Burial Ground

I

Andes Mountains, Peru

October 30^th

3:25 p.m. PET

Galen was furious. How had he allowed them to talk him into keeping his mouth shut when all of their lives hung in the balance? They could no longer dance around the issue. The more he thought about it, the more evidence amassed, the more he became convinced that his theory was correct.

Something had survived in these mountains that had never been meant to, and it was something far more dangerous than simply an unclassified species of condor.

He needed to convince the others to forsake their quest and get the hell out of there before it was too late.

If it wasn't already.

Through the maze of trees, he saw Morton and Webber milling around an especially crooked tree. They stiffened when they noticed him coming and stood side by side across the path as though in an attempt to block it. A sheer wall of stone rose behind them to a series of terraced gardens built onto the summit. Winding staircases connected them like trails of tears down the rugged face.

It wasn't until he was upon the two men that he noticed the cut in the rock wall behind the tree, a crevice of shadows that radiated the coldness of the tomb, from which the buzzing sound originated. But right now even that was preferable to the rain that chilled him to the marrow.

The men seemed to swell in stature as he approached. Or maybe it was the fact that their pistols had been replaced by seriously intimidating assault rifles.

They knew.

"Where's Leo?" Galen asked.

"Mr. Gearhardt doesn't wish be disturbed," Webber said. "He asked that we help afford him some privacy."

"You don't understand. I need to speak with him right now." Galen veered to the right to pass them, but Webber matched his movement to bar his passage.

"As I said, Dr. Russell, Mr. Gearhardt insisted that he not be interrupted."

Galen threw up his arms in exasperation. This was maddening. He was going to have to try a different tact.

"What did you find in there?" he asked in little more than a whisper. He didn't need to see the men share an almost imperceptible glance to know he had struck a chord. "I know what's going on here. And whether Leo likes it or not, the time has come to lay all of our cards on the table. We're in serious danger here, and the sooner we face that reality and devise a plan to return to Pomacochas, the better our chances of survival."

"You're being overly dramatic," Morton said.

"Am I? Tell me then, what did you discover inside that cave?"

When neither man replied, Galen attempted to shove between them, but it was like trying to shoulder his way through a pair of redwoods. They looked through him as though he were an insignificant gnat.

"Fine," Galen said. He readjusted his poncho and slicked his wet hair back. "The moment Leo is available to talk about the prospect of living through this, you tell him to come find me."

Galen turned and stormed off. He had never felt so angry and helpless in his entire life, and, worse still, he had never been so afraid. They were beginning to comprehend the threat surrounding them, but they were hiding something at the same time. Had they made a discovery in that cave worth jeopardizing all of their lives? What could possibly justify that cost?

For not the first time, he debated gathering whoever would listen and making a run for civilization, but he knew their chances diminished in smaller groups, especially if one of the groups had all of the weapons and the skill to wield them. For now, he needed to focus on convincing everyone that their lives were in jeopardy, and the easiest way to accomplish that goal was through Leo. Galen had to find a way to reach him.

As soon as he was out of sight, he ducked off the path into the ruins. He wound around the remnants of huts that now served as planters for massive kapoks and shrubs of all kinds. The flat basalt that had been used to form the paths between buildings had been ground to gravel by time and the cruel usurpation by the forest. He stayed low, keeping the crumbled rings of the dwellings between him and where Morton and Webber guarded the mouth of the tunnel. With any luck, he would be able to use the cover to reach the abrupt hillside, then sneak along the face of the cliff and slip into the cave behind them. It was a long shot for sure, but if he somehow managed to use the broad, warped tree that concealed the cave as a screen...

The northern fortification rose into view, the crumbled section they had ascended not far to his right. Beyond, the waterfall roared through the mist, sporadically appearing in cascades of blue and white as it plummeted down the vertical rocks. Suddenly, he felt isolated from everyone else, alone in another world where even the sound of his legs thrashing through the underbrush was more than he could bear. There were blind corners and leafy barriers all around him. Anything could be lurking behind them, watching him, waiting for him to walk just a little bit closer so it could leap out of hiding and set upon him with snapping teeth and slashing claws.

He was on the verge of hyperventilation. The time had come to double back. Whether he managed to slip past the guards or not, he needed to be in the company of other people.

The wind shifted with a scream, assaulting him with raindrops from his left. He instinctively turned away as he approached the base of the cliff, and to his right, past the lip of the obsidian wall, he clearly saw the falls for the first time through the parted clouds. It wasn't a straight deadfall, but rather numerous steps that created half a dozen smaller falls, some much longer than others. A ledge crept along the stone face and terminated in a dark recess that he glimpsed only momentarily before the gust waned and allowed the mist to again coalesce.

He debated the prospect that the tunnels through the mountain might intersect somewhere underground for a nanosecond before deciding against it. The last thing he wanted was to further separate himself from the rest of the party, especially by entering a dark warren of caves where no one would think to search for him if anything happened. Instead, he headed south, staying hunched and close to the ruins. As he neared the main path, he slowed and continued at a crouch, careful to keep his tread light and silent. The crooked tree appeared through the jungle, beyond the fallen wall of one of the circular huts, which itself was nearly invisible under a wild cluster of foliage. He couldn't see either of the men, but they would have had to have been standing in the mouth of the tunnel for him to have been able to anyway.

Slowly, he advanced, gingerly placing each footfall so as not to make a single twig snap. He sorted through the patter of rainfall on the canopy and the whistle of the wind, listening for even the slightest sound to betray the location of the men. The first whisper of voices reached him when he was nearly upon the tree. He pressed aside a tangle of ferns, and craned his neck to see where Morton and Webber now stood, facing east along the trail as Sam strode toward them with the pilot and the documentary crew in tow. Webber raised a palm to signal Sam to stop, presumably so he could recite the same spiel about not disturbing Leo.

This was Galen's chance.

He dashed out from behind the cover, passed the tree, and ducked into the crevice. Not once did he so much as risk a glance back over his shoulder.

Skulls leered at him from the shelves to either side before vanishing as the darkness swallowed him whole. A coarse scraping sound echoed from ahead. After several interminable minutes of walking, during which he struggled to stave off panic and felt the smothering weight of thousands of tons of rock above his head, a faint glow blossomed in the corridor in front of him. The pale light expanded with each step. A handheld halogen lamp lay on its side, its beam directed at the wall. A dark form knelt in the center, the source of the grating noise. Details emerged as he neared. It was a man, laboring to chisel something from the earthen floor.

"You guys are supposed to be---" the silhouette started, but stopped mid-sentence when it turned in his direction.

Galen recognized Sorenson's voice, and a heartbeat later, the expression on his face.

What Galen saw on the floor in front of Sorenson caused him to gasp.

Bones.

Sorenson was clearing a festering mess of body parts into a mound that swarmed with the flies he could now clearly hear in the absence of the chiseling sound.