Excavation

Sam raised it into the beam of the flashlight Denal was holding. It bore the figure of a man with prominent fangs. Sam recognized the figure from ancient ceramic pottery. “It’s the fanged god Aiapaec.”

Maggie nodded. “A god of the Moche tribes!”

Sam remembered his uncle’s assessment of this buried pyramid. It was clearly Moche. Here was more proof. “This will make Uncle Hank happy…that is, if we get out of here to show it to him.” He began to place the dagger aside.

Maggie stopped him again. “Wait, Sam. Some scholars say that the Incas may have incorporated the Moche god, Aiapaec, into their own pantheon of gods. But the Inca’s renamed him-Huamancantac!”

“The god of guano…bat dung?” Sam stared at her as if she were mad. What was her point? Then understanding dawned on him. “The god of bats…and caverns! A spirit from the lower world, uca pacha!”

Sam sprang to his feet, dagger in hand.

“It must be the key!” Maggie exclaimed.

Just then Ralph and Norman joined the trio by the statue. “I don’t know what you’re all excited about, but I’d suggest we get out of here.” He pointed toward the rear of the chamber.

Sam turned. There was no rear of the chamber. With the dust settling from the last of the major rumbles, the back of the room was a tumbled pile of blocks. “Christ!” Overhead, a quarter of the heavy roof tiles hung crooked or tilted. And in the background, the continual groan of tons of granite sounded from above their heads.

Norman’s voice was a squeak. “There’s no place else to run.”

“Maybe there is,” Sam said. He turned and stabbed the dagger into the statue’s belly. It sank to the level of the hilt.

Nothing happened.

Norman shifted his feet, staring at the impaled knife. “Okay, Brutus, you’ve stabbed Caesar. What now?”

Sam tried turning the knife like a key, but it refused to move. He pulled the dagger back out, his eyes on Maggie. “I was sure you were right.” He held the gold dagger between them, clutching it tightly. “Th…this has to be the key!” he said between clenched teeth, frustration trembling his voice. “It must be!”

As he spoke the last word, the dagger shifted in his hands. The length of gold blade molded itself into a jagged lightning bolt. It shone brightly in the beam of the flashlights. Sam almost dropped the knife, but his left hand steadied his right, both palms now clutching the hilt. “Did anyone else see that? Or did my mind just snap?” Sam ran his fingers over the knife, searching for the catch that had triggered the transformation. He found nothing.

Another cascade of rock tumbled behind them. It was the chamber’s roof collapsing, taking out half of the roof tiles. The clang of rock and metal echoed sharply. Death rolled toward them in a gnash of rock, but none of them moved.

Instead, Maggie raised her hands toward the dagger, then lowered them back again, clearly afraid of disturbing the miracle. “It’s now the symbol of Pachacamac. The Incan god of creation.” She met Sam’s wide eyes. “Use it!”

Sam nodded and turned back to the statue. With the tip of the dagger trembling, Sam edged the knife into the belly of the Incan king. It took a bit of rocking back and forth to insert the jagged blade fully, but with one final push, the knife slid home.

A cracking grind of gears exploded, loud enough to vanquish the crash of boulders behind them.

As Sam held tight to the hilt of the dagger, the Incan statue split neatly in half, from crown to feet, a seam appearing from nowhere. The two halves pulled apart from the dagger’s hilt, along with the silver archway behind it. Beyond the statue, a natural fissure in the rock was revealed.

Sam stood frozen before the split statue, the knife still in his grip, the blade now pointing toward the cavern entrance. “Holy shit!”

Stunned, Sam raised the dagger. It was once again just the straight blade he had first found. He let his arm drop and turned to the others. A blinding flash of Norman’s camera caught him off guard. Sam rubbed at his eyes with the heel of his hand. “Warn a guy next time,” he complained.

“And ruin that natural expression of awe,” Norman answered. “Not a chance.”

The others all began talking at once-amazement, wonder, and relief ringing brightly. Ralph shone his flashlight down the throat of the fissure. It delved deep into the cliff face, beyond the reach of Ralph’s light. “I hear what sounds like running water,” he said. “The cavern must be plenty deep.”

“Good,” Sam said. He finally held up his dagger, getting the others’ attention. “I have no idea what just happened here, but let’s get our asses out of this temple before it crushes us flat as pancakes.”

With more of the roof falling behind them, no one argued. They filed quickly past Sam and into the coolness of the natural cavern.

As Ralph slid by, he returned Sam’s Winchester. “I have my own now,” the large man said, lifting a snubby lever-action rifle.

Sam recognized it as Gil’s weapon. “Where?”