102

The hike into the hills was long and arduous and none of them were really prepared for it. With every step, Ackerman felt as if tiny nails were being driven into his wounds. Not that he disliked the pain, but it had started to become a distraction within the first half mile. With most of them bleeding and having been awake for days, a hike into the wilderness was the last activity in which any of them wanted to partake.

Ackerman had suspected that it was Reyna Canyon who had sent Maggie the photograph for some time now, but his brother’s brain worked differently. Marcus needed proof. He thought like a cop searching out a conviction, while Ackerman allowed his imagination to travel down the wildest of paths.

As they pushed forward for nearly an hour, several conversations popped up, all of them short and awkward. Marcus’s intensity loomed over them all. His brother set the pace, and the others seemed almost too winded to speak. Ackerman, of course, had no problem keeping up. In fact, he had considered scouting ahead, but thought better of it, not wanting to let Yazzie out of his sight.

Liana showed him a few of the desert fauna along the way, plants with names like sagebrush, juniper, tamarisk, tree of heaven, blue mustard, and bull thistle. But each interaction seemed awkward in some way. He supposed that, since they had actually survived, she was reconsidering her invitation for a kiss. Not that Ackerman concerned himself either way. Things happened or they didn’t. Unless one made those things happen on one’s own, which usually resulted in adverse consequences.

Finally, Reyna stopped short and looked to her brother to reveal his own secrets. Yazzie—displaying what seemed to Ackerman a suspicious level of cooperation—hadn’t really fought them at all since his capture at the casino. He moved aside some scrub brush and then swiped his hand across the sand to reveal a metal handle. Grasping it with both hands, he lifted off a piece of sheet metal, which covered a tunnel large enough for a person to comfortably slide down through hard-packed desert floor and into the rock below.

Ackerman asked, “You dug this?”

Yazzie shook his head. “It was always here. I found the opening on the other side and had to clear out many hundreds of years of dirt and disrepair. But this was a secret entrance to the temple, probably only used by the priests of the Old Ones.”

Ackerman had read a few accounts of the Anasazi. Mainly the theories about how the group built their homes high in the cliffs with limited access to critical resources and then disappeared, which carried with it a myriad of speculation and conspiracy theories. Some of the more recent archaeological digs had also discovered irrefutable evidence of cannibalism in the form of fossilized human feces, known as coprolite.

Yazzie added, “The metal cover is a recent addition, of course. I wanted easy access so I could come out here to pray. I suppose I’m the priest of the temple now.”

Through clenched teeth, Marcus said, “You ain’t priest of jack or shit, but you’d better pray that Maggie’s still alive down there.”

The implication hung in the air until Marcus, taking a quick measure of the entrance, dropped down first in order to scout ahead and ensure that there were no traps. After a moment, he yelled back up to send Yazzie down.

Once they had all followed and gathered inside a small stone antechamber, Yazzie closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Addressing the group, he said, “Do you feel them? Can you feel their presence?”

Marcus shoved him forward and said, “Take us to Maggie or you’re going to feel the presence of my foot up your ass.”

Scowling at the disrespect of his heritage but not protesting, Yazzie led them through the corridors of stone and sand that the Anasazi had carved into the most inaccessible of places. They followed a narrow corridor into what seemed to be a natural cavern that the Anasazi had converted into their equivalent of the holiest of holies.

Ackerman asked, “Were you first one to discover this place, Yazzie?”

“No, most of these ruins, just like a large portion of all known remnants of my ancestors, have been pillaged. Either by people looking to sell the potsherds and artifacts or the belegana dirt diggers looking to carry them off to museums. Both of which are common thieves. I do, however, believe that I was the first to discover the lower kiva, a teardrop-shaped chamber beneath this temple where sacrifices were made to He Who Devours.”

Ackerman, examining the stone altars, asked, “He Who Devours…Friend of yours?”

“He Who Devours the World. He is the darkness that will one day extinguish the fire of all existence. He’s not my friend. He’s my master. My god.”

Ackerman nodded and replied, “I see. Reminds me of the story of a hen in Leeds, England that was believed to be heralding the end of days. It was laying eggs inscribed with the words ‘Christ is Coming.’ Whole thing turned out to be a fraud. They had used some sort of corrosive ink.”

“Don’t mock me!”

Cutting off the conversation, Marcus snapped, “I’m losing my cool here, Yazzie.”

An angry snarl across his face, he said, “She’s this way.” Then he led them to where another metal sheet had been installed to conceal the entrance of what Yazzie had referred to as the lower kiva. As Yazzie pulled away the metal covering, he said, “This is where I saw her last.”

Knocking the older man aside, Marcus threw the metal plate off like it weighed nothing and shined the beam of his Maglite down into the depths below. As the light licked at the darkness, Ackerman saw the mounds of skulls and bones and said, “This was some sort of sacrificial chamber. I’ve read articles that propose the Anasazi disappeared not because of invaders, but because of cannibalism and civil war within their own empire.”

Yazzie chuckled for some reason known only to him. It was the first real moment that Ackerman detected the madness which lived inside the man.

Frantically shining the flashlight beam from one corner of the chamber to the other, Marcus said, “What is this, Yazzie? Where is she? Where—”

The booming sound of a gunshot resounded across the cavern like thunder. Ackerman recognized it as the report of a high-powered rifle. Marcus looked over at his brother with a confused look on his face. Touching his side to reveal the blood, Marcus said, “Frank?” And then fell toward the sacrificial pit.