Pompeii's Ghosts (A James Acton Thriller, #9) (18 page)

“What do
you make of it?” she asked. “It almost seems like soot.”

“And
look, below the surface is fresh wood.”

Laura
and Acton both looked at each other at the same time, smiles and eyes wide.
“Like it was burned!” they cried in unison.

“What
have you kids found?” asked Niner who was within earshot.

Acton
held up the piece of wood. “It looks like the entire outer hull was exposed to
severe heat, but just for a few seconds, perhaps tens of seconds, that scorched
the surface, but didn’t ignite the wood.”

“Ancient
Roman nuclear blast?” asked Niner with a smile as he took the piece of wood and
examined it.

“Nope.
Volcanic eruption? Definite maybe.”

“Wouldn’t
that torch the whole boat though?”

“Not
necessarily,” replied Laura. “A study of Pompeii leads scientists to believe
that a superheated blast of air engulfed the entire area then when the oxygen
was consumed, rushed back. It killed anything that was alive out to more than
ten kilometers, but the farther out, the lower the temperature, to the point
where if you were far enough, wood wouldn’t ignite.”

Niner
handed the piece of wood back. “Fahrenheit 451?”

Acton
took it, returning it to the table. “Exactly. The boat was probably far enough
out to only get scorched. The crew would have been killed, but the boat would
have survived, and the scorching it received would have actually helped seal
the wood, preserving it for all these years.”

“So it
looks like your theory is right, Doc. Congrats!”

“Thanks.”
Acton sighed, turning to face the wreck. “It’s just too bad this won’t get
properly excavated. There’s so much history here.”

“Well,
you’ve got twelve hours. Would an extra pair of hands help?”

“Make
that two extra pairs,” said Dawson as he approached. “They won’t give me a gun,
so I have to do something with my hands,” he said with a smile as he wiggled
his fingers.

Acton
looked at Laura. “What do you think?”

She
shrugged. “A quick and dirty excavation is better than none at all. This site
will be looted the moment the troops leave.”

Acton’s
lips pursed. “You’re right. Let’s do it!”

Acton
was fairly certain the interior of the boat was empty, it having been raked
clean to find every last gold bar, so the order of the day was to remove the
sand from around the vessel so they could gain access to the deck. Rakes and
shovels were commandeered and the four of them were soon attacking the mounds
of sand, the others who remained beginning to gather around and watch them,
then eventually joining in. Within half an hour almost two dozen of the UN
personnel and others gathered were working in teams, removing the dirt under
the supervision of the two experience archeologists.

It took
hours of backbreaking work before a triumphant shout was heard from the female
Chinese observer Acton had learned was named Lee Fang. “I think I found the
deck!”

Acton
and Laura both scrambled up the slope to the left of the boat and carefully
approached her position. The shape of the exposed vessel indicated it was
resting partially on its side, at about a forty-five degree angle, and the flat
area now exposed by Lee’s efforts seemed to suggest she had indeed found the
deck.

“Excellent
work!” cried Laura as she examined the decking. “It seems solid, but we’ll have
to be careful.” She pointed to the embankment where the unexposed side of the
boat was still buried. “I suggest we start moving the dirt from there. It will
reduce the weight on the deck and hopefully reduce the risk of it collapsing.
But be careful. Listen for any sounds of wood creaking or cracking. If you hear
anything, stop what you’re doing and yell ‘Halt!’ so we can listen. If you feel
it shifting, get your butts out of there. The safest bet is to the left or
right rather than over the top.”

“Agreed,”
said Acton. He looked at his watch. “And though time is of the essence,
remember that this is where you’re probably going to start finding things, so
if you feel something under your rake or shovel, call one of us over, okay?”

There
were nods of agreement then Lee sunk her shovel back into the sand, the
eagerness on her face reminding Acton of one of his students discovering the
thrill that was archeology. In fact, the expressions on everyone’s face had his
stomach fluttering with a renewed faith in the human spirit as strangers toiled
together in a thankless pursuit, dozens of people from around the world,
friends and enemies, working toward the common goal of preserving a piece of
history that until six weeks ago, the world had no idea existed.

It was a
feeling he wouldn’t trade for the world.

“I found
something!” yelled Reese who had joined in only recently. She was jumping up
and down, pointing at something and as Acton approached, he could see why she
was excited.

A
skeletal hand hung over the edge of the deck rail, the arm and possibly the
rest of the body still buried.

Reese
was still jumping up and down when Acton felt everything shift.

“Freeze!”
he yelled.

A look
of horror spread across Reese’s face as she landed one last time on the sand
she had forgotten was sitting atop an empty hold of an ancient ship built with
wood cut two thousand years ago.

Everyone
stopped what they were doing and Acton could hear a creaking sound coming from
underneath. He looked about and saw about a dozen people in immediate danger.
Four were near the edge of the embankment with the most risk of being buried
under several tons of sand should everything collapse. He pointed at them. “You
four, very carefully, climb down over there,” he said, pointing to the left where
they’d be able to escape down the side.

Another
creak and this time he heard a slight snap.

He
turned his attention to the other six still on the surface of the deck, one of
whom was Laura. “You six, one at a time, head to the edge then down the slope.
If you hear me yell, you all run as fast as you can and don’t look back.”

There
were nervous nods as the first, the male Chinese observer, ever so gently
stepped to the edge then slid down the slope, the rest slowly following, Laura
taking up the rear.

Another
creak and a definite snap.

Reese
yelped, the confident woman Acton had seen for the past two days replaced by
someone terrified at their current predicament. He found it slightly ironic
that under heavy gunfire she had seemed calm and in command, but here, in the
midst of the unknown, where she was out of her element, basic instinct had
taken over and he could tell she was fighting the urge to flee.

