Excavation

Even Denal nodded his head. “I go, too.” Sam caught the way the boy glanced up at the tunnel entrance. Denal was not being heroic; he just didn’t want to be left alone…especially naked and weaponless.

Sam stood and surveyed the valley.

Automatic gunfire echoed up from the jungle. Other explosions would occasionally erupt, tossing trees and rocks into the sky. Amidst the weapons fire, whispers of Incan war cries mixed with the screams of the dying. Smoke billowed up and through the jungle.

“Okay,” Sam said. “We all go. But stick together and keep quiet. We’ll sneak to the jungle’s edge and creep as close to the chopper as possible. Find out if there are any guards.”

Maggie nodded and waved him forward.

Sam hurried down the last of the switchbacks and led them through the escarpment of volcanic boulders and scrub bushes. Soon the shadows of the jungle swallowed up the trio. Sam raised a finger to his lips and guided them with hand signals. Within the embrace of the forest, the sounds of warfare grew muffled.

Crouching, Sam picked a path through the foliage. They had to get to the helicopter before the thieves finished subduing the village. Sam prayed that there were some backup weapons in the helicopter. If they were to hold the valley until Uncle Hank got there, they would need their own fire-power.

The shadowy jungle grew brighter ahead. It was the forest’s edge. Sam slowed his approach. Now was not the time to be caught. He signaled the others to hang back. Sam alone crept the last of the way. Just as he was fingering away a splayed leaf of a jungle fern, a familiar voice reached him.

“Leave the boy alone, Otera! There’s no reason to hurt him.”

Uncle Hank!

Sam pulled back the leaf to view the open meadow beyond. The large military helicopter squatted like some monstrous locust upon the field of quinoa. But closer still was a sight that froze Sam’s blood. His uncle stood before a man dressed in a monk’s habit, but the man was no disciple of god. He bore in his right fist a large pistol. Sam, familiar with guns, recognized it as a.357 Spanish Astra. It was a weapon capable of stopping a charging bull-and it was pointed at his uncle’s chest.

Over his uncle’s shoulder, Sam spotted a third member of this party. It was Norman! The photographer’s face was pale with fear.

The man named Otera glared at Sam’s uncle. “Since when are you the one giving orders here?” He suddenly swung his gun and viciously struck Norman across the face. The photographer fell to his knees, blood welling from a cut on his brow.

“Leave him alone!” Uncle Hank said, stepping around to shield Norman.

Otera, his back now slightly turned to Sam, raised his pistol. “I think you’ve outlived your usefulness, old man. From the messages, these students know where the gold is hidden. So with this fellow here, I see no need to keep you around.” Sam distinctly heard the gun cock.

Oh, God! Frantic, Sam slid from his hiding place and ran across the wet field.

The motion drew his uncle’s attention. Henry’s eyes widened in surprise. Sam saw his uncle struggle to stifle any further reaction-but even this small response was noticed.

Otera pivoted around just as Sam reached him, gun at chest level. Sam yelled and leaped at him, then an explosion of gunfire stung his ears. Sam was flung backward, away from his uncle’s captor. He landed in the meadow on his back.

“No!” he heard his uncle yell.

Sam tried to push to his elbows, but he found he could not move. Not even breathe. It felt as if some huge weight sat on his chest. Pain lanced out in all directions. From the corner of his eye, he saw his uncle leap on the back of the robed gunman, tackling and crushing him to the ground.

Sam smiled at the old man’s fierceness. Good for you, Uncle Hank.

Then all went black.

From a couple meters away, Maggie had spotted Sam suddenly burst from his hiding place and out into the open. What was the damned fool doing? She hurried forward with Denal beside her. As she reached Sam’s hiding place, the crack of a single gunshot sounded from beyond the leafy fern.

Panicked, Maggie ripped away the fronds. She saw Sam collapsed in the flattened meadow, his arms twitching spastically. Even from her hiding place, she could see a gout of blood welling from a huge chest wound. Blind to all else, she ran from cover. She would no longer hide in a ditch while a friend died. “Sam!”

As she ran, she finally noticed the struggle beyond the Texan’s body. It made no sense. The professor sat on the back of a struggling monk. The gun, still smoking in the wet grass, was just beyond the man’s reach. Suddenly, as if in a dream, Norman appeared out of nowhere. He bore a huge red rock over his head. He brought it down with a resounding blow atop the pinned man’s head. The man went limp, and Professor Conklin climbed off him.

It was then a race to see who could reach Sam first.

Sam’s uncle won. He fell to his knees beside his nephew. “Oh, no…oh, God!”

Norman and Maggie reached him at the same time.