Jemimah reached into her pocket for a wad of Kleenex and sneezed again. She was allergic to almost everything in the air and it dampened her excitement about spending more time out on the Indian ruins. The juniper and chamisa were in full bloom and the winds pushed and dragged their pollen into every corner. It was an hour past dawn. She waited for McCabe to drive up. Two ravens flew overhead twittering and squawking at her unwelcome presence.
Ten minutes later, a cloud of dust in the distance came into view, with McCabe’s silver Hummer just ahead of it. He drove up to the fence, parked next to her Toyota and waved her over as he unlocked the gate. Tossing his baseball cap into the backseat of the Hummer, he grabbed several battery powered lanterns and a flashlight.
“Okay, Jemimah,” he said. “Let’s get cracking! I can’t wait to see what you discovered.”
They walked up the short incline to the high shallow cave at Medicine Rock. She pushed on the boulder to show him how it moved. McCabe whistled and together they rolled the rock over on its side.
“Unbelievable. I’ve sat on that rock a hundred times. Let’s see what else we can find. Holy smokes, I feel like a kid on a scavenger hunt!” he chuckled.
“Lead the way,” Jemimah said.
McCabe handed her one of his lamps. She followed closely behind him once they descended the rungs of the ladder.
“It’s not so dark here,” she said. “But it will be farther on.” She kicked herself for making such a dumb statement.
Jemimah was giddy as a ten-year-old as they embarked on their adventure. She hoped they would encounter great treasures stored for centuries in the depths of the cave. She held on to McCabe’s belt loop as they trudged ahead, beyond the point where she encountered the rattler. She told McCabe that the effigy that had frightened her was up ahead. She hadn’t known how to describe it, and now he stood two feet from it.
“My God,” he said. “I can’t believe my eyes. This is unlike anything I expected to find on these ruins. I have to show this to Laura.” He snapped a quick photo with his digital camera.
They continued on, McCabe positioning the two lanterns so that one shone forward and the other upward. Jemimah directed the beam of her flashlight downward, the memory of the snake momentarily crossing her mind.
“I think this is where my batteries gave out” she said. “It’s as far as I went before I turned back.” They continued forward, McCabe in a state of total amazement at these new underground surroundings. They walked in silence for a few minutes.
“I figure we’re about a thousand feet in,” McCabe said. “It’s hard to gauge, particularly since we’re not moving at a steady pace. The shaft seems to continue on ahead of us. Can’t tell how far it goes into the earth.”
Jemimah walked into a large cobweb and stifled a scream. She hoped McCabe would not think her a scaredy-cat, but the cobweb had caught her off guard. Oh hells bells, she was a scaredy-cat, no denying it. She was glad she hadn’t ventured this far alone.
“Watch your head there, Jemimah. The ceiling drops off a short distance up ahead, and there’s a little bit of an incline.”
They continued at a slow pace. McCabe leaned down to pick up a small brown piece of bone. “A flute!”
Jemimah could detect the excitement in his voice, although she saw nothing exciting about a musical instrument. She doubted the Indians had flutes, but then, what did she know about their culture?
“What would they use a flute for? They didn’t have chamber music, did they?”
“Awesome.” McCabe was kind enough not to give her the you-idiot look. “This little flute was probably used to make bird calls,” he said. “Maybe to woo an Indian maid. This is no time to stop and gawk. I still can’t help wondering why they dug this tunnel. Maybe to hide from marauding enemies? Damn, I can’t wait to get back down here with some real lighting equipment.”
Jemimah shuddered, she almost walked into another stringy web, where a huge black spider was knitting its way toward the ceiling. McCabe swatted with his leather glove and stepped on it, grinding it under his boot.
“Under ordinary circumstances I wouldn’t have done that. I imagine some of these critters have been hanging around in here for a long time, but we can’t afford to be bitten right now,” he said. “Ahead of us, the ground seems to be pretty virginal. No footprints that I can make out. I doubt if anyone has been down here in a long, long time. Nothing has been disturbed.”
They seemed to have walked for a mile. Jemimah felt closed-in. She could feel her heart racing. Was it just from the lack of oxygen? Years ago she visited Carlsbad Caverns in southern New Mexico and walked through the massive caves and tunnels. She remembered the guide assuring them there was plenty of oxygen to go around. Hold that thought, she told herself. She traipsed behind McCabe, using as many mind-calming techniques as she could remember from sessions with her shrink. She was conscious of every breath. At least she wasn’t alone this time. She wouldn’t have gone this far even if her flashlight hadn’t given out.
“Man oh man, I’m speechless,” said McCabe. “How you doing there, Jemimah?”
She jumped as McCabe’s voice brought her back to the present. “Whew ... all right. I imagine you have a lot of unanswered questions.”
“That’s an understatement if I ever heard one,” he chuckled.
A few feet ahead they encountered a small alcove that appeared to be about six foot square.
“Half a dozen people could easily stand in here,” he said. “What do you think, Jemimah, shall we keep going? For all we know this tunnel might go all the way to Galisteo.”
