Excavation

Winding past the last of the tunnels, Maggie soon stood before the violated doorway. Broken bolts marked where the seals had been shattered. In the dirt to the sides of the threshold, the three bands of etched hematite lay discarded, all of them cracked and chipped from the crowbar used to pry them loose. The offending tool still leaned against the wall.



Denal bent and picked up the crowbar, hefting it in his grip. He glanced to Maggie. She did not begrudge him a weapon.



The doorway ahead lay partially blocked by the toppled stone that had once sealed the section of the temple ahead. Norman knelt a couple spaces back from the opening. He nudged his glasses higher on his nose and tried to peer inside. “I can’t see anything.”



Maggie moved beside him. Neither seemed willing to draw closer to the door. She remembered the terror in Gil’s eyes and the bloody blistering across his cheek. What lay ahead?



Norman exchanged a glance with her. She shrugged and stepped forward, the lamp held before her like a pistol. She paused just at the edge of the doorway, then extended her arm through the threshold. The glow stretched down the throat of a short passage. The deep ticking sounded much louder there. Maggie spoke quietly. “There seems to be a large room just ahead. But the light doesn’t quite reach it.” She glanced over her shoulder back to Norman.



“Maybe we’d better wait for the others,” the photographer whispered.



Maggie was about to suggest exactly the same thing, but since Norman suggested it first, she now balked. She could picture Sam’s smug expression if she didn’t at least take a peek. They had wasted the battery of the Wood’s lamp to come this far; they should at least have something to show for the expenditure. “I’m going in,” she said, moving forward before fear slowed her. She would not be ruled by the paralyzing terror of her childhood.



“Then we’d better all go,” Norman said, closing in to crowd her rear as she began to crawl over the toppled stone door.



Maggie scrabbled over the obstruction and stood in the hall. Norman and Denal joined her. “Look,” she said, pointing her lamp. “There’s somethin’ ahead, reflecting back the glow.” Intrigued, she crept ahead slowly.



“Wait,” Norman said. “Let’s see what’s out there first.”



Maggie turned to see the photographer raise his camera.



“Don’t look at the flash directly,” he warned.



She swung back around just as the camera exploded for a briefest second. She gasped. After so long, such brightness stung. But her shocked response wasn’t all due to the pain. Blazed for just a fractured second, an image of the room had branded her retinas. “D… Did you see that?” she asked.



Denal mumbled something in his native tongue, clearly awed.



Norman coughed to clear his throat. “Gold and silver everywhere.”



Maggie raised her own light, its purplish glow now seeming so feeble. “And that statue… did you see it? It had to be at least two meters tall.”



Norman moved next to her as Maggie edged forward again. Denal kept to their side with his crowbar. Norman whispered, “Two meters. It couldn’t have been gold, too. Could it?”



Maggie shrugged. “When the Spanish first arrived here, they described the Temple of the Sun found in Cuzco. The Coriancha. The rooms were said to have been plated with thick slabs of gold and, in the innermost temple, stood a life-size model of a cornfield. Stalks, leaves, ears, even the dirt itself… all of gold.” By now, they had reached the room’s entrance. Maggie knelt down and ran a hand gently over the gold plate at her feet. “Amazing… we must have uncovered another Sun Temple.”



Norman stood still. “What’s that out there? Out on the floor.”



Maggie pushed back up. “What do you mean?”



He pointed to a dark shadow at the edge of her light’s reach. She raised her lamp. Its glow reflected across the gold and silver like moonlight spilling on a still pond. Some dark island lay out there, a ripple on the pond. Maggie began to step closer with her light, one foot on the edge of the metal floor.



Denal stopped her, holding his crowbar across her path. “No, Miss Maggie,” he murmured. “Smells wrong here.”



“He’s right,” Norman said. “What’s that reek?”



Now brought to her attention, Maggie noticed an underlying stench that penetrated through the cloying scent of wet clay and mold. She nodded to the camera. “Do it again, Norman.”



Nodding, the photographer raised his camera as Maggie turned her eyes back to the floor. The flash exploded out into the room. Maggie swore and stumbled away from the tiles. “Sweet Jesus!”



She covered her mouth. She had been staring at the dark island on the room’s floor when Norman’s flash had burst forth. The tortured face still blazed in her mind’s eye. The torn and twisted body, the eyes wide with death, and the blood… so much blood. Another body lay beyond the first, close to the far wall.



