Burial Ground

by Michael McBride

  Merritt released her arm and took a step in reverse.

  "I'm sorry," he said with a shrug. "I obviously misjudged you, but can you blame me? No sooner do I give the headdress to the Consulate than you guys show up with all your digging gear. Like you, I tend to get a little defensive when it comes to defiling the heritage of the people of this country."

  A faint smile crossed her lips, but it vanished as quickly as it appeared.

  It was a start.

  "What do you say?" Merritt asked. "Can we start again from scratch?"

  He proffered his hand. Her eyes met his. Even the touch of her skin and the weak reciprocal shake made his heart race. With a curt nod, she released his hand and turned back to where Santos and Naldo now stood, appraising the angry swarm of black flies.

  Santos muttered something in Quechua as they approached. He kissed his fingertips and made the sign of the cross, then backed slowly away. He had paled considerably. Naldo aped the older man's movements and headed back toward the trail.

  "Supay," he gasped, and nearly bowled right through Merritt in his hurry.

  Merritt was unfamiliar with the word, but Sam wasn't.

  "Demon," she translated. A crinkle formed in her forehead between her brows.

  "What's that supposed to mean?" Merritt asked, but a moment later he had his answer. Were it not for the tufts of golden fur hanging from the branches of the ceiba and scattered through the ferns, the animal would have been unidentifiable. Broken and disarticulated bones littered the ground, the white calcium stained brown with blood. The flies fought for space on the vegetation, which was crusted with what looked like rust. With the exception of the knots of tendons on the ends of the long bones, there wasn't a single scrap of flesh to be seen. It looked like the animal had struck the ground at high velocity like a meteorite, spreading its remains in a shotgun-pattern that covered close to thirty feet, at the end of which were the shattered bones of the skull.

  "What could have done this to a jaguar?" Sam asked.

  "Probably poachers," the birdman said from behind them. "And this is all that's left after the scavengers were finished with the carcass." He stooped, plucked a feather from a clump of grasses, and studied it for a moment before he stuffed it into his backpack.

  "I didn't see any even remotely fresh tracks," Merritt said. "Those vines we were hacking through would have taken weeks to obscure the path, and this mess can't be more than a couple days old."

  "They could have come from another direction."

  "Then they would have had to have been natives since we're thirty-some miles into the heart of the rainforest and that river is the only way in or out of this valley from the east. And I don't see natives being this careless or destructive. They would have carefully skinned the animal and utilized every inch of it, right down to the bones."

  "And most native South American cultures revere, if not outright worship, the jaguar," Sam added.

  "Well then, you tell me," the birdman said, puffing out his chest and focusing on Merritt. "With your vast knowledge of the animals of the Amazon and the cultures of the hidden tribes, what happened to this jaguar?"

  Merritt crouched beside the broken remnants of the skull. Teeth surrounded the fragments of the mandible. A hairy black spider scuttled out of one of the eye sockets where it had funneled a web. He heard the crunch of footsteps as the rest of their group arrived. Brushing aside a cascade of fern fronds, he exposed the round cap of the animal's cranium.

  "I have absolutely no idea," Merritt said. He held up the crown of bone. A ragged hole had been punched squarely through the middle, from which lightning-bolt factures radiated to the very edges. "But I can't imagine it was a pleasant way to die."

  II

  10:50 a.m.

  Dahlia could tell something interesting was transpiring in the clearing ahead. She and Jay had been trailing in the rear with the freckled farmboy Morton, the dark-skinned Webber with the sun-bleached hair, and their youthful guide, Kemen, allowing the others to forge a path through the jungle while she and her cameraman waited like vultures for anything intriguing to pop up. They were definitely going to need it. So far, all they had was some boring footage of the town, the river, and a bunch of trees and animals.

  She skirted around Morton and Webber, who carried the large crate containing the ground-penetrating radar and magnetometer units between them on long wooden poles that rested on their shoulders, to get a better view of the gathering at the far end of the light gap. The way everyone had rushed through the opening reinforced her belief that there was something out there worthy of documentation.

  "Jay," she said, turning to her cameraman. He had paled significantly and was soggy with sweat and the last of the rain, which apparently had abated sometime while they were beneath the dripping canopy. "Start filming as you exit the path. I want to record everything as if we're walking into the clearing and seeing whatever's out there for the first time."

  "Isn't that exactly what we're doing?"

  "Don't be a smartass. Just get that camera rolling."

  She stepped to the side of the beaten path and waited for Jay to pass her. He held the digital recorder in front of him and studied the four-inch monitor. Somehow, he managed to mind his feet and the image at the same time. She had to give him credit. The automatic stabilization system would prevent the recording from bouncing violently with each step Blair Witch-style, but it would be useless if he tripped and fell.

  Dahlia watched over his shoulder as he traversed the path, ascended the toppled trunk, and dropped again to the ground. The crowd ahead had begun to disperse, and was now spread over a span of roughly twenty feet, at the end of which several crouched amid the ferns, inspecting something on the ground. Whatever they had found held them enrapt. Her heart raced. It took every last ounce of restraint to keep from commanding Jay to run ahead. This was the perfect opportunity to build dramatic tension. If the viewer felt even half of the anticipation that she currently experienced, their film would truly be something special.

