James Rollins (Page 57)

Another rifle shot drew his attention back to the right. By now, Ralph stood a few paces away. Sam saw another beast crumple to the floor. Ralph backed, waving an arm. “Keep going!”

A scream warned Sam again, but not from Maggie’s throat this time. One of the bent-backed creatures, a female with pendulous br**sts flat as pancakes, howled a ululating cry of attack. In her pale hands was a raised club.

He struggled to twist the rifle around.

“Sam!”

The club swung toward him, slicing faster than he had expected. He tripped back a step. But he was not fast enough. The club struck the Winchester’s barrel with a resounding clang. The rifle tore from his grip and clattered onto the stone.

Sam’s hand stung from the blow. The club circled back, toward his head this time. The female beast screamed her triumph. Off balance, Sam could not even duck.

Then his left ear suddenly flamed with pain. He yelped, both in distress and surprise.

“Sorry,” Maggie gasped, shoving her flaming torch farther past his shoulder and into the attacker’s face.

The beast’s eyes widened in terror at the fire. Its triumphant scream changed in mid-peal to a cry of horror. The club fell from its trembling fingers as it shielded its face with an arm.

Maggie came around Sam’s side and jabbed the torch.

The creature darted away, swinging around, and scrambled up the side of a tomb and away. Again moving with preternatural speed.

Maggie swung on Sam, frowning fiercely. “Grab your rifle!” She turned to Norman. “Use the torches.” She jabbed an arm toward Ralph as another rifle blast echoed through the cavern. The black man was surrounded on all sides. “Go help him! I’ll stick with Sam and Denal. We need to watch each other’s backs as we retreat.”

Norman started toward the embattled ex–football player, harrying away a pair of brutish forms with his flaming limb. “Retreat to where?” he called back.

“Anywhere but here!” Maggie answered.

Norman nodded, as if that were answer enough, and hurried forward, entering the fray around Ralph. More rifle fire and a swinging torch quickly cleared a space around the tall black man.

To the left, Sam heard Denal gasp. Swinging around with his rifle, Sam saw the small Quechan lad backing away from a trio of smaller creatures, miniature versions of the ones who had attacked Sam. They shuffled across the floor, knuckling on one forearm, remarkably reminiscent of small apes.

Using his free hand, Sam pulled Denal behind him, then raised his rifle. He aimed at the closest of the three, almost at point-blank range, and blew away the back of the creature’s skull. Splatter sprayed upon the other two, giving them reason to pause.

“Get back!” Sam yelled, drawing Maggie and Denal into a side street as the remaining pair approached. Another creature clawed at Maggie from a rooftop, but a swipe of her torch drove it away.

Then the pair of scuttling monsters on the street howled and leaped—but not at the humans. The pair tore into their fallen companion, ripping with teeth and claws, burrowing bloody muzzles into its flesh.

Sam, Maggie, and Denal continued their retreat.

“What the hell are those things?” Maggie mumbled, horrified.

Sam had no answer.

More and more creatures joined the meal, drawn by the scent of blood. Without the torches near, they boiled from every niche and shadowed alcove. They were all ravenous. Whatever tenuous neutrality had governed the creatures ended with the scent of fresh meat and blood.

A booming voice called out from around the corner. “Sam! Maggie!” It was Ralph. “We can’t get to you now! There’re too many!”

Sam watched the carnage. Driven by their wild bloodlust, Sam feared that fire would fail to cow these creatures now. “Don’t try to reach us!” Sam yelled back. “We’ll keep going this way! Head for the gold statue! Rendezvous there!”

More rifle fire exploded from around the corner.

Maggie shone her flashlight behind them. The way was momentarily clear. The feast in the other street had drawn the pack like moths to flame. “Hurry,” Maggie urged. “Who knows how long the buggers will be satisfied with local fare?”

Sam needed no further encouragement. Herding Denal and Maggie before him, he urged them to speed down the avenues. Blindly, they took any turns that seemed to head toward the towering golden idol. All around, the screams of the monsters yowled and echoed, urging them forward. Sam reloaded his rifle on the fly, fingers fumbling shells into place. Once done, he shouldered the gun and closed the distance with Maggie.

“How’re you holding up?” he wheezed between tight lips.

She glanced at him, her face pale and bright with sweat in the torchlight. “Okay,” she said. “But ask me again when we stop running.”

Sam reached and squeezed her elbow. He knew what she meant. While fighting and fleeing, the depth of their terror was held in check by adrenaline. True shock at their situation had yet to sink in fully.

Maggie patted Sam’s hand. “I’ll be okay.”

Sam offered her a weak smile. “We’ll get out of here.”

She nodded—but he knew she didn’t necessarily believe him. Neither of them was a fool. The creatures here were obviously scavengers and cannibals. From their pale skin and large eyes, they had been cave dwellers for generations. Maybe for millennia. Interbreeding, mutating… who knows what they once were? Maybe an unknown species of large ape, maybe even some prehistoric man. But if there was truly a way out of these caverns, why hadn’t the beasts left?

Sam’s mind ground on this puzzle, keeping his thoughts away from panic. Maybe Denal had been correct. Maybe these beasts were mallaqui, spirits of the underworld. If the Incas had come upon this trapped tribe of beasts, they could have believed they were beings of the uca pacha, the lower spirit level. Is that why they built such an extensive necropolis down here? Did they believe these monsters would protect their dead? Considering the attack upon Sam’s group, the demonic beasts had proved themselves great guard dogs.

Sam shook his head, unsure of his own conclusions. A small part of him sensed that a vital piece of this puzzle was still missing—for the moment, there would be no further answers.

Sam, Maggie, and Denal ran on. In the distance, occasional blasts of rifle fire cut through the caterwauling screams, marking Ralph’s and Norman’s presence across the necropolis. But it was rare, startling Sam each time the blast echoed within the cavern.

“I hope they’re doing all right,” Maggie gasped after a volley of rapid rifle shots. She leaned against the sill of a window, catching her breath.