Burial Ground

by Michael McBride

The man's lips twitched and blood dribbled over his cheeks.

  After several attempts, the man finally forced an epithet through the burbling blood.

  "Kuntur..."

  The muscles in his face relaxed and the last hiss of air escaped through one of the bullet wounds in his chest.

  "What's that supposed to mean?" McMasters asked.

  "Does it matter?" Tasker raised his boot and drove it down onto the man's face with a crack, then set about prying the arrow out of his deltoid muscle.

  A bellow of rage and pain echoed through the still rainforest.

  Chapter Seven

  I

  Andes Mountains, Peru

  October 30th

  1:16 p.m. PET

  The words poured out of Galen's mouth so fast that even he could barely keep up with them. He knew how fantastic his theory sounded, but he became increasingly convinced each time it played through his head. Sam had said that the golden skull was far too precisely crafted for the Chachapoya, whose metallurgical skills were historically limited. Heck, just looking at the abstract faces of the six purunmachus verified their artistic style and shortcomings. The skull had been anatomically perfect, from the seating of the gold teeth in the alveolar sockets to the positioning of the orbital housings, and the irregular sutures between the cranial bones to the hollow concavities of the system of sinuses. Even the way the mandible articulated into the temporomandibular joints reflected an almost medical understanding of the skeleton. If it were simply a sculpture, then it had to be based on something the creator could physically see while he was sculpting it, but Galen didn't think it was anything as mundane as that. Then there were the feathers incapable of flight, the avian-hybrid, snake-faced deity carved into the stone walls in the village, and the immense fortifications and impregnable alpaca pen. Combined, they painted a picture that was impossible to ignore.

  Something had survived in these mountains, hidden in the dense jungle, something capable of running down and butchering a jaguar, the crowned king of the Amazonian food chain.

  He didn't vocalize the summation of his theory. Colton and Leo needed to reach that conclusion on their own. All he said was that it was a species of raptor, though not the modern kind that nested high on the cliff-sides and feasted upon carrion.

  From the questions the men posed and the way they communicated silently in glances while he spoke, he could tell they didn't necessarily disbelieve him. But they didn't quite believe him, either.

  After Galen finished, he drew a deep breath and waited for either of them to speak. The crackle of dead branches and leaves announced the approach of the rest of their party.

  "Have you shared this theory with anyone else?" Colton finally asked. The hard look in his eyes and firm set of his jaw indicated that the question was heavily loaded, but for the life of him, Galen couldn't imagine why. He grew uncomfortable under the man's scrutiny, and paused to formulate his reply.

  "No," he lied.

  Leo nodded. "Let's just keep this between us for the time being. Even if you're right, there's no point in alarming the others just yet."

  "If I'm right? We shouldn't even be here. Lord only knows what these creatures are capable of. Think about the alpaca bones around that tree. That could easily be us."

  Colton took a step toward him and Galen instinctively cringed. Even the man's posture radiated menace.

  "You will keep your mouth shut until given clearance to open it," Colton whispered. Voices filtered through the underbrush behind them. Colton's stare ticked toward the sound, then returned to meet his. "Do you understand?"

  Galen could only nod. No threat had been uttered, but the implication hung in the air between them.

  Christ. They already knew, didn't they? How long had they known, and why the hell hadn't they turned back yet, or at least warned the rest of the party?

  Colton's expression softened as though controlled by the flick of a switch. He reached forward, lifted Galen's poncho, and plucked the feathers from the breast pocket of his vest.

  "Thank you for sharing your concerns, Dr. Russell," Colton said. A genuine smile lit his face. What kind of man could cycle through emotions so quickly? "Believe me when I say that your safety is our primary interest, and there's absolutely nothing that would compromise our commitment to maintaining it."

  Colton tucked the feathers into a pocket beneath his poncho, clapped him on the shoulder, and struck off on the path with Leo. He could hear them whispering, but couldn't decipher their words.

