The Dig (27 page)

“And was that it?” Colette asked in her breathy French accent.

“Was what what?” Rheese replied.

“What stopped his slide—was that the entrance?”

Rheese nodded. “It was the upper right corner, yes. And crafty bloke later says how his instincts had guided him to the spot, and there you have site seven-four-four-three-tango-X-ray, the famed Sarcophagi Preparation Chamber. His story got better and better over time.”

“The one I heard,” a bearded young man said, “has Professor Mitchellson searching the area alone with a garden trowel for two years before he came upon it.”

Rheese threw his head back and laughed out loud. This made others laugh, though they could not say precisely why.

“I hadn’t heard that one yet,” Rheese chuckled. “But I’ll tell you sometime what he was
really
doing for those two years, young man.…” He raised his cigar to his lips and puffed.

The campfire was quiet for a moment as everyone’s eyes returned to the flames. The sounds of pops and crackles seemed to begin again, as if they’d been paused.

Peter stood up and walked around the fire. He tapped Rheese on the shoulder and nodded for him to follow. A short time later, shouting erupted from the RV. No one could really understand what was said, but it was pretty clear that something had happened on the phone call that annoyed Peter greatly.

Tuni looked for Enzi’s face and found him sitting on a folding stool some distance back from the fire. His eyes were locked squarely on the RV, and he appeared deep in thought. She hoped he would look her way, but moments later he got up and walked away.

Then the blonde American girl, Felicia, blurted out, “Nature hike!” and hopped up. There were a few groans, but several seemed to welcome the proposition and trundled off to their tents to fetch flashlights and jackets. Now alone on the bench with Tuni, Matt realized that his close proximity to her had been appropriate only when forced by the lack of room. He scooted away nonchalantly, wondering how long she had sat there on the end of the bench, hoping he would move.

“What, do I smell or something?” she said in feigned injury.

“What? No… shut up. Just getting hot.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “Really?”

“Shut up.” He looked around the benches to see who was left.

Graham, the sketch artist, was sitting close to the fire, putting the toe of one of his boots into the fire and then pulling it away repeatedly. One of the women sat with a headlamp on, reading a book. Towering Rodney lay sprawled across one of the empty benches, using his clasped hands as a pillow.

Peter and Rheese appeared from the trailer, and both looked surprised to see nearly everyone gone.

“Nature hike,” Matt explained, and Peter nodded recognition, then hurried off to his tent for his flashlight.

Rheese approached the fire, hands in his pockets, and stood behind the benches for a moment. Finally, he shifted his eyes to Matt. “So, young Turner,” he said, “guessing you’d like another go before lights-out?”

Matt sat bolt upright, but before he could speak, Tuni said, “Yes, please!”

I
RIN HELD HIS LIGHTSTICK OUT IN
front of him to illuminate the cave. It was as the scouts had described: a small hollow in the rocky escarpment. This one was far too small to accommodate even a few people; also, they would be easily visible from outside. He wanted deeper caves, and perhaps higher up the cliff to give them an advantage.

“There are some larger ones over here,” Pwig called out.

They stepped down from the rocks and looked where he was pointing. Indeed, two wide-mouthed caves could be seen farther along the rocky slope, one atop the other, and both elevated well above the ground. From where the three stood, the interiors were completely black. They walked to the base of the mountain and saw that a wide ledge of rock led to the lower cave. If this was a large enough cavern, it would be an easy climb for women and new.

Wil scaled it first and leaned in to look around. He turned back to Irin and Pwig. “It looks big,” he said.

Irin and Pwig stepped up to the opening but could not see in at all. The ledge on which they stood was wide and flat, perhaps three houselengths, and the roof of the cave was as tall as the Center House at Pwin-T. They stepped in, but even with their lightsticks held before them, they could see little. Pwig remained close to the right wall, illuminating the coarse rock beside him. Wil tripped over something and gasped, and Irin lowered his lightstick to the floor of packed dirt to find a little pile of bones, perhaps those of a hairy crawler such as they had seen in the brush.

Irin inhaled the cool, damp air, thinking it smelled somewhat bitter. The people would have to deal with it, he thought. He could not see how far in the cavern extended, but even if it had ended where they now stood, it would hold forty, perhaps more. Pwig moved closer to his two companions, taking small steps and watching the ground to keep from tripping. The walls and ceiling were so far away that the lightsticks did little to provide them with any sense of scale.

Wil stopped, and Irin and Pwig looked back at him. He was holding his lightstick up over his head, trying to see the ceiling, which was much lower here than at the entrance.

“Irin,” he whispered. “Look!”

Irin and Pwig both stepped beside him and looked up. They stood in awe as Wil moved the light from side to side to illuminate more. Above them they could see, carved into the rock, crude images of people. Some were bigger than others, and some of the figures held small, roundish creatures in their hands. The three men looked at one another in silence, grasping the significance of what Wil had found. Long ago, their people had been in this cave! Perhaps, when they moved from the old city, they lived in this very cave for a time. The carvings continued into the cave and spread out beyond the reach of the lightsticks. The men walked slowly, heads high, trying to read the events depicted.

Irin held his lightstick to a section of jagged rock that had a carving of a face with a large, oblong thing on its head. Beside it, a big arm held up another of the small round animals. He could see that the artist had given more detail to this one: big teeth in its mouth, and a wide tail with points at the end.

“
Tsst!
” Wil hushed, and no one moved.

Irin rolled his eyes down at him and opened them wide in inquiry. Wil pointed at his ear:
listen.
Pwig pulled back his k’yot top, exposing his ear. He heard it, too: a soft whistling that went for a few seconds, stopped, then came again. It continued for a moment as they listened and held their lightsticks out to see where it might be coming from. The sound was very small and thin, like that of a sleeping newest with a stuffy nose.

