Authors: J. Morgan
MisStaked (28 page)
Breathred watched the activity going on below them. “Do we just pick out a grid and get started?"
"I've already got them assigned, but that's just for those already marked out. Drs. Easily and Truehart will head the teams, while the three of us and Stud will concentrate on the area around the stone pillars,” Grayson explained, pointing to the twin daggers of stone. “I can't be sure but I think they may be all that remain of the temple discovered during our last excavation. The storms over the past years have been strong enough to destroy everything but those pillars which I believe to be the columns that held the roof aloft."
"What about the statues and wooden box?” Breathred scratched his head.
"There is evidence of fires around the pillars, so I can only assume a lightning strike reduced everything made of wood to little more than ash. It isn't uncommon for fires to go unchecked in this isolated an area. I'm just surprised it didn't spread any further."
Breathred wondered if it was a natural ‘cause or something more sinister covering traces of the Mother after Dr. Grayson's last visit. “How can you be so sure it's the right spot? I thought you told us earlier the marker was gone."
"I can't be. Those pillars are the only things I'm basing my assumptions on. They weren't here when we left the site three years ago. As a totally new development, I'm all the more convinced this is the right spot. Call me crazy, but I can't help but feel like the site itself is showing me where to look,” she said.
Breathred had his own thoughts and none of them were good. This whole line of thinking was disturbing, because in his heart Breathred knew Grayson's assumption was true. For whatever reason the area went to such lengths to hide itself before, the site seemed to want them to find the tomb now. Or more importantly, The Mother wanted to be found and she was more than willing to show them the way. At the heart of this fact were the twin monoliths under whose shadow they'd be working.
Breathred couldn't break his eyes away from them. He felt as though their shadows were licking at his soul. Pure and simple, the two stone columns gave him the willies. The sun moved from behind a bank of clouds, framing them in darkness against the dark green line of trees. Breathred shuddered, as he suddenly thought of what they reminded him of: fangs rising from the bowels of hell.
Breathred was happy to see he wasn't the only one captured by their spell. Both Dr. Grayson and Luna were staring at them, intently. He had better break this up before they formed a religion and drank tainted fruit punch.
"What say we get a closer look at things?” he asked, giving the two women a slap on their backs.
"Y-yes, w-why don't we do that?” Dr. Grayson stammered. She appeared visibly shaken by his touch.
Breathred and Luna shouldered their packs and followed the professor down the path to the camp. Very little vegetation grew past the overlooking ledge that bordered the southern entrance to the clearing. On further examination, the entire space was nearly devoid of life. With the exception of a few stunted pines, nothing occupied the area till a hundred yards from the center of the clearing. Past that, the forest was alive with trees and assorted shrubbery.
Another indication his theory about the vampire queen sapping the life from the area might be true. How long would it take before this entire region looked just like where they were standing? It was enough to make him want to plant some flowers to hide the fact from himself.
Breathred watched Stud detach himself from tent-raising to lumber toward them. From the worn out expression on the chimpanzee's face it wasn't going to be a dull evening.
"Hey, Buds. Decided to miss out on all the work, I see,” he all but yelled. He bent toward Breathred and spoke just low enough for Breathred to hear. “Stopped off to kiss and make up, huh? Hoped you used some protection, ‘cuz this chimpanzee
don't know nothing about birthing no babies
."
Breathred turned five shades of red before stuttering out, “I would never."
"Don't I just know it? At this rate I'll never get any grandchildren.” Stud laughed.
"You know I haven't exactly seen you swinging from any chandeliers yourself, Monkey Boy,” Luna said.
Stud poked a finger in Breathred's chest. “Hey, that's not my fault. In that Clint Eastwood flick they at least drugged the orangutan's date to the prom."
"I told you I wasn't slipping ecstasy to that chimpanzee at the Seattle zoo,” Breathred said, shamefaced at the very idea.
"No, Mr. Goody Goody, if you'll remember correctly I said just hand it to me and I'd do it. You still owe me for that wasted Viagra. A four-hour pup tent for nothing,” Stud griped to no one in particular.
