“I take it you know each other,” Sam said smiling.
“This is the guide who led our expedition to the temple. I thought he had been killed when we were attacked at the entrance,” Randall gripped Amaro’s hand and shook.
“Thank you for saving us, but we can’t go back with you yet. This tribe has the sacred book and we need it.”
“Then we will wait for darkness and take it back.”
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 h
is 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.
“We thought we might lose you back there. When Amaro told me the boat was just over the hill, I knew our best chance was for me to help him get the boat and bring it back to you.”
“That’s my girl,” Randall said weakly. Every part of his body ached, and he closed his eyes trying to recover from the long run and jump. They were safe now and could focus on returning to find the medallion.
“Amaro, how long until we get back?”
“About an hour. Rest now my friend for we will soon need to move again.”
Randall didn’t need to be told twice. He closed his eyes, happy that the day’s events were finally over.
Chapter thirty-two
Amaro led Randall and Sam back to the clearing and to George, who was sitting on a fallen log only several feet from where they had left him. Upon seeing them, George jumped to his feet and raced towards them, clearly happy to see their faces again.
“What happened? I thought you were only going to be gone for a couple of hours? I was getting worried that I was going to have to spend the night alone in this creepy jungle.”
“Sorry George, we ran into a little trouble,” Randall said, taking a seat on the stump.
“That’s okay, I was just worried about you. I’m really glad you’re both back,” he said, patting Randall on the back.
“My friends, I must go back to my tribe and tell my leaders what has happened. Good luck,” Amaro said, walking to the edge of the clearing. Randall watched as he left and after a few moments, Amaro disappeared into the dark underbrush.
After a short rest, the three made their way back through the jungle, moving in the direction of the ruins. Conversation was sparse as they made their way in the moonlight.
“Dr. Randall?” George asked sheepishly.
“Yes?”
“I heard Dumond talking about something called the Drake Equation with one of his men, a huge soldier with a mustache,” George said.
“That must have been Ackers,” Sam added.
“Anyway, he said he heard you give a lecture about it. What was he talking about?” George asked.
“He was referring to an astronomer who developed an equation for estimating the number of intelligent civilizations in the galaxy. He showed that, mathematically speaking, the universe should be teeming with intelligent life.”
“If that’s true, then why haven’t any alien species contacted us?” George asked.
“That’s a good question, and there are several theories that might explain it. First, if a civilization is much more advanced than we are, they might not bother trying to communicate with us. Relatively speaking, we’re cavemen compared to them. Think about it this way. If there was an anthill on the side of a road, no human is going to stop and try to communicate with the ants because they’re too simplistic to understand what we are trying say,” Randall replied.
“I can see your point.”
“Then there’s another theory that advanced civilizations might have some sort of rule about not interfering with the development of more primitive species. They might worry that if they did, it might cause some sort of cosmic imbalance or problem for the simpler life forms.”
“Like the prime directive in Star Trek!” George exclaimed.
Randall smiled. “Right. But I tend to believe in another explanation. I think that we have made contact with alien species, but in very limited capacities.”
“How do you mean?” George asked.
“If you look at history, there are hints about extraterrestrial visitations scattered throughout the world.”
“Such as?”
“Well, there are the ancient petroglyphs around the world that seem to portray humanoid figures sporting unusual headgear like Apollo-era astronaut helmets,” Randall said.
“What? You’re kidding, right?”
“Not at all, in fact, there’s one Mayan carving that looks like a man sitting in a space capsule with knobs and buttons. After seeing it, you have to wonder how the ancient Maya could have created an image like that, unless they had actually seen one.”
“I had no idea,” George said, shaking his head in disbelief.
“You’re not alone. Most people aren’t aware of these things and mainstream science doesn’t want to address the possibility that our ancestors may have interacted with advanced species.”
“Sorry to break up your conversation boys, but we need to get going,” Sam said, surveying their surroundings. Her mood darkened and Randall noticed that she had a strange expression on her face.<
br />
“Is something wrong?” Randall asked.
“Doesn’t it seem odd to you that none of the soldiers followed you when you ran out of the compound? Someone must have heard the gunshots and noticed that the medallion was missing,” Sam said.
Randall shrugged, “Maybe they thought some of Kristoph’s men had survived the attack, stole the medallion and returned to their ship.”
“Maybe, but I feel like something’s not right. Dumond isn’t the sort of man who would just give up on finding the city and the power source, especially after building the power station and the satellites.”
“I guess they just haven’t figured out what’s going on yet, so we’d better hurry before they do,” Randall said.
As they re-entered the ruins, Sam once again marveled at the craftsmanship of the tunnel. In spite of the terrible turn of events, she was still filled with awe at the discovery. “This could change the way we view human history,” she said to herself. She stopped and stared. “It will change the way we view human history.”
The trio soon reached the inner chamber, then traversed down the ropes that Ackers’s men had left. The path was becoming more familiar for Sam and her father due to the previous trips, but for George, the experience was otherworldly. Walking through an elaborately carved rock structure, far under the surface of the Earth, was a far cry from the clean rooms at Gemini Orbital. George felt a bit like a swashbuckling adventurer on a quest in search of untold treasure. His good mood vanished as they approached the crevasse.
“Why is it so hot in here?” George asked.
“It is a lot warmer than before,” Sam said.
Slowly inching his way to the edge of the crevasse, Randall discovered the source of the heat.
“Magma.”
Sam joined her father, shining her light down into the depths of the crevasse. The formerly bottomless pit now had a termination point. One that ended in hot molten rock. George inched his way to the ledge to see for himself.
“That doesn’t look good.”
The Vilcabamba Prophecy: A Nick Randall Novel Page 18