“Juan and Miguel,” Denal mumbled.



There was a long stretch of silence.



“Gil didn’t do that to them, did he?” Norman asked. “Murder them for the gold?”



Maggie slowly shook her head. Juan’s mutilated form had become just a shadowed lump again. As she stared, the thudding heartbeat of some great beast still echoed across the treasure room. She now recognized it for what it was—the ticking of large gears behind the walls and floor of the room.



The warning etched on the chamber’s seals suddenly wormed through Maggie’s skull: We leave this tomb to Heaven. May it never be disturbed.



“Maggie?”



She turned to Norman. “No. Gil didn’t murder them. The room did.”



Before Norman could react, the chamber shuddered violently, throwing them all down. Maggie landed hard upon the edge of the plated floor, knocking the wind from her chest. Gulping air, she scrambled back, sensing the danger.



“What was that?” Norman yelled.



Maggie swung her lamp around. Through the entrance to the tomb, a thick cloud of dust rolled toward them. She fought to speak. “Och! Jesus! Up… up… !” Maggie urged them all.



“What’s going on?” Norman pressed, panic edging his voice.



Maggie pushed him toward the exit. “Goddamm it! Move, Norman! The bloody temple is collapsing!”



Sam checked on Ralph. The large black man pushed groggily up on his arms. His scalp had been clipped when a section of the roof had given way. Luckily a grinding from above had warned them before the sky came crashing down. “Are you okay?” Sam asked, dusting off his Wranglers.



Ralph rolled to his knees. “Yeah, I think.” He gingerly touched a bloody bump on his forehead. “I never been tackled by a slab of granite before.”



“Don’t move,” Sam warned. He collected the flashlight from where it had fallen. “I’m gonna check on what happened.”



Ralph scowled and climbed to his feet. “Like hell. We stick together.”



Sam nodded. Truthfully, he didn’t want to investigate on his own. This level of the temple was now almost a solid cloud of drifting silt and dust. Sam coughed, covering his mouth and nose with the crook of his elbow. “This way,” he mumbled. He led them back to the shaft leading up to the first level of the temple.



Ralph groaned as the remains of the shattered ladder came into view ahead. “This can’t be good.”



And it wasn’t. The way up was blocked by a jumbled pile of hewn boulders, like tumbled children’s blocks. “The first level must have entirely collapsed,” Sam said.



Sam’s walkie-talkie squelched static at his waist. He collected it and heard Philip’s frantic voice. “… okay? Report, goddamm it! Over!”



Sam pressed the transmitter. “Philip, Sam here. We’re okay.” Overhead, the roof moaned ominously; dirt drizzled down. “But I don’t know for how long. How’re you coming with tunneling in a new entrance from the base of the hill?”



Static… then… “… just found the looter’s shaft. It’s barely begun… at least two days… sent for help, but don’t know how long…” Static overwhelmed the tinny voice of their fellow student, but Sam had still heard the panic.



“Shit, two days…” Ralph grumbled. “The temple will never last that long.”



Sam tried to get more information from Philip, but only snatches of words made it through. “I’ll try to reposition for better reception,” Sam yelled into the radio. “Stand by!”



He slipped the walkie-talkie away. “Let’s find the others. Make sure they’re safe.”



Ralph nodded. “Maybe it’s best if we holed up in the lowest level anyway.” Another small groan sounded overhead. “It looks like this place is going to crumble one level at a time.”



Sam led the way through the corridors. “Let’s just hope we’re rescued before we run out of levels.”



Ralph had no rebuttal and followed in silence.



Just as they reached the ladder that led down to the third level, Sam saw Norman pop out of the shaft, his eyes wide in the flashlight. The photographer held a hand against the glare. “Thank God, you’re okay!” Norman said in a rush. “We didn’t know what we’d find.”



Denal came next. Sam noted the crowbar in the teenager’s hand, but didn’t comment on it.



Maggie climbed out last. “What happened?” she asked tersely, clicking off the Wood’s lamp.



“The top level collapsed,” Sam said, and quickly recounted their narrow escape. “With the upper levels so shaky, we thought it best to shelter in the fifth level. Just in case.”



“So we keep our heads as low as we can,” Maggie said.



Norman eyed the ladder. “That means back down again.”



Sam saw a worried glance pass between Maggie and Norman. “What is it?”



“We found Juan and Miguel down there,” Norman said.