Excavation

Maggie shone her flashlight behind them. The way was momentarily clear. The feast in the other street had drawn the pack like moths to flame. “Hurry,” Maggie urged. “Who knows how long the buggers will be satisfied with local fare?”

Sam needed no further encouragement. Herding Denal and Maggie before him, he urged them to speed down the avenues. Blindly, they took any turns that seemed to head toward the towering golden idol. All around, the screams of the monsters yowled and echoed, urging them forward. Sam reloaded his rifle on the fly, fingers fumbling shells into place. Once done, he shouldered the gun and closed the distance with Maggie.

“How’re you holding up?” he wheezed between tight lips.

She glanced at him, her face pale and bright with sweat in the torchlight. “Okay,” she said. “But ask me again when we stop running.”

Sam reached and squeezed her elbow. He knew what she meant. While fighting and fleeing, the depth of their terror was held in check by adrenaline. True shock at their situation had yet to sink in fully.

Maggie patted Sam’s hand. “I’ll be okay.”

Sam offered her a weak smile. “We’ll get out of here.”

She nodded – but he knew she didn’t necessarily believe him. Neither of them was a fool. The creatures here were obviously scavengers and cannibals. From their pale skin and large eyes, they had been cave dwellers for generations. Maybe for millennia. Interbreeding, mutating… who knows what they once were? Maybe an unknown species of large ape, maybe even some prehistoric man. But if there was truly a way out of these caverns, why hadn’t the beasts left?

Sam’s mind ground on this puzzle, keeping his thoughts away from panic. Maybe Denal had been correct. Maybe these beasts were mallaqui, spirits of the underworld. If the Incas had come upon this trapped tribe of beasts, they could have believed they were beings of the uca pacha, the lower spirit level. Is that why they built such an extensive necropolis down here? Did they believe these monsters would protect their dead? Considering the attack upon Sam’s group, the demonic beasts had proved themselves great guard dogs.

Sam shook his head, unsure of his own conclusions. A small part of him sensed that a vital piece of this puzzle was still missing – for the moment, there would be no further answers.

Sam, Maggie, and Denal ran on. In the distance, occasional blasts of rifle fire cut through the caterwauling screams, marking Ralph’s and Norman’s presence across the necropolis. But it was rare, startling Sam each time the blast echoed within the cavern.

“I hope they’re doing all right,” Maggie gasped after a volley of rapid rifle shots. She leaned against the sill of a window, catching her breath.

“They’ll make it. With Ralph’s strength and Norman’s wit, how could they fail?”

Maggie nodded. She leaned forward to peer around the next corner. “By Jesus, there it is!” she said, stepping forward. She waved for Sam and Denal to follow.

Sam stepped around the corner and stared down the next street. It was long and straight, the first such thoroughfare in the cursed maze. Down the tomb-lined avenue, the base of the huge statue could be seen. This close, the statue was clearly an Incan king, a Sapa Inca, like the one that guarded the secret entrance to the caverns. The sculpture stood with its arms raised. Its palms touched the distant ceiling, as if supporting the roof over their heads.

Denal stared, mouth hanging open.

“It’s the same king,” Maggie said. She lifted her flashlight. It had to be at least twenty stories tall.

Sam followed where she pointed. Under a feathered and tasseled llautu crown, the king seemed to stare down at them, a slight scowl on his aristocratic face. It looked like the same king being honored here, too. “You’re right. He must’ve been the Sapa Inca who had conquered the original Moche tribe, the ones who built the buried pyramid. I’d wager this was his way of placing his stamp upon this mountain citadel.”

Maggie craned her neck. “Not a subtle guy.”

“Well, let’s go introduce ourselves.” Sam led the way, still wary of attack from the denizens of the necropolis. Though he kept his rifle at the ready, this street seemed truly dead. No scrabbling sounds. The keening howls far away.

Sam, hurrying, meant to keep them that way.

The street proved much longer than it first appeared. The towering statue made the distance seem deceptively shorter. To either side, the tombs also grew in size and stature as they progressed toward the central plaza, further tricking the eye’s assessment of distance.

The group’s initial run eventually died down to a tripping walk on exhausted legs.