  "I want to see it like they did when they discovered whatever's down there," she said. "Stick to the path until you can clearly tell what's going on, then go over to where those guys are kneeling."

  Jay followed her direction perfectly. By the time he broke off to the right, she had an unobstructed view of what had attracted so much attention. Between the roaring buzz of the swirling flies, the curls of desiccated skin and fur, and the wash of blood and broken bones, it reminded her more of news footage from Serbia than anything she had expected to find in the jungle. The sheer ferocity with which the animal had been slaughtered was frightening, beyond even the aftermath of the attack of a great white shark. What could possibly be responsible for such carnage?

  "Are you getting this?" she asked. Her voice trembled with excitement.

  "Hard to miss."

  Jay slowed his pace and angled the camera in such a way that if she craned her neck, she could see the monitor too. Part of her had expected the scene not to translate through the lens, but if anything, the camera and the level of the zoom served to amplify the atrocity.

  When they finally caught up with the others, Merritt was holding up a fractured section of the cranium.

  "Give me a tight zoom on that part of the skull. Make sure to get the hole."

  Merritt noticed the camera in his face, dropped the bone, and backed hurriedly away.

  Camera shy, Dahlia thought. Now that she truly pondered it, she didn't have any footage of the man's face at all. Only his back and shoulders as he rode in the boat ahead of theirs or hacked through the jungle. Interesting. She made a mental note to test his reaction to the lens the next chance she got. There was definitely something strange about his response, but not nearly as strange as what had happened here. The jaguar hadn't simply been killed. It had been obliterated.

  "Cut," Dahlia said. Jay stretched his back and rolled his head on his neck. "Let's get one more shot looking straight down this mess from the edge of the t
ree line. Zoom in past the remains, and then zoom out as fast as you can. It looks like the animal was torn apart while it was running. I want to see if we can replicate the effect on film."

  She turned and headed toward the wall of foliage, listening to the crackle of Jay's tread on the detritus to ensure he was following, the only sound other than the muffled voices and the static buzz of black flies. She paused. That in itself was noteworthy. Where was the dissonance of the calling birds, the screeching monkeys, and the croaking frogs? It was as though nearly all other life had vacated this region of the rainforest.

  After just a few short minutes in the blazing tropical sun, she felt the cold emanating from the shadows beyond the trees. Hackles stippled her triceps and crept up her spine as she turned her back on the watchful jungle.

  "Stay right there," Jay said. He had nearly reached her, but now stood in place, ever-so-slowly raising the camera in her direction. "Don't move."

  The way he said it made her want to scream and run back to join the others, yet the sudden onset of fear rooted her to the ground.

  "What is it?" she whispered. Every muscle in her body grew taut. Her heartbeat thumped in her ears.

  "Just don't move. You're going to have to see this to believe it."

  Jay approached her slowly, but without trepidation. She noted he focused the camera past her and above her left shoulder. Her stale breath finally escaped and she started to relax.

  "For the love of God, Jay, tell me what you---"

  "Shh! Hold still. Just another few seconds and...aw, man."

  He lowered the camera and walked toward her, grinning.

  "What the hell is wrong with you?" She punched him in the shoulder. "You scared me half to death."

  "Believe me. You'll thank me when you see this."

  He stood at her side and positioned the camera's screen so they could both see it. Sensing she was still wound as tight as a spring, he offered a crooked smile and nudged her with his hip. "Relax already." He rewound the scene and played it back at normal speed.

  Dahlia saw herself against the gnarled green backdrop of the forest. The pastel blossoms of bromeliads poked out from where they were rooted to the branches and trunks. She heard the scuffle of feet and then Jay spoke. On the small screen, her body tensed and the blood drained from her face.

  Jay chuckled, and she pinched his arm.

  "Ow! Just watch, would you?"

  Over her smaller self's shoulder, Dahlia saw twin dots of an almost turquoise color, and below them, a jagged slash of white. It looked like the face of some terrible predator: slanted eyes and a savage snarl against an olive-green face.

  And then the face collapsed in upon itself.

  The camera zoomed past her shoulder and focused on it. When the face folded open again, she recognized it for what it truly was. One turquoise eye encircled by a black ring dominated each forewing, while each hindwing featured half of the sharp-toothed mouth. Thin ebon veins mottled the wings in such a way as to create the impression of scales.

  The massive butterfly closed its wings together to reveal its gray thorax and legs against a plant that reminded her of aloe, then opened them again and took to the air, flapping away into the shadows.

  "You could have told me it was just a damn butterfly."

  "Your reaction was far more entertaining," Jay said. "And it wasn't just a damn butterfly. Didn't you see it? That thing had a freaking face on its wings. Have you ever seen anything like it? How cool would it be if we just recorded it on film for the first time ever?"

  She had to admit he had a point.

