symbol of royalty," Indy said, leaned forward eagerly.
Wilcox gave a breath of exhilaration, "This is it then! It's the sarcophagus of the great Mauryan Emperor himself!"
Indy touched the symbol with a reverent hand. This coffin, the room, the whole tomb were centuries old. It was like touching a piece of history. He could feel the exhilaration rising within him, the hair prickling on the back of his neck. But he quickly shoved the feeling aside. He must remember to keep a control on himself, for after they succeed in finding the crown, Wilcox had already made it clear that he would never live to see the outside world again. Even if they didn't find it, that wouldn't change matters any. He must keep an eye out for any opportunity to escape.
Indy continued to study the sarcophagus, completely taken with it. Wilcox continued to look about, observing the artwork on the walls and the statues. Then a glittering caught his eye on the far end of the room. Holding the torch up, he started toward it. As he approached, a deep greed suddenly loomed in his eyes and his pace quickened. Before the fire trough was a solid block of stone at least ten feet in length like a long table; and covering its surface was the treasure that had been buried here those many ages ago.
"Jones!" Wilcox voice echoed.
Indy quickly moved over and even his eyes widened as he beheld the treasures. Small artifacts of gold and silver and ivory; bronze dishes filled with gems and stones; all covered with dust of the centuries.
"Look at them!" Wilcox whispered as he buried his hand into the bronze dish, taking a fistful of the sparkling stones inside. Then he suddenly frowned at them dissatisfiedly. He forcefully threw them back down. They clattered and ticked as they bounced across the stone. "But these are all only small relics. Bobbles. Where's the crown?" he demand. A quick scan of the table revealed no sign of the crown. "I don't see it."
Not as quick to make an assessment, Indy stepped up. He began to carefully scan the items. Wilcox watched silently to one side.
Finally Indy spoke. "That might be something."
He pointed at a bronze box near the center of the table in the back. Indy cleared away a spot and pulled the box forward. It was heavy and it took a bit of effort to slide it on the rough stone surface with only one hand; his other holding the torch. He removed a pin from the latch in front and was about to open it when a hand suddenly shoved him to one side. Indy stumbled back but caught himself as Wilcox took his place. Wilcox gripped the lid with the hand of an avaricious man. Slowly he opened it and a long breath escaped his lungs. Indy watched him reach in and take out a glittering golden crown.
Wilcox's eyes were wide with wild greed. "Exquisite! Absolutely exquisite!" he breathed. He held the crown up in his hand, beholding its beauty. Its golden surface glinted with a lustrous shine; dozens of priceless jewels studding its sides and crowning tips sparkled, almost quivering, in the dancing light.
Even Indy was captivated. It was breathtaking. But he quickly caught himself, keeping in mind his situation and the need for seeking escape. Then, he saw it. Wilcox was so absorbed in his find of new wealth that he had turned his back slightly to him. In one hand he held his torch and in the other the crown. Indy gauged the distance carefully. If he was quick enough, he might be able to knock Wilcox off balance and retrieve his revolver that was still tucked in the man's belt. His hands were both occupied and Indy was counting on Wilcox's greed that he wouldn't drop the crown to fight back. Slowly, noiselessly, Indy stepped a little more to the side. He was now right behind his adversary. Wilcox still seemed absorbed in his greed. It was now or possibly never. Making a fist, he took a deep breath.
Now!
Indy bounded forward. He pulled his fist back, ready for the swing. Just one more leap.
Unexpectedly, Wilcox wheeled around, and the torch came with him. He swung the flaming shaft like a club. Indy had not anticipated this. Instinctively, he closed his eyes as his momentum brought him forward. There was no chance to stop. He let out an agonized gasp as he felt the scorching heat near his face. His heels dug into the ground. He wildly flung himself back as Wilcox hurled the torch at him. A cry of pain rebounded through the tomb as hot flames came in contact with bare skin.
