Remi twisted the neck of her flashlight to make the beam wider. “I’ve got to take some pictures before we get any closer.”
“Or before there’s another aftershock and the roof falls in.”
Remi handed Sam her flashlight, then took flash pictures with her phone. She circled the dead man, taking every angle. She shot the four walls, the ceiling, the floor, and then the pot by the man. “He’s mummified. He looks a bit like the Inca mountain burials and the Moche and Chimu on the Chilean coast.”
“He does,” said Sam. “But this isn’t a burial.”
“No,” Remi agreed. “It looks as though he was sheltering here, at least temporarily, and died. He’s got carved-out wooden vessels over here with some seeds in them. Probably the fruit just rotted away. There’s another one that could have been a rain catcher.”
“He’s got an obsidian knife in his belt, and a few flaked pieces he used for carving over by the wooden trough.”
Remi was photographing the pot, which was painted with Mayan scenes that seemed to be about one man — eating, wielding a shield and a war club, kneeling to a fearsome-looking deity that seemed part feline and part troll.
Sam said, “I wonder what was inside.”
“Whatever it is, it’s probably still there. The lid seems to be stuck on it with some kind of seal — like glue. We’d better not try to open it or we’ll damage it. Get out of the frame. I want to send these pictures to Selma before my battery dies.”
“Good idea.” Sam stepped out through the hole in the lava curtain, used his phone to take pictures of the entryway and the mountainside above and below him. As he shot downward toward the trail and the chunk of worked stone that blocked it, he saw the rest of the volunteers coming along. “Hey!” he shouted. “Up here!”
The column of people stopped and looked up, and he waved his arms so they would spot him two hundred feet above them. They hesitated for a moment and then began to climb toward him.
While Sam was waiting for the others to arrive, Remi came out of the shrine’s entrance onto the surface where he stood. “What are you doing?”
He pointed down at the others. “I asked them to come up to take a look.”
“I suppose we couldn’t keep this to ourselves.”
“Not even for a day. Not with that carved doorpost lying on the trail down there. We’re going to need their help to keep this place safe until we can turn it over to the authorities.”
“You’re right,” she said. “This could be an important find. I’m not aware of any other mummified Mayans.”
In a few minutes, Christina and Maria, the Mendoza brothers, and Jose Sanchez joined them. Christina looked around her. “What is this place?”
“We’re not sure,” said Remi. “It’s a Mayan ruin, and it seems to have been buried in a lava flow. We think it’s a shrine or holy place, probably dedicated to the mountain. The Mayans also had lots of gods that lived in the sky or the interior of the Earth. On a volcano, I suppose it could be either. I remember one called Bacab who did both.”
Maria looked at the entrance. “Can we go inside without damaging it?”
“We’ve been inside,” Sam said. “It should be okay as long as you don’t touch anything. There are the remains of a man in there. He’s been mummified — not intentionally but by the conditions. The altitude and the dry air up here probably preserved him the way it preserved the mummies in Peru and Chile. At some point, a lava flow sealed the entrance, and that probably made a big difference.”
The volunteers all took their flashlights and went in one at a time. As each one came out, another entered. When they had all been inside, they stood on the flat entry, hushed and looking awed.
“What do we do about him?” asked Paul Mendoza.
Jose Sanchez said, “We get the news out. Then people will pay to come up here.”
“No,” said Maria. “We’ve got to get the authorities up here. The archaeologists—”
“The archaeologists can’t do much right now,” said Christina. “The roads are closed, and, when they’re reopened, it would be wrong to evacuate a corpse first when there are people down there waiting to be transported to hospitals.”
“He’s not just a corpse,” said Sanchez. “He’s a national treasure.”
“Whether he died yesterday or in 900 A.D., the point is that he’s dead,” said Maria. “He’s not in danger, like a patient who needs a transplant. If we make sure he’s preserved, that’s all we can do for him.”
Sam held up a hand. “Please, everyone. It never came up before, but Remi and I have some experience with this kind of find. We’ve been on archaeological expeditions in different parts of the world. We don’t know when this man came to the shrine yet. But he has an obsidian knife and nothing that’s made of iron or steel. The site looks like the classic Mayan period, which means it’s probably from between 300 and 900 A.D. You saw he has jade jewelry, which places him in the highest social class. He was probably either a priest or nobleman. Scientists can learn from him. We’re not aware of any classic Mayan remains that are so well preserved.”
“What do you think we should do?” asked Paul Mendoza.
“Normally, we’d say to seal the entrance up again and call in archaeologists,” said Remi. “But we’re in the middle of a disaster area. It will be a while before they’re able to get here. And there’s no way to hide the site with that carved pillar on the trail.”
Sam said, “I think we’ve got to try to stand watch over the site for the night. Then, we can get the mayor of the last village to understand the importance of this site to the people so he can persuade his neighbors to help. Other parts of Mexico and Central America have benefited economically from archaeological sites. People will want to come and study this one and possibly do some excavating. But if we tell outsiders about it now, advertise it widely before the scientists can study it, then it will be destroyed. Looters and pot hunters will come and dig everything up in all directions before scholars can get here.”
“You’re pretty sure of everything, aren’t you?” said Sanchez. He was angry.
“Of that much anyway,” said Sam. “We’ve seen it happen. Priceless artifacts were taken before they could be indentified, walls undermined and broken, human remains thrown aside and exposed to the elements.”
“And what if it did happen? We own it, not you. Anything from the old days belongs to the people of Mexico. It’s ours by law and by moral right. These people were our ancestors.”
“You’re absolutely correct,” Sam said. “Every Mexican citizen owns one hundred thirteen millionth of what we found. We’d like to see those citizens all get their share, and that means turning him over to the Mexican authorities.”
Christina said, “Jose, don’t be a donkey. This is a piece of Mexican history. Of course we’ll preserve it.”
“You’re awfully friendly with Sam Fargo, aren’t you? That ride on the yacht must have been very pleasant.”
Sam said, “The doctors came with us because the roads were out and they needed to get here to help the injured. Please don’t insult them by implying it was anything else.”
Maria said something very rapidly in Spanish through clenched teeth.
Jose Sanchez looked shocked and a bit ashamed. “I’m very sorry I said that. Please accept my apologies, all of you. I’ll go along with everyone else and do my part to preserve what’s here.”
“Thank you, Jose,” said Remi. “What we need to do now is set up a camp for the night. It should be a bit away from this site so nobody sees it and gets curious.”
“I’ll look for a spot,” said Jose. He walked off alone, exploring the plateau. After a minute, he disappeared around the curve of the mountain.
The Mendoza brothers looked after him, seemingly tempted to follow and have a say in choosing the site.
“I’d leave him alone for a while,” said Sam. “He’ll be back when he’s gotten over it.”
“All right,” said Raul.
Sam turned to the doctors. “Christina and Maria, I think Remi and I may have caused a problem by opening the lava seal on the entrance to the shrine. The man who’s lying on the floor in there was probably preserved by his airless environment, and now we’ve changed it. He’s exposed to the atmosphere. Do you have any advice?”
“The best thing would be to freeze him, which we can’t do,” said Christina.
