Primitive: A Bones Bonebrake Adventure

Chapter 8

Bones had only a moment to realize he was falling before his feet hit something solid. Or somewhat solid, because whatever it was his feet struck held for only a moment before it gave way and he plunged deeper into darkness. He landed hard on his feet, pain shooting along his legs. A splintering crack split the air, and for a moment he thought he’d broken a leg, but he realized it was the sound of breaking wood. He rubbed his leg and the pain soon diminished, leaving behind only a dull ache at the base of his spine.

He looked around, the dim light shining through the hole where he’d fallen illuminating a circle about ten feet wide. He stood on a wooden floor, its boards covered in a thin film of dust. Beneath his feet, a series of cracks spread outward, and he took a step back just in case more open space lay beneath him. He took out his Maglite and shone it around.

“No freaking way.”

He was inside a ship, probably sixteenth-century by the looks of the cannon his light fell upon. Sweeping his beam back and forth, he saw several more cannons, some still in their tracks, others lying on the floor. This was the gun deck of a large sailing vessel.

He took a cautious step, and then another. The deck supported his weight. Encouraged, he began to explore. The fact that the deck still hadn’t given way beneath all these cannons gave him hope that the structure was sturdy enough to bear the weight of one big Cherokee. He supposed he would find out.

At the far end of the deck, a ladder led up to an open trapdoor. He tested the first rung, found it sturdy, and climbed up. He emerged in another sizeable space. All around, the moldering remains of hammocks dangled from the beams that supported the main deck. Lying on the floor amidst the accumulated silt from centuries of leakage lay the skeletal remains of the crew. Some held pitted swords or rusted knives, while others lay curled in fetal balls.

The ceiling up above was blackened with soot. Apparently the crew had made their homes here after being run aground, but how in the hell had a ship gotten this far inland?

“Must have been one hell of a storm,” he mumbled.

He shone his beam down to the far end of the deck, where a door hung haphazardly on broken hinges. That would be the officers’ quarters. He picked his way across the deck, reluctant to tread on the remains of the deceased. As he skirted the bones of the soldier nearest him, he did a double-take.

The back of the man’s skull had been smashed in, leaving a baseball-sized hole.

“What in the… ” He knelt for a closer look. The back of the skull had been caved in. Fragments of bone lay inside the hollow of the cranium. Whatever had delivered the fatal blow had compressed the skull. The victim had died lying face-down, and as the soft tissue decayed, the fragments of bone had simply fallen into the hollow space once occupied by the brain.

“Sorry, bro,” he said. “That’s a nasty way to die.”

He stood and resumed his careful trek. It quickly became apparent that every member of the crew had died in the same way — their skulls crushed by a blunt object. He shivered, the fresh memory of flying stones strong in his mind. This ship had been here for a good four hundred years. Could there possibly be a connection? He didn’t want to believe it, but he knew better than to dismiss the improbable.

“Bones!” Slater’s voice called out from somewhere above. “Where are you?”

“I’m down here!” he called. “But don’t come any closer. The ground’s not stable.”

He moved toward the hole through which he’d initially tumbled, but before he could get there, a pair of hiking boots slid through the opening, followed by trim, deeply tanned legs. Slater!

“Hold on a second. There’s a hole right below your feet and you’ll fall through if you’re not careful. Believe me, I know from experience.” He hurried over to her, stumbling over the rib cage of a dead sailor. He reached up, grabbed Slater by the waist, and guided her down to the deck.

Her eyes grew wide as she took in their surroundings. “Where are we?” she marveled.

“Inside an old sailing ship. I’m not sure what kind, exactly.”

Slater rounded on him, hands on hips. “A sailing ship? Underground? Are you winding me up?”

“Nope. Check it out.” He swept his light across the deck and over the remains of the crew.

“Wow!” Slater gaped, her voice soft and her eyes wide. “How do you think it got here?”

“The only theory I can come up with is one hell of a hurricane carried them inland and they got stuck here when the water receded. It looks like they decided to live inside the ship. You can see they had fires in here.” He pointed to the blackened beams up above. “Over time, it sank down into the swamp and the mud preserved it.”

