Seizure(55)

“What?” Hi asked.

Ben hesitated.

“What is ‘oh no’ down there?” Hi insisted.

“I know what the poem means about releasing the correct bridge.”

“Yes?” My mouth went dry.

“We’re standing on the incorrect one.”





“WE’RE ON A ledge,” Ben said. “Connected to the rock face by wooden beams.”

“So?” Shelton toe-tested the ground with one foot. “Seems solid.”

“Ropes run alongside the timbers,” Ben continued. “If we choose Bonny’s ‘faithful servant’ incorrectly, I think this bridge will release.”

I heard Hi swallow. Shelton’s mouth opened, but nothing came out.

Ben looked at me.

I was about to respond when noises from behind us cut me off. We all turned, startled. Ben reacted first.

Springing to the opening, he craned his neck around the corner and peered back into the passageway.

Two slugs slammed the tunnel’s rear wall, sending Ben reeling backward.

“You’ve got to come through here!” Ben shouted. “I’ll be waiting!”

His eye darted to mine. I read their message. Hurry!

“Shelton! Hi! Help me decide!”

Terrified, we examined the levers.

“‘Choose thy faithful servant to release correct bridge,’” I repeated.

“But which one?” Hi said.

“Five of the handles are crossed!” Shelton exclaimed.

“Good!” I said. “‘Thy faithful servant’ must be another Christian reference.”

I stared at the five candidates, willing the correct choice to announce itself.

None did.

“Check the proportions,” Hi said. “The horizontal bar on this lever is too low for a traditional cross.”

I froze. Why did that seem important?

“Same with those two!” Shelton squeaked. “And that one’s too high!”

“This one!”

My mind spun. What? What?

Hi pointed to a central handle. Even in the dim light of our lantern, it was clear that better care had gone into its carving. The lever formed a perfect cross in exact, eye-pleasing proportions.

Still I hesitated. Something in my lower centers was clamoring for attention.

“Tory!” Hi exclaimed, “It must be the center one!”

“Footsteps!” Ben hissed.

“Pull it!” Shelton urged.

I locked up. Something was terribly wrong.

“I’ll get it!” Shelton reached for the knob.

What? What?

Shelton’s fingers curled around the handle.

“NO!”

My hand shot forward and slapped Shelton’s away. He jerked backward, startled by my sudden move.

“Bonny called it ‘thy faithful servant!’” I rushed. “‘Thy!’ Hers! We need to look for Anne Bonny’s cross!”

“The symbol from the map!” Hi was with me.

I grabbed the treasure map, held it before the levers.

At first, nothing was obvious.

Then I saw.

The rightmost lever had a high crosspiece, making it tall and skinny, just like the curious little illustrations. I shoved my nose close. Details zoomed in with laserlike clarity.

There. The upper tine curved ever so slightly to the right. Nearly imperceptible, unless one was looking for it.

Bonny’s bent cross. Her calling card. Thy faithful servant.

I pointed.

“Together?”

Hi and Shelton nodded excitedly, then reached for the dusty stone handle.

I called a heads up to Ben. “One! Two! Three!”


The cross arced down slowly, groaning after centuries of disuse. Finally, it could descend no further.

Fearfully, we pressed our backs to the cavern wall.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

Ropes snapped. Pullies creaked. Iron chains screeched as they released their centuries-old payload.

Overhead, the massive stone slab began to descend.

Clink. Clink. Clink.

The rock suddenly halted. A rumbling sounded behind the wall at our backs.

I tensed. Something was wrong.

Crack! Boom!

The slab above us shivered, then dropped in an avalanche of dirt, pebbles, and mouth-coating grit. It struck with the power of a train crash.

The noise thundered in my canine ears. I covered them, yelping in agony.

SNUP.

For seconds, all was chaos. I couldn’t see or think. Choking and gasping, I tried to breathe through my shirt.

After what seemed an eternity, the dust storm settled.

I surveyed the scene.

“Oh no.” Ben pointed across the abyss, his eyes their normal black-brown.

Upon impact, the stone slab had shifted sideways, leaving only one corner on the opposite ledge. It teetered, threatening to slip into the chasm at any moment.

“We have to go now!” I jammed our lantern and the map into my pack. “Before it falls!”

“I can’t cross that!” Shelton was almost crying. “I lost my flare!”

“You have to!” I hand-cupped his cheeks. “Remember, you’re a Viral. You can do anything.”

Screwing his face into a determined mask, Shelton spun and shot over the bridge, never slowing until he slammed into the opposite wall.