Chapter 53
We approached the remote island, and JD circled for a recon pass.
There was nobody else out here.
It wasn't much more than a patch of dirt in the middle of the ocean. Maybe half a mile long and not quite as wide. There were plenty of trees and thick underbrush. White sand beaches, fallen trees, and squadrons of mosquitoes.
Jack ran the plastic boat ashore, and we hopped out with the gear.
"Lead the way," I said to Daphne.
Daphne marched up the beach to the tree line and stepped into the thick woods. She pushed through craggy branches, fallen leaves, and twigs crunching under her feet.
We followed her down the path through the dense underbrush, swatting at mosquitoes that buzzed about. It was hot and humid, and it didn't take long for a mist of sweat to coat my skin.
The full moon provided plenty of light, but I had given Daphne a flashlight. Her beam slashed the foggy air.
Crickets chirped, and the sounds of the night filled my ears. The forest was alive. I'm sure all kinds of creepy crawly things slithered around. The trick was not to get bitten.
Dappled rays of moonlight filtered through the canopy above. Wind rustled the leaves.
We reached a clearing, and the high grass swayed with the breeze. Daphne held up, and we scanned the area for threats.
"Where is it?" I asked.
"On the other side of the clearing by that tree," she said, pointing to a mahogany tree that towered 50 feet in the air. It was the tallest tree on the island, and unmistakable. A good landmark when burying something underground.
Daphne swatted at insects as we marched across the high grass to the mahogany tree.
"It's not too far down. Just a couple of feet," Daphne said when we reached the trunk.
I jammed the blade of a shovel into the ground and stomped on it. I knew I was in the right place. The dirt was soft and had been freshly excavated.
I scooped piles of dirt. It didn't take long before the tip of my blade hit something metallic. I tossed the shovel aside, knelt down, and clawed at the dirt with my fingers. Soon, I had unearthed a small lockbox with a dial combination.
"1111," Daphne said.
I lined the digits up like a slot machine. The lock released, and I lifted the lid on the box.
The dagger was wrapped in microfiber cloth. I pulled it out and revealed the blade.
It glimmered in the moonlight.
The dagger was unlike anything I had ever seen before.
It certainly had its own aura. It felt perfectly balanced in my hand.
The blade was about 9 inches with a blood gutter running down the center.
It had a silvery, almost iridescent, sheen.
The blade tapered, broadening at the center.
It was elegant with intricate details and fine carvings.
This was a functional weapon. Not overly ornate.
There were no jewels embedded in the hilt.
This was a blade meant for war. For killing.
It had an energy to it. Almost electric.
I spun it around, and it moved effortlessly.
I ran my thumb across the blade. It was sharp.
“Legend has it the dagger was a gift from the gods,” Daphne said.
“If you believe that kind of thing. The blade is supposedly made from an alloy derived from a meteorite and has a high nickel content with trace amounts of cobalt. As the story goes, it has a lust for blood. It is said the blade can drive one to madness.”
I gave her a skeptical look. Then again, people had been doing crazy things for this.
I had to admit, the blade had a hypnotic quality. I wondered how many lives it had taken.
The breeze blew through the high grass like whispers. With a little imagination, you could almost hear voices on the wind.
It was kind of spooky out here.
Muzzle flash lit up the night.
Bullets streaked across the meadow, snapping past my ears.
I pulled Daphne to the ground, and we scampered through the high grass for cover in the trees.
Dane and Brock must have followed us out here.