Indy swung his arm as he tumbled to the dirt. It hit the torch, flinging it aside. Indy's own torch flew from his hand as he smacked the ground flat on his back; the shock running through his spine and neck. The jolt dazed him for a moment. He quickly recovered and sorely rolled to his side with effort, pushing himself up on one elbow, one hand gingerly pressed over one side of his face. The right side of his jaw and cheek were singed a light red and the raw heat had stung his eyes. It smarted, but they were not serious and otherwise he was fine.
Indy grimaced. Didn't think that completely through, he thought over the pain. He opened his watering eyes. Through the blur he could see Wilcox fleering down at him, crown still in hand.
"Did you really think you were going to succeed in your feeble attack?" he asked conceitedly.
Indy blinked hard a few times to clear his vision. "Was worth a try."
Wilcox shook his head, "And to think I actually gave you more credit than that."
He gripped the butt of Indy's revolver, slowly pulling it from his belt and held it out in front of him. Indy swallowed hard as death stared him in the face from the small black muzzle.
Wilcox leisurely stepped toward him, enjoying the moment. "I knew that once we reached our goal you would try to escape. You don't think for one moment there wasn't a time I wasn't watching you?"
"No? Could've fooled me," Indy replied tensely as he dug his palms and heels into the dirt, pushing himself away from the approach.
"And I did," Wilcox gloated. "If I hadn't at least given you a chance, you would've felt that you gave up without a fight. I couldn't let that happen." He steadily advanced as Indy continued to retreat, both staying the same distance apart. "Don't think that I don't admire you for your attempt though, Doctor Jones. Actually, if you hadn't tried I believe I would've been disappointed in you."
Indy got his knees underneath himself and stumbled to his feet, still withdrawing. "Glad I didn't disappoint you," he mumbled, fighting to remain composed, but his breath still came uneasy.
"But now the hunt is over, and your use to me has come to an end." The revolver pointed straight out, directly at Indy's pounding heart.
Indy started as his back hit something hard, but instantly realized it was only the red-eyed guardian. He pressed his spine hard against the stone as Wilcox drew even closer. New rivers of sweat tickled down his neck.
Wilcox pulled his thin lips back into a hideous leer, and for one brief instant, an insane voraciousness flamed in his eyes. "The crown is mine! And there's nothing you can do about it!" The flare quickly died down to a controlled haughty stare. "I thank you for your help in acquiring it, though. And now I believe it's time I pay you for your services." He pulled back the hammer. The metallic tick seemed to echo as loud as the sound that would follow.
Indy's lips went dry.
"Farewell ... Indiana Jones."
In the split-second Wilcox's finger whiten on the trigger, things began moving fast.
In one wild gamble of desperation, Indy pitched to the side. Simultaneously the whole room vibrated as the gun spit fire. Indy heard the bullet whistle by his ear. There was an earsplitting ping as it struck the statue behind him. Small fragments of stone shot in all directions. He felt a stinging on the back of his neck as some struck him. Wilcox snarled through his teeth as Indy threw himself to the ground. Another shot at the moving target and the fedora flew off his head. A sudden roar of rage bellowed from Wilcox's throat in disbelief that he could miss again. Indy looked up to see the muzzle coming to bare on him. In a wild lunge he dove behind the statue. Twice more the gun vibrated through the ancient room and a fine dust sprinkled down from the ceiling.
"Wilcox!" Indy barely peeped around the legs of the statue. "Don't! If you keep firing that thing in here–" he instantly ducked back as the gun barked again. Fragments of stone flew. "Wilcox!" Indy yelled from behind his cover, but only retreated further back as another bullet struck stone followed by fulminated bellow.
Suddenly the very earth seemed to tremble beneath their feet. The entire room began to shake violently as a loud rumble filled the air. Wilcox broke out of his irate fury for a moment to look about in alarmed bewilderment.