“This is amazing. I don’t care if it has nothing to do with the skunk ape, it’s still going to make for an amazing story.” She turned and barked out a sharp command. “Dave! Carly! Get down here. I want this all on video.”

“Be careful,” Bones called. “Let me help… ”

With a hollow crack, the main deck above them gave way again and Dave came crashing down on top of them. Bones managed to wrap his arms around the young cameraman and partially slow his fall, but Dave still landed hard on his backside. Bones froze, wondering if the force of the fall would cause the deck to give way again. This time, it held.

Carly followed, more carefully than her colleague. Bones sat her down lightly on her feet, and she stared in wide-eyed amazement at the macabre scene.

“This is like a haunted house,” she breathed.

“More like the Pirates of the Caribbean ride,” Dave said, climbing to his feet. “You know, the part where they all turn into skeletons?”

“How about we focus on doing our jobs?” Slater rode over her crew’s conversation. “You can talk about amusement parks later.”

“Sorry.” Dave’s gaze dropped to the floor, but he brightened almost immediately. “This is going to be some of the best footage we’ve ever gotten.” He made a slow circuit of the deck, recording every inch of the bizarre scene. He lingered over the fire pit in the center. The crew had piled a thick layer of sand on the deck to prevent the wood from catching fire. Chunks of bone poked out of the silt and ash. When Slater was satisfied that they had enough footage, they moved on to the officers’ quarters.

Inside, they found more skeletal remains, all with smashed skulls.

“It’s strange,” Slater observed, “that some are lying curled up in a ball. Do you think they just curled up and waited to be killed?”

“Possibly,” Bones said, “if they were frightened enough. We don’t know how long they holed up here. It’s possible some of the crew were already dead from malnutrition or disease, and whoever did this to them bashed their heads in just to make sure.”

“Scary stuff.” Slater led her crew around the cabin, commenting on the few artifacts she found lying about. The officers’ personal effects were few, but among them were knives, rings, Spanish coins, and crumbling bibles. “It’s clearly a Spanish galleon. And the fact that things like this remain,” she held up a fat gold coin, “proves that we are the first to find it. If its presence had been discovered before, it’s almost a guaranteed the valuables would be long gone.”

They ascended to the captain’s cabin, which lay just above the officer’s quarters. The door was wedged closed, and Bones finally resorted to main force to smash open the top half of the decaying wood.

“Looks like somebody blocked themselves in,” he said, looking down at the footlocker and small chest that pushed up against the base of the door. But that wasn’t the only thing that had held the door fast. Here, the intrusion of years of silt was clearly evident, as a thick layer of dried black muck caked the floor. Bones climbed over the remaining portion of the door and then helped the others in.

The captain lay on his bed, his empty eye sockets gazing up at the ceiling. Dave moved in with the camera while Slater resumed her hosting duties.

“At first glance it looks like the captain also had his skull smashed.” She pointed his shattered left temple. “But that isn’t the case. If you look at the other side of his head, you’ll see a smaller hole. And then there’s this.” She pointed an object half-buried in the muck. “It’s a pistol, lying roughly where it would have fallen from limp, dead fingers.”

“So he barred himself inside and took his own life.” Dave said the words slowly as if trying to convince himself of their veracity.

“Whatever was outside that door was more terrible than the prospect of suicide.” Slater turned to Bones. “Can you tell u anything about the gun?”

“It’s a matchlock.” Bones knelt beside the weapon but left it untouched. “The matchcord, which was just a burning wick, went here,” he pointed to the hammer. “It came down and hit the flash pan which ignited the gunpowder. That’s about all I can tell you.”

“Does the type of gun give us any clue as to the age of the wreck?”

Bones nodded. “By the early 1600s, matchlocks were out and flintlocks were in, so this is probably sixteenth century.”

An inspection of the captain’s truck revealed little of interest, but the small chest was filled with coins, many of them silver and gold. Bones resisted the urge to pocket a few. Maybe when the camera was no longer rolling.

“Where to next?” Slater asked.

“All the way to the bottom,” Bones said.

“What do you expect to find down there?”

He grinned. “The cargo hold.”