“That’s more than five miles,” she said, stifling a need to hyperventilate.
“Unless there are air vents that have been covered up all these years, it’s unlikely that it could go that far,” McCabe said. A mining shaft can go pretty far into a mountain, but this is nowhere large enough for that.”
“It seems to be just high enough to walk upright, though,” Jemimah said.
“Yes, and from the research I’ve done, the Tano were short in stature like many Pueblo Indians. If that were true, it doesn’t account for the tunnel not being much over six feet in height.” There was only about a foot between the ceiling of the tunnel and McCabe’s head.
“Maybe they had to allow for carrying torches?” she offered.
“By gosh, Jemimah, you could be right,” he said.
As they rounded a slight turn in the tunnel, a strong odor assailed them both. McCabe put his arm out abruptly, stopping Jemimah in her tracks and almost knocking her over.
“Jemimah,” he said, raising his voice. “Go back to the entrance and call Detective Romero.”
“What is it? What’s there?” she said, shining her light up ahead. “Oh, my God,” she swallowed deeply to stifle a scream that insisted on emerging from her throat. Five feet ahead they could see several bodies, all seated on the floor, propped up against the wall of the tunnel. They were in various stages of decomposition—no way to tell by their appearance how long they’d been there. The stench was overwhelming. It was all she could do to keep from vomiting. Jemimah stood silent, petrified, as though her legs had suddenly become rooted like a Yucca plant.
“Jemimah,” McCabe said firmly. “Go back to the car and call Romero. Tell him what we’ve found and to get out here, pronto! ”
“You’re not going to stay here alone, are you?” she stammered.
“Well, they are dead,” McCabe said dryly. His long career as a Sheriff in Idaho kept him from reacting otherwise. “Jemimah, do as I ask. I’ll go up a ways and see if there’s anything else. Maybe there’s an exit or, God forbid, more bodies. I know this is a crime scene, but I’m just going to go a little way in and then turn back. My tracks will be obvious.”
Jemimah spun around, feeling the tunnel begin to close around her. Her entire body was shaking, her muscles weak from shock. It had to be like having the lid slammed on your coffin while you were still alive.
Dumbfounded, she raced back through the tunnel. She couldn’t move fast enough. Her knees knocked against each other like castanets shaken by a flamenco dancer. She wanted to barf. She had seen pictures of dead bodies before, victims of the criminals she profiled, but never in a setting like this one, never with so much foul air surrounding them. She was gasping for breath as she saw the outdoor light shining through the entrance up ahead. She scaled the four rungs of the ladder. In her panic, she tripped and lost her footing. She landed spread-eagled in the dirt, skinning the palms of her hands. Momentarily disoriented, she picked herself up. She was still feeling lightheaded as she opened the door of her Toyota and reached for the cell phone in her purse.
She dialed Romero’s number. The phone rang six times and then went to message. “Dammit, Rick,” she said. Where are you?”
She misdialed the office number, took a deep breath and dialed again. Clarissa answered.
“Sheriff’s Department, how can I help you,” she said.
“Clarissa, I need to talk to Rick Romero. Do you know where he is?”
“Whoa, Jemimah. Slow down. He’s between here and the main office,” she said.
“Can you patch me into him?” she said. “It’s urgent.”
“Sure thing; hold a second,” Clarissa said, acutely aware of the urgency in Jemimah’s voice.
She had never heard her in such a state. Her voice normally had a sweet, soothing, velvety tone.
Jemimah waited on the line. She was trembling and her knees were weak, but at least she hadn’t passed out from the shock of seeing the bodies. Thank goodness she hadn’t eaten breakfast. She would have hurled it all over McCabe. The phone beeped intermittently for what seemed like ten minutes, though she knew it was less. Rick finally came on the line.
“Detective Romero here,” he said.
“Rick, I need you to get to the San Lazaro ruins right away,” she said, running her words together.
“What’s going on, Jemimah? You sound out of breath. Are you all right?”
“I’m at the ruins with McCabe,” she said.
“Is he all right?”
“Yes, yes. Listen to me.” Jemimah braced herself on the door of the Toyota. “I can’t explain it now. We found a tunnel. He’s still down there. There are bodies, and it’s pretty awful. Please hurry!”
“On my way. Get into your car and lock the door. Keep the motor running in case you have to get the hell out of there. McCabe can take care of himself. I’ll be there as fast as I can.” He wasn’t sure she was strong enough to be around the scene she described.
Romero hung up the phone and radioed headquarters. He instructed the dispatcher to get in touch with the State Police and the Coroner. He gave directions to the Indian ruins and then dialed Detective Chacon’s number.
“Artie, you’re not going to believe this,” he said. “I just got a call about some bodies discovered out at the Crawford Ranch Indian ruins. Meet me there.”
“I’ll be right behind you,” Chacon said, throwing his car into overdrive and pulling a u-turn in the middle of the highway.