Excavation

Norman hopped a step forward, while Ralph’s grip held him steady. “I hope you’re right that it isn’t far to the statue.” Moving another painful step forward, Norman noticed Ralph hesitate. Ralph’s hand remained clamped to Norman’s upper arm, but he wasn’t following.

Ralph’s grip spasmed tighter for a moment, then relaxed.

Norman turned. “What’s the holdup?”

His hand fell limply from Norman’s shoulder. Ralph fingered weakly at his thick neck, disbelief on his face. Blood poured over Ralph’s fingers. The large black man reached for Norman with his other hand, pleading. “R… run!” Ralph gurgled.

Norman was unable to move. He stared transfixed by the spear of sharpened white bone protruding like a branch from the side of his friend’s neck.

Ralph crashed to his knees. “G… Goddammit! Run!”

From behind Ralph, a tall, pale creature rose on spindly limbs. Their tracker had come out of hiding. Huge black eyes glared at Norman as the creature lifted a second spear of bone and leaped toward him, bounding high over Ralph’s back.

Norman danced backward but was too slow on his injured leg. The beast plunged toward him, bone spear raised.

Ducking, Norman braced for the impact.

But Ralph suddenly bellowed with rage and lunged forward. He snatched the ankle of the creature as it flew past, a lineman grabbing a fumbled pass. He yanked the beast clear of Norman and swung the startled creature through the air, swatting it against the neighboring wall.

Its skull shattered like eggshells.

As its carcass collapsed in a tangle of limbs, so did Ralph. He struck the floor hard, too weak to break his own fall.

Norman rushed to his side, ignoring the pain as he fell to his hands. “Don’t move! I’ll get help! Sam can’t be far.” Norman gently turned his friend’s face upward.

Glazed eyes stared back. Empty.

Norman’s hand flinched back. Ralph was already gone. He crawled back, tears blurring his vision.

Around him, the cavern echoed again with the yammering howls and gibbering cries of the beasts. More trackers. They detected fresh blood and were drawn by their ravenous hunger.

Norman pressed his forehead against the cool rock and took several deep breaths. He was too tired to run, but he forced himself up. He would not let Ralph’s sacrifice be for nothing. Glancing at Ralph’s body, he stood unsteadily, torch in hand.

He turned on his good heel and swung around. Only three yards away crouched another of the foul creatures: squat, with thick arms and bent back. It growled at Norman.

Norman’s eyes narrowed with rage. He shoved his torch high. “Fuck you!” he screamed, fists clenched and trembling. He put all his hate and sorrow into his cry, as tears rolled down his cheek.

Like those of a frightened deer, the beast’s eyes flared wide, clearly startled by the unusual reaction of its injured prey. Disconcerted, it crept back, then scampered down a side street.

Norman’s cry ended with a choking sob. He wiped at his face, then shoving his glasses higher on his nose, he limped forward. “You-all sure as hell better not get in my way! I’m not in the fuckin’ mood!”

Maggie knelt by the door in the heel of the great statue. It was a long and narrow silver inset, about half a meter wide and two meters tall, flush almost with the surrounding gold walls. She was surprised Sam had even spotted it.

While Denal shone the flashlight, she once again worked the tip of the golden dagger into the narrow slot in the door’s center. It had to be a keyhole, but so far no amount of manipulation of the gold dagger’s tip would release the catch.

“Miss Maggie,” Denal said quietly behind her, the flashlight’s beam jittering. They rarely spoke, and only in whispers, afraid to attract the ears of the predators out there. “Mister Sam gone a long time.”

She pictured Sam sneaking around the necropolis, alone, and pounded her fist against the unyielding surface in frustration. “I know that, Denal!” she hissed. Besides a flurry of rifle shots, sounding like an asthmatic machine gun, and one screamed shout, there had been no indication that anyone but the creatures still moved out there.

The boy mumbled a meek apology.

Sighing, Maggie leaned back, resting the dagger on her lap. “I didn’t mean to snap at you, Denal. I’m the one who should be sorry. It’s… it’s just that I can’t get this damn thing open, and they’re counting on me.” Maggie felt near tears.

He placed his hand on her shoulder.

Even that small bit of solace went a long way to calm her frayed nerves. She took a shuddering breath, forcing herself to calm down. Glancing at Denal, she patted his hand. “Thanks.” She stared into the boy’s scared eyes, then returned to study the door. “Denal, I’m sorry for getting you into this mess.”

“No sorry. It were my choice to spy on Gil. I wanted to help you. My mama, before she die, she say I must help others. Be brave, Denal, she tell me.”

“Your mother sounds like a wonderful woman.”

Denal sniffed back tears. “She was.”