The Vilcabamba Prophecy: A Nick Randall Novel (20 page)

chapter
thirty-one

Randall, Sam and
Amaro
waited patiently on the edge of brush as the sun
slowly set and the horizon turned to black. Having bound and gagged the guards
and locked them in the cage, they focused their attention on the happenings in
the main part of the village.

Amaro
had explained
the customs of his people and had correctly predicted that there would be a
ceremony celebrating the return of the sacred book where the entire tribe would
be present. While this would aid their efforts in retrieving the book, Randall
realized they were still in grave danger and needed to distance themselves from
the tribe. It was forbidden for
Amaro
to touch the
sacred text, so the task of retrieving it fell to Randall and Sam who had
quietly crept to the edge of the clearing behind Liam’s hut, opposite where the
tribe was gathering.

The plan was
simple, but required perfect timing and a bit of luck. The only entrance into
the hut was at a nearly 90-degree angle to the main gathering place. Sam and
Randall would traverse the outside of the hut, taking the route that placed the
hut between themselves and the
tribespeople
.
Amaro
, who was standing guard, would give the signal when
the tribe was distracted, allowing Sam and Randall to slip into the hut
unnoticed. Once inside, they would have five minutes to locate the book, at
which time, they would wait for
Amaro’s
signal that
the coast was clear to exit and come back the same way they had come in.

Sam and Randall
made their way to the entrance and waited for what seemed an eternity for the
signal. Upon hearing the call of the Blue Fronted Amazon,
Amaro’s
rendition of the native bird was perfect, they crept into the hut.

Inside, the
darkness was so complete that Randall couldn’t even see his hand in front of
his face, and they had to wait a full minute for their eyes to adjust. Sam
headed for the desk and quickly scanned the top shelf.
 
The book wasn’t there. She began
rummaging through the drawers, using her phone light to help cut the darkness.

While Sam
focused on the desk, Randall stood guard by the entrance, peeking out from a
small sliver of an opening in the
cloth covered
door.
He could hear the tribal leaders speaking about capturing the tomb raiders,
their voices so clear, it seemed like he was sitting next to them. They were no
more than 20-yards away, and he realized that if he and Sam needed to make a
quick getaway, it was likely they would be spotted.

Randall wiped
his sweaty palms on his pant legs and peeked over at Sam, who moved quickly and
quietly searching for the book. The hands on his watch ticked loudly, a deadly
reminder that time was short. They had to find the book before
Amaro
gave the second notice. Randall’s leg twitched nervously.
There was nothing he could do but wait and rely on Sam to find the book.

After several
minutes, Sam came back towards the opening.

“Got it!”

Even in the
darkness, Randall could sense the mile long smile on his daughter’s face. He
glanced at the illuminated dial on his watch; they had been inside the hut for
four and one half minutes.
Amaro
would give the
signal as soon as the coast was clear.

Randall glanced
out at the tribe again. They were fully entranced by one of their leaders whose
animated face shown in the light of the fire. Five minutes passed and they
waited anxiously for the
all clear
signal. At five and
half minutes, there was still no signal from
Amaro
,
and Randall became concerned that something had gone wrong. At six minutes
Randall’s concern bordered on panic. There was no telling how much longer the
ceremony would last, and if it ended before he and Sam could exit the hut,
there would be no chance of escaping.

Finally at
seven minutes, the familiar
bird call
came. Randall
pushed the cloth open for Sam who silently slipped through the opening. Randall
followed suit but caught his foot on a small jar near the entrance and watched
in horror as he sent it hurtling out into the midst of the gathered tribe.
Randall stared out at the now silent group.

All eyes of the
tribe were locked on him as he sprinted from the hut under the brightly lit
moon. As he turned the corner the screams from the
tribespeople
exploded behind him in a loud cacophony.

Randall
sprinted for the tree line, watching as Sam disappeared into the brush. He
didn’t need to look back; he heard and sensed hundreds of feet beating the
earth behind him.

Small
projectiles crashed around him as he covered the final few feet to the edge of
the jungle.
Amaro
and Sam were already moving through
the dense foliage as Randall finally cleared the edges of the village.

“Hurry, Dad!”

Randall pushed
aside large palm fronds, vines and branches, struggling to make headway through
the dense vegetation. He stumbled over a fallen tree branch in his path and
tumbled to the ground, coming to rest on the ground, facing the village.

The quiet of
the jungle was shattered as the villagers burst through the edge of the bush,
pursuing Randall as if they were famished, and he was their favored meal.

Randall scrambled
to his feet, lurching forward through the darkness, and he almost fell again.
The natives were gaining on him, their nimble bodies moving swiftly through the
brush. One pursuer was nearly upon him. Randall could hear his rhythmic
breathing and could see him as he looked over his shoulder. The villager was
within several feet of Randall when he dropped abruptly to the ground. Shocked,
Randall looked ahead on the trail and saw
Amaro
lowering his weapon and resuming his trot.

