James Rollins - THE DEVIL COLONY

"Icy?" Kowalski asked, wiping his brow. He'd already soaked through his shirt as the day had grown hot, and the trail offered little shade.

"Water seeps through the porous volcanic rock into the tubes," Nancy explained. "Freezes during winter, but the natural insulation and lack of air circulation in the narrow tubes keeps the ice from melting. But just so you know, those tubes were mapped both on foot and by radar. There's nothing but ice down there." She began to turn away, ready to head back to the parking lot. "If you're done wasting my time..."

Hank raised a hand, stopping her, but his dog tugged him to the side of the trail. Nancy had insisted that the professor use a leash inside the park, and Kawtch was clearly not happy about it-especially now that they'd stopped. The dog sniffed the air, apparently still looking for that wild hare.

"We're pursuing an alternate hypothesis regarding the disappearance of the Anasazi," Hank said. "We have a lead that the volcanic eruption here might be the cause of-"

She sighed, fixing Hank with a hard stare. "Dr. Kanosh, I know your reputation, so I was willing to give you the benefit of the doubt, but I've heard every crackpot theory about the Anasazi. Climate change, war, plague, even alien abduction. Yes, there were Anasazi who lived here, both the Winslow Anasazi and the Kayenta Anasazi, but there were also Sinagua, Cohonina, and other tribes of the ancient Pueblo people. What's your point?"

Hank stood up to her disdain. As an Indian who practiced Mormonism, he was no doubt well accustomed to dealing with ridicule. "Yes, I know that, young lady." His voice took a professorial tone, practically browbeating the young woman. "I'm well versed in the history of our people. So don't dismiss what I'm saying as some peyote-fueled fantasy. The Anasazi did vanish from this region suddenly and swiftly. Their homes were never reoccupied, as if people feared moving into them. Something happened to that tribe-starting here and spreading outward-and we may be on the trail of an answer that could change history."

Painter let this little war play out. Nancy's face flushed-but he suspected it was more from shame than from anger. Painter had been raised enough of an Indian to know it was rude to talk harshly to an elder, even one from a different tribe or clan.

She finally shrugged. "I'm sorry. I don't see how I can help you. If you're looking for more information on the Anasazi, maybe you shouldn't be looking here but over at Wupatki."

"Wupatki?" Painter asked. "Where's that?"

"About eighteen miles north of here. It's a neighboring national park."

Hank elaborated. "Wupatki is an elaborate series of pueblo ruins and monuments, spread over thousands of acres. The main attraction is a three-story structure with more than a hundred rooms. The park is named after that place. Wupatki is the Hopi word for 'tall house.' "

Nancy added, "We Navajo still call it Anaasazi Bikin ."

Hank translated, glancing significantly at Painter. "That means 'House of the Enemies.' Archaeologists believe it was one of the last Anasazi strongholds before they vanished out of the region."

Painter stared up at the brilliant cinder cone. According to the tale told by Jordan's grandfather, the birth of this volcano was the result of a theft by a clan of the Anasazi, a mishandling of a treasure not unlike what had recently happened up in the Utah Rockies. He eyed the massive cone. Had a great settlement once stood here? Had it been destroyed, buried under ash and lava? And what about the survivors? Had they been hunted down and slaughtered? Painter remembered Hank's one-word description.

Genocide.

Maybe they were looking in the wrong place.

Painter reached into his shirt pocket and removed the slip of paper that Jordan Appawora had given to him. The kid's grandfather had said it would guide them to where they needed to go. He unfolded it and showed the pair of symbols to the park ranger.

"These markings may be tied to what we came seeking. Have you ever seen them?"

She leaned over, doubt fixed on her face. But as she studied the sketch of a crescent moon and five-pointed star, her eyes got huge. She glanced up to him.

"Yes," she said. "I know these symbols. I know exactly where you can find them."

12:23 P.M.

San Rafael Swell

Kai raced after Jordan through Buckhorn Wash. He rode a black four-wheel all-terrain vehicle while she pursued him in a white one. She kept low, swerving right and left, looking for a break so she could pass him, eating too much of his dust. The screaming whine of the two engines echoed off the cliffs to either side as they sped along the bottom of the wash, following an old off-road trail.

The Swell's two thousand square miles of public land had little restrictions against ATV use. Over the years, enthusiasts had carved hundreds of miles of trails that crisscrossed the region. A part of Kai railed against such abuse of the land, especially as a Native American.

But she was also young, needing an escape.

After sending her e-mail to John Hawkes, she had repeatedly checked for a response. A half hour later, still with no answer, she could no longer sit by herself in a dark room. She had to get out, clear her head. She found Jordan still sitting on the porch. With a conspiratorial glint in his eye, he showed her what he had discovered in a shed behind one of the pueblos. Iris and Alvin had reluctantly handed over the keys to the ATVs, with firm instructions to stick to the flat dirt roads.

They had- for about twenty minutes, until both felt capable enough for more of a challenge.

Ahead of her, Jordan whooped as he wheeled around a sharp turn in the wash, skittering a bit in the loose talus. Coming out of the curve, he fishtailed his bike. Kai grinned madly, hunkered down, and hit her throttle. She shot past him as he foundered, close enough to give him the finger.

He laughed and hollered at her back. "This ain't over!"

She smiled and raced along the trail, bumping over smaller rocks, going airborne across a small dip. She landed on all four tires, jarring her teeth. Still, the grin never left her face.

At last the wash petered out, and the mountain trail joined the dirt road again. She braked, sliding to a stop.

A second later, Jordan joined her, expertly skidding sideways to come to rest beside her. That bit of fancy maneuvering made her wonder if he'd been coddling her during the race.

Still, when he tugged off his helmet and goggles, the pure joy and exhilaration that she saw in his eyes mirrored her own. With half his face pasted with road dust, he looked like a raccoon.

She imagined that she looked no better.

He reached to his water bottle and upended it over his head, washing the worst away, then took a long drink. She watched his Adam's apple bobbing up and down as he swallowed. With a shake of his hair, he smiled at her, making the hot day just that much warmer.

"How about two out of three?" he asked, nodding toward another trail.

She laughed and had to turn away a bit shyly.

Still, it felt so good.

"Maybe we should be heading back," she said, and pulled out her cell phone to check the time. "We've been out two hours."

She hadn't realized how long it had been. Time had passed swiftly as the pair raced through the Swell, stopping every now and again to check out some set of petroglyphs or to poke their heads in one of the old mines that pocked the canyons.

Jordan looked a little crestfallen but agreed. "I suppose you're right. If we're gone much longer, Iris and Alvin will be sending out a search party. Besides, I could use some lunch... that is, as long as it's not more of those roasted pi on nuts."

"Toovuts," she reminded him.