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“This freaking sucks,” Bones said. “No topographical map, so no way of knowing if we’re going the right way. No water. Have I said this sucks?”
“No. You’ve been a dream come true,” Maddock said.
They’d been hiking for an hour, following a path that led away from the sounds of combat, trying to work their way back around toward the ranch. But without their topographical map and no cell coverage, they were experiencing the same sorts of frustrations that had plagued desert travelers throughout history. Whether boxed in by canyon walls or wedged into slots, there was no way to see the broader landscape, to pick out landmarks. And when the desert hiker did find himself on an open vista, the shimmering heat played tricks with distances and the shapes of landmarks.
“I notice you haven’t once boasted about your inerrant sense of direction,” Maddock said.
“I’m an East Coast Indian. Different magnetic pull out here.”
“Well, it looks like it just pulled us into a dead end.”
The arroyo they were following ended in a recessed area beneath a high ledge.
“Time to climb?” Bones asked, looking doubtfully at the surrounding hills.
Maddock looked around. Something in the eroded area beneath the overhang caught his eye. A single stone slab that appeared just slightly out of place. It was just a shade darker red than the surrounding stone, its edge just a bit too smooth. And it was just the perfect size to conceal a man-sized opening.
“Maybe not. Check this out.” He knelt to inspect the stone. If it was hiding something, it had been a long time since it had last been moved. Maddock brushed aside the detritus that covered it.
“You’re right. It does look weird,” Bones said. “But unless there’s a bottle of water under there, I’m going to have a hard time getting worked up over it.”
“I don’t need you to get worked up; I need you to help me move it.”
“Salty,” Bones said.
“The quicksand has dried and now it’s crumbling down into my... let’s just say I was already miserable from the bumps and bruises.”
“Grandpa, what’s the worst injury you ever suffered?” Bones affected the voice of a mesmerized child. “Was it in the SEALs?
“No, child,” he croaked in a fair imitation of an old man, “I rolled down a hill.”
“Screw you, Bones. Help me with this.”
They gave it a heave, the effort seeming to tear at Maddock’s muscles, and the stone shifted to reveal open space beneath. Maddock peered down to see a smooth, sloping passageway descending at a steep angle.
“See anything?” Bones asked.
“I see daylight. This leads somewhere.”
“But is it somewhere I want to go?”
“Somebody went to the trouble of making this stone just to cover up this passage. That’s almost always the kind of place you and I want to go.”
Maddock scooted feet-first down the passageway and found himself in a tiny cave. He could just see the way out in the distance.
Bones slid down behind him and landed in a crouch. He tilted his head and sniffed twice. “What are you doing, Smeagol?”
“I smell water. Come on.” Bones scrambled forward until he came to a halt about ten feet from the cave entrance. Here, a tiny flow of water oozed down the cave wall and collected in a small depression.
“A seep spring!” Maddock said. “Bones, you’re a genius.”
“Wait until I tell your future brother-in-law that you drank raw water.”
Maddock rolled his eyes and took a tiny sip. It was like nectar of the gods in his parched mouth. The took turns taking small swallows until they were, if not quite refreshed, at least less desperate than they had been minutes before. After they’d rested for a few minutes, they decided to see what was outside the cave.
Down below lay a steep-sided canyon. Its sun-blasted surface was smooth and regular.
“This was once part of the lake,” Maddock said, pointing at some shells baked into the sand.
“Cool, but is it the way back to the ranch?”
Maddock took in the breadth of the canyon. His eyes searched for a way out. And then he saw it. He closed his eyes, gave his head a shake, then blinked twice and looked again. It was still there.
A dark hulk lay in late evening shadows. It was sheltered by the steep cliffs, impossible to spot from the sky.
“Look over there and tell me if you see what I’m seeing,” Maddock said to Bones.
Bones’ eyes went wide.
“Holy freaking crap. It’s a ship. The lost ship of the desert is real.”
