The Tomb by Brian Jackson

Brian Jackson is an amateur writer who is trying, like many others, to get his words read. He is retired and lives with his wife, Melanie, a published author, in the sierra foothills. Brian is the editor in cheif of DRR.

Carson Caruthers, archeologist extraordinaire, stepped from the mouth of the tomb carrying the Head of Sumara safely tucked away in his dusty canvas valise. Upon exiting the shadowy tomb, he found himself first dazzled by the intense sunlight and then standing face to face with a dozen to one hundred Sumatran warriors. Scantily clad in loin cloths and bones, the natives tended to blend in with the surrounding foliage making them difficult to count to an exact number. Each of them carried either a bow and arrows or a long spear, and they looked as though they knew how to use them. Caruthers couldn't help but notice that all the armaments being brandished with apparent ill intent were without exception directed his way.

"Damn and blast," Caruthers intoned, scanning the line of primitives for the one most likely to be their leader. Wiping the sweat from his brow, he shielded his eyes from the blinding Indonesian sun the better to aid him in his perusal. Identifying the warrior who wore the most coloration on his contorted features, Caruthers directed an uneasy smile toward that man and gave forth a greeting in the best Sumatran dialect he could muster.

"I come in peace," he intoned, hoping he had gotten the phrase right. "Take me to your leader."

Having spoken the only words of Sumatran he knew, he was disappointed at the lack of an enthusiastic response. Caruthers frantically rummaged through the cluttered baggage of his mind searching for some way out of the messy predicament in which he found himself, preferably with his skin intact. Initially, he had hoped that the stock phrase he'd uttered would keep the natives at bay long enough for him to think of some course of action that would extricate him from this sticky wicket. He was at least allotted enough time to consider his machete and rock hammer, but found them wanting in the face of so many superior weapons. Time was obviously running out as his adversaries, apparently having heard his stock phrase before, began their advance making ever more threatening gestures with both their bodies and their weapons.

Acting without further delay, Caruthers reached into his valise and withdrew a bag full of sand and pottery shards identical to the one he had left within the cave at the alter. Casting the thing toward his adversaries, he watched with satisfaction as it burst upon a rock and thus garnered the attention of all who were narrowing the distance before him. While the natives were occupied with concern for the relics they thought were being destroyed, Caruthers turned and dashed back into the mouth of the tomb. It didn't take long for the natives to recognize that the ancient artifact they had seen cast upon the stones was nothing more than a bag of sand and pot scraps. Not pleased by the white man's trickery, they enthusiastically opted for pursuing their quarry rather than standing any longer at the entrance to the tomb, maws agape.

Dashing back into the cave, Caruthers avoided the trip wires that would have sent poison darts flying in his direction, but did reach out a foot at the last second to safely trigger the door release mechanism to the tomb before descending into its depths. His closest pursuers were not so lucky.

Advancing into the mouth of the tomb with breakneck speed, the natives triggered various devices the tomb's builders had left behind for just such an assault. Darts tainted with fast acting poison were hurled from the walls of the cave to riddle their flailing bodies. Many of them stumbled and died at the mouth of the tomb, wailing out in agonized death screams, but some were quick enough to have avoided the poison darts. Still others were lucky enough to step into the killing field after the trap had spent itself of its lethal projectiles. Advancing further into the cave's depths, the natives found themselves upon the heels of their wily quarry.

Caruthers stumbled on, trying to keep his feet as he was but yards ahead of his pursuers. Reaching to his belt, he freed the whip from his side, and quickly flicked it in such a way as to wrap it about the pivot point above a massive gap in the floor before him. Swinging across the gap, he turned in a three-hundred-and-sixty degree turn such that he could view his pursuers. Remembering at the last possible second that he was in reality quite heavily armed, he pulled a revolver from his belt and expelled several ill advised shots before he fell upon the floor in a dusty pile where he was required to role to his feet before continuing his retreat. Looking back the way he had come, he watched as the natives came to a halt before the pit that separated them. Additionally, he saw his pistol teeter on the edge of the abyss then slowly slid over its edge and into its inky depths. He was once more weaponless, which was probably a good thing considering his skill with a gun. The natives looked up and smiled.

With a great deal of noise and little warning, the door of the tomb came crashing down from the shadows above. Proving to be a jumble of rocks rather than a crafted slab of stone or wood, some of the boulders rolled in the direction of the pit in the floor sending natives scrambling for their lives and in some cases skittering over the precipice, screaming into the darkness. Caruthers smiled back at his pursuers as he enjoyed watching them deal with the cave in that completely blocked the narrow entrance to the tomb and plunged their shared surroundings into utter, dense blackness.

