Free The Solomon Key by Shawn Hopkins Page A

places like this when he was a boy. It helped gain some kind of perspective in a world that seemed to have none. It was their little retreat center, their refuge from the harsher realities of the world.
    Edward closed his eyes, leaned his head back against the tree, and felt the cold breeze move over his face. He thought about Jack and his late wife, Naomi, who had died of cancer a number of years ago. He thought about their reunion one day — a day that would no doubt be sooner rather than later. But for now, when he opened his eyes, there was only the multicolored forest there facing him. No deceased loved ones welcoming him into Paradise. Just Vermont.
    He closed his eyes again.
     
    ****
     
    Edward nearly had a heart attack when a voice sounded behind him, startling him from sleep. Turning with the M4, he saw Scott standing only a few yards away.
    “Come on,” Scott repeated.
    “Must’ve dozed off…”
    Scott helped him to his feet. “Can you walk?”
    “Are you offering to carry me?” he smiled.
    “No.”
    “Then I guess I don’t have much of a choice.” Clenching the muscles in his jaw, he began walking, painfully stretching out his stiff leg. And then a sudden blast of wind roared through the treetops and caused them both to look up. The dark clouds were moving faster now. “It’s going to rain,” he muttered.
    Scott nodded. “Yep.”
    Twenty minutes later, and just in time, they reached the cave. Somewhere out there in the woods, they could hear the faint barking of dogs while helicopters beat the air above them.

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    E dward shifted his gaze away from the ceiling that was resting just two feet from his head and brushed some dirt off his jacket. Because the entranceway to the cave was nothing more than a small opening in the side of a hill, they practically had to crawl on their stomachs to reach the tiny expanse within it. He was sitting on a homemade chair that Scott had been gracious enough to offer, and it felt good to take the pressure off his wounded leg.
    Three well-placed candles sat repelling enough of the darkness to make clear their surroundings. He could see a table, made from four branches and a sliver of tree trunk, and a shelf holding some old bowls and silverware. There was a pile of dirt in the back of the cave, fifteen yards away. Scott was on his knees with a candle at his feet, digging with his bare hands.
    “How’s your leg?” he asked in a strained but controlled voice, throwing handfuls of dirt behind him.
    Edward leaned back in the chair. “It hurts.” Then he asked, “What are you doing?”
    “I hid my stuff back here.”
    So many questions came to Edward’s mind all at once that he decided to just pick one at random, figuring there wasn’t one more important than another. “How long did it take you to do this?”
    “The cave? A few years. Once I found it, I just had to dig it out and reinforce it.”
    “And you picked this spot so that you could disappear if you had to?”
    He stopped digging and wiped his brow with the back of his hand, this time willing to expound on his previous explanation. “Anyone ever came looking for me, or if I ever needed to run, the park was right at the end of the street, Ball Mountain just a little northwest.” Then he looked up at Edward, the shifting candlelight creating a myriad of shadows concealing his face one second while revealing it the next. “I could survive in the woods forever.”
    Edward shook his head, his eyes narrowing. “After a while the isolation would get to you, drive you crazy. Probably start thinking about putting a bullet in your own head.”
    Scott shrugged. “Then I’ve got New York to the west, Massachusetts to the South, Quebec north. If I wanted to join in the action, go out fighting, I could find my way there too.”
    Edward lapsed back into silence and watched Scott continue to dig. It was clear that he knew what he was doing, some kind of preconceived game plan unfolding. Edward would want to