Excavation

Outside the shelter of his tent, the night wind had grown a crisp edge to it. It sliced through Philip’s robe to his bare skin. The man led him to the other students’ tents. Once there, he threw back the flap to Sam’s tent and flashed the light inside for Philip to see. Empty!

Philip backed up a step and surveyed the ruins. If the bastard was out there, why hadn’t Conklin answered his calls? His Quechan guide showed him the other tents. They were empty, too. Sam, Maggie, Ralph, even the photographer Norman, had disappeared. Panic, more than the cold breezes from the mountaintops, set Philip’s limbs to shaking. Where were they?

The worker turned to him. His eyes were dark shadows. He mumbled something in his native tongue. From his tone, the Indian was just as concerned.

Edging farther away, Philip waved an arm behind him. “We… we need to call for help,” he mumbled from behind chattering teeth. “We need to let someone know what’s going on.”

Philip turned and hurried toward the communication tent. The Quechan worker followed with the flashlight. Philip’s shadow jittered across the path ahead of him. He needed to alert the authorities. Whatever was happening, Philip could not handle it himself.

At the tent, Philip worked the zipper and snaps with fumbling fingers. Finally the flap was open, and he crawled within. The worker remained at the entrance, pointing the flashlight inside. In the beam of light, Philip stared wide-eyed at their communication equipment. A pickax was embedded in the heart of the central computer.

Philip slid to his knees with a moan. “Oh, God… no.”

Sam held the Winchester pointed toward the dark corridor that led to the heart of the ruins. A furtive scuffing and shuffling moved toward them through the darkness.

Beside him, Ralph held Sam’s ultraviolet lamp out toward the darkness. Its illumination did little to pierce the well of shadows. What lay within the blackness remained a mystery.

Maggie and Norman stood behind the two men. Leaning forward, Maggie whispered in Sam’s ear, her breath hot on his neck. “Gil was running from something. Something that scared the hell out of him.”

Sam’s arms trembled with her words, his grip on the rifle slipping. “I don’t need to hear this right now,” he hissed back at her, steadying his hand.

Ralph had heard her words, too. The ex-football player swallowed audibly and raised the lamp higher, as if that would spread the glow farther. It didn’t.

Sam tired of this game of silences. He cleared his throat, and called out, “Who’s there!”

His answer was instant and blinding. Light flared up from the dark corridor, so bright it stung the eye. The group tumbled backward. Sam’s finger twitched on the rifle’s trigger, but only instinct drilled into him from hunting trips with his uncle kept him from firing off a round: you never shoot what you can’t see.

Sam kept his rifle pointed, but he eased back on the trigger.

A squeaky voice, timid and frosted with terror, echoed up from behind the blinding light. “It’s me!” The light suddenly tilted away from their gathered faces to play across the ceiling. A small figure stepped forward.

Sam lowered his weapon, silently thanking his uncle for his training in restraint. “Denal?” It was the young Indian lad who acted as their translator. The boy’s face was ashen, his eyes glowing with fear. Sam shouldered his rifle. “What the hell are you doing down here?”

The boy hurried forward, keeping the flashlight he bore pointed down now. Words in fractured English rushed from him. “I… I see Gil sneakin’ down here with Juan and Miguel. With bags of stuff. So I follow ’em.”

Maggie pushed beside the trembling boy and put an arm around him. “What happened?”

Denal used his free hand to slip a cigarette to his lips. He did not light it, but its familiar presence seemed to calm him. He spoke around the cigarette. “I no know… not sure. After they broke the sealed door -”

“What!” Sam gasped out. Even in their dire situation, such a betrayal shocked him.

Denal merely nodded. “I no see much. I stay out of sight. They crawl through door… and… and…” Denal glanced up to Sam, his eyes frightened. “Then I hear screaming. I run. Hide.”

Maggie spoke, “Goddamn. The feckin’ bastard was going to loot the place right out from under our noses.”

“But obviously something went wrong,” Norman added tensely, glancing back at the wall of rubble behind them. He turned back around. “What about the other two? Juan and Miguel?”

“I no know.” Denal seemed to see the blockage for the first time. He crossed to the cascade of boulders and clay. “Guillermo run out… I wait. I scared others might catch me. But no one come out. Then big boom. Stones fall… I run.” Denal raised a hand toward the tumbled section of the temple. “I should no come down alone. I should tell you instead. I so stupid.”

Sam took the Wood’s lamp from Ralph and turned off its ultraviolet glow. “Stupid? You at least thought to bring a flashlight.”