––––––––
It must have been an hour, maybe more, before Segar returned to full awareness. He had failed utterly. The spirits were out there, but none would speak to him. He had not yet earned their trust. He’d have to try again tomorrow.
“At least the cameras weren’t here to see me fail.”
He stood, stretched, and breathed in the cool night air. The sky was a delicate shade of purple, the land around him only visible in shades of gray. He looked around for a safe way down, turning slowly.
And then he saw it! Five rock piles were spaced evenly around the boulder on which he stood.
“It’s shaped like a turtle!” He understood! The spirits had spoken to his subconscious when he made what he thought was a false map to mislead Gold. The turtle was real, only he’d been too blinded by this contest to receive the message clearly. Now he understood everything.
“Sorry, Nugget. I found it first.” It was no surprise. Terry Gold was no match for him.
He slipped and skidded back to the desert floor and headed back to camp. As he walked, he thought about how to proceed from here.
The turtle was a signpost on the way to the treasure, but which way should they go next? He tried to picture in his mind the map he’d scraped into the rock. What other shapes had there been? Where did the dotted line go? He couldn’t remember. Yoshi! Yoshi would have gotten it on camera.
With that problem settled, his thoughts turned to the following day’s filming. They would begin at the turtle, the sight of his triumph. He’d need a suitable topic of discussion to go along with it. The spiritual significance of turtles, perhaps. The turtle spirit symbolized determination, persistence, and emotional strength. He could use that! His own determination had led him to this place. And the turtle also symbolized ancient wisdom.
“The wise turtle guides us to the treasure,” he whispered. It was perfect!
He was so busy planning his dialog that it was far too late when he finally noticed he’d stepped right off a ledge.
He let out a cry and hit the ground an instant later. His ankle turned beneath him, and he felt more than heard the pop as it dislocated. Needles of pain jabbed into him as he rolled over onto his back and let out a low groan. He rolled over, sat up, and examined his foot in the scant remnants of daylight.
He winced at the sight of his foot askew. He had no choice but to pop it back into place. He grabbed hold, pulled, and twisted. Pain lanced through him and he let out a low groan as he reset it. He made his unsteady way to his feet. His ankle hurt like hell, but he could walk on it.
He had gone about twenty feet when someone stuck a gun in his face. He reacted instinctively, batting the weapon aside and driving a knee into his assailant’s groin.
At least, that had been the plan.
His ankle betrayed him, buckling beneath his weight as he attempted the knee strike. That’s the problem with instinct, he thought as he fell. It takes no account of injuries.
He felt a knee on the small of his back, the cold muzzle of a gun against the base of his neck and he froze. How was he going to get out of this one?
––––––––
As he and Bones half walked, half stumbled toward the old ship, Maddock couldn’t help but marvel at the sight. It was a caravel, one of the small, highly maneuverable sailing ships used by the Portuguese and Spanish during the so-called Age of Discovery. The sturdy ship with its wide, round, hull, had come to rest in the sand near the base of the cliff. It lay almost level, with only a slight downhill slant. Its masts lay broken, remnants of the rigging still clinging to them, protected by the arid desert climate. Its sterncastle was buried in a massive sand dune, but the forecastle was fully exposed.
“She’s a three-master, with a square-rigged foremast,” Maddock said. “I put her at about sixty feet in length, beam about eighteen feet. She’s a big one.”
“The bowsprit’s unusual,” Bones said.
“I’ve never seen its like.” The spar that extended forward from the ship’s bow was intact, but unlike its more functional counterparts, this one had been carved to resemble a sea serpent. Wear and tear of the ropes had worn it down in spots, but it was still a magnificent piece.
“One of the native legends called the desert ship a ‘serpent-necked canoe.’ I can see why,” Bones said.
“And the legends of a Viking sailing ship being found in the desert?” Maddock said. To someone who didn’t know much about old sailing vessels, the sea-serpent carving might have resembled the dragon figurehead of a Viking sailing ship.
