James Rollins - Excavation

Sam nodded. “Clustered around the feet of their god, the Sapa Inca. Notice the position of his palms. Another symbol of how their king was a physical link between the upper world and this one.”

Finally, the row of tombs ended, and the plaza beyond stretched to the gold feet of the statue. Sam glanced up. The statue climbed to the very roof of the chamber. “Wow…”

Maggie was not as impressed. She stood with her back to the sight, staring at the dark necropolis. Howls of the beasts echoed sporadically in the distance. “What the devil are those beasts?” she mumbled.

Sam crossed to her. “I don’t know. But I think they bear some rudimentary intelligence. A few were using tools to attack. Rocks and clubs.”

“I noticed, but they were only the thicker-limbed ones,” Maggie said. “Did you notice that?”

Sam frowned and lifted his rifle. “I was sort of busy holding them off.”

“Well, it’s true. The others just fought with tooth and nail. It was almost like the pack was divided into four distinct classes. Each with its own function and abilities.”

“Like bees? Workers, drones, and queen?”

“Exactly. First, there were those thin, lanky ones.”

“Yeah, I saw one of those. They move as quick as cheetahs.”

“But did you notice they never fought?”

“Yeah, now that you mention it. The skinny ones appeared first, then just sort of hung around at the fringes.” Sam glanced to Maggie. “But what are they? A type of scout?”

Maggie shrugged. “Probably.”

Sam pondered her theory in silence. He pictured the battle again in his mind. “What about those pitbull-looking things? The ones that weren’t scared of the flames.”

“Another class. Did you notice the lack of genitalia on them?”

“I really wasn’t looking down there. But if they were sexless, I can guess what you’re thinking – drones, just like the bees.”

Maggie nodded. “Infertile workers of limited intelligence. Their fearlessness of the flames was probably more from stupidity than bravery. But who knows?”

“And the ones with the weapons?” Sam asked. “Those bigger ones with the muscles and weird vestigial wings. Let me guess. Soldiers.”

Maggie shook her head. “Or maybe just laborers. I don’t know. But did you see that gigantic fellow who hung back and seemed to bark orders? I’m sure he’s some type of pack leader. I saw no one bigger than he.”

“That’s a lot of conclusions and suppositions on only a brief glimpse.”

“It’s what your uncle taught us to do. Extrapolate. Take the tiny shards of an ancient people and construct a civilization.”

“Still, without more information, I’d be hard-pressed -”

Denal suddenly tugged on Sam’s free arm.

He glanced back down to the boy.

Denal stared into the dark necropolis. “Mister Sam, I hear no gunshots.”

Sam turned, so did Maggie. She wore a deep frown. “Denal’s right,” she said. “We haven’t heard any rifle fire for a while.”

Sam studied the city, searching for any sign of Norman and Ralph. Echoing screams still rattled over the dark city. “Maybe they’ve outrun them.”

Maggie swung in a slow circle, scanning the spread of tombs. From this point, the necropolis rose in a wide bowl around them. Seven avenues led out like spokes into the surrounding maze of tombs. “I don’t see any sign of Norman’s torch out there.”

Sam stepped beside her. Silent. Where were they? Had they been caught? Fear for his friends knotted his stomach.

“They must be out there somewhere,” he said quietly. “They must be.”

Harried by a mob of beasts, Norman and Ralph backed through a tomb’s doorway, ducking under its low lintel. The musty stench and odor of cinnamon filled the narrow space. It accentuated the cloying closeness of the cramped tomb. Beyond the doorway, pale creatures mewled and growled from hungry throats.

Swinging the flaming torch, now burnt down to the knobbed knee of the mummified leg, Norman drove back the scrabble of creatures from the doorway. So far the flames, feeble as they were, kept them at bay. “C’mon, Ralph,” Norman begged. He risked a glance backward, his glasses sliding down his sweat-slick nose.

Deeper in the tomb, Ralph fought his rifle, struggling with the bolt. “Goddamn worthless piece of shit,” he swore. “Still jammed.”

“Well, unjam it!” Norman cried.

“What the hell do you think I’m trying to do?” Ralph attacked the rifle with more vigor, his muscles bunching in his thick arms, but with no better success. When Ralph raised his face, his expression was answer enough.

“Fuck.” Norman poked his torch into a pale face that got too near. With a wail, the foul visage vanished. “What now? I’m running out of leg!”

“Hold on.” A rustling and heaving sounded from behind. Norman dared not look back. The beasts were getting bolder and making grabs for his torch as the fear of the flames waned. Ralph appeared at his side, voice strained. “Move out of the way!”

Norman stepped aside as the large man dropped a bundle at the doorway. It was a desiccated mummy, wrapped in a fetal position. “Light it,” Ralph ordered.

Norman brought his flaming brand to the dry wool bandages. Smoke billowed, filling the narrow space. The bright flames, like the light of salvation, bloomed upon the mummified corpse. More smoke choked the chamber. Norman’s eyes stung; he coughed coarsely.

“Stand back,” Ralph warned, then kicked the flaming bundle through the entryway. It skidded to a stop right outside the doorway and blazed brighter.

The creatures scattered, squealing like startled swine.

Norman backed a step, sighing in relief. That should buy them a bit more time. “Can you get the rifle working?”

“I don’t know. There’s a shell jammed tighter than shit. I can’t jimmy it free.” Ralph shook his head as he stared at the flames. “Our only hope is that the others see the fire and come investigate.”

“But they won’t know the fire means we’re in trouble. What if we tried screaming for help?”

Ralph glanced back, hopelessness in his expression. He shook his head. “Wouldn’t do us any good. The acoustics in this place will only bounce the noise all around.” Ralph glanced to Norman. “But I’m open to any other bright ideas.”

Norman chewed his lower lip, turning in a slow circle, looking for some answer among the scattered pottery and tokens of the dead. “I think I do have a bright idea,” he exclaimed, passing his torch to Ralph, then fishing through the camera bag slung across his back. He hefted out the flash unit and held it up. “A really bright idea!”

“What are you thinking?”

Norman waved away the question. “I need to get to that window slit.” He pointed to a narrow gap in the brickwork near the ceiling. It was much too small for the beasts to get through, but it would suit his needs fine. “I need a boost. How strong are you?”

Ralph frowned. “I could lift four of your scrawny asses.”

“One scrawny ass will do.” Norman settled his camera bag on the floor. “Gimme a knee up.”

Crouching, Ralph helped Norman climb from knee to shoulder.

“Now up,” Norman said, kneeling atop Ralph’s shoulders and balancing with one hand braced on Ralph’s head.

With an explosive exhalation, Ralph heaved straight up, shoving Norman toward the high roof. Once his feet were steady, he hissed at Norman, “Hurry up with whatever you’re doing.”

Norman pulled up to the window’s sill and peered outside. The view stretched all the way to the gold statue. Perfect.

“Hurry!” Ralph said from below.

Norman felt his balance shift under him. He grabbed the window’s edge to keep from falling. “Steady there, big boy!”