  What just happened?

  Galen was terrified. Something was out there in the jungle with them, possibly mere feet away in the underbrush, something that should never have survived this long. They had no idea exactly what they were up against. If he was right, as he firmly believed, they were dealing with a species of predator the likes of which mankind had never encountered.

  His breathing grew fast and shallow, and his legs started to tremble.

  Merritt scrambled down the wall of roots and hopped to the ground beside him. Galen opened his mouth to tell the pilot about his encounter. Then he remembered the expression on Colton's face and thought better of it. His mouth fell closed with the click of teeth.

  Sam climbed down next, while the three remaining guards began the arduous task of scaling the wooden jungle gym with the crate of supplies. Her eyes appeared haunted as well. What had she seen?

  The attractive director and her cameraman stood behind the men, filming their efforts. They were blissfully unaware of the danger surrounding them, as though capturing footage in a park rather than the black heart of the Amazon.

  Galen turned to the forest and watched for any sign of movement. Anything. Only the insects stirred. They stayed near the tree trunks, out of the path of the raindrops.

  And even though he couldn't see them, somewhere out there was a species that shouldn't exist, something capable of hunting this section of the rainforest to near extinction.

  A flutter of movement drew his eye to where a large butterfly opened and closed its wings. It clung to a liana, its body the color of the bark. Folded together, its wings were nearly invisible. When it opened them, Galen recognized it as the same variety Jay had recorded in the jungle the day before: pale olive-colored background, veined to imitate scales, with twin turquoise circles on each forewing, and a design on the hindwings that simulated a sharp-toothed snarl.

  Galen shuddered.

  He thought of the way the walking stick insect had evolved to mimic a twig, the way the atlas moth had altered the shape and design of its wings to mimic the striking face of a snake.

  The butterfly closed its wings again, breaking his trance.

  They were in serious danger here.

  When he turned back to the path, the others were already gone.

  His heart pounded and his legs trembled.

  "Wait up!" he called in a shrill voice, and sprinted up the trail after them.

  II

  1:48 p.m.

  There were only two of them left now, but Tasker was unconcerned. This merely altered his plans and increased his stake. They were only up against eleven, maybe half of which had any military training. The remainder were civilians, who didn't pose the slightest threat. And he and McMasters maintained the element of surprise. Once their prey discovered the source of the wealth they sought, they would attack under the cover of night. With a rotating two-man patrol, it would be easy enough to isolate one set of guards and take them out, which would buy several hours to sneak into the camp and dispatch the rest while they slept unaware. The plan was perfect in its simplicity, and the risk involved was minimal at best. Assuming everything fell into place by nightfall, by this time tomorrow, their biggest problem would be how they were going to transport their fortune back out of the mountains. And that was one problem he didn't imagine he'd mind one little bit.

  The only variable was the natives. Once the lone native who had eluded them returned to the village and told them about the slaughter, they would
come after McMasters and him again, and this time in greater numbers. Or perhaps after witnessing the extent of the massacre, they would simply go back to minding their own damn business. Maybe on their way back out of the jungle, he and McMasters could make a detour, scale that little wall of theirs, and show them exactly what they had to fear from the outside world and the technological advancements in military weaponry.

  He smiled at the thought.

  The overhanging trees fell away as the path rounded a steep stone cliff. To his right, all he could see were dark thunderheads hovering over a seamless mat of green forest that stretched clear to the infinite horizon. A layer of mist clung to everything, made fuzzy by the onslaught of rain. The wind screamed along the northern face of the mountain and buffeted them with enormous droplets.

  Tasker lowered his head and advanced into the storm. The path thinned until it was merely a rock ledge on the sheer slope. A mess of vines cascaded from above and covered the trail, making their footing even more tenuous. The tonal quality of the gusting wind changed. He recognized it immediately as the sound of a gale blowing across a hollow cavity in the cliffside. A moment later, he discovered a gap where the vines had been hacked away to reveal a maw of shadows.

