Twenty-Seven Bones

7

The Fire and Rescue Chief, Toger Erlaksson, took charge of the rescue effort as soon as he arrived. The Erlakssons were one of the Twelve Danish Families, but there wasn’t much Scandinavian DNA left by Toger’s generation. He and Chief Coffee got along well, except at budget time, when they were competing for pieces of the same limited public safety pie.

It was decided to go in from the side, through the original tunnel, using hand tools and shoring up as they went. If there were any signs of mudslides, it was agreed, they’d have to pull their people out, sink an air shaft from above if possible, and wait for the rain to stop before proceeding.

Meanwhile Dawson went exploring on her own, looking for the hole through which she’d seen the bats exiting last summer. It wasn’t easy to find, in the dark, in the rain, especially as she was looking for a vertical shaft, a literal hole in the ground. Later, she would realize she had passed the spot at least once, because it wasn’t until the second time she smelled the funky, acrid smell of the guano that she realized she had to be close to the entrance to the bats’ cave. She shined her lantern around in a full circle and spotted the dark hollow in the side of the hill.

The closer she approached, the worse the stench. The hole was a few feet high, but only a foot wide; the shaft traveled horizontally a few feet, then dived straight down. “Anybody in there?” she shouted. “Pender? Any-”

A leathery rustling of wings, a cacophony of high-pitched squeaks and squeals. Dawson threw herself flat against the ground and covered her head with her arms as the huge creatures came streaming out of the hole, filling the sky above her with swift, darting, angular shapes so flat against the dark sky that they seemed two-dimensional, like swooping kites. Suddenly the phrase like a bat out of hell took on a whole new meaning for Dawson.

But at least she’d found another entrance to the cave system, if it was a system. She left her spare flashlight behind as a beacon and made her way back to the scene of the rescue efforts to let the others know.

Bennie froze. He thought he’d heard someone shouting. The sound was not repeated. He shrugged and went back to work. Rather than hack Ina Emily’s hand off with the saw blade of the Swiss Army knife, he was working the cutting blade through the radiocarpal joint between the wrist and the hand, slicing easily through muscles and tendons instead of trying to saw through bone.

When the hand came free, he slipped it into the freezer bag containing Mrs. Apgard’s hand and resealed the bag.

So: six hands altogether, and three freezer bags stuffed with hundred-dollar bills-a worthy tribute, when the time came to cross the bridge to the other side. We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it, Ama Phil was fond of saying. Bennie had always taken it literally, and made it his motto. He’d cross that bridge when he came to it, but he hoped that wouldn’t be until he’d returned to Lolowa’asi, to reclaim the rest of his legacy.

And I only am escaped alone to tell thee. As he shouldered his knapsack and started down the passageway, Bennie remembered Ishmael’s words. And what a tale he would have to tell, what a deathbed oration he’d be making, when his time came.

The path forked. Bennie followed it to the left, to the Bat Cave. The bats, which had been coming and going all night, were no longer there. He leaned into the chamber. The stench was unbearable. He ducked back out, held his breath, leaned in again, twisted his head around to direct the narrow red laser beam of his helmet lamp up the chimney. He saw that it narrowed to a diameter of less than a foot before turning horizontal. No exit there-he turned back.