"And where, may I ask, did you get Viagra?” Luna demanded, tapping her toe.
"Same place I got the ecstasy—the Internet."
"Can we please just forget about illicit drugs and fornicating monkeys?” Breathred asked.
"Sure, but she brought it up.” Stud pointed at Luna.
"No, I didn't!” Luna shouted.
"Yes you did. I was discussing Breathred's lack of a sex life, and you dragged me into it. Seems to me you're the one with the problem. Not me."
"What problem would that be?” Luna demanded.
"You're frustrated,” Stud said.
"I am not!"
"Look, honey. You're a healthy young woman with a boyfriend with the sex drive of a petrified turnip. If that isn't the definition of frustrated, I don't know what is,” Stud stated, as cool as you please.
Luna howled before storming off with Dr. Grayson close behind her.
Stud turned to Breathred. “See? Frustration. Most clear-cut case I've ever seen."
Breathred gave the chimp a puzzled look but didn't say anything. That was because he wasn't exactly sure what frustrated meant. From the look on Luna's face the slayer wasn't sure he wanted to know, but sure hoped she found a cure for it—whatever it was. If Stud was right and Luna had it, it looked painful.
To get the job done, you have to be prepared to get your hands dirty—or at the very least, slightly dusty.
Breathred watched Brogan sitting beside the dwindling fire. Its orange halo cast dark shadows that all but obliterated the man's face. It was late—too late for anybody to be up. After all the hard work to get here and then setting up the camp, Breathred hoped he'd be the only one fool enough to be up this late. The Fates decided to give him company, and who did they pick? The only guy he'd ever struck in anger, well struck at all. He hoped the man was the forgiving sort, but seriously doubted it. Still, that was no reason to stand here like a goob.
"Er, excuse me, sir. Uh, Brogan, do you mind if I join you?"
"Clamp a log between your ass cheeks."
Breathred sat quietly beside the fire. He bristled under Brogan's scrutiny. Something in the man's eye told him the Canadian was sizing him up. Breathred kept his eyes facing down afraid to antagonize the man any more than he already had. Finally, the silence got to him. Any minute now he would have
say
something or it would kill him.
"I'm sorry about, you know—hitting you yesterday.” Breathred nearly jumped at the sound of his own voice. Then what he'd said hit him. Oh great, remind the homicidal Canadian who wants to kill you, that you hit him. Was it too late to run back to his tent for a witness or two?
Brogan looked up and gave Breathred a smile that would have made a shark take to land. “Seeing as how I'm in a good mood, I'll let it slide. You were just protecting your woman, after all. Can't blame a man for looking after a prime piece of real estate like that."
Breathred stiffened but wasn't stupid enough to try his luck a second time. The look on the man's face did make him want to give it a good hard think. Brogan was just trying to get his goat. Well, fool him. He didn't have a goat.
Brogan reached over and punched him in the shoulder. “You know if you don't loosen up, you're gonna blow an artery."
Breathred looked down. His fists were clinched so tight his knuckles were white. He let his hands go slack. The tension eased from his shoulders, but a knot had settled in the back of his neck. It might be the start of a tumor, but he'd have to wait until they returned to Seattle for verification.
Breathred finally spoke up. “I'll take your advice under advisement.” It seemed the only polite thing to say, even if it was said through gritted teeth.
"You do that. You can breathe now, if you want.” Brogan chuckled.
Breathred let out a gasp of air. “Do you mind if I ask you ask a question?"
"If it'll help you sleep at night, shoot,” Brogan poked the fire with a stick.
"Are you just mean, or do you enjoy making people nervous?” Breathred asked.
"Both."
"Well, that's not very nice."
"Never claimed to be nice. Look, I get the job done. That's it. I don't make friends. Making people happy isn't my purpose in life. The Canadian government wants you here and wants you safe. It's my job to see both of those things happen. It's been my experience tourists can't seem to manage either on their own. You, my friend, are proof of that.” Brogan jabbed the ember-tipped stick in Breathred's face.
