The Dig

by Michael Siemsen

  Peter continued, “I’ve mostly filled him in on your findings thus far.”

  Rheese was picking up paper rolls and looking at the tags on the ends to organize them back in their bins. Peter knelt and picked up a bundle to help.

  “So anyway, Hank,” Peter began, “I’ll help Dr. Rheese with this, and you finish whatever you were doing with the maps.”

  Hank nodded and turned back to the map in front of Matt. He straightened it out and spread his hands over it, studying the spot in Eastern Kenya where they now were. His index finger traced a swirling path and stopped.

  “Here, right? We’re right here?”

  Rheese shot an annoyed glance at the map. “Looks about right.”

  “Great. So, then, Matt, do you know what direction these people traveled from their city?”

  “Um… well, they were in these canyons for a while, which might have zigzagged some… but, um, in Irin’s mind they’re following the sun. It’s kind of funny, thinking about it now, actually, but he thinks that because they follow the sun it gives them extra darkness, whereas, if they had gone the other way, they would meet the sun sooner.”

  “Interesting,” Hank mused. “They’d have to be doing a couple hundred miles per hour for there to be any noticeable gain. Logical theory at the core, though…”

  “Yeah, um…” Matt said, hoping to refocus him.

  “Right… they’re traveling west, then…” Hank took a ruler and placed it flat on the map, on an east-west axis. “If we’re here, and the sun—their destination, let’s say—is over here, then this alleged asteroid would have had to strike somewhere from here to here—approximately, of course.”

  Rheese was looking over his shoulder now with annoyed interest, “You’re estimating based upon current east-west?”

  Hank kept his eyes on the map as he said, “This continent’s east-west has remained basically the same since the Triassic, Doctor. Perhaps five to eight degrees rotation, but nothing significant over the distances these people would have traveled on foot in such a short time.”

  Peter leaned over and looked at the map and said, “So we should go retrieve some sediment samples along that path until we find, what, some sort of odd mineral deposits? I doubt any crater would remain after that many years of erosion and shifting.”

  “You’d be surprised, actually,” Hank replied. “An object of a good size, though not large enough to cause any major global catastrophe—there could still be subtle land markers, that is, if you know what you’re looking for.”

  “I seriously doubt that, Mr. Felch,” Rheese quipped. “The Earth’s face has changed so much in only the past sixty-five million years that they were barely able to locate the K-T event impact. And that asteroid was ten kilometers across!”

  “I’d be happy to show you some examples, Dr. Rheese, along with the recovered shocked quartz and tektite glass that are only associated with impacts.”

  “Well,” Rheese huffed, “I wouldn’t know anything about all that, but I have surveyed this land thoroughly and have seen neither hide nor hair.”

  “I’m sure you have,” Felch replied, trying to keep an atmosphere of civility. “You wouldn’t happen to have any satellite topography or InSAR maps, would you?”

  Rheese turned to Peter and snapped, “Look, Sharma, I don’t have time to play research assistant to your friend here. No offense, but we have quite a bit going on with the excavation, and, frankly, to pore over maps I am already well acquainted with in search of an ancient asteroid impact seems an unjustifiable waste.”

  Peter nodded and tried to play it diplomatically. “I understand, Doctor. Why don’t you go out and see how they’re doing out there?”

  Rheese looked around at all his map rolls and instruments. “Well, I don’t want… that is, my system…”

  “I’ll stay with him, Doctor,” Peter assured him. “We’ll make sure your documents are all kept in order and put back exactly as they were found.”

  Rheese sighed, obviously flustered at the idea of leaving Hank alone with his things, but finally he stalked outside. The group released a collective sigh.

  “Sheesh!” Peter exclaimed. “That man…”

  Tuni sat down across from Matt after moving a protractor and compass back onto the table.

  “Hey, Peter?” Matt said, pointing at the artifact, which still rested on the table in front of him.

  “Oh, right! Well, let’s get it back in its box, but we can leave it out of the safe. ’Scuse me, Matt,” he said, squeezing in beside him. “So tell us, anything new and exciting happen?”