Randall caught
sight of Sam who was momentarily in the front before
Amaro
caught and passed her. The three were running parallel to a
river
which fed
into the jungle where the keepers’ village lay. The bank of
the river offered a smoother, easier surface for running, but also presented
much less cover to protect them.
Amaro
was leading
them to a small boat he had hidden along the shoreline, but Randall had no idea
how close they were.

Again,
projectiles struck the brush and ground around Randall as the natives gain on
him. He was in a footrace for his life and was losing to the diminutive
natives, who were much more accustomed to the physical demands of pursuit.
Without warning, a villager popped out of the bushes, no more than two feet
away from
Amaro
. The warrior parried him with a large
stick, knocked him unconscious and backwards into the river.

Samantha shot
her dad an incredulous look and then turned to continue running.

The hill sloped
upward as the land climbed away from the river, making the trek more demanding.
Randall pumped his legs the best he could, but he soon realized he was running
out of steam. Meanwhile, his pursuers were undeterred by the uphill incline.

I have to keep
running
,
played on a loop in his mind as
his legs slowly turned to rubber beneath him. He was slowing down and realized
that if they didn’t reach the boat soon, the keepers would catch him. The only
redeeming thought was that Sam had the book. As long as she and
Amaro
made it back to the
Capanhuaco
,
they still had a chance of stopping
Dumond
and making
the reunification a reality.

Randall glanced
at the river that was now about 15 feet down and to the right of the trail.
They were still climbing, but the incline became more gradual. Sam and
Amaro
had put distance between themselves and Randall, who
called out to his daughter.

“Sam, I’m not
going to make it. Take the book back to the
Capanhuaco
!”

As if a wall
suddenly appeared on the trail, Sam stopped and turned.

Randall slowed
to a jog and motioned for her to keep running, “Don’t stop! You need to get that
book away from here!”

“I’m not
leaving you!”

Amaro
appeared at
Sam’s side and spoke to her briefly, pulling her along. She ran with him,
looking back at her father as she moved down the trail. After a couple of
minutes, Sam and
Amaro
crested a hill and slowly
disappeared from his sight.

Exhausted now,
Randall turned again to look at his pursuers. They continued their relentless
pace, closing to within ten yards of him.

Every fiber of
his being cried out for him to surrender, but he willed himself forward. If he
could make it to the crest of the hill, he could gain speed going down the
other side.

He pressed on,
reaching the peak and glanced over his shoulder. They were within five yards
now and not showing signs of slowing. He could see the determination in their
faces. The lead warriors carried large sharpened spears. There would be no
surrendering this time. He knew in his heart that they would make him pay for
stealing their sacred text.

Randall crested
the peak and began running downhill. With gravity on his side, he was able to
temporarily outrun his pursuers and actually increase his lead on them. His
good fortune was short lived, however, as the tribal people soon crested the
hill as well and began closing the gap again.

His weary legs
hurt with each stride, and his chest burned with fatigue. Realizing he was only
minutes away from being caught, Randall took one final breath, making a push
for the boat, hoping it was only a short distance away.

His final burst
of energy soon faded, and Randall decelerated to a slow jog. He glanced over
his shoulder and saw the wide-eyed warriors closing in on him.
It was no use
,
he couldn’t go on
.
He slowed even further and resigned himself to his fate.

“Dad, down
here!”

Randall
flinched at the unexpected sound of Sam’s voice. He glanced over the edge of
the hill and down to the river. Sam and
Amaro
were in
the boat, making their way toward him. The current was carrying the boat rather
quickly, and they would soon be directly under him.

“You’ll have to
jump!”

Randall backed
from the edge. The light from the moon was bright enough for him to judge
clearly that he was about twenty feet above the water. If it
wasn’t
deep enough, he would likely be crushed from the impact. At best, he would
probably be paralyzed.

He glanced at
the quickly approaching warriors, then back down at the water.

“Hurry, you
need to jump in front of us! I don’t think we can steer back for you!”

The warriors
were only ten feet from him now, and the boat was almost under him.

Randall sighed,
closed his eyes, opened them and dashed towards the edge and then off. It
seemed like he was freefalling in slow motion. He could feel his stomach rise
inside his
body which
tingled with the feeling of
temporary weightlessness. After what seemed like a very long time, the water
finally reached his feet, and Randall pierced the surface keeping his legs as
straight as possible to ensure a relatively clean entry.

He sank and
sank, the momentum of the jump carrying him deep into the river. The buoyancy
finally arrested his fall, and he kicked his feet and pushed his way towards
the surface. As he breached, the boat came careening right at him. He pushed
away as hard as he could, and narrowly avoided having his head crushed by the
bow of the vessel. As the boat skidded by, he felt two strong hands grasp him
under the arms and haul him into the boat like he was the catch of the day.

Amaro
laid Randall’s
weary body in the bottom of the hull while Sam steered the small craft. Arrows,
spears and rocks splashed around the boat but mostly fell behind them as the
current carried them quickly downstream.

Randall felt
like his body was made of lead. He couldn’t move or talk. It took his every
effort to just breathe in and out. He turned his head towards his smiling
daughter.