Excavation (26 page)

He struggled to twist the rifle around.

“Sam!”

The club swung toward him, slicing faster than he had expected. He tripped back a step. But he was not fast enough. The club struck the Winchester's barrel with a resounding clang. The rifle tore from his grip and clattered onto the stone.

Sam's hand stung from the blow. The club circled back, toward his head this time. The female beast screamed her triumph. Off balance, Sam could not even duck.

Then his left ear suddenly flamed with pain. He yelped, both in distress and surprise.

“Sorry,” Maggie gasped, shoving her flaming torch farther past his shoulder and into the attacker's face.

The beast's eyes widened in terror at the fire. Its triumphant scream changed in mid-peal to a cry of horror. The club fell from its trembling fingers as it shielded its face with an arm.

Maggie came around Sam's side and jabbed the torch.

The creature darted away, swinging around, and scrambled
up the side of a tomb and away. Again moving with preternatural speed.

Maggie swung on Sam, frowning fiercely. “Grab your rifle!” She turned to Norman. “Use the torches.” She jabbed an arm toward Ralph as another rifle blast echoed through the cavern. The black man was surrounded on all sides. “Go help him! I'll stick with Sam and Denal. We need to watch each other's backs as we retreat.”

Norman started toward the embattled ex–football player, harrying away a pair of brutish forms with his flaming limb. “Retreat to where?” he called back.

“Anywhere but here!” Maggie answered.

Norman nodded, as if that were answer enough, and hurried forward, entering the fray around Ralph. More rifle fire and a swinging torch quickly cleared a space around the tall black man.

To the left, Sam heard Denal gasp. Swinging around with his rifle, Sam saw the small Quechan lad backing away from a trio of smaller creatures, miniature versions of the ones who had attacked Sam. They shuffled across the floor, knuckling on one forearm, remarkably reminiscent of small apes.

Using his free hand, Sam pulled Denal behind him, then raised his rifle. He aimed at the closest of the three, almost at point-blank range range, and blew away the back of the creature's skull. Splatter sprayed upon the other two, giving them reason to pause.

“Get back!” Sam yelled, drawing Maggie and Denal into a side street as the remaining pair approached. Another creature clawed at Maggie from a rooftop, but a swipe of her torch drove it away.

Then the pair of scuttling monsters on the street howled and leaped—but not at the humans. The pair tore into their fallen companion, ripping with teeth and claws, burrowing bloody muzzles into its flesh.

Sam, Maggie, and Denal continued their retreat.

“What the hell are those things?” Maggie mumbled, horrified.

Sam had no answer.

More and more creatures joined the meal, drawn by the scent of blood. Without the torches near, they boiled from every niche and shadowed alcove. They were all ravenous. Whatever tenuous neutrality had governed the creatures ended with the scent of fresh meat and blood.

A booming voice called out from around the corner. “Sam! Maggie!” It was Ralph. “We can't get to you now! There're too many!”

Sam watched the carnage. Driven by their wild bloodlust, Sam feared that fire would fail to cow these creatures now. “Don't try to reach us!” Sam yelled back. “We'll keep going this way! Head for the gold statue! Rendezvous there!”

More rifle fire exploded from around the corner.

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.

Maggie's flashlight played across the ornamentation of these elaborate mausoleums. Some stood four stories high, gilded with gold-and-silver designs, encrusted with rubies and emeralds. Fanciful creatures—dragons, winged leopards,
human/animal hybrids—adorned the facades. She ran a finger along an elaborate mosaic depicting a ceremonial procession. “The tombs here must be of the
kapak
, the higher classes,” she said, panting.

Sam nodded. “Clustered around the feet of their god, the Sapa Inca. Notice the position of his palms. Another symbol of how their king was a physical link between the upper world and this one.”

Finally, the row of tombs ended, and the plaza beyond stretched to the gold feet of the statue. Sam glanced up. The statue climbed to the very roof of the chamber. “Wow…”

Maggie was not as impressed. She stood with her back to the sight, staring at the dark necropolis. Howls of the beasts echoed sporadically in the distance. “What the devil are those beasts?” she mumbled.

Sam crossed to her. “I don't know. But I think they bear some rudimentary intelligence. A few were using tools to attack. Rocks and clubs.”