  He glanced back over his shoulder, nodded to McMasters, and stepped from the ledge into the darkness. The gray light from the outside world reached past his shoulders to silhouette the structures against the rear wall. Dust hung in the air on the aged stench of a crypt. He paused and donned his night-vision goggles, drawing contrast in shades of green. The giant humanoid sculptures reminded him of the abstract art that was all the rage, a substitute for talent and training if you asked him. The odd structures to either side were reminiscent to some degree of the conjoined townhouses in the Haight-Ashbury district of San Francisco, had they been built from mud by primitives. The site obviously wasn't of great importance, or their prey would still be here.

  Something drew his eye at the base of the statuary, a recessed concavity, inside of which twin reflections sparkled. As he approached, the object took form. The reflections came from twin jewels set into some sort of bust. Not just a bust. A golden bust. He knelt before it and stroked the tacky residue of age from the smooth creation. It was some sort of idol to a long dead god; a sharp-toothed skull with gemstones for eyes, set on a bed of feathers. He carefully lifted it and appraised it. It had to weigh fifteen pounds. If that headdress had fetched a seven-figure sum, then this one piece alone could make all of their efforts worthwhile.

  McMasters whistled appreciatively behind him.

  Tasker set the skull back into the recess and studied the surrounding structure. He knocked against the plaster. Hollow. He turned to face McMasters.

  "Tear it down."

  Together they slammed the butts of their rifles repeatedly through the adobe and tore away the fractured sections. Dust billowed out and the rotten smell intensified. He had no doubt that bodies had been walled inside. If the people who had interred them were like so many other prehistoric societies, he was bound to find the most prized possessions of the dead with their remains.

  By the time they were finished, the six faces lorded over a massive black ruin that swirled with dust. Debris was heaped everywhere. Inside was a platform built from rocks and wood, on top of which were several egg-shaped bundles of rotting fabric. Tasker grabbed them one by one and threw them to the ground, then scoured the shelf. He brushed aside piles of dust, plaster fragments, and feathers to reveal the coarse wood. There were no artifacts.

  Unsheathing his knife, he turned his attention to the burial bundles and slashed the cloth. McMasters tore them apart behind him. The smell became unbearable. What in the world had they buried in there?

  "For the love of God," McMasters groaned.

  Tasker slit the final bundle and returned to where his partner hovered over the first.

  "What...?" he started, but as soon as he stepped around the other man, he could clearly see the source of the foul aroma.

  Tangles of dry fur, still attached to withered chunks of desiccated meat had been packed between the outer blanket and the greasy one beneath.

  Tasker shoved McMasters aside and ripped through the second layer to find a stuffing of feathers.

  "Where's the gold?" he growled through bared teeth.

  He tore through another layer of fabric, crisp with the fluids that had long since soaked into the blanket and hardened, and jerked the frayed sides apart to expose the mummified corpse at the core.

  Tasker stared down at the body for a long moment before looking over at McMasters, who had paled noticeably.

  "What the hell is that?" McMasters asked, and took a stumbling step in reverse.

  Tasker knelt before the carcass to study it more carefully.

  There was nothing remotely human about it.

  He pictured what was left of the three Peruvian guides they had found in the forest and the bloody mess that had once been Jones. And this...thing, exploding from the rainforest in a flurry of teeth and claws.

  The sooner they finished their mission the better.

  III

  2:34 p.m.

  With the roar of the unseen falls and the clamor of the rain in the canopy, the jungle had become a cacophony of water. The steep path was now a small stream that covered their feet and turned the packed clay to mud. Ever higher they climbed, until the clouds no longer rested on the treetops, but became a part of them. Mists eddied around them, occasionally hiding even the person ahead on the trail. The temperature continued to fall. It still had to be somewhere in the upper-fifties, yet their damp clothes kept their skin stippled with goosebumps. They had to be nearing ten thousand feet in elevation, and surely the summit of the peak they now scaled couldn't be too much farther up into the clouds.

