Page 38 of Fighting for Mallory

No! I can’t pass out! Luca is counting on me to be strong. To stay alive until he comes for me. This is a panic attack. I’ve seen it happen dozens of times with clients. I can handle this.

“Stop! I’m going to be sick!” Mallory dropped to the rough surface of the shelf as it grew narrower and angled downward.

Her abrupt action almost sent the men tumbling over the side, and they let out frightened curses. She lowered her head between her knees and forced herself to breathe in through her nose and out through her mouth. She focused on wide open spaces where the ocean met the sky, meadows blooming with flowers, and fields of grain blowing in the wind. She pictured Luca standing on one of the rock formations of Laguna Beach with the waves splashing up behind him, shirt open, sunglasses on, and looking so sexy that she lost track of her breathing!

“Get up! What are you doing?” the lead abductor demanded.

“I told you I’m sick. I can’t catch my breath. Believe me, if I pass out, you’ll be going over the ledge with me.”

He glared at her and remained silent, considering his options. Muttering something unintelligible, he untethered himself from her but didn’t untie her wrists. Too bad. Mallory hoped he would so she could rush him and knock him off the ledge. Then, she’d execute a roundhouse kick and catch the other man off guard. Escaping would be easy before they went too much farther underground.

She could still attack but ran the risk of falling to her death. No, it was best to try to leave a trail by ripping her shirt on the sharp edges of rock and hope some fabric was left behind.

They traveled farther into the elaborate cave system, making their way deeper underground. Mallory lost track of time as a strange disorientation came over her. The sameness of the environment; the carved, sloping walls and ceilings of the many tunnels; and the lack of oxygen affected her ability to think. Dehydration also took its toll on her. Her legs were cramping. These men didn’t carry any supplies with them other than the matches they kept in their jacket pockets. When their torches died out, they relit them. They must be used to these caves if they didn’t bring any water bottles with them. And maybe they didn’t have much farther to go.

Mallory was watching her feet when a flock of bats swooped toward them. She screamed as the mammals flew around her head, nipping at her, and tried to fight them off. If they hadn’t been at the bottom of the cave by this time, she would have tumbled over the side of the ledge to her death. Her abductors laughed at her.

“Untie me!” she yelled. “I’m not going anywhere!”

“I will,” the lead man agreed. “As long as you do not attack me like the bats!” He imitated Mallory swatting at them.

His companion warned him not to untie her, and Mallory shot him a scathing glance. “I’m not going anywhere,” she repeated.

When she was loose from her restraints, she took a swing at the man closest to her and missed. He laughed at her. “Come. We only have a few hundred feet to go.”

These men in their early twenties, she surmised, showed signs of humanity lacking in the others who’d attacked the prison transport van, ages ago it now seemed. They laughed. Not maniacally, but with a genuine easiness. If they were to be her guards, she might be able to play upon their sympathy. In the past she’d been able to manipulate the most hardened jury to see things from her perspective. Mallory could use those skills to her advantage to escape.

When they emerged from a tunnel into a cavern roughly the size of a cathedral, Mallory marveled at the site she beheld. A river of fire illuminated a bronze, life-size statue of Osiris standing on a white marble block. His body, draped in a cape, was ill-defined, but he held a shepherd’s crook and a flail in his hands that protruded from beneath the cape. Twisted snake-like shapes that were probably horns stuck out from the headdress, which wasn’t the striped nemes most often seen in photos of pharaohs. Down the front of the headdress was another snake-like shape that appeared to evolve into ram’s horns. Osiris’ eyes were closed, and creases lined his forehead. From his chin hung a stone and metal false beard, resembling a goatee. Pharaohs wore these pieces to signify their divinity. This statue of Osiris resembled one at the Metropolitan Museum of Art that Mallory and Luca had seen during their research.

How in the world did this snake cult manage to get a replica of Osiris down into this cavern? Or was the statue a rare find that they stole from a museum or from an Egyptian tomb? Objects of pure gold, gifts to the god, glowed brilliantly in the firelight. An ominous altar stone with a broad base that curved inward to hold the top piece stained with dried blood reminded Mallory of what occurred here. Sacrifices to a mythical god.

Scenes from Mallory’s favorite mummy movies starring Brendan Fraser leaped into her head. Like the heroine from those movies, she was depending on the man she loved to save her.

The cult must spend time down here in their shrine to Osiris, because in contrast to the elements of ancient Egypt, evidence of modern living littered the area. Sleeping bags and blankets lay on the ground farthest away from the statue. Empty crates turned upside down served as makeshift tables and chairs. Along the left side of the cavern sat a pallet of bottled water.

Oh, thank God. She headed straight toward the water until the man who led her here grabbed her arm.

“No.”

She yanked her arm out of his grasp. “Yes. Unless you want a dead woman as a sacrifice. I’m dehydrated and need water.”

He looked at his companion who shrugged his consent. “Okay. You can have water.”

Mallory grabbed a bottle of water and gulped half of it. It settled hard on her empty stomach, and bile rose in her throat. She swallowed it and sank to the hard, dusty floor of the cavern.

“Got anything to eat?”

They gazed blankly at each other. The shorter one answered, “We have not been given permission.”

Mallory mentally rolled her eyes. “What’s your name?”

“Why does it matter?”

“It matters to me because without it you don’t have an identity. You’re just Neheb’s tool.” Her eyes narrowed. “Or maybe Dr. Samir’s lackey.”

His dark eyes flashed with anger. “What do you mean by those words? ‘Tool?’ ‘Lackey?’”

“It means Neheb and Dr. Samir are using you to advance their own sick agenda. You’ve been brainwashed into believing that weighing the human heart, finding balance between good and evil, can be practiced in modern society. It can’t. When you’re caught, you and the rest of the cult will be weighed and judged by man’s court of law, and you will be punished.” Mallory paused and watched his face to gauge his reaction. His expression grew stiff and even angrier. “And if you succeed in sacrificing me, no ancient god like Osiris is going to save you. You’ll go to prison like Mercado and Tino. You do know what happened to them, don’t you?”

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