Free The Castle on Deadman's Island by Curtis Parkinson Page B

hope of rescue. Part of the label was still visible:
anada’s Best Rye Whi –
    â€œA remnant of Prohibition days,” Graham said.
    They pressed on, slipping and slithering as the passageway began to slope steeply downwards. Water appeared on the floor, first as puddles, then enough to soak their running shoes. “We must be getting near the cave entrance,” Graham said.
    Soon they were splashing through several inches of water, where they kept finding debris. A soggy package of Player’s Navy Cut Cigarettes, with the familiar picture of a sailor and a life preserver, the wrapping from a Rowntree’s five-cent chocolate bar, a waterlogged boat cushion. “Not much point going any farther,” Neil said. “It’s just going to keep getting deeper.”
    â€œI guess,” Graham said. “Crescent heard Charlie say the cave itself is underwater now, so the far end of the tunnel will be underwater too. Let’s just see what’s around the next bend.”
    They splashed their way there. Ahead was deeper water, but also a glimmer of greenish light. “The opening to the cave, I bet,” Graham said. “Okay, I’m satisfied. We’ve seen all we can. This flashlight’s getting dim, anyway. Batteries are going.”
    By the time they arrived back at the steps, the flashlight beam had faded away completely, but they didn’t need it to know that the trapdoor was still closed. They shouted for Daniel and waited, listening for the whir of the gears that would tell them he was opening the trapdoor.
    â€œI guess he doesn’t hear us,” Neil said, after a few minutes.
    â€œHe’ll be opening it soon anyway to check on us,” Graham replied confidently. “Every ten minutes or so, we agreed. Nothing to do but wait.”
    They sat in the dark on the bottom step.
    â€œWish I had a watch,” Neil said, a bit later. “It must be all of ten minutes.” He kept looking up the steps, though he couldn’t see a thing in the absolute darkness. He couldn’t even see Graham, who was sittingright beside him. He only knew Graham was there by his rasping, asthmatic breathing in the damp air.
    They shouted again, both together at the top of their lungs: “DANIEL!”
    No response.
    â€œHe’s fallen asleep, I’ll bet,” Graham said.
    Neil felt a twinge of panic surface. He pushed it away and tried not to think about what had happened to the skeleton at the top of the stairs.

TWENTY
_
    Eventually, Neil and Graham had to admit that something had gone terribly wrong.
    It was so silent, Neil could hear the cracking of Graham’s knee joints as he stood up. He felt an urge to reach out and touch him, but he didn’t.
    â€œMaybe there’s a problem with the mechanism,” Graham said. “I’ll see what I can do.” He gave a forced laugh. “Funny how I use that expression out of habit, even though it’s completely inappropriate here.”
    â€œHuh,
what expression?”
    â€œâ€˜I’ll
see
what I can do.’ Why did I say that when Ican’t actually
see
a darn thing? It’s an example of habit that leads one to …”
    He’s babbling, Neil thought, realizing his friend wasn’t as unperturbed as he let on. The thought didn’t help his own feeling of panic, which bubbled to the surface again.
    A few minutes later, Graham’s voice floated down from the top of the stairs. “The mechanism feels normal, far as I can tell. No bent rods, or anything like that.” He shouted several more times for Daniel, but his voice grew hoarse and he gave up.
    We’re trapped, Neil thought. Just like the boy up there was. Something’s happened to Daniel and no one else knows we’re here … no one even knows where the trapdoor is, or how to operate it. We’ll end up skeletons too, lying on the steps. Three skeletons in a row.
    Later, he sensed that Graham