The Black Bullet

CHAPTER SIXTY

O’Brien pulled the Jeep off the road right before the Matanzas Inlet Bridge, drove down an embankment and across fifty yards of sand to the inlet. The moon was now higher, a pastel mist lying low over the pass like flat smoke from a smoldering campfire.

“How close can you get?” Nick asked.

“Close as I can. Let’s unload the Zodiac, grab the flashlights and shovels. We’ll put the boat in the water next to the bridge piling. Looks like an in-coming tide. That’s good. Less fight to get the inflatable to the island.”

They pulled up on the island’s sandy beach and got out. Nick said, “Rattlesnake Island. You never said how this place got its name?”

“I always heard that when they were dredging the Intracoastal on the other side of the island, the men would take a break and bring their bagged lunches to the island to eat. Place was so full of rattlesnakes it was difficult to find a safe spot.”

“Damn,” Nick said, shining the flashlight around him. “Any snakes still left in here? Sure are plenty of sand fleas. Little shits are crawlin’ in my hair.”

O’Brien looked at the crude sketch Anna Sterling drew. “I hope she’s accurate … for Jason’s sake. Maybe what Billy Lawson saw is still here.”

“How much time do we have?”

O’Brien looked at his watch. “A little over thirty-six hours. Let’s find this stuff. Glenda Lawson said the old tree was on the island.” O’Brien slowly panned the flashlight from the beach to the interior. He looked at the drawing and back up at the terrain. A fat raccoon waddled between the mangrove bushes. O’Brien stared at the south end of the island.

“If Billy Lawson stood somewhere in here out of sight, watching the Germans unload their stuff not far from where our raft is … they walked inland a little piece … and Billy saw the rotation of the lighthouse … the beam illuminating the window in the old watchtower ….” O’Brien kept moving, Nick following silently. “He said it was in the path of light coming through the opening in the tower. Then, right here, we’re in the same path, the same trajectory that Billy apparently saw. Now, if we take the drawing that Anna sketched and walk about to where Glenda says the live oak was, maybe two hundred feet south of the fort … what will we find?”

O’Brien stepped through the sand and palmetto bushes, looking back and ahead, keeping in the path of the light from the tower. “Then,” he said, gesturing west, “the big oak would have been here to our left … and just maybe …”

O’Brien aimed the light toward a slight bowl-shaped indentation in the undergrowth. He said, “If a large oak was ripped out during a hurricane, there would be a big root ball. Through the years, the plants that grew from a hole deeper than the surrounding ground would be shorter than those around them.”

Nick said, “This is like tracking Mother Nature.”

“Let’s use the metal prod and see if we can get lucky.”

“I’ll start in one part and work around ‘till I’ve covered the area.” He stuck the prod in the sand, using his weight to work the point deep into the soil. Nothing. He tried again in an area about five feet to the east. Nothing. He slapped at biting sand fleas and mosquitoes and said, “I’m gonna use the treasure finder.”

O’Brien picked up the prod and began working it into the sandy soil. He looked toward the watchtower, the light now like a firefly in the misty air. After several prods and in keeping an eye on the rotation of the light coming through the tower, he worked his way closer to the beach, “Bring that thing over here, Nick. Think I found something.”

Nick moved the metal detector just above the surface where O’Brien pointed. “Not a peep,” Nick said.

O’Brien picked up a shovel and removed a few large scoops of sand. “Try again.”

As Nick moved the detector over the hole, there was a faint beep … beep. “Pay dirt! Lemme help you.” He took the shovel and started digging. Within a minute, Nick hit something. It was metal clashing against metal, the dull sound of iron against an anvil. Nick dropped to his knees. “Hit me with the light!” O’Brien pointed the flashlight beam into the hole as Nick scooped out the sand with his hands. “We found it! We fuckin’ found the rest of the magic dust!” Nick used both hands to brush the sand from one canister, reaching in, struggling to lift it from the hole.

Within twenty minutes of intense digging and prying, they had removed eight canisters from the hole. “Hand me the prod,” Nick said. After a few more stabs through the sand, Nick hit something. He dropped back to his knees and, again, began moving the loose sand with his hands. “This one doesn’t feel like a canister. Hit me with some light.” O’Brien aimed the light where Nick dug. “Mother Mary!” Nick shouted, dropping the object and making the sign of the cross.

The vacant eye sockets of a human skull stared up from the bottom of the pit.