Pulse

SIX

Twisted limbs and gnarled faces leaped out of the dark, more shocking and horrible than any hack-and-slash horror movie King had ever seen. The bodies were not only more gruesome than the imaginings of even the sickest Hollywood mind, but they were also very real. The eye sockets were sunken, but not empty. Each contained an off-white, dry orb that was surrounded by dark tan skin stretched tight like overworked leather. In some places, the ancient skin had ripped, revealing jawbone, ribs, or pelvis. Dried clothing lay in tatters on the dirt floor around the bodies, the natural fibers having rotted and fallen long ago.

King peeled his gaze away from the twenty-odd corpses lying about in the seven-foot-deep, ten-foot-wide hollow. Pierce stood at the center of the space next to an older woman he recognized from photos Pierce e-mailed him; Molly McCabe. "George, this is…"

"Disturbing," McCabe finished. She held her hand out to him. "Molly McCabe."

"Exactly," King said, then shook her offered hand. "Jack Sigler."

As to your question, what happened here is what we're trying to figure out."

King returned his attention to the corpses surrounding them. Something awful had transpired here long ago.

"Near as we can tell," George said. "They were buried alive."

King knelt down and inspected two of the petrified cadavers, making sure not to touch anything. "And dehydrated."

"Mummified by the extreme dry heat," George said. "They've been perfectly preserved, in situ, from the day they died."

King leaned forward, staring at a mummified head that had been crushed flat on top. "How do you know they were alive?"

George pointed to the dimly lit ceiling where several dark lines crisscrossed the surface.

"Blood," King said, recognizing the dark hue. "They tried to claw their way out."

"There are finger gouges all around the edges, too," McCabe said. "But they probably suffocated fairly quickly after the entrance was sealed."

"Some of them were dead before then," King said.

McCabe looked surprised, "How do you know?"

King smiled and pointed to three of the bodies. "Crushed skulls. All three of them. Either they had their heads bashed in before they were buried… "

"Or?" George asked as he ran a finger along the jagged edge of one of the crushed skulls.

King stood and took the lantern from George. He held it up to the stone ceiling above one of the flat-headed men, revealing a splotch of color matching the scratch marks. "Or," he said, "this rock was dropped on top of them. Those with slow reaction times died quickly. From the looks of it, they got off easy."

McCabe crossed her arms. "I know you're here for security, but what exactly is your experience that you're so sure about what happened here?"

"Just spent a lot of time around dead people," he said, deflating Mc-Cabe's curiosity. "Figuring out how someone died is second nature now."

"There's no way," Pierce said, ignoring King's comment. "This rock must weigh… unless…" He rubbed his eyebrow and turned away, deep in thought.

"Well," McCabe said to King, forcing confidence back into her voice. "Given your… experience with gruesome crime scenes, perhaps you'll be more useful than a hired gun?"

King lowered the lantern and held it out so he could see Pierce again. "Speaking of that… why would you need security for a bunch of dead bodies? They can't be worth much to looters. What did you think was down here?"

Pierce snapped out of his thoughts and met King's eyes. "Not what do I think. What do I know." He stepped aside revealing what looked like a gray stone on the floor of the hollow. It's what they had been looking at when King entered through the small tunnel.

King looked down at the object, hardly impressed. "Looks like a rock."

"Look closer," Pierce said.

He knelt down and examined the object's surface. It looked like concrete, but more flaky. He could see a slight crisscross pattern, like some kind of fabric. Then he noted the shape — large on one end tapering down to the other, like some kind of animal's head. As his imagination set to work, the details came to life. On the small end, a pair of rises looked like a snout. Halfway to the top, another set of bumps looked like eye sockets. He stepped back and looked at it as a whole. "Looks like some kind of head. Like a giant snake head."

"A two-foot-long snake head?" McCabe asked.

He looked at Pierce and shrugged. "A prehistoric snake?"

"Something much more ominous," Pierce said.

King began to reply, but paused as a rise of voices filtered through the tunnel entrance, indiscernible, but clearly growing in volume.

"The natives are restless," McCabe said, then turned to Pierce. "You can tell him all about your theory after we get that thing out of here. I'll go settle down the crew."

Pierce looked through the tunnel but only saw blue sky above. "They probably just want to know what we found."

McCabe stopped in front of the tunnel. Ignoring the circle of bodies, McCabe forced a halfhearted smile. "Think you two strapping young men can handle that?"

"We'll take care of it," George said.

King nodded as he moved toward the petrified head. He'd seen scenes like this fresh with smoldering blood, flesh, and bullets. It disturbed him to think that atrocities like this happened so long ago; he'd always hoped that at some point in man's past there was peace, but here was evidence again that mankind could be as horrible as any monster conjured by the imagination. He wouldn't lose any sleep over this scene, but he took no joy in being desensitized to death.

Pierce took a large empty satchel from over his shoulder and opened it up in front of the artifact. "Lift up this end and I'll slide the bag over it."

King lifted the head. It was a lot heavier than it looked. King grunted from exertion.

Pierce slid the bag over the head, covering two thirds of the object. King placed it back on the floor of the cave, suddenly craving a drink from his few seconds of work. How anyone could have spent the time and energy to create the line drawing above was beyond him. Even here in the shade, the air was still plenty hot and dry enough to wither a man until he looked like a raisin.

Pierce took the satchel strap and dragged the object toward the tunnel. "Let's get out of this sweat lodge and catch up over a beer. I'll tell you all about our little friend here, too. I'll pull, you push."

George ducked into the tunnel, pulling the satchel behind him. King followed on his hands and knees, pushing the artifact with his hands, leaving the lantern behind. He would return for it after getting the heavy son-of-a-bitch artifact out of the hole. He squinted as Pierce climbed out, letting the sun blaze down. With a final heave he pushed the object out and followed close behind. But when he emerged from the hole and looked at Pierce, his face was twisted with an awkward discomfort King had seen on so many faces before — right before — he shot them.

King spun, following Pierce's gaze and came face-to-face with the muzzle of a t riple-barreled handgun he'd only seen in demonstrations, the Metal Storm O'Dwyer VLe. Its electronic firing system used no moving parts and didn't require a clip or magazine. Bullets were stacked inside the barrel, separated by propellant. Some Metal Storm weapons using more than three barrels launched projectiles at speeds of up to one million rounds per second. They were the future of battlefield weaponry, but King had never heard of them being utilized in actual combat. Last he heard the technology was still in the R&D phase in Australia, but that did little to comfort him. The handgun lined up with his skull could fire three rounds in under a second without recoil until after the third bullet left the muzzle. His head would be obliterated. Of course, the first round would do the job on its own. The second two just added insult to injury.