Tom Pawlik - Beckon

They hurried back the way they had come. Through the wooden door and up the stairs. George was puffing hard as they climbed the stairs, but now Miriam pulled him onward, her new youthful stamina driving her.

“What is this place?” she was saying between breaths. “Why would they have these people locked up?”

“I don’t know,” George wheezed. “I saw her… yesterday…. Carson took her away like a… prisoner.”

“What?” Miriam turned on the stairs and glared at him. “You saw her? You knew about this place and you didn’t tell me?”

“I didn’t know about this place,” George said. “And I didn’t know… who she was. I just… didn’t want to upset you until I found out what was… going on.”

Miriam started back up the stairs. “We have to call the state patrol or something.”

“I tried, but the only landline is in Vale’s office, and you need a pass code to dial out.” George pulled Miriam’s arm and she turned around. “Look, if Vale thinks we’re going to cause trouble, he’ll have us both killed.”

“How could you get mixed up with these people?”

“I was desperate!” George hissed in a hushed tone. “I would’ve done anything to save you. You have no idea what it was like living with you like that. All our money, and I couldn’t even…” He could feel his emotions swelling up and choked off his words. In fifty years of marriage, he’d never cried in front of Miriam; he wasn’t about to start now.

She hugged him. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I don’t blame you. But we have to get out of here. We can’t stay here any longer.”

“We can’t leave.”

“George.” Miriam looked him in the eyes. “I don’t care what happens to me. I am not going to let you become Vale’s slave for me. I won’t let you live in that kind of fear.”

“I can figure out a way to get rid of him. I’m not afraid of him.”

“And I’m not afraid of death.”

They continued on to the top of the stairs. George pulled open the hidden door to the storage room. They both clambered through into the room and stopped in their tracks.

Thomas Vale stood in the open doorway. Frank Carson and Henry Mulch stood behind him in the basement corridor, arms folded.

Vale sighed and shook his head, a look of disappointment on his face. “I suppose it’s too much to hope that you were just out for a morning stroll.”

Twelve hours later

It was going on eight o’clock in the evening and Jack was huddled in the back of the rust-colored pickup as it wound its way up a gravel road through looming pines to the top of a craggy bluff.

His clothes were torn and muddy from his ordeal in the caves. The gash in his leg was bandaged and his hands were cuffed behind his back. And the sheriff they had called Carson—who Jack now knew was no real sheriff at all—sat beside him with a gun in his hand pointed at Jack’s chest. Malcolm Browne, the guy who had first picked Jack up on the highway, was driving. And the doctor named Henderson, who had bandaged Jack’s leg, was sitting beside Browne in the cab.

They continued up the wooded hillside until the road leveled off and the trees parted to reveal the enormous log-beam mansion perched near the top of the bluff. It was quite impressive—a place that normally he’d like to spend a week in. Though considering his current circumstances, Jack could only feel a sense of great peril waiting for him inside.

Carson yanked him out of the truck and ushered him up the gravel drive through the main entrance. He escorted Jack across the foyer into an expansive central hall.

A man stood with his back to a wide bank of windows. He was lean and quite pale with a thick mass of black hair and very light-green—nearly yellow—eyes that gave his appearance a disturbing, vampirish feel.

He strode across the room somewhat casually, as if to give Jack a closer look. “Welcome to Beckon. My name is Thomas Vale. They tell me your name is Kendrick. Is that right? Jack Kendrick?”

Jack looked around at the others. “Do I know you?”

“No,” Vale said simply. “They also say you’ve been inside the caves.”

Jack could see where this was going. He suddenly realized that the less he knew, the safer he might be. “Uh… no. I haven’t been in any cave. I’ve just been out hiking—”

Vale waved off his attempt at a lie. “Because you may just be the only person to have ever made it out of there alive.” He circled Jack as if inspecting him. “I can’t tell you how fascinating that is. I have a million questions.”

“So do I.”

“They tell me you’re some sort of anthropologist, yes?”

Jack shook his head. “I’m not answering any questions until I get a phone. I want to call—”

“Call who? The authorities?” Vale gave an icy chuckle. “Jack, in this town I am the authority.”

“What’s going on here? Who are you people?”

Vale ignored him. “It’s pretty impressive, really. I mean… finding a way into those caves was unlikely enough. But actually finding your way out again… well, that was just extraordinary. You have no idea how lucky you are.”

“Funny, I don’t feel very lucky at the moment.”

“Oh, but you are,” Vale said. “You see, the N’watu hate outsiders with a passion. And for you to have survived your encounter is nothing short of amazing.”

Jack leaned forward. “What do you know about them?”

Vale scratched the back of his neck. “Not nearly enough, I’m afraid. Though probably more than anyone else.”

“Who are they?”

“The last remnant of a pre-Columbian civilization that predates the Mayans. Probably even the Olmec.”

Jack frowned. His father’s theories continued to be validated—a fact that both thrilled and frightened him as he feared he would never escape to share the discovery with anyone else. There was something obviously sinister going on in this town, and Jack wondered if his father had stumbled across this place and perhaps been kidnapped as well. In either case, he needed more information. He needed to find out what this guy knew about the N’watu.

“And they still exist today, living entirely underground?”

“Yes…” Vale looked almost giddy, like a parent talking about his child. “The truly incredible thing is that their culture has survived essentially intact for thousands of years, completely undetected by the modern world.” He paused, and his expression grew somber. “Of course, my intention is to keep it that way.”

“Why?”

“Why?” Vale looked incredulous. “You’re an anthropologist, aren’t you? To preserve their culture. To protect them from the invasive scrutiny of modern society.”

Jack scowled. “But science is all about scrutiny. It’s about exploration and discovery.”

Vale clucked his tongue and shook his head. “Perhaps some things weren’t meant to be discovered. I’d have thought you would understand the consequences to their way of life if news of their existence ever got out.”

“Way of life? What kind of a life do these people have? They’re living inside a cave at a Stone Age level of existence.”

“This culture has evolved in a completely isolated subterranean environment. The N’watu live their entire lives underground. And yet somehow they’ve managed to survive. Think about how remarkable that is.”

“I guess I just don’t share your enthusiasm,” Jack said. “Besides, I think they’ve had more contact with the outside world than you’re leading me to believe.”