James Rollins - Excavation

“Not exactly my idea of heaven, that’s for sure,” Sam said as he led the way into the jungle, wiping the sweat from his brow. Under the canopy, twilight became night.

Around them, the jungle was quiet. No bird calls or the rustle of animals. In the gloom, Sam did spot a few monkeys hidden in the canopy overhead, but they were motionless, quiet. Only their eyes tracked the strangers in their midst.

Maggie already had the rifle unslung, and Sam hoped she was the experienced marksman she claimed to be. Especially since their only other weapon was Sam’s dagger.

No one dared even whisper as they followed the path to where the jungle opened ahead. As they reached the brighter light, Sam crouched and held up a hand, halting them. They needed a plan. He glanced to Maggie. Her eyes were wide with fear and worry. Kamapak huddled behind her, wary.

Then another scream erupted, piercing the jungle like an arrow. It came from just ahead. “Help me!” The terror was clear in the boy’s voice.

“To hell with caution,” Sam blurted, and stood. “C’mon!” He raced down the last of the path, Maggie at his heels.

They burst from the jungle cover into the outskirts of another Incan village. There, too, terraced stone homes climbed the gentle slopes and lay half-hidden in the fringes of the jungle. But that was the only similarity. The jungle had encroached on the village, claiming it. Everywhere weeds and bits of forest grew from between the slabs of granite, sprouting as if from the stone itself. Nearby, a tree grew from one of the cracked rooftops, spreading its limbs to envelop the house.

But as unkempt as the village was, the smell was even worse.

The streets were full of refuse and offal. Old animal bones lay scattered like broken glass in an alley, many with pieces of hide or fur still clinging to them. Underfoot, shattered shards of pottery crumbled.

“Jesus,” Maggie said, covering her mouth. “It’s the third city.”

“What?” Sam whispered.

“Remember from the celebration the first night. You guessed the necropolis was built as a city of uca pacha , the lower world, while the other village was of cay pacha , the middle world. Well, here’s the third village. A city of the upper world, of janan pacha .”

Sam glanced at the fouled and ruined streets in disgust. This was no heavenly city. But he dared not stop to ponder the mystery. Waving them on, Sam led them down the avenue.

As they ran, Kamapak stared at the ruined village with horror, eyes wide with disbelief.

Obviously this is not his idea of Heaven either , Sam thought.

Ahead noises began to be heard: grunting and soft angry squeals. But through the noise, one sound drew them on. Sobbing. It had to be Denal.

Sam slowed as the street emptied onto the village’s main square. He peeked around the corner, then fell back. “Damn…”

“What?” Maggie whispered. She crept to the corner and looked.

Sam saw her shoulders tense. He joined her at the corner, forcing back his initial shock. Stripped naked as a newborn, Denal stood in the center of the square, dazed and terrified.

And with clear reason.

Around him, the square was crammed with pale creatures. Some as large as bulls, others no bigger than muscled calves. Sam recognized the sickly forms. These were the same beasts that had haunted the necropolis below. They circled the boy, sniffing, snuffling at his heels. Occasional fights broke out, sudden hissed screams and slashes of razored claws. They had yet to decide what to make of the boy.

But one thing was clear. They were hungry. Saliva drooled from almost all their lips. They looked near starved. All knobbed bones and skin.

One of the nearest creatures suddenly spun in their direction. It was one of the spindly-legged beasts. One of the pack’s scouts. Sam and Maggie barely slid back into hiding before being spotted.

Sam nudged Maggie back.

The tattooed shaman looked just as confused and horrified. Clearly he had never suspected what his janan pacha had truly hidden. Before Sam could stop him, Kamapak stepped around the corner, arms raised. With tears in his eyes, the shaman lifted his voice in song, bright with religious fervor. Kamapak strode toward the pack of creatures.

The beasts on the square grew quiet.

Sam pulled Maggie farther back. He whispered in her ear. “We need to circle around. Take advantage of the shaman’s distraction. See if we can free Denal.”

She nodded, and the pair took off at a run, diving down a cross street that paralleled the plaza. They heard Kamapak’s song droning on. Sam tried to race as quietly as possible, avoiding bones and pottery.

“This way!” Maggie hissed and darted into an alley between two homes.

Sam followed and soon found himself crouched again before the square, but this time, Denal lay directly ahead of them. The boy had not noticed them; he had fallen to his knees, his eyes fixed on where the shaman stood.

The beasts had also been attracted by the singing. The monstrous throng had drifted away from the terrified boy and toward the new oddity. A path lay open.

If they were to rescue Denal, it was now or never.

Sam took a deep breath, then crept out, keeping low to the ground. Maggie followed, rifle at her shoulder.

Across the plaza, Sam spotted the shaman, now surrounded by the beasts. A few of the dwarfish members of the pack, the sexless drones, picked at the robe Kamapak wore. Others, the taller, more muscled hunters kept back warily, heads cocked, studying the newcomer, listening to the singing. But how long would his song keep the monsters cowed? Sam immediately had his answer. One of the hunters raced forward and clubbed the shaman to the stones of the plaza. Sam took a step toward Kamapak, but Maggie restrained him with a grip on his elbow.

Kamapak slowly pushed up and touched his bloody forehead. The pack stared as the shaman raised his red fingers. Then the beasts caught the scent of his blood and all else was forgotten. The pale forms surged and leaped forward, scrambling and swamping the shaman. Kamapak screamed in terror and pain. Screeches and howls accompanied the attack. Even from where he stood, Sam could hear bones snap and flesh rip.

Denal turned away from the horrible sight and finally spotted Sam. He struggled to his feet and ran toward the pair on wobbly legs. The boy’s eyes were puffy from tears, his face pale with terror. He opened his mouth to speak, but Sam raised a finger to his own lips. Denal clamped his mouth closed but could not stop a small whimper from escaping.

Sam and Maggie were soon at his side. As Sam pulled the boy to him, the growls and hisses began to die down across the plaza. Kamapak’s own screams had already been silenced.

“We need to get clear of here!” Maggie whispered.

Across the square, handfuls of the beasts had settled to the stones with their meals. Bits of torn robe were everywhere. Blood lay in a trampled pool on the stones. But Kamapak himself was gone, shredded apart and torn by the claws and teeth of the creatures. All that remained were bloody gob-bets being gnawed and fought over.

But, unfortunately, there was not enough of the thin shaman to go around. Several of the beasts now searched, sniffing, for another source of food. Their feral eyes fell back upon the boy. Their group was spotted.

“Damn it,” Sam muttered.

Screeches rose again from the remaining creatures. Even those with fresh meat raised bloody muzzles to see what else might be claimed.

“Denal, how’d you get down here?” Sam asked, retreating across the square, no longer needing to be quiet. “Is there another way out?”

The boy shook his head. “The guards took me to the temple. Made me lie down on the altar. Then I wake up… I here, dizzy, no clothes.” Denal’s voice cracked. “Th… then these things come!”