  “His friend’s wife is giving birth in the cave. They haven’t continued on the journey yet. I think I need another hour for them to get going again.”

  Hank hmm’d over the map and moved the ruler around. He spoke without looking up, “Peter, as fascinating as all of this is, it’s essentially academic. Do you mind if I ask what your end goal is?”

  “Our end goal…” Peter said. “Ideally, is to find where these people ended up. If we could locate that spot or spots, there could be a treasure trove of artifacts within twenty or thirty feet of the surface somewhere out there, just waiting to be unearthed. We have no idea at what point this piece of fabric and the knife were dropped. It could be a hundred feet from another Pwin-T village… or inside that cave they slept in, or it could be kilometers from anything or nothing. Sadly, this could very well be it.”

  Hank reached behind Peter and sorted through the rolls of maps protruding from Rheese’s bins.

  Peter went on, “I’m going to go work with Flip and Graham for a bit. Hank, you go to town on this stuff, all right? Don’t mind Rheese—I’ll handle any fallout.” The RV door slammed behind him.

  “So is that guy always such an ass?” Hank asked as he peered through his glasses at the labels on the tubes.

  “Rheese?” Tuni replied. “Oh, yes, all that and much, much more.”

  “Well, I thought this was his project, so I’m not sure why he’s so hostile. You saw him slap those tubes out of my arms, right?”

  “Yup, I was stunned,” she replied. She turned to Matt. “You should have seen it, Matthew! You were still under, and he walks in and takes one look at Hank before blowing a bloody gasket.” She turned back to Hank as he pulled a roll from the bin. “You’re lucky Peter came in when he did.”

  “I guess… ,” Hank replied, distracted. He turned the roll sideways and peeled back a corner to see inside. “That jerk! He does have satellite!”

  Unrolling the map so that it overlayed the Kenya map, Hank spread his hands over it, scanning, while Matt and Tuni looked on in fascination.

  “What are all those circles?” Matt asked, pointing at one. They were marked with red pencil and did not appear to encircle anything in particular.

  “I don’t know,” Hank replied. “Dinosaur sites, maybe? Let’s see where we are on this one… where’s the road?”

  He ran his finger over the glossy surface for a moment, then pulled back the corner to compare it to the map underneath.

  Suddenly, Tuni jabbed her finger at a point on the map. “Isn’t that the highway before the road?”

  Hank nodded, “Mm-hmm…”

  “Well there is a T like that on the satellite one. Look…”

  Hank released the corner and let the map flop back down. Tuni pointed it out. It was much bigger now, in the upper right corner.

  “I think you’re right, Tuni,” Hank said. “So this circle… here would be our site, where we are right now. I guess it was covered in trees when this photo was taken.” Frowning, he adjusted his glasses. “Wait a second…”

  He turned around and began rooting through the other rubber-banded tubes as Matt and Tuni shared an amused glance. After rummaging about for a minute, he finally emerged from the bins with a loud “Aha!” and unrolled a third map atop the other two. This was a much larger view and had red circles all over, each bearing a number: 218, 227, 241, 223.

  “Isn’t this site two-two
-three-K-Y?” Hank asked, but got only blank looks. “I’m assuming these are his site identification codes, and we are right here—see this? Same picture, just smaller.”

  All three gazed at the small circle. They found the T that Tuni had identified, and the small red circle lay just below it. They nodded, feeling as though they were getting the hang of this—whatever “this” was. Hank stared at the new sheet: a combination of hundreds of satellite photos, all patchworked into a single map of the country.

  “This is… hmmm,” he mumbled to himself.

  “What?” Matt prodded.

  Hank waved the inquiry away as if it were a gnat. Tuni and Matt sat back down and waited while Hank carried on an unintelligible conversation with himself, moving from red circle to red circle.