Reaching into his pocket, Caruthers produced his trusty lighter, which displayed the likeness of his regimental crest etched into its face, and with a callused thumb flicked it into action. He was rewarded with a brief period of sightedness before the flame of his tiny torch was doused by an arrow that went singing through its flickering glow. Dropping to his knees, Caruthers decided that darkness may be his ally at this point in his spelunking adventure. Hearing additional arrows clatter against the walls around him, he knew that he was right. He therefore crawled further into the earth on his hands and knees, sightless and feeling his way along the wall as he went.

Meanwhile, the natives were restless. Using whatever means such bothersome little people possess, they were able to spark a small fire into life and use it to light several torches that they found stuffed into sconces in the wall of the cave. Suddenly the passage way was bathed in flickering light. Observing the whip that still hung from the pivot over the hole, the natives poked at the handle with their long spears until they were able to force it to swing back within reach. The first native to try swinging over the gap failed to first obtain and adequate grasp on the hilt of the whip and fell into the dark pit midway through his swing. The next native, and those who followed, were more careful in their approach to bypassing this obstacle.

Meanwhile, Caruthers watched all the action back over his shoulder as he continued to crawl forward. He was fascinated not by the actions of the natives themselves but instead by the fact that he could see the torch flames fluttering in his direction. Of course, he knew from experience that this could only mean that there was another entrance to the cave deeper within the tomb that was causing an air current from the cracks between the rocks at its opening and through the passage way down which he crawled. Looking back the way he was headed, he raised himself to a low crouch and ran forward through the gloom until he arrived at the next obstacle he needed to circumvent to advance.

This particular trap involved having to step only on stones that had letters carved into their faces that spelled the name of the tribe's greatest king in ancient Sumatran. Caruthers still thought that he remembered the stones he needed to step upon, having stepped through this trap two times already. However, he still wished that there was enough light for him to read the scrap of paper he carried in his pocket, assuming he could once again find the paper. Better yet, he wished that he could see the letters upon the stones before his feet.

By the third stone his memory was proving correct as he had advanced half way through the trap. It was at this time that the natives caught up with him, and wanting to take him alive they rushed forward with little notice of the large, loping steps he was using to advance through this section of the tomb. Again, there were screams of surprise as the floor gave way below their feet and several natives plummeted to their deaths. On the plus side, sending all the unstable stones hurling into the darkness identified those slabs upon which one needed to step to make it across the chasm. On the downside, without the support of the stones in between, the tall pillars upon which one needed to step started to teeter back and forth making it very difficult to retain one's balance. This balancing trick was made even more difficult when Caruthers felt something swatting at him and looked over his shoulder to see that one of the natives had successfully landed upon the columned step immediately behind his.

Turning to face his adversary, Caruthers struggled to retain his balance as did the native who continued trying to knock him from his perch by swatting at him with his spear. Fast becoming annoyed at his enemy's tactic for dislodging him, Caruthers opted to join in the fray by removing his valise and using it to swat at the native. Whereas the native's spear hurt when ever he succeeded in landing a blow, Caruthers' valise, which contained the golden head of Sumara, at the very least stung like the dickens but more often broke bones every time that he landed a blow. The fight being so one-sided, the native was soon bludgeoned senseless and would have tumbled off his column into the void if his spear had not become tangled in the strap of Caruthers' valise. Unwilling to let his precious prize go, Caruthers held onto the strap even after the native tumbled over the edge of his column but remained hanging onto his spear. Shaking the strap frantically, Caruthers was eventually able to shake off the native, which almost caused him to over balance and follow the native to the floor of the pit far below.

Meanwhile, more natives had ventured out onto the teetering columns. They too attempted to harass Caruthers by swatting at him with their spears. Fortunately, Caruthers only had a couple more stones to traverse before arriving on the far side in one piece. The natives weren't so lucky. It took them a great deal of time and a great many of the number lost to the chasm before a handful of them stood safely on the far side. Arriving himself on the far side of the trap, Caruthers had to dodge several arrows hastily directed his way as he regained his composure and identified the path forward.

While the natives were busy with the trap, Caruthers ran on ahead into the treasure room. Inside this massive cavern deep within the mountain stood the altar upon which had sat the Head of Sumara. Light beams, somehow directed through channels in the rock above, rained down upon a bag of sand which now sat precariously upon the altar. Caruthers had replaced the idol with the sand in case there was a trap, as there so often is. In this case, there was none.

Flicking his lighter back to life, Caruthers watched its flickering flame as he searched desperately for the location of the second exit from this room amongst the rock and scree piled against the walls. Finally, and with much perseverance, Caruthers found the spot, a small hole between the rocks that he widened by scraping out the smaller rocks with his hands. Unfortunately, he recognized that he had run out of time as he saw the first of the natives rush into the well lit room. Turning to face his pursuer, he prepared for a round of fisticuffs as the native advanced unarmed after making it alive past the last trap.