Maddock took out his phone and began snapping photographs while Bones took out his own phone and began recording a video.
“What’s up? This is Bones Bonebrake. The little guy is my assistant, Maddock. I’m here to tell you that we’ve just discovered the lost ship of the desert. Check this crap out!” He kept up the voice-over as he took video of the incredible find. “All you guys thought it was just a legend, but we proved you wrong. So, all you experts can suck it.”
“Very professional,” Maddock said.
“I enjoy being right,” Bones said. “I’m not going to put this online or anything. It’s just for me. And proof that we found it first.”
“I don’t know how you have the energy for this,” Maddock said. “Besides, don’t you want to look inside?”
“That I do.”
They crawled through a hole in the port side of the hull near the bow then slid down loose sand to what had once been the crew’s quarters. The tattered remains of hammocks dangled from hooks. Maddock looked across the open space to a closed door. Scant light filtered through the cracked hull, illuminating the large space. The floor was broken in places, revealing a cargo hold below, its floor covered in sand.
“That leads to the sterncastle and the officers’ quarters.”
“Let’s check it out,” Bones said. He took a step and the wood beneath his feet let out a dull crack. He froze. “You go first. I’ve already fallen through the deck of one rotten ship. It’s your turn.”
Maddock chuckled. That particular ship had been half-buried in a swamp. He had a feeling the dry desert climate would be a bit more forgiving on the decking.
“Here goes nothing.” He stepped out and gradually put his weight on his front foot. The floor complained loudly but supported him. He took another step, then another. “It seems to be holding it up.”
“If I fall through, I blame you.”
As they gingerly moved forward, step by cautious step, their eyes probed the dim light, searching for any signs of artifacts or treasure. Nothing. The brief glimpses of the decks below weren’t promising either.
“I wonder if the crew cleared out the holds at the time they ran aground,” Maddock said as he made his way across the creaking, cracking deck.
“Where would they take it all?” Bones asked. “I think they’d scout around first, figure out where they were, locate sources of food and water, look for signs of civilization. Know where you’re going before you start hauling cargo in 120-degree heat.”
Maddock nodded. “And out here in this desert, if they went scouting, who knows if they ever made it back to the ship?”
They had reached the door. He took a breath, held it, and pushed it open. To his surprise, it swung smoothly and silently on its hinges. The room beyond lay in darkness. Their Maglites had been stolen with their backpacks, so they took out their phones, turned on the flashlights, and shone them inside.
“Holy freaking crap!” Bones said. “What is this?”
“It’s not the captains’ quarters, that’s for sure,” Maddock said.
The room was empty, save for a single chest shoved into one corner. An open doorway in the aft bulkhead revealed a ladder leading down into the cargo hold. Only a few broken rungs were visible. But that wasn’t what captured Maddock’s attention.
Sets of Medieval style iron shackles hung from the aft bulkhead.
“That’s weird,” Bones said. “This would be an unusual place to put the brig.”
Maddock inspected one of the shackles. The chain and cuff were free of rust, unsurprising in the dry desert climate. Still, something about them didn’t look quite right. He let his light follow the length of the chain up to the top of the bulkhead where an iron bracket secured it in place. Four words were stamped on the bracket.
“Property of Paramount Studios,” he read aloud.
“Movie props,” Bones said.
“We aren’t the first to discover the ship.” Maddock shone his light down to the floor. A dark stain marred the space beneath the shackles. “I think Kirk Striker found this place and he brought victims here so he could torture and kill them at his leisure.”
“You’re quite astute, Mister Maddock,” a voice said from behind them. They turned to see Shipman standing in the doorway. He held a flashlight and a pistol, the one taken from Maddock. Bones’ pistol was tucked into Shipman’s belt. “I never dreamed anyone else would find this place. Hopefully you’ll be the last.”