  “This one is definitely… I mean, so blatant… and that one… well, if not for the obvious water source… those ones, too… well… ha-ha, I would have made that mistake, like, ten years ago… yeah, yeah, these…”

  Tuni coiled her hair around a finger and sighed. Matt caught her eye and pantomimed a yawn, then nodded toward the door. She smiled and agreed, and they scooted from the benches.

  “Excuse us, Hank,” Tuni said as they moved by him.

  “See you in a little bit, ’kay?” Matt added.

  Oblivious, Hank continued, “. . . but why dig them all up? Why… I mean, minerals? Or… hmm-m, what dinosaurs… bones…”

  He was still muttering away as the door closed behind them.

  Matt and Tuni spotted Flip and Peter on their way from the pit, which was beginning to look more and more like an inverted pyramid, with elongated steps rising out in three directions. The ramp of packed dirt remained the same, though Fozzy and Jesse appeared to be digging out a narrow set of steps along the near edge—a safer way in and out than the loose, precarious footing of the ramp.

  Peter called to Matt, “An hour break then back at it?”

  Matt thought he didn’t need that long, that he could just use the bathroom and jump back to it, but realized the break was probably in his best interest.

  32

  IRIN HELPED PACK THE N’WIPS AS women came and went from the cave. Two were rinsing out blood-soaked cloths in the downpour and wringing them out. At last Orin emerged and came to him.

  “The newest is out and its rope cut,” she said. “Owil continues to bleed, though. We have blocked her with cloth to make it stop, but she has many pains.”

  “Can she be brought onto a n’wip so we can get everyone moving?” Irin replied impatiently. “We’ll lose this entire night if we don’t.”

  Orin’s eyes flashed, and she turned sharply back to the cave, and Irin felt his frustration grow as the rain continued relentlessly drenching everyone and everything. He surveyed the scene and saw that most of the people were looking at him, waiting.

  He deliberated for a moment and then walked along the scattered line, telling one and all that they could retreat into the caves for shelter, for they’d be here a while longer.

  Others could be heard talking around the corner, below the rocky outcropping of the caves. Irin rounded the wall and slid down a short drop to find several men and a couple of older new poking at the screamer carcasses. One of them lay splayed upon the others, its toothy maw agape and pooling with rainwater. They greeted Irin.

  He moved about them, easily identifying the three beasts with single slashes across their necks, though he could not differentiate among them. The two others, bearing multiple stab wounds and gashes, were clearly the last two to be killed. He had a thought and began lifting the heavy front legs, one by one.

  Sure enough! He found a wound, perhaps from a cutter, healing at the underside of the one with the ruined eye. Could this be the monster whose enormous claws had gotten inside his house? It had happened quickly, but that was the spot where he had stabbed the screamer only a few nights ago. And this wound was sealing itself—plainly not from last night’s clash. What could this mean? If not a coincidental wound, it meant that the screamers had traveled a great distance to reach the city. On the other hand, it just might be that these were the only screamers in the area.

  The stench from the beasts was quickly growing unbearable, and he dropped the huge forelimb and turned to go, wishing only to put some distance between himself and the ghastly charnel heap. The muddy slope was too slick to ascend, so he pulled himself up a series of rock holds to the area above. The others followed his path.

  Above and to his left, people sat around the edges of the screamer cave; others waited near the mouth of the upper cave, their faces raised to the cooling rainfall. He climbed to the ledge and watched steam drift from the cave’s mouth. Entering, he could feel the moist heat of too many people. The air was thick. The crowd parted as he made his way among them, in search of Orin and Owil.

  The cave was well lit now, with lightsticks positioned all along the walls. People were pointing and discussing the carvings, making more noise than he would have preferred.

  When he finally reached the wider area at the end, he found a pocket of space where Owil lay resting on her side, atop a pile of clothes. Orin looked up at him as she patted a wet cloth around Owil’s head. Wil sat beside them, holding the newest. Other women looked on as Owil rocked gently, humming in a low moan.

  “Owil will not let her feed,” Orin said to him with a grim expression.

  “Why not?” Irin asked.

