Burial Ground

VI

2:36 p.m.

"Now pan left and sweep up the hillside," Dahlia Warner said from behind him where she knelt on the dock. "Make sure you get that little market and the church across the street."

Jay Sizemore did as he was directed. The shot of the street and the Spanish-style buildings against the backdrop of the lush rainforest may not have been exciting, but it was an improvement over the ten minutes of footage he had filmed of the nearly naked fishermen just sitting in their boats out in the middle of the lake. He felt the constant need to wash his hands for fear of contracting some disease or other. He looked forward to heading out into the jungle. Granted, everything would be dirty and covered with fungus and moss, but it was supposed to be. For whatever bizarre reason, that made all the difference in the world.

Jay rose from where he crouched and walked down the center of the road leading away from the dock. Dahlia's goal was to shoot this documentary in a way that made it feel like a first-person exploration, as though the viewer were actually a participant in the expedition. She had delusions of the film appearing on IMAX screens across the country in wide, panoramic splendor, and who knew? If they indeed discovered ancient ruins filled with priceless relics that had remained hidden for a millennium, she just might be right. And if she was, he could only imagine the fame and financial rewards that would come. Perhaps even a little golden statue or two.

Gravel crunched underfoot. Mosquitoes hummed and flies buzzed. The din of voices drifted down the street. None of these sounds would reach their final version, of course, as they would be replaced by voiceover or music of some kind. For whatever reason, the score from the Indiana Jones movies played on a continuous loop in his mind.

A ramshackle cantina clouded by cigarette smoke and desperation passed to his left, their humble accommodations to his right. A hairy monkey scrabbled up the side of the shack beyond and disappeared over the roof. For a brief moment, Jay thought he saw the silhouette of a man in the shadows between the buildings, and then it was gone. He watched from the peripheral range of the viewfinder as he passed, but saw only an empty alley filled with garbage and rusted appliances. Apparently, the natives were both curious and camera-shy.

A burro stood in front of the market, saddle bags brimming with round green lucuma fruit. It raised its tail and dropped a pile of manure for the eager flies, which gleefully abandoned the rack of cured meats upon which they'd been crawling. An elderly woman wearing a traditional oversize sweater and skirt made from alpaca wool seized the opportunity to peruse the selection in their absence. Across the street, the church, which reminded him of the little missions scattered throughout Southern California and Mexico with its sloping tiled roof, terraced bell towers, pedimented gables, and fortified quadrángulo, stood vacant. He had heard the bell's Call to Mass not so long ago, and wondered how much it would cost to convince the priest to make it ring again for the camera, or would even the request be considered sacrilegious?

There was a shift in the shadows beside the church. For a heartbeat, he thought he saw a human form peel apart from the darkness. He stepped to his right to get a better view, but saw nothing between him and the quadrángulo wall. Probably just another monkey or a skittish child. Nothing to get worked up about.

"Zoom down the street and then up to the mountains," Dahlia said. "Focus on the clouds covering the peaks, and then fade out."

Jay did as instructed, then lowered the camera. When he turned to Dahlia, she was positively beaming.

"You realize we're about to make history, don't you?" she asked.

Her enthusiasm was contagious. He couldn't help but return her smile.

"I believe you've mentioned that once or twice."

"I mean, no one has ever documented the discovery of ancient ruins like we're about to."

"Technically, the ruins have already been discovered."

"You don't know that for sure. Mr. Gearhardt's son could have not found them at all. There's no verifiable proof."

"If that's the case, then there might not be any ruins up there at all."

"When did you become such a pessimist?"

"Where have you been? I've always been the voice of reason in the sea of unbridled optimism. Even back in film school."

"Way back then, huh? What was that, three years ago now?"

"I already feel like I've been paying the student loans forever."

"Well, this ought to put an end to that nonsense," Dahlia said, and gave him a wink that weakened his knees.

He'd been crazy about her for more years than he cared to admit. Unfortunately, he knew nothing would ever come of it, so he would have to settle for proximity and hope that like a mold or a fungus, he would eventually grow on her. He wasn't a bad looking guy by anyone's definition. He just wasn't in the same league as Dahlia. From the right angle, he imagined he looked a little like Kurt Cobain with dark hair, while in reality, he was probably more reminiscent of a long-haired Gary Sinise in Forrest Gump. Dahlia, on the other hand, had all of the magical qualities that would have served her every bit as well in front of the camera as behind it. It wasn't just the Jaime Pressly hair or the Claudia Schiffer eyes, the Jennifer Aniston body or the Denise Richards lips. It was everything about her: the way she moved, the way she projected herself, her boundless confidence. The way she elevated his skills to her level whenever she was around.

Perhaps the formation of Four Winds Productions had been a marriage of convenience at first, but it had become a true partnership. Granted, his father owned the rundown sound studio they'd been able to renovate with only a small bank loan and charged only nominal rent, and his uncle had known a guy at Paramount who had sold them the used equipment for a song and dance, but she had brought the ambition and the will to succeed that he often lacked. Now if only she could see him as a partner in more than the financial sense.

"So are you just going to stand there, or are we going to get in on this strategy session and figure out what the plan is from here?" Dahlia asked. She smirked, slipped her arm under his, and led him back down the street toward their hotel.

Jay glanced back over his shoulder at the church. He was certain he could feel the weight of unseen eyes watching him from just out of sight.