  Sam's legs ached and she had lost the feeling in her toes. Her heart raced and her fingers trembled with excitement. If their assumption about the location of the ruins was correct, then it was only a matter of time before they stumbled out of the forest and into---

  She walked right into Merritt's back and had to steady herself to keep from slipping. If she fell, the waterslide that was the path would send her careening down the slope.

  Merritt turned and braced her by the elbow. He nearly lost his balance as well.

  "Why did you stop?" She had to shout to be heard over the deluge.

  He merely smiled in response and inclined his head over his right shoulder.

  Holding her breath, Sam walked around him and saw Colton and Leo framed against a backdrop of rain at the terminus of the path. The trees grew sparser ahead. Creeping figs and vines tied them together and to the shrub-covered ground. Beyond she could see a sheer abutment covered with lianas and vines. It wasn't an ordinary cliff. Vertical and horizontal seams were visible through the vegetation.

  It was a manmade wall.

  She walked past Colton and Leo to inspect the fortification. Black stones had been chiseled to the size and shape of concrete blocks, and stacked in a staggered pattern. Most of the mortar between them had eroded away, but the lianas served to hold them in place. Some sections were so overgrown with vegetation that they appeared to have become a part of the hillside.

  She ran her fingers along the smooth stones. Obsidian. Volcanic rock.

  The wall extended as far as she could see to either side. Every twenty feet or so was an arched enclave barely large enough for a man to crouch inside. They reminded her of decorative sewer drains. In front of each was a column roughly five feet tall and two feet wide, composed of stacked rocks, only on top of each was a charred iron cage like a chimney. She approached one, stood on her tiptoes, and peeked inside. A sunken recess was filled with detritus, and the sides were scored with carbon. They were torches like those that surrounded the fortress in the valley below.

  She could hardly contain herself. The anticipation was overwhelming. She glanced back at the others at the end of the trail. Above their heads was nothing but clouds. Her eyes met L
eo's, and she felt his pain, which spawned feelings of guilt at her unbridled enthusiasm. This was presumably where Hunter had spent his last hours. He must have drowned somewhere nearby.

  Sam turned away and followed the fortification toward the sound of the waterfall. The ground turned from soil to slickrock, and the forest dropped away to the right. A rugged rock slope led to a point, beyond which she could barely see the spray of a waterfall through the mist trapped against the mountainside.

  She reached the end of the wall, which veered at a ninety degree angle back toward the sheer face of the peak. Here she could see the fortification more clearly. It had to be more than twenty-five feet tall, higher even than the majority of the walls at Kuelap. A large section on this northern face had fallen to ruin in a pile of broken bricks. It almost looked as though a thin stone staircase had once passed through the wall before one of the sides had collapsed down onto it. Whatever the case, it granted them access to the ruins that lay on the other side.

  The rain pounded down on her, soaking her even under her poncho, but she didn't care.

  She scrabbled up the steep mound of moss-blanketed stones until she reached the top of the wall, and stared down at a sight the likes of which few modern men had ever seen before. So far, all of the Chachapoyan ruins had been discovered by locals, who had thoroughly ransacked the sites, pillaging everything of value that might have helped scholars piece together the last days of this once great society. This one was different. It didn't appear as though anything had been disturbed by more than the wind and the elements since the last occupants had turned their backs on the fortress.

  "What do you see?" Leo called up from below. His voice quivered with emotion.

  Sam couldn't find the words to describe it. She could only shake her head. It was everything she had hoped to find and more.

  She looked back at the others, who had congregated at the base of the wall. Past them she could see the rugged cut of the stone cliff beside the waterfall. With the mist, it was impossible to tell how wide or deep the chasm was. Even the eternal expanse of the jungle on the eastern foothills and plains was hidden from sight. They were alone at the top of the world, isolated by the clouds and geography. It almost felt as though they were on a different planet entirely.