“I noticed, but they were only the thicker-limbed ones,” Maggie said. “Did you notice that?”

Sam frowned and lifted his rifle. “I was sort of busy holding them off.”

“Well, it's true. The others just fought with tooth and nail. It was almost like the pack was divided into four distinct classes. Each with its own function and abilities.”

“Like bees? Workers, drones, and queen?”

“Exactly. First, there were those thin, lanky ones.”

“Yeah, I saw one of those. They move as quick as cheetahs.”

“But did you notice they never fought?”

“Yeah, now that you mention it. The skinny ones appeared first, then just sort of hung around at the fringes.” Sam glanced to Maggie. “But what are they? A type of scout?”

Maggie shrugged. “Probably.”

Sam pondered her theory in silence. He pictured the battle
again in his mind. “What about those pitbull-looking things? The ones that weren't scared of the flames.”

“Another class. Did you notice the lack of genitalia on them?”

“I really wasn't looking down there. But if they were sexless, I can guess what you're thinking—drones, just like the bees.”

Maggie nodded. “Infertile workers of limited intelligence. Their fearlessness of the flames was probably more from stupidity than bravery. But who knows?”

“And the ones with the weapons?” Sam asked. “Those bigger ones with the muscles and weird vestigial wings. Let me guess. Soldiers.”

Maggie shook her head. “Or maybe just laborers. I don't know. But did you see that gigantic fellow who hung back and seemed to bark orders? I'm sure he's some type of pack leader. I saw no one bigger than he.”

“That's a lot of conclusions and suppositions on only a brief glimpse.”

“It's what your uncle taught us to do. Extrapolate. Take the tiny shards of an ancient people and construct a civilization.”

“Still, without more information, I'd be hard-pressed—”

Denal suddenly tugged on Sam's free arm.

He glanced back down to the boy.

Denal stared into the dark necropolis. “Mister Sam, I hear no gunshots.”

Sam turned, so did Maggie. She wore a deep frown. “Denal's right,” she said. “We haven't heard any rifle fire for a while.”

Sam studied the city, searching for any sign of Norman and Ralph. Echoing screams still rattled over the dark city. “Maybe they've outrun them.”

Maggie swung in a slow circle, scanning the spread of tombs. From this point, the necropolis rose in a wide bowl around them. Seven avenues led out like spokes into the surrounding maze of tombs. “I don't see any sign of Norman's torch out there.”

Sam stepped beside her. Silent. Where were they? Had they been caught? Fear for his friends knotted his stomach.

“They must be out there somewhere,” he said quietly. “They must be.”

 

Harried by a mob of beasts, Norman and Ralph backed through a tomb's doorway, ducking under its low lintel. The musty stench and odor of cinnamon filled the narrow space. It accentuated the cloying closeness of the cramped tomb. Beyond the doorway, pale creatures mewled and growled from hungry throats.

Swinging the flaming torch, now burnt down to the knobbed knee of the mummified leg, Norman drove back the scrabble of creatures from the doorway. So far the flames, feeble as they were, kept them at bay. “C'mon, Ralph,” Norman begged. He risked a glance backward, his glasses sliding down his sweat-slick nose.

Deeper in the tomb, Ralph fought his rifle, struggling with the bolt. “Goddamn worthless piece of shit,” he swore. “Still jammed.”

“Well, unjam it!” Norman cried.

“What the hell do you think I'm trying to do?” Ralph attacked the rifle with more vigor, his muscles bunching in his thick arms, but with no better success. When Ralph raised his face, his expression was answer enough.

“Fuck.” Norman poked his torch into a pale face that got too near. With a wail, the foul visage vanished. “What now? I'm running out of leg!”

“Hold on.” A rustling and heaving sounded from behind. Norman dared not look back. The beasts were getting bolder and making grabs for his torch as the fear of the flames waned. Ralph appeared at his side, voice strained. “Move out of the way!”

Norman stepped aside as the large man dropped a bundle at the doorway. It was a desiccated mummy, wrapped in a fetal position. “Light it,” Ralph ordered.

Norman brought his flaming brand to the dry wool bandages.
Smoke billowed, filling the narrow space. The bright flames, like the light of salvation, bloomed upon the mummified corpse. More smoke choked the chamber. Norman's eyes stung; he coughed coarsely.