James Rollins - Excavation

Soon the channel straightened, and the current grew swift and smooth. Maggie risked opening her eyes. The flashlight still glowed under the water, illuminating Sam’s face. His blond hair, normally plastered under his Stetson, wove like fine kelp across his face. His eyes met hers. She drew strength from his solid gaze. He pulled her tighter to him. She didn’t resist.

The current dragged them swiftly away, tumbling them to and fro. Maggie’s lungs cried for air. Unable to hold out any longer, she wiggled slightly from Sam’s grasp and pushed toward the surface. She would only risk a quick breath.

As her head popped from the water, she gulped air into her frozen lungs. She was ready to duck back down, when she noticed two things – the air had cleared of the burning sting and just ahead a small purplish glow lit the left bank.

Sam surfaced beside her with a whoosh of expelled air.

Maggie lifted her flashlight and pointed. “There!”

Sam twisted around. As they neared the site, Maggie spotted Norman helping Ralph from the water. The huge football player crawled on hands and knees. Atop the bank, Denal was limned in the eerie light of the Wood’s lamp. His teeth shone a whitish purple as he waved the lamp overhead, signaling to them.

Together, Maggie and Sam kicked toward the shore, but they didn’t have to struggle far. The channel curved with a deep natural eddy at the bend. The current tossed Maggie and Sam into the sluggish pocket. With limbs deadened by cold and clothes waterlogged, it was an effort to climb from the water. Like Ralph, Maggie found herself crawling onto the bank and collapsing on her back.

Sam threw himself across the rock beside her, tossing his Winchester up higher on the stony bank. “So much for keeping the guns dry.”

Norman stepped beside Maggie. His teeth chattered as he spoke. “Y… you both need to keep moving. And… and get out of those wet clothes.” He tugged off his own soaked shirt.

Maggie noticed Denal had already stripped to his skivvies, and Ralph was slowly kicking off his clinging pants.

“We’re not out of danger yet,” Norman continued. “That water was near freezing. We’ll die unless we can get dry and warm.”

Maggie found her limbs beginning to tremble. Sam glanced at her. “It’s j… just the cold,” she said, knowing what he was thinking.

“Up with the both of you,” Norman said sternly.

Groaning, Sam pushed up as the photographer offered Maggie his arm. Too exhausted to object, she took Norman’s hand and let him help her to her feet.

“Now strip,” he said.

Maggie’s fingers were numb and blue in the flashlight beam. She fumbled at her buttons and shrugged out of her shirt, too cold and exhausted to worry about exposing herself. Hell , she thought, yanking her zipper down, a good blush would be welcome right now .

Soon she stood in nothing but her wet bra and panties.

The others kept their eyes politely turned, except Denal who stared widely at her. Once the boy realized he was caught gaping, he quickly looked away.

Maggie scowled to cover her grin. She slapped Sam on his damp boxers as she stepped past him. “Norman says to keep moving. We have to stay warm.”

Maggie could feel Sam’s eyes on her back as she moved away. The Texan mumbled behind her, “Oh, don’t worry. Keep walking ahead of me dressed like that, and I’ll be plenty warm.”

This time she couldn’t hide her smile.

“Th… this must lead somewhere,” Sam said, trying to control his chattering teeth, as he pointed out the gold path that continued along the river.

No one answered, busy as they were shivering and rubbing frigid limbs. The icy water had lowered everyone’s core body temperature and, with no way to start a fire, they were all at risk of hypothermia. They needed to find a dry, warm place… and soon.

Sam, who had moved ahead of them, suddenly called out. With his flashlight pointed over a rise in the trail, Sam’s half-naked form was striking, limned in the back glow. Maggie had not realized just how fine a physique her fellow colleague had hidden under his baggy clothes. From broad shoulders down to his narrow waist and strong legs, Sam struck a handsome pose.

“Come see this!” Sam exclaimed, a broad grin on his face.

Maggie saw Norman grab for his camera case as she climbed to join the others.

Before her, spreading across a cavern as large as her university’s soccer stadium, was a small dark city. Sam’s light was the only source of illumination, but its dim glow was enough to light up the entire chamber. Houses of brick, some three stories high, dotted the floor, while up the walls climbed tier after tier of stacked granite homes, like a jumble of toy blocks. Empty windows stared back at them. Throughout the city, brighter splashes of gold and silver decorated many of the abodes. But what caught all their eyes was what stood in the town’s center. Across the chamber, a massive gold statue stretched toward the ceiling, towering over the buildings. It was similar to the one that guarded the entrance to the cavern, but it was too distant and dark to make out any details.

“My God,” Norman said, “it’s a huge subterranean village.”

As Maggie crossed to Sam’s side, the mustiness of the chamber suddenly caught her attention, and she knew Norman’s assessment was wrong. She recognized this smell – dusty decay mixed with the spiced scent of mummification herbs. “It’s not a village,” she corrected Norman, “but a necropolis . One of the Incas’ underground cities of the dead.”

Rubbing his arms and stamping his cold feet, Sam agreed. “A burial tomb… but I’ve never heard of one this extensive or elaborate.”

Norman’s flash exploded as the photographer snapped a series of rapid pictures. The added light froze the city in stark relief. “Maybe we can hole up in one of those houses and get warm. Pool our body heat like the Aleuts do in their igloos.”

Maggie again noticed the deep ache from her cold limbs. “It’s worth a try.” She led the way toward the town’s outskirts, following the gold path that ended at the city’s edge.

Sam trailed behind. “I may have a better idea.” But he did not elaborate when Maggie glanced over her shoulder. He just waved her ahead.

Maggie turned back, but not before noticing the purplish tinge to the Texan’s lips. Behind Sam, the others fared no better. Ralph’s limbs quaked and trembled as he followed. The big man seemed to fare the worst of all of them. He had swallowed a lot of icy water while traveling the stream and did not look well.

Hurrying, Maggie led the group quickly down the series of golden switchbacks to the cavern floor. She reached the town’s edge, and the smell of earthy decay, like aged compost, filled her nostrils. She stared down the streets of this city of the dead. The tombs of the necropolis had been built like homes to keep the spirits of the deceased happy, reminding them of their prior lives, surrounding them with the familiar. Doorways bore sculpted lintels depicting various fanciful creatures, both mythological and zoomorphic – a mix of man and animal.

Just like the pillars that had marked the path.

Maggie touched one, a cross between a panther and a woman. “They depict the gods of uca pacha , protectors of the dead.”

Across the avenue, Sam studied a brightly painted fresco on the side of a two-story building. He pointed. “And here are various mallaqui … spirits of the underworld.”

Norman moved up to them. “I hate to interrupt your art history lecture, but Ralph is not looking so good.”

Maggie glanced back. Ralph leaned against one of the doorways, head hanging. Even supported, his huge frame swayed slightly. “We need to find shelter. Get him warm.”