Irin looked behind them and realized that pitch black surrounded their compact bubble of pale blue light. They must have rounded a bend in the cave and could no longer see the entrance. Searching for the source of the noise, Pwig walked forward again, holding his lightstick out before him. The melted top of the firestick inside oozed down, and the flame fought to stay alight at the awkward angle. He swung the stick to the left, and the flame flickered a final flash before it was extinguished under its own melt. Irin hissed at him, and Pwig moved closer to share the light. Wil stumbled again and found more bones at his feet. He knelt down to shine his light on the remains and discovered the source of the whistling.

The nostril was wet and oozing. A single tooth poked out of the mouth, pinching back a scaly upper lip. Wil stopped breathing and slowly moved the light behind him. A closed eye was only half an arm’s length from his face. Irin touched Wil’s neck slowly and gave it the slightest pull backward to get him to move away. Wil’s chest shook as they both looked down and saw that his toes were under the foot’s three claws, glowing blue and each as long as his entire hand. He tried to inhale slowly, but it only made the shaking more pronounced.

Irin gradually turned his head sideways and saw that Pwig was squinting toward them, not yet grasping what lay near the wall. Pwig suddenly gasped, and Irin’s face scrunched in fear that the sound would awaken the slumbering screamer. He glanced back and saw that it still dozed; the whistling continued at the same pace.

Irin gestured for Wil to move his foot away carefully as he handed his lightstick to Pwig and drew the cutter from his waistband. Wil complied, but now his entire body shook, and his eyes were closed tight in fear. Irin’s feet scratched on the dirt and gravel floor as he positioned them on either side of the massive head. In the silence of the cave, the sound seemed as loud as a ravening screamer clawing at the door. Surely the killer would wake at the noise.

He leaned right to find the best place to insert the blade and kill the beast before it could awaken and attack. There, behind the jaw! He would thrust it in and pull it down to the throat. But what if the cutter was not long enough? It might be only a trifling wound to such a huge, thick neck. He reached to his other side and slowly drew the long cutter. The solid made a high-pitched tone as it rubbed his k’yot bottom on the way up. Irin took a slow, deep breath and forced all fear from his head. He reached out to hand the short cutter to Pwig but could not find his brother’s hand. He turned and saw that Pwig had moved a few more steps in and was shining Irin’s lightstick around the area. Three more shining noses appeared in the dark as the blue light flickered across the rest of the cave.

Irin clenched his fists tight and realized he could not fight the fear any longer. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to push thought in front of fear and drown out the sound of his own inside beating. It began to fill his ears, and he could no longer hear anything else. He felt something touch his back, and he flinched, his fright almost sending him headlong into the sleeping beast. He turned to see Wil with his own two cutters in his hands. The look of fear still shaped his face, but his eyes looked intense and ready to do whatever was needed. Irin drew strength from his friend and turned back toward Pwig, who was looking at him in desperation.

Four screamers, three men. With his foot coverings nearly cradling the jaw of the nearest one, he tried to figure out how they would kill them all—and not, themselves, be killed.

He gestured for Wil to come close, and they leaned together. Irin pressed his lips into Wil’s ear and spoke only with his breath.

“You… over there… tell him… two cutters… either side of middle… stab neck deep… same time… move fast to middle one after—both of you.”

He pulled away and looked at Wil’s face. He had understood. He closed his eyes and raised his chin to Irin, and Irin returned the gesture. He watched as Wil moved ever so slowly across the cave to Pwig and spoke the instructions silently into his ear. Pwig turned and said something back, and Wil had to return to his ear twice more. Irin was growing impatient and worried. Did Pwig understand? Would they kill them right, or would they be fighting a barely-wounded and enraged screamer a few seconds from now? He realized he might need to get to the other side to help them after killing his.

Irin watched as the other two took their positions between the killers. Just as he had instructed, it was now screamer, Pwig, screamer, Wil, screamer. They had the only two lightsticks, so he wasn’t sure if they could see him anymore. He readied his blades and watched the others to be sure they proceeded at the same time. He saw them look at each other and look toward him… but not
at
him. They couldn’t see him! Irin hoped they would realize that he could see them and would go quickly with their cutters. Who knew when the creatures would wake on their own, eliminating the men’s slim advantage.

Irin watched as Wil waved a hand to Pwig. He had decided—he would proceed! Wil’s empty hand moved slowly in a chopping motion; he raised it and did so again. Finally he raised it higher, held it for a second, and dropped it quickly. Irin saw both men turn and fist their cutters with both hands, reaching back to swing them in. He turned to his own and swung back, held it for an instant, then plunged the long cutter into the sleeping screamer’s neck. It made a gurgling sound, and its head began to rise as he twisted the cutter down to the ground. Blood jetted over his hands and face. The killer began to thrash and move and make sounds like choking and drinking, and Irin turned to see that the other two had plunged their cutters home as well. His eyes began to sting, and he tried to wipe the blood out, but his hands were more covered than his face.

He dashed across the floor as the other two turned to the middle screamer. Wil’s had rolled to its side and was thrashing with its great hooked feet, violently kicking the middle screamer several times. The unharmed creature’s head rose quickly, and it released a piercing shriek just before Pwig’s and Wil’s blades plunged into its neck and they pulled them down together, opening long gashes down the front. It shrieked again and, as it continued to rise, swung a foot toward Pwig with blinding speed. Irin watched as his brother was flung deep into the darkness, his lightstick crashing to the floor and winking out. The bluewater briefly held its glow before darkness overcame it.

Irin leaped at the standing screamer and swung his long cutter across its neck. He felt a rush of liquid fall over him again, and the head dropped onto him, bringing him to the ground. He could only see the dim flicker of Wil’s light behind him as another shriek, powerful and healthy, echoed through the cave.