Burial Ground

of the wound and a trickle of blood rolling down her side from the laceration beneath her left clavicle.

It took every ounce of her concentration to keep from screaming. She squeezed Merritt's hand so hard her fingernails gouged into his skin.

The creature leaned in again and huffed a gust of foul breath onto her face that blew away most of the feathers. Its jaws snapped wide and it cried out again. A wash of saliva slapped onto her closed eyes and trailed over her cheeks, thick with chewed meat that slid through the fluid like slugs.

It recoiled and slashed at her again with its hind leg. The nails sliced through her upper arm over the biceps. Another unheralded strike, and blood flowed from her chest, just above her right breast.

The pain was more than she could bear.

More and more footsteps approached. She felt weight on her right arm before another talon clawed into her shoulder.

Merritt's hand tightened over hers. His blood spiraled around his wrist and into the union of their palms.

Another wicked slash, and pain bloomed from a gash on her right thigh.

Her thoughts turned to the extant Chachapoya in the valley below. The black-painted men whose bodies were so heavily scarred, as though they'd been attacked with straight razors. She had thought the scarring was ritualistic, but it wasn't, was it?

This was how they survived.

Another slice across her lower left leg.

Tears flowed freely from her eyes, and somehow she managed to bite back a whimper of agony.

The creatures shrieked all around them now. They appeared to be feeding upon one another, growing louder and more frantic.

Claws slashed, filling the air with a mist of blood.

She no longer prayed for escape, but for an end to the mounting pain, knowing that all she had to do to make it stop was scream.

VII

11:00 p.m.

Tasker swayed on his feet, trying to maintain his equilibrium. Every inch of his body hurt. He felt like a porcupine with the sheer amount of shrapnel standing from his back. Fractured ribs prodded at his innards, and he was certain that his left wrist was shattered. It was barely functional enough to balance the barrel of his rifle on it. So far, he had already spit out two teeth, and blood dripped through the tatter of his lower lip and over his chin.

He sloshed through the mud, out of the wash of blazing light and into the darkness that clung to the ruins.

Where the hell had they all gone? There had been dozens of the creatures surrounding that small clearing, and now there was no sign of them anywhere. Not a single shivering branch or the sound of stealthy tread. No sucking sound of footsteps in the mud or rustling from the underbrush. Only the patter of rain on the canopy and the standing water. And the occasional distant cry of a hawk.

He had felt the ground tremble and heard the muffled whump of an explosion inside the mountain several minutes ago. Had that taken care of the creatures for him? Was his prey now entombed under tons of rock right along with them? Did he now have the ruins all to himself? He couldn't be so naive as to assume that was the case, but for the time being, he did appear to be completely alone. Perhaps his best option for now was to simply gather as much treasure as he could carry and get his ass out of there in case the predators returned. Granted, the nature of his injuries would limit the amount he could haul out of here, but since there was no longer anyone with whom to divide his take, he wouldn't need that much anyway. A couple more headdresses like the first in conjunction with the massive golden skull in the cave on the cliff would make him a very rich man.

Right now, the priority had to be saving his own skin, but he'd be damned if he came all this way for nothing.

Limping around trees and stumbling through shrubs and curtains of vines, he scoured the crumbled stone dwellings for the glimmer of precious metals. There were plenty of ancient utensils, potsherds, and common tattered textiles. Skeletons were strewn everywhere, partially reclaimed by the earth, left to rot where they fell. He encountered broken bows and spears, even a few rusted machetes and outdated firearms that had no business here, but thus far no---

'Gold,' he whispered. A flash of lightning glinted from an arch of metal that peeked out of a mound of mud. He sloshed toward it and carefully exhumed it from the sludge. A brown skull stared back up at him, jaw unhinged, teeth broken. The man had been wearing the headdress when he was killed. The remnants of the torn leather bindings curled away from his cracked temporal bones.

It was about freaking time.

Tasker slipped out of his pack and tied the relic to one of its straps. When he shouldered it again, the treasure hung against his rear end. The added weight of a million dollars somehow made his burden seem lighter.

The thunderous sound of the waterfall grew louder as he trudged northward, inspecting the rubble of the huts for more loot. If everything fell into place, he would have enough treasure by the time he reached the fallen fortification, and he would simply be able to find the path and leave the ruins behind. Unlike the others, he was willing to take his chances with fording the rapids.

All that he had to do from there was keep himself alive long enough to reach civilization and the future of luxury that awaited him.

A rustling sound was swallowed by a peal of thunder.

He turned to his right toward the source. The trees were still. Swollen raindrops dripped from the upper canopy. He scrutinized the area for several moments, waiting for a repeat occurrence, before finally resuming his task, wary of even the slightest sound. For a second, he had allowed himself to be distracted by the gold.

The clapping sound of the rain and his slapping footsteps were too loud in his own ears.

A silhouette darted through the trees at the edge of his peripheral vision. When he turned, nothing was there. No vines jostled or branches swayed, but he was certain he had seen something.

Through the jungle and the mist, he could barely discern the black lip of the outer wall and the white spray of the waterfall beyond. He was nearing the point where he would have to make a decision. The last thing he wanted was to have to double back into the fortress. The sooner he was safely descending the mountain, the better.

His toe snagged on something under the mud and he fell to all fours. He expected to look back and see a snarl of roots, but instead, discovered something metallic with long, bent appendages shaped like feathers. With a smile, he smeared the mud from another golden headdress. A bent knee stood from the ground to the side to mark where its former owner decomposed. He tied the second headdress to his pack with the first. That was going to have to be enough. Add in the golden skull and the money from his Asian buyer, and he was looking at four million dollars minimum, several times what he would make in his lifetime in the service, and more than enough to disappear forever.

Shadows shifted on the opposite side of the path.

Again, when he focused on that section of the forest, there was no sign of anything out of the ordinary.

Time to move.

He no longer actively searched for priceless artifacts as he strode forward, sighting the jungle and the path ahead down the barrel of his rifle, finger poised on the trigger. The clip was nearly full, and he had three more in his bag.

The overgrowth abruptly ended at the obsidian wall. Only the most ambitious lianas and roots had found a way over and climbed down the sheer face of stacked rocks.

While he picked his way over the rubble, he would be uncomfortably exposed. The cloud trapped in the valley would obscure his progress to some degree, but there was no cover behind which to hide. He was going to have to move quickly and cautiously.