Excavation

Crawling under the helicopter, Norman moved around the extra fuel tanks. Strands of quinoa tickled his arms as he sneaked to the far side of the chopper. Ahead, both the professor and the gunman stood, their backs to him. The pair stared toward the jungle. The robed guard exhaled a long trail of smoke.

Holding his breath and biting his lip, Norman slipped free. He could either creep slowly, thus avoiding any obstacles… or simply make a mad dash toward his quarry. But Norman didn’t trust his shaky legs with speed. So he stepped cautiously, placing one foot after the other, edging toward the gunman.

He was only an arm’s length away when all hell broke loose.

Explosions suddenly rocked the valley. The center of the jungle ripped far into the sky, flaming shards raining down.

Norman gasped at the sight, unable to stop his surprised response.

Hearing him, the gunman twisted on a heel and dropped to a crouch.

Norman found himself staring at the business end of a pistol. “Drop it!” the man ordered.

There was no need for words. The rock in Norman’s hand was already falling from his numb fingers.

From the jungles, screams and yells echoed forth. Gunfire rattled like a cupful of teeth.

Over the man’s head, Norman spotted Henry. He wore a look of hopelessness and defeat.

Norman slumped, matching the expression. “I’m sorry, Professor.”

Sam stumbled to a stop when the first explosion tore through the valley. He crouched slightly at the rain of flaming debris. “What the hell -?”

Denal crouched down, too.

Maggie was at Sam’s shoulder, her eyes wide. “They’re attacking the village!”

Sam stayed low. “Uncle Hank would never do that.”

“What if it’s not the professor,” Maggie said. “Maybe someone else saw the signal fires. Thieves. Huaqueros. Maybe even the same bastards who tried to tunnel into our dig last week. Maybe they intercepted our radio messages an’ beat Uncle Hank here.”

Sam sank to the slope. “What are we going to do?”

Maggie’s eyes were fierce. “Stop them.” She nodded toward where the helicopter rested in the field, half-obscured by a peninsula of jungle. “Take that out, and these thieves aren’t going anywhere. Then call the professor and warn him to come with the police or army.” She turned to Sam. “We can’t let them murder and steal what we found here.”

Sam was nodding with her words. “You’re right. We have to at least try.” He stood up. “I’ll go and reconnoiter the site. See what’s up.”

“No,” Maggie argued. “We remain together.”

Sam frowned, but Maggie’s expression did not budge.

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.