  Jay started to pull the camera away. She noticed movement on the monitor and grabbed his wrist.

  "Wait."

  "What?"

  "Rewind that last bit."

  He held up the screen and rewound to the point where the butterfly fluttered back out of the jungle.

  "Now play it back at half speed," she said.

  The wings opened and closed, flashing the face of evolution and then nothing, face and then nothing. There was a moment when the forest was perfectly still, and then she saw it. A silhouette shifting through the shadows.

  "Pause it."

  The image was slightly pixellated, but she could still clearly see the distinct outline of a man with the faint reflection of the sunlight on his eyes and on teeth that had been filed to points.

  Jay allowed the film to run, and the man vanished into the darkness again.

  III

  11:15 a.m.

  "What do you make of it?" Leo asked.

  They had left the light gap and the terrible stench behind them in favor of pushing deeper into the jungle. Morton now took his turn chopping through the overgrowth while the massive Swede Sorenson and the tattooed Rippeth carried the delicate sensing equipment between them. Webber hung back with Colton and him as they discussed the implications of the video in whispers. Dahlia had gathered them all around and shown them the recording mere feet from the remains of the jaguar. While the appearance of what they assumed to be a native hadn't caused panic to descend upon the group, they weren't far from it. Everything about the man had been unnaturally dark, save the sharp teeth. The fact that he had been able to encroach to within ten yards of their position without betraying his presence was unnerving. How many more of them were out there at this very moment, stalking them unseen from the shadows without so much as the sound of crinkling leaves? Had the man been responsible for the carnage in the clearing? It seemed impossible that even a group of men could have been capable of doing such a thing to so ferocious a creature, and if they had, what did that mean for Leo and his party?

  "I'm not exactly sure," Colton said. "If there's more than one of them out there, as I suspect, they could have already attacked us ten times over. My guess is they're just curious for now, however, I can't rule out an ambush down the road. As far as whether or not they're responsible for what happened to that jaguar, I tend to think not. I can't see even an experienced hunting party being able to bring down the animal in that fashion. The way the carcass was spread out across the field suggests it was overcome while running at a high rate of speed and torn apart even before its momentum died, which is beyond the physical capabilities of any number of men without a pair of Gatling guns."

  "So you think it was shot?" Leo asked. "If the natives have the kind of firepower to---"

  "I didn't say that. A barrage of large-caliber rounds would have shredded the whole area."

  "What about the hole in the skull?"

  "It was too large to have been inflicted by a bullet. Besides, there would have been carbon scoring around the wound, and I doubt the bone would have been fractured in such a manner. My guess is those fissures were the result of an inordinate amount of pressure on the skull by whatever punctured it."

  "Punctured?" Leo asked. He and Colton shared a knowing glance. In his mind he saw the twin wounds on the bare back of his son's body on the autopsy table. "You don't think---?"

  "I don't think anything at this point. As far as I'm concerned, we have no choice but to reserve judgment until we have enough information."

  "But if we're in agreement that the jaguar wasn't shot, and that no amount of men could have killed it like that, then what could have?"

  Colton was silent for a long moment, during which the only sounds were the whine of mosquitoes and the crackle of their footsteps.

  "Honestly," he finally said, "I can't figure out exactly how the animal was killed. I'm sure we could dream up a thousand plausible scenarios, but operating under a faulty assumption can be deadly. Let's keep an open mind. For now, we need to continue moving, cautiously, and keep an eye out for these men---"

  "Supay," Santos interrupted. The diminutive man had obviously been eavesdropping. He stopped in front of them, face ashen, eyes wide. The darkness under the canopy had necessitated he don an alpaca-wool sweater, yet he still walked barefoot across the mat of dead sticks and leaves. "Is legendario supay in selva. Necesitamos dar vuelta detrás.
"

  "There are no demons in this jungle, and we are not turning back," Leo said. This needed to be nipped in the bud right now before the guide spooked the entire party. He looked to Colton, who gave a hesitant nod to Morton. The freckled man parted his khaki vest to reveal the SIG556 automatic pistol under his left arm. Santos's stare darted to it, then back to Leo. He returned to the path and scurried ahead to join his fellow guides, for the time dissuaded from spouting his superstitious nonsense.

  "That's going to cost us," Colton said. "First chance they get, they're going to bolt."

  "Let them. They served their purpose and got us up the river. They don't know this area of the jungle any better than we do. Why should we hang on to guides who can't guide anymore?"

  "That's not the point. If we end up confronting these natives, having darker-skinned men fluent in Quechua would be helpful. Even if the natives don't speak Quechua, the sound of the language ought to be much closer to theirs than English."

  "Sam speaks Quechua."

  "She's a white woman. Most native cultures still see women as inferior. The mere idea of her speaking directly to them could be seen as provocation."

  "Would you rather I let talk of demons undermine the entire expedition?"

  "No," Colton said. "You did what you had to do. I'm just sorry it had to be done in the first place."

  The conversation lagged for several minutes before Sam dropped back to join them. She wore an expression of extreme concentration.