Caruthers was surprised to find that rather than raising his own fists in his defense, the native stood motionless with his hands at his side, apparently unaware of how to defend himself. "Well, this shouldn't take long," Caruthers thought with a smile as he bobbed and weaved his way closer to his adversary. And he was right; it didn't take long at all. Having gained an advantageous position, Caruthers jabbed twice at his opponents head before throwing him a massive roundhouse right. Unfortunately, the native simply raised an arm to fend off the jabs and ducked the right. He then leapt into the air, spun a full three-hundred-and-sixty degrees and drove the back of his foot squarely into Caruthers' solar-plexus sending him sprawling into a pile in the corner of the room.

Caruthers looked up from his degraded position to see his opponent advancing for the coup d'gras. There then came a sharp crack from overhead and before the telling blow was let loose, a stalactite, most likely loosened by the closing of the door to the tomb, fell from a great height directly onto the head of the wily native disarming him entirely.

Caruthers recognized a narrow escape when he saw one. Scrambling back across the floor of the cavern, he quickly started digging away at the small opening in the wall in an attempt to enlarge it. Just before the second native arrived, armed with a spear, he was able to clear an opening large enough for him to crawl through. And that is exactly what he did, shimmying through the narrow channel until it opened into a wider tunnel beyond. However, before he was able to pull his legs from the hole, he felt something sharp poking at his feet.

Finally freeing his legs from their confinement, he looked down to see that his boots had been cut open in several places by what could only have be the point of a spear. It was only the sight of his boots which told him that there was light in this portion of the tunnel. Looking straight up he saw that he had about a fifty meter climb to daylight. Before he could begin his ascent, he heard grunting and panting coming from the narrow portion of the tunnel below him. Looking down, he observed the head and face of a native appearing in the narrow opening. He picked up a nearby rock, or small boulder if you will, and dropped it from some considerable height onto the head poking its way through the hole. The eyes looking up at him displayed something similar to the exes that appear in the Sunday comics when a safe or piano falls on a character's head.

Assuming that he had successfully halted the advance of his pursuers, Caruthers took his time climbing the chimney hole in which he was now confined. After a good hour spent in an exhausting ascent, he surfaced on the face of a cliff with his arms and legs aching. Wiping sweat away from his brow, he peered down. His location of egress necessitated yet another hour's worth of climbing down to the floor of the jungle far below. By the time he made it down off the treacherous rock face, his arms and legs were screaming for some relief from the nonstop exertion. But relief was not to be had just yet.

Bent over with his hands on his thighs and gasping for air, Caruthers almost jumped out of his skin when he heard a banshee scream come from further up the hill. Turning to see what new horror he must face, he was not pleased to find that it was the same old horror in the form of a group of natives wielding bows and spears. Considering for a time simply lying down to die, he instead forced his legs to obey his command to send him sprinting down the hill in advance of the pursuing natives.

Caruthers was pleased to find that the going was easy at first. The slope of the hill provided for his forward momentum while all he had to do was peddle his legs to remain upright. However, after the first few hundred yards, the hill became steeper and he found that he needed to work harder to keep up with the momentum provided by the advancing slope. Still later, he found that he couldn't stop if he wanted to and was just barely able to keep his feet under him. It was at this point in his flight that two natives rolled passed on either side of him before they ran into trees with crushing blows to their bodies. Caruthers was the next to lose his footing and go tumbling end over end down the hillside. Fortunately, he didn't have far to go before the hill ended at the river. In this case, the hill ended in what could only be described as a ski jump, gently curling upward to point out into the middle of the river. Caruthers rolled over the jump moving at maximum speed.

While flying through the air, Caruthers considered whether his tumbling motion might not be the best form in which to hit the water. Trying to turn this motion into more of a swan dive, he only succeeded in converting his clean tumble into a chaotic display of legs and arms flying akimbo. Needless to say, he hit the water hard.

Popping his head back above water and gasping for breath, Caruthers looked frantically around for something onto which he could hold. He was thankful when he spotted an old log within easy grasp. At first holding onto it while he floated and caught his breath, he eventually hoisted himself up onto the log and straddled it with his legs. Looking down he then saw two eyes on the log pop open to consider him.

The size of the alligator on which Caruthers now sat was impressive. The animal's anger at being ridden by a man was even more impressive. The creature's first action upon waking and finding Caruthers on its back was to attempt to dislodge the unwanted cargo by spinning two complete revolutions under water before coming back upright for air. Fortunately, Caruthers had experience with rodeo riding otherwise he would surely have been dislodged from the alligators back to become its breakfast.