"You fool!" Indy yelled out. "This tomb is already unstable! The vibrations from the shots is causing it to give way! If we don't get out of here now we'll be buried alive!" He raced out from behind his cover and started for the doorway.
"STOP JONES!"
Indy froze in his tracks. He turned to see the revolver still directed at him.
"Back away!" the livid Wilcox ordered.
Indy did so as the tomb continued to shake itself apart. Bits of the walls and ceiling began to crumble. The rumbling grew louder.
Wilcox kept the gun level as he walked past Indy to stand in the doorway. "Throw that torch over here!"
Again Indy complied. He tossed one of the still burning torches at Wilcox's feet.
He had to shout to make himself heard. "If we stay any longer we'll die!"
Wilcox shook his head, again those malicious eyes held the wild look of a madman. "No, Doctor Jones! I won't, but you will!"
There was no escape this time. There was no cover close enough to get to.
Wilcox's finger tightened on the trigger.
Indy's body tensed, waiting for death to strike.
The finger squeezed.
The trigger pulled.
The hammer fell.
Click.
Both men stood in shock for a full three seconds. Wilcox stared bewildered at the man who still stood alive before him. Indy looked down at himself and franticly patted at his ribs and chest. He was still whole! Wilcox "broke" the revolver and howled like a mad bear when he saw the empty chambers.
Indy looked up at Wilcox, eyes snapping – the grin now on his face. Wilcox's expression transformed to one of fear as the position of power suddenly shifted. Indy charged with fists ready. He swiftly ducked to one side as the empty gun hurled past his ear. It hit the ground behind and skipped a few inches before stopping.
But before he could stop him, Wilcox had scooped up the torch and bounded through the doorway, crown clutched to his chest.
Indy spun on his heels and leaped for the other torch, but changed his mind as a large chunk of the ceiling crashed on top of it and instead bolted for the doorway. Without stopping, he snatched the revolver and replaced it to his holster in one swift motion. He was almost through the door when he abruptly stopped. He whirled around. The entire room seemed to be caving in. Large sections of the stone walls crashing down as dirt began to pour in from the ceiling. And through the churning clouds of dust, Indy could see what he'd forgotten.
Covering his head with an arm, Indy darted back in. In the middle of the room, he snatched up the tall-crowned fedora from the debris. Replacing it atop his head, he raced for the doorway as ceiling gave way, crashing down where he had been only seconds before. From above, a massive cracking BOOM made him cringe as he bolted through the door. Behind him the entire chamber collapsed, the force of air and dust almost throwing Indy off his feet. For one fleeting moment, it pained him to leave those artifacts of history to their buried fate, but better them than him.
Blind, with no light to show him the next step, he raced with arms outstretched. The whole earth seemed alive and infuriated as the passageway started to crumble apart around him. Indy's strides desperately lengthened.
Wet dirt and rocks pelted down onto his hat and shoulders. He spit out the cobwebs that filled his face. The ground trembled beneath him as if it were going to swallow him up. A wild panicked desperation flooded his soul as he raced against death. He couldn't tell how far he'd come; he didn't know how far he had to go. For one brief moment Indy wondered if Wilcox had made it through. No time to check though. No time to care. He only ran.
Indy suddenly gasped as the entire world seemed to disappear from under him. A trap door!
He plummeted to the dirt, clawing at the damp soil as his leg slid into the hole. If his other leg slipped in he would never be able to pull himself up. He could feel his own weight drawing him in. Fright gripped his heart. He reached out again; this time his hand contacted with something hard – a large rock brick that had fallen from the ceiling. In a last chance, he gripped its jagged top. It was heavy enough that it held and once again that faint light of hope sparked within and he dragged himself up.
But death does not give up easily. There was a straining sound of old wood gears from above and then a hollow WHOOSH! Indy pitched forward as the iron beams freely plunged down. The tip of one flicked the brim of his hat as he flattened himself. But there was no time to wait for them to stop. Without a chance to test the ground ahead, he slithered forward on his stomach, frantic hands pulling and knees pushing. He could hear the beams just inches above his head, trap doors giving way on all sides as falling stone bricks triggered their pressure plates. Several times the ground gave out under his hands, nearly causing him to dive head first into the pits below.