Breathred couldn't dispute his words. Most of the team had never been in the wilderness before. The true archeologists weren't much better. The minute their hands touched earth, they'd forget their own names let alone remember the dangers that surrounded them. Brogan was right. They were babes in the woods, and he was their only protection from the environment and themselves.
Instead of drawing the man into further conversation, Breathred sat in silence. His mind was a maze of doubts. He couldn't back down from this. After failing at so many things, this was his last chance at being something other than a geek who lived in his old man's basement.
As the night gave way to the first streaks of dawn, Breathred gently slipped into sleep with a log for his pillow.
Breathred awoke to the smell of burning bacon. Opening one eye expecting his mother to be fighting smoke at the old family stove, he was relieved to see a boy of about nineteen manning the fire with a flat pan full of smoldering meat. Breathred sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes.
"What time is it?” Breathred mumbled, trying his best to disguise his chronic morning breath.
"Half past nine, Doctor Petrifunck,” the boy answered.
"I'm not a doctor.” Breathred grumbled, wondering what all Dr. Grayson had been saying about him. “Call me Breathred. Where are the others?"
"They're already at the dig site. Mr. Brogan said to let you sleep. Doctor Grayson took the rest of the team over to the grid to get an early start.” The boy grinned, oblivious to the fire shooting up from his frying pan.
"Better watch that pan,” Breathred advised, rising from the ground and heading toward the sound of digging.
He stopped by his tent and quickly brushed his teeth before running a comb through his hair. Like the rest of the team, Breathred would have to wait for a good bath until they went back to civilization. He could handle everything but the Porta-johns. His twenty-five can stockpile of disinfectant and hand sanitizer took care of most of his reservations. The rest he filed under
memories to be repressed and to agonize over later
.
It was a short walk to the main grid. On the way Breathred sidestepped the boy who had awakened him. The boy's arm was on fire, and he was streaking toward the small stream that ran through the western edge of the clearing.
Told him to watch that pan
. Breathred brushed a stray ember from the arm of his jacket. He stopped long enough to hear the hissing sound of the boy's arm sinking into the stream, then wandered to the site.
Even after all these years, he heard his first professor's voice in his head. “The first thing to get out of your head is the Indiana Jones mentality about archeology."
Dirt wasn't flying from heaping shovels. There was no chanting in rhythm to get the work done. As Breathred looked across the clearing, all he saw were a bunch of bowed heads and knotted backs. The movies painted a picture that was romantic and exciting. Unfortunately, the movie version was as far from the truth as you could get, short of reading a comic book.
The meat of real Archeology was delicate and boring repetition. Shovels rarely came into play. Most of the work was done with computers, thanks to modern technology and military research that had filtered down to the scientific community. After that, the majority of the hard labor was done with brushes and trowels. When shovels did come into play, they were used judiciously and sparingly, so as not to damage any of the finds to be unearthed. Over the years amazing discoveries had been lost due to sloppy handling of the tools of the trade. Dr. Grayson wasn't about to let that happen here, Breathred was happy to note.
He moved through the grid workers, careful not to disturb their work. Most of them paid him no attention. They were so enthralled in the job that he simply didn't exist in their pocket-universes. For the majority, a comet could come crashing to earth on top of them and they wouldn't know it. Breathred gave them a clinched smile and kept on going.
He had seen the most docile of archeologists turn to rabid Chihuahuas, when they were broken from the spell of the dig. Nothing was more pathetic than having to watch a middle-aged balding man foam at the mouth. Breathred had witnessed it firsthand, and it wasn't pretty.
Breathred skirted the rest of the dig-zombies and made a beeline for Dr. Grayson. The top of her head peeked over a bank of monitors sitting in front of the two pillars. He waited to hear Stud's voice, but it never came, thank his lucky stars. Even the extra sleep wasn't enough of a balm to sooth over the sound of raw chimp voice, the way he was feeling this morning.
Rounding a freshly turned mound of earth, Breathred found himself in something more like NASA ground control than an archeological dig. Three monitors sat on a card table facing away from the pillars. Two keyboards rested in front of them with a third monitor controlled by a device that looked like a cross between a metal detector and a bazooka.