Thinking that he was being attacked by yet another creature, Caruthers was surprised to see Wendell, his trusty servant ride up beside him in their motor boat. Seeing his master atop a twenty-five foot alligator, Wendell was unsure what to do, so he simply motored nearby and waited for his master to command him.

"Throw me the tow line then step on it," Caruthers called.

Instantly recognizing what was needed, Wendell insured that the tow rope was secured to the boat and then threw it in the direction of his master. Unfortunately, his toss was short and the alligator ended up snapping its jaws shut on the end. Not waiting to see if his master had successfully snagged the line, Wendell obediently ran forward and taking the helm stepped on the accelerator sending the boat flying forward.

The jarring impact when the slack in the toe line was gone almost dislodged Caruthers from his precarious position. Fortunately, his rodeo training once more came to his rescue and by digging his heals into the sides of the alligator he was able to remain upright. The alligator must have been surprised when the boat began to pull it forward and even more surprised when their combined speed topped thirty miles per hour. In its agitation, it tried to dig its claws into the water and back up; however, this only succeeded in causing the alligator to hydroplane, thus increasing the speed at which it was traveling.

I'm not sure whether you've ever ridden upon a hydroplaning alligator going almost fifty miles per hour. If not, it's worth pointing out that the ride can be both terrifying and exhilarating. Caruthers, for one, wished that he had avoided the experience, but had to admit, at the very least, that he was making good progress in his flight away from the pursuing natives.

Sensing that the alligator was turning, Caruthers squinted into the spray and mist to see that they were headed for the beach and the jeep that they had left parked there. He also sensed that Wendell was not slowing down. Attempting to call to him to get his attention was no use. At the very last possible second, Wendell cut the power to the boat and the alligator road passed him head fast toward the beach.

Hitting the sandy beach, the alligator's legs and arms buckled turning it into a slick, streamline torpedo that road a groove in the sand past their wait jeep and deep into the trees beyond. Once the alligator stopped, Caruthers hopped off and stood at the ready waiting for the animal to attack. However, instead of attacking the alligator took one look at Caruthers, emitted a pained bleating sound, and scrambled back down the furrow it had warn to the safety of the waters beyond. Caruthers breathed a sigh of relief and headed back to the beach in search of Wendell.

When he made it back to the beach, Caruthers found Wendell hoisting their boat onto its trailer. Rather than giving him a hand, he merely shook his head in disgust and opened the driver's side door of the jeep to sit down and have a rest. As soon as Wendell had the boat secure, he climbed into the passenger seat of the jeep, woke Caruthers, and they were on their way.

Driving through the rain forest was relaxing, especially after the exhausting morning Caruthers had just spent. Soon, he began to whistle a happy tune and even cast a smile in Wendell's direction. By the time the troop truck tried to rear-end the jeep and send it skittering off the road into the woods, Caruthers wasn't paying much attention. In fact, it was only his lightning fast reflexes that saved them from certain injury or even death. Looking back in the rearview mirror, he saw two small red flags with white circles and black swastikas on them flying from each fender of the truck that had successfully snuck up from behind.

"Nazis! How did these guys get here?"

Raising his shoulders nearly high enough to touch his ears, Wendell displayed a huge shrug both signaling that he had no idea and reinforcing Caruthers' view of him as little more than a trained monkey. Continuing to watch the truck in the mirror, Caruthers was shocked when he saw to Nazi soldiers armed with machine pistols successfully jump from the front fender of the truck into the boat they were towing.

"Here, take over the driving from me," Caruthers ordered as he raised himself up in his seat and climbed into the back of the jeep. Although the handoff was jerky, Caruthers succeeded in making it into the backseat while Wendell kept the jeep moving. Sliding all the way to the back of the jeep, Caruthers reached as far over the tailgate as he could and released winch used to haul the boat onto the trailer.

Immediately, the cable holding the boat in place started to unwind sending the boat sliding off the trailer and onto the dirt road down which they drove. At the same time the jeep drove over a large bump in the road sending Caruthers flying into the air and landing on the nose of the boat.

Upon hitting the road, the boat immediately started to slalom making it difficult to remain aboard. Caruthers reached out his legs and arms in order to gain a purchase on either side of the boat thus pinning himself to the deck on its nose. The Nazis were stymied in their attempt to fire their machine pistols at Caruthers and the jeep, so they threw their weapons aside and crawled to the nose of the boat to engage Caruthers in hand-to-hand combat.

Meanwhile, the winch continued to play out rope allowing the boat to tip and slew ever further on its wild ride.

Join us next time for the exciting continuation of this epic story in which Carson Caruthers continues to battle Nazis, takes a dangerous plane ride, and falls in love with a beautiful woman in . . . THE TOMB.

© 2009 by Brian Jackson