He
reached out to her, trying not to shift his bodyweight any more than necessary.
“Take my hand,” he said, calmly, trying to quiet her nerves. She reached out
and he felt a sweaty palm as he closed his hand around hers. “I’ve got you.”
His voice was as reassuring as he could make it, his own heart slamming into
his chest as creaks and groans from the boat began to echo all around them.
“Now turn to face the rear of the boat, the left side of the embankment.”

Reese
nodded, slowly turning, her left hand grabbing his hand as soon as it could,
for a few moments both gripping him tightly.

“James,
it’s collapsing!”

His head
darted to look to where Laura’s voice had come from and he found her pointing
at the embankment. As if on a pivot his head swung and he saw the entire side
beginning to ripple down toward the deck as the structure shifted below them
again.

If
only we had had the proper bracing available.

It had
been a gamble, and it had initially paid off, but now, as he grabbed Reese by
the hand and yanked her hard, dragging her toward the edge, he realized they
had made a big mistake. His legs pumped against the wood and then the sand as
the entire deck began to give way, the jumping up and down of one excited
amateur finally triggering the end-of-life for this ancient marine vessel.

He felt
the deck give way completely and he hurled Reese with all his might toward the
edge, letting go of her hand as he dropped. His feet hit something hard and he
allowed his knees to flex then he pushed upward, springing toward the daylight
and the beach as darkness rushed toward him. His acrobatics however failed, and
he found himself hitting the ground hard, a piece of wood digging into his side
as sand quickly began to bury him.

Scrambling
on his knees and elbows, he struggled forward then saw the faces of Dawson and
Niner as they rushed in, Dawson leaping forward, grabbing Acton by both wrists,
his grip viselike. As the dirt enveloped him, he saw Niner grab Dawson’s legs,
then nothing as he took one final gasp of oxygen before he was completely
buried.

His eyes
were squeezed shut, his lips pressed tightly together, his lungs screaming for
air as hundreds of pounds of dirt crushed him, the pressure increasing as more
of the embankment slid down to entomb what it had once hid.

But the
grip on his wrists never wavered.

He
realized Dawson’s head would only be inches from his own and that he too must
be buried, but he felt a tug and he tightened his grip even more.

Another
tug and this time he felt his body stretch out.

And
another, this time he swore he moved forward, albeit an inch if he were lucky.

Another
inch.

A few
more.

His lungs
were screaming for relief now and he could see spots dancing on the back of his
eyelids. He focused on the grip. It never wavered, it never relaxed, and with
each tug he could feel himself inching toward rescue.

Suddenly
he felt himself surge forward, his chest ripping across something hard,
probably wood, and he cried out in pain, the last of his air erupting from his
mouth, and just as he was about to suck in the surrounding dirt, he felt the
coolness of fresh air, his eyelids suddenly bright.

He
gasped, fresh oxygen flooding his system, mixed with a healthy dose of dirt
causing him to cough as his rescuers continued to pull him out. His eyes were
still closed and he felt someone haul him to his feet as he continued to cough.
Water poured over his face and he reached out for the source, feeling a plastic
bottle shoved in his hand.

“Drink,”
he heard Laura say, her voice wavering slightly with emotion. He said nothing,
instead taking a large swig, swishing it around his mouth then spitting it out.

“Hey!”
came Niner’s voice from below him. Acton wiped his face with his hand then
opened his eyes to find Niner lying on his back, gasping for air, a large wet
spot on his black Immortal Freedom Fighter t-shirt, its single stylized word,
Immortal, somehow perfectly suiting the Delta operator. To Niner’s left was
Dawson, on his knees, being attended to by the Chinese observers.

“Reese?”
gasped Acton, the words caught in his throat as he wretched out a clump of
sand, his airway finally completely cleared.

“She’s
okay,” said Laura, her hands brushing off the dirt. “Oh my God, you’re
bleeding!”

Acton
looked down and could see his shirt was ripped open, blood pouring down his
chest. It looked worse than it felt, and for a moment he thought he might be in
shock, then he realized what must be happening. He poured the rest of the water
over his chest, washing away most of the blood, leaving a few minor cuts and a
bad bit of “hull rash” that would leave a mark for a while.

“I think
I’ll live,” he said, his voice still hoarse. He saw Reese quickly walking
toward him, a look of relief on her face, she appearing none the worse for
wear.

“Are you
okay?” she asked.

He
nodded. “You?”

She
rolled her shoulder, wincing. “Other than almost dislocating my shoulder when
you threw me over the edge, I’m fine. If it weren’t for you, I’d probably be
dead right now.”

“Think
nothing of it.”

He
turned toward the wreckage and sighed, his heart sinking as he realized their
work had just quadrupled, and they had no time left. Suddenly his eyes opened
wide and he pointed.

“Look!”

Everyone
turned to see where he was pointing.

At the
foot of the pile of dirt sat half a dozen partially buried skeletons, still in
uniform, the embankment having given up its secrets at last, as if wanting to
return its guests to their home, so far away.

Near Market Road, Pompeii, Roman Empire
August 25
^th
, 79 AD

Avita lay on her back, gasping, as Flora used a broom she had found
to sweep the ash out of the doorway, closing it triumphantly with a bang and a
smile. It did help muffle the terror on the other side somewhat, and for a
moment Avita allowed herself to relax, closing her eyes and concentrating on
her breathing. A wind howled outside, blowing the ash about through the small
cracks in the reasonably well-built house, when suddenly the stench of rotting
eggs filled her nostrils, causing her to gag. An old story once told by Plinius
had her jumping to her feet and grabbing the blankets. She stuffed one under
the door, using the others to block the shutters that covered the one window in
their refuge.