Dust was everywhere, it mercilessly stung his eyes and choked his lungs. The beams were still swinging, but the sound was from behind now. He was almost to the end of the second trap. Indy started to push himself up but chunk of ceiling struck his shoulder, throwing him off balance. He tried to catch himself but sprawled to the dirt once more as his toe tripped another trap. His chin cracked against the ground. As Indy tasted blood on his tongue where teeth had cut into lip, his mind barely took the time to recognize that the stone that had hit him had probably saved his life; having kept him from running straight onto the next trapdoor which only his toe had triggered.
Putting out a hand to push himself up, it came in contact with something; something hard and oddly shaped. His hand closed upon it and his heart jumped with exhilaration.
It was the crown! Somehow Wilcox had dropped and continued to flee without it! Without stopping, Indy scooped it up and thrust it into his satchel.
The passage still quaked violently, but he realized he was running steadily. He'd made it once again! The dart trap was the only one left to go! But Indy began having doubts whether he would make it or not. The rumbling around him was louder than ever; almost deafening! It was giving way somewhere behind him. It wouldn't be long before the whole thing caved in. Tripping and bumping into the walls, he pushed onward. But his legs were tired, his muscles slowing in their responses. No! He mustn't slow now! If he did he would never be fast enough to get through. But there was no more time to guess about it. A familiar ping came to his ears.
Gritting his teeth, Indy pumped his arms, driving his legs. He could hear the darts flying behind him, the oncoming roar of the cave-in. One poisonous barb and the battle would be all over. He could hardly breathe! The dust choked him and his heart pounded in his chest. What breath he could get came in painful gasps, but he kept on. Several darts whistle dangerously close for nearly three seconds. Would they ever end? Then the onslaught abruptly ceased. Despite his dilemma, a smile came to his lips. The traps were now behind him! It was a clear run to freedom now.
But his smile was short lived as the ceiling suddenly began breaking apart right above him. It was like being under a waterfall of loose dirt and stone. Indy forced his legs to go faster still. That was all he dared think.
His feet hit something and he stumbled. The stairs! The stone steps leading up to freedom! Indy's fighting spirit rose once more. Mustering everything he had left, he raced upward. The cave in was nearly upon him. The ground shook with more fury than before. He continued to climb. Then a hazy light peered at him from above. It came closer! Closer! CLOSER!
With one last heave, Indy threw himself forward with flailing arms into freedom. He hit with a grunt and did an awkward summersault across the ground. Then tumbled to a stop; and lay still.
A mighty rumble filled his ears as the tomb collapsed with one last thunderous roar; forever sealed.
Indy lay there, coughing and spitting the dirt and cobwebs from his lips. He rolled to his back, arms and legs spread out, chest heaving for the fresh oxygen that suddenly filled his lungs. A humid breeze caressed his face and burned cheek. He coughed again and slowly opened his eyes. Through squinted slits he saw a view of thickly grown mesh of treetops with bright rays of light peeping through from an azure sky beyond. Around him, the sounds of rustling leaves, birds chattering, and monkeys bawling – the sounds of life – came to his buzzing ears. Such openness. It had never seemed so spacious before, almost inviting. How wonderful; to just rest and breathe again! He reached to his side and felt for the satchel. A smile of satisfaction crept to his lips as he closed his eyes. He gripped the top of the bag tightly in his fist.
The grass carpet beneath him felt so soft, and the warm jungle air had never smelled so fresh and clean. He suddenly felt very tired. Every muscle in his body ached. His face and hands were scratched and bleeding, his burn stung, and he was covered in dust and dirt and cobwebs; but he was alive. Alive!
And that was all that mattered.