  Orin sighed, answering with only her face as Irin saw Owil’s eye open just a slit, then close again. Irin looked back at Wil and saw the despair in his eyes. The newest twisted and cried and let out small coughs between.

  “Can it not feed from another’s breast?” Irin asked.

  “We have tried on some, but all the most recent births stayed behind in Pwin-T. These women are dry.”

  “Then she must feed it,” Irin responded sternly, more to Owil than to anyone else.

  Owil moaned louder in response as she continued rocking.

  “The melodrama doesn’t change anything. It is not your choice, Owil,” Irin said, kicking her foot. “Wil, put the newest on her breast—she can hum and whine all she wants.”

  “Irin!” Orin scolded him.

  Wil looked up at him. “She will, Irin; she only needs a little more time.”

  “Can the newest remain empty for long?” he asked, and most of the women gave him the same look as Orin.

  “If this goes on much longer, I say this to you, Owil,” he said in a loud voice, “I will return, and the newest will feed. I know your ears hear me.”

  And turning away, he wrestled again through the heat of the masses. He needed fresh air.

  33

  DR. RHEESE STRODE THROUGH THE FOREST, his boots crunching against dead leaves, twigs, and desiccated beetle shells. As he walked, his eyes darted from the ground to the canopy overhead, half expecting every vine or aerial root to morph into a lurking python or boomslang. He hated snakes—hated their way of hiding in plain sight. At the moment, though, he had more pressing problems.

  In the distance behind him, a man’s voice called out, and for an instant he wondered whether his plan had been discovered. Probably just one of the new idiots calling to one of the other new idiots, all happily wasting their own time and his at this useless site. In fact, since Peter Sharma’s arrival, he had felt a rising unease that now bordered on panic. Sharma seemed to delight in coming to him with the ambiguous and ever-annoying preface: “We need to discuss something.” But of course, my swarthy young friend. My time is yours, always. A plague on whatever equal opportunity program had recruited the interfering little wog and put him in charge of the museum’s paleontology department!

  Rheese parted the leaves in front of him and found himself looking out at the dirt road. So where the hell were the bastards? He looked at his watch, then stared back into the thicket. He had heard something. Had someone followed him? But… why would they? These were scientists, not detectives. But nosy, to be sure—an inquisitive, meddlesome bunch,
examining and pondering his every move and motivation. Well, not for long.

  He heard the truck, then saw it crest the rise a half mile away, pulling a plume of reddish dust behind it. Slow down, you fools, he thought. They’ll bloody well hear you!

  An older American pickup that had once been white approached, and Rheese stepped out from the trees, waving his hat.

  “Garrett Rice?” the driver said.

  “No, you idiot. I’m someone else meeting you in the bloody spot where I said to meet. And what’s the goddamn meaning—”

  The metallic cha-chink of the rifle’s bolt silenced his rant. The passenger was armed as well.

  “Ah, yes, well… ,” he said, his tone suddenly affable, “I see you have your equipment. Good.”

  “Money,” the driver said.

  Rheese didn’t like being unable to see the man’s eyes through the black sunglasses. Would he be shot dead here on the side of the road, leaving his killers ten thousand dollars richer? He reached behind him under his shirt and pulled out the bound stack of bills. Flipping through it in front of them, he could almost see them salivate.

  The driver took his hand off the gun and held the eager palm out the window. “Give it.”

  Rheese considered saying something tough like “Just remember what you’re being paid for,” or “Don’t screw it up,” but thought better of it and simply handed over the money. He watched as the truck whipped around in a three-point turn and roared off in the direction it had come.

  Turning back to the woods, he chided himself for being such a coward. For all he knew, those two could be driving off to Nairobi for a wild night of debauchery with HIV-infected prostitutes. Not that there was much he could do about it if they were, though their boss, the Gray, would certainly disapprove—he had as much invested in this as Rheese, and they knew it. They also knew that the Gray would burn their homes and remove their manhood with a broken Tusker beer bottle should they be fools enough to cross him.

  Rheese walked back to the site, ever mindful of snakes and more nervous than ever about what lay ahead.