Burial Ground

II

5:00 p.m.

Merritt had been transported to a different place and time entirely. The moment he had stepped around that gnarled ceiba tree and faced the deep black maw in the mountain, he had frozen mid-stride. In his mind, smoke boiled out of the orifice on the cries of the wounded. The jungle around him vanished and the world became an eternity of sand. Consciously, he understood that none of this was real, that the hell before him was a product of the deep-seated guilt, shame, and horror that he had until now managed to repress, but he was helpless against the illusion. He had run half the globe away only to end up right back where he had started.

He wished his prescriptions hadn't been stolen, but even with the antipsychotic and anti-anxiety drugs on board, he knew there was still no way he would have been able to go in there. It was a physiological reaction beyond his control. His legs were leaden, his feet rooted to the earth. His hands grew cold from lack of circulation and the sensation of dizziness worsened. His chest heaved faster and faster and yet he still felt as though he couldn't breathe.

How long had the others been in there? How long had he been standing here, crippled by the irrational terror from the past? There was death all around him. The threat of the bloodshed to come lingered in the air. This was the time when they needed him most, when he needed to be sharp and focused, and he was useless even to himself as he cowered before the memories of a life long since abandoned.

With supreme effort, he forced his stilted legs to move, if only in increments of inches.

The raindrops bludgeoned him, threatening to drive him to his knees.

Voices echoed from the shaft as though from miles away. Beneath them, the buzzing sound of television static metamorphosed into rapidly approaching footsteps. A weak light blossomed from the core of the darkness. It grew larger and brighter as he watched. A silhouetted figure took form in the center, moving directly toward him. All he could clearly discern was the cape-like outline of a poncho and a pair of slender legs.

"We're leaving," Sam said, bursting from the shadows. "Now."

The sense of relief that flooded through Merritt freed his tight muscles so completely that he nearly collapsed.

Sam blew past him as Jay and Dahlia emerged from the tunnel with the birdman at their heels. Before Merritt found the strength to turn and join them, he looked back into the darkness. No one else was coming.

"Wait!" he called. His legs felt like noodles, but they strengthened with each stride away from the crevice until he was able to jog. He crashed through the underbrush and ducked around the others until he caught up with Sam at the front of the procession. They were headed north toward the rising rumble of the waterfall and the fallen section of the fortification where they had initially entered. The southern route would likely have been shorter and more direct, but he didn't blame her in the slightest for wanting to avoid the corpses.

She scrabbled down the black stone rubble, and when she reached the ground, made a beeline toward the trail that led into the jungle. What had formerly been a trickle of water was now a stream racing along the path, the mud beneath it as slick as ice. With the weight of their packs, balance was untenable, yet Sam refused to slow.

Merritt glanced back and confirmed that the rest were still following them. Jay had been forced to cradle the camera to his chest to keep from slipping, while both Dahlia and Galen were already covered in muck.

Sam squealed. He turned around to see her sliding on her backpack through the runoff. At the bend ahead, she slammed into the buttress roots of a massive tree with a resounding crack. She rolled onto her side and moaned.

Merritt slid sideways down the trail, bracing his hand on the ground for stability.

"Are you all right?" He helped her to her feet and gave her a quick once over. No visibly broken bones. No sign of blood. She rubbed her forehead where a knot was already beginning to swell.

"I'm fine," she said, brushing away his hands. "We don't have time for this."

She turned her back on him and continued down the trail.

Ahead, the rumble of running water called to them. They had to be near the stream that divided this mountain from the next. Beyond lay the sheer rock formation that contained the cavern with the purunmachus and the path back down to the lake where they had spent the previous night.

The sun had already begun to set and twilight claimed the forest.

It would be completely dark in under an hour. No moonlight would be able to permeate the storm clouds and mist, which now formed a haze around them as it crept to the ground from the canopy.

The path ahead would grow increasingly treacherous.

Their window of opportunity had closed.